My name is Tim “The Thrasher” Leo and I’m currently the TCWF Heavyweight Champion. The TCWF or Thomas Championship Wrestling Federation, is the number one wrestling promotion in the world. It is run by a man named Garth C. Thomas, the Twenty-Third, who is the very great grandson of TCWF founder Garth C. Thomas Sr. The TCWF was founded in the 1950’s and is still in business in the current year of 2110. Being the main eventer and current TCWF Heavyweight Champion, I make good money and since there’s really no competition in the wrestling game, I’m stuck wrestling for The TCWF because where else would I go. TCWF really doesn’t have a true rival anymore and they are a wrestling monopoly.
Oddly enough though, my body and mind are in pain due to the rigors of the ring. I’m still young, only 35, but that’s almost like being a senior citizen in wrestling terms. Plus, rumor has it that I am going to lose the title to a young upstart wrestler named Smasher Dasher. I heard bad things happen to wrestlers after they’ve worn out their use for the TCWF. One day I was in the locker room and saw the booker, Kenny “Slayer” Stevens talking to Smasher Dasher. “Hey Tim, get over here,” yelled Kenny while waving his hand. I sat next to Smasher Dasher who was a scary dude and full of steroids. Smasher Dasher barely spoke a single word and grunted more than talked. “Alright boys, it’s official. Tim, you’re losing the title to Smasher Dasher tonight, get ready for your match, let’s go team,” yelled Kenny. Smasher Dasher got up and left, but before I left, Kenny grabbed my arm tightly. “Hey kid, can we talk for a second?” asked Kenny. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?” I asked. “It’s about the fact that you are losing the title and your retirement…,” said Kenny. But before Kenny could finish, I jumped up and cried “Retirement! I’m not retiring,” I yelled. “Look kid, that’s why I’m going to help you, here take this,” said Kenny. Kenny handed me something I’ve never seen before. He explained to me that what I was holding was called money. Kenny secretly escorted me out of the area and told me to look for an old friend of his named, Eric “The Dead Man” Jones.
Before I knew it, I was in a ride share taxi and heading to an unknown destination. Somehow, I ended up in a rundown neighborhood and that’s where my robotic driver dropped me off. I remembered that Kenny gave me an address, so maybe this was where Eric “The Dead Man” Jones was located. Just like that, I had arrived at a rundown apartment building above a Chinese restaurant. I thought this must be where Eric lived. I entered the apartment lobby, and of course, fans recognized me. After signing a few autographs and taking pictures, I asked the fans where Mr. Jones was, and they told me to go to the 12th floor to Room 234. Once I made it to the 12th floor and found Room 234, I knocked on the door. “Who there’s? I will pay the rent soon I swear,” cried Eric. “I’m not your landlord, I’m a wrestler who the TCWF/s, Kenny Stevens, told me to find you. Can I come in?” I asked. Suddenly, Eric opened the door and looked much older than when I saw him wrestle in clip show episodes of our matches. Eric seemed to be in pain. He was also in a wheelchair and had a leg amputated. “Come on in, uh, what’s your name?” asked Eric. “Tim, say there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you,” I said. Eric wheeled his chair to the kitchen to grab a bottle of booze. Eric started to chug the bottle of booze. After he finished drinking, he wheeled over to his much older model vintage TV. Eric turned on his TV and began flipping through channels. “What was your question, Tim?” asked Eric. “People say we look alike, in fact, when I watched you wrestle, we wrestle the same way, it’s like we’re almost the same person,” I said. “Oh yeah, that’s because you are my clone, kid,” said Eric. “What! What do you mean I’m your clone?” I screamed. Eric tuned into an old sitcom on his crappy old TV and was beginning to nod off in his wheelchair.
While moving onto the couch, Eric says, “Tim, the answers you seek are in a box labeled, ‘Wrestling Stuff’, in a closet next to the crapper. Now let me sleep in peace. Maybe you can stay for dinner? I have a good relationship with the owner of the Chinese restaurant downstairs. I can get free food there”. Eric crashed on the couch, and I went to look for the box. I opened the closet door and the box was on the floor buried under old wrestling outfits and even an old title belt. I opened the box that was labeled “Wrestling Stuff”, and I found some paperwork from the TCWF. This paperwork would shock me. Eric Jones signed a contract that would let the TCWF make a clone of him when he got older and was no longer of use to them. I looked at the date of the contract and it was my birthday. It turns out my life was a lie and that I’m not Tim Leo, but a clone of Eric Jones. I also read within the contract that once the clone becomes worthless to the company, they will exterminate it.
That’s why Kenny escorted me out the arena because I was going to get killed after I lost the match to Smasher Dasher tonight. It made me question if there were other clone wrestlers currently in the federation. I put the paperwork in my pocket, and I went over to check on Eric. Eric appeared to not be breathing. I checked Eric for a pulse, and he sadly passed away while sleeping on the couch.
I turned off his TV and fled the apartment because I knew the TCWF were going to be coming to look for me. Before I could even leave the rundown neighborhood, there he was in a private helicopter, Garth C. Thomas, the Twenty-Third. “Hello, Tim. We were worried about you. Come with us. You need to fulfill your contract,” said Garth. I fled the scene with Garth’s goons chasing after me. I eventually lost the goons and days later I fled the country. I assumed a new identity and eventually found love. I lived a new life in Mexico with my wife and family, under a new name, of course. I still watch the TCWF from time to time, but really, it’s not the same, because you can’t truly recreate history.
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