"The Hit List"

[Chris Q]

"The Hit List"

“They fucking stole it from me. Now they’re all dead…”

Chris Q is barely propping himself up on the filthy counter of a New York City bar. Judging by his current condition, it doesn’t look like he’s slept or showered since the night he lost the FGA Championship. As many are aware, this was his first career loss. Chris Q hates losing. He’s been drowning himself in liquor since that night and his aggression has reached an all-time high. He’s barking incoherent threats at a bartender he barely knows.

“I put them all on a fucking hit list. This shit is going to get ugly…”

The bartender can’t believe what Chris just said.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t say stuff like that.”

Q doesn’t acknowledge the bartender. He takes a drink from his glass and slams it down onto the bar.

“Another one.”

“No, you’re done. I need you leave.”

Again, Chris doesn’t even look at the bartender. His eyes, covered by his trademark sunglasses, are looking off into the distance. It might be the alcohol, the anger, or the current song playing in the bar, but Chris isn’t in his body right now. His mind is a carousal of images. All of them are violent. Chris is getting his revenge against everyone involved in stealing his FGA Championship. The images are spinning faster. His head is spinning faster. The room is starting to spin.

“Hey!”

Chris finally snaps out of it and slowly turns his head to look at the bartender.

“Did you hear what I said? Get the hell out of my bar.”

Q looks at him with an extremely relaxed expression. He stands up from the bar stool, adjusts his tie, and turns to face the door. Chris can hardly walk in a straight line and he bumps into several people on his way out. Finally, he makes it to the door and leaves the bar. The bartender collects the money from where Chris was sitting and finds a folded up slip of paper. He opens it and sees four names written on it. He shakes his head and rips up the slip of paper before throwing it in the garbage.

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White Plains DVD Taping - 5/25/13
Chris Q vs. Malcolm Drake

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There you have it. For the first time in my entire career, I walked into a match and I didn’t leave with my hand raised. I have to admit, I thought it would feel worse. I pictured myself destroying the backstage area or trashing the dressing room. Of course, the entire result of my match was based completely on bullshit. Just like I thought, Dom Harter couldn’t beat me by himself. Truth is, I don’t think he can wipe his ass by himself. The rest of The Murder could have stayed away. They could have made the wise choice and let Dom fight the match alone. Instead, they got involved and that decision sealed their fates. One by one, I’ll destroy each member of this little bitch club and take back my title. Actually, I’ve never been more focused in my career. I feel more dangerous than ever.

For once I have a clear target. I have no doubt in my mind that I can take out any member of The Murder or the entire group together. I took everything Dom Harter had and I know he can’t beat me one on one. This is going to be fun. The fans are going to witness a violent, brutal, and viciously savage revenge story. Make no mistake about it, I’m not the hero in this story. I’m the guy who is going to huff and puff and blow down the fucking house of The Murder. Up until now, they’ve managed to stay out of my shit. We’ve gone about our business in separate ways. Suddenly, Dom Harter pulls a horseshoe out of his ass and somehow earns a shot at the FGA Championship. Now they want to run their little bullshit game on me? Fuck that.

Even though I don’t have the title over my shoulder right now, I’m still the best that Frontier Grappling Arts has to offer. It’s not even a question. I went undefeated in ten matches and I would still be undefeated if Dom Harter wasn’t a little bitch. Dom will get his soon enough. They all will. It is just a matter of time before I have the gold again and sit at the top of this company. It all starts in New York. I don’t have to wait very long to get my hands on the son of a bitch that hit me with the belt and cost me the title. Malcolm Drake, you’re fucked. We might have walked into this company around the same time, but I promise you, only one of us will be sticking around.

You talk a great game, but everyone is starting to realize that you’re a fucking joke in the ring. Every time I’ve been given an opportunity in this organization, I’ve made the most of it. I’ve become one of the most feared men in this business because of what I’ve accomplished in this company. The same can’t be said for you, Malcolm. You’ve blown every opportunity that the FGA Office has put in front of you. Your entire time in this company has been a huge disappointment. I remember hearing all the bullshit when we first started here. All I ever heard was, “Malcolm Drake is going to be the FGA Champion in no time! He’s the future of Frontier Grappling Arts!”

What a fucking joke.

The Malcolm Drake hype-train was derailed long ago. It’s a shame. I really wanted to be the one to do it. But my satisfaction came in proving everyone wrong. Compared to me, you’ve done nothing. You’re the ‘leader’ of The Murder, but easily the least talented person in the group. How the fuck does that work? If Harter and Pooler had one functioning brain between them, they would kick you to the curb. You have nothing to offer them. Like I said, you’ve been a total disappointment. Your biggest mistake of all, Malcolm, was fucking with me. I’m not a little bitch like Pat Gordon, Jr. or Ryan Kidd. I’m a goddamn animal and I’m coming for blood. I’m coming to bury you.

I’d be surprised if anyone comes to help you, Malcolm. It will be disturbingly obvious to everyone once the bell rings how dangerous I am right now. Nobody wants to get close to this fire, because I will burn any motherfucker who steps up to me. After I leave you a bloody mess in the ring, maybe you’ll give up this pathetic cause. This overplayed, stale vision of your group ‘controlling’ this promotion needs to end. “Ohhhh, we have all the gold. We have all the power.” Give it a fucking break. Do you have any idea how stupid that shit makes you sound? Not to mention the fact that Malcolm Drake couldn’t hold a title in this organization if it fell into his lap. But at the end of the day, it will work itself out. It always does. The scales will find a way to balance and the FGA Championship will be back home with me. Because like I said, there isn’t a single person in this company who can hang with me one on one.

It’s never going to happen again. I’m not going to lose to another member of the bitch squad. I’m going to destroy Malcolm Drake. Then, I’m going to find Bob Pooler, pull his head out of Dom’s ass, and put him in the hospital. Finally, I’m going to massacre Dom Harter and take back my FGA Championship. And the best part of it is, the only weapon I’ll need are my fists. I know for a fact that I can take out their entire group with my skill alone. They might have everyone else fooled, but I’m not buying their shit. The Murder isn’t the most dangerous entity in Frontier Grappling Arts, not by a long shot. The most dangerous force in this company is Chris Q. It has been since the day I walked through the doors.

To anyone that still believes Malcolm Drake has a bright future in Frontier Grappling Arts, just watch what I do to him. I am going to completely stomp out any remaining hype surrounding him or his potential. I am going to end the debate once and for all and prove that he has no business in the ring with me. Actually, I might just run this fucking loser out of the company for good. It just makes me laugh when I think back to all that stupid shit I had to hear about Malcolm Drake. He was supposed to be “the guy to watch in 2013?” Fuck that, Malcolm Drake will be lucky to make to the end of the month.