Meltdown XXXI & Fallout 031 (Jun '23).

Originally posted by Sully.

TMZ has reported that apparently two time FWA World Champion Saint Sully has gotten plastic surgery. One luxury the retired FWA triple champ can obviously afford.

We aren't sure why exactly, or how extensive the surgery is, but as soon as we get pictures of him we'll share them.

***

Breaking Update:

Saint Sully seen in a photo shoot since last having surgery



Some say the retired FWA star still looks the same. Some say he's even better looking. But whatever the case, this is clearly Saint Sully's new look. The reason for the changes is unknown, perhaps he wants to look his best now as the official owner of Ground Zero? Sully has been absent from FWA TV since last year's FWA Anniversary Show. But expect to see him again when Ground Zero Season 5 airs in August.

Originally posted by Sully.

Originally posted by Tommy.


In the vast expanse of rugged and untamed land, stood Mount Summers. People had often tried to climb the mountain, but they continually came up short in their quests. According to legend, one man had truly conquered the mountain. There had been some others who climbed among its snow-covered rocks, but very few of them were able to reach the peak. Of the ones who did reach the crest of Mount Summers, even fewer of them had been able to stay there. That’s largely what made the story of Michael Parr so legendary. He had scaled the steep, rocky face of Mount Summers, and he had conquered it. Others had tried, and others had failed. Parr stood in rarified air when he crested its snow-capped peak.

Tommy Bedlam believed that he could replicate the success of Michael Parr. Actually, he believed that he could expound upon it. His weather-beaten face, framed by a wild mane of long hair that flew in the breeze, showed the signs of the battles he’d already taken on. He had won his fair share of those battles and he had lost a few. The victories brought about a desire to do better, and the losses caused him to look for ways to avoid the pain that he felt after each of them.

Mount Summers was certainly like nothing he had ever faced before, but in his heart burned an unwavering flame of determination. That determination pushed him to his limits and often beyond them. Tommy knew if he was going to etch his name into the tapestry of legends who had conquered the mountain, he would need more than determination. Destiny awaited at the top of the mountain. Immortality resided at its peak.

At the foot of Mount Summers, stood a humble outpost. The old man who ran the outpost had lived near the foot of the mountain for most of his life. He had tried to climb mountains like Mount Summers in the past, but a terrifying leg injury left him unable to continue climbing. His passion for the sport never subsided, so he shifted his focus to helping newer climbers conquer the mountains that they needed to climb. His outpost served as both a place for climbers to purchase last-minute supplies and rations that they needed. He offered much more than that, though. Rocco’s most valuable resources couldn’t be bought and sold. They weren’t tents, MREs, or fire starters. Instead, Rocco’s most valuable assets were his words.

Weathered and wise, Rocco was known throughout the region as the keeper of forgotten tales. His eyes held the weight of countless stories, etched in the lines and creases of a life spent in the shadow of the mighty peak.

As Tommy approached Rocco's humble stall, his heart filled with a blend of caution and anticipation. He recognized the gleam of recognition in Rocco's eyes, acknowledging the fire that burned within Tommy's own. The cowboy admired the rugged wisdom that emanated from the old guide, aware that Rocco's expertise was born from years of watching climbers come and go, some victorious, but most defeated.

Their conversation began in hushed tones, surrounded by the whispers of the wind and the distant crackling of the campfire. Rocco, his voice tinged with a mix of reverence and caution, spoke of the mountain's untamed soul. He captivated Tommy with tales of daring souls who had attempted the ascent, their dreams shattered amidst the unforgiving snow and biting cold.

"Mount Summers is no ordinary mountain, Tommy," Rocco warned, his gaze fixed upon the distant peak. "It has claimed the hopes and aspirations of many who sought to conquer its icy grasp. The mountain demands respect, and those who fail to heed its call pay the price."

Tommy nodded, his eyes locked onto the treacherous heights that loomed above. He understood the risks, but his determination was unyielding. "I know, Rocco," he replied, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "But my journey is different. I am not like those who came before me. I’m gonna climb this mountain, Rocco. I’m gonna stand on top of it, and I’m gonna know that it’s mine, forever.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of Michael Parr.”

Tommy nodded and gave Rocco a knowing look.

“He’s the last person to truly conquer this mountain, Tommy. He went up there, and by hell, I still don’t know how, but he did it. It may bear Summers’ name, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s Michael Parr’s mountain. If you’re really going to make it yours, you’re gonna have to do more than climb that big sumbitch of a rock. You’re gonna have to take it from Parr. Speaking of names, have you ever heard how why it’s called Mount Summers?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“You know, a lot of times they name mountains after saints. Mount Saint Helen, Mount Saint Jacinto. That Summers guy who this one is named after, he’s a terrible son of a bitch. An absolute bastard of a man.”

“How did he get a mountain named after him?”

“Hell, nobody said they have to name mountains after good people. Last month, they renamed Mount Swastika up in Oregon. They call it Halo Mountain now. I guess they somebody figured if you could name a mountain after a fuckin’ swastika, they could name one after this Summers guy. Word is, he tried to get them to call it Mount Saint Summers. Real egomaniac, that Summers guy is. Anyway, I've heard that he pushed for Mount Saint Summers, but they told him there was no way in hell they were sainting anything with his name in it, so they settled on this."

Rocco studied Tommy, his gaze assessing the fire that burned within him. He recognized the unique spark of determination that set him apart from the others. "You have the heart of a true adventurer, Tommy," Rocco said, his voice tinged with admiration. "You possess a spirit that yearns for the unknown, a spirit that can forge its own path even amidst the unforgiving cold. But remember, even the strongest can falter. The mountain shows no mercy."

“So I’ve heard.”

“One more thing, kid. Is there anybody you want me to call? You know, if you don’t make it back down the mountain.”

“Yea. As a matter of fact, I do.”

Rocco handed Tommy a notepad and an ink pen. The climber scribbled a phone number on it and slid the pad back across the counter.

“Actually, Rocco. I need you to do me a favor.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Call that number in three days. I have a satellite phone in my bag, and when I climb this mountain and take it from Parr, I’m gonna call down here. No offense, old timer, but I’d really like for my first phone call to be with her.”

Rocco chuckled.

“No offense taken, young man. You call this number anytime, day or night. I’ll make sure she’s standing here and ready to answer it in 72 hours.”

A nod of acknowledgment passed between the two men, an unspoken bond forged in that solitary moment. Tommy knew that Rocco's guidance would be invaluable for his journey, but he also understood that his climb was a deeply personal endeavor, a testament to his adventurous spirit and unyielding determination.

With a firm handshake and a silent understanding, Tommy bid farewell to Rocco, setting his sights on the daunting path that lay before him. As he took his first steps towards the mountain's base, he carried within him the weight of Rocco's words, knowing that while he trusted the guide's expertise, his climb would be a solitary dance between himself and the mountain's icy grip.

And so, with each heartbeat echoing like a drum in his chest, Tommy embarked on his solitary ascent, ready to embrace the challenge, aware that his climb would be unlike any other. For he carried within him the knowledge that to conquer the mountain, he had to conquer himself first.

With each step taken toward the foot of the mountain, Tommy felt the weight of his determination grow heavier. He embraced the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that they would forge him into a man of unwavering resolve. He had a fiancé at home and a baby on the way. He wanted to be able to share the stories of his daring climb and ultimate victory with them. Outside of those two, Tommy had no family to speak of, which came with a unique list of pros and cons.

On the one hand, it meant that Tommy didn’t have a lot of people supporting him. On the other, it meant that he didn’t have a long list of people he was accountable to. If the mountain defeated him, or if Parr destroyed him at the top, Randi, his fiancé, would be hurt, but eventually, she would move on. His son, who was yet to be born, would simply not know him. However, the fact that Tommy only had those two meant that he was even more committed to making them proud. Without them, he had nothing.

The tales of countless souls who had succumbed to the mountain's icy grip served as a reminder of the arduous path he was about to tread, but they only fueled his eagerness to face the unforgiving elements that awaited him.

Tommy's spirit burned bright, a beacon of courage and daring amidst the frozen wilderness. He reveled in the knowledge that the mountain would not yield easily, that every icy gust and treacherous crevice would test his endurance and push him to the very edge of his limits. But it was precisely this challenge, this battle against the forces of nature, that called to him with such fervor.

He knew that this climb would be a solitary dance between himself and the mountain, a dance that would demand his utmost focus and unwavering determination. No companions, no distractions; just the sound of his own breathing mingling with the howling wind, as he forged his path through the frigid labyrinth of ice and snow.

And so, with a heart ablaze and a spirit untamed, Tommy set foot upon the path that led to the summit of Mount Summers. The echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the solitude, each one a testament to his indomitable will. He was ready to embrace the challenge that awaited him, knowing that his journey up the mountain was not just a physical feat, but a journey of self-discovery and triumph over the boundaries of his own limitations.

With his gaze fixed upon the snowy peak, Tommy took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air that whispered tales of countless souls who had attempted the climb. He knew that his journey would be arduous, fraught with peril and doubt, but he embraced it all with open arms. For it was in this daunting task that he would find not only the conqueror within but also the boundless beauty and the final foe that awaited him atop the majestic crown of Mount Summers.

As Tommy ventured deeper into the icy terrain of Mount Summers, the air grew colder, biting at his skin with an unforgiving chill. The mountain demanded his utmost vigilance, and he remained alert to every sound and movement that echoed through the silent expanse. It was during this first leg of his climb that fate led him to a remarkable discovery.

Amidst the powdery snow, Tommy's keen eyes spotted a forgotten artifact left behind by a previous climber—a worn and weathered grey sweatshirt. As he reached down to inspect it, he noticed a piece of paper tucked inside one of its pockets. Unfolding it, he read the words scrawled upon it: "As I Lay Dying." The message held a haunting weight, an echo of lost dreams and untold stories. He stuffed the sweatshirt into his gear bag and folded the note, placing it in the inner pocket of his parka. The person who had left it behind didn’t deserve to have their lives forgotten in the snowy waves that blustered across the face of the mountain.

Pressing onward, his breath visible in the crisp mountain air, Tommy's senses remained heightened. The mountain's unforgiving nature had taught him to anticipate the unexpected. And soon, his vigilance would be put to the test.

In a secluded nook, nestled among jagged rocks, he came face to face with a formidable wild beast, one of the grizzly bears that made its home on the mountain. Its fierce eyes gleamed with predatory hunger. The beast lunged forward, claws slashing through the frigid air. With primal instincts and a surge of adrenaline, Tommy swiftly evaded its attack, his heart pounding in his chest.

Undeterred by the threat, Tommy's gaze locked with the creature's, his rugged determination unyielding. In a display of raw strength and untamed ferocity, he engaged the beast in a battle for survival. Their bodies writhed and strained amidst the harsh backdrop of snow-covered peaks, the primal struggle echoing through the mountain's silent embrace.

With each passing moment, Tommy's resilience shone brightly, his hunting knife glinting in the pale light of the cloud-covered moon. The beast fought fiercely, its feral instincts driving its every move. Yet Tommy's determination burned like an untamed flame, guiding his every strike and evasive maneuver.

Finally, after a relentless struggle, Tommy's grip tightened around the beast's throat, overpowering it with sheer force. The creature's eyes met his, a mixture of defiance and surrender. With one swift and decisive motion, Tommy's hunting knife claimed victory, severing the bond between life and the wild.

Breathing heavily, Tommy stood amidst the triumph and bloodstained snow, a testament to his indomitable spirit. The same blood that dyed the undriven snow around the beast stained Tommy’s hands, face, and clothing. The encounter with the wild beast had tested his limits, reaffirming his resilience and determination. A sense of primal connection coursed through his veins, for he had faced the untamed essence of the mountain and emerged victorious.

As a few stars began to immerge from the cloudy night sky, providing a hint of illumination, Tommy knew that the harsh night awaited him. Gathering fallen branches and dry twigs, he built a fire, its crackling flames casting dancing shadows upon the surrounding rocks. The warmth it exuded chased away the bone-chilling cold, soothing his weary bones.

With reverence and gratitude, Tommy placed strips of the slain beast's meat upon a makeshift spit, the aroma of searing flesh mingling with the scent of the mountain. As he watched the flames lick hungrily at the meat, he reflected on the circle of life, the raw sustenance that the mountain had provided him.

The poetic irony of the moment wasn’t lost on Tommy. This mountain was either going to make him or break him, and the grizzly was a powerful reminder of that fact. One wrong move on his way up the mountain could be the end of Tommy. The fact that a force equally as dangerous awaited him at the peak was ever-present in his mind.

Sitting beside the roaring fire, he savored the cooked meat, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh that had once sought to end his journey prematurely. It was a meal of triumph and survival, a testament to his ability to conquer the challenges that lay in his path.

In the flickering firelight, Tommy found solace and strength, his gaze fixed upon the starry night sky above. The mountain had tested him, but he had proven himself worthy. As he settled into the embrace of the wilderness, he knew that his connection with the untamed majesty of Mount Summers grew deeper still.

And so, with a belly full of roasted meat and a renewed spirit, Tommy welcomed the night's embrace. He wrapped himself in the hide of the bear, adding an additional layer between himself and the force of nature that sought to destroy him, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new triumphs, and the continued ascent towards the pinnacle of Mount Summers.


With the taste of victory lingering upon his lips, Tommy woke up to face a new day. The sun, while bright, offered very little warmth. The mountain was just as cold and harsh as it was on the first day of his climb. Tommy pressed forward, his boots crunching against the hardened snow. The mountain whispered secrets of those who had come before him, their failed attempts etched into the very fabric of the landscape. Yet, he remained undeterred, fueled by an adventurous spirit that burned within.

The bulk of the second day was largely uneventful, a welcome reprieve from the chaotic near-death experience of the night before. The powdery, fresh snow blew over the footprints of climbers who had come before. The boot prints were of all shapes and sizes, and they went in all different directions. There were a few instances in which Tommy was tempted to follow the trails provided by others. After all, at least one set of those prints had to belong to Michael Parr. He knew how to get to the top.

No. Tommy couldn’t follow in the steps of anyone else on his quest to the pinnacle. This journey was his and his alone.

Guided by the rhythm of his footsteps, Tommy's path led him to a hidden cave nestled within the heart of Mount Summers. Intrigued by the mysteries it held and the protection that it presumably would provide, he ventured into its depths, his heart thudding with anticipation. The air grew cooler, but at least there wasn’t any fresh snow falling on him. The dim light from the torch that Tommy had fashioned as the sun set behind the mountain gear cast eerie shadows upon the ancient walls.

As Tommy ventured deeper into the labyrinthine, his torch cast flickering shadows upon the ancient walls, he marveled at the sense of timelessness that permeated the air. The silence was broken only by the distant sound of dripping water and his steady footsteps echoing through the cavernous chamber.

Amidst the dimly lit recesses, his keen eyes caught sight of a stone pedestal adorned with intricate carvings. There, resting upon it, lay a large black mask, its golden accents shimmering in the faint light. Tommy reached out, his fingers grazing the cool surface of the mask as if sensing the power it possessed. He gently lifted it, marveling at its craftsmanship and the weight it held in his hands. Something inside him urged him to put it on. He couldn't explain it, but he knew that in addition to providing a layer against the bitter cold of night, he needed to put on the mask.

Beside the mask lay a tattered robe, its shades of green and black now faded with time. Tommy's fingers traced the worn fabric, feeling the stories embedded within each thread. With reverence, he draped the robe around his shoulders, its familiar weight comforting him like a shield against the elements.

As night fell upon the mountain, shrouding the world in darkness, Tommy sought refuge within the sanctuary of the cave. The dancing flames of his torch cast ethereal shadows upon the walls, their eerie dance matching the enigmatic mask adorning his face. At that moment, he felt a connection to something ancient, as if the spirits of past climbers whispered secrets to him through the shifting shadows.

But the mountain's tests were not over. Without warning, the tranquility shattered, replaced by a cacophony of chaos. The earth trembled beneath Tommy's feet, rocks dislodging from the cave's ceiling. Panic surged through his veins as he realized the imminent danger.

In a desperate scramble, he sought to escape the cascading rocks, his heart pounding in his chest. But amidst the chaos, fate dealt its cruel hand. A large rock crashed down, striking Tommy's back with a jarring force. Pain seared through his body, and for a moment, the world spun in disarray.

With a gritted determination, Tommy fought against the agony, refusing to succumb to the overwhelming odds. Bloodied and battered, he summoned every ounce of strength, pushing himself forward, step by agonizing step. The mountain had wounded him, but it would not claim him.

Each stride he took was a testament to his resilience, a battle cry against the adversity that threatened to derail his ascent. The pain gnawed at his every movement, but he pressed on, the summit of Mount Summers beckoning him with an irresistible allure.

Beneath a star-studded sky, with the wind whispering secrets and the moon casting its ethereal glow, Tommy emerged from the depths of the cave. His body bore the marks of his encounter with the falling rock, bruises, and gashes painting a portrait of his indomitable spirit.

As he stood there, surveying the rugged terrain that lay ahead, the black mask upon his face served as a symbol of defiance. It concealed the weariness etched upon his features, but it couldn't conceal the fire in his eyes, the unyielding determination that burned within.

With each labored breath and every step forward, Tommy embraced the pain and exhaustion as reminders of his unrelenting pursuit. The journey to the mountain's peak would be completed, even if it meant crawling, battered and bruised.


The morning of the third day dawned, Tommy keenly aware of how close he was getting to the top. He also knew that Rocco would be contacting Randi before long, telling her that Tommy had asked her to be there to answer his call from the apex.

The air grew thin and the surroundings grew desolate. The mountain had stripped away all signs of life, leaving only the stark beauty of rugged terrain and icy peaks. It felt as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of Tommy's arrival.

Amid this solitary journey, an eerie silence enveloped the mountain. The only sign of life was a solitary crow perched upon a broken tree limb, wedged precariously in the snow. Its dark feathers contrasted starkly against the pristine white landscape, its watchful eyes seemingly following Tommy's every move.

Undeterred by the mountain's ominous silence, Tommy pressed forward, his every step a testament to his unyielding determination. As he neared the apex, his senses heightened, anticipating the culmination of his journey.

And there, amidst the rugged rocks and swirling mist, he discovered the purple mask, concealed within a hollow of the mountain. Its vibrant hues shone like a beacon, contrasting against the monochromatic landscape. Intricate patterns adorned its surface, reminiscent of a majestic cat, capturing the essence of the untamed wilderness.

Tommy carefully retrieved the mask, holding it in his weathered hands. Its weight felt significant, a symbol of his nearing triumph. He could almost taste the victory, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With each passing moment, the mountain seemed to whisper secrets of its conquests, urging Tommy forward. The gusts of wind carried fragments of stories, the echoes of those who had attempted this formidable ascent before him. Yet, Tommy knew he was different. His spirit burned brighter, his determination unyielding, for he was on a quest that transcended mere conquest.

Every step brought him closer to the peak, but it also deepened his connection to the mountain itself. He could sense its power, its raw beauty, and its unforgiving nature. It was a dance of surrender and resilience, a communion between man and nature.

As Tommy climbed higher, the wind howled fiercely, a testament to the mountain's fury. The snow whipped around him, stinging his face and blurring his vision. But he pressed on, his body a testament to his unbreakable spirit.

Suddenly, a disturbance shattered the tranquility of the mountaintop. From the shadows emerged a weathered figure, an old climber from days gone by, named Jackson.

In his eyes, Tommy saw a mix of desperation and determination. Jackson, once a master of these treacherous slopes, sought to reclaim his former glory and halt Tommy's ascent. With a thunderous roar, he charged towards Tommy, his movements fueled by a deep-seated desire to reclaim his place in the annals of Mount Summers.

Tommy's reflexes kicked in, honed by days of traversing treacherous terrain. With a swift motion, he sidestepped Jackson's attack, his instincts, and agility prevailing in the face of the aging climber's assault. In a brief struggle, Tommy, driven by both self-preservation and the need to press onward, unleashed a surge of strength, hurling Jackson off balance.

Time seemed to slow as Jackson teetered on the edge of the precipice, his desperate grasp for purchase futile against the forces of gravity. With a final heave, Tommy sent Jackson tumbling down the mountain's unforgiving slopes.

There was a brief moment of silence, interrupted only by the distant echo of Jackson's fading cries. Tommy's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the spot where Jackson had disappeared, his mind grappling with the gravity of what had just transpired.

Regaining his composure, Tommy inhaled a deep breath, the cold mountain air filling his lungs. His gaze returned to the summit, the ultimate prize that beckoned him forward. The encounter with Jackson served as a stark reminder that this journey was not only about conquering the physical challenges of the mountain but also about facing the inner battles that threatened to hold him back.

With newfound determination, Tommy turned his back on the precipice, resolute in his purpose. He would not be deterred by the shadows of the past. The legacy of those who came before him would serve as inspiration, but it was his own journey, his own triumph, that awaited him at the mountaintop.

And so, with steady footsteps and unwavering resolve, Tommy continued his ascent, leaving behind the echoes of Jackson's defiance. The mountain stood tall, its slopes challenging, its peaks demanding, but Tommy would not waver. He was on the cusp of something extraordinary, driven by a fire that burned brighter than ever before.

As Tommy reached the pinnacle of Mount Summers, a surge of triumph and anticipation coursed through his veins. The air crackled with tension as he stood at the precipice, gazing out at the breathtaking expanse of the world below. And just as he had expected, there stood Michael Parr, a figure of undeniable presence, his rugged demeanor a testament to the trials he had endured.


"I knew you'd come, Tommy," Michael said, a smirk playing on his lips. "In fact, I thought you would be here a couple of weeks ago."

Tommy's eyes narrowed, a wry smile curling upon his lips. "You're looking rough, Michael. You used to exude... excellence. Now I'm here for your spot."

A charged silence settled upon the mountaintop as the two men locked eyes, their shared determination radiating in the thin air. The winds whispered in anticipation, as if holding their breath, waiting for the clash between these formidable adversaries.

In a sudden surge of motion, the battle commenced. Their fists collided with thunderous force, each blow reverberating through the surrounding peaks. Their dance of conflict unfolded with primal ferocity and a fierce determination to emerge as the sole victor.

Tommy's long hair whipped in the wind as he unleashed a flurry of strikes, his movements honed by his journey up the mountain. Michael, no stranger to the rigors of this unforgiving realm, countered with calculated precision, his every move a testament to his experience.

The fight raged on, their bodies battered and bruised, their spirits unwavering. Blow after blow was exchanged, a symphony of power and resilience echoing through the mountain's heights. The clash of their wills reverberated in every strike, each man fighting for supremacy over this sacred domain.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the mountaintop, a decisive moment arrived. Tommy, driven by an unyielding fire within, summoned every ounce of strength and determination. With a final surge of power, he delivered a forceful blow that sent Michael stumbling, teetering on the edge of the precipice.

Their gazes locked once more, the weight of their rivalry palpable. The mountain itself seemed to hold its breath as Tommy seized the moment, his resolve unwavering. With a mighty heave, he hurled Michael Parr from the peak, watching as his adversary disappeared into the vast expanse below.

Silence enveloped the mountaintop, broken only by the whispering wind. Tommy stood alone, his chest heaving with exertion, his body battered and weary. The realization of his victory washed over him, mingled with a bittersweet sense of accomplishment.

In that solitary moment, Tommy knew he had conquered more than just Mount Summers. He had conquered his own doubts, fears, and limitations. He had proven to himself and to the mountain that he possessed the strength and resilience to rise above any challenge.

With a mix of reverence and awe, Tommy surveyed the vast expanse before him. The kingdom of Mount Summers lay at his feet, a testament to his indomitable spirit. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the mountaintop into a cloak of darkness, Tommy felt a sense of fulfillment that words could not capture.

He had become the king of Mount Summers, not merely in title, but in spirit. And as he stood atop the world, he savored the peace that settled within him, knowing that this conquest marked the beginning of an eternal bond between man and mountain.


Randi paced nervously by the phone at the shack nestled at the foot of Mount Summers. Her hands trembled with a mix of excitement and anxiety as she awaited Tommy's call. The weight of his ambitious endeavor pressed upon her heart, filling her with both pride and a sense of unease.

Rocco, the wise guide who knew the mountain's treacherous nature all too well, noticed Randi's restlessness. With a gentle smile, he approached her, offering a reassuring presence amid the tension that hung in the air. "Don't worry, Randi. Tommy is different. There's a fire burning within him that sets him apart from the others."

Randi looked at Rocco, her eyes reflecting a blend of hope and concern. "I believe in him, Rocco. I've always known he has the spirit of an adventurer. But this mountain, it's unforgiving. I fear losing him to its icy grip."

Rocco placed a hand on Randi's shoulder, his voice tinged with wisdom. "I understand your worry, my dear. Mount Summers has claimed many souls who sought to conquer its peaks. But Tommy, he possesses a resilience and determination that I have seldom witnessed. There's something different about him. He carries within him the spirit of the mountain, and it will guide him to success."

As the words settled within Randi's heart, a glimmer of hope sparked within her. She looked out at the majestic mountain that loomed in the distance, its peaks shrouded in mystery and allure. With a newfound resolve, she whispered to herself as she rubbed her ever-growing baby bump, "You can do this, Bedlam. You can do this."

Time seemed to stretch as Randi waited, her nerves fraying with each passing moment. And then, at last, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the air. Her hand shook as she picked it up, a mix of anticipation and anxiety flooding her senses.

"Hey, beautiful. I did it. I took the mountain," Tommy's voice resounded through the receiver, filled with a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

Tears welled in Randi's eyes as relief washed over her. "Of course, you did. I knew you would," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of unwavering faith.

At that moment, as Randi held the connection to the man she loved, the mountainside seemed to exhale a collective sigh. Rocco's words echoed in her mind, reminding her of the unique spark that burned within Tommy's soul. Despite the mountain's formidable challenge, he had conquered its icy grip, emerging victorious.

With gratitude and joy coursing through her veins, Randi whispered into the phone, "I can't wait to see you, Tommy. Get your ass back down this mountain to me."

And as Tommy prepared to descend from the pinnacle of Mount Summers, the knowledge that Randi awaited him with open arms filled him with renewed strength and purpose. He would return to her, forever changed by the mountain's embrace, forever connected by their unyielding love.

Tommy knew that conquering Parr was just as important as conquering Summers. While Michael hated the mountain and the mountain, though cold and soulless, hated him even more. If Tommy had climbed to the top of the mountain only to acknowledge Parr's presence before descending, the climb would have only been completed in part. The destruction of Parr was the final step, the last obstacle on Tommy's path to his destiny.

Before Tommy began his descent down the rocky face of Mount Summers, he remembered that he needed to do something. He walked over to a large smooth stone that stood up from the feet of snow that had gathered on the pinnacle. He looked around and saw some smaller rocks lying there on the ground. He picked one up and he began to scratch a message into the stone.

"MOUNT BEDLAM. RENAMED 6-22-23"

Tommy reached into his bag and pulled out the items that he had gathered along the way. At the foot of the stone in which he had carved the declaration of his own victory, Tommy pulled out the tattered grey tattered sweatshirt before placing the note that read "As I Lay Dying" in it and laying it in front of the rock. He pulled out the majestic black and gold mask along with the robe and its faded hues of black and green, placing them beside the sweatshirt and note. Finally, he pulled out the purple mask and laid it there beside the rest of the items that he found during his ascent.

Had it not been for the ones who came before, Tommy would have never recognized his need to defeat this evil mountain. Had they not bravely tried to scale its unforgiving and uncaring face, Tommy would have likely never known that someone needed to defeat the mountain once and for all, and that person was him. He looked around for a memento of Parr's presence atop the peak and found nothing. For a moment, it appeared that there wasn't even a trace of the man who had held his position at the top of the mountain. That's when Tommy realized that the stone that he had used to engrave his own name into the mountain had a drop of blood on it. Tommy quickly reached for his face, checked the back of his head, and gave a quick examination of his own arms and hands. There was no blood coming from him. The blood on the stone belonged to Parr, its brightness indicating that it was fresh. Tommy looked down at the stone in his hand and tossed it onto the pile of items that would forever commemorate his climb. The only remnant of Michael Parr that was left behind on the mountain would one day fade away, but as Tommy began his descent, he knew that he had left a piece of everyone who the mountain had claimed, and even a piece of himself behind.

Originally posted by Jimmy.

Originally posted by Man.

[/i]Flight of the Peacock 2[/i]. The lone clapping belonged to Allen Price, sat at the other end of the conference room, and he only paused to wipe a tear from his eye before it streamed down his face. “It’s beautiful, Chris. I think even those hardened gamer types are going to get choked up by this story…”

“Right?” Chris said with a broad grin on his face. It had taken him a long time to think about how to reflect his and Alyster’s first FWA World Tag Team Championship victory. He was very happy with how the story reflected the bond between him and his best friend. “You think Alyster is going to like it?”

“He’d be a fool not to! Drink?” Allen didn’t even need to look at Chris to know the answer and he slid open a cabinet in the corner of the room and turned around with two martini glasses in his hands. Chris laughed as Allen did a little dance with the glasses, causing him to drop one of them, but he caught it just before it would have smashed on the table.

“After everything me and Alyster have been through… I couldn’t think of a better way to immortalise our team. Our friendship…. Our brotherhood.”

“Hey, after the first one went down so well - you fighting the Nephews and it ends with you beating Devin Golden to become champion, it is going to be another hit! You know, I’ve had an idea for a movie as well, Chris. How does Chris Peacock fighting… ZOMBIES sound?”

Chris nodded his head, impressed with the acumen shown by his agent and watched as Price shook the tumbler with great focus as to ensure that he did not drop it. In fact, Chris had never seen Allen make a pornstar martini without dropping it. Surprisingly enough, Price completed the task without spillage or droppage and poured the orange liquid out into the placed glasses. “Don’t forget the passionfruit.”

“You never eat it!” Price argued, but he knew that he would end up putting the slice of passionfruit in the drink anyway, even if it was for nothing more than decoration because Chris didn’t even like it. Once the slices had been dropped into the glasses, Allen passed one to Chris and then raised the other. “Here’s to another success, Chris. Cheers!”

The excitement and the enthusiasm being displayed by Chris and Allen was not met by the third person in the room, who had not moved or said anything since Chris had finished his pitch for the video game’s story.

“Wait, so that’s how it ends?”

The joyous atmosphere was cut short and Chris looked over at Nova Diamond, who steadily rose to his feet and tucked his chair back in before walking around the table towards the now dejected-looking pair. “It just seems a bit… hollow. Do you know what I’m getting at?”

“YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUT-”

Allen’s outburst was cut off by Chris who held him back with one arm without much trouble, and Nova was of course completely unfazed by it. The creative meetings that the three of them had been part of always involved at least one instance of Price flying off the handle at something that Nova had said. The root cause was a jibe made by Diamond towards Chris several years ago which Allen could never seem to get over, even though it was water under the bridge for the two retired former FWA World Champions.

“Allen, remember, he knows what he’s talking about and I trust his judgement. That’s why he’s here. He knows his shit. I’ve been through enough with him to know that he’s worth hearing out, so cool it.” The flustered and heated Price turned around and threw a hand in the air out of frustration, and Chris turned back to a mildly amused Nova. “Hollow how, Nova?”

“It just doesn’t really feel like the end of the story, mate. Yeah, it’s great that Christopher and Alyster had this big bro moment and finally beat the bad guys, but I don’t know if it is satisfying enough. Plus, it doesn’t actually reflect what happened when you guys won the titles for the first time.”

Chris scoffed and then rolled his eyes and Nova let off a knowing smile, pleased in the knowledge that he had reminded Chris about a memory he would have sooner forgotten forever. “Fucking weaselperson...”

It was true that Chris had omitted the blemish on his and Alyster’s championship celebration on Fallout 030; weaselperson arriving to confront Alyster and Chris cutting the exchange off short with an admittedly cheap shot to the back of the disguised Zachary Kazadi’s head.

“Alright, fine. I’ll give you something a little more true to life.”

**********



Christopher of Lynbrook and Alyster Black let out a collective, relieved sigh. They looked down at the bodies of The Bandit Queen and her Bandit Prince; hers with a large stab wound through the gut courtesy of Christopher’s golden sword and his intact aside from being without a head. The matching golden necklaces which were once the symbol of their connection now around the necks of Christopher and Alyster.

“With both of those, people are going to start to think you have some sort of obsession, Christopher.” Alyster said, motioning towards Christopher’s sword and then his necklace. Alyster caressed his own. “It feels good to be able to touch gold again without it burning my hand.”

“Yes… it does.” Christopher only half paid attention to what Alyster said as looked as Octillian slithered away in the distance away from the battlefield, not wishing to confront the duo further following the deaths of his most-skilled soldiers.

Alyster stepped closer to Christopher and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you think that will be the last of him?”

“I don’t know, Alyster.” It was true. Christopher had learned to never assume that his battles with Octillian were over. Defeating the two bandits and breaking their connection did not guarantee anything. If it was not them, it would be others. That was just how Octillian operated.

He decided that it was not something that he needed to concern himself with. It was the right thing to do to enjoy the moment with his closest friend now that they were truly connected and history would always remember their bond. “It doesn’t matter. We must celebrate and enjoy our victory! There must be a tavern around here somewhere. Some mead would go down very well after all of that. Some dancing, too.”

Christopher did not need a verbal response from Alyster, as he knew that his partner was on the same page as him. However, before they were able to depart the battlefield as victors together and celebrate, a figure approached the two of them from the nearby forest. It was a bipedal beast with bulging eyes and covered from head-to-toe in thick, matted brown fur. It was truly a monstrosity and it seemed to have no issue in confronting them as it bounded towards them at some pace.

“This cannot be happening. How did he find me here?”

“You know this wretched beast?”

“weaselperson. It has been hoping to take the Black Tower for its own for some time now, trying to goad me into a fight every chance it can.”

“Can you not use the dragon to repel it?”

“No one is supposed to know about the dragon! And no, this is something that I must deal with myself, but it is going to be on my terms.”

Christopher stepped forward to meet weaselperson, who ran straight past him and towards Alyster. It did not attack the necromancer, but instead barked loudly and repeatedly into Alyster’s masked face. That was until Christopher unsheathed his golden sword once again and swung it towards weaselperson, relieving the beast of its head in one clean and strong action. Blood spewed from its neck and onto Alyster, who watched on in mild amusement as weaselperson’s body slumped to the ground.

“That’s one way to do it.”

“Now, that tavern…”

They turned their backs on the battlefield and walked towards the sunrise together. It could have been the sunset; they were unsure due to how long the battle had lasted. Alyster kicked the decapitated head of The Bandit Prince into the decapitated head of weaselperson as he passed it and the two greatest warriors in all of Fantasia embarked on their next adventure together with Apri flying alongside them.



**********

“Is that any better?”

Chris sat down in his chair at the conference room table again and watched as Nova paced at the opposite end of the room, deep in thought. He found it interesting watching the man he felt like he knew so much but so little about work, despite all of the time that they had spent together. Nova’s knowledge of games was almost unparalleled with anyone else he knew - he wasn’t going to ask Gerald Grayson for obvious reasons - but it was his grasp on the inner workings of someone’s mind that Chris was most interested in. If anyone could make a story compelling, it was Nova Diamond, the theatrical.

Whilst Chris was content to study Nova and watch the cogs in his mind turn, Allen was not. “What’s taking so long?”

“Allen, can you seriously just show a little bit of patience, please. I know it is hard, but can you just let the guy do what he needs to do?”

Allen aggressively scraped his glass across the surface of the table, which Chris perceived as an attempt to throw Nova off of his trail of thought, but this attempt was of course fruitless. In fact, Chris was surprised that Nova was content for Allen to remain in the room. “How hard is it to say if you like something or not, Chris? What’s with all of the pantomime?”

“That part is easy, Price.” Nova showed that he was aware of what was happening in the room despite being lost in the thoughts tumbling around his head. “I don’t like it. I’m just trying to figure out why I don’t like it.”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH-”

“ALLEN FOR FUCK’S SAKE THAT’S ENOUGH!”

With the character of Apri being based on Allen, it was no surprise that Alyster also needed some space when trying to revive Chris ahead of their fight with The Bandit Queen and Prince. Price was exasperated to the point beyond reason and he rose from his seat and pushed the conference room door open and stormed out. “Sorry about that, man.”

“Thank you, Chris. Look, you’ve got the realism down pat now and you’ve mirrored what actually happened out there, but it doesn’t really mean anything. You’ve made a hollow ending… even more hollow. It is a tricky one.” Nova sat back down at the table opposite Chris and leant back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Okay, let’s try this. We’re going to pad it out a bit more. Let’s get some of the motivations in there and make a bit more of a story of this. Tell me, why did you attack weaselperson that night?”

“It’s pretty simple, Nova.” Chris said matter-of-factly. “He was coming after Alyster and I wanted to protect him. Like I said, Alyster is like a brother to me. We’re more than just a team. Ride or die.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s a pretty common expression. You haven’t watched enough Fast and Furious movies.”

“I have watched three too many.”

“Look, the point is… Alyster was my guy. weaselperson was coming for him so I just stepped in and had my guy’s back. It isn’t that deep.”

Nova paused the back and forth and looked at Chris quizzically for a moment, and Chris felt like he was the one being studied. Diamond let off a small shrug and then moved forward in his seat and placed his hands on the table. “Okay, work with that feeling. Think about where that would take you and we can go from there.”

**********



Christopher of Lynbrook and Alyster Black let out a collective, relieved sigh. They looked down at the bodies of The Bandit Queen and her Bandit Prince; hers with a large stab wound through the gut courtesy of Christopher’s golden sword and his intact aside from being without a head. The matching golden necklaces which were once the symbol of their connection now around the necks of Christopher and Alyster.

“With both of those, people are going to start to think you have some sort of obsession, Christopher.” Alyster said, motioning towards Christopher’s sword and then his necklace. Alyster caressed his own. “It feels good to be able to touch gold again without it burning my hand.”

“Yes… it does.” Christopher only half paid attention to what Alyster said as looked as Octillian slithered away in the distance away from the battlefield, not wishing to confront the duo further following the deaths of his most-skilled soldiers.

Alyster stepped closer to Christopher and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you think that will be the last of him?”

“I don’t know, Alyster.” It was true. Christopher had learned to never assume that his battles with Octillian were over. Defeating the two bandits and breaking their connection did not guarantee anything. If it was not them, it would be others. That was just how Octillian operated.

He decided that it was not something that he needed to concern himself with. It was the right thing to do to enjoy the moment with his closest friend now that they were truly connected and history would always remember their bond. “It doesn’t matter. We must celebrate and enjoy our victory! There must be a tavern around here somewhere. Some mead would go down very well after all of that. Some dancing, too.”

Christopher did not need a verbal response from Alyster, as he knew that his partner was on the same page as him. However, before they were able to depart the battlefield as victors together and celebrate, a figure approached the two of them from the nearby forest. It was a bipedal beast with bulging eyes and covered from head-to-toe in thick, matted brown fur. It was truly a monstrosity and it seemed to have no issue in confronting them as it bounded towards them at some pace.

“This cannot be happening. How did he find me here?”

“You know this wretched beast?”

“weaselperson. It has been hoping to take the Black Tower for its own for some time now, trying to goad me into a fight every chance it can.”

“Can you not use the dragon to repel it?”

“No one is supposed to know about the dragon! And no, this is something that I must deal with myself, but it is going to be on my terms.”

Christopher stepped forward to meet weaselperson, who ran straight past him and towards Alyster and with its fangs bared. As he turned around, Christopher heard the blood curdling screams of his partner as he was pinned down on the floor by the rabid beast and Christopher watched in horror as weaselperson tore a chunk out of Alyster’s neck and spat it out on the floor.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Alyster’s choking on his own blood was the only sound that could be heard after Christopher’s scream. There was a moment where Christopher looked over at weaselperson and weaselperson stared back at him with a blank expression on its face. Almost like it was taunting him and the death of Christopher’s best friend didn’t mean anything.

In a fit of rage, Christopher picked up the first thing he could to throw at weaselperson, and it happened to be the decapitated head of The Bandit Prince. The head bounced off of the creature’s chest and it then charged at Christopher, who met it head-on and the two fell to the floor and rolled around in a brawl. Christopher managed to get his hands around weaselperson’s throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

**********

Chris was standing in the conference room, simulating the throttling of weaselperson in the game as his likeness was. “Then after I’ve got them right to the edge, right when their light is about to go out, that’s when I lean in and I look them right in the eyes and I say to them… this is for my friend, you abomination! Then glurgh, dead.”

There was an overly long silence in the room as Nova absorbed what he had just witnessed with a perplexed look on his face. Chris slowly pulled his hands back away from the imaginary strangling and put them on his hips.

“What do you think?”

“You know what? I think that was my fault. I led you to that and to act on those feelings. I should have known it would have brought that cringey edgelord bullshit back out of you. I’m sorry. That’s my bad.”

Whilst not on the same level as Allen, Chris was also beginning to feel frustrated. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Nova.”

“I want you to start telling the truth, Chris.” Nova stood up to match Chris and walked around the table towards him. “Tell me why you actually hit weaselperson with the world title.”

“Nova, I already said-”

“No no no. I heard what you said, Chris. You said that back then you hit weaselperson because he went after Alyster, that’s not what I saw play out in version three just now.” He raised a finger and put it in Chris’s face and gave him a knowing grin. “I think the real reason you hit weaselperson actually had nothing to do with Alyster. You know, I’d actually put money on you hitting weaselperson because they interrupted your celebration after your big win.”

“That’s not true-”

“Oh, after Michelle and the Nephews rained on your world title parade, there was no chance you were going to let that happen again, were you?”

“At least I had time to have a parade.”

Nova did not rise to the jibe made by Chris as he was being backed further and further into a corner. “You’re acting out, which tells me that I’m onto something. I don’t think you’d try and upset me if I wasn’t striking a nerve, would you? Tell me when I am telling lies.”

Chris remained silent. He knew that Nova was speaking the truth and calling him out on his true motivations. The ones he wished he could suppress.

“It was an act of pure pettiness, Chris. That’s why your focus just now was purely on revenge and getting back at weaselperson. Did Christopher even check if Alyster was still alive? Didn’t Alyster almost die trying to save Chris? Where was the reciprocation, mate?”

“Nova, you don’t understand. I-I-I’d do anything for Alyster. You can’t downplay that and twist it into something else. That’s not how it is.”

“Then how is it, Chris? Tell me. I want to know.” Nova held his arms out, almost as a show of defence. “You wanted me here to tell you shit how I see it and that’s all I’m doing here. I’ve got no agenda. Allen is paying me by the hour no matter what we talk about here.”

Chris let out a drawn sigh. “Let’s say, I did it because I was annoyed at weaselperson so I took the chance to take a cheap shot at them. You’re going to ask me why I was annoyed, so I’ll just tell you.

Firstly, let me be clear. What I said about Alyster wasn’t a lie. This fucking guy in a dumb weasel costume was going after my best friend and I didn’t like it, okay? I wanted to prove to Alyster that I had his back… even though he already must have known it by then. Everyone was saying that I was using him or it wasn’t real and yeah, we were called FTN. Everyone knew what that stood for and we’d just accomplished what we’d set out to do. I’ve had close people in the FWA leave me before - Ramon and Danny being just two of them - and I couldn’t allow the same thing to happen with Alyster. I had to let him know that I was looking out for him by any means necessary.

The whole idea of weaselperson - and fuck it, I am just going to call him Zachary - it just pissed me off, Nova. I didn’t get it at first. Here you have someone who can make a case for being the best actual wrestler we’ve ever seen in the FWA and THAT is what he chooses to do with himself? I sat and watched him at the Carnal Contendership that year and I didn’t know what to think. I kept judging him, but I knew inside how hypocritical that was after I had spent so much time trying to overcome the stigmas that I had dealt with.

If a disco dancer can become the champion of the world, why not a guy dressed as a fucking weasel who barks? Then I realised it, Nova. It hit me. I was the problem. By being the funny disco man and being as successful as I was, I opened that door. These things weren’t gimmicks anymore, they were paths to success. It’s my fault that things like that existed. I didn’t want that to be my legacy, I still don’t.

So the fact that this walking, barking manifestation of the bullshit that I had empowered was coming after MY best friend? You can bet your ass I’m taking that shot and I’d do it again every single time.”

There was intensity in Chris’s voice as he spoke and Nova looked at him, sensing that there was more he needed to say. The expression on Nova’s face tried to eke that extra bit out of Chris.

“Yes, I was being a little bit petty and that’s why I did it. What does that mean for the game?”

There was no answer other than a raised eyebrow from Nova.

“Okay, I was being very petty. I was celebrating the second biggest win of my career and he tried to fucking ruin it. I was pissed off. You’ve got me. Just tell me what this means for the story in the game, please?”

“It can mean lots of different things for the game, Chris. I think you have an idea, though.”

Chris didn’t offer a response, because Nova Diamond was right. Just thinking about weaselperson more and his role in shifting the landscape to a point where something like that was acceptable made him realise who the true final boss of the game should be.

It wasn’t the Nephews or weaselperson.

It wasn’t even Cyrus Truth.

It was Chris Peacock.

This is his story. [/FONT]
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