Whenever I get a case of writer's block, I try to work on other projects to keep writing, and so forth. I'm stuck on Chapter Six in The Saffire Ruby, so I've started writing this one. I don't intend to follow up Blood Wrestling story-wise, but in a previous journal, I spoke about starting a wrestling e-fed, and this is the story leading up to it... if my e-fed actually opens. XD Anyway, enjoy!

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Blood Wrestling


Donny Wilkens sat on the top bleacher seat overlooking the Flagstaff High School gym as his ring crew kept themselves busy setting up the wrestling ring, adorning the side skirts with his promotion and sponsor logos. The well-aged tiger sighed, noticing the skirts contain more blank spaces due to yet another sponsor pulling out of his venue. The sponsor, which sold vitamin pills, claimed it was due to the current recession economy but Donny saw between the lines of that excuse. They pulled out because they simply didn't want to associate themselves with a dying wrestling promotion. There was a time when the Crossroads Wrestling Federation of Arizona, or CWFA, had profitable months hosting wrestling shows throughout the state, thrilling crowds with expert mat technicians and charismatic ring managers promoting their wrestling clients as larger than life figures. There were aspirations of expanding beyond the Arizona borders, which would inevitable change their company name to something more accurate. There were contract talks with owners of bigger arenas than the usual fare of high school gyms and local town recreation centers. Even when a new wrestling company, the grandiosely-named World Wrestling Promotion, formed out of Phoenix, Donny wasn't worried about the new upstart competition.

Then came news of the WWP signing a deal to become a development promotion with the top global wrestling company Wrestling Fighting League. The prospect of a flood of dollar signs and fame became too much for the majority of CWFA's top stars to resist, and they bailed to the WWP in the hopes of having an easy ticket to the WFL with its exclusive six-digit dollar contracts and performing in front of large crowds by the thousands. In desperation, Donny signed a number of touring wrestlers to replace the fleeing roster, but many of them were from outside the state, and the crowds simply didn't connect with them well as they would if they're from local areas. The fact that they were mediocre wrestlers also helped on dragging down the company. Fewer and fewer crowds showed up to watch, which destroyed any chance of having a deal with a larger arena owner to host a venue there, and fewer crowds meant fewer income from ticket sales, which in turn led to pay cuts for the ring crew and wrestling roster, and the domino effects continued with the employees bailing for greener pastures.

Donny looked over at his secretary Deresha sitting one row down from him and busily typing on her laptop computer. "How many confirmed to show?"

It was a question he asked her many times before, and thus Deresha checked over her notepad like clockwork. "Seven, Mr. Wilkens. None of them showed up yet though."

Donny grumbled slightly, and his tail curled at the tip. "We're going to open the doors for the crowds in just an hour, and our own wrestlers aren't even here yet?"

Deresha paused, keeping her eyes on the computer. The red-furred collie had gone through bad and good times with Donny, but even she saw the writing on the wall that his company is on its last legs. "I sent them all a mass email saying to show up two hours before the show opening so that they can prepare for the matches but..." She sighed and finally looked up at him. "I'm sorry sir but I don't have high hopes this time."

"What do you mean?" Donny asked, confused by this rare show of pessimism by her.

"Do you know how many people showed up for the last show we had?"

"Thirty..." He replied with a slight sourness in his tone. There was a time when two hundred showing up was average.

Deresha shook her head. "Actually twenty-seven, sir... and with our ticket prices at ten each, that amounts to a total of two-hundred and seventy dollars in sales. With a hundred dollars off of that to pay for the gym rent for that night, along with traveling expenses to haul our ring equipment around, we only had a little under fifty dollars to pay for not just our wrestlers but also the ring crew and then there's also the marketing costs and insurance fees, among other things."

"I still have money from the loan I got from the bank two months ago and we paid them all off still, as we promised them. I'm not one of those goddamn cheating promoters who skimp out on the paychecks."

"How long will it continue though? Do you know how far in debt we're in?"

The tiger growled. "Deresha... you're a loyal assistant and I love how you stick with me through thick and thin but will you please shut up and just email them again? Or call them if you have to. I'm fully aware on just how bad shape we're in, and I don't need you to remind me."

"Yes sir..." She said with a sigh and focused back on the computer.

Donny leaned over to rest a paw on her shoulder. "We'll get through this. I'm going to the locker room."

"Yes sir. I'll message you as soon as I see the wrestlers show up."

He nodded and calmly walked down to the gym floor. The ring crew were too busy to acknowledge him but he paid them no mind and simply walked through a curtain set up as the entrance to the main floor for the wrestlers and reached the locker room. The stink of sweat and other undetermined fluids still linger in the air since the entire school's football team went through it during last night's game (they lost and remain winless in the season), but Donny retreated to the cleaner coach's office where he stored his work papers for the night.

Save for a humming sound from a nearby heater, the locker room was quiet and Donny sat back on his chair to revel in it. He formed the CWFA due to demand for an Arizona-based independent wrestling promotion, and the initial popularity was laid on the back of his name-recognition. He was known in WFL as StripeKing twenty years ago, and even then the WFL was a globally-recognized company. He wrestled in America from coast to coast, Canada, a venue in Mexico City, several in Japan, and twice in Australia. He held the WFL Intercontinental Title, a second-tier championship belt, for almost two years, a record that stood to this day. He wrestled in a good number of main headline matches on Pay-Per-View events during his prime, but after fifteen years in the WFL, the fans and especially the younger upcoming wrestlers saw him as an aged liability, and while he still wrestled full-time, even he admitted that he wasn't as quick as he used to be. However he still regarded himself as an 'upper midcarder' in the company, and didn't want to lose control of his status in the roster. After refusing to lose to the younger wrestlers once too many times, the WFL finally fired him and sent him packing to his home in Phoenix, Arizona. The years between that moment and the time he formed the CWFA was a period of transition, and something he rarely wanted to speak about. Even though the 'early retirement' gave him the time to raise his son, his thoughts often lingered back to his passion on the ring.

His phone buzzed, interrupting the silence. Finally his wrestlers have arrived and with a tired groan, Donny stood up and leaned against the door of the coach office to await them. Much to his surprise, his son Steve was among the wrestlers that appeared, all carrying their usual duffel bags and picking lockers to store them.

"Steve, I thought you called in sick for tonight?"

The younger tiger, similar in appearance to his father except for age and a lighter shade of orange, simply smiled back at him. "I'll be fine, Dad. Took some medication and shit, nothing to it. I wanna work."

"Hmm. So... instead of seven, we have eight here now? What happened, you guys were supposed to be here an hour ago."

The wrestlers look at each other and collectively shrugged before Steve replied. "Bad traffic, some tree fell across the road I think. I dunno, it was quite dark and there were lots of sirens. We're here right? We'll be ready for the show."

"Humph. All right, fellas. There's only eight of you and because one of the matches is a tag-team, we only have room for three matches unless some of you want to work double-duty." He paused to see if there were any takers. As he expected, there were none. "Right. Then we should add some filler in between the matches and I recommend that you plan with your opponent to make the matches as long as possible and still make them interesting enough for the fans to sit through them."

After the wrestlers nod in agreement, Donny resumed. "Jakkel? You take the opening segment and work the crowd up. The high school team here lost by like some forty points last night so um... take advantage of that."

The stripe-backed jackal, real name Robin Grey, chuckled and thumbed at himself boastfully. "I'll make these people hate me so much that they'll start throwing trash into the ring already."

"Good, but hopefully they won't riot too quickly. There's still the rest of the show to go!" The others laugh at that, and then Donny grabbed his clipboard and looked through it. "First match... Cheetix and Smooth JXL, that's you two. Smooth won the last match between the two of you back in Winslow, so I want Cheetix to win, just to balance things out here. Then I'm going to come out after the match and welcome the crowd, all that shit and stuff. Second match is the tag one... so that means Joseph and Roddick? You two go against Xavier and Jrak, and please make this match a good fifteen to twenty minutes please? Make sure you guys fight within the crowd sometime, all right? Make them smile that they have guys in tights punching each other right next to them. As for the winner and who gets pinned... um, just flip a coin among you guys. The third and final match is gonna be Jakkel and Steve for the CWFA title. Jakkel, please for the love of God, you have the belt with you?"

Jakkel rolled his eyes a bit and dug into his duffel bag to pull out the title belt with the large plate of gold and aluminum on the front bearing the promotion logo and the state of Arizona engraved on the background. "You'll kick my ass if I forgot it, boss."

"And keep the deposit you gave me for holding it," Donny said and shook his head. "Three years ago, one of my wrestlers did forget it, ruined the whole show since I promoted the match as a title one beforehand, and then threatened to run away with the belt after I punched him on the face. He did run, but I kept the deposit to buy another belt... anyway, you against my son Steve, and I want you to cheat to win the match, all right? Maybe then the crowd will riot."

The wrestlers laughed again, especially Jakkel, but Steve didn't share their mood. "Dad, why can't I get the belt?"

Donny frowned at him. "You've only been wrestling for two years."

"Exactly! I think I've paid my dues... I've been touring around Arizona often enough for people to recognize me and they cheer me on... I think if you put the belt on me, it'll generate more--"

"You think you paid your dues? I didn't get my first championship belt until my fourth year, and even then it was because they felt I was ready to take the ball and roll with it, so to speak. You'll be a champion someday Steve, but not just yet. Now plan with Jakkel on how to work the match and make it an enjoyable one for the fans."

Jakkel huffed, feeling slighted by the young tiger and he glared at him. "Just because you're the boss' son doesn't mean you get a belt handed to you just like that."

"Hey!" Donny spoke up. "That's enough, Robin. You know the damn rules, I don't want any of that damn trash crap among any of you people here."

"All right, all right..." Steve sighed in resignation but glanced a harsh look back at Jakkel before going through his duffel again to pick out his wrestling attire.

Donny missed that look though, and clapped his hands once in relief. "Got that shit over with, thankfully. Time to move on and get the show running! Hopefully we'll get a bigger crowd than last time."

"Yeah... hopefully." Jakkel said faintly. Despite being the top heel (or bad guy to those not familiar with the inside term) of the company and was rewarded for his work with a championship belt that he held for three months so far, the fans still regarded the Californian as an outsider in a company with the name 'Arizona' on it. Every show, he risked his health to give the dwindling crowds a happy time, and in return he would be given a couple hundred bucks and apathetic responses from the fans. He felt short-changed, and seeing the faces of the other wrestlers with him in the locker room, he knew silently that sentiment was mutual. Hell, Smooth JXL was in bigger regional promotions earning bigger payouts, and he ended up here because Donny was the only promoter willing to sign him after Smooth JXL accidentally shattered another opponent's spine in several places after a botched piledriver. However there is a show to perform in, and he must earn his paycheck, as minuscule as it would be.

With that sense of duty in mind, Jakkel opened the show with a verbal ripping on the Flagstaff football team in front of a crowd of thirty-five fans that witnessed the same football embarrassment the night before, and the more the fans hear the smugness in his tone, the more the fans booed him and pumped their arms in the air with their thumbs aiming down.

So far, so good.

As the first match went underway, Jakkel approached his future opponent in the locker room as soon as he got back. "Steve, we need to work this out here."

"Right, of course." Steve replied and set his water bottle aside as he sat on the bench by his locker. "I'm sorry about earlier though... Dad lashed out at me big time in his office while you were out taunting the crowd and... he's right. I'm just not ready yet."

"Heh, you will. But first you have to beat me first," Jakkel said with a grin and sat beside him. "So you gonna do any high spots?"

"Of course, that's a big part of my style. I may be a little sick still, but I'm still focused to balance myself on the top rope. How about um... we just trade holding moves at the beginning, and work our way through the rest the match until the finish? How do you want to cheat?"

"I'm thinking about me onto the corner and you charge right at me, and suddenly I 'accidentally' push the referee in the way, you knock the ref out and I give you a low blow with a kick? The ref recovers soon afterwards to see me pinning you schoolboy while you're dazed, and I get the one, two, three?"

Steve shrugged. "That's fine with me, as long as you take it easy on my balls."

"Don't worry about that," Jakkel laughed. "You gonna blade?"

The tiger nodded and tapped a finger on his bandaged right wrist. "The razor's hidden in here, I'll get it done during the middle of the match, cut my face just along the muzzle. Try to make the whole thing fifteen minutes or something? And also, just after you win, I'm going to get mad and then superkick you out of the ring, all right?"

"Heh heh, all right. Fifteen's fine, I'll tell the ref that," Jakkel replied and after a shake of paws to seal the deal, he lingered to the hallway to watch the wrestling show from behind the curtain.

As soon as Covenant's Bullet tuned up from the loudspeakers, Jakkel once again stepped out to the view of the crowds for the last match of the night, and thus the main event. Wearing his shiny silver-red loose pants and black shoes, he taunted the crowd all the way toward the ring, pointing fingers while holding up the CWFA title belt above his head in case anyone forgot who was the champion around here. Once he climbed into the ring though, his demeanor changed to determination, awaiting his opponent.

"When it's time to party, it's time to party hard."

The guitar riffs from Andrew WK's Party Hard began to play, cuing Steve Wilken's entry for the match. The most popular wrestler in the company brushed aside the curtain to reveal himself to the crowd and immediately flexed his arms to show off his well-toned muscular physique. The overhead lights dim except for a single spotlight focusing entirely on the tiger, and he reached out to clap hands with the fans over the railing separating them from the ring and the wrestlers themselves. Knowing that this was the last match of the night and there's still a good twenty minutes left because the match earlier ended too quickly (in Donny's opinion), Steve took a slow pace around the ring, shaking hands with some of the older fans and pausing to pose for anyone close by with cameras. Like Jakkel, he wore just a set of laced shoes and shiny pants, though his were imprinted with purple and gold stripe designs to set out from his natural stripes on the fur.

Once he rolled himself into the ring, the ceiling lights turned on to show Jakkel glaring intently on his opponent from the other side of the ring, and Steve returned the stare as the canine announcer on the center turned on his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, this match is for one pinfall and there is a thirty-minute time limit, and it is for the CWFA Championship!" He paused for the crowd to cheer before resuming in his usual booming voice. "Introducing the wrestler on my right, weighting in at two-hundred and fifteen pounds, and standing at five feet and eleven inches, from Phoenix, Arizona, he is the challenger... STEEEEEVE 'STRIPEKING' WILKEEEENNNNS..."

The crowd cheered loudly as Steve climbed to step on the second turnbuckle of his corner to pose for them, patting his own chest before he dropped back to the mat. The announcer then turned to the jackal, and the crowd's cheers turned to boos. "And the wrestler on my left, weighting in at two-hundred and twenty-four pounds and standing at an even six feet, from the sunny locales of Hollywood, California, he is the current CWFA Champion... JAAAAAKKEEELLLLLLLL...."

"Yeah I'm the champ, and if you don't like it, tough shit!" Jakkel screamed above the boos and climbed his corner turnbuckles partially to hoist his title belt above his head again. "No one can beat me! You all just booing because you're jealous!"

The announcer promptly exited the ring after Jakkel handed him the title belt, and the referee motioned for the bell to sound. As planned, they traded holding moves to begin the match, grabbing each other's hands to press against in shows of strength, and breaking their holds with strained grunts to make them appear convincing. With the both of them having amateur wrestling backgrounds in their respective schools, one would take down the other only for the fallen opponent to slip through and return the favor back to him. After the first two quick minutes, Jakkel grabbed Steve with a headlock, flipping him to the mat as he fell alongside him to slow down the pace and gain some needed rest.

Watching the match through a gap in the curtain, Donny stood with his large arms crossed and his tail tip twitching slightly. Even though this should be just a run-of-the-mill match, he couldn't help but to feel a little nervous whenever Steve wrestles a match. Not just because he's his son, but also because he still believed him to be rather inexperienced. During his long wrestling career, he had seen many people injured during a match due to mistakes, and many more of them resorting to a buffet-variety of painkillers and other medications to help recover their sore bodies. In some of the worst cases, they became addicted to the pills. So far the mistakes Steve made in the past didn't result in an injury, but it was bound to happen, as it does for even the most hardened of veterans.

Minutes passed, and the fight raged on. Jakkel slammed Steve down harshly with a stiff bodyslam that shook the entire ring. Steve dropkicked Jakkel with such force that the jackal rolled quickly out of the ring and dropped onto the padding between the ring and the railing with a resounding thud. At the five-minute mark, Steve climbed up to the top rope while Jakkel stumbled around in the ring at a daze, and leaped only for Jakkel to suddenly snap out of the daze and caught Steve cleanly in mid-air before dropping him in an impromptu powerbomb. Despite Jakkel pulling off this move, the crowd finally sounded out their appreciation, and Donny quietly clapped his hands from backstage, impressed. He didn't give Jakkel the title belt for nothing afterall.

"Hey boss?" One of the wrestlers from the first match of the event, Cheetix, approached Donny from the side while nursing his sore ribs with padded bandages. "There's someone that wants to see you. Ace Teafield."

"Teafield...?" Donny frowned at that. Ace Teafield was one of the scouts for the WFL and while this wasn't the first time he showed up for his events (and sometimes leave with one of his own roster), his request to see him personally was a first. "Where is he?"

"Locker room," Cheetix replied and looked at the ring area. "Things are doing good, but I wish we have a bigger crowd."

"Feeling's mutual..." Donny said with a sigh and promptly walked to the locker room. They were never friends, but he traveled with him occasionally when they worked for the WFL as wrestlers. He never carried a grudge about Ace stealing his roster one by one, since he was just doing his job as a talent scout, but he was obviously never happy about it. Upon seeing the chameleon leaning against a locker, he stood at the door and crossed his arms.

"Ace... what are you doing here?"

Ace scoffed, fully aware of Donny's sentiments toward him. "I know you're a busy person and all... so I'll get to the point. I've been sent here by the Wrestling Federation League to make offers on several of your um... roster."

"Picking the meat from my company's bones again, huh?"

"Heh, you said it, not me." Ace walked closer to him. "Your son. The one doing the match right now against Jakkel. I've been watching him for the past couple shows now, and the WFL is interested in him."

Donny blinked rapidly, digesting the news with a bitter taste. "Are you nuts? Do you really think I'm going--"

"You're going to do what? The reason why your roster keeps leaving is because they're under open contracts. They're free to come and go as they damn well please, and it's no secret that you're struggling to even pay your own crew, much less the wrestling roster. How much do you owe the banks now?"

"My son is not going to join the WFL, don't be stupid. He's not going to leave my company."

"Don... Donny." Ace's toothy smile grew wider. "I'm not even finished yet. The WFL originally don't want you back, but... I've managed to convince them to give you a second chance. Steve has a lot of potential, but even I can see that he still needs a little growing up to do, his skills still need sharpening. The WFL is more than willing to give him what he needs to become a superstar, just like you used to be... even greater than you perhaps. If you come in with him, we can use you to prop him up even further, giving him better credibility with the fans. We'll run some old WFL tapes with your matches, just to inform the newer generation fans that never had a chance to see you wrestle in person, and we'll put you in Steve's corner. Think about it..."

Donny sighed and glanced away from him. "He'll be a small fish in a big pond, Ace. Some of the people in the WFL Board still hate me, I'm sure, and they'll do everything they can to humiliate me if I signed up on their payroll."

"So you're rejecting my offer? This is your best and last chance to recover from the shithole of debt that you're in now... this company of yours, this CWFA, is ruining you and running your son to the ground. His potential will never be realized as long as he's stuck here in some state-wide shitty wrestling fed. Humph, no offense, but when was the last time you pulled a profit?"

"Get out of here before I punch your fucking head off." He growled, clinching his claws.

Ace shook his head and brushed himself past Donny on the way out of the locker room. The tiger simply watch him leave, and retreated to his office to soak in the silence once again. In a way, Ace was right in the fact that Steve wouldn't fulfill his potential in becoming as famous as his father was as long as he remained in this small company. Plenty of people started wrestling in front of very small crowds and managed to make it to the top of the WFL, and there are plenty that remain in the quagmire of obscurity, relying on secondary jobs for the bulk of their income. He dreamed of seeing his son performing in front of thousands of people with flashing cameras, and yet had he squashed that opportunity for him just a couple minutes ago? He shuddered at that thought.

The muffled sounds of distant booing cued him that the final match of the night was over, and he imagined Jakkel hoisting his title belt to taunt the crowd. Then the booing changed to cheering, and Donny leaned back on his chair. Steve must have done some form of post-match revenge... heh, that would make the fans leave happy. He stood up to greet the tired wrestlers as they arrive back to the locker room, shaking their hands one by one for a job well done. Upon seeing Jakkel holding the title belt, he chuckled and gave him a short hug.

"Hey, good job out there?"

Jakkel nodded. "Yeah, I'm pleased. Steve blew a DDT spot when he let go of me too early, but I don't think the crowd noticed. At least I don't think, since they didn't chant about it or whatever."

"That's good I suppose. Where's Steve anyway?"

Jakkel glanced behind him and shrugged. "I dunno, he was behind me just a minute ago... he bladed himself though so I guess he went to see the medic. He'll be fine."

"Heh," Donny replied and then turned to address the others. "Thank you all for a good event tonight... we got more people coming in than last time, so hopefully this is the start of a better trend. The next event will be in Heber, in about two weeks, and I'll mail the checks to you by tomorrow when I get all the finances worked out, as usual."

As the wrestlers leave the high school gym and the ring crew dismantle the equipment, Donny remained in his locker room office with his secretary Deresha. The ticket sales were obviously not enough to handle all the costs, so Donny checked his loan balance again and budgeted from there. Twenty minutes after the other wrestlers left, Steve finally showed up with a pad and gauze tape over part of his face. Donny winced and stood up. "Hey... Jakkel said you bladed. Certainly looked like it, but did you really have to do that?"

Steve walked over to his duffel bag, not looking back at his father. "Why not? I did it without damaging my eye and it'll heal fine, the doc said."

"You know that blading is very--"

Steve suddenly growled, finally turning to look at him. "Don't lecture me, Dad. You keep telling me that this is too dangerous for me and that is too dangerous, and so on and on."

"You didn't tell me you were going to do this tonight!"

"I'm twenty-two years old, Dad! I don't need your permission anymore."

"I'm still your boss in this company, and when people want to do shit like that, they have to let me know about it first! I'm the face of this company... what if you bladed badly and you faint due to blood loss? That sort of mess can drive fans away."

"What?" Steve sighed and stuffed his towel into the duffel bag roughly. "When was the last time you watched a WFL show? Those people cut themselves up all the time and the fans cheer for it! Fuck man, the WFL is so hot nowadays that the fans would cheer anything that the wrestlers do in there... and that's something I wanna be a part of."

Donny paused upon hearing that. Did his son just said something he dreaded? "A part of?"

"Yeah... this guy Ace Teafield found me when the doc was patching me up. He's offering me a contract and--"

"No!" The elder tiger grabbed him by the arm. "The WFL is full of politicians and vipers that wouldn't give a shit about you. Because you're young and you're the son of a guy who left that company in bad terms! The people that hated me are still there, and they'll turn their hate toward you!"

"Why should I suffer because of you, Dad? Because of your mistakes?" He roughly pulled his grip off of him. "Why do you keep doing this to me? Mr. Teafield told me that he offered a contract to you too, and you threatened to punch him on the face! Yeah, way to go Dad, way to spit on a guy willing to help you get out of this fucking shithole you yourself created."

"You're not ready yet son..."

"So?! I've seen wrestlers younger than I am signing up to the WFL or WWP, and they earn a fuck alot more money than I do! They do the same fucking things I do, make the same fucking mistakes, and yet they're the ones driving around in sports cars and signing autographs to screaming little boys and teenage girls while people ignore me or just consider me as 'That Donny Wilkens guy's son'. Well fuck that shit man, I don't wanna live with that. So... I'm going to take up on Mr. Teafield's offer."

Still wearing his wrestling tights, he grabbed his duffel and walked toward the door. His father followed him into the adjacent hallway, fuming. "You're making a big mistake here! They'll eat you alive in the WFL, mark my words."

"So delusional..." Steve muttered and kept going. At that, Donny stopped and simply watched his son leave, realizing that no matter how much more he wanted to say, it'll just fall on deaf ears. He sniffed, holding back his emotions as he turned to slink back to the locker room.

"Mr. Wilkens..."

The voice startled Donny to stop and glance over at him. A brown and black-furred rabbit, similarly aged, leaned against the wall casually smoking a cigarette. "I want to speak to you sir."

Donny sighed. "Can't this wait? I'm not in a good mood to talk."

"It's important..."

"What then? Who are you and make it quick." He growled.

"Gerald Henning... I'm sure you've heard of me."

"Humph... founder of Henning Enterprises. What's a rich guy like you doing out here?"

"I'm interested in doing a business deal with you, Mr. Wilkens. You see, your dislike for the WFL is well-known around wrestling circles... and frankly you're far from alone. There's a group of fed promoters just like you forming together to create a brand new wrestling federation... and because of people like me, they have the funding necessary to become a promotion large enough to rival the WFL, and shit down their throats. You see, these people hate the monopoly that the WFL is having, and they want you in the job."

"You actually think something like that will work?"

Gerald shrugged and then reached over his arm onto Donny's shoulders. "We'll never know if it'll work if we're too gutless to try."

"I don't know, Mr. Henning... it's just risky."

"I made a fortune out of making risky ventures, StripeKing. But I'm not stupid... if I doubted this will work, I wouldn't be putting my wallet into it in the first place."

"Give me time to think about it, all right? Tonight is just..."

"I understand... I understand." The rabbit pulled out a business card. "Here. Give me a call, but do it soon. Within a week, please."

Donny nodded and accepted the card. "Aight."

"Good... good. Hope to hear from you soon," Mr. Henning said and then finally left. Donny looked down at the card, and muttered to himself.

"I don't know if I'm crazy because I thought Steve would stick with me... or because I'm thinking that this thing could actually work..."

The End?