+ My Apologies, Ms. DeLise [I]

[Archer]

++ "My Apologies, Ms. DeLise" ++

Dear Georgia DeLise,

Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Archer, and I'm one of your newer employees at Ready Set Wrestle. Because I haven't been under the RSW roof for long, I really can't tell what kind of corporate puppet you are just yet, but so far I've had no complaints. I'd say that's a very good thing because you'd rather not be on my bad side. One of the best ways one can accomplish a great working relationship is to ignore each other completely. Maybe it's because of the fact that you've yet to annoy the hell out of me, but I feel a certain respect towards you currently.

And that's why I'm writing, to let you know just how badly you've fucked up.

I don't pay attention to much else besides what involves me, but I do understand you're embroiled in this war against the Mean Girl Mafia. You're on a quest to rid RSW of Arianny Blake and Mondae Chaos. That's the kind of drama you find yourself in, and you're dealing with it accordingly. Props to you for trying to up the ante. My only issue is one, Jace O'Brien.

You've enlisted him to help in your quest, I suppose in the form of protection but also to keep those girls from the Supreme Championship. It's your hope this can be accomplished by entering O'Brien into the Supreme Tournament. I assume you want him to do well in this tournament, possibly even win it, so as to hold the Mean Girl Mafia at arm's length. I understand your reasoning, I do. However, I regret to inform you that you've accidently entered me into said tournament...or maybe it's that you accidentally paired your goon up with me in the first round. Either way, you've made some sort of accident, I'm certain.

Now I usually don't care for shiny metal objects around one's waist, but I do care about some snot-nosed little Brit talking trash to me and thinking he can get away with it. We're both adults, Georgia. We know that O'Brien needs someone telling him what to do, and it's obvious that's the reason you chose him to do your bidding. No questions asked, I'm sure. Your obedient little dog, you just need a little pink purse to stuff him in.

All I'm saying is, don't make me put down your dog, Georgia.

This isn't my war, Ms. DeLise, but you can bet I'll make it my war if you pup wants to bleed, if he wants to feel pain. Not to mention, I have to wonder what went through your own mind when you made this match. I'm to assume that you, or someone you employ probably, wrote out the tournament bracket, placing O'Brien and myself together. Am I to believe you think O'Brien stands a chance of moving on after the death sentence you've given him? You run a successful wrestling company, Georgia, I know you're not that dumb. Surely you know where I'm coming from, especially after watching the way he spoke to me. There's no way you didn't feel some sort of deep regret as he tried to bring up my past accomplishments, as if they mean anything in the first place. I know you must have begun to panic when you heard him try telling me other people aren't in the tournament because they aren't good enough, yet I'm only involved because options were limited. He sure likes to hear himself talk, doesn't he? Though he doesn't quite seem to understand what he's saying.

The truth? Arthur Thomas would have ended the match with his face on the floor even if he hadn't fallen asleep. As far as the ones O'Brien has gone up against, people who've done a whole lot of nothing since coming here. You and I both know, and O'Brien himself even admitted, you basically handed him the Bay Area Championship. It doesn't really phase me how many championships you give your show dog, but I'm letting you know there's not going to be an easy out for every situation he gets himself into. Unfortunately, you're not going to be able to get him out of this one, Georgia.

In conclusion, I had hoped to avoid a confrontation with a member of management, but it must be done. Jace O'Brien will not be advancing in the Supreme Championship tournament. Jace O'Brien will die.

My apologies,
The Architect of Ultraviolence.