Another old VHS tape, wrapped in brown paper, arrived at DEFIANCE headquarters. It was uploaded into DEFIANCEWrestling.com, Youtube, and will be playing on ESEN shortly. The return address was for Madison Square Garden.

 

 

 

Out of the thick fogbank rolled a long, gleaming, chrome-and-black-covered limousine. At the same time, a low group humming began to echo.

 

The rumbling of the limousine was low, and menacing. The fog continued to roll and swirl and drift lazily around the long limo.

 

"#Oh, Death..."

 

The first two men to step out of the limo. A short, nattily dressed man in a suit, with slicked-back hair. And his masked, wiry companion. The two of them chuckled deeply to one another.

 

"#Oh, Deaaaaaath..."

 

They headed up onto the sidewalk, the camera catching them moving in slow-motion. The masked man tugged on gloves, the knuckles full of weights and lead shot.

 

"#Oh, death..."

 

An angry-looking young man with a wild, unkept beard and shaggy brown hair. He hefted his lead pipe with wide eyes, grinning like the lunatic he is.

 

"#Won't you spare me over another year..."

 

The group humming, a deep, soulful, reverent noise, picked up once more. A bald man with a fine moustache stepped out of the limousine, sliding a pair of gleaming brass knuckles up his fingers. He grinned lustily as he strode up the sidewalk, fog parting for just long enough to let him see the front walk of the still-hidden building.

 

"#But what is this, that I cant see with ice cold hands taking hold of me..."

 

The four men to step out so far vanished into the fog, and the sound of glass breaking echoed out into the street.

 

"#When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul?"

 

The limousine wasn't finished disgorging monsters. The tallest monster, face covered in his straps and an evil look to his eye, rose from the open door. He held a torn-off table leg, a nail jutting nastily from the end of it.

 

He waved the table leg with cruel intentions evident, striding into the fog.

 

"#Oh, Death...

#Oh, Death...

#Oh, Death..."

 

The monsters had mostly gone... Leaving the darkest for last. A man popped from the car, pulling a gleaming chrome automatic pistol from his jacket. The Cuban glanced around, clearing the scene to ensure his boss's safety.

 

"#No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold..."

 

The massive Sicilian, a nearly immobile lump of muscle packing a shotgun and a very fine suit stepped out, then looked back to his boss, waving him on.

 

With hands tucked into the lapels of his jacket, the most Moneymaking Man in Wrestling stood up, grinning happily. His suit was fine, his smell was finer. Like fine money and expensive leather.

 

"#Nothing satisfies me but your soul..."

 

The Billionaire began to walk, only pausing to glance back at his partner. Who was frantically taking the last few puffs from a burning spliff, trying to finish it before he had to put work in.

 

"#Oh, Death.."

 

The fog parted, for just a moment, showing what exactly this building was. The sign mounted above the door read DEFIANCE Offices, and the door was kicked in.

 

"#Well I am Death, none can excel-"

 

The sunglasses-wearing stoner lifted a bottle, a rag sticking out of the top of it. The man in the very expensive suit touched his cigar to the rag, and it instantly caught.

 

"#I'll open the door to heaven or hell."

 

Jiles threw the molotov through the window, and into the building. Fire gouted. And Edward White just laughed, and laughed, as the fog rolled back in.

 

The woman's voice from the previous mysterious videotape chimed in again. A slight British lilt to her voice... Or perhaps Irish. Soft, but with a strong backbone to it.

 

"The hopes of good lay on so very few remaining warriors."

 

Promotional pictures, with faded edges and expert timing, flashed through the screen.

 

"The Last Nighthawk, Christian Light, occupies himself with points and combat."

 

The man with the blonde flattop's picture flashed, the Light Leg Lock hooked in solidly on some long-forgotten foe.

 

"The Truly Untouchable has been shaken by her mentor's injury, and allows the Dark to gain a new warrior without reply."

 

A picture of Claira St. Sure, modelling a new T-UT tee-shirt and flexing a bicep flashes on, then off.

 

"The only hope for a strong force against the sins and the vice was the Untouchables."

 

A flashback picture from the last tape, Heidi Christenson and Jeff Andrews standing side by side.

 

"But the Untouchables cannot reunite. So the Rider must come, and the Rider must serve as Jeff Andrews' partner."

 

The camera pans down the road, to a crossroads. The wind whips violently down one street, blowing the fog away. And from this windy, lonesome road... Well, that Honda VF1000 slowed to a stop as the Rider rolled on up.

 

"The first battle could have been against any of the cruel, and unjust. Box, Kiri, or Sloan. Booya, Dentari or YAZ."

 

The duo of "Money for Nothing and COOL for Free" stood in front of the building, smiling as the files in the front office burn. White had one of his henchmen rustle up some whiskey and ice from the minibar.

 

The Rider revved his motor a few times, wheeled the bike around, and took aim.

 

"But the opportunity to strike, hard and fast at the heart of the problems of the world... This chance was taken. And now, the Rider comes for White and Jiles."

 

The Rider let go of the brake, spun his wheels as he revved the motor, and leapt forward, gunning for $$Cool. 

 

"For the evildoer has no future hope, and the lamp of the wicked..."

 

The Rider leapt off the back of his Honda as it flew through the air, crashing through the back window of the limousine. The Rider descended on Jiles and White like a hawk plunging through the night. His yellow-and-black bodysuit making his fall onto White and Jiles, knees-and-elbows-first, look like a bolt of lightning. Coming from Heaven.

 

"Shall be snuffed out."

 

There, the video ends, and turns to an old tape of Family Feud, taped over to deliver this recording.