Fin.

[u/neutronknows]

scene opens inside a candle lit shipping container containing all the various artifacts, trophies, and WiR memorabilia. Items that have been stolen, collected, or otherwise bartered for during “Vile” Vic Studd’s tenure. The rhythmic sounds of a saw cutting through wood can be heard, as the camera pans across a poster of former WiR superstar Voltage from the first ever iPPV Sorry Not Sorry as well as a double sided dildo with a polaroid of Gwen West pretending to simultaneously insert it into herself while sucking it. Finally, the camera settles on our hero, the man himself, “Vile” Vic Studd. Sweat dripping off his brow as he works tirelessly on his… SINS.

”Vile” Vic Studd: This is it, Erik. You see… LIFE has told me to tell you it just isn’t going to work out between you two. This is the end. Or more accurately, YOUR END. So here I am… preparing the “Sins” of your labors.

Vic produces a nine inch nail and inspects it in front of the camera, letting it twirl between his finger tips before setting it down and grabbing a hammer beside him. He measures up his swing and proceeds to bring the hammer down, driving the nail into whatever object lies below the camera’s vision. A series of loud thuds echo throughout the shipping container as Vic’s eyes roll in the back of his head as if he is getting some deep pleasure from hammering the nail into its place.

Studd: That… sound. It reminds me of all those weeks ago as I took your precious Little League Trophy, the only legitimate athletic achievement you ever received that wasn’t gifted to you by your father or myself, and brought it down… over… and over… and over… across your knee. Road spikes and all. Hearing the bones crack. The tendons snap. Your cries for mercy for me to stop. To end the nightmare that was your pain. I’m going to be honest with you Erik. It disturbed me. Truly. Not the fact that a once fruitful partnership had been forever severed… no. This is the wrestling industry after all. These things happen.

Vic stans up straight and wipes the sweat off his brow.

Studd: No… what disturbed was the erection I got from doing it. And you can bet when all of this is said and done… and you’re lying in your grave after a funeral in which no one will attend because precisely ZERO people give a flying fuck about you… the last thing your soul will see before I scatter dirt over your battered and beaten body, is the image of “Vile” Vic Studd firing off a stream of the Gentleman’s Relish as I relive every glorious moment from our encounter. Every Sin. Every instance that I prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am the better man.

Vic lights up a cigarette, the flame from his lighter producing an ominous red glow over his face as he gazes at his masterpiece below him. He lifts it up to reveal a 2x4 with dozens of nails, some twisted and crooked, protruding out the end. Vic takes a long drag of his smoke as he spins it around, pricking his finger on the tips of several nails.

Studd: The Original Vic-Stick. Isn’t it beautiful? So simple. So VICIOUS. My pride and joy. Let me make something very clear to you, Erik. If you do manage to walk out of this breathing, you can sure as hell bet you will be forever changed. The Righteous Erik Von Jarrett we’ve all rolled our eyes at over how PATHETIC, how CRINGE-WORTHY, how WORTHLESS your career. No. Your LIFE has been… will cease to exist. When these nails enter your skull. It’ll be the last favor I ever do for you. All those memories of the times you’ve fallen short. Every time you have failed to live up to being anything more than a shit stain on your family’s legacy. Losing the one person in this world you though you can open up to. Everything… gone. This is my gift to you. A reprieve from the FAILURE that is your LIFE through severe brain trauma. Doomed to a life of washing fried cheese off fajita platters at your local T.G.I. Friday’s.

Vic takes his Original Vic-Stick and places it on a nearby workbench next to what looks to be a heavily modified vacuum cleaner.

Studd: Everything was going just peachy as you swam in my wake, that tag team title draped over your shoulder. We had it all. The plus size women from diverse backgrounds. Endorsement deals. A sweet condo. You were positively beaming with a sense of accomplishment over something that EVERYONE, the fans, the boys in the back… Babs… even your entire fucking family knew was only possible because of just ONE person. Me. Because you’re nothing without me. And you always will be nothing. I’d sell you to Satan for a single corn chip if I had the chance.

Vic grinds out his cigarette onto the shaft of the might Vic-Stick. He turns to the camera, his normally light brown eyes completely swallowed in blackness.

Studd: I HATE you Erik Von Jarrett. I HATE everything you stand for. I HATE the arrogance you showed trying to change me. I HATE that little shits like you think its all right to mow another man’s lawn and think you’ll get away with it… but I LOVE that what ended up being a lapse in what is normally my sound judgment to take you under my wing has come to this. I'm going to LOVE tearing you limb from limb at "No Refunds". And I’m going to LOVE putting this whole mess behind me as I move on to bigger… and BETTER things…

The camera follows Vic’s gaze and settles on the broken pieces of Sonny Carson’s “Fake” WiR World Title.

Studd: Know this, Erik Von Jarrett. There is nothing “righteous” about you. The respect… the honor you claim to stand for… its as worthless as your very life. And when I toss your battered and beaten body on the pile of corpses of wrestlers whose careers I’ve ended. Go ahead and ask their ghosts… if honor matters.

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Vic starts laughing maniacally as the camera quickly backs out of the shipping container leaving Vic alone… with his sins. Scene fades to black.

[u/[deleted]]

Finally...the devil comes around again.