Dexter Grant FF

[Digitox]

Sometimes Dexter forgot how sore wrestling could make him.

One would question how in the hell a wrestler could forget something like that when they got physical with other people on a roughly weekly-ish basis or something along those lines, but it had been quite some time since he’d had a match as physical as the one he’d gone through at Under Attack. He didn’t compete in one of those godforsaken chambers, but he’d still been speared off the stage through a bunch of production equipment, pulled himself back up and proceed to wrestle a 20-something minute match with a man who was so blinded by his own image that he concocted a problem to justify going to such extreme lengths to put an end to the Digital Detoxer.

‘I wonder if Rayne Young was paying attention to that nonsense with Blake Mason and Selena Frost?’ was a thought that ran through Dexter’s mind, finding it laughable in hindsight that Rayne took issue with Wendell swiping his phone because of the ‘risk of exposing private information’ when that had actually happened between two other wrestlers and all it took was a phone call and paying off someone in SCW’s HR department.

Further proof that SCW really wasn’t the company for someone as sensitive as Rayne Young, but Dexter has already made his statement at the man’s expense and was shifting focus to the next step in his fight.

Buying an RV.

Perhaps a random jump in plans when compared to whatever he should be doing next in using SCW as his platform to tear down the grand empire of social media, but Dexter had come to a realization in the few months he’d been on the SCW roster: his pickup truck, which had been trusty and reliable ever since he’d gone off the grid when it came to getting him where he needed to be, was too old to handle the extensive traveling required of him by the company, and that was even when he mentally cut out the extra bookings in house shows and live tours he tried to weasel his way out of through his refusal to provide entertainment to the mindless masses where his message had to rely on others spreading it through the very online platforms he was trying to destroy in the first place.

The vehicle had remained as reliable as ever, but Dexter had been mindful of the maintenance he’d been doing more frequently on it. Plain and simple, the truck was an ancient model he’d bought on the cheap with some of the money he’d gotten from selling the far more modern car he’d used to own when he was still one of the many enslaved by their screens, spent the rest on any parts he couldn’t salvage from junkyards, and put a solid year of work into getting it up and running before he began resurfacing in the public eye to make his soapbox speeches. The truck had been rebuilt to be a sturdy bastard, which Dexter cared more for than the ‘online attraction’ he saw his former car as, but he knew it couldn’t handle the wear and tear of SCW’s ridiculous touring.

Case in point: Under Attack had been in Detroit, and then after the break following that event SCW had actually come to his neck of the words in San Francisco (not that anybody actually knew that, and he’d make damn sure it stayed that way) before jumping to Denver, back up to Canada, then all the way to Baltimore and then coming back this way to Sacramento, and that was just this upcoming month alone!

“Why the hell do they need to make this so complicated?” Dexter huffed as he pulled the truck up to an auto repair shop on the edge of town, at least appreciating how out of the way this place was.

“Would it be safe to say SCW’s just trying to hit whatever city feels the most profitable from ticket sales during those dates?” Wendell offered from the passenger seat. If it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t drive two vehicles simultaneously, Dexter would have omitted his associate from this trip, but he wasn’t about to take a walk that would amount to a couple of hours to go from his shack hidden in the woods to this place, not considering he was still bandaged up and recovering from taking a damn spear off the stage through a bunch of media junk.

“That’s a good answer Wendell,” Dexter replied as he stepped out of the truck, with Wendell not too far behind him. Dexter had been grateful that what he was here for had been found through an ad in the paper, because it was painfully clear these days that nobody selling anything online could be trusted regardless of where you were trying to digitally peddle your wares. This was at least more trustworthy than gambling on something sturdy and reliable from someone you weren’t likely to meet face-to-face, and the seller being the owner of a shop like this was already a good sign of the quality he was looking for.

“Can I help you gentlemen with anything?” they were asked as soon as they stepped through the door, courtesy of a burly-looking man with a thick mustache manning the counter.

“Name’s Dexter,” Dexter bluntly cut to the chase. “I spoke with the owner of this shop recently about purchasing an RV he was selling?”

“I thought I recognized your voice,” the man laughed. Dexter could see how this guy seemed to have a solid business going if the number of cars being worked on behind him was any indication, but his jovial attitude just seemed to rub Dexter the wrong way. Perhaps a sign his brain had been too cynical about the world for too long? “Name’s Andre, I’m the big man who owns this shop and the RV, though that second one will probably be changing here in a few minutes.”

“Why are you selling it, if you don’t mind us asking?” Wendell couldn’t help but ask, earning him a brief glare from Dexter who honestly could care less as long as he had the vehicle and it was able to run.

“I just don’t have a need for it anymore,” Andre shrugged. “Going camping and on road trips with my family hasn’t felt like an option for the past few years with the way everything is, so I’d rather see it go to someone who will get use out of it while I can put money away for my kids’ college funds.”

“A truly worthwhile endeavor,” Dexter nodded, putting on a front that he was the slightest bit interested. In reality, he was restraining himself from grilling the man about how he advertised his business and preaching his truth to a seemingly humble mechanic. As nice as it would be to have someone else willing to join his fight, he knew that he’d probably lose this deal if he gave this guy even the slightest hint that he was…what was it people had called him for his stance against social media? A nutcase? A lunatic? A savior would be the correct term he’d use, but others would only realize that if they ever put their damn phones down and listened.

“I’ll tell Max to pull it around so you can take a look at it for yourself, then we can get down to business and whatnot,” Andre stated before he wandered off to go grab one of his active employees to fetch the RV.

Dexter didn’t bother to pay attention to the interaction. His brain was instead fixated on that name. Max…he was probably reading too much into it considering it was such a common name, but he was hopeful that was the case and it wasn’t someone specific he was thinking of. It was probably just a coincidence, like SCW telling him not to even bother showing up for this recent Breakdown despite it being in his technically unknown hometown, or this upcoming set of Breakdowns being some special thing that he saw straight through but was being forced to take part anyway because of ‘contractual obligations.’

Two words Dexter hated with a burning passion so hot it would put a nuclear explosion to shame.

He understood the concept. Whoever booked the matches was essentially given a vacation and every match would be determined completely at random by the spin of a wheel, leaving whoever was drawn for said matches scrambling to prepare for someone they’ve never studied and under circumstances they may normally not feel comfortable with. He almost wanted to scoff at how much of a sham the whole thing was, desiring to question just how ‘random’ these matches truly were as opposed to the whole thing being a ploy to get away with flashier or more violent matches on television by blaming it all on sheer luck.

The whole idea infuriated him. He wasn’t in SCW to be a monkey on a leash, dancing on command for people that were programmed to hate him. His purpose was to try and unbrainwash the masses by proving that you didn’t need technology or social media to make something of yourself even in this day and age, and Fatal Fortunes was, for all intents and purposes, a giant marketing stunt meant to put the roster through the ringer for online attention to keep promoting the belief that SCW was the biggest and best wrestling company around.

Unfortunately, the puppet masters hiding behind their computer screens and telling SCW staff what to do for that precious online buzz had played this one brilliantly. By keeping him out of sight and out of mind this past Breakdown, they could enforce the legally binding words he’d knowingly shackled himself to for the sake of his cause to force his name to be on the list whether he wanted to be a part of this game or not. Trying to skip out on the next two shows ran the risk of termination, and Dexter couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity now that he was starting to get a foothold in SCW’s process. His only true out would’ve been to not be medically cleared, but that would’ve meant rolling over at Under Attack and letting Rayne’s misguided efforts be rewarded, and that didn’t click with Dexter’s agenda.

Then again, considering he hadn’t even been mentioned on Breakdown at all, his impressive fight easily overshadowed by the three chamber matches like he knew it would be, was it ultimately worth it?

‘Maybe not in their eyes,’ Dexter thought to himself as he and Wendell found themselves outside again, with Andre joining them shortly after while they waited for the RV to be pulled around. ‘But if I got through even a little bit to Rayne, especially with the whole Blake/Selena stunt proving that he got upset with me about privacy when I was never his enemy, then perhaps in the long run it will all work out.’

The long run honestly felt like Dexter’s best bet at this point, given how slow progress had been. Nothing against his fight, considering he was, for all intents and purposes, undefeated right now, but marching onward and making his voice be heard somehow, someway, had to ultimately yield results. The easy answer would be to just win a championship or go straight for someone at the top, but that was so easy it might as well have been a meme or a trend at this point. Blake had done it, James and Waylon had just done it this past show, same with Konrad…to follow the trend would make him a blind hypocrite.

Thankfully, Dexter could stop thinking about it for a moment when the RV finally pulled around. It was a Winnebago Revel, an RV that by default came with everything he’d need while traveling for SCW, from a pair of beds so he and Wendell could each have their own to a bath that effectively eliminated the need for wasting money on a hotel room and getting odd looks from just walking through the lobby.

“Here she is,” Andre happily declared. “Like I said, it’s been on a few trips, but any issues that might’ve spawned from them have already been fixed up and this baby’s practically good as new.”

Dexter nodded, unable to resist the low whistle of appreciation for what he was looking at. “You mind if I check out the inside before I hand over any payment, just to be sure?”

“I’d expect nothing less from a serious buyer covering all their bases,” Andre laughed, and as Dexter began to approach the RV to tour the interior, he sighed and rolled his eyes. The thought of needing to lighten up a bit so he wasn’t so cynical all the damn time crossed his mind again, but he could hardly find a good reason to let his guard down when he was constantly trying to make himself social enemy number one for daring to threaten the downfall of the modern world before it collapsed and took all of humanity with it.

The door to the RV opened as the mechanic stepped out, and once he locked eyes with Dexter, the Digital Detoxer found himself cursing his rotten luck about the name Max he’d heard earlier.

“Dex?” the man, whose jumpsuit had a patch with the name ‘Max’ on it like a nametag, questioned.

“You know him, Max?” Andre called as he walked over, both he and Wendell now interested in this potential turn of events.

“...like I said, I’m checking out the interior,” Dexter just said after a tense moment. “Wendell, you get ready to pay the man so we can hit the road.”

“I…” Wendell started to say before Dexter reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of cash before tossing it to his flunkie, who quickly scrambled to catch it.

Once he confirmed Wendell had his part of the payment secured, he stepped around Max despite the man’s best efforts to stand in his way before stepping inside. He let his eyes take in the interior of the RV, making his brain appreciate how well-kept it was and moving to confirm everything was functional. He refused to let his brain linger on the sight of…

“Dex? What the hell, bro?” that voice called again, and Dexter tried to ignore it even as he saw Max step back inside, clearly not looking to let this meeting slip through his fingers that easily. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your job, Max?” Dexter huffed as he tried to focus on the sink. “Congrats, by the way…seems like you found yourself a pretty stable job.”

“Thanks, but it would mean so much more if my brother would actually turn around and talk to me,” Max replied, and Dexter could only hiss through his teeth and slowly turn to face the man that he could now confirm was, indeed, his younger brother.

Maxwell Grant (since their parents had an odd fixation on the idea of both of their kids having the letter ‘X’ somewhere in their names) was Dexter’s younger brother, and he’d looked up to Dexter like he was already some sort of icon for most of their lives. The two rarely fought, they always went out of their way to support one another, and Dexter was wholeheartedly proud that his brother had turned his love of cars and his mechanical know-how into a job he loved…of course, Dexter’s decision to go off the grid had strained his relationship with his entire family.

“It’s good to see you again,” Dexter awkwardly admitted at least.

“Likewise,” Max replied, equally as awkward. “I saw you’re in the wrestling business now…you kicked some serious ass at that pay-per-view.”

“Thanks…” Dexter sighed.

“Mom, dad and I were hoping to see you when they rolled through here, but…nothing,” Max lamented. “Dad even said he saw you all the way out in Boston. You rebuffed him because of this whole ‘war on social media’ thing.”

“It’s not just a ‘thing’ Max!” Dexter growled. “I’m sorry if I’m still the only person who actually fucking gets it, but nobody else is doing anything and I’m not going to watch the world burn because of people who have power they really shouldn’t!”

Back to the tense staredown the brothers went, but this one didn’t last as long before Max just sighed and sat down in one of the seats.

“What happened to you at Innovatech?” Max asked, that name causing Dexter’s blood to run cold.

“...what makes you think something happened with them?”

“Dex, as much as our parents love you, I think I know you better than they do,” Max clarified. “My big brother goes to a job he loves and was excited to do since graduating from college, then one day he suddenly comes home saying he quit and goes from being one of the best damn coding geniuses I know to cursing the existence of social media and acting like an entirely different person? That math doesn’t add up, dude.”

Dexter just stared down Maxwell for what felt like an eternity before he started making his way to the door, Max making no effort to stop him. Dexter did pause before turning to face him one more time though.

“It’s complicated…” was the only answer he gave his brother before exiting the RV, leaving Max to sigh and follow him out.

“Everything alright?” Andre asked as Dexter approached him, the Digital Detoxer doing his best to try and screw his head back on straight.

“Everything looks good,” Dexter confirmed to him, even though it was clear that wasn’t what the shop owner was referring to. Before he could inquire about whatever was going on between him and Max, though, Dexter cut in again. “$100,000 was your price tag, right?”

Andre just nodded, a little taken aback by the shift in tone, but a nod from Dexter had Wendell handing over the full amount in cash. He looked a little unnerved himself, but Dexter chalked that up to most of the money for this transaction being money his loyal follower had borrowed from his family to cover what Dexter couldn’t with his low-level SCW contract. Dexter promised to pay him back, but right now he just wanted to get this transaction over with and get back to his shack in the woods.

A few minutes later, money had traded hands and the keys were now in Wendell’s possession as Dexter motioned for him to drive the RV, because he’d be damned if he trusted the kid with the truck he’d painstakingly put together and still planned to use locally or on shorter, less taxing trips.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Dexter told Andre as they shook hands briefly locking eyes with Wendell to silently communicate that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about whatever had happened between him and the mechanic who was still standing off to the side and watching everything.

“Dex!” Max called as Dexter turned to head back to his truck, causing the man to stop and glance back at him. “I know this is a longshot, but damn if I’m not going to try anyway. Come home for Thanksgiving?”

“You know my next show’s on Thanksgiving Day, right?” Dexter raised an eyebrow.

“We can do it early then!” Max pleaded. “Look, we just…we just want to talk Dex. We want a chance to understand, to hear you out, like you wanted. Can you give us that chance?”

“...I’ll think about it,” was all Dexter could think to say before he hopped in his truck and drove away from the shop, knowing Wendell was right behind him with their new RV. He did make a mental note of this shop now that he knew his brother was working here…whether or not it was a note to avoid this area like the plague or actually consider coming back around again was still up in the air for him.

All Dexter knew was that he had a lot to think about in the coming days.

And this Fatal Fortunes bullshit was pretty high on that list.

[Digitox]

The following VHS tape was delivered to SCW headquarters via mail, courtesy of Dexter Grant. Despite Dexter’s demands not to do so, the following video was extracted from the tape and converted into a digital format for general viewing.

We start with all the hallmarks of a recorded VHS tape. Blue screen with the occasional crackle of visual white noise, an audible mains hum, the little text in the corner that reads “PLAY” next to the play symbol. Once we move past this however, we see the familiar low quality we’ve mostly come to expect from this man by now. We find ourselves somewhere in the woods, which also seems to be becoming a recurring trend with someone living “off the grid.” As we wander through these woods, we notice several signs that have been speared into the earth, some claiming to be “under protest” while others are flat out denouncing the concept of Fatal Fortunes and referring to it as a scam and a symbol of greed and control, among other things. Eventually, we stumble into a clearing filled with these signs, and sitting on a stump is none other than Dexter Grant, who’s in the middle of using a whetstone to sharpen the blade of an axe cradled in his arms. Whoever’s holding the camera accidentally steps on a twig, snapping it and alerting Dexter to our presence, but he only glances at us briefly before returning his focus to sharpening his axe.

“Fatal Fortunes…what a joke.”

The short, blunt statement lingers in the air as Dexter purposely wastes our time by sharpening his axe, letting the sound of the whetstone scraping against the blade burn itself into our memories before he decides to continue.

“I’m sure everyone out there is waiting with bated breath to hear what I have to say on the subject. At least, that’s what I’ve been told, but I know better than to trust the true puppet masters of SCW at this point. I’m not talking about the guy in charge who refers to himself as the ‘Canadian Heartbreak Kid’ or any of the suits sitting at their boardroom table at SCW headquarters, because I know they’re truly about as in charge of this company as a President or a Prime Minister is in charge of their country. The horrifying truth of the matter is that the big wigs running their tech empires and driving people into their world wide web are the real men and women in charge all over the globe. They tell the supposed heads of SCW what to do to generate buzz and attract attention online, and they commit to it without a second thought. From there, it trickles down into the roster itself.

They’ve even tried to paint me as a hypocrite, ignoring my very explicit instructions not to take these videos and put them online. I don’t care if my opponents can’t see what I have to say about them…hell, the only reason I even do VHS or even DVD is to annoy them with how ‘outdated’ it all is. I could simply just say my piece to someone’s face and let my actions speak even louder from there, but no. ‘Everyone does videos online because people eat up the back and forth and we can promote that,’ they say.

Maybe you want to take a shot at me for playing along even if I give them headaches with how I choose to do this. It’s honestly no different than why I’m going to do what I need to do over the next two weeks. I will comply with my contract and ‘play nice’ but I’m going to do it on my terms, because SCW touts itself constantly as the biggest and best wrestling promotion on the planet. If that’s true…if eyes across the globe are always on this company, then that makes them just as much my tool to spread my message as it does them believing I’m their tool to break and remold as they see fit until I’m fully compliant.”

As Dexter speaks, he finishes sharpening the axe and examines it with a careful eye, and once he’s done speaking he stands up and turns his back to us. With a perfect throw, the axe is flung from his hand and embeds itself deeply in a nearby tree trunk, sticking there. Dexter simply laughs to himself before pocketing the whetstone and turning to face us again, stepping up onto the stump like it’s become his soapbox for the time being.

“Before I touch on the cancerous content that stands before me for the next two weeks, I want to address one person in particular real quick. Rayne Young…I’m sure you’re watching. No one who took such personal offense with my mission as you did would just pretend I don’t exist anymore. Let me ask you a simple, honest question Mr. Young…were you paying attention last Breakdown? Not to me, because apparently my presence was not needed, but I’ll get to that in a moment. Before you proceeded to prove that perhaps SCW needs to evaluate you for anger issues considering you took yourself and your opponent out with your little tantrum over your precious little undefeated streak being shattered by my hands, there was something that took place that I felt was oddly appropriate given what drove you to excessive violence against me in the first place at Under Attack.

Did you see it?

Let me refresh your memory.

Prior to your match, there was a little confrontation in the ring. Blake Mason, Polly Pingotti, Selena Frost…they’re the players in this story, along with Mr. CHBK, but they’re ultimately irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. The important detail that came out of it was Blake PAYING OFF someone in SCW’s HR team to leak to him some personal stuff about Selena’s family, which he immediately weaponized.

Now, heading into Under Attack, you had a meltdown over my faithful follower Wendell BORROWING your needlessly advanced ‘phone,’ without trying to break into it and simply sliding it to you to tweet about your latest victory. And why? Because you were paranoid about a breach of privacy. What, pray tell, would you call what Mr. Mason admitted to last Breakdown then, hm? As I told you before, your private contacts are none of my business Mr. Young, but if you’re that concerned for the safety and privacy of your family, then perhaps SCW is not the company for you. After all, if the social media powers that be instructed Blake to expose matters personal to Selena just for the sake of juicy drama they can promote for the rest of the year, then who’s to say someone like you won’t become a similar victim just for the sake of ‘content’?”

Dexter tilts his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he lets his words to Rayne sink in, quietly hoping that everything he did to the man and this latest revelation gets through to him and makes him understand what he truly needs to do. The scowl quickly returns, though, at the thought of what’s on the table next.

“Speaking of ‘content,’ since that’s the hot trendy word kids like to throw around these days to describe anything that takes to social media like a wildfire takes to the forests of California every year, let’s talk about this disgusting idea SCW affectionately calls Fatal Fortunes. The short version is that for the next two weeks, whoever usually decides SCW’s cards is going on an undeserved vacation and everything will be decided by a whimsical spin of a wheel. You’ll never know who you’re facing, what kind of match you’re fighting in, any stipulations up to and including your job being on the line, or even so much as WHEN you’re going out to compete until they tell you literally moments before you have to step out onto that stage. Adding to the ‘fun’ is the fact that every champion is being forced to defend their titles as well.

It’s funny to think this concept has supposedly been around in SCW for years and yet it reeks of a desperate attempt to garner likes and clicks. Biggest and best wrestling company in the entire world, right? It even has a catchy alliterative name that you know people are going to invest in.

Sorry SCW, but I see straight through this scam. I watched footage of last year’s Fatal Fortunes, I crunched the numbers, and the data doesn’t lie about how blatantly obvious it is that this whole idea is nothing more than a way for the social czars that are really in power here to flaunt the fact that they have control and will make us dance like puppets for their precious algorithms-” Dexter holds up a hand and starts wiggling his fingers in a manner reminiscent of someone controlling a marionette. “-because they don’t care about any of us. We’re all expendable, we’re all toys for these oversized billion dollar toddlers, and the allure of such a concept like ‘but you could get lucky enough to challenge for a title’ is nothing but a clever ad to hide the fact that this is their excuse to throw gimmicks and matches normally reserved for their pay-per-views onto television to get people talking about it online. Wendell?”

After a moment of the wind being our only source of sound, we hear Wendell’s voice speaking from somewhere behind the camera, revealing the likely possibility that he’s our cameraman.

“During last year’s Fatal Fortunes, there were a total of 20 different matches featuring roughly 50 names, accounting for champions being booked multiple times. Of the six title matches that took place, one for each championship, only about 8 wrestlers actually got that honor, which is only about 16% of that roster. Additionally, of those 20 matches that took place, 14 of them were some sort of gimmick match or had some sort of stipulation attached to it. That is a whopping 70% of all matches across two weeks of programming.”

Dexter nods, audibly growling in response to these statistics.

“I would ask if those numbers sound fair to any of you, but I know none of you care. After all, you get to glimpse at some crazy match happening on free TV and then jump online to tweet about it and argue with someone else over whatever happened. You get what you paid for, because you’re the mindless masses SCW is marketing to with garbage like this. You look to people like Gavin Taylor, who’s found some new soap opera evil twin bullshit to hide from the truth that haunts his very existence, and see this as his moment to bounce back into the spotlight. If you actually hate this idea like me, then you ignore my existence and turn to people like James or Waylon or Colleen, who preach about restoring order and fixing what’s wrong with SCW because they’re the robots programmed by SCW’s social media team to spout that nonsense and stir up the very drama they claim to be against for the sake of their manufactured egos because it gets you talking about this company.

Why follow the words of the man who’s made it abundantly clear I’m trying to save all of you from yourselves and this social sickness when you can instead invest your faith in who THEY tell you is trying to save you?

‘But Dexter,’ I hear you ask. ‘If you don’t like Fatal Fortunes, then why don’t you just not participate?’ The answer to that, my devoted followers few and far between I hope I’ve gotten through to along the way, lies in two words that I knowingly committed to for the sake of this cause: contractual obligations. You remember how I said earlier that I was told my presence was not needed at Breakdown last week in San Francisco? Well, if I were to simply choose not to show up for the next two weeks and tell SCW that I’m not going to dance for them like a monkey for an organ grinder, then they have free reign to axe my contract and that’s the end of that. They would be free of me and I of them…that, however, would rob me of my position to take the fight straight to them and use this global platform to bring the entire system crashing down around me. After all, no one listens to my words, you’re all programmed not to…but my actions speak volumes that can’t be ignored.

For that reason alone, I am SCW’s worst nightmare in a situation like this, because whatever match ends up being spun for me will expose this whole corrupt concept and prove that none of this is ‘fate’ or ‘luck’ like everyone believes…just an elaborate ruse to see who’s willing to prostrate themselves before our social media overlords and compete outside of their comfort zone under false pretenses.”

At this point, Dexter reaches into his pocket. While we expect him to perhaps pull out the whetstone from earlier, instead he shockingly pulls out a pair of handcuffs and hooks one of them around his right wrist, taking a moment to make sure it’s completely secure before holding up the dangling cuffs for all to see.

“Let this be my declaration for this Fatal Fortunes bullshit. You want to make me take part in it SCW? Fine. But know that I will be wrestling under protest, and that means I will be playing by MY rules regardless of what your little wheel says. You see these handcuffs? I will have one cuffed around my wrist just like this no matter who you throw me against or what kind of match it is, and I’m going to use this to rewire the brain of whatever social zombie you think ‘fate’ claims can make me fall in line. If you think ‘fate’ can pair me up with anyone because surely I’ll have to play nice with your hand-selected accomplice to get the brainwashed fans buzzing, I will use these cuffs to shed my partner’s blood and leave them cuffed and at the mercy of whoever you’ve pitted against us because that’s they’re problem, not mine.

And as for a title opportunity? I know ‘fate’ won’t give me one. It’s a convenient excuse to disguise the fact that you cannot afford any of those precious trinkets to bear my name. On the off chance ‘fate’ does decide to grant me this opportunity, however, in some desperate bid to prove my words wrong, then just as I will with whoever I share that ring with, I will dig my fingers into their skull and rip out the USB cable you’ve plugged into their brains, severing them from your programming whims before I take whatever trinket made them the face of your little operation and burn it, right in front of everybody.

I don’t need a hunk of gold to validate who I am. I’m not everyone else in this company, including the false prophets claiming they’re going to save everyone because it’s mere ego stroking that people online will suck them off for within seconds just for a taste of that validation by proxy. I am Dexter Grant, the Digital Detoxer, and the rules you try to make everybody play by do not apply to me. My protest in that ring for Fatal Fortunes will prove to the masses that you don’t need championships or an online presence to make something of yourself. All you have to do is bear in mind these three simple words:

Disconnect…to Reconnect.”

Dexter steps forward, making sure we get one last good look at the handcuffs that symbolize his protest against Fatal Fortunes, before he storms off, leaving us with one final view of that axe he threw and embedded into the distant tree before the video is lost to white noise that inevitably returns to the familiar blue screen, and from there, the whole thing cuts.