The short young woman in a gray pants suit silently sat across from a couch that was dwarfed by the man that laid in it. The lady pushed her glasses from the end of her nose to their rightful resting place and moved a stray blonde lock behind her ear to compliment the bun her hair was tied into. Across her lap was a long yellow notepad filled with endless hours of information jotting that comes with her line of work. It wouldn't take a person long to figure out she is a psychologist or therapist of some sort. The lady practically exuded it. The overflow of plaques and other certifications on the wall confirmed it.

Ms. Moreau boasted a 100 percent completion rate. Everyone she had helped in this past turned out to be productive members of society in some way, shape, or form. She had her critics that called her methods unconventional and even dangerous, but that comes with the territory. Haters are gonna hate. Nicholas Carson had been her toughest task. Moreau grew up a big wrestling fan and even dreamed of becoming a competitor herself one day. Like many, she hated the very sight of Carson when she'd witness him bludgeon some poor S.O.B. on TV. The man didn't belong in a wrestling ring, he belonged in an asylum. Life had a funny way of throwing curve balls, because now some years later she was called to him because of her chosen profession. It hadn't been easy either.

Ms. Moreau: "We have had a long road together haven't we Nicholas?

The monstrosity's 6'8" 280 pound body squirmed on the small couch. He adjusted his mask and breathed shallow. It was a breathing technique she had taught him in the beginning.

Nicholas: "Yes ma'am."

Moreau diddled her pencil on the pad and wore the same blank expression most psychologists do.

Ms. Moreau: "I am proud of you for making it this far. I think you are ready for the next stage, but first I would like to recap some things we have discussed about your past. I want to make sure you know what you did was wrong and how you could have handled it better. This is very important, Nicky. The next step is back into the wrestling ring. I have been charged with making sure you don't return to your old ways and wind up in prison again, or worse. This also puts me at risk too. I'm sticking my neck out for you so don't allow it to get chopped off, okay?"

Nicholas: "I WILL KILL THE SHIT OUT OF ANYONE WHO TRIES TO-"

Ms. Moreau: "No! There will be no killing. It was a metaphoric term. Okay, let's just go ahead and begin. Hmmm. Ah, Greenspark. What did you do to him, why do you regret it, and what could you have done differently?"

Nicholas: "Me and some friends shot him out of a cannon. He went flying. I'm vague on all the details of it. I was high as a kite that day. I do regret it mainly because he never resurfaced and I really really want to do that to him again. His shitty haircut gave him such great aerodynamics. I guess the only thing I could have done differently is not get high that day."  

Ms. Moreau: "Interesting. What about Jake Diamond?"

Nicholas: "He called himself the Savior of the promotion we were in, acted like he was some messiah, so in that clusterfuck of a Deathmatch I crucified him in the middle of the ring with a nail gun. I spiked that bastard's hands and feet into the canvas and would have won the damn thing had those meddlesome others not foiled my plan. I regret it because I took my eyes off the prize and lost. I could have went about it differently by making sure I had some extra back up going in or by attacking them before the match."

Ms. Moreau: "And by not crucifying him, right?

Nicholas: "No he needed that. All saviors need to be crucified, it's like their rite of passage. I made a martyr out of him that night.

Ms. Moreau: "And that is why they will remember his name above yours. How about Vladimir Strife?"

The hair stood up on Nicholas' body. A shiver ran up his spine.

Nicholas: "Barb wire brick. Steel bear trap. I crucified him too. He wanted to be a GodKing so I obliged. The son of a bitch rose right back up, not requiring three days rest to do so, and defeated me. After the match I walked away under my own power while he was rushed to the hospital where he died from the wounds I inflicted on him in that deathmatch. Damn doctors were able to revive him. I regret ever facing him. He made me realize how much of a loser I was. If I could go do things differently I would have just brought a gun to the ring and shot him."  

Ms. Moreau: "That is correct, Nicholas. You were a loser. You have been a loser most of your life. But it's only because you let people condition you that way. You allowed your hatred of these people turn to unbridled rage, and that type of rage is a flaw that champions can ill afford to have. You don't have to be a loser anymore right?" 

Nicholas: "No."

Ms. Moreau: "Why?"

Nicholas: "Because you're going to make me a winner."

Ms. Moreau: "How so?"

Nicholas: "Because you are my saving grace. My alpha and omega. The moon in my shine and whiskey in my water. You have learned me how to control my rage. Without you I am nothing. Without me you are everything. I am yours to direct. You have focus and intelligence that I can not comprehend, but you will lend this to me because you are kind and helpful. Your insight has made me realize that drugs are bad, killing is bad, attempted killing is bad, dismembering is bad, kidnapping and torture is bad, prolonged punishment is bad, sexual assault is bad."  

Ms. Moreau: "And what is good?"

Nicholas: "Hurting people is good, breaking bones within reason is good, bleeding people is good, money is good, championships are good, competition is good, you are good, winning is good."

Ms. Moreau: "You have been known to assault spectators. What are your views about that now? What is going to happen when you march to the ring again and they start booing you?"

Nicholas: "Nothing will happen. I am indifferent. My only focus is you and what you have laid out before me. The collective voice of the fans can not overpower the smallest whisper from your all knowing tongue."

The corners of Ms. Moreau's lips turned upward like two tiny flung arrows.

Ms. Moreau: "Excellent, Nicholas, excellent. And what will happen if you stray from the path? What goes on when you even think of killing somebody now?"

Nicholas: "You will hurt me with the steel ruler and every time I think of killing, a kitten dies. I love kittens Ms. Moreau, I will never think of bad thoughts like that again."

Ms. Moreau: "Good. Tell me Nicholas, have you ever been to a big ass American bash? Hot girls in bikinis. Fire works. Tail gating. Fights. Good old American fun??"

Nicholas: "No ma'am."

Ms. Moreau: "Would you like to?"

A creepy grin was seen from the side of the mask that doesn't fully cover up his scarred face.

Nicholas: "Only if I get to bash something."

She smiled.

Ms. Moreau: "Oh I think that can be arranged, Nicholas. Let me take care of all the details."

The session timer went off and the two stood up. They headed toward her door talking but not loud enough for the camera to pick up. Once they disappeared out the door, the camera switched to the yellow note pad Ms. Moreau had been writing on, yet it revealed something different. There were no words, only drawings of a rampaging beast with a woman riding atop it, her arm out forward directing it to charge. Drawn under the beast's feet were sketches of numerous championship belts, all having  XWA on them.