In Bloom? I

In Bloom? Part I

Funny things happen when you fall  asleep in the middle of the day after eatting a potato. Especially when the only cushion for you to a hard pillow. Especially when that hard pillow feels like needles stabbing you in the back of you head.

Time slows down.

An amphitheatre. It’s a scene that is etched in every child’s memory, but now, before the mind’s eye, is painted with a million new hues, and enriched with a myriad of new sounds, scents and smells. The first thing we notice is a cerulean sky. It’s completely blue, from the edge of the structure to as far as the horizon stretches. Scant a wisp of cloud mars the panorama, but billowing smoke begins to rise up into the air. Immediately we take stock of its source, and see a rather odd sight, one not generally mentioned in our history books. It is a large, metal bull, painted gold. Beneath it, a bonfire rages, as if the bull is being roasted on a spit, and the billowing smoke is emerging from the bull’s nostrils. The bull itself is larger and more powerful than any bull we’ve seen before, and we consider that it is probably based on a now – to us, the future observer – extinct species known as the Auroch.

The bull roars deafeningly, as the flames lick its abdomen at a height designed to catch the fire’s heat perfectly, rather than just toast it. But the rational mind cannot help but question the scene, knowing that it makes no sense to burn a statue, and much less for a statue to cry out, and it is in this moment that the eldritch truth blinks before our eyes. Inside the bull a man is trapped in a foetal position, with his head forced in the direction of the bull’s throat. As the flames roast the man alive, his agonal cries are amplified tenfold through the bull’s throat, the whole thing acting as some huge, excruciating musical instrument. It’s with this horrific realisation that we tear our eyes from the bull, as if acknowledging its existence prolongs the man’s suffering further. We start to notice the thousands of people in attendance, their attire varying in quality from top to bottom, and the irony of class divisions bringing everyone together in this circus of death is not lost. Midway on one side is a parapet, atop which sit nobles clad in white robes, and at its center a larger chair, reserved for the Emperor, sits empty. 

A flash of blood before the eyes. 

We look down, and beyond the brazen bull, around 15 meters ahead, a man dances bizarrely. He is dressed in Egyptian style finery, and looks completely out of sync with his surroundings. In his left hand, he holds a tiny dagger, which he waves around lackadaisically as his body contorts to the sound of agonal screams, and cheers from the crowd. In his left, he holds and throws away the torch that lit the bull. He begins dancing towards one direction, and we find ourselves looking the same way, as heavy iron gates open up. Out step a series of gladiators, from two directions, each gate opening on the dancing man’s instruction. They stand square from each other, and the dancing man parades through them as a general through his ranks. As he passes the final man, he drops to his knees, and combat commences. Reminders of films and graphic novels are quickly shed from our thoughts, as the true visceral carnage begins. Men with nets and tridents face off with men in full legionnaire attire, maces are flailed amongst swinging flails. Where Hollywood sees flashes of blood and instagib, the true picture is far less romantic.

Blood falling down my face.

The first exchange that asserts this brutal truth takes place near the kneeling man; a man wielding a blunt, iron mace, and clad in rags, is facing a net and spear man. He some how dextrously rolls beneath the net as it is flung in his direction, and in a moment he is stood behind the spearman. His mace comes down in one crushing blow, landing right on the spearman’s crown. On impact the skull is crushed, the man crumpling down to his knees. The mace is ripped away, covered in bloody hair and skull fragments, and leaves behind it a grotesque cavernous hole where seconds before a perfectly rounded skull had been. The crowd rise to their feet, elated with the underdog coming out on top. The mace man begins to circle the action, waiting for the next victor to take on. It doesn’t take long, as in another exchange, a legionnaire thrusts his sword straight through the eye socket of a flail man. He rips it out and we get our Hollywood blood gush, which quickly becomes a simple waterfall, as blood pours from the defeated man’s eye and he crumples forwards. 

The smell of my blood reaching my chin.

These scenes are played over and over. Gory death after gory death. Limbs are crushed or cut off, the sandy floor of the amphitheatre is stained crimson red. Complete carnage left and right. We notice behind the bull a stake being readied, but our eyes are quickly drawn back to the gladiatorial conflicts. Only three men remain now, and stand in a triangle. There is the Legionnaire, standing tall and not looking daunted; then there is the mace man, eyes bulging, breath wavering, muscles aching, heart racing. It is almost as if by looking at him we feel like him. And then, to complete the triangle, a trident man. The dancing man flitters gaily between all of them, and they look from one to the other, waiting for the first man to move. The action is suddenly forced when the dancing man kicks the trident man in the backside, pushing him into the center of both his opponents. Instantly the legionnaire is on him, and slashes his sword upwards, almost like an uppercut. The trident man ducks back, and uses the butt of his trident to smash the side of the legionnaire’s head. Momentarily he is dazed, and the right jaw clasp of his helmet is pushed inwards, denting and piercing into the legionnaire’s cheek. He roars as he falls to his knee, and rips off his own helmet, tearing off a chunk of his own cheek as he does so. Well trained, he instantly puts the pain out of his mind and lunges forwards to stab the mace man, at whose feet he was fallen. The mace man simply steps back, observing one on one etiquette. The crowd roars for him again, appreciating both his noble decision and the fact that he made a legionnaire look stupid for attacking him. The trident man lifts his trident high over his head, and goes to stab the legionnaire in the back of the neck, but the legionnaire spins around, and slashes his sword at the trident man’s left leg, completely severing it below the knee. The trident man’s trident plunges into the sand, and he lands on is as if it were a crutch, looking down in disbelief at his remaining leg stub. The legionnaire takes advantage of the trident man’s stupor, and plunges his sword directly through the man’s collarbone, sending it all the way into his diaphragm. Death is instant. 

Was I bleeding?

The dancing man begins to whoop. The legionnaire grins and looks at the bewildered mace man. He wipes a trail of blood from his chin and bears down on the mace man. All around them, the dancing man starts to cartwheel. 

Bright, blurry lights above.

The legionnaire toys with the mace man, feinting left and right, and deliberately swinging his sword over the man’s head. The mace man tries to stay composed, absorbing each feint as if he is learning the legionnaire’s attack patterns. Perhaps he played Mike Tyson’s punch out as a child. Perhaps he’s eaten his weetabix. 

 Is this feeling pain or  pleasure? 

The legionnaire tires of playing and looks towards the crowd, arrogantly asking them whether he should finish the mace man there and then. The crowd react in a mixed way, some cheering the underdog, others cheering the legionnaire, who represents the might of Rome. He flexes his sword bearing arm, then closes in on the mace man. In an instant he is past what flimsy guard the mace man can create by swinging his mace, and just as fast, the legionnaire smashes him in the chin with the butt of his sword. It’s a flash knockout, and the mace man stumbles to one knee. The legionnaire looms over him, glancing at the crowd before raising his sword, ready to deliver his death blow. But the mace man has regained consciousness, and uses all his might, with two hands, driving his mace into the legionnaire’s crotch. Again the legionnaire’s defences are dented, but this time his genitals are crushed with the same blow. He vomits hard, straight into the face of the mace man, who turns his face away and rolls to the side. But with vomit in his eyes, and still dazed, he is unable to instantly capitalise on the situation. He has to rely only on his hearing, as he tries to find the legionnaire in a sea of obscene chanting, the dancer’s insanity stimulating whoops, the still roaring bull, and the crackle of fire beneath it. 

The flutter of a black curtain. 

A hopeful swing of his mace, and it’s over. The legionnaire’s cervical vertebrae are crushed to dust in one imperious moment. The crowd leap to their feet in utter amazement. To say that this man was an underdog is an understatement. He drops his mace and looks to the heavens, his simple ragged clothing peppered with sand that sticks to the accumulated blood. The dancing man cartwheels towards him, and beckons him to rise. He then circles around him, bouncing around and encouraging the crowd to cheer louder and louder. 

Where am I?

And then he plunges his small dagger into each of the mace man’s kidneys, in a simultaneous and unexpected movement. The mace man crumples to the floor, bleeding to death. The crowd begin to jeer, completely outraged. The dancer pulls back his hood, revealing himself as the Emperor Nero, but this gets no reaction, as the crowd already know him. They start to pelt the arena with whatever they can find, and Nero beckons a column of Praetorian guard into the arena. He then points at random crowd members, and each of them is dragged into the arena. They are led to the stakes behind the brazen bull, set atop them, and burned alive. Nero laughs, and minces around the stakes gaily. 

The Rod of Asclepius. 

The scene fades.

Anna Tan: ****ing beautiful.

Paul Johnson: I, eh, I never knew you cared madam. 

The scene is now Anna Tan laying on a couch. Suddenly it is a knock on the door.

Anna Tan: God damn it, I was having the most amazing dream. And no vodka bottles involved.

Paul Johnson: Eh, a mansion and a bevy of women?

Anna Tan: Yeah, something like that…

Paul Johnson: Madam Mr. Amp is here to see you. 

Anna Tan: Oh yes bring him in.

Amp walks into the room as Anna begins to sit up on the couch. Amp then sits across from Anna and begins to speak.

Amp: Anna you know why I am here; Are you sure you are ready for this battle royal? You know everyone will be gunning for you in this match and you already have a triple match with Sin and Evie in that same night as well.

Anna Tan: You worry to much Amp, you shouldn't you be worried about the main event?

Amp: I already have the main event in the bag. So that's not a big deal. I am more worried about you.

Anna Tan: Would you like a potato, waffles or maltesers? Oh Johnson.

Amp: I am being serious here Anna!

Anna Tan: Should I care that I will be facing guys like Lennox, Simbel, Kaz or Sin? Should I really care that I will up against the entire roster? You should really have more faith in me. This situation is exactly what I thrive on, and in time you will know that.  

Amp has a worried look on his face.

Amp: Oh ok, but this could be a plan to take out an member of No Authority, what is Kash even enters this battle royal? You now he will be coming after you. 

Anna Tan: Let them come; and they will see what I have in store for them in that ring. Unlike everyone else that cut a promo so far will be trying to make comments and try to anal rape everyone in the match. But what is the point? Who would care? Would management take you seriously and give you a main event spot? If they think that will happen they are sadly mistaken. You see I am going to have fun. I am going to dancing around just like Nero did but instead it will be in the ring and I will have fun kicking all of your asses in that ring. I could really careless if I win or not. I couldn't give two fucks. But something I do know I will not let anyone win this title easily. So I hope all of you are ready to beg for your lives. Because I am coming after your heads.  

An evil smile crosses Anna Tan face as well Amp face.

Anna Tan:  Get ready to call me your new Untied States Champion; You can call me The Joan Of Inane. 

No Authority fades to black.

Story Corner with Anna Tan[2/2]

RW Board of Directors

Your booking for this upcoming Sacrifice.

Dear Miss. Tan,

With regards your recent match up with  with Kash and Dobbs in RW, the board would like to extend its condolences to you for the way you performed in the match, we are not to pleased on the outcome. Unfortunately our estimations of you were misplaced. Clearly you have the appropriate calibre for Rampage Wresting. We thank you for your candour in addressing this in your pre-match interview with Deluchie. We would like to offer you an improved contract on the one negotiated last week. You are now to be contracted as a provisional under card talent. 

Although we feel you are currently of inadequate quality for a spot higher than this, we are open to suggestion and would encourage you to approach each match with the intensity you did the last.This week you are booked against Evie and Sin in a triple threat match. We ask that you keep up the good work, and put on a great show for the folks at home. You’ll be on a card that will feature the debut of the U.S title and main event that will feature the World Champion. Try and warm the fans up with a fair bit of violence.

Naturally, we expect you to put on a good show and expose the great talents these rookies on display in the ring.

 Yours faithfully,

- The RW Board of Directors

PS. If you could avoid being quite so cutting in your promos, it would be appreciated. While it makes you look good, the implication that the company is poorly run is a bad one which we’d like to avoid. There's is small raise in your paid in it for you if you can cool your jets.

Story Corner with Anna Tan[1/2]

~And now, from the personal desk of Anna Tan , here is la primera edition of…~

Story Corner with Anna Tan

~!~

We fade from the interview video with a shot of Anna Tan, sat in a high backed chair, rocking slowly on its axis. Her legs are characteristically crossed, with her right ankle rested over her left knee laxly, and she stares into the camera, chin rested on the backs of her hands. Her eyes look wild, as if a rage is burning inside her, yet her face is one of intense calm, with a smile vaguely visible, or possibly not. Her face has all the ambiguity of a Mona Lisa.

Anna Tan: First of all, I’d like to thank the RW for office for providing extended, and you know, actually extended the footage of my interview on T.V. It seems that my interview was supposed to be cut short, and after watching that footage, I’m not surprised they took that choice. Clearly they saw me as someone important.

Anna Tan emits a nasal laugh, but her features don’t change, save for the slight shift forwards from her diaphragm, before it also goes back into its calm, rigid but relaxed stasis.

 Anna Tan: I have to give the backroom staff at the RW some credit. While you give all the impression of being led by a backroom of chimps, with all the organisation of Barney Gumble in a brewery, you still know how to do your research.

  Another snort, this time more guttural. 

Anna Tan: Perhaps I gave too much away when I spoke to your poorly prepared microphone boy Delunchie. Perhaps I am less adept at the art of being vague than I thought I was. Or, perhaps, my opponents have an idea what is coming in that ring, Or I am giving both of you too much credit. Perhaps you expected me to let both of your stupid trash talking slide under the bridge.

Inexplicably, Anna Tan clears her throat.

Anna Tan: You must be stupid or something. You thought I was some simple minded fool that wouldn't grip on to your fruitless words? Dumb asses.

 A deep, long inhalation through the nose. We start to take in more of the surroundings in the scene. Behind the tall chair Anna Tan sits in, is a large, marble bust of Babuo.

Anna Tan: Are you starting to see now? I’m sure you aren’t. I’m sure 95% of you aren’t even cultured enough to even know what you’re seeing. Let me tell you, it’s a Greek God, known as Baubo. Baubo represents strength in battle, wisdom, and a great nouse when it comes to tactics. Baubo was used on the crests of the Spartans when they headed off all comers. If you can’t tell, yes I am being ****ing facetious. Baubo was in fact a Goddess, and the Goddess of humour and fools. Just a little middle finger from Ancient Greece there. But let me deviate from messing with the minds of sheep, I will leave that to the big eared boys of Wales who never call back and break woolly hearts every day.

Anna Tan face breaks into smile for the first time.

 Anna Tan: Well, if you can’t draw the line at the Welsh, you might as well not even have any morals. 

And stone wins the day again.

Anna Tan: I hear all the buzzing going on in the back all about our little group, hearing the nonsense coming out their mouths; But I have one important question? What is the point! Should we care about your feelings or the feelings of the RW Board? We hear your pointless threats, but no matter how many threats you make towards us. We will always be laughing at you sore sacks until the thought of mentioning it becomes absolutely tasteless.

A quick sniff, that barely contracts her nostrils.

Anna Tan: Before I go on, let’s have a musical interlude. This week, I am not going to promote any of my own artists. This week, my musical interlude is here to provide a purpose, that is, to provide a backdrop for today’s story time. So, if you will, kick back, turn up the volume in your headsets, if you’re using an Apple branded piece of crap, throw it out of your window before pressing play-it will increase the quality, honestly. Of your life that is, not your device! For those of you who aren’t watching this from Starbucks with your trilby hats, it’s time to stick in those earphones, push them into the crevice of your ear nice and tight, and hold them there with your fingers, just to enjoy the bass that little bit more.

Anna Tan leans back, and raises a finger, as if to signal to some unseen assistant that the video should play now.

 

Anna Tan stares into the camera once more, as the video feed returns to her room. The room seems to have changed, though there is no tangible difference about it. It’s as if somehow the hue of the room has altered, becoming duller yet simultaneously bolder in contrast. The edges of objects stand out starkly, and the same go for the features of his face. This change in visual style seems un-imposed, as if it’s the viewer’s eyes playing tricks and not real.

Anna Tan: And welcome back. Is it me or was that a rather good song? There’s a good reason I have shown you it, but first, cameraman, for the love of God, sort out that contrast. I feel like I am in a droll promo right now.

The screen momentarily flickers, then returns to a normal feed style. The decrease in contrast allows the room to be viewed in a more normal manner, and the looming Baubo bust behind Anna Tan seems to become less ominous.

Anna Tan: See, all it takes is a little flick of a button. But wait a minute their is a comment one of my opponents spoke of that I must address  the "Gung Nam Style" comment. Are you serious? This can't be serious is that supposed to be the a critical blow to me? B*tch please! I could continue on and on about how worthless your second promo is compared to your first but let's be honest here it is obvious who is carrying your team.

Anna Tan shakes her head with a look of shame on her face.

Anna Tan: Just saying your name is as painful, as having a period and trust me that is out of this world painful. But your voice as well is so annoying stating the same thing every promo like a broken record. What is the point? We heard you the first time; should it matter all the other times? Trying your best to shove the fact your trying be the world champion. I don't understand why your worried about that when you have someone like me coming for your head. I’d also like to express my disgust at how easy it was to take out Tess, but let me get back on topic.

Anna Tan randomly eats a malteser, opens a storybook on her lap, and then continues.

Anna Tan: The video you just watched is based on real events in Germany. In 2001, the internet was a new thing, and not policed so heavily as it is today. Here in America, your government can read every word you write online, and can do this because one of you might be a terrorist. Take that constitution! In Germany, in 2001, this kind of policing was not only unheard of, but also not even imagined as necessary. That is, until Mr Armin Meiwes came into the public domain for his actions. You see, Mr Meiwes posted a simple message on a message board – the kind you probably use to discuss Justin Bieber everyday, or the kind Joe uses to converse with his brain damage group. But back then, the internet was a much darker place. Meiwes posted a simple message; “Suche gut gebauten Achtzehn- bis Dreißigjährigen zum Schlachten -- Der Metzgermeister", or in English, “Looking for a well built 18 to 30 year old to be slaughtered - The Master Butcher”.

 A real smile now paints itself across her face. A warm smile as if Anna Tan is recounting an old family story. She continues talking, turning a page in the book slowly. We notice the book is just a cartoon book, and probably not what she is reading at all.

Anna Tan: Isn’t that beautiful? Most people looking for sexual pleasure on the internet head straight for porn, or for web camera sites. The more outgoing ones look at free ads, and the skankiest ones look up dogging sites. But nowadays, free ads for such an unusual perversion would be deleted and reported to the police. Not so with Mr. Meiwes in 2001. Mr Meiwes fantasy was simple – he wanted to eat human flesh. There is an obvious caveat here – he needed a partner whose fantasy was to be completely devoured by another human being. To make a long story short, he found him. On the first night, they cut off his penis, and flambéed it. They shared the meal, but it was too tough. Later, Meiwes bled his willing victim, Mr Bernd Brandes, to death in his bathtub, kissing him and stabbing him in the neck. Over the next few weeks, he ate the body, and buried the skull in his garden. Eventually it was discovered, and there was a big furore over whether he could be prosecuted or not, since the victim was willing, and cannibalism was in fact not illegal. He was ultimately given a life sentence, and is now writing his memoirs. I ask you two simple questions; when Mr Brandes died, was he happy? And is Mr Meiwes content with life now that he got to act out a fantasy that had been with him since the age of 8?

Anna Tan nods, and smiles warmly once more. She holds up a picture to the camera.

Anna Tan: History will look upon these men as bizarre individuals. The human condition is not designed to comprehend things that exist outside the neat little boxes society creates. But let me tell you one simple fact about life that they don’t want you to know: Civilisation is not natural. That means law and order are unnatural constructs. That means morality is a disease. That means that, if you break down the walls, 99.9% of humans today are mindless, brainwashed drones. If not for television, the average person would have no idea about life outside their own natural circle. A human being is naturally designed to meet only 200 people – in their whole life. And the average human is bombarded by that many if not more every day, just by turning on their televisions. Never mind the disgusting hovels we call cities, where the drones exist side by side as strangers. 

A simple shake of the head.

Anna Tan: What you people will never realise is that men like Armin Meiwes are not the exception to civilisation, they are the heart of humanity. Their actions are purely natural. Mr Meiwes is a hero in reality. A role model. No, that doesn’t mean I am advocating going out and butchering the nearest human you find and harvesting their body. What that means is that Mr Meiwes answered the call of his own primal urges. The urges that everyone else hides deep down in the cavities of their souls. History will probably remember me as insane, as a madman, for the things I will do, for the so called atrocities I will commit upon the RW  But in fact, I am just a woman who is not afraid to follow the call of her own natural internal monologue, her own urges.

Anna Tan slaps her forehead with an shocked expression on her face.

Anna Tan: Looks like I got off topic again, maybe because I can't stand a dry match that is what my opponents are producing with the pathetic insiders or the fact that Dobbs promo puts me to sleep, but whatever. Maybe I should get to the comments Dobbs made about me maybe the fact he talked about my height? Now I have a question and please be honest with me. What in the hell does that have to do with this match? Not a thing, maybe when he said I sleep with men. Sorry honey but men aren't my thing I prefer women.

 Anna Tan licks her lips and starts back to square one.

Anna Tan: But let's be honest again Dobbs your promo confused me as much as Jason's did. The more I hear everyone talking backstage about us losing this match all I could think is that are people out of your minds? I know you are listening to the same pile of shit they are dishing out at us. Do you hate us that much? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt your feelings or something?

Anna Tan begins to laugh.

Anna Tan: So Dobbs how is it to have a mircophallus? Or I could say is promoting Korean music bad? What I really find fun is you claim to be this guy with some much power but have no brains at all. While your over there blowing your hot breath on the camera screen and breath hard trying to make me tuck my tail and run away. I'm will be having a ball enjoying my self in this match up. Taking my time cutting you down in squared circle. Just like Jason I will be coming for your head, that's it! I could care less how the match ends; as long as I get your heads that's better than any win in this match.

Anna Tan stands up, brushing herself off fervently as if the essence of her previous words has stained her clothes.  

Anna Tan: You see Dobbs I don't like to call us No Authority unlike the other members in this group. I would prefer to call it Coup D' Etat it has a better ring to it doesn't it? But I am pretty sure you are not going to answer me because you and Jason are having fun being California snowballs. I am sure a loblolly like you wouldn't understand. But their is always Google right?  

Anna Tan begins to slap her knee and chuckles.

Anna Tan: Just using big words that you don't understand puts a smiles on my face. See Dobbs I am having a good time making fun of you and your friend. It would better for both of you not to embarrass yourselves for everyone's stake. You see I could have just faded in and faded out in the entire promo and we would still stand tall over you loser. I know Dobbs will try everything in his power to use all the ammo from this promo to work off. Planning to pick through my every word like it will change a something. Let's see what you got B*tch!

 Slowly, she walks towards the camera, then past it dead left. There is a small shuffling motion, then the camera is turned to face his new position in the room. She’s standing next to the exit, a large oak door that looks so heavy it wouldn't be out of place in a fallout shelter. 

 Anna Tan:  The world revolves on chaos. In RW their will be chaos, in that ring their will be chaos. Someone like thrives in chaos I am here to make chaos an everyday. Do you know why?

A sly wink towards the camera, as Anna Tan turns his back and opens the heavy door before her, basking the room in light, at which point we notice that the room we’d been observing all this time has absolutely no natural light source at all, and is lit solely by a dull, shade-less light bulb. From out of shot, we hear her parting words. 

Anna Tan: Because I can! Call me The Joan Of Inane because I am just simply that Bitch!. Just like I and Bello said actions speak louder than words.

We Fade.

Violent Pageantry I and II

Violent Pageantry I

Cameras cut in to a smart, mahogany office. Polished wooden surfaces glint almost serenely by the light of a tall, Venetian blinded window, whose slats let the bright sunlight into the room at 45 degree angles, creating a hazy resplendence. Just as we are starting to adjust our eyes and search for more details in the scene, a hand presses a manila envelope neatly onto the table, then deftly slides it about 3 feet away, where it is met by another hand.

As the camera pulls back, we can take in the full scene. A somewhat tall, bespectacled fellow is standing at the end of the table, looking rather apologetic, wringing his hands together nervously. It is he who has passed the envelope along the table, to the hand of the woman we instantly recognize as Anna Tan. She's adorned in a modestly expensive dress, which fits her lithe frame perfectly. From beneath her short black hair, she smiles with an air of confidence. 

Nervous man: Eh, he-here’s your letter from eh the Rampage Wrestling-eh.

Anna Tan: Ahh, Johnson. Finally, I can take a break from all this damned paperwork. I’ve never known a company to take so long to respond to a job application, no matter even if it just started never in my days have I seen this kind of inefficiency. 

Johnson blinks repeatedly, and looks a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

Anna Tan: What’s the matter, Johnson ? I’m certainly not going to take their late reply out on a loyal employee like you.  

Johnson: Well, eheh…

Anna Tan: Never mind, never mind, go about your ways Johnson…I’d like to read this in private if you don’t mind. It’s bad karma to open a letter like this in company. Or something – you know me and my superstitions. 

With a gulp and a nod, Johnson scurries from the room, leaving Anna Tan to read the letter alone, and as she pulls it from the envelope, we zoom in on its contents.   

RW Board of Directors

‘Enhancement Talent Agreement’ 

Dear Miss Tan,

We are writing to confirm receipt of your application to the RW, kindly faxed by your Personal Assistant, Mr. Cole. We are pleased to accept you into the company, as we are always looking for new enhancement talent.

We are pleased to inform you that your first appearance will be on the 12/1  Sacrifice show, where you will be in a tag team match facing two of our hottest new talents. This will be an intimate, 6 match card, built specifically for showcasing the best new talent RW has to offer. 

An RW interviewer will be with you in a couple of days to perform a perfunctory interview, try to seem convincing.

Yours faithfully,

- The RW Board of Directors