The 11th Commandment

The video begins abruptly and our immediate attention is drawn to the middle-aged man standing in front of the camera. It is none other than Joey Fatone, former member of NSYNC and current manservant to “Furious” Julius Fairweather. In his hands is a simple piece of paper, and after clearing his throat, he begins to read the message printed upon it.

“Dearest Motherfuckers,”

Joey shrugs, accepting that greeting to be the most obvious considering its author.

“Due to some ugly clown-looking motherfucker choking me out with a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat, I am unable to share the pleasant tones of my melodic voice with you at this time. While I have been reassured that my full voice will return in time for me to cut a promo before Clash For the Cup, this post-Bloodbath address had to be hand written and passed on to the fat motherfucker on your screen. I know his voice is as soothing as an alley cat with his balls caught in a chain link fence, but drastic times call for drastic measures.”

Fatone takes a moment to scratch his head as he squints his eyes at the letter to make sure he’s reading it correctly. He finally lets out a sigh of defeat and continues to read.

“Bloodbath was a mix of highs and lows for the Motherfucking Friends of Fairweather. We successfully retained our tag team gold with the assistance of my boy, Indy Darling. Unfortunately, Rock Johnson put a sudden halt on the Chocolate Thunder and White Lightning reunion, which I will address later in the week. While the tag team gold may still be in my possession, I was unable to capture the Prime Title for the second motherfucking time. Maybe I underestimated that Pennywise wannabe, or maybe I overestimated Jason Long’s brains. We should have eliminated that motherfucker from the match and settled things between us once he was gone, but that’s not the way things played out. Shoulda, woulda, coulda...fuck that shit. I’ll have another day in that spotlight eventually, whether it’s with Jason Long, Havoc, or maybe even my old buddy Syndicate. For now I’ll continue to focus on the tag team titles, which I will proudly defend at Clash For the Cup. Rest assured, I’ll have plenty to say about that in the coming days after I decide on a worthy partner. Once again, I apologize for exposing you all to Fatone’s fat face and subpar voice.”

Joey takes a moment to shake his head and push down his bruised emotions before finishing the official statement.

“Until we meet again, be cool or be gone. Sincerely, your favorite motherfucker, Julius Fairweather.”

While this is clearly the end of the printed message Joey has been instructed to present, he continues to read from the paper.

“Don’t read this part, you chubby, chum-licking motherfucker. Put the paper away and shut off the motherfucking camera. I swear, if you mess this up I’m gonna break my foot off in your lead-loaded lard ass, even if I lose my favorite shoe in the process…”

Suddenly, there is a look of understanding on Joey’s face and he immediately stops reading from the paper. He rushes forward with his arms reaching out for the camera, only to trip over something below our line of sight. With a loud crash, he stumbles into the camera and sends it plummeting to the floor alongside his own body. With that, the video comes to a sudden conclusion.


Julius had his neck stitched up after Bloodbath, and for him that was good enough. After returning to Detroit, his mother felt differently and insisted that he visit their family physician. Normally he would have argued against it, but even if his voice hadn’t been affected, he knew debating with Momma Fairweather would be a futile gesture. Thus an appointment was made, and knowing he’d have plenty of time on his hands while visiting the medical clinic, Julius took the leather-bound journal that had been bequeathed to him by the late Winston Winfield to occupy his time. From the members of the True Society to having to find yet another tag team partner, he thought it might do some good to take his mind off everything he’d been going through. He had already read the old book from front to back, and while he originally thought that the idea of three missing biblical commandments was absurd, the more he thought about what was written on the pages, the more he seriously considered the possibility.

As other patients flipped through magazines in the waiting room, Julius re-examined the journal entries that had been penned by Winston’s great grandfather, and he found himself drawn back to one section in particular. It detailed the final days of the old man and how his lifelong search had not been in vain. Yet the old man did not reveal his findings in the journal, instead writing about his mixed feelings on whether or not the commandments should be revealed to the world. Very clearly, the old man had written that the final secrets of the missing stone tablets would be taken with him to his grave.

At first it seemed like the end of the story, but there was something about the way the words, “to my grave” were specifically underlined that caught Julius’ attention. He knew he should tend to his injuries, that he should work on finding a tag team partner, that he should train his mind and body in order to prepare for the war that was brewing against The True Society. Still, what if there was some truth in those written words? What if the most important archeological discovery in the history of mankind was really out there, just waiting for him to uncover it? What if the old man had literally taken the secret to his grave? Those questions led to Julius leaving the clinic without ever seeing his doctor, booking a private jet for Connecticut, and dragging his celebrity manservant along for the journey...


While his voice still had a gravelly texture, like sandpaper being rubbed over a boulder, Julius was still pleased to be able to give orders to Joey Fatone. Also, since they were trespassing on private property and digging up an old man’s grave, Julius couldn’t help but think that the low tone of his words was fitting for the situation.

“Dig faster, motherfucker. We ain’t got all damn night.”

Julius stood by the open grave, a lit joint drooping between his lips and his hands buried deep into the pockets of his black trench coat. Just a few feet away, standing in the open hole and tirelessly working his shovel, was Joey Fatone. The former boy band member and current manservant had been hard at work digging up the grave over the past few hours, and his efforts had created a large mound of black soil alongside the freshly dug pit. His work was made more difficult by the steady drizzle that had been falling, and despite the chill of the early November air, he had been working hard enough to remove his coat and shirt. With his pasty torso covered in a muddy film from the mix of sweat, rain, and dirt, he continued to dig deeper as Julius requested. That’s when the sound of his shovel hitting something solid forced him to pause. He looked up from the grave at Julius, who began to nod his head approvingly in response.

“It’s about damn time, Fatone. Now clear the rest of that shit off...”

Joey paused, looking up at Julius with some concern before dropping his gaze back to his feet. After several more minutes of clearing the dirt from the lid, the top edges of the coffin could clearly be seen, its once solid wooden frame weakened by the passage of time.

“Time to crack that box open and find out what the crusty old motherfucker took with him to his grave…”

Julius kneeled down by the grave and pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, shining it into the open pit as his manservant began to wedge his shovel against the lid of the casket. Yet despite his best efforts, the lid held strong.

“Put your back into it, Fatone! I can't puff on this bud, hold the flashlight, and open it on my own! If you fuck this up I'll put you on latrine duty in Momma's bathroom for the next month!

As if that threat suddenly filled his body with superhuman strength, the coffin lid began to crack against Joey’s shovel. After a few more moments of prying at the casket, Joey tossed the shovel aside and reached down to grab the edge of the lid with both hands. Finally he pried it open fully, revealing the worm-ridden corpse that laid within. Then, with a girlish shriek, Joey immediately scrambled out of the grave as if the lifeless remains were going to reach up to grab him. Julius, on the other hand, leaned further into the open grave, scanning the beam of his flashlight along every inch of the casket’s interior.

It didn’t take long for the beam to land upon the corpse’s skeletal hands, folded over a simple stone tablet that rested upon its chest.

“Bingo, motherfucker.”

Julius dropped into the grave and moved the decayed arms aside in order to take hold of the tablet, but before he could read the etched inscription upon it, a voice rang out from the darkness.

“Who’s out there? This is private property!”

“Fuck! It’s the groundskeeper! Help me out of here, motherfucker!”

Joey reached down to pull Julius from the grave, and with the stone tablet in their possession, the two men immediately began to rush away from the scene.

“You goddamn kids! Every Halloween I put up with your shit! Well this year I came prepared!”

A bright flash erupted in the darkness as a rifle blast thundered in their ears. As the slug lodged into a nearby tree, Julius and Joey picked up the pace with their lives literally depending upon their ability to elude the irate groundskeeper. The pair swerved around headstones and ducked under tree branches until they came to an old wooden fence. Julius managed to leap the obstruction with ease, but when Joey attempted to follow suit, he stumbled and crashed right through the old wooden planks of the fence. Julius took a moment to pull his manservant back to his feet as another blast from the rifle sent a bullet into the nearby fencepost.

Fortunately for the two graverobbers, the decrepit family estate of Julius’ late friend was on the outskirts of Greenwich and it wasn’t long before their salvation was in sight. Julius and Joey ran towards the nearby Amtrak station, taking notice of the stationary train that was in the process of accepting passengers. Nearly out of breath and hoping that they were no longer being pursued, Julius charged up to the ticket gate and forced out the loudest words his injured throat would allow.

“Two tickets on the double, motherfucker!”

The station attendant was momentarily taken aback and stammered in response.

“Um...okay? If you could tell me your preferred destination I can give you a schedule…”

“Two tickets to anywhere! I don’t give a damn if it’s Poughkeepsie or Portland!”

Sensing the urgency of the two men and too ambivalent to be bothered that late at night, the attendant prepared two tickets as Julius flipped his credit card in their direction. The process went surprisingly smooth and by the time the groundskeeper arrived on the platform with his rifle in hand, both Julius and Joey were already out of sight.

The train was far from full capacity and as they walked from one car to another, and it became clear that they would have their choice of seats no matter what numbers were printed on their tickets. Not wanting to sit next to a shirtless and filthy former boy band singer, Julius pointed at Joey and then to a vacant seat, as if he were giving instructions to a dog. Once his manservant was seated, Julius took several more steps and took a completely vacant seat a few rows away from Fatone.

Mere moments after sitting, the train began to pull away from the station, and Julius finally had a free moment to inspect his treasure more carefully. He took hold of the stone tablet in his lap and slowly turned it over, revealing the etched markings on the other side. He stared at the tablet for a few moments as his brow began to wrinkle and lips contorted into a frown.

“What kind of motherfucking language is that?”

“It looks like ancient Hebrew.”

The voice came from behind him, and as Julius swung his head around, he was prepared to tell the stranger to mind their own business in the rudest way possible. That’s when he saw...her.


“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. That’s quite the piece you’ve got there.”

“Yeah...it’s just one of my many nice...pieces…”

He realized how bad it sounded as soon as he said it, but fortunately the young woman responded with a smile.

“Is this seat taken? I’m sorry if I’m being forward, but I work in antiquities and I’m very intrigued with what you’re holding.”

Julius took a moment to adjust his coat to better hide the stitches on his throat before rising to his feet and motioning towards the seat next to him. The woman smiled as she accepted his gesture, but her eyes quickly went back to the stone tablet in his hands.

"Well I'm intrigued by you..."

Fortunately for Julius, she continued to smile.

“An antiquities collector, a gentleman, and a smooth talker? I’m honored Mr…?”

“Fairweather. Julius Fairweather. And the pleasure is all mine Miss…?”

“Marissa Covington. I’m normally not so forward, but I work with the Natural History Museum in Chicago and that tablet...well...I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

As the pair got comfortable in their seats, Julius found himself looking at his new acquaintance much more than the ancient relic. She glanced at him with another smile before her eyes went right back to the tablet. Meanwhile, from a few seats behind them, Joey Fatone watched the unexpected meeting with a smile upon his face. Watching his employer and the attractive young woman began to tug at his heartstrings, and like any musician would, he began to sing softly to himself...

“Just a small-town girl,
Livin' in a lonely world,
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere”

Feeling the moment, he then began to sing louder...

“Just a city boy,
Born and raised in South Detroit,
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere”

Julius glanced back to glare at his manservant as the lyrics reached his ears, bringing a sudden end to the vocal accompaniment as the young woman continued to study the stone tablet.

“I don’t suppose you know how to read...Hebrew, you said?”

“Actually, I do. Familiarity with ancient languages comes with the job.”

She gently ran her fingers over the etchings on the tablet, almost more entranced by the markings than Julius was entranced by the features of her face.

“Thou who hast faith in their creator shall never stand alone…”

Her voice was like honey compared to the rough sounds that came out of Julius’ mouth, and he could not help but feel self-conscious because of it.

“...Let those whom society would shun drip with courage as I walk beside thee.”

Julius barely heard the words coming out of her mouth even if he was watching every movement of her supple lips. Then, like a sudden bolt of electricity, something clicked in the bad motherfucker’s head. He stood up suddenly, the solution to one of his most recent problems suddenly clear to him.

“That’s it!”

She looked up at him curiously as he began to retrieve his phone from his pocket.

“I’ve got some business to take care of, but I’ll be right back. Can you keep an eye on that for me, pretty momma?”

“I...suppose I could…”

“Fantastic. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

Julius quickly made his way to the rear of the train car in search of better cellular reception as he opened his Twitter, and without further hesitation, he began to type his message without a second thought…


And just as he suspected, it didn’t take long until he had his response…


Just like that, one problem had been resolved. It put a smile on Julius’ face, and he couldn’t help but consider the coincidence of everything falling together. The stone tablet...the young woman who could read it...and the message that it gave him. It was almost too good to be true. He was still smiling as he turned his attention back to the rest of the train car, and upon seeing the woman who had identified herself as Marissa Covington nowhere in sight, the smile quickly faded.

Julius' immediate response was to ask Joey where she had gone, but he found his manservant sleeping peacefully with a smile on his punchable face. Despite being on a moving train and having all night to search for her, it was almost as if she had vanished into thin air, and even worse than that, the stone tablet had vanished with her.


It had been days since his adventure in Connecticut and the stitches that once stood out like a sore thumb are now removed, leaving a fresh scar in their absence. Seated in his home’s private study with his hands clasped in front of him, Julius looks directly at the camera with a serious expression on his face.

“Some motherfuckers out there might think I’m a little bit crazy to recruit Lil’ Petey as my tag team partner to create The Motherfuckers. Well maybe I am. Maybe the True Society has pushed me into desperate territory. Maybe they’ve found a way to eliminate my old tag team partners from the field of battle, but despite their best efforts, this bad motherfucker is still standing. Only now I’m not standing alone. I’ll have someone by my side who’s spent most of his career in the tag team ranks. Someone who upset the brilliant Tara Fenix to win the Warrior Rising Championship. Someone who stood in the ring with that big bastard, Ozymandias, and lived to tell the tale. Someone who had his hands on the Grand Championship even if it was only for a short time.”

Julius pauses as his eyes narrow, emphasizing the sincerity in what he’s saying.

“Some people might look at a guy like Lil’ Petey and think he’s a joke, but when I look at that little motherfucker, I see the ultimate underdog. I see a kid who’s managed to overcome the odds, turn a bunch of heads, and leave the fans chanting his name. I see someone dripping with courage and willing to stand by my side against the forces of darkness themselves. So if anyone out there thinks that I’m insane for choosing Petey to be my tag team partner at Clash For the Cup and beyond, I’ve got something you need to hear. Suck on my fat sack.”

A slight smile emerges on his face, but it doesn’t betray the serious tone of his voice.

“People said I was crazy for having Pyro as my partner to begin with, but me and that matchstick loving motherfucker went through every other team at Collision Course to claim those belts. In fact, we even went through Havoc himself to get the job done. The day will come when I go through Havoc again, but until then, my focus is on The Motherfuckers holding onto the tag team titles until I get sick of airport security freaking out every time they check my bags. You True Society motherfuckers should know all about luggage, since the only thing any of you are qualified to do is carry Arik Holt’s bags from one arena to another.”

Julius allows that taunt to sink in as he unfolds his hands and picks up a cigarette case and lighter from the chairside table.

“The sad thing about that is how I used to think more of some of you. People like Slade Castle and Valkyrie used to be on my radar as bad asses, but it turns out they’re happy dancing around for Arik like puppets on strings. I could almost understand it if that little motherfucker had an ounce of charisma, but anyone with half a brain can see that he’s got the personality of a pudding cup and the spine to match. So why in the blue hell would Castle and Valkyrie sign up with someone like that? Maybe they think it’s an easy ticket to the top, or maybe they just like wearing that little bald man’s ass like a facemask. Beats the hell out of me. The bottom line is that they’re the two that Arik has chosen to represent his cult at the Pay Per View, so let’s take a closer look at those unlucky motherfuckers.”

Julius ignites the cigarette between his lips as his thumb rolls against the silver lighter. He then snaps it closed with a flick of his wrist and takes his first drag, letting the smoke roll back out of his mouth as he places the items back on the table.

“Slade Castle is a fellow Detroit native, a former marine, and a tough little bastard. I should know, because I used to make a lot of money betting on local underground fights, and he put more cash in my pocket than anyone else. Part of me hoped that we would find some common ground when he signed with Fallout, but in the back of my mind I knew that it was only a matter of time until we had to throw down. Now that time is almost here, and I’d be lying if I said that I’m at one hundred percent. Too bad for Castle that Julius Fairweather at fifty percent is still twice as tough as most. Not that long ago, I thought it might be fun to test myself against a fighter like him, but now things are different. He joined up with a group that wants to take my ass out of the equation, and I take that shit personally.”

Julius rolls the cigarette between his fingers absentmindedly as he continues to glare at the camera.

“It’s kind of like Valkyrie trying to call my ass out on Twitter, telling me to tag her when I’m trash talking the True Society. I took that shit personally too. Hell, that fucked up bitch even called me a pussy. Me! Little girl, it’s clear that you don’t have a damn clue who you’re stepping in the ring with if you think I’m anything close to resembling that smelly patch between your legs. If you want to tangle with the second most suave motherfucker on Twitter, you’d better bring a lot more ammunition than that. As for me tagging you? Rest assured, at the Clash, it’ll be my pleasure to tag you with rights and lefts as often as I get the chance. By the time The Motherfuckers get done with you and Castle, the only lost souls that this Valkyrie will be ushering off to Valhalla will be your own. Just remember, when you get to that big feasting hall in the sky and Odin asks what your skanky ass is doing there, tell him Julius Fairweather sent you. That’s all the one-eyed bastard will need to hear in order to save seats for the rest of your little Society.”

Julius takes another drag and exhales the smoke from his nostrils before continuing to address the upcoming event.

“Now I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the other unlucky motherfuckers who are about to be caught in the middle of this little tag team triple threat. DJ Hunter and Kyle Valentine call themselves The Phantom Troupe, and I don’t have a damn clue what that’s supposed to mean. Weird names aside, from what I’ve seen when I watch Proving Ground, they’ve been working hard to make a reputation for themselves. I can respect the kind of hustle it takes for a couple of young motherfuckers to work their way to the top, but they’re gonna have to keep working a little bit harder. I may have personal issues with the members of True Society, but when it comes to you two, it’s just another day at the office. You can expect me to clock in, kick your asses, take a smoke break, and clock back out. No offense boys, but you ain’t even ready for the True Society, let alone the Bad Motherfucker and the Drip Sensation.”

He slightly cocks his head to the side, still focusing his cold stare at the lens of the camera.

“I ain’t gonna blow smoke up anyone’s ass and I ain’t gonna tell no motherfucking lies. I’ve been through the ringer lately. Going from two matches at Bloodbath to another title defense at Clash ain’t ideal, but if the tag titles ain’t getting put on the line, what’s the use in having them? I’m not the kind of motherfucker to put it all on the line every other month and then take a powder when things don’t go my way. I came into this company to make a whole lotta green and leave a legacy by the time I’m done. Seems like I can’t do either of those things by sitting at home to lick my wounds or by dropping the belts to any random pair of assholes or a couple of outclassed rookies. So all four of you can expect Julius motherfucking Fairweather to show up for a fight, and with Lil’ Petey in my corner, we’ll be dripping that swag with every ass we kick.”

Julius continues to take an occasional drag from his cigarette as he speaks his mind, and a thin cloud of smoke has started to swirl overhead.

“So why would a pair of selfish motherfuckers like me and Petey even bother? Why should we put our asses on the line just because Arik Holt has delusions of grandeur? Why should anyone give a damn whether or not the True Society burns this place to the ground? For me the answer is simple. I’ve come too damn far in this place to sit back and let Arik Holt and his stooges turn it into their personal playground. I’ve been carving out my own little corner of Project: Honor with my blood and sweat, and frankly, I don’t feel like starting from scratch somewhere else. What’s mine is mine, and I will protect what’s mine with all the ferocity and determination in my body. I may not be the Prime Champion and I may not be calling the shots, but I’ve been on Fallout since the first episode and this weekend will mark the first time I’ve missed a show. Well it’s still the brand that Fairweather had a hand in building, and after the Clash you can bet your asses I’ll be back there to set a few things straight. First I need to serve up some hot Royales with Cheese to Castle, Valkyrie, and the Phantom Troupe. After that? Well, just stay tuned.”

He takes one last, long drag from his cigarette, giving the camera a sideways stare every second that the ember glows brighter. Julius then pulls the cigarette away and exhales, causing the low-hanging cloud to swirl like a building storm.

“Because in the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s Slade Castle, Valkyrie, or one of those Phantom boys, The Motherfuckers are going to make a statement at Clash For the Cup at the expense of someone. There’s a war on the horizon, and every time Arik Holt recruits another motherfucker to his cause, the scales tip in the wrong direction. It doesn’t matter if he manages to snag a champion like Syndicate or a chump like Serrano, there’s strength in numbers. Jason Long wants to walk alone, Savannah’s lost her goddamn mind, and Christian DeMarco is collecting those fat severance checks from Rock Johnson. I don’t want to be the one that makes a stand, cause if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a leader. That doesn’t mean I won’t be there when the shit hits the fan. The opening shots have already been fired and the casualties are piling up, so now it’s time for me and Petey to get into the trenches and fire off some shots of our own. At Clash For the Cup, us Big Drippin’ Motherfuckers take a stand.”

With Julius still staring ahead at the camera, he moves his hand to the chairside table and presses the lit end of his cigarette into an ashtray to extinguish it.

"Then you can all ask yourselves that question one more time. "Is Julius Fairweather crazy?"  

The picture snaps to black, but the Bad Motherfucker has a parting message from the darkness.

"You're goddamn right I am."