Copeland sits in the corner of a rundown old bar outside Razorback Point. The others in the bar leave him alone as he stares blankly out of the dirty window with a full glass of beer in front of him. He sits and reflects on the events of the past few weeks, silently thinking to himself about what he has achieved and what he has failed to do.

“Hey freak!”

Someone yells from across the room in a thick Irish accent, as Copeland turns his eyes away from the window and without warning, throws the large glass of beer across the room at a group of leering lumber workers. The men scatter as the heavy mug smashes into the wall. Standing to their feet, the men walk angrily as a group toward the unhinged beast.

“You got a problem...freak?”

The biggest man in the group says, as he steps forward away from the group and leans across the table, staring down on the masked man. The group laughs as one as they stare down on Copeland who is still staring out that window. With their inhibitions lowered and their judgment impaired, the leader of the group slams his fist down on the table.

“Are you deaf? I said do you have a problem?”

Staring down on the unflinching site of the silent man before him; the optical illusion of him sitting down behind the table, obviously playing with the foolish thoughts running through the minds of the men surrounding the table. Copeland groans and turns his head upward, looking into the bloodshot eyes of the stinking, stained lead man who hasn't moved. This time Copeland stares at him unfazed and the group behind him laugh again. The leader of the bunch turns and smiles, laughing along with them, before turning back around and producing a large bowey knife from his belt and brandishes it in front of Copeland's face.

“You look at me like that again...and I'll really make you a freak”.

Copeland removes his gaze from the man, to the knife that is now inches from his mask. He remains seated and closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. Copeland's shoulders drop and he opens his eyes, flicking them back and forth from one man to the next. The drunken group all step forward as the Irishman wielding the knife barks again at the seated monster.

“We don't like freaks around here and we've heard about you...leave now or I'll cut that damn mask off your face”.

Copeland remains impassive, sitting very still with both of his hands resting on the table. The men stare down on him, waiting for him to stand and leave, however Copeland remains seated and begins to laugh, as it builds to a bellow that causes the men to take a back step.

“What's so funny freak? You're outnumbered and if your trying to seal your fate, then I'll seal it for you”.

The man stands for a moment, presumably trying to bluff the WWA United States Champion. But Copeland's laugh only gets louder, to the point where one of the men starts to tug an old pistol from his belt and the room clears. With that, Copeland springs to action. His large hand flicks out, grips the knife in the Irishman's hand, and swings the blade down, burying it three inches deep into the tabletop.

“What the bloody hell?”.

The Irishman groans, as Copeland grabs him around the throat and stands to his feet. The group standing behind the lead man breaks and circles around the man hidden behind the mask. Encircling him with weapons, Copeland's laugh starts to die down as he looks into the Irishman's eyes and then moves his entire body from side to side as he blocks any direct path to him by the mob looking to attack in numbers.

“What are you waiting for...get him!”

Screams the Irishman, who is still well and truly in Copeland's violent grip. But not for long as he is hoisted vertically by the throat and chokeslammed hard through one of the old tables lining the walls. Leaving the main man unconscious on the floor, Copeland turns his attention to the rest of the group, five men remain as they all shout insults and provocations at him, but all Copeland does is stand and wait for them to attack.

“Jimmy! Wake up Jim”.

Another man yells, this time in a Scottish accent, past Copeland to the unconscious Irishman lying in a mass of splintered wood. With no answer, nor movement, coming from Jimmy. The Scot steps forward and is thrown a steel pipe from a man behind him, catches it and starts pounding it into his open palm. He keeps walking forward toward the primal force standing across from him.

“You're dead masked man...I don't know what your deal is, but we're going to show you why we have our reputation, and that's not good news for you my friend...not good news at all”.

With that, the Scotsman lets out a highlander roar and runs, pipe raised and cocked back, at Copeland who hasn't moved a muscle. The Scot gets to within feet of Copeland and is front kicked in the chest, dropping him down and knocking him out cold too.

“Holy mother of Jesus, who the hell is this man?”

Another of the men yelps, as he turns and grabs a chair, throwing it at Copeland. The provoked animal catches it and sets it down next to him calmly and shakes his head, as he looks into the eyes of the three remaining men, who's nerves are now racked with every ounce of adrenaline in their bodies, visibly shaking they form a huddle and looks at Copeland. They converse between themselves, seemingly forming a battle strategy, before breaking moments later. Another Irish accent, albeit dumber than the last man, comes from the littler man standing in the middle of bunch.

“Alright big man...no need to get upset, we was just jokin', we was just playin' around...if you don't mind we'll be the bigger men and leave...all's we ask is that you let us collect out friends first”.

Hearing this Copeland's body tightens and he flicks his eyes back and forth into theirs for a moment and then slowly and frighteningly shakes his head. The smiles on the men's faces drop and are replaced by frowns and expressions of anger as the man standing in the middle of the bunch points at various objects in their vicinity and each man breaks away and takes control of a weapon.

"Now you've gone and done it...you knock out two of our mates and think you can just walk away? Now we're done trying to bluff you, this is where it gets serious big man”.

All three men charge at Copeland, but two of them jump up and run along the two long tables in the middle of the room, weapons down at their sides, the little man in the middle runs and throws an empty bottle of Jack Daniels at Copeland but the animal ducks it and looks up at the men running on the tables.

“Mister masked man...meet Patrick and Murphy, the O'Leary brothers...they specialise in cracking skulls from a position such as the one they are in right now...prepare yourself masked man...this is gonna hurt”.

Jumping from the table in a synchronised fashion, the O'Leary brothers come down with a piece of 2x4 each and swing for the fences. Copeland however reacts like a shark and grabs the nearest one and spins him around, blocking the other brother with his improvised human shield, before letting him go and throwing him across the table.

“Damn it! Who the hell are you...why

The little man yells from his position between the tables. Copeland looks up at him and then leans down, picks up the man he used as a shield and throws him into the air, catches him across his shoulders and delivers the Psychosnap through another table. The little man begins to panic as he starts to back up and shifts his eyes around the room looking for an exit. Copeland begins to stalk the only man left, as he slowly trudges toward the visibly frightened man.

“Please...I was only going along with them...please I beg of you, have mercy masked man”.

This doesn't work as Copeland continues to stalk the panic riddled man now up against the locked door to the bar. The animal begins to laugh again, the same psychotic laugh that has come from beneath his mask before, a laugh of almost sadistic glee as his hand shoots out and grabs the man around the throat.

“I beg of you, please let me pass and I'll never bother you again...I understand now, you just want to be left alone”.

The laugh slows down as Copeland looks into the little man's eyes and he begins to breath in and out rapidly as his eyes drop to the floor. After a few moments of contemplation, he snaps his eyes back up and shakes his head before hoisting the little man into the air and launching him out a window. Shattering glass falls everywhere, inside and out, as he walks to the window to view the twitching little Irishman lying on the hard dirt outside. A few moments of silence is broken by the slow rhythm of clapping.

“Very good Copeland...very good indeed. Perhaps you do have what it takes to win this match for the second time, last time it was a town, this time it's a prison...something you had grown accustomed to during your time away from the World Wrestling Alliance...but unlike your last time inside Penitentiary walls, you get to leave when it is all done.”

A moment later, Gabriel Roth, walks down the staircase with a confident strut and a smile plastered on his face, his eyes are full of joy from what he has just witnessed. His animal is ready for the pain that’s about to be dealt and felt.

“What makes you stand out above all else in a match like this, is the fact that although you can be halted, you cannot and will not be stopped and that is a guarantee, I don’t expect you to win this match Copeland, all I expect is that you use this opportunity to

 Copeland’s eyes fall to the floor as he take in Roth’s words, slowly nodding his head in understanding. He raises his eyes and looks into his managers with calm focus and a hint of unpredictability.

“This match is full to the brim with men who could walk out with the reward that is shot at one of the titles...either your United States title, or Mancuso’s WWA Championship. These men will fight tooth and nail to leave with that reward and I want you to do the same. If you can’t overpower everyone, then I want you to make a statement to everyone and destroy them all”.

Roth’s grin widens as he imagines the carnage that will befall everyone who enters through those prison gates.

“Damian Thorne, Ry Ballard, Jaymz Watkins, Shaman, Eddie Van Dorn, The Cog, Jack Griffiths, Greg Segier, Bruce Pepin...all these men and more, have what it takes to dig down deep and pull something from the fires, pull that special something everybody needs to rise above the pain and keep going...like the films that inspire horror and torture, you are at the forefront of these themes. You are the epitome of horror and fear and this match will prove that, win or lose, you will not disappoint me”.

Roth begins laughing to himself as his monster turns and walks away with that terminator-like focus, his mission has been tasked and now he must complete it. Roth yells across the room as Copeland steps over his previous victims till strewn across the floor.

“Remember Copeland...you’re not locked in there with them...they’re locked in there with you!”

With that, the animal kicks the door open and exits the building. We fade to black with Gabriel Roth grinning from ear to ear, knowing his machine still has his domain to enter and the brutality that has become synonymous with the various incarnations of the PAIN matches...in this instance possibly the most brutal of all...Halloween Prison of Pain.