> Déjà Vu [Main Event 1]

[Lord Blake]

Lord Blake looks to one corner and sees Mondae Chaos, the Arena audience behind her glaring and jeering at her. He looks to another corner and sees Archer, his teeth bared in a twisted snarl. He looks down at his shoulder, the bright lights reflecting brilliantly off of the RSW Supreme Championship belt. The lights dim leaving just three spotlights on the competitors. Lucia Park stands in the center of the ring and motions Lord to step forward. With a confident smile she brings the microphone to her mouth for the final introduction of the night.

“And in this corner, from Auburn University in Alabama and weighing in at two-hundred pounds, he is the Ready, Set, Wrrrrrrestle! Supreme Champion - HE IS LLLLLORD BLAAAAAKE!”

As soon as the B rolls off Lucia's tongue, Lord raises the Championship belt high above his head. Considering his competition, he gets the largest cheers of anyone in this match. He keeps it held aloft, soaking in the reaction with a determined look on his face. It takes official Lloyd Austin holding back Mondae and Lucia blocking the path of Archer for Lord to get this much time in the spotlight. He folds the sides of the leather belt behind the gold center plate and hands it to Lucia for her to keep at ringside.

This is it.

Lord Blake looks to one corner and sees Mondae Chaos, frustration on her face as she waits for the bell to ring so she doesn't get reprimanded for jumping the gun. He looks to the second corner and sees Archer crouched against the turnbuckle, both hands gripping the top rope behind him and ready to fly out. Lloyd calls for the bell. Mondae and Archer charge out of their corners towards Lord.

“TIME OUT.”

The world stops. The referee's hand is still, pointed at the time keeper. Lucia is still, making her down the ring stairs with Supreme title. The Arena is still, on their feet as they await the collision they've been eager for since Deception. Archer and Mondae are frozen in place, hands outstretched ready to tear the Champion apart. Lord stands between them with his hands forming a T. In a frozen world, he blinks and looks back and forth between his opponents.

“Ugh, how many times do I have to do this? I'm staring across the ring at Mondae Chaos, just like I did at Vendetta Four, Five and Six. And there’s Archer in the same ring as me, just like at Vendetta Six, Eight and the night I won my Supreme Championship, Deception. Talk about déjà fuckin’ view.”

He steps between the ropes to the floor and approaches a rigid fan in the front row. He slides the red Solo cup from his grip, reaches into the back of his wrestling trunks and pulls out a metal flask. He pours rum into the cup before throwing the flask into the crowd. It knocks a poor girl in the head but she remains statue-still. He stands outside the ring right next to the figure of Archer, looking up into eyes red with rage. He leans on the bottom rope, casually sipping his rumcola as he speaks.

“I’ve been here before. I know how this goes. Archer is going to be stalking from the rooftops and hopping the fence into my backyard and penning letters to everyone and their child-bride as he cries out for attention. He’ll threaten me, threaten Ravey and make no bones about the fact that he hates me for, really, reasons that I have had no control over. I mean, if he was born with the wealth of knowledge on professional wrestling because of his parents, he'd be an idiot not to follow the same path I've taken. Just like he has no control over his sad, World-Vision-commercial levels of poverty that led to his twisted psychopath mindset and having an intimate knowledge of household lighting supplies.”

Lord lifts the ScreamFest-branded ring skirt and reaches underneath using one hand to slide a long fluorescent light tube out. He twirls it in his hand getting a feel for it and climbs into the ring. For the first time he notices how glassy Archer's eyes are.

“Jesus, you even in there, pal? I know Mondae gave you quite the, uh…” He waves the lighttube at Archer's head and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “Heh. But see, you've made due with what you've got. You use the immediate trauma of shattered glass raining down over your opponent to cover up your glaring weaknesses - you don't stand a chance when it comes to hitting harder than me, and to be honest, I'll have to keep an eye on Chaos to make sure she doesn't make you tap out. Here…”

He opens the fingers of Archer one by one and places the light tube in his palm before closing the hand around it.

“You're going to want this, trust me. You do every other time. And you…”

He manipulates Archer's arm to extend the lightbulb toward Mondae.

“It's about time we got to fight, dontcha think?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Save your breath, Chaos. We know because we've heard it all before. You would have been the one to fight Archer in the first RSW Championship match if it weren't for Jack Owyns - even though I won that match DESPITE the fact I had to deal with the Blackwood's having your back and trying the same things against me. So you weren't successful on that attempt. You were one of the five people I put my belt on the line against at Vendetta Six - your first Supreme Title shot - but you couldn’t leave with it that night. Then at Seven your bestie tried really, really hard to get you another chance at it but, uhh…” He lifts his boot off the ground to look at the bottom. “Y’know.”

At the point, Lord has made his way outside and knocked over the steel stairs. Hiding underneath is Mondae’s black diamond encrusted lead pipe. He climbs into the ring with it, booping it on Archer's nose, mimicking the blow that Mondae gave him on Vendetta. He opens her balled up fist and puts the pipe inside of it.

“So that’s - what? - three opportunities at being the RSW Supreme Champion that you've squandered. But somehow you keep crying foul, you were screwed, over and over. If you're gonna run your mouth, find something new to say. Told ya, this is déjà view.”

For the last time he is on the floor and reaches under the ring, retrieving a brand new steel chair. He pulls the bubble wrap off it, checks his reflection in the metal and retakes his place between two opponents. He looks each one in the eye.

“Why are you here? Why're you here? The only reason either of you are, is because I invited you into my main event. It’s the only way I could get y’all in a match because neither of you could earn your way in here.”

He raises the chair overhead. With a growl: “Time. In.”

This is it.