Old dogs.

[Sabin / Madjinn]

The opening shot shows Sabin, known now to the IWF Universe as MADJINN - The Artist Formerly Known as Wraith - sitting on a swing on the front porch… The tag team championship is set beside him, and the IWF World Television Championship decorating his waist. He has one arm across the backrest of the swing, and the other carefully holds a cigarette between his ring and middle fingers while he rocks gently back and forth, gazing forward at the scenery in front of him. He raises the cigarette to his lips, inhaling and holding it in for several seconds before finally exhaling slowly. The smoke mixes with the condensation on his breath as, even in Spring, it was difficult for his home state to warm up when the meteorologist said it would. It was pretty common for snow to stay through the Spring, and return with Fall.

He chuckles to himself under his breath, and that arrogant smirk creeps back to his face whilst he cocks his head to the side…he rolls his eyes, giving a side glance to the camera with his bright blue irises giving a piercing gaze to the audience. He licks his lips before finally breaking his silence, “You know,” he smacks his lips together, “it’s been a couple of years since I was the IWF Men’s World Champion, and I remember… I remember that one of the first things I did was get on a plane, and come here, come home, so that I could show my dad–” He clears his throat, “My biological dad, not…” he snorts out, and subtly shakes his head, “–not Angel. I wanted to show my dad what his son had accomplished! His son was able to call himself WORLD! CHAMPION!” He says as the smirk transitions into a beaming smile, his eyes gleaming as he recalls the day he arrived…the day he showed his father the championship…

The camera pans to the side as it fixates on a frosted window; the border blurs ever so slightly before finally peering in through the window, as if the audience were the ones truly outside of the Talkeetna cabin; the interior is a lot more inviting, and warming…a crackling fire in the fireplace, rustic furniture; a darkened hallway led to the rooms that the father and son had built for this particular cabin that was only a small portion of their overall land.

The original Wraith sits on the couch with the IWF Men’s World Championship cradled in his arms. Beaming with pride and joy for his son’s accomplishment, and doing something that he had never been able to do throughout his time in the ring. Sabin found comfort in the happiness his father had, and seeing him holding the championship, he could almost see his father’s dream playing out from his eyes.

Wraith eventually raises his eyes to his son, and still beaming with pride, speaks, “I am so proud of you…” he says in almost a whisper.

Sabin smiles when he hears those words from his father, but struggles to maintain eye contact. It was strange for him, a young boy, he knew that his mother loved him… he knew that his stepfather loved him… he knew that his father loved him, but it wasn’t very often that he would hear how proud any of them were of him. Rather, he would always hear what he needed to do better. He would always hear where he slipped. He knew that everyone wanted him to be better… they wanted him to be the best… but in their own manner, he couldn’t help but wonder, at times, if anything he did was ever good enough.

He slumps onto the couch and his lips quiver, wanting to say something…anything… a mere “thank you”, but after a moment of fumbling over the letters, he maintains his silence. Sabin looks toward the ceiling while his father continues admiring the championship for a moment longer, and then he finally breaks the lingering silence, “Y’know, I fought many times for a world championship. Many, many, many times, and every time I thought that I had it…my opponent just had me in the end, and they knew what they had to do to stop me from finally doing it. But…” He scoffs, chuckling a little under his breath, “I’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard. I’ve been back at the center with Bill, and I–” Sabin’s eyes shift toward his father, who has an unfaltering gaze on the championship while his voice trails off, losing himself within his own dream of being named the world champion.

"Where are you going with this?" Sabin inquires.

“I think I could have another chance, y’know? I feel like I could have another run, and I could finally win the big one.” Wraith says.

Sabin’s gaze lingers on his father for several seconds as the camera pans backward, and a haze surrounds the border again before returning to the front porch swing…Sabin has shifted his posture a little bit. He takes a drag off of the cigarette, and hunches forward before finally blowing the smoke back out and continuing with his own present-day speech, “I’m not a monster. My dad was my hero, my dad was my idol, and do you want to know why? I mean– I don’t mean any insult to my dad, but because he was to the industry what Nick Danger is today: hope. He was that guy that no matter how many times he got knocked down, he continued to get back up, and he continued to fight for the world championship every single time he was given the chance! And I remember still sitting home, and thinking…”

He scrunches his face a little bit, a look of determination and conviction, then resumes, “This is the day! This is the day that he is going to walk through that door, and he is going to have the championship around his waist! This is the day! But– that day never came… And so while I was visiting my dad, he tells me that he thinks he still has it in him. He thinks that he has a chance to finally call himself THE CHAMPION! And do you want to know what I told him? Hmm?” Sabin’s gaze doesn’t falter from the camera, but he tilts his head forward suggestively as if to truly question the audience if he should continue.

“I told him to STOP. I told him that as many times as he fought for the championship, there was a reason that he was never able to finally capture the gold… There was a reason that he was never able to call himself the world champion! And it’s simply because he was not good enough then, and he is not good enough now, and that–” he says while pointing at the camera before slumping back against the swing, rocking it back and forth gently with one foot on the ground, “–is exactly what I need to make clear to you, Logan Sky.” The name rolled off his tongue as if a snake were dripping venom.

Biting down on his lip as if he would actually constrain himself, but Sabin just scoffs and shakes his head.

“Trust me, Logan, I’ve been watching you from afar. I’ve seen how you compete each and every week, and all these people– these marks rooting for you, and wanting to give the one more bow… You’ve done some good work, but you’ve done it against the worst of the worst! And now– you’re stepping into the ring with the greatest to ever do it! You’re stepping into the ring with the youngest world champion in the history of the Imperial Wrestling Federation; you’re stepping into the ring with the youngest to ever be inducted into the Hall of Fame! You’re stepping into the ring with someone who is just leagues above the competition, and you’re hoping that you’re going to be able to have your arm raised… you’re hoping that you’re going to be able to take my championship, and it’s going to lead you to the PROMISED LAND!” He snorts out heavily, able to restrain from laughing but the mild chuckle still escapes.

“How do you think this Tuesday is going to go, Logan?” He asks while tracing his tongue across his lips, biting again down on his lip as he gives plenty of time for Logan Sky to ponder the outcome.

“I’m going to tell you exactly how it’s going to go…” He sniffles, and drops the cigarette to the ground stomping it out with his boot, then rubs his palms together; a coy smirk on his face as he continues, “You’re going to march down to that ring with tens of thousands of people all wanting to cheer for you – The Cinderella Man – to take my championship… They are going to cheer for you to fight against the much younger, much greater fighter. They are going to make you believe that you can do this. They are going to make you believe you have a chance at calling yourself the IWF World Television Champion, and leading the Gladiator’s Division forward! You’re going to stand in that ring…waiting…for me… And during that time, you are going to soak it all in. You’re going to tell yourself that you’re going to win this for yourself! You’re going to win this for the fans! You’re going to win this for your family! You’re going to do the impossible!” His voice raises a bit to match the tone he could still hear out of his father, with the same determination, and the same conviction, as if he were trying to convince Logan Sky that he had a true chance at beating him.

“But that’s where I come in… To give you the reality check. I come in to tell you that you weren’t good enough in your prime, and you’re not good enough now! You are never going to live that dream that you had when you were a little boy… You are just going to be another footnote in my own legacy where the world is going to witness my ascension back to the top of this company, and the top of this industry, because I am just that much fucking better than you!”

He cocks his head to the side while giving a couple of seconds for the message to sink in crystal clear for his challenger this week. That sly, arrogant, and aggravating smirk still sitting proudly on his face, and he tilts his head the other way before answering further, “I’m like no one you’ve ever been in the ring with before, because where you were able to carry yourself in a match, you are in way over your head! Nick Danger has a better chance at taking this title off of me than you do, but I’ve already made myself very fucking clear… There is not one man in the back that is going to be able to pry my championship out of my hands until I am good and ready to give it up, and while I’m going to let Jaskier go ahead and have his shot at my brother this week, I am going to reclaim my throne– reclaim MY title! And then this title– the title that I’ve brought prestige to, the title that I’ve held longer than anyone else, the title that had everyone afraid to be in the ring with me– then– you can all fight over the scraps.”

He smacks his lips together, and his lips curl into a mischievous grin again, “But let me go ahead and make myself clear… I will give up this championship, when I’m ready, but this week… this is not it. I hope you find yourself a good last meal, Logan! At your age… I don’t think you’ll be walking out.” He says with a final shrug, slumping back into the swing again. The camera backs away giving a final image of the dual champion.

FADE TO FUCKING BLACK.