Death Row VOTING & PROMO THREAD

???: Hello, operator? It’s an emergency, my sister’s going into labor; we need an ambulance now!

Chris Austin has a look of bonafide terror scrawled all over his face. He stares out into nothing as Jaime writhes in pain and Alex delivers the address to send the ambulance. His mouth parts just slightly…he has no idea what he’s doing. He has no idea how it’s going to turn out. All of a sudden he feels a compacting sensation in his metacarpus…it grows stronger …fingernails dig into the rough, calloused palm of Christopher Bradford Austin…He’s entirely numb to the situation, until…

Jaime: UHHH-AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He snaps out of his trance as his unborn child’s mother yells out in obvious pain. He shakes his head and has the presence of mind to glance at his watch, timing what was just a contraction. Alex hangs up the phone and rushes to their side. Alex’s soft, calm hand creates a sharp contrast with the overwhelming tenseness that runs through the shoulders of Austin. She looks on worried; she can see that he’s feeling something she’s never encountered. She’s seen doubt. She’s seen unsure. She’s seen lust, desire. Jaime’s eyes slowly open from her grimace and look into Austin’s eyes. His eyes won’t focus, they’re everywhere, he can’t bring himself to look either woman in the face and let them know it’s going to be fine. She looks towards Alex and both of their angelic faces say it. They’re stunned because they can sense that for the first time, in their presence…Austin is scared.

They can’t see me like this, I need be strong for them…But, I need them to be stronger for me. What the hell do I do?

Alex: CB! We have to act now! Come on!

RCA: Where?

Alex looks into a confused face as if to say ‘Are you serious?’ Austin gives himself a ‘what the hell’ look as Jaime’s head leans into the wall, silently begging some one to take control of the situation…Austin, obvious fear in his voice, steps up to try. His words flow out of him as if he’s been in this situation before, it’s very reassuring. He sounds confident, he always does…but for months now, he hasn’t been.

RCA: Come on J, we gotta get to the hospital. Alex, here’s my phone. Call my Dad, tell him what’s happening and tell him to meet us at the hospital.

Alex nods as Austin tosses her his cell phone. Austin helps Jaime to her feet, and in his haste lifts her off the ground in a cradle hold as he rushes to the door. Alex is close behind as she gives the specifics to Austin’s father. Alex opens the door for both of them and he explodes through it, with Jaime in his arms.

Alex: CB, your dad says which hospital?

RCA: Fuck…Santa something…shit, tell him the same one we went to last time now get in!

Alex relays the message as Austin places Jaime in the back seat. Alex runs around to the passenger side and gets in as she continues to update Austin’s father. Austin happens to glance into the back area of his SUV and to his surprise he sees a gym bag with a ‘BABY’ tag on the shoulder strap. Austin’s heart rate drops a bit after seeing he has a glimmer of preparation, but it’s only one instance of hope in what is otherwise chaos. He looks in to Jaime’s eyes and lovingly caresses her forehead in between strapping her in with seat belt.

RCA: J…I don’t know…I’ll figure something out…

Jaime nods. The last thing she sees is a sliver of courage trying to shine through, courage she needed to see, as her eyelids shut in discomfort. Austin jumps into the SUV on the driver’s side, clicks on his seat belt and quickly cranks up the SUV. He pulls out of the driveway with a vengeance, sending dirt and rocks flying every which way. As Austin gets on the road, he can only think one thing…

God, don’t let me screw this up.





I can’t believe it, it’s actually happening. I’m going to be a father! I swerve through the turn, looking back towards a very worried Jaime and a nervous Alex. I look towards Alex, she glances right back. I know that eventually, we’re going to have to talk about what’s going on and where this leaves us. I just hope she doesn’t bring it up now. I’m being overwhelmed with a sense of urg-GOD DAMMIT MOVE!

I need some back up big time. With FMW in California, I’m sure I can reach Kels…but I need all the reassurance and support I can get. We’re almost there Jaime, hang on tight…our child it’s going to be fine. My match with Smitten is horribly timed. But fuck it and fuck him. I have bigger things to deal with. I have a family, a legitimate family that’s mine and only mine…so why can’t I focus on what I have, why can’t I block out the rest of these distractions? Focus Chris, FOCUS! All that matters now is getting J to the hospital on time. All that matters is making sure my child is born in the best conditions possible.

A future with Alex, I’ve probably fucked up. The II is still messy. My mother is gone because of me. My professional relationships for the most part are on their deathbeds… This is something I CAN’T fuck up. Failure is not an option for me. I know I’ve choked before but please, not now. I’ve let myself and J down…probably Alex and FMW too but my child…I can’t, no matter what. God can’t let me fuck this up. Don’t let me fail. My career has seen me cross paths with many people who’ve failed their children, some before they were born and it doesn’t bode well for me that almost everyone sees a version of themselves in me. If there was ever a time to be a ‘Radical’ this would be it. I’m begging you Chris, for you and yours’ sakes…don’t let me be like them. Just this once, don’t let me be a lie.

Austin’s eyes dart all over the place, between a pained Jaime, traffic and a worried Alex…his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel tightly before sharply yanking to the left, on his way to the Santa Clara Valley Medical Center. Austin’s forehead grows moist as a persistent throbbing begins to intensify deep within his left temple. Austin begins to breathe, irregularly and labored…Jaime grips the top of the driver’s seat as she sits up and yelps in pain as she grabs at her side. Alex struggles to direct traffic and calm Austin as his vision begins to blur from the pain, in tune to Jaime’s discomfort right down to the epicenter of the affected area. As traffic flies by, Austin’s mind drifts every which way. His sympathy pains, his screwed personal life…Alex, Jaime, FMW, himself.

Time slows as Austin can seemingly feel his life passing by, his heart forcefully knocking against his chest, the visceral force comparable to the potential Austin has seemingly all but lost. The palpitations are relentless as Austin’s sweat-covered head whips from Alex who’s alerting the hospital of their impending arrival to Jaime, her breathing exercises being no use. In a blink of Austin’s eyes, he screeches into the hospital’s parking area, with no memory of how he got there or into any of this mess. Austin unfastens his seat belt and collapses back into his seat; mentally exhausted from the most blindingly quick drive of his life…Alex bolts from the passenger side as EMTs are out to remove Jaime from the back seat. As Alex is at her sister’s side, Jaime desperately pleads for Austin.

Jaime CHRIS!!!!

…get it together, Chris. Come on…

Jaime’s voice evaporates into the atmosphere as Austin opens his door and merely tips out of his vehicle onto all fours. Austin tries to fight through but he’s overcome by a gagging feeling, followed by the acidic burn of vomit. He slams his door shut and stumbles around his vehicle before drunkenly staggering towards the ER entrance. He pulls out his phone, scrolls through it and clicks send…

RCA: Kels…get to Santa Clara Valley Medical Center…NOW.

And quickly hangs up as regret of bringing Kelson into this situation seeps into his mind. He gets to the entrance and stops to regain his bearings before making one last call; a call, that if he had listened to the opinions of everyone else, he would have never made again. A call, that he doesn’t want to make and hates making.

Don’t call him, Chris…NO. Don’t do it…I can’t…I just…I don’t know where else to turn…

???: Hello?

RCA: Drew…I need your help…

The scene fades away as Austin runs into the hospital…





A few hours have passed…Austin has been running himself ragged, going from trying to please and reassure Jaime to trying to keep everyone updated on Jaime’s condition. As we see Austin wearily walk towards the waiting room from his fourth checkup on Jaime, we can see his eyes dart as Alex and his father Jay, rise up and come towards him. A feeling of anxiety silently washes over Austin as he asks himself…

Where the fuck is Kels and Drew? I called them hours ago. Why the fuck did I do that anyway, that will bring me nothing but trouble. Maybe, just this once, they’ll put their animosity, and their personal feelings aside for me, the greater good. But how can I expect that? I just told the greater good to go fuck themselves not too long ago, so why should I be any different?

Jay: Son, how is she?

RCA: A few centimeters dilated. Right now she’s on the epidural; contractions are like seven minutes apart.

Alex: Babe, how are you?

Austin raises his head…a long tired sigh escapes through Austin’s lips. Alex grabs onto Austin’s hands, but quickly pulls back, startled by the clammed, moist palms of Austin, creating a sleek surface, contrary to the rough hands she preferred caressing her body.

RCA: I don’t know, Alex…I don’t. I gotta-

???: Austin!

Austin glances to the direction of the voice and a small sigh of relief escapes as he recognizes Chris Kelson, trailed by Jose Tavarez A.K.A. Hostyle, jogging towards Austin in a hurry. If Austin could summon the energy, he’d smile but he can’t afford to, any energy he has, he needs to save for Jaime to feed from when that time comes.

Kelson: Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Traffic, FMW obligations held me up. I hope you don’t mind that I brought Jose along…

RCA: It’s cool…I’m just glad you’re here.

God…if you can, don’t let Drew get here. I need my child to be born in a stress-free environment, and while I know I brought this on myself…I-

???: Christopher.

DAMMIT.

Drew Michaels calmly walks inside the hospital and gathers around Austin. Austin’s heartbeat begins to speed up; a bout of claustrophobia seems to be around the corner. Michaels having brought with him a sober Dante Jones A.K.A. RAMPAGE, does nothing to help matters.

Michaels: Apologies for the tardiness, Christopher. Traffic coupled with the detour of picking up Dante was the culprit. But, what matters is that we are here for you and only you.

Kelson looks towards Austin as if to ask ‘You invited Drew, of all people?’ as Jose merely rolls his eyes in annoyance. Drew’s smile quickly becomes an angered frown as he stares a hole into the face of Kelson. Dante’s gruff voice cuts the tension, changing the subject.

Dante: Kid, this your pops and sis?

RCA: Yes and no. This is my dad, Jay and my girlfriend, Alex.

Alex looks down with a blush as Dante and Jay share a firm handshake. Her heart warms with Austin’s willingness to acknowledge their relationship, despite its rocky start. Michaels greets the two as Jose and Kelson follow suit. This break in his turmoil allows for Austin to catch a breath, let him think that maybe things will be alright.

RCA: Can I talk to you four?

Drew nods as each co-worker and in some way, friend goes toward him as Alex and Jay go off to talk.

Dante: So if Alex is your main squeeze now, who did you knock up?

RCA It’s complicated, just leave it at that. Look, I know you hate each other, and I know we all have our issues, particularly Drew, Kels and I. Still, all I ask is to keep it together. I would like for my family to remain calm, especially since I’m truly of little use to them like this…

Meanwhile…during this conversation, Alex and Jay begin to have their own…

Alex: So what are we gonna do?

Jay: What do you mean?

Alex Look at him…he’s mentally fucked and you still have to tell him the truth.

Jay: I know, but how? There’s no way he can handle it, not the way he is now. With his friends here…this isn’t the place.

Alex: Well, we’ve gotta say something to him. I don’t want to start our relationship off on the wrong foot.

Jay: It’s too late for that. He finds out you knew…there’s no telling what could happen. What the hell are we going to do?

Alex: I really don’t know, Mr. Austin…I really don’t know…

And on that note, we go back to Austin’s whispered plea towards the foursome, which has managed to not elevated into an argument.





RCA: …Well? Can you do that for me?

Michaels: Yes, I will do everything in my power to be here for you to lean on.

Kelson: You got it.

Austin looks towards Jose and Dante, they both nod. Austin rises up, feeling like he’s accomplished something.

RCA: Alright, I’m gonna go check on Jaime.

RCA leaves as everyone takes a seat in the waiting room….Time creeps by slowly, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours. Each twosome talks amongst itself…Alex and Jay about their future in Austin’s life…Kelson and Jose about II’s future in Austin’s life…Drew and Dante about the Broken Saints’ future in Austin’s life. We then shift the focus towards Austin, who is seated at Jaime’s side as a doctor goes over the procedures. Austin pays no mind as he softly brushes away Jaime’s matted hair from her brow. Jaime snatches her head away from the hand of the man who she thought cared unconditionally, but now seems to be nothing more than the lie she already is.

RCA: You OK, J?

Jaime: We’re not OK, Chris. We probably never will be after what happened today.

RCA: I don’t want to think about that. My only concern is you and my child. That’s all that matters to me, and that’s all I want you to think about. I want you to know, that I will be here for you through this, and I’ll be in my child’s life.

Jaime: Who says I want you there?

RCA: Who says you’re gonna stop me?

Jaime looks away, obviously still upset as to how the situation is unfolding. Austin gives a tender peck to Jaime’s forehead, as she’s too weak to fight it away, despite the fact that there was some enjoyment on her part from that gesture. Austin rises up and slowly walks just outside of the room, hands in his pockets as he looks back to what he believes is his greatest accomplishment.

Mistake or no, I wouldn’t change this one for the world and I’d move the world to be in that child’s life…I heard the story about how Smitten gained Kelsey, about how Sockoman had his daughter taken from him at his lowest point by a heartless, corrupt Smitten. Sockoman wouldn’t fight for his daughter…and while I may be at a low point in my life, I’m going to fight for her. I’ll be damned if someone, even the mother, keeps me away from my baby.

Austin sits down against the wall right outside Jaime’s room. His eyes close as he tries to relax…and then footsteps, then a voice…

Michaels: How are you holding up, Christopher?

RCA: I just am, I guess…

Michaels: Of course, glory be to the LORD for that.

RCA: Look, can you just tell me that it’s going to be fine and let me be for a second? I don’t have it in me to deal with much more.

Michaels: You yourself know that it will work out. You did not call me for encouragement. You called me because of what is in your heart.

RCA: What?

Austin’s eyes open as the manipulative gears in Drew’s mind begin to turn. Drew takes a seat beside what is left of the exhausted expectant father.

Michaels: The Saints.

Austin musters up a sarcastic chuckle as he palms his face before rubbing his eyes and giving off a sniff.

RCA: You can’t be serious. Did you forget 9.4?

Michaels: No I did not and I am very serious, Christopher. Look at yourself; look at the turmoil in your personal life. You need a true family, besides the one you have now. Dante, Seth and I can be that family for you.

RCA: I don’t want anything to do with Seth or Dante and I really shouldn’t want anything to do with you.

Michaels: Yet, here I am. Here for you. As I have said before, you see the truth and the chaos of Full Metal Wrestling. Please end your sitting on the sidelines. Help us rid Full Metal Wrestling of it and we can help you rid yourself of your troubles. We can help you work through this. We can help you rid yourself of the everlasting doubt that lives inside you.

Austin’s eyes close as Michaels calculatingly reminds Austin of his struggles within himself.

RCA: You came up here to try and convince me to join you? What kind of…no, just no, alright? I don’t even know why you came.

Michaels: You reached out to me, Christopher; better late than never. Despite your transgressions, despite your fighting the truth, I will not turn my back on you.

RCA: Maybe you should, Michaels. Maybe you should.

Austin quickly stands up to go check on Jaime. Michaels looks on, and merely chuckles to himself before retreating back to the waiting room while saying to himself:

Michaels: It is only a matter of time, Christopher…only a matter of time.





Michaels arrives back to the waiting room with a smirk as Kelson gives off a look to Michaels before confronting him.

Kelson: What the fuck did you do?

Michaels: None of your business.

Dante: Bruh, how did it go?

Michaels: He is still putting up a fight but (Looks at Hostyle and Kelson with an arrogant grin) I do believe that headway was made. He will come around to our point of view eventually.

Dante: Still adamant about not joining, is he?

Michaels: Yes…but I sense him contemplating his decision. I feel like I reached him a bit.

Kelson: Michaels, stay the hell away from Austin. He won’t fall for your damn mind games, and I’m getting tired of you trying to convince him otherwise.

Michaels: I do not see you being any sort of obstacle towards me in that aspect. As much as Christopher touts you and Jose for allowing him to freely behave as he sees fit, you seem quite restrictive.

Hostyle: Shut up, Michaels. If we were as restrictive as you claim, we’d be feeding him mierda about how he’s needed by us to save Full Metal Wrestling, when you know that he has no desire to.

Dante: Oh, now you take action? Now you make a stand? Where was all of this ‘machismo’ when the kid looked to you for advice? Yeah, when you let him down, he comes to us so I implore you, where was all of this desire to defend him even though he hasn’t asked you to?

Kelson: Dante, you have no right to even question someone’s behavior!

That outburst garners the attention of Alex and Jay, who look on as the argument escalates. Meanwhile, Jaime is now officially in labor as Austin’s eyes widen…the scene becomes bustling as Jaime has now begun to push. Austin grabs Jaime’s hand and leans towards her so that they are cheek to cheek. Her face tells the story.

RCA: Come on J, push! You can do this!

Jaime: (in pain, sobbing) UGHHHHH-AHHH!

RCA: Good job, remember to breathe…I got you…

Doctor: Uh oh…

RCA: WHAT?

Doctor: We’ve got to go with the C-section…cord’s wrapped around the neck…

Jaime: (nearing hysteria) Chris, what’s gonna happen?

RCA: I don’t know, but I’ll be here at your side…

God…don’t do this to me. Please…

Doctor: Prep the Delivery room…we’ve gotta move!

The medical team, trailed by Austin begins to slowly make their way there, having to go through the waiting room to get to their destination. We fade back to the waiting room.

Dante: Child, hush.

Hostyle: You always refer to someone as a child, as if you are the most mature of us all. You’re nothing more than the petulant youth you make most of us out to be.

Dante: Kudos on the lack of ‘cock-jockey’ in that sentence. Didn’t know you had that kind of restraint.

Kelson: Why don’t you two just fuck off? Austin has us; he doesn’t need you here to distract him with your doomed to fail venture.

Michaels: Christopher called me, and I can confidently say that our venture will be of more impact than yours could ever be. Honestly, I did not except much to begin with given Jose being involved.

Hostyle: Jodete, Michaels!

Austin’s nerves begin to overtake him as the need to talk with someone presses to the front of his mind. As the medical team passes through, Austin happens upon the foursome nearing blows.

RCA: Kelson, Drew…I need to talk to…what the hell is going on?

He quickly nears them, as his fists tremble and his face has a look of raging disbelief. Alex and Jay look on, slightly embarrassed and sympathetic for Austin as they see the kind of stress Austin deals with at work. Paying no mind to the man who needs all of them, Kelson shoves Michaels who begins to prepare for a fight. Dante restrains him and a shouting match ensues…all of a sudden, the action stops as Alex and Jay are brought to their feet by a booming, intimidating voice that not even the most battle-hardened drill sergeant could muster. Austin has reach a point of fury…he’s irrational.

RCA: SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU! How in fucking God's name I've gone as long as I have with you people as a sorry ass support system...amazes me. If ANYONE else were in my shoes, they wouldn't count on anybody either! I barely believe in myself as it is, and when I need somebody to talk to, when all I ask is to keep it together because I can’t...I get this shit thrown in my face?!?!? You know what, fuck it. I don't need this and I don't need any of you…all four of you can Get. The. Fuck. Out!

I should’ve known this would happen …

Austin shakes his head at each man, all stunned at Austin’s words. Michaels decides to speak up.

Michaels: Christopher, I know you are upset, but that is no reason to attempt to burn a bridge again.

RCA: Whatever, Michaels!

Michaels: Christopher, are you going to turn your back on your so called friends in Christophe and Jose…on Dante? Christopher, are you going to turn your back on me again?

Austin stops in his tracks as the seemingly selfishness of Drew shines through. Austin quickly gets into Drew’s face, one which has remained calm thus far. Austin’s next statement drips with venom, drips with a ice cold, callous tone that he has never expressed before.

RCA: On you? ON YOU? I’M having a fucking child, Drew; YOU wouldn't know anything about that.

Drew’s calm exterior begins to crack. A soft spot has been savagely bitten with authority. That exterior is replaced with a look of hurt and blind rage on Drew’s face. Austin backs away from Michaels as Dante, Kelson and Jose are a bit taken aback at the insult Austin has thrown. Austin takes off to catch up to Jaime as Alex and Jay aren’t far behind. Austin’s ‘support system’ is left to the subtle jabs of wandering eyes, as all they can do is give a look to the other twosome, a look of ‘See what the fuck you did?’ Fade out…





I’m a dad…I did it. No, J and I did it. Words can’t describe it… I feel like I won the big one, finally. It’s really put a perspective on everything…FMW truly doesn’t compare to real life, nothing I’ve ever done or will do in my life compares to this. I’m a dad…wow…

More hours pass. Jay and Alex pace back and forth outside of the operating room. A soft beep of a heart monitor and the hushed sound of a breathing machine is all that cuts through the silence. All of a sudden, the door slowly opens. Jay and Alex’s eyes shoot toward it, looking for good news. Austin trudges out, sweat-drenched and eyes reddened with tears. He looks towards his father and girlfriend, speechless.

Jay: What’s the report, son?

Alex: How’s Jaime? Is everything OK?

Austin merely stares into their eyes as he removes hospital-issued scrubs and gloves…he looks down and Jay’s face begins to frown and Alex covers her mouth, each expecting the worst. Austin looks up, visibly shedding more tears, without a sound…then his face moves ever so. A smile digs through the layers of emotions Austin has expressed and settles in. Austin lets out a small chuckle.

RCA: (sniffs, before letting out a small laugh) it’s a boy…

Jay’s lungs expel relief as Alex embraces Austin tightly. Austin wraps his arms around her, his ordeal is over…

Jay: That’s great son…I’m proud of you, Christopher, I truly am.

RCA: Thanks, dad.

The two Austin men embrace with a mutual feeling of love they haven’t expressed to each other in years. Both men smile as Alex struggles to hold back joyful tears of her own.

Alex: So can we see him?

RCA: Yeah.

Austin opens the door for both his father and his girlfriend. They both look toward Chris with pride and happiness, but as they turn away, both share a look of realization. They realize that this lie has gotten out of hand. They realize, that they should’ve told him the truth before now, before all of the mental trials he’s experienced.





Jaime lies sleeping as at her beside the newest member of the Austin clan rests his small, precious form inside of a clear blanket-layered container. Austin walks in, trailed by Alex and Jay. Alex coos at the young newborn as Jay looks towards, easily seeing the resemblance.

RCA: Rise and shine, sleepyhead.

Jaime: (groggily) Ugh…what’s up?

RCA: You and the little guy have some visitors.

Alex: Congratulations, big sis, he’s beautiful.

RCA: Dad, he looks like you.

Jay shows a mixture of heartbreak and pride after that statement as Alex and Jaime embrace, seemingly putting the earlier revelations out of their minds for now. Jay looks towards his son, visibly emotional, Austin merely smiles at his father, and completely misreads why Jay is emotional.

Jay: Chris, can we talk in private?

RCA: Sure.

Austin and Jay take their leave, as Jay looks to Alex, giving her the ‘I’m gonna tell him’ look. Alex holds the young child close as Jaime smiles at the new aunt. Meanwhile, Kelson, Drew, Jose and Dante have each neared closer to the operating room, each man inquisitive as to what has transpired since Austin’s outburst.

RCA: So what’s up?

Jay: Son, I’ve got something I need to tell you.

RCA: Well, I have something to tell you too.

Jay: (slightly surprised) Uh…OK.

Jaime cradles the young baby as Alex cautiously nears the door to eavesdrop on Jay and Chris.

RCA: Thank you.

Jay: Thank you?

RCA: Yeah, thank you. Just for everything; for being a good father, for being here to share in this, just everything. I know that things haven’t been the best between us, but you are a good dad. You’ve kept me out of trouble, you’ve pushed me to keep going and you’ve made me into a decent man. And now that I have my own bundle of joy, I keep thinking back to your lessons about relying on yourself, and how perseverance bears its own reward. Every time I look into my boy’s eyes, I can say...I did that. Lately, nothing’s been going right, here or at work. But, when I really needed to get it right, I did and I want you to know that I couldn’t have done it without remembering what you taught me when I was younger.

Jay turns away, obviously feeling like the worst person in the world. Jay remains stoic, and as usual no tears. He turns to face his son as Alex walks outside…

Alex: Did you tell him?

RCA: Tell him what?

Jay: She means me, whether I told you yet. Christopher, I’m not sure how to say this…

RCA: Well, just say it.

Jay: Uh…well…Shit…

RCA: (chuckles) Anytime…

Jay: It’s about Jaime and the baby.

RCA: Well, nothing’s wrong as far as I know, I’ve been at her side all day.

Jay: No…it’s about the baby.

RCA: If it’s about the name, well I was leaning towards naming him James Bradford, after you. You don’t have to ask.

Jay rubs his face as his son’s light-heartedness makes this situation that much more difficult. Alex’s arms fold across her chest as Austin notices her face showing that something’s wrong.

Jay: Christopher…the baby…you aren’t his father.

Really funny.

Alex goes to console Austin as his head drops. Jay’s face doesn’t change; he prepares himself for Chris’ response. Austin begins to chuckle, and it escalates into a full-on laugh.

Jay: Christopher…

RCA: Yeah right, Dad. You can do better, so what’s really up?

Jay: I’m not kidding, Christopher. We’ve known since the day you got arrested for assault.

RCA: You’re kidding right? I mean, you’re obviously yanking my chain. This isn’t something to joke about.

Jay: Ask Jaime if you don’t believe me.

Austin nods and scoffs at Jay with a small grin on his face as he enters the rooms. As Alex and Jay can obviously sense the delusional mindset of Austin, Austin goes to Jaime and looks into the child’s eyes.

RCA: So get this, J. Dad just said that our baby isn’t mine. I know he doesn’t have the best sense of humor, but seriously? It’s ridiculous, right?

Jaime’s eyes grow wide as Austin looks into her face with a smile. She refuses to look into Austin’s face.

RCA: J, you heard me right? Jaime?

Jaime: …

Austin softly moves her face towards his as he stares into her eyes. She tries to look away as her eyes begin to water. Austin’s face frowns up as reality hits him like a ton of bricks. He snatches up in a furious fright and backs away slowly as Jaime chokes out …

Jaime: Chris, I’m so sorry…

No….NO-NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!!!! ALL OF THIS SHIT I WENT THROUGH…THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING…

Jay and Alex walk in as Austin contemplates what he just heard.

RCA: …j… who’s the father?

Jay: Me. Son, it was a drunken mistake, a one night stand. I was thinking about Eve during our anniversary and how I missed her. Jaime showed up looking for you and we began to reminisce…we had a few too many and this mess happened. I fucked up, and I apologize, but…

Austin doesn’t even notice that Jay and Alex have walked in, and he gives Jay a look as if someone shot his dog, having not comprehended his explanation. If looks could kill Austin would be the only one in the room with a pulse. Austin places his hands on his head and rubs his face as the feeling of rage begins to pump through his body.

RCA: Alex…did you know?

Alex: …

RCA: Alex. Did You Know?

Alex nods in embarrassment. As she looks away, Jay approaches his son as Austin roughly shoves past him.

She was just gonna keep it from me…maybe J was right all along.

Jay: Christopher, wait!

As Austin finally remembers of the account of how his parents’ anniversary was soiled by a slut and a father who should’ve learned to express his emotions to his son, his fists clench up as he snaps towards Jay.

RCA: WHAT IS THERE TO WAIT FOR?!?!?YOU FUCKED MY EX-GIRLFRIEND, AND YOU, DAD...ARE THE FATHER OF THAT CHILD?

Austin takes his leave, doing all he can not to cry. Alex grabs Austin’s shoulder and he roughly bucks her hand off of him. Meanwhile Drew, Dante, Jose and Kelson have neared within earshot of the operating room and they all look towards each other after hearing that outburst. Drew looks visibly sympathetic as Kelson and Jose share looks of disbelief. Dante frowns stoically. Austin looks back to Alex, Jaime and Jay and then he takes his leave. Jay calls after him.

Jay: Son…wait.

RCA: Stay the fuck out of my life…you, Alex, Jaime…just stay the fuck out of my life.

You’re dead to me…all of you…

Jay and company are stunned speechless as Austin walks away. He happens across Jose, Kelson, Dante and Drew as they look at him, not sure what to say. Austin, ashamed, refuses to look into their faces. His body language says everything that needs to be said; the desperate, tired man that until this moment had an uncontrollable desire to please everyone…has been broken. And he still feels that somehow, someway this is his fault. With no desire to continue, Austin just walks away quickly. His foundation weakens like the World Trade Center on that fateful day as he gets closer to the exit. Drew gives him an ‘it’s OK’ look, as Austin uses all that he has left to hold it together until he gets alone. Austin quickly walks from the hospital out into the cold, lonely, untrustworthy world without a security blanket. He slowly trudges away feeling like a failure. He enters his SUV and straps in his seat belt and everything hits him right in the heart. Austin audibly rips open the air with a primal roar of a sob as he pushes into his eyes with his palms. His eyes close tightly as he looks toward his ceiling, yelling to the high heavens with a voice filled with wrath and a desire for revenge.

RCA: ARRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!

Austin repeatedly punches his dashboard as sounds of bone breaking, skin ripping and chips of wood grain speck the air as if it was all that is left of the Chris Austin FMW has grown to know and question. He head butts his wheel once before he wipes his eyes and goes to crank up his vehicle. As he pulls out and drives away, he lets down his window to throw out the ‘BABY’ bag before screeching off…

…what am I gonna do…the kid was all I had…all I believed in, all I had to try and be good for…just…what’s the point now…where do I go from here?





Austin walks into his home, blood dripping from his hand, sweat from his brow and tears from his eyes. He takes out all of his suitcases and begins to pack them all one by one. After finishing taking what he deems worth keeping on his journey to a new home, he loads up his SUV and goes back into the house. He grabs his key and notices that a book that he doesn’t own has been left beside them, along with a note:





Austin scoffs at the notion that he has or even wants a friend, but the book does catch his eye. He looks at the title…The Art of War by Sun Tzu. He grabs the book and retreats to his room, filled with lies seemingly. He goes into his closet, bare save for a small trunk and some Samurai-themed Affliction-branded board shorts, a gift from his time in Tokyo during the Hayabusa Cup of 2008. He opens his trunk, and inside it is tape, pads, and typically anything a wrestler like him would normally wear.

A montage begins, switching between Austin’s reading of the book and preparation not for wrestling Christian G. Smitten at Death Row, but a funeral: the funeral of Chris Austin as you know him. Austin moves methodically and intensely, as he tightly tapes his gauzed right fist in black and studiously observes the book as he slips on a right elbow pad. Austin slowly pulls on his board shorts and plops down onto the bed, still crushed from earlier. Finishing his preparation, Austin stands up, grabbing the book before putting on a skull cap and a black tank top, no ‘RCA’ shirt for what used to be a fun time for him. Uncharacteristically keeping it simple as he always should have Austin rises up; grabbing his last suitcase and departing. Austin takes one last loathe-filled look at his small home before leaving for Los Angeles. Austin drives very tensely, gripping the wheel so tightly that the laceration on his hand begins to cry, something Austin’s eyes no longer do. His eyes never waver, focus not found behind them. All that resides behind them is the realization that things won’t be the same…FOR ANYONE.

Some time later, about 20 minutes after the start of the show, Austin hurriedly speeds into the parking lot in the front of the Staples Center. Austin exits his vehicle slowly as the effects of his concussion remind Austin of its presence with a throb in the temple. Austin takes one last look at it before slamming the door with such force that the driver side window shatters like life as he knew it just did. Austin makes his way inside. Feeling the crowd’s energy begin to build for the next match, Austin’s eyes close and he loses himself in what is left of his world as his hand drips blood, the SANGUINE drops hitting the ground and the faint sound reverberating throughout Austin’s ears.







We fade away to Austin waiting for his cue, as his mind focuses on three things: Smitten, himself, and that one passage from the Art of War:

.


Between 1853 and 1856 a war was waged between the Russians and an alliance consisting of the Ottoman Empire, Britain, France and Sardinia-Piedmont. Battles were fought at the Alma River, Balaklava,
Inkerman and Sevastopol. The war was poorly managed and commanded by both sides and disease accounted for a significant percentage of the nearly 500,000 lives lost.

The Crimean War will not be depicted favourably in the chronicles of history. However during this conflict a young inventor named Henry Bessemer endeavoured to redesign the cannon, in an attempt to make it stronger. In doing so he would discover a process that has changed the world forever.

The Bessemer process allowed large quantities of a new structurally superior material to be
produced cheaply and efficiently. This new material was coveted by engineers for its unrivalled qualities….







Abel Steel ran as he replayed the events of the last hour over in his mind. He had just completed a one hour session with his psychologist at the request of the FMW medical team. Only the threat of
physical violence had convinced the woman that her report should clear him the need for further treatment.

Someone was listening in to our session, I could feel them.

His therapist had seemed desperate for him to quit FMW. Abel wasn’t surprised, the woman’s fiancée was one of his opponents at Death Row. Whoever had been eavesdropping on his therapy would be in that office talking to her now and Abel had to get to her office window and find out for himself who it was.

Since only one window was open on the whole building Abel could easily work out which office was Natalie’s. Initially Abel crouched down as he snuck up to the window, after a few steps though he didn’t bother as he realised that with the way the ground sloped away from the building anyone standing out here could not see in the window unless they had a ladder or something to stand on, nor could they be seen from the inside.

As he reached a point directly beneath the window Abel stilled himself and listened to the voices inside.

Natalie: He saw right through my attempts to get him to quit.

The Voice: Next time you will have to be smarter then won’t you?

Natalie: I don’t think it will work. He doesn’t trust me anymore. My ability to influence him in anyway is lost.

The Voice: Then our deal is terminated.

Natalie: I don’t really care, I only ever did this for Marcus anyway.

Abel heard slow deliberate footsteps from inside the room interspersed with the familiar sound of Natalie’s high heels hurriedly moving into the corner.

The Voice: I don’t tolerate failure well. Not only did you fail to drive him from the FMW but he knew that I was waiting at the window. For that alone I should destroy you.

Who the fuck is this guy and why is he so desperate for me to leave the FMW?

Natalie’s voice had a panicked edge to it as she pleaded for her life.

Natalie: Wait please…, he thought it was Marcus listening in. He could not have known otherwise. Your identity is still safe. Please.

At the end Natalie’s voice was verging on hysteria as she begged for her life.

Abel searched around desperately trying to find something he could use to climb up through the window and help but there was nothing but broken bottles and rubbish lying in the gardens.

Typical, only a few moments ago I was ready to kill the bitch myself and now I am desperate to throw myself in harms way to save her

As the heavy footsteps closed in on her corner of the room, a third set of footsteps, muffled as if wearing slippers or sandals, quickly crossed the floor. The heavy foot steps stopped then turned to
face the mystery third person in the room.

The Voice: Can you still finish the job?

There was no audible response from the other party, but after a moment Abel could hear the heavy footsteps and the muffled shoes slowly walk out the door, leaving Natalie a sobbing hysterical mess in the corner.

Abel wasted no time listening to her tears, he set off from his position at the window and ran around the building at a full sprint, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man who was so desperate to remove him from the FMW.

Steele: Fuck!

A car was already pulling out of it car bay as he rounded the corner of the building. It was a black town car with heavy black window tinting that gave Abel no chance of identifying the occupants.

There’s something odd about that car.

As the car pulled away Abel tried to pin down what it was about the car that was irking him. The driver pulled away and onto the street as Abel watched on intently, keen for any other clue about who wanted him gone from FMW.

I am
ductility,

The pleasant and unobtrusive music being piped through the elevator speakers provided a counterbalance to the great swirl of emotion and confusion inside of Abel Steele’s head. Most people found elevator music annoying or dull, but Abel found it to be one of the many small joys you could get out of everyday life if you didn’t take things for granted.

At least that is how Abel normally viewed the calming notes of the generic soft music. Today Abel barely paid any attention to the music at all, so focussed was he on the events of the day and the possible reasons behind them.

He could understand why the young psychologist had let go of her integrity. She was in love and had been trying to do her fiancée a favour by removing a perceived threat. But who were the mystery people trying to remove him from the FMW and what could their motives be?

Something about the whole thing didn’t add up. I know there was something about that car which is the
key to it all, but what? And why?

DING!

The elevator doors opened on Abel’s floor, creaking open with a groan that only hinted at how long it
had been since anyone bothered to service the elevator. The tiles in the hallway were cracked and broken and only one of the light bulbs actually worked, so that Abel had to shield his eyes from its light in an attempt to see anything in the murky darkness beyond it.

As he approached his apartment Abel could make out a large shape hulking in the shadows near his door.

Now they come to my apartment? Well they are about to find out what happens when you piss me
off!

Abel calmed himself, employing a mind relaxation technique taught to him by his very first boxing trainer. Forming the image of a flame inside his mind he pushed all of his thoughts, all of his frustration and all of his worries into the flame. As those thoughts burned his mind became clear and so did the world.

Suddenly he could see more clearly, hear more clearly, and think more clearly. He could see each crack in every tile along the hallway and hear the footsteps of a cockroach as it climbed the wall beside him. He could even smell the mixture of mothballs and onions through the wall of the apartment next to him.

This was how Abel had become the greatest boxer in the world. This was how he would destroy his opponents in the Gold Card Gauntlet. As the flame in his mind burned away all distractions Abel could focus. He was still angry and he could sense that anger but it felt external to him, like someone else’s anger. Even pain could not penetrate his psyche. When Abel used this technique in a fight he was aware of the pain and injuries his body suffered, but they were external to him. He could fight on through any pain without it impacting on his actions. His mind would remain clear and focussed on what he needed to do to win. With this technique he felt truly aware of the sweetness of life. It made the
rest of is life feel like a pale imitation.

I don’t think that is anything to be afraid of.

The flame in Abel’s mind went out and the chasm of emotion exploded in his mind. His body slammed sideways into the wall, struggling to grasp what had just happened.

That voice came from inside my mind, but it was not my thought.

After a minute gathering his thoughts and trying to make sense of what just happened, Abel decided to shake it off and find out who was lurking outside his apartment.

Abel moved as quietly as he could, raising little more noise than a mouse as he stalked his prey. Normally the floorboards in this hallway creaked and groaned like women at a tea party, but Abel knew where to place his weight so that his passing barely raised a sound.

Still the figure did not move and Abel was approaching steadily, adrenaline kicking in so that he was ready to pounce at the first sign of movement. Foot by foot, inch by inch he edged closer to his doorway, violence in his eyes and malice on his mind.

And then he stopped.

You God damned paranoid bastard. You were about to beat the shit out of a fucking
packet of cardboard boxes!

Abel laughed at himself a little. If someone had this moment on camera the image of the unstoppable, unflappable, smash mouth boxing legend, turned wrestling superstar would be forever shot to pieces.

Shaking his head Abel wondered why a pack of removalist boxes had been delivered to his apartment. As he grabbed the delivery docket his jaw dropped. Suddenly he wished it had been an unknown assailant lurking outside his apartment. It would have been far preferable to this.

I am
ductility,

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK,

Emma’s eyes darted to the door. She could always tell when it was Abel knocking at her door, it sounded like someone had got a battering ram and was trying to beat it down. He claimed to be tapping gently but his fists just couldn’t do anything but be the destructive force they were, she guessed.

Emma: Come in.

As the door swung open Emma did not see Abel, instead she was greeted by the sight of a pack of moving boxes being thrown down in her entrance. As they smacked down onto the floorboards with a crisp slap, Abel then barged over the top of them.

Steele: What is going on Emma? The delivery man left these at my apartment by mistake. Are you
planning on….

Abel stopped as he took in the scene before him. Emma’s apartment was a shambles, with
items thrown together on tabletops and shelves emptied onto the floor. To one side was a neatly stacked pile of packing boxes containing roughly half of Emma and T.J.’s belongings already packed up to go.

Steele: ……..Moving?

Abel swayed a little on his feet at the shock of what he saw. Emma felt her heart go out to him and she longed to hold him in her arms and tell him it would be alright, tell him the truth about why she was moving away.

Emma: Yes Abel I am, we are.

Abel blinked several times as if hoping that the next time he opened his eyes the room would be back to normal. Eventually he turned and cleared a pile of T.J.’s toys from a sitting chair nearby and flopped down into it.

Steele: Where?...When?…Why?

Emma: We are moving tomorrow into a house on the other side of the city.

Emma put down the masking tape she held in one hand and turned to face Abel. She had to make this as believable as possible if she was going to convince him of her desire to get away

Emma: This place has too many memories Abel. Of Tim, of our struggles…. of you.

Emma broke eye contact, unable to watch the pain in his eyes any longer.

Emma: I told you I needed to move on Abel. I can’t do that here and I can’t do that with you around. I need to be completely away from you Abel, it is too hard for me to see you every day and not hope that we could have more. I can’t…

The breaking in Emma’s voice was very real despite the fact that this was all a part of her planned routine.

Emma: From tomorrow Abel I can’t ever see you again.

Abel floundered in front of her, struggling for something to say. It broke Emma’s heart to know she was the cause of his pain. Not for the first time she contemplated telling Abel everything.

She had no doubts that he would forgive her, but what then? She had made a deal to save Tim out of desperation. The price demanded had to be paid, telling Abel the truth wouldn’t change that. No it was better this way. Let him think of her what he will, it was her burden to bear.


*********

Abel struggled with his emotions, unable to hold a single thought long enough to draw a rational response to what Emma was saying. As he floundered for a response that could change Emma’s mind he found himself holding down anger that Emma would betray him like this.

Emma: I am sorry Abel…

Sorry. You’re fucking sorry? I turned my life upside down for you and this is the thanks I get.

Abel sought clarity as he felt his emotions getting the better of him. Once again he formed the flame in his mind, burning away the scattered thoughts and emotions running rampant through his consciousness.

Suddenly the world seemed to move slower. In an instant Abel could absorb the scene before him, observing subtleties that had escaped him previously as he battled his emotions. He noticed a photo of T.J. running at his school athletics carnival hung on the wall behind Emma. The carnival had only been held last week. The scent from a freshly planted herb garden wafted in from the balcony and filled his nose.

This whole thing doesn’t make any sense. Why would you hang a new photo or plant a new garden just before you moved?

The number of boxes that had been packed already was not even a tenth of what Emma would need. There was no way she would be ready to move in the morning, not without the help of a handful of professional removalists.

I always could tell when you were lying to me Em. You just weren’t very good at it.

The flame in Abel’s mind flickered, the reverberations of hearing another voice inside his head threatening to explode the chasm of emotions surrounding him once more. Somehow he managed to maintain the flame, feeding the jumble of emotions and thoughts into the fire which built into a raging inferno.

This can’t be. If that voice is in my head I must be going crazy. How can I be hearing HIM?[/i]

[i]As he regained his composure and the flames dulled down to a smouldering ember once more, Abel was struck by something. The voice in his head had only spoken when he was deeply within his chasm of emotion and his mind was free of subconscious thoughts.

As the myriad of possibilities as to why he would be hearing that particular voice inside his head swirled through his mind, Abel fed them one by one into the flame. He needed to focus on Emma and what was in front of him right now. His apparent insanity could be addressed later.

Steele: If you wanted me to step away Emma all you had to do was ask.

Emma stood like a statue before him, determinedly denying any emotion, betrayed only by a solitary tear trickling its way down her cheek. Abel watched her and believed the tear was real, even if every other part of her screamed denial.

I don’t know what you’re playing at Em, but I will find out.

Steele: Well at least you aren’t leaving town. I can pick T.J. up from school maybe once a week to hang out.

Without the heightened awareness obtained in his chasm of emotion Abel would not have noticed the tiny tremors racking Emma’s body as she spoke. It was obvious to him that she was doing everything in her power to deliver a convincing display of detachment from the whole scenario.

Emma: You can’t Abel, T.J. needs to move on too. I don’t want you to make this any harder for him than it already is. Now please you have to go, I have a lot of packing to do tonight.

T.J. is stronger than you think Emma and he needs a role model.

Abel managed to keep his thoughts together this time, despite the intrusion of the external thought in his mind. Each time it came to him Abel became more and more certain that the voice could only be one man.

Are you real?

Abel wasn’t sure why he had directly addressed the voice in his head, but it fled at the question, rambling incoherently about madness and voices as it fled into the darkest recesses of his mind.

He seemed as shocked to hear my voice as I was to hear his.

Steele: Emma please, I love T.J. He needs a man in his life to look up to, let me be that man. I promise you won’t even have to see me. I can pick him up from school and have an FMW staffer drop him home.

Abel could see that his pleading was having an effect on Emma, but she steadfastly held to her convictions and rebutted his offer.

Emma: No Abel please just leave us both alone. If you have any love left for me or T.J. you will just leave. I can’t have his life being constant upheaval any more.

Abel wasn’t sure if it was possible, even with his heightened awareness, but he thought he actually heard the sound of Emma’s heart shattering from inside her.

Is that what I heard, or am I just hearing more things that aren’t there? Hell I am hearing voices already. Maybe this is another trick of my madness?

For the first time Abel’s judgement was clouded inside his chasm of emotion. Self doubt as to his own state of mind had caused him to question his instincts.

Steele: Emma…. Are you sure this is what you want? If you can look me in the eyes and tell me it is then I promise you will never see me again.

Emma’s eyes had been desperately studying the pattern on the carpet for the last few minutes, but she lifted them so that they met Abel’s. As she drew in a deep breath and locked her jaw in defiance she deliberately and dispassionately spoke, the words cutting Abel to the core, pouring cold water on the flame burning in his mind.

Emma: Leave Abel. Leave and don’t look back. Go home to Australia or whatever is in your heart
but please STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!

The flame in his mind vanished at the callousness of Emma’s words. The sudden torrent of emotions that hit him like a tidal wave threatened to sweep him away. He could not gather the strength to respond and so, with tears forming in his eyes, Abel turned and trudged away from the only family he knew.








Abel stared blankly at the television screen in front of him, not even noticing that the screen was in fact
blank. His mind was elsewhere, pondering the events of what was surely the most bizarre day in his entire life. His microwave dinner sat untouched and stone cold, on the coffee table in front of him.

A thousand thoughts flickered fleetingly through his consciousness, each hitting him like a brick yet instantaneously replaced by another equally abrasive thought.

Who is the man that wants me out of FMW?
Who was the other person in Natalie’s office today?
Why would they even care that I leave FMW?
Why is Emma leaving so suddenly?
Should I go back home to Australia?
How the fuck did someone else’s thoughts get inside my head?
Should I quit FMW?

His inner turmoil was rudely interrupted by a gentle rap at the front door of his apartment, followed by the sound of little feet running along the hallway.

What now?

Abel pulled himself out of his chair and made his way cautiously toward the door. The way this day had gone he wouldn’t be surprised to see a dozen men waiting to beat him over the head. Hell the way his mind was working today he wouldn’t have been surprised to see a dozen pixies waiting to give him a wedgie.

At least a wedgie might jolt my brain back into reality

Abel opened the door and took a quick step back, holding himself ready for whatever oddity may be lurking in the murky darkness of the hallway outside.

Look at yourself Steele, you really are turning into an A grade nut job. Paranoia is one of the major
indicators of insanity.

The hallway outside his apartment was empty save for the flash of a small boy darting out of sight and into the elevator.

T.J!!
Wait!!

Before he could call out the elevator doors closed, leaving Abel alone in the hallway.

It’s probably for the best that I didn’t talk to him anyway. I only just promised to leave them both
alone.

As he struggled once more to grasp Emma’s reasoning in expunging him from their lives, Abel’s attention was caught by a slip of paper on the cracked tiles by his feet. He quickly bent down to pick it up, unfolding it in his hands as he rose.






Abel fell back into his chair as he read the letter and absorbed the picture from T.J, overcome with sorrow that he would never see his little mate again. As he ran the words over in his mind Abel knew for the first time since he came to the FMW what he wanted to do next.

Two things could not have been clearer in his mind, even if he had been using his mind control technique:

Firstly, nothing short of championship glory would satisfy him now. If the only way he could be a presence in T.J.’s life was by making the FMW his own, then Abel would be the most dominant force professional wrestling had ever seen, no matter what plans mysterious strangers or misguided psychologists may make to the contrary.

Secondly he had to find out what Emma was up to. Something troubling about the car in T.J.’s picture blazed off the page at Abel, something that explained a lot of her odd behaviour over the past few days. He had seen that number plate a week ago parked at his building and then again today, pulling out of
the car park outside the psychologists’ office.

Emma, what the fuck have you gotten yourself mixed up in? What business could you possibly have with a man who seems hell bent on bringing me down?

Abel quickly determined that he could not confront Emma about the drawing. He couldn’t even let her know that he knew she was in trouble. One thing was certain, he needed to know where she was and if she moved across the city it could take days or even weeks to track her down.

I have to act now, it will be too bloody late once the morning comes.

Abel quickly pulled on a jacket and dashed out the door to his apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind him as he headed for the elevator. He quickly punched the button for Emma’s floor and then set about calming his nerves. He had to deliver a flawless performance if he wanted to convince Emma that he was going to be leaving the country.

Fuck me but this day just gets weirder and weirder.

Gathering his thoughts as the elevator doors opened at Emma’s floor, Abel quickly passed through the dingy hallway and banged on her door. As he waited for Emma to answer a thought occurred to him. He hastily untucked half of his shirt, ruffled his hair and undid one of his shoelaces. Abel would definitely be more convincing if he looked like he hadn’t taken any time to prepare himself before leaving his apartment.

Emma: Abel….. you can’t be here.

Time to show her the carrot

Steele: Emma listen to me. I will say this once and then you will never see me again.

Abel formed the flame in his mind once more, seeking clarity of mind that would allow him to maintain the charade of the scorned victim.

Steele: I only came her because you asked me to. I never pretended to want any of this, but I did it all so that you could be happy and safe.

Abel feigned a sigh so deep that he hoped Emma would think his spirit crushed.

Steele: I just told my agent to book me a one way flight to Perth for the morning.

Abel watched as Emma lapped up his performance. He could see the struggle within her as she tried to project the very image of a satisfied woman, belying the pain Abel could see in her eyes and feel from her heart.

Emma: Thank you Abel, I am glad that you see things my way.

And now for the stick

Steele: But I have one condition Emma.

It was a masterful impersonation of the condemned man, if Abel did say so himself. The key was demanding a price from the executioner in a vain attempt to build the illusion that it was his own decision to make the march down death row.

By demanding this condition of Emma, Abel hoped that she would buy his assertion of leaving the country and that she would grant him his “final request”.

Steele: T.J. has been through enough already Emma, please don’t move him across the city too. Let him stay here where he is comfortable; let him go to the same school where he already has friends. Let him know that even while everything else around is changing he at least has one thing that is solid in his life.

Abel studied Emma as he glared his “defiance” at her. He hoped that his performance had been convincing enough or he might never have the opportunity to discover the truth of Emma’s situation.

Emma: I… I think you are right Abel. As long as you are gone by the morning it would be best for T.J. to stay here.

Carefully Abel let out a contented sigh, as if released from a heavy burden, whilst within himself Abel beamed at Emma’s response.

Now if I can just unravel your web of lies, I might just see the truth that you are trying to hide from me

Steele: Goodbye Emma…. I…listen……if you ever need me again…..take care of T.J. for me ok.

Emma gave a weak smile as she closed the door on Abel. He hated lying to her like this but it had needed some skilful manipulation on his behalf to buy himself the opportunity to seek the truth.

My poor Emma. I will save you from yourself

Abel had been half expecting to hear from the “guest” inside his head. It had happened every other time he emersed himself in the chasm of emotion today and this time he was ready for the intrusion.

So, that is you isn’t it Tim?

The voice inside Abel’s head did not flee from his question this time as it had before. The response was utter silence, yet Abel could still feel the presence lurking in his mind.

After hat seemed an eternity Abel wondered at what point he should declare himself insane and began to walk away from Emma’s door.

Abel……?
Is that you?

Abel fed the overwhelming force of emotions that raged up inside of him into the flame in his mind. It burned brighter and brighter until Abel feared his entire mind would be scorched into oblivion.

Yes.

Tim’s thoughts swirled through the chasm in Abel’s mind, bouncing around like a pinball.

Am I insane? How is this possible? Get out of my head! You just fuck off out of my head!

The voice trailed off into the distance, screaming insanity and swearing at Abel until it was nothing more than a muted buzz on the edge of his consciousness.

If the voice in my head answer back to me, does that make me more or less crazy?

Abel’s mind raced, even while he held the flame burning in his head, as he walked back toward the elevator.

Fuck me, but if I’m already mad so be it. I can’t do anything to stop it so I may as well focus on what I can do something about.

As the doors opened before him, Abel got into the elevator. He pressed the button for his floor and waited for the door to close behind. Once the door was closed Abel leant over and pressed a second button. He wanted to make his way to the car park, but if Emma was looking he wanted to ensure that she thought he was busily packing his things in his apartment. Abel waited quietly in the elevator
as it sopped at his floor. Fortunately there was no one waiting in the hallway to ask questions about why he wasn’t getting off at his floor.

As he stepped out of the elevator and into the murky darkness of the basement car park, Abel hurriedly made his way to his car and flung open the door. He settled himself into the driver’s seat and manoeuvred the chair into as uncomfortable a position as he possibly could. He didn’t think he would be waiting very long but the last thing he wanted now was to fall asleep in his car.

I am
Steele.

This is not going to be easy

Abel’s instinct had been totally correct. A few minutes after he settled into his car to wait, Emma appeared in the basement car park. Abel had followed her at a distance as she drove to this facility and watched from a position on a nearby hill as she progressed through the maze of corridors, deep into the building’s heart.

No normal building has a security set up like this.

The entrance to the building was like any other, a reception desk with a solitary guard stationed on the door. Fast talking and a confident attitude had been more than enough to convince the not so bright young lady who manned the desk to let him pass.

That prissy bitch didn’t even know what secrets this building holds

After penetrating the outer shell of the building, Abel had managed to circumvent another four separate security systems. Beyond each security check a new set of offices and staff was located. Abel suspected that none of them knew anything about the offices beyond their own. Each stage had been a step up in intensity, the last consisting of CCTV and thermal sensors on a fifteen meter long hallway with solid brick walls and no windows.

Completely impenetrable.

Except that the security had obviously been installed independently of the architecture of the building. A small ventilation shaft from the bathroom passed above the hallway and into a bathroom on the other side.

Now Abel was stuck. From his calculations he was at the very heart of the building, a circular room about ten meters in diameter with only one entrance, guarded by 4 heavily armed men.

Abel had circled the room three times, searching for another way in but there was clearly none Ten minutes ago he had decided that his only option was to take down the men and use their access keys to enter the room.

What could be so secret that it is hidden under all of this? And how the fuck is Emma involved?

As he did before any fight, Abel formed the flame in his mind’s eye, burning away his thoughts, worries and any possible distraction. The men before him looked like well trained professionals and Abel doubted he would be able to surprise them. It was inevitable that he would likely be on the defensive initially after rousing their interest.

At least I can take out some of today's frustrations on these guys.

Abel waited, every five minutes one of the guards made a patrol around the room. As soon as the next guard made it all the way to the far side of the room he would attack. He should have about thirty seconds before the guard makes it back to the front door.

Abel counted in his mind as the guard began his patrol. At the point the guard would be as farm from the door as possible, Abel made a slow and casual advance toward the three remaining
men.

Steele: Anybody got a light?

The three guards looked Abel over as he approached them.

Guard 1: I don’t think so mate.

Steele: That’s alright, I don’t have a cigarette anyway.

Abel’s fist took him in the face before he could respond, dropping him to the ground instantly. The other two remaining guards sprung into action, the one to his left dashing for an alarm panel while Abel’s elbow smashed down into the shoulder of the guard on his right. The blow knocked the gun from the guard’s grip just as he drew the weapon from his holster. The guard chased it as it skittled across the floor, sliding into the nearest wall. Abel swept his foot in front of the guard, the sickening thud of skull on concrete making sure that he would not be getting back up.

If that guard hits the alarm this is all over

In one motion Abel picked up the gun lying on the floor and threw it. The butt of the gun cracked bone as it impacted into the temple of the third guard, a small puddle of blood forming on the floor beside the fallen man.

Four seconds until the last guard rounds that corner.

With his heightened senses, provided by the chasm of emotion surrounding him, Abel could hear the soft footfalls of the guard approaching his position, creeping slowly and carefully

There goes my element of surprise

Busting into a sprint Abel rounded on the guard, his feet shuffling noiselessly over the floor. The guard was waiting for him, crouched on the ground. When he saw Abel the guard launched into a flying tackle, bringing both men to the ground.

As they rolled across the concrete Abel brought his arms around the guard’s neck, squeezing and twisting in one smooth motion. The guard went limp as the slammed into the wall, Abel’s attack pinching a nerve that would send him to sleep for a number of hours.

Time to find out what the big fucking secret inside this room is.

Abel snatched up the last guard’s access key and stuffed it into his pocket then moved hastily toward the door, unsure what time the guards were due to finish their shift.

As he approached the door Abel saw the swipe pad beside it and brought the access card up from his pocket toward the scanner.

No not like this, there is a better way. Go to the alarm panel.

Abel paused a moment, hand hovering just beside the door’s swipe pad with access key in hand. After a moment of deliberation he decided to check the alarm panel

Now I’m taking advice from the voices in my head?

As he approached the panel Abel’s eyes widened. The display monitored the status of the entire room, including the door he had been about to open. The door was in fact a decoy. A final security measure to protect what was inside.

Abel placed the key across the swipe pad on the alarm panel and watched in anticipation as a second door, completely concealed from external view opened on the circular wall in front of him. What he saw inside was the last thing he had expected.

A single bed was positioned in the very centre of the room. By the bed were numerous machines and an empty chair.

How can this be? Emma said you were dead. And yet....

NOOOOOOOOOOO

Tim’s voice exploded in his head, shrieking in pain at the sight of the empty shell of a man lying on the bed.

Why is my body lying there attached to those..., those machines?

Tim, there was an accident

Shut up Abel. Get the fuck out of my head

Those machines are all that has kept you alive

I remember. .

Tim’s voice retreated into the depths of Abel’s mind, sobbing to itself between incoherent gibberish, while Abel’s mind raced. The answer he had just found only led to a series of new questions.

Abel wasn’t sure what possible reason Emma could have to hide Tim from him.
He wasn’t sure who the mystery man she had been meeting was. He wasn’t sure how Tim’s voice had ended up inside his head. He definitely wasn't sure how Tim's voice had known about the secret door and he wasn't sure what his next course of action should be.

There was one thing that Abel was sure of though.

The Theory of Radicality is a flawed and broken system.

When it is successful in it's predictions and prophecies, people are high on it, jumping on the band wagon and touting the name. When it is less successful, and more often than not, wrong, people do not want a thing to do about it. They do not want to even hear the name.

People believe it was Radicality which induced my knee injury. They would be wrong. Radicality has nothing to do with it. Everything boils down to fate. Fate crippled me. Not Radicality. Fate gave me this glorious opportunity. Not Radicality. Fate has empowered me to make a statement. Not Radicality.

Radicality has done nothing but undermine me, test me, and try and overturn my tyranny. I will not try to pretend to be the most honest and transparent person, but I refuse to allow myself to be brought down through these mental games. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I am stronger.

Radicality has tried to bring me down in the past. It was successful on its past attempt. But never again will I allow for such a deed to happen. I refuse to believe in the strength of the Radicality Theory Destiny chooses who we are, and will lead us through the darkness to our ultimate glory.

And my ultimate glory is yet to come, so states my destiny. Some say I have achieved much in my time in Full Metal Wrestling, but I know it is my destiny to shape this world much more than I already have. My Destiny bleeds for me to go on and finish what I started with the Full Metal Wrestling Heavyweight Championship. The C-4 Championship. The Ultraviolent Championship. The Television Championship.

This world is too unfinished for anything my Destiny to complete it. No radical theory, no ideals of choosing your own path, and no other living being is worthy of standing between me and what I am required to achieve in this life.

This is purely about one thing. Power.

Christopher Austin's picture hangs on the wall. Scattered all around the photo are small, pin sized holes, breaking through the plaster and paint. Right in between his eyes, a single, solitary dart sits, alone, waiting for friends to join it. The smiling face of Austin also harbors the same pin size holes, all through out the photograph, suggestion a lack of aiming prowess from the thrower. A second dart flies in and pierces the picture, sticking itself into the left cheek of the grinning Chris Austin.

The camera pans back as a third dart sails past. A distracted Christian G. Smitten lies, sprawled out on his couch, watch daytime television. His knee is wrapped tightly in a brace, following the injury imposed upon it by Chris Austin at Ammunition 9.4. He doesn't even look at the photo as he throws the fourth dart, which misses horribly to the right, almost as if he doesn't care any more. The murmurs to the TV kept his vague attention, as he held ice to his knee with his free hand.

Upon the advice of the staff and his private doctor, he was to ice his knee every two hours, like clockwork, for 24 hours after the initial injury. Tired, grumpy, and bored, Smitten's less than comfortable trip back to Salt Lake City was made even more difficult due to plane delays. Now in the comfort of his own home, he was unable to do any work regarding Full Metal Wrestling. While he could watch tapes of Austin in an attempt to scout out his style, he knew this would only enrage him to the point where he would do something which could only worsen the injury. If that were to happen, justice could not be served at Death Row.

Across the room, his cell phone rings loudly. Smitten ignores it and continues to divide his attention between throwing darts at Austin's face, and the talk show before him on the T.V. He had voice mail for a reason. If it was that important, they would leave a message. It took about 20 seconds for the phone to stop ringing. Mere moments later, it began again. Annoyed, Smitten tried to ignore it, but now it was drowning out the sounds of the television.

Turning up the T.V seemed to make the phone silence, but again, moments later, it buzzed back into life again. Smitten gingerly rose from the couch, extremely annoyed. He hobbled over to where the table was where the phone lay. Just as he was about to pick it up, it cut out again. Smitten held it in his hand, glaring at it, almost daring it to ring again.

Sure enough, it rang, and Smitten hastily pushed the answer button and thrust it to his ear.

C. G. Smitten: SOMEONE HAD BETTER BE DEAD, OR ELSE!!!!

A soft murmur can be heard on the other end of the line. The words are laced with an extremely serious tone, but can not be made out. As Smitten hears them, the expression on his face, and his entire demeanor changes completely.

C. G. Smitten: Is she OK?



Kelsey Smitten sits alone in a jail cell at the Salt Lake City Police Department. She sits there, extremely agitated and bored. There are no toys, only a sink and a toilet. The officers had already told her off for playing with the water from the sink, using it to draw on the walls in water. Being in jail was no fun for her at all. In fact, it was really, really boring.

She had no idea she had done anything wrong, but the look on the face of the police officer standing outside the bars said differently. She hoped the punishment the officer would give her wouldn't be like what her Daddy gave her. Going to bed with out any dinner, or cleaning the bathrooms, or taking away her toys for a week. That has to be her punishment. They've taken her toys away and sent her here because she'd done something wrong! That's the only thing. Now if only she could figure out why she's here in the first place.

From outside the cell, she heard footsteps. Loud, angry footsteps. The sound that people like Daddy make when they're cross. A large, fat police officer walks in, holding the hand of her friend, Sally. As soon as Sally saw her, she cringed and tried to hide behind the fatty officer's legs. The fatty officer just held her hand tightly though and asked her a question.

Fatty Police Officer: Sally, is this the girl that did it?

Sally whimpers and nods her head, almost as if she's scared of Kelsey. The fatty officer doesn't say another word, and leads Sally away. Why was Sally scared of her? It's not like she did anything to her. She didn't even try and give her a boo at the Halloween party.

More footsteps, this time, two sets. One was an angry set, the other... not so much. Kelsey turned around and looked at the wall. It was blank and gray. Nothing was even scratched into it. Kelsey heard the footsteps get louder and louder, they were coming this way. Maybe if she didn't look at them, they'd give her something to play with. She stood there very still and quiet. The footsteps stopped, and a voice boomed from behind her.

Voice: Mr. Smitten, are you happy with the conditions your daughter is being held under?

Mr. Smitten? Daddy? Kelsey couldn't help but turn around. Standing there with a walking stick was her father, Christian G. Smitten, looking at her in the cell. His face was not a happy one. He was very cross, she didn't have to look twice to work that out. She tried to look cross back at him, trying to get him to say something to her.

C. G. Smitten: Are you OK?

Kelsey: I'm hungry, and bored.

Christian turned to the Police Officer standing next him and looked her dead in the eyes.

C. G. Smitten: Give her something to eat.

Kelsey: And play with?

Neither Christian or the Police Officer answer Kelsey. The officer just nods her head at Christian, acknowledging his request. The pair then leave the holding area with out another word. Kelsey runs up to the bars and holds on, trying to get a look at her father. She's suddenly feeling overcome by feeling of loneliness. Tears start to form in her eyes as she tries to get the attention of her father.

Kelsey: DADDY!!...... DADDY DON'T GO!!...... WHAT DID I DO DADDY?!?!



Christian sits down in an interrogation room, with his leg up on a chair, He's pulled back the leg of his trouser to above the knee and applies an icepack to it again. The room was cold, very intimidating and uncomfortable, but Smitten had experienced it many a time before. He had the unique distinction of having seen this sort of room from three different points of view. As the accused, as the legal representation of the accused, and as the interrogation officer. There was a different feel about it this time, one which Smitten did not enjoy.

Smitten was not the defendant, nor was he here as a representation. As the guardian of Kelsey, he knew he would have to be informed as to why he was here, but as he was not the carer for Kelsey and her group of friends at the time of the incident, he could not be charged. Christian G. Smitten was in limbo, with nothing to defend himself or his daughter with. In a way, Christian G. Smitten was powerless.

A new officer walks into the room, dressed in full uniform, and sits down opposite Smitten at the table. He opens a manila folder, removes a blank piece of paper, and takes a pen from his pocket to make notes with.

Insp. G. Matthews: Good afternoon sir, my name is Inspector Graeme Matthews, and I am in charge of your daughter's case.

Out of courtesy, Smitten extends his hand to Inspector Matthews across the table.

C. G. Smitten: I'm sorry about my lack of... professionalism here. I sustained an injury, and I need to attend...

Insp. G. Matthews: I fully understand Mr. Smitten. You only get one body, and especially in your line of work, the more you can do to preserve it, the better it is for you. Now. Before I inform you as to why we have your daughter held down here, I need to ask you a few questions as to why she was here in Salt Lake City with out you.

C. G. Smitten: Certainly.

An uncomfortable silence falls across the room, as Inspector Matthews waits for an answer. Christian however, just sits there waiting for the question. A question he has yet to be asked.

Insp. G. Matthews: So, why was Kelsey in Salt Lake City while you were across the country.

C. G. Smitten: WELL! I still had a lot of work to do in California. Unfortunately, I was heavily delayed by number of issues arising on the night of our final show, Ammunition. I'd promised Kelsey that she would be able to return home to go to her distance education Christmas party, but when production night ran much longer than expected, I knew I wouldn't be able to get her there myself. So, I arranged for her teacher, Amanda Fry, to meet her at airport, and I booked her an unaccompanied seat on a flight back to Salt Lake City.

Insp. G. Matthews: And there were no issues with this?

C. G. Smitten: No, she departed and arrived safely. I have telephone records to prove this.

Insp. G. Matthews: That's quite alright, it's only a formality. Upon what time was Kelsey supposed to return into your custody?

C. G. Smitten: Amanda was to drop Kelsey home at approximately 5 o'clock tonight.

Insp. G. Matthews: And that plan never changed?

C. G. Smitten: Not until I received your phone call Inspector.

Inspector Matthews smirks, remembering the abrupt and frank way Smitten answered the phone. The Inspector returns the piece of paper to the bureaucratic mess of the folder, and looks Smitten in the eyes.

Insp. G. Matthews:Well, there is no easy way for me to actually say this, but the young fellow has in fact died.

C. G. Smitten: DIED?

Insp. G. Matthews: Yes, and as of right now, this investigation is no longer an assault case. Rather, we are now treating this as a homicide investigation.

Smitten sits there for a moment, dumb founded. His daughter murdered another human being. He'd sworn to protect and educate her at all costs, but he didn't realize he'd left such a gaping hole in her education in terms of morals and acceptance of others. This couldn't be right, he was supposed to be the cold blooded one. The man made of pure evil, with intentions to wrong those he came across. Not her. Not his innocent daughter.

There were just so many questions he had to have answered. His head was spinning, but he needed the truth.

C. G. Smitten: What was the cause of death?

Insp. G. Matthews: The coroner is doing a full autopsy tomorrow, but it is believed the numerous blunt force trauma caused internal bleeding, which ultimately lead to the death.

C. G. Smitten: Have any of the children provided any insight into a motive?

Insp. G. Matthews: They are all being interviewed at the moment, including Ms Fry. When I know, I'll be sure to let you know.

Christian just sits there, very stoic, showing no emotion on his face what so ever. A million thoughts buzz around his head, but none of them can make their way to his mouth. Smitten stares at Inspector Matthews, almost blaming this situation on him. Matthews stands up, grabs his folder and goes to leave.

Insp. G. Matthews: I'm very sorry Mr. Smitten. Truly, I am.



Christian G. Smitten sits alone in his empty house. His knee was still heavily braced, but he no longer needed the walking stick to take his weight. The clock on the wall reads 2:20, presumable in the morning, thanks to the lack of natural light seeping between the curtains. With a coffee in one hand Smitten sits patiently, watching the television.

Work seemed pointless thanks to the stress of learning of his daughter's murderous tenancies. Sleep seemed like a distant fantasy. He had given up tending to his injured knee, it seemed like a forgone conclusion that he would be embroiled in a murder trial, and would not be able to compete against Chris Austin at Death Row Three. While this was an inconvenience, it also ate at Smitten. He knew that he deserved that match, and deserved to extract revenge for what Austin cost him.

The consequences this would have would be dire. The message for his reign as Commissioner would be tainted, where his ability to run and command would be compromised by an on going murder investigation. I would expose weakness, allowing members of the roster to step in and make decisions. This had already happened. Hostyle and his “Style Points Tournament” had set this alarming trend, one Smitten hoped he'd snipped at the bud with his commanding victory over the man, and then his cancellation of the Ignition brand.

Every single moment of his hard work would be undone if he couldn't both compete and defeat Austin. But, he couldn't help have his mind elsewhere at such a vital time.

A loud rasp at the door breaks the silence. Smitten seems completely un-alarmed by the extremely early knock at the door, almost as if he was expecting it. He rises from his seat and gingerly walks to the front door. On the other side stands Inspector Graeme Matthews, holding in his arms the body of Smitten's sleeping daughter, Kelsey.

Insp. G. Matthews: Good Morning Mr. Smitten. I hope I didn't wake you.

C. G. Smitten: Do I look like I've slept?

Insp. G. Matthews: Well then, I mustn't have woken you.

Smitten glares at him with an emotionless look in his eyes. He couldn't handle sarcasm at a time like this, nor this early in the morning. Inspector Matthews hands over the slumbering Kelsey into the arms of Christian G. Smitten.

Insp. G. Matthews: Kelsey Elise Smitten has been released under bail into your custody. At no time is she to leave this property unaccompanied by you, and must remain within 20 feet of you at all times. Is this clear?

C. G. Smitten: Crystal. Good night Inspector.

Smitten watches the Inspector turn around and walk down the path to the street, before closing the door. Gingerly, he walks back into the living room, and drops Kelsey 2 feet onto the couch. Startled, she wakes from her sleep to find herself home.

Kelsey: Da....Daddy?

C. G. Smitten: Kelsey.

Kelsey: Daddy... am I home for good?

C. G. Smitten: Probably not, no.

Smitten sits down next to her on the couch, as she sits up to make room for her father.

C. G. Smitten: Tell me what happened?

Kelsey: I... I don't know. One minute I was playing with Tommy, and then the next thing I remember is lots of policemen grabbing me, putting me in handcuffs and taking me away.

C. G. Smitten: You're lying.

Kelsey: NO I'M NOT!!!

C. G. Smitten: Don't you DARE raise your voice to me! You're lying and you know it!

Kelsey: But I swear! I don't know what is going on!

Smitten lunges at his daughter, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcefully holding her down on the couch. Scared, Kelsey lets out a little scream as she sees a face of her father's she hasn't seen before. One of uncontrollable rage and anger. Smitten gets in to his daughter's face and utters the next phrase to her.

C. G. Smitten: That... is not... good enough! You start telling the truth, or so help me God...

Tears quickly well in the corners of Kelsey's eyes. Scared out of her mind, the waterworks begin, and it doesn't take long before she's a mess. Smitten backs off her, allowing her to escape from his grasp. She takes this opportunity to run. Run away from her father. Run upstairs. Run into her bedroom and slam the door. Meanwhile Smitten just sits there on the couch, by himself. He utters a final phrase to all willing and able to hear it.

C. G. Smitten: So help me God...



Even the cheerful pink walls of her bedroom, and girly toys that line them are not enough to keep Kelsey Smitten from crying. She lies face down on her bed, bawling her eyes out. Her fears are starting to get the better of her as she continues to wonder what exactly it is she did wrong. No grown ups are telling her a thing, so as far as she knows, she's being punished because she can be.

First the police punish her, and then... she didn't expect her Daddy to be so scary. That was what frightened her the most, the way her father lunged at her, grabbed her. She had never, ever seen him behave like that before. Even when he was fighting people he didn't like, he never attacked them with that sort of attitude. It was almost like he felt Kelsey had set him up to fail.

Kelsey: IT'S NOT FAIR!!!

Voice: Life... it's not fair.

Kelsey's cries start to slow down, almost startled by the other voice. It was half past bed time and there was someone else in her room. Kelsey lifts her teary head from the covers of her bed and looks around the room, but all she can see are toys. Nothing but dolls, bears, cars, beads. Perhaps one of her toys heard her sobs and came to life to try and cheer her up, but that didn't sound like something a toy would say.

Kelsey: Hello?

Voice: Hello Kelsey. You've had quite a killer day, haven't you?

Kelsey: Is... is that you Mr. Whompie?

Mr. Whompie doesn't answer, instead, the fat bear just sits there with a vacant look on his face, completely oblivious to what is going on around him. Kelsey slides off the bed and walks over to Mr. Whompie and picks him up, and looks at him in the eye.

Voice: Nope. Guess again, killer.

Kelsey: I'm no killer.

Voice: I think there's one dead boy who would beg to differ.

Kelsey drops Mr. Whompie and backs away, she is starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable. She begins to slowly back away, trying to make a distance between her and any stuffed toy. She thinks for a second about calling out for her father, but after the way he acted earlier, she thinks better about it.

Voice: There's no use backing away Kelsey. You're in too deep.

Kelsey: Stop it! You're scaring me!

Voice: Yes, scaring you. I can tell you that Johnny was scared too. He was very scared when you started to hit him with that tree branch.

Kelsey: I didn't hit anyone! Johnny is a mean, poo poo head, but I didn't hit him.

Voice: No, you didn't hit him did you. After all, he pushed you into the mud. He teased you all year in distance education. He even got the last cupcake at the Christmas party.

Kelsey: I don't like this... go away... please... go away...

Voice: Johnny wanted you to go away. All he wanted to do was trip you behind the big tree. But you didn't like that did you? You took the closest branch you could find, and you hit him, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again...

Kelsey: STOP IT!!!!

Kelsey backs into her wardrobe, her back firmly against its mirrored doors. Scared out of her mind, she continues to scan all around the room, trying to find where the voice is coming from. However, she can't see anyone, or find anything even out of place where someone could hide.

Voice: I can't stop Kelsey, because you wouldn't stop. It's simple, really. You and I are a lot a like. More than you know.

Kelsey: I'm not like you! You're scary!

Voice: Do you want to know why we're essentially the same?

Kelsey: NO!

Voice: Turn around.

Kelsey closes her eyes and puts her fingers in her ear, she doesn't want to see or hear this mysterious identity. If she can't see or hear this person, they can't exist. That sound logic was completely blown out of the water however, as all her efforts quickly become pointless.

Voice: BITCH I SAID TURN AROUND!!

Kelsey lets out a little scream as she jumps from the fright. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she turns around to face the mirrored doors of the wardrobe.

Slowly and cautiously, she opens her eyes. Little by little, more and more of the mysterious voice is revealed. Standing before her in the mirror is her own reflection, standing there, with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. Nothing like the way Kelsey timidly stands.

Reflection of Kelsey: See Bitch? I know exactly what is going on here. Why?

Kelsey: No! You're not me!

Reflection of Kelsey: You're right. I'm not you, but I'm a part of you, whether you like it or not.

Kelsey: No, you can't be a part of me! You're mean, and...

Reflection of Kelsey: Yeah yeah, I get it. You've done that shtick before. Live with it girlfriend. I am YOU!

Kelsey: Does this mean you did that thing that got me in trouble?

Reflection of Kelsey: Look at you. That THING!! It's called justice, and it's something you've gotta live with now. It was done with your hands, your arms, your body. I just decided to take some control.

Kelsey: NO!! NO NO NO NO NO!!!!

Reflection of Kelsey: Yes! Congratulations Kelsey. Because of me, you've become exactly what you always should have been.

Kelsey: NO!

Kelsey's cries become faster and harder as she bolts from the room, leaving her reflection standing there, alone, with a malevolent grin on her face.

Reflection of Kelsey: Bitch gotta learn how to take care of business.



Daylight seeps through the Smitten house hold as a number of loud, forceful knocks are heard at the door. It had been 3 days since the murder, and visitors to the Smitten household had become an almost hourly occurrence. Christian G. Smitten was starting to become agitated by the constant stream of unwanted, yet necessary guests to his home. However, nothing could have prepared him for the nature of this next visitor's arrival.

Christian, still slightly limping from the wounds he received days earlier, opens the door to Inspector Graeme Matthews, and a lady he has not met yet. Standing behind them are two more police officers, fully armed and ready for business.

C. G. Smitten: Officers?

Insp. G. Matthews: Mr. Smitten, this is Emily Charles from Child Protective Services. May we come in?

C. G. Smitten: Child Protective Services?

E. Charles: Mr. Smitten, it might be best if we discuss this sitting down.

Smitten stands there, imposing his large frame in the doorway. He had a bad feeling about why someone would come from Child Protective Services, accompanied by members of the police force. Smitten glared at the four men and women, adamant they would not enter the house.

C. G. Smitten: I would prefer to discuss this standing, right here.

E. Charles: Mr. Smitten...

C. G. Smitten: Right... here... You have some information regarding the murder investigation? Are you ready to lay charges? Are you...

E. Charles: Mr. Smitten, we at Child Protective Services have been asked to conduct our own investigation into the possible reasons as to why Kelsey would take the life of another child without provocation.

C. G. Smitten: I can assure you, if she's been pushed into doing something like that, it's certainly been a provoked attack.

E. Charles: That's where the state, and the government disagree. There were no signs of an attack on your daughter. From all reports, neither child liked the other, but we hardly believe that to be called a provoked attack.

C. G. Smitten: Get to the point.

E. Charles: Mr. Smitten, we believe your active lifestyle and business ventures with your wrestling organization have influenced and marred Kelsey's judgment of situations, especially since you cart her along to all events you are involved in.

C. G. Smitten: Of course I cart her along, I'm being a responsible father. I'm there for her, and I refuse to leave her alone with a fat Russian woman with a forged police check.

E. Charles: While your motives behind this aren't in question, we believe the actions she has both seen and participated in while associated in this business have influenced her greatly, and thus, she is unable to see and judge situations accordingly. She now sees violence as a logical answer to her problems, no matter how small or how large, and this here is proof that she not only does not realize how inappropriate these actions are, but she doesn't know when to say stop.

Smitten goes to say something, but the words fail to form in his mouth. Emily continues to deliver the bad news, with the final, crushing blow.

E. Charles: Unfortunately for you, we have been forced to review your custody of Kelsey Elise Pliskken, and it has been our recommendation that we hand full control and custody of her over to the state of Utah.

Smitten doesn't say a word. Emily hands him a piece of paper, the court injunction, making it official. His face, now a blank expressionless form, as he steps aside to allow the four individuals into his home. A home which would now be rocked to its very core, so much so it would lose its entire homely sense. Once inside the four split up, trying to find Kelsey, while Christian just stands there, staring at the blank wall before him.



Inspector Graeme Matthews leads Kelsey Smitten to the back seat of his sedan. With Emily Charles hoping before the little girl, she is swept out of sight, with the door closing firmly behind her. Police Officers stand either side of Christian G. Smitten, ensuring he doesn't do anything to impede the removal of his child.

Emotionless, Christian looks on, staring at the back of the car. Kelsey's head pops up and she stares back at her father. She yells and screams at him, urging him to do something, but her cries for help are contained within the car. Christian knows what she is yelling for though, and unfortunately, he has found himself once again in that unenviable situation. He was powerless.

The engine roars up, and tears start to roll down the little girl's face. This was real, it was actually happening. She was being taken away, and her father still hadn't moved to do something about it. Christian stared at his daughter, with that cold, emotionless face. The pair locked eyes as the car began to move off. It drove down the street, before making a right hand turn out of sight. Christian had never once let his gaze stray from his daughter's eyes.

With out saying a word to the officers flanking him, he turned around and walked into the house. A house he once called a home. Gently, he shut the door behind himself, hearing a hollow thud as the latch caught, locking out any unwanted guests. Silently and slowly, he walked upstairs, every step he took a long and grand one.

At the top of the stairs, he took an immediate left, through a door and into the pink bedroom of his daughter. Toys and clothes were strayed everywhere, she had put up some resistance. While he didn't say or do a thing, he was proud of his daughter's tenacity to oppose the law. Christian looked around the room, and took in everything he saw. Slowly, he sat down on the end of his daughter's bed.

...The Death And Return Of...

It had been awhile since humanity crept into The Harlequin’s mind. It had been even longer since his heart had pumped anything but hatred. But now, something was changing. His mind had slipped, he had no question of that. The violence that once pleased him had no longer been able to satiate his sick desires. Like an addiction he sunk lower and lower into depravity, wanting more and more violence. Needing more blood, more gore to even begin to appease himself.

Yet he could feel a small corner of his mind struggling. Somewhere, deep inside a part of him was rejecting the poison he was filling his body with. Some part of him hated it. It hated it with the same passion, the same hatred that The Harlequin carried for everything else. And Harlequin loved that small corner of his body for it. No matter what good it sought to do, it carried with it the ability to be malevolent on the same scale as The Harlequin. It could and would never be free.

They say Home is where the Heart is and for the longest time The Harlequin agreed with that notion. But recently things had changed. Home had felt devoid and blank. The characters that normally inhabited the House that HavOc built had long since left. In turn Harlequin had renewed his vigour. Not being set back by a loss at the hands of The Celt, instead changing his game, increasing his unpredictable nature. He had even gone so far as to burn his home down, something many others had sought to do in the past. A subtle hint to his enemies.

From the ashes of Le Theatre a viler Harlequin emerged. More sadistic, more hell bent on ruinous damage, a Harlequin more depraved by his very nature. It was this Harlequin that now stood in front of a small abandoned church. Nestled safely on a hill resting on the City Limits Harlequin could overlook his Masterpiece from his bedroom or simply meander through the abandoned gravestones. It was in the hallowed halls of God that Harlequin now resided. A subtle hint to his enemies.

Rust marred the large metal handles that adorned the bulking wooden doors. The paint had long been chipped away, giving a rebirth to the natural oaken colours of the door’s structure. The cold metal pushed through the leather gloves that gripped them, swinging them open allowing the miniscule amount of dusk’s remaining light to rush through small building. Harlequin eyed the structure he was about to step into giving it an all around approving nod.

The shadows danced around the wooden floor following Harlequin as he strode into the building. Harlequin tossed his jacket across the back of a pew before continuing up the aisle. To his sides he marvelled at the stained glass paintings. The intricate art work shone in the day’s remaining light casting faint shadows of the replicated saints across the floors and pews.

Hello friends.

It was the twisted smile of Harlequin that could shatter each fixture into a series of tiny shards. It was the very voice emerging from his vibrating vocal chords that would shatter the eardrums of all those in earshot. It was lucky that each of the Saints adorning the walls was long since dead. For Hell walked through their halls.

Harlequin chuckled quietly to himself as he passed the beheaded painting of John the Baptist.

I understand your pain. He’s always going to be better than you...there’s no reason to lose your head over it.

The various depictions of Saints adorned the walls of the abandoned church Harlequin now found himself residing in. The old wood of the pews seemed to flash the memories of all those who had previously sat in them. Closing his eyes Harlequin imagined service after service occurring, person after person walking past him on their way to the altar. With eyes closed Harlequin reached his hand forward pretending to shoot each imaginary person that passed by him.

It’ll never be Le Theatre though. The walls aren’t as thick, there’s no spotlight and this flooring is going to take a long time to stain accordingly.

Le Theatre was home. But now...now it’s nothing more than a distant notion of who I was once. Of what I used to be. The potential I never lived up too. No longer shall those chains shackle me, no longer shall the ropes bind me, what comes next is a hell unlike that which anyone has ever seen. What comes next... is my rapture.

No longer bound by the reach of a dimming spotlight. No! I rose from the ashes of a fallen home, of destroyed men and I walk amongst Saints! I walk as a God throughout this City untouched by their meaningless lives. I walk above them and they shall tremble at the vibration of my footsteps and at the sounds of my voice.

HAhaahhhHAHAah ha ha HAHA aaahhh HAHA

Harlequin stopped momentarily, his fingers resting against the altar peacefully falling into disrepair deep within the sanctuary. Harlequin waited for an instant to be struck down by the mighty hand of God before continuing his exploration of his newfound home with a slight smile.

It wasn’t that he was entirely blasphemous he just loved the ability to be in the house of God and not be suffering his wrath. For as long as The Harlequin could remember God had long since vacated any of the churches in his name. For all he knew and cared God has abandoned humanity. With a smile Harlequin walked towards the window of the sanctuary before catching a glimpse of a tombstone in the courtyard of the church. While many of the tombstones sat in disrepair this particular one could have been no more than a year old. The bright marble glimmered in the setting sun’s light brining malice to the eyes of The Harlequin.

I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone for long. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?

With a heaving sigh Harlequin pushed open the marred doors of the church and walked out into crisp Autumn air and into the cemetery.



A hard wind kicked leaves around the feet of The Harlequin, dancing up past his face as he burrowed it deeper into the warmth of his coat. He had stood silently watching at a small tombstone for hours on end as if waiting for something, for someone. Glancing up from the frozen earth Harlequin caught a glimpse of The City nestled at the base of the hill below, peaceful, serene, free, for now. A smile crossed his face as he watched, not close enough to see the cars, but close enough to know they existed, to imagine their presence, to know their fear. A smile crept across his face, a smile not of malice, but of joy, of peace.

“The innocent?”

The voice startled Harlequin, though he had been expecting it all along. Still to this day that melodic voice danced in his ears, so soothing that his soul seemed at peace as it stared at the damage it had done.

Unfortunately. I had been careless. She was nothing more than a girl on the street and I was in a mood. The whole situation was unfortunate.

“The parents?”

Taken care of. They live out West now, away from here, away from her memory and away from me. The entirety of their life has been taken care of financially. I wish I could do more, but returning life isn’t something I do.

“Neither is taking from the innocent.”

Harlequin bared his teeth at the comment drawing a deep hiss of breath into his mouth.

I know.

With eyes closed Harlequin hung his head. His chin gently pressed against the base of his sternum while one gloved hand reached out touching the top of the stone. A single tear rolled down the cheek of Harlequin, free from the makeup, free from the illusion. A tear rolled down the cheek of a man.

I wish I could change it. I’d do it all over again, everything, absolutely everything to have her with her parents.

“It’s a little too late for that. And you know that’s not something I can do.”

Harlequin turned to face the man behind him, the tears still forming in his eyes. Every time Harlequin caught a glimpse of the man he was reminded of the power of love. How far it can drive someone, the lengths one would go to, all that one would abandon. The beauty of the man was overwhelming, from his flowing hair to the perfect toning and complexion of his face. What stood before The Harlequin was the embodiment of beauty, and it’s destructive power. Truly this man was the greatest of God’s creations.

I know Lou, I just wish...

The wrist of The Harlequin snapped forward then flew backwards drawing his renowned 0.357 Magnum into his wrist. While seemingly catching the Angel known as Lucifer off guard the pistol pressed into the Angelic throat of the being. With a click the hammer shot back giving birth to the explosion that tore a hole clear through the neck of the Angel causing a mere momentary flinch.[/b]

“Touching.”

[i]With simple words and a roll of his eyes Lucifer merely rose his hand turning the infamous, gore covered Dirty Harry into a fine dust. Quickly being caught in the wind the weapon that defined madness vanished into the Earth.

“That’s why we’re here.”

We...?

Harlequin stood frozen in his tracks as indescribable warmth basked against his back. For seconds he stood, eyes closed bathing in the warmth and light, peace diving deep into every facet of his being. He felt his very soul smile, brimming with joy.

“You’ve overstepped the bounds. Your souls are merging. I know you can feel it. You can feel humanity seeping into your being. Your tone has changed.”

I’m aware.

“Mankind says that all criminals eventually return to the scene of the crime. And thus you have returned, why did you come back Rider?”

The girl. Something inside me wouldn’t let me forget what happened. I begged, and screamed, and fought but in the end it was the girl. It was that god forsaken mortal inside me. I had to come here, to watch over her. To atone.

“That time is coming. Have no fear of that.”

What? No, you can’t.

"Wrong. I can. You’ve broken the rules. The contract is very specific, and you know what happens when one breaks the rules.”

Don’t preach to me the consequences of breaking the rules Fallen.

“Don’t tempt me Hellequin, I will tear your very soul apart.

My soul? Do your worst Fallen, you’ve become weakened in your time off the field. You may still have your looks, but you’ve faltered.

“We’re separating you.”

Bu—

The struggle was futile against the powers of the two strongest beings in existence, Harlequin merely accepted his fate. Painfully he watched as he was torn from the body of Dr. Harley Quint. Painlessly he watched as the mortal man before him collapsed to his knees weeping. The wretch that was The Harlequin stood placidly by as the two beings before him spoke to the fallen man. Frozen in time the corporeal form of The Harlequin watched as the body he had come to call his own regained its faculties. He watched as The Good Doctor came back to life, a shattered version of what a man should be. It was then that The Harlequin marvelled in his work for a brief instant, he had truly distorted one of God’s creations into his own designs, he had surpassed even his own expectations.

“Rise Quint, there is much we must talk about.”

W..who are you?

Quint’s voice was small and frail beneath the flowing tears. For seconds his vocal chords sat idle, unable to vibrate, unable to create.

“I am Lucifer. An Angel of the Lord. Fear not dear Child, I am not the Monster you have heard so much about. Or the Devil that people want to believe I am. I am simply a creation of the Lord, much like yourself, who loved the Lord too much. The “evil” thing is a contrived notion created by your religious zealots, but I’m sure as an academic you are well aware of all this. Though I stand here not alone, before you is the Lord himself, my Father.”

...God?

“Yes Harley. We are here to both free you, and punish you. For your crimes are great my son, and while I teach forgiveness you must understand that a penance must be paid. There must always be consequences to your actions otherwise the world ceases to function as you know it. There can be no justice when there is just a cause and a cure. This Justice is my Love.”

...That’s... fair.

“You’re being awfully understanding given your situation Child.”

I figure in the presence of Lucifer and The Almighty there is no use in trying to fight, acceptance and understanding is just easier. Plus if there is one thing that The Harlequin taught me it’s that the rules must be upheld. So I surrender myself to that.

“Probably a smart idea. Turns out you humans have them every once and awhile.”

Quint flashed a quick grin towards Lucifer who merely closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands.

"Unfortunately Child we must ask that you wait while we speak with your Demon for the time being, there are some... things to discuss.”

What do you mean wa—

Time froze for Dr. Harley Quint as he merely stayed stationary watching as the three men before him spoke. His eyes darted between the men trying to hear what they spoke of, but it was to no avail, then a peculiar sight caught his eye. In the sky a bird was motionless, staying perfectly still without any effort. Harley watched the bird for what must have been minutes, staying perfectly still, frozen in time, as the three men spoke before him.

You realize you can never be rid of me.

“Think before you speak wretch, you are a servant of God.”

Wrong I AM a God! But I’d watch where I throw words like servitude Fallen, you were too once upon a time Lou, I wouldn’t get too uppity.

HAhaahhhHAHAah ha ha HAHA aaahhh HAHA

The eyes of Dr. Harley Quint watched the head of The Harlequin snap back baring its mangled teeth. Its body heaved with what Quint could imagine as laughter as Lucifer merely rolled his eyes at the creature before him.

“Silence Rider. You have strayed from your mission.”

True enough, but you gotta admit, I certainly had fun doing it.

“Your fun has taken hundreds of lives and destroyed thousands more. You were sent here to maintain the balance. You exist on this plane to bring the damned back to hell, you stopped doing that.”

Untrue oh mighty Bearded One, I was still sending souls to hell.

“Innocents.”

The hand of The Almighty pointed towards the gravestone in front of Quint. The frozen figure of Dr. Harley Quint stood in awe of the men before him as they conversed in words unheard to his ears.

That all depends on your definition of the word doesn’t it? Not all were innocent, but yes, mistakes were made. What happened to you? You used to be all about smiting people for the smallest of infractions. I vote on bringing back the Beard from the Old Testament.

“Silence yourself! You left behind all you were sanctioned to do in order to fulfill your own visceral desires. You deified yourself, rose yourself up and proclaimed your holiness through fear alone.”

With a single outstretched finger Lou touched the forehead of the wretched form of The Harlequin, flashing every image of every murder conducted at his fingertips. Slowly he watched the flesh being torn from the bones of Drew Michaels, a smile crawling across his face. Like an orchestra carefully constructed by a malicious sociopath the murders were carried out one by one. All the while a familiar yet distorted smile rested on the cracked and pale smile of The Harlequin.

Beautiful isn’t? A tapestry of blood and woe and all in your names. At least it began that way. But I fell in love with that blood. The scent of the gore, that fear in their ears, hearing their heartbeats racing. Ahh, all that together, I love that being in my name.

“Silence Rider! You think this was in our names? You deified yourself! Made yourself a living God amongst these people and brought about their worship through fear and suffering. Your punishment shall be beyond severe. Your punishment shall be something not witness by my creations from millennia.”

“And at my hands Hellequin.”

...Joy.

The Harlequin rolled his eyes, showing his twisted smile to the beings before him.

“Quint will suffer, for he alone shall carry on with the memories of what you have done. That is his cross to bear. He allowed you in and for that he shall pay until his soul passes into The Beyond. You however shall pay your retribution for an eternity. You shall pay until you have truly seen the error of your ways, and when you are ready you will return to maintain the balance. “

Sounds like we are going to get some quality bonding time Lou eh? Did I mention you have purdy lips?

“Quiet Harlequin. It’s time. I’m going to enjoy every second of your screams.”

You’re making a very large mistake. You are breaking a very quintessential rule. You do NOT Fu-

“Don’t lecture me on your rules Rider. We are doing what you have failed to do in your current time on this plane. We are bringing about balance. We are FUCKING with The Harlequin.”

The Harlequin watched through squinted eyes as the Angel known as Lucifer touched his forehead. Within seconds he felt his corporeal form begin to tear apart. As each molecule combusted the pain overwhelmed the demonic Harlequin as he collapsed to the ground with what remained of his body, writhing in pain.

“Really?”

“You think he deserves better?”

“He’s your problem now Lucifer... For what it’s worth I have missed you my Child.”

“I have one question. One question I have never been able to ask you after all these years.”

“I know your question. My very essence is one of forgiveness and second chances, but until you see the error of your love I cannot forgive you. They are my Children, and thus a part of me, and until you can love me wholly your place is not in Heaven.”

Dr. Harley Quint watched as The Almighty smiled at the Fallen Lucifer who vanished with The Harlequin with a heart warming smile towards Quint. Slowly The All Father walked towards Quint, gently touching his shoulder, freeing him from his frozen prison.

It was in awe that he watched the figure before him. Words seemed trivial at such a juncture in time yet words seemed to be all he had. How could he describe what walked before him aside from Glory. His mind simply could not comprehend the weight of the situation before him.

“Now my Child, on to you.”

...Yes Sir.

Quint smiled meekly at the being beyond comprehension that in return smiled upon him.

“The gravity of the situation you find yourself in is great to say the least. For the pain, the suffering, the crimes you have committed against morality and humanity, the memories shall never be forgotten. You will carry these scars with you until your death bed. And only once your soul has passed to The Heavens above shall your penance be complete. So while your existence shall be forgotten by all of humanity, it will live on in your mind alone. You shall bear the burden of the crimes committed by The Rider within your form.”

Quint hung his head as the words reached his ears. He knew there was no way to escape the fate bestowed upon him. He cringed at the prospect of living the rest of his life, yet a single thought swum through his mind.

The girl. That’s all I ask.

“Be careful what you ask Quint.”

I am, it’s all I could think about while the three of you were talking. You pointed towards the tombstone and I knew I had to ask, to see if there was a possibility.

“I will grant you this one thing and inform you of this. The memory of this child shall live on in your mind every night when you seek the solace of slumber. When your eyes close to sleep, you will relive the moment you took her life, even though that is no longer a reality. Even though you have given her back the life you once took, you shall relive the pain of slaying her ever night. You shall bear that burden. You will remember all of which you have done, and what has been done by your hands, but those around you will not. Your qualifications and all your memories prior to The Harlequin will remain the same, people will remember you with these memories.”

So what you’re saying is—

“Let me finish Child. From this point forward they will remember you as Dr. Harley Quint. The actions carried out at your hands shall be forgotten and attributed to a Devil of a man. Those you have loved will remember you in that fashion, and so you shall be that person.”

If you don’t mind...there’s something I’ve gotta do first.

“Oh? And what is that Child?”

Wait...I thought you were omnipotent, shouldn’t you know without me having to ask?

“Simply because I can doesn’t mean that I do, something your dear Harlequin lost sight of. Now what was it?”

I have a meeting with a man very close to you. There’s something I need to prove, to him and to myself before I cease to be me.

“When your meeting is concluded then, and trust me I will know, Dr. Quint will simply be human. You will be free to walk off into the sunset and suffer your penance.”

The man before Quint reached out drawing an X across his heart. With a touch of the omnipotent fingers the flesh of Dr. Quint burned, forever emblazoning the X across Quint’s heart.

“Forever shall the names of all those who have died by your negligence be carved across the very bones of your body. You shall never forget those who suffered, this is the beginning of your punishment.”

With a simple flash of white light The Almighty disappeared before the eyes of Dr. Harley Quint. With a straightforward smile he rested his hand against the now blank tombstone in front of him as he traced his fingers across the name “Dr. Harley Quint” carved into his sternum with his free hand.

I stand before you a man. A man suffering the consequences of his actions. A man suffering the consequence of actions beyond the grasp of most of humanity. Most save for you. You understand what I have been through. You understand what I have done. Beyond that you know the suffering I have endured and now must endure for an eternity.

I stand before you the man you once saved. The man you once freed from the grips of madness. I stand before you with a smile that contains nothing but joy and purity. I stand before you as the man you once knew. Beyond that I stand before you a man understanding of what must be done. I am waiting for what must be done, the actions you must take.

I know you can never forgive what I have done, and that is something I will never ask of you, instead I stand before you with arms open. The first shot is all yours.

But make sure you look into my eyes when you do it Drew. Make sure you see that I am the man you once saved. Make sure you see that I am paying for what I have done, beyond anything you will ever be able to do to me. Make sure you realize that I have only love and respect for you.

Make sure you look into my eyes.

One last time.

*This Ends The Dramatic Story of The Harlequin. However I feel there is more to the story...slightly more. Read on if you choose to see how my story of Dr. Harley Quint ends.*



Months Following The Disappearance After Death Row.

The heels of the shoes clicked against the glimmering white tile flooring. The shined black shoes clicked across the flooring, keeping the fabric of the dress pants flowing with the man’s stride. The man’s pace was brisk but he kept his peaceful stride with no added labour to his movement. Rounding the corner of the hall the man reached with one hand to straighten his tie ever so slightly before running his hand through his wavy brown hair.

“Sir I wasn’t expecting to see you in so early.”

There’s always something to be done. You’ll learn someday, there’s always something that can be done during downtimes.

A quick smile shot across the man’s lips as he winked from behind his frameless glasses. With a quick turn of his head a lock of hair bounced across his face before being swung back into position by his hand.

“Oh! There’s a letter for you on your desk. Just says it’s from “AO” It came this morning, postage is from Venice.”

Thanks for looking at my mail. Keep your idle curiosity to yourself, but thanks for the heads up.

The door to the man’s office clicked as the knob turned. A subtle creak gave birth to the office as the door pushed open, allowing the sun’s light to shine through to the hallway since the door closed Friday afternoon.

Flopping down into the leather computer chair that rested behind the desk the man rifled through the mail on his desk before finding the aforementioned letter. Eyeing the letter the man chuckled at the name on the envelope before skimming a letter opener across the top and pulling out the letter from within.

Well, it’s certainly been awhile since I’ve gotten one of these.

Placing the letter on top of his keyboard the man reached across his desk grabbing a pen and pulling a piece of paper from the tray of his printer.



O’Rion,

It’s been awhile since I had heard from you. I was beginning to wonder where your travels had taken you, though I’m glad you’re getting to experience some wonderful things.

It’s amazing how little we used to get to see when we travelled. But it seems now we have all the time in the world to do it. If you get a chance you should check out the Torre dell'Orologio, it’s a beautiful Clock Tower in the center of Venice, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.

Let me know when you’re back on the Continent, we’ll grab a beer...I know a great place.

- H

Finishing his letter the man glimpsed at his watch before rising quickly from his chair sending it spinning into the wall of books behind him. Stopping at the door the man turned around quickly grabbing a folder from his desk before exiting the office.

The door shut tightly behind the suited man as he confidently strode down the hall away from the office. His destination was no more than twenty strides ahead of him as he pushed open the door in front of him and walked into the room.

The voices of many conversations filled the room as the man stepped in bringing a hush over the crowded room. The gathered group watched as the man set his papers down on the podium before looking up, a very familiar smile crossing his face as his eyes darted across the room.

Welcome.

Before I go any further I have one thing to say, if you have any questions or comments...you are in the wrong classroom. If you want to talk, you’re free to leave. If you have questions feel free to ask me after class, not during, this is my time.

I am Dr. Quint...

and this is The Art of Alliances.

Is God willing to prevent evil but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able, and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither willing nor able? Then why call him a God?- Epicurus

There are some who would say that I am malevolence given form, a demon whose soul reason for existence is to commit murder and mayhem. Were that true I would be like the simpletons who became members of the House of Havoc. I am not such a person who can take idle pleasure in the discomfort, torture, or mutilation of another. In fact, I gain no pleasure from doing this. I did at one time, but that was the foolishness of a child pretending to play an adult's game; they don't know any of the rules but they pretend to know what the score is.

I find myself in a hotel room this evening. It's around 6 p.m. local time here in Los Angeles and the California sun has begun to creep back into the waiting clutches of the horizon. The hotel room is cramped, just on the right side of being a small Holiday Inn motel room. Beige walls with a ceiling covered in stucco gives the room the personality of a recently deceased human. A Thomas Kincaid reprint hangs behind me over the bed. From the look of the wall, I can see where the hotel management has put three different holes in the wall to place this particular work of "art". In front of my on this lumpy but not wholly uncomfortable double bed are my two guns. The Ruger Blackhawk, all cold black steel and polished wood grain handle with a skull etched into the grip, I just finished cleaning and reassembling sits to my left. The Browning BDM 9mm is currently disassembled and in the midst of a thorough cleaning in front of me.

I've done these cleanings so many times, my body moves with little forethought. A shadow play, if you will, of gestures and muscle spasms that supposedly mimic human behavior. My eyes were glued to the television, watching a profile on a young woman, 15, who had gone missing after her parents were brutally murdered in Inglewood. After watching my own family get shattered against the rocks of human indecency, little in the world shocked me now. The newswoman said the child's name was Crystal, a pure name for a teenager. My guess was she wouldn't remain pure for much longer.

I don't know why I felt moved by this young girl's plight. In two days time, I was going into a Gauntlet match, my first since joining FMW. My stablemates Damien, Dallas, and the newest addition, Marcus, would be joining me in this match. I put Crystal's plight to the back of my mind for the time being while I finished cleaning the Browning. Once done with that, I went over to to the desk in the room, if you could call what would serve as an overly large coffee table a desk. Some stationary was provided by the hotel. Damien and the others were here as well. Just one big cadre of death-loving freaks.

Damien,
We have to keep an eye on Dallas during our Gauntlet match. He's proven before just how untrustworthy he can be. If it looks as if he is going to turn on us again during the match, you, me, and Marcus need to send a clear message that such disobedience will not be tolerated. Also, be mindful of Jack Eastwood. Anyone who was once a member of Havoc is not someone to trifle with. I have something to take care of here in the city. I'll see you and the rest later tomorrow.

After finishing the note, I put on a pair of black loose-fitting jeans, a short-sleeved muscle t-shirt of middle gray color, my trenchcoat and boots, and my guns in their respective holsters. The Browning went into the shoulder holster under my right arm, allowing me to pull the gun with a cross pull. The Ruger, being a heavier revolver, sat in the crook of my back, able to be pulled by my right hand with little difficulty. It did make sitting down comfortably a problem but it was one I'd found easy enough to ignore. A quick search on the internet allowed me to discover the address of Crystal's home.

As I began to leave my room, I paused, my hand just a few inches away from touching the door handle. I couldn't explain to myself why I was suddenly so interested in it this girl's plight. Perhaps it reminded some part of myself that I had once been in her place. My mind was made up that I would investigate the scene, see what my empathic abilities discovered. My motorcycle was outside the hotel and after a moment or two of consideration, I realized I was more comfortable with my own transportation that with the City of Los Angeles transport. The note was placed under Damien's door. Considering his often erratic behavior the last few days, I felt it best to not disturb him until the group could sit down.

The drive to Inglewood from the hotel was not an unpleasant experience. The air still carried the heat of the day like a hunter would carry a dead deer. Los Angeles traffic is a mess, especially when you try to leave the city limits and head out into the suburbs. It took me a little over 45 minutes to make it to Inglewood. I parked three blocks away from the house. Crystal's house, like all of the other carbon copies that existed in this little piece of California. Not far to the south I could make out the Randy's Donuts plaster donut, a landmark of this area. Shadows had begun to lengthen through the area, patches of the Abyss made manifest in the real world. Moving through them was one of the first things I learned how to do.

Upon reaching the house I noticed two uniformed police officers sitting out front. Since this was still an active crime scene, my guess was they wanted to keep out neighbors, hobbyists, and media people. I'd found a man in Texas who collected souvenirs from the homes of murder victims. They were never anything large or ostentatious, sometimes it would be a cup or a shirt,or even a piece of mail from a bill collector. He had told me that it was his way of honoring the dead, making sure that a piece of them was preserved against destruction. Here in the house, there was nothing but destruction. Signs of a passionate struggle were everywhere. Raw emotions of fear, anger, and malicious joy permeated everything I came into contact with.

"Here's the part I hate", I muttered under my breath.

Touching the sofa, which had been overturned, as well as the broken glass of the coffee table revealed a torrent of visions. Crystal had been lounging in the front room, watching TV rather lazily. The door burst open, three Asian men running in, hoping to catch her by surprise. There was struggle, the couch getting turned over to try and reach for her. She had grabbed a lamp from nearby and smacked one of the men, causing them to fall backwards onto the glass table in the room, shattering the center. Little blood droplets had soaked into the creamy brown carpet. When I touched them, waves of rage and pain shot through my arm. When I first discovered this connection, the ability to read emotions and sometimes images off of items, it would take me several minutes to recover from the rush of feelings that were not my own, memories of often-times horrible acts of violence.

I continued on into the bedroom, touching the walls every so often to keep the memories fresh in my mind. The three men all wore muscle shirts, tightly fitted to their muscular, yet lithe bodies. The apparent leader smirked a lot, almost as if he was part of some inside joke that no one else was privy to. His black hair was cut short on the sides but kept just long enough up top to be be gelled back. The other two men were shorter and leaner than the first. Both of them were bald. All three carried shotguns. The first had a tattoo on the inner part of their right forearm of a red pole. The other two had matching 49 tattoos on their outer forearms.

The parents were found in their bedroom. They hadn't even attempted to dial 911. The leader spoke at them harshly, his words a jumble of a language that I was not familiar with. My eyes opened. There were two large blood splatters, the first against the wall, the second against the bed. The blood and other body matter had dried, leaving not even a crimson smudge on my fingertips when I touched them. The visions returned, showing me that the father was the first to die. Apparently he had stood in abject refusal to do what he was being told to do. An admirable trait under normal circumstances, but a death sentence for those involved in this case. The leader pushed the father closer to the wall, the muzzle of the shotgun pressed firmly into the father's throat just below the Adam's apple. The shotgun blast ripped through cartilage, muscle, and bone, severing the head and splashing arterial blood all over the wall and floor. The wife soon followed, a chunk of meat blasted out of her side like an incensed butcher with poor aim had been unleashed upon her.

"I can see what they did but not why they did it" I said to myself aloud. "May you live in interesting times, indeed."

[size=150]Five Hours Later[/size]

Crystal sat next to me on the grass, near a drainage entrance. Marcus and Damien stood nearby, obviously displeased with recent actions.

"There you go again Gabe", Damien said, his voice filled with condescension and vitriol., "giving a fuck when it isn't your turn to give a fuck.

The young girls hands were steady, steadier than most would be under similar situations. Her mind was obviously in shock from the torments she endured at the hands of her captors, not to mention seeing me run through with guns blazing. A pair of forceps were in her hands as she struggled to pull a bullet from my right shoulder. Small grunts escaped her lips as she tried to help me. My face remained relatively neutral despite the pain that leaped through my nerves.

"Doesn't he usually heal from this kind of stuff",asked Marcus, his eyes underneath the mask furtively moving over the three wounds in my chest.

"Normally you are correct Marcus", I answered, a sigh of pain escaping my lips, "but my master in the Abyss can be a fickle lord. Thank you for bringing me the med kit from my room."

Marcus said, "She shouldn't be here Gabriel. Cut her loose and send her to the cops."

Crystal stiffened at those words, causing the forceps to dig further into my body than originally intended. She felt the third bullet, snapped the plastic prongs over the metal slug, and pulled it out. I gazed into Crystal's bright green eyes and found a voice pleading for me to help her again. But my heart did not move or even stutter in that direction. Instead my I found my mouth moving and words flowing forth.

"Head back to the hotel guys. I'll meet you there in a little while. Make sure Dallas is there also", I said with calm, even words.

"What are you going to do about her", Damien asked, his face a mask covering something even more sinister.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a creative solution to this predicament", I answered, not even a care in the world.

After putting on a fresh set of clothes that Marcus and Damien had brought me, I took Crystal for a ride, dropping her off near the police precinct for Inglewood.

My words to Crystal were this: "Take them to where the bodies are. Tell them you saw nothing, only heard gunfire. When that stopped, the door to the room you were held in was opened and you escaped. I don't know you little girl. But I see in your eyes something...something that I once held. You've watched as something beautiful was taken away from you brutally. I can teach you how to harness this, turn it into something good. And perhaps you can save me in return. I'm going to leave an envelope at the Staples Center with their front office. I'll tell them its passes to come see our next pay-per-view. Inside will be a bus ticket, an address, and money for food and taxi fare when you get there. If you want the nightmares to end, I can help. Ask for a woman named Jess when you get there. Tell her Gabe sent you. She'll take care of you.

As I watched her walk away, I knew that I had lied to her. My lies were no greater than the lies each man in the match on Sunday told themselves. The part about Jess taking care of her until I returned home was true enough. For all the trauma she had endured recently, she was still a kind soul, hence the reason I sent this child there. But Crystal was forever stained, a flaw in her youthful perfection. Each of the men I faced in the Gold Card Gauntlet, including myself, deluded ourselves into thinking that we can make a difference in our fates in FMW, that the Gold Card would give us the opportunity to change our destiny. Looking back at Crystal, this young woman who's future had been shattered by the aggression of deranged men. I drove away from the precinct, returning to the hotel and my stablemates.

Watching the news, the late breaking story was the dramatic story of Crystal Nguyen. They mentioned that she was inadvertently rescued during a raid by rival drug dealers. The ten kilos of heroin that I'd torched not long after freeing Crystal worked like a charm as a distraction. I broke out the cleaning kit for my guns again, making sure the usage tonight did not cause too much damage.

Alex's words rang through my mind as I went through the motions of cleaning again for the second time that day. I was no different than the people I killed, that was what he had said to me. I realized it was a nihilistic point of view. Alex sought to make this point to me: Nothing that I do matters. Crystal will still be shattered, those men that took her parents' lives will be replaced by others just as willing, perhaps even more so, to commit the acts of violence the triads were known for, and my parents would never be resurrected. The Abyss calls to all of us, something that I had forgotten. But in my reverie of death and entropy I realized the nihilist's true epiphany. Its true that nothing I do matters. I can be as evil and misguided as Jack Eastwood or even Harlequin, or I could be demonically-inspired like my tag team partner, or even have the righteous zeal of Drew Michaels coursing through me. It just didn't matter in the end.

But there is one truth that I now cannot escape. If nothing that I do matters, than all that matters is what I do. This small thought brough a smile to my face, a rare occurrence. The Gold Card Gauntlet was mine for the taking with this knowledge. I would take what I wanted, not for ego, or the fans, or even for Danse Macabre. I would take my place as one of the higher echelon wrestlers in my company because I simply could. Whatever the my stablemates felt was appropriate would work for us. A knock at my door brought me our of my internal thoughts. The presence of Damien and the others on the other side of the door gnawed at my senses, filling me with something similar to Alex's aura. Something to look into in the future. I went to the door to let them in.

???: … Wake up Faith…

Faith realized something was wrong the moment her eyes opened. She was not where she was suppose to be. The very sight her waking eyes were greeted with was enough to take her breath away, leaving the sharpest chill to run down her spine… like a cold blade across her flesh, enough to make her physically shiver. Nothing was right here. Past an unkempt fringe that hung over her emerald eyes, Faith could see nothing but padded walls surrounding her. Grey, almost stone like with no visible exit past the lining of cushions. It was familiar, it was a place she had been to before… she did not belong here. When Faith tried to move, she found her arms were crossed and pinned around her own chest, secured in a discoloured straightjacket. Grey slacks coated her legs as her feet were left bare. She sat cross legged and alone in a cube of a room, as dim lights above cast a grey shade upon everything.

Faith: Where am I?

Faith whispered to herself. Her voice quiet, almost timid with a broken edge… despite her question, she already knew the answer. An asylum cell. She could not remember how she had gotten here, only that she had been here before at some point in her life, and that she did not belong. Faith tried to think before she awoke, how she could of possibly ended up in here, but there was nothing but a blank, no matter how hard she tried to think.

Ahhhh HA haaa HAHAHA aaahaahhhh ah ah haaa HAHA

A muffled laughter beyond the walls of her cell. A laughter that was all too familiar to her. Was Harlequin behind this mockery? It seemed clear this would be something the mad clown would try to pull for his own amusement.

Faith: Where the hell are you?

Faith called out, but beyond her room she could see nothing. She pictured the laughing man behind one of the walls, grabbing his own chest due to laughing so hard, eyes wide with madness. He would pay for this, that much Faith vowed to herself, whatever the hell it was he hoped to achieve.

???: Just ignore that idiot Faith. Harley hasn’t had this mornings treatment yet. Sorry if he woke you up.

Faith turned in alarm to look upon another presence within her cell she had not even noticed. It was as if he appeared from thin air. Looking past him, Faith could see a door had been opened in which he must have entered through. Strange how she had not heard it open nor heard the man approaching from behind. He was instantly recognizable to Faith, though he wore medical clothing, as if he was working in a place like this. Skyler Striker….

Striker: How are you feeling today?

Faith: Striker! What the hell is going on?! Get me out of here!

Skyler frowned, leaning down to perch besides Faith as he looked her in the eyes. He pulled out a small light, flashing it into her eyes as if examining her like some doctor with a patient. Faith felt a great unease, something was terribly wrong.

Striker: They said this might happen. They said you would be confused after the treatment, which is perfectly understandable. You’ve been living in that little world of yours for far too many years Faith.

???: … Don’t believe his lies…

Striker: You feelin’ alright? I see your finally speaking to us again. You’ve always been so quiet since you got here. I figure sometimes its as if you’re a mute when you sit in this place. Not still hearing those… voices are you?

???: … Don’t tell him about us… if he finds out its all over…

Faith: N… no… what voices? What’s happening?

Striker: This is promising. Tell me Faith. Who are you?

Faith: What the hell is this?! You know who I am! I’m Faith McKenzie. I’m a wrestler in the FMW like you! This isn’t funny Striker. Get me out of here…

Faith whispered, her tone holding more malice as she began to struggle against the straight jacket.

Striker: Easy Faith. This is scary I know, but you need to calm down. We’ve began putting you on a new treatment. It helps to clear your head. We wanted to use it on a more stable patient like you before we began to treat the more severe cases like Harley and Michaels. Early results look promising…

Faith: What the fuck are you talking about?!

???: … You can’t talk… Remember?

Faith hadn’t even noticed, it was enough to make her gasp out loud. She had been mute all her life, after the gunshot wound it was almost impossible for her to speak at all. How the hell had she been speaking now? Worse… why didn’t she even notice? It almost felt natural to speak, no pain, no blood spilling from her lips for the attempt. She was talking. She should have been shocked, but it felt like she could always talk… like it was nothing new to her. What was going on here?

Striker: I know this is hard Faith. You’ve…. been living a lie. For the last six years you’ve been mentally unstable, living in your own fantasy world to block out the harshness of the real world. You kept telling us you were going to be a champion of some… heh… wrestling federation. Something about following in your father’s footsteps. Apparently I was a wrestler too, I helped train you or something… with Leon, VanGuard, other patients like Harley and Hostyle and even Smitten the warden being in this fantasy of yours.

???: … Get a hold of yourself. Striker has turned against you remember? Mention TyranT…

Faith: Where is my father?

Striker: … Faith…

Faith: Enough with the fucking games… WHERE IS MY DAD?!

Ahhhh HA haaa HAHAHA aaahaahhhh ah ah haaa HAHA

The muffled laughter from the unseen Harley brought no more comfort then Striker’s expression. He turned solemn, daring to place a hand upon her shoulder. Faith was quick to shrug it away, edging back from the man she thought she knew well. She could feel her teeth grinding together, she could feel fear welling up amongst the anger inside. Why was it that she already knew what he was going to say?

Striker: Faith. You’re father is dead. He died six years ago. You killed him… remember?

Faith: No…

-------------------

???: …. get… …ing….. ..ulance…

???: Sh… ot…. brea…g!

--------------------

???: … Your losing it Faith. Don’t lose it! We won’t come back if you lose it now!!! He’s lying!

Striker: You took his life when he tried to rape you. Then you tried to take your own. No one blames you for what you did Faith. You weren’t right in the head, and given the circumstances I probably would have done the same thing if I were you, anyone would have. They figure your father would have killed you after he was done.

Faith: I… I remember it…

Faith gasped out, feeling the water beginning to build up below her eyes. It was enough to blur her vision as she stared wide eyed at Striker, her entire body becoming numb as she felt herself shaking over the terrible memory. It seemed strange that it was all she could recall amongst her memories of the FMW. She remembered pulling the trigger of the gun within her hands, how her father’s head exploded into a burst of sinew and crimson mush, how she screamed out loud before she pulled the gun on herself. She hesitated for only a moment before someone stopped her… Was it Leon? Why could she remember that and nothing else?

???: … He’s putting things into your head. You’re a fighter Faith! Your father loves you! He’d never do that! You know this!

Faith watched as a man passed by the doorway behind Striker. A large man clad in a blue janitor suit as he mopped at the ground below him. He seemed familiar, clad in dark sunglasses despite the darkness of the corridor as slicked back blonde hair rested upon his head. He spared a glance at Faith, looking as if he wished to speak, however his legs didn’t stop moving. He wasn’t much older then Faith, and she could not help but recognize him. He was gone as quick as the moment he appeared.

???: … That’s it… keep your head on. You know him don’t you? Listen to me. Keep focused. You need to open your right hand!

Faith: My right hand?

Striker: What?

Faith looked to Striker, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks, yet she was no longer crying. It was only now she noticed her right hand was clenched tightly against her chest. However she couldn’t open her hand when she tried, nor could she see it wearing the straight jacket.

Faith: It hurts…

Faith lied to Striker, seeing his suspicions.

Striker: The treatment is working Faith, they said there would be a few aches and pains. You’re going to need a lot of therapy to ease you out of the lie you’ve been living in. Your not a wrestler, your just a young woman who needs help getting back on her feet. We can get you back out there again, get you on your own two feet so you can start singing again.

Faith: Singing?

???: … Don’t let him get you!

-----------------

???: …na lose…r

???: Damn… V..Guard, G… of the way!

-------------------

Faith: I sang?

Striker: Yeah. You and Leon Caprice were quite a duo. He’s been visiting you every chance he gets. You were one hell of a singer Faith, they always said there was magic in your voice. We can give you that life back… wouldn’t you like to sing again?

Faith: Y… yeah… I’d like to sing.

Striker smiled in a warming manner, standing up to his feet as he headed towards the door of the cell.

Striker: That’s what I want to hear. Just trust me alright? Trust us. We’ll get you back to the way you were, I promise. We’ll finish the treatment and you can live a full life again, forget about all of this, and your father and this silly dream you‘ve been forced to live over the years. We can cure you Faith… and we will. I’ll be right back alright?

???: … They can’t cure you. No one can…

Striker left the cell, leaving Faith on her own to her own thoughts. Some of the things he said seemed to make sense, whilst others didn’t. She remembered singing… her father trying to strip her down before she reached for the gun on his inside pocket, she remembered hanging around with Leon and the rest of the band some years ago when she was younger. Yet the other band members had shadows were their faces should have been.

All this seemed mixed in with her present memories of the FMW. Fighting against people double her height and entire feet above her, beating impossible odds and making enemies of those that apparently had been all around her the whole time in this asylum. The more she thought, the more unreal her life as a wrestler began to feel. Maybe she never left that cell… maybe she had been here the whole time living in a world she put over her eyes to block out the pain of her life. It seemed to make more sense…

???: … Your remembering an old wish that you could sing… nothing more. A duo with Leon?… You hate Leon… Your father trying to rape you?! It was the priest Father Sheppard who tried that, but you fought him, you made him bleed and fought hard so he only beat you instead. Even as a little girl you were a fighter… now you need to fight this. You have to fight them!

The cell opened up again, and Faith looked to the opening, trying to blank out the voice within her head, hoping it was just all part of a problem that Striker was going to fix. However, to her alarm, it wasn’t Striker returning… it was Steven VanGuard, clad in grey slacks like herself and a straightjacket with the sleeves torn off. He looked as rough as ever, unkempt hair and stubble lining his jaw. For a man in a straightjacket, there was no madness within his eyes as he looked to Faith.

VanGuard: It’s time to go. We’re getting out of here, before they come back.

Faith: I’m not going anywhere.

???: … Listen to him Faith. He’s here to help you!

Faith: I don’t even know you!

???: … You don’t have to. You already know what kind of person he is. He helped you when no one else would. He befriended you when you knew you didn’t deserve it, when you weren’t even worthy of it. Get your fucking act together and go with him now…

VanGuard: I can’t go unless you come with me Faith. We have to find your dad. You need to let go of what your holding onto… it caused all this.

Faith: My dad died… I killed him.

???: … Please Faith! Listen to him! Please!…

VanGuard: You know that’s not true. Someone knows where he is, and you know who too.

Faith frowned, thinking of TyranT, her own father. He was a wrestler, he always looked out for her. He tried to kill himself, that was the last Faith ever saw of him… but he didn’t succeed, was he really still alive? Her memories began to conflict, and then there was that man that looked upon her, the janitor.

Faith: … Yes… yes. That janitor… he knows.

Faith whispered to herself. Just who was he? She had little time to think on it before VanGuard grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her up roughly on her feet as he brought what looked like a blade towards her side. She felt the material of the straightjacket tear at the sleeves to free her arms, it was only now she managed to look upon her right hand, noticing it was closed tightly. She winced, trying to open her hand, feeling something there, like she was holding onto something she couldn’t’t let go of. Suddenly VanGuard grasped her wrist.

VanGuard: There is no time. We have to go now!

Rushing from her cell, Faith entered the grey corridor, almost being dragged by VanGuard who took point. Other inmates began to scream out and cuss as they noticed the pair. Harlequin sat alone in a room, rocking back and forth in a straight jacket, his laughter still bellowing out as he eyed Faith. A man she knew of named Chris Austin sat upon a bed with his head down, staring blankly at the featureless ground of his cell. Another man she knew of called Michael James was nothing more then a hanging corpse, having tied the bed sheets around his throat as his feet dangled a few feet off the ground. It was enough to alarm Faith as she gasped out in horror.

???: … Now do you see? You don’t belong here.

Faith: What the hell is this place?!

VanGuard: Not where you are suppose to be…

VanGuard answered, leading Faith down the long corridor, past more faces she recognized from a memory of the FMW that might not have even been real. After passing through a door followed by a quick turn, VanGuard and Faith stood in a cleaner area. The walls white and spotless, the area well lit and well maintained, a complete contrast of the cells and holding area they just come from. Two ways were available to them, left or right, both stretching onwards connected to offices and other such rooms. They were no longer alone, as Striker and a mass of security stood a few metres away, blocking one of the paths. There had to be a dozen of them all bunched up and squeezed together in the thin corridor as Striker stood a few feet in front of them.

Striker: Faith? What are you doing out here?! You need to get back into your cell for treatment!

VanGuard: Quick, go the other way now. Find that guy…

Faith looked at VanGuard, the manner in which he spoke suggested he wasn’t coming with her.

Faith: You can’t do this.

VanGuard: I’ll give you some time, it’s all I can do for you now.

Leon Faith…

Faith looked back to Striker and the guards, noticing Leon Caprice step forward, clad in rather stylish and expensive clothing. He looked clean cut and sharp, a whole different level amongst the guards that seem to part ways for him to step forward next to Skyler Striker.

Leon Where are you going Faith? I thought you wanted your old life back.

???: … You never had an old life.

Faith: Shut up! Both of you shut up!

Striker: You are hearing the voices aren’t you? Faith, we have to treat you, we have to treat you now. You belong here with us, you need to stay here with us!

Leon We need you, we need your voice again. Don’t you miss it? Don’t you love being able to speak?

???: … We’re mute Faith! We always have been! We can never speak again!

Faith: SHUT UP!!!

Faith screamed out, grasping at her own head, feeling overwhelmed by the voices around her. She just wanted to be left alone, she couldn’t handle all this confusion, all the building stress. Faith could only look to VanGuard, hoping he had the answer, hoping he knew what to do…

VanGuard: You have to let go of what your holding onto… It’s what caused all of this.

Faith frowned, wondering what he meant before she glanced at her right hand. She was holding onto something she realized, yet still her hand wouldn’t open. It was then VanGuard drew the small blade he had been carrying, pushing Faith behind him as he turned to the large group.

VanGuard: Run! Find him!

Faith stepped back from VanGuard, watching as Striker, Leon and all the guards began to charge forwards. VanGuard went to meet them, clashing into the first guard as his blade struck deep into his stomach, letting a spurt of blood spray against the once clean wall. Already he was quickly becoming surrounded as batons were drawn, yet he still fought against them despite the clubs coming down on him. It felt like she had no choice now, and so Faith ran, not daring to turn her head when she heard VanGuard roar out as he went at the group. The corridor was reasonably thin, he would buy her seconds… but they could prove to be precious. Faith sprinted, as fast as her legs would carry her, it wasn’t long before she heard a rapid march of footsteps behind her, they were catching up on her.

The corridor went on and on, Faith felt her chest burning as exhaustion began to catch up with her. Was this corridor endless? Faith wondered so as room upon room passed her by. She was almost ready to give up…

???: … Don’t give up! Don’t!!! We can’t go back there! We can’t go back to that life! Don’t let them get you! We’re almost there!

It was then Faith saw him, the corridor had finally come to an end as the janitor stood there with a mop in hand, next to a door that rested ahead of her. The man she recognized. He turned to look upon her, dropping the mop and opening the door that rested on the very edge that lead into nothing but darkness. He quickly gestured for her to come, to keep running, looking on at her through the sunglasses over his eyes. As Faith closed the distance, feeling the footsteps closing in behind her, she realized just who this man was…

???: … You remember him now… He’s here for you… He’s always been there for you… for us. It will be alright Faith. We’ll be alright.

Faith felt her legs almost fail, yet somehow she kept running. Each step she made got her closer to the janitor, and each step she watched the young version of her dad begin to rapidly age. Watching as his muscular figure slowly became more rounded and larger. Watching as his blonde hair turned to natural brown, before thinning and becoming short. His face began to age, becoming wrinkled with each step and more weary before he was transformed into the man he was today. Billy McKenzie, the TyranT. A gloved hand reached out, and Faith had to leap for it, feeling as Striker and Leon clashed into her, trying to bring her down to the ground, wanting her to stay in this place she didn‘t belong in.

They were too late… as TyranT managed to grasp her hand firmly, pulling her free of their grasp, pushing her through the door, where Faith fell into an abyss… in silence…

We’ll be alright…

--------------------------

Faith opened her eyes, her mouth opening wide as she silently took in as much air as her lungs would allow. She sat herself up, trying to scream out, but not a single sound escaped from her lips, only a wetness that ran from her lips down her jaw as blood seeped from her mouth. She began to breath heavily yet in silence, her eyes bloodshot and erratic as she turned to look upon her surroundings.

Chloe: Jesus Christ…

VanGuard: Get her up now! Let her get some air!

Faith winced as VanGuard tried to lift her, she tried to shove him away, her mind racing, adrenaline running through her system, rationality not quite returning. VanGuard proved resilient however as he pulled her up by the wrist, getting Faith to sit upon her own knees to keep her body upright. Faith managed to calm down some as Chole came to her side, getting under one arm to keep Faith stable. All at once, Faith felt the energy leave her, feeling an unusual fatigue and tiredness… a need to sleep. Yet Faith dared not close her eyes, in case she found herself back in the cell when she opened them…

VanGuard: Fuck… Are you alright Faith?! We found you on the floor! You weren’t breathing…

Chloe:There’s an ambulance on the way… VanGuard, is she going to be alright?

VanGuard: Just keep her up right… You’re gonna be fine kid. Your alright… paramedics will be here to check you out.

Faith continued to breath heavily, her eyes scanning her surroundings, trying to remember what happened. She was in an apartment, a place the FMW rented for her to stay during the duration of Deathrow. The place had been completely trashed, and blood stains were soaked upon the carpet floor. Looking down at herself, she saw her jacket clung to her chest, soaked in crimson that dripped from her chin. It was her own blood. Faith realized during the nightmare, she must have been trying to speak, opening up an old wound in her throat.

VanGuard: You have to let go of what your holding onto… It’s what caused all of this…

It was then she noticed her right hand, clenched tightly around something. Her breathing rate sharpened as she lifted her hand upwards, letting her fingers uncurl to reveal whatever it was she had been holding onto. It was then she saw what had caused the whole thing… her medication. Her eyes went wide as she realized something must have happened with her medication… it was then she remembered taking her meds, the faintness before her legs failed her and she collapsed… In anger, she tossed the container away as VanGuard and Chloe both watched it roll away.

VanGuard: Easy now Faith. It’s okay now…

Faith allowed herself to slump, allowing all the tension to subside and for VanGuard and Chloe to simply hold her up. Faith had never let anyone hold her up but her father, it was half out of necessity that she allowed the pair to do so for her… half over the fact that she actually might trust them… She felt so tired, her eyes were so heavy…

Faith: … It’s not okay… I’m not alright… I… I wanted to sing…

----------------------

[2 Days later]

Offical 1: The medical report says she’ll be fit enough to compete in one match, so Faith will still be booked in the Tag match, it will help keep the fan base she has quickly gathered watching the PPV. That means more rating…

Smitten: Well I for one am glad that’s sorted. There is nothing else to discuss.

Offical 2: I really don’t know why she even needs a replacement. We‘ve got Romeo and Hostyle, that‘s more then enough to pull off an exceptional main event.

Smitten: A contract was signed… three people have been entered. Due to Hostyle‘s idiocy we‘ve had little choice. It’s just too bad our little girl had to go and blow her mind before her big break… but this new change, it certainly isn’t going to hurt the ratings, nor hurt the reputation of the World Title.

The gathered officials and share holders seemed content with the latest development. More then a dozen people gathered around a large table wearing high end tailored suits, sitting amongst the fumes of their own smokes as entrails led upwards into a grey mist from burnt out cigarette stubs. Amongst the officials was Jaro who sat upon one seat, as others stood within a darkness just beyond the table. Amongst them was Hostyle and Romeo who had been brought here for the news. It seemed an alteration had been made to the Main Event in light of Faith’s mental condition.

Hostyle: Am’ not happy. No one said a damn thing when I started the tournament. You all only began to sweat when the likes of Smitten and Jaro crashed out. Faith earned her shot, just like Ro! You can’t take it away from her.

Ro: I’m with the suit… we don’t need a replacement. Just put me in the ring with that prick and I’ll take the title. I’ll be sure to maybe let him take a swing or two just to make a match out of it. We never needed a bitch in there… and we don’t need some bastard who is just jumping at an opportunity. Who the fuck is replacing her anyway? Is it you Jaro?

Jaro: I’m still in a good mind to get myself into that match, but the call has been made… and quite frankly I don’t give a shit.

The meeting was interrupted as light shed into the room from the corridor beyond as double doors were opened. VanGuard stood at the doorway, storming in as all eyes of the officials and wrestlers alike turned to the returning star. No words were spoken as VanGuard glared at the men and women before him, instead VanGuard reached out into his pocket, pulling out a medication container which he soon threw in a rough manner across the large table.

Attention was drawn to the table the moment the medication scattered across it as the container lid burst open, leaving multicoloured pills littered over documents and files. A silence followed as all attention was on the unusual tablets, whilst some still slowly rolled over the wooden surface before them. In the end, it was Jaro who broke the silence, almost wincing in disgust over the interruption.

Jaro: What the fuck is this suppose to be?

VanGuard: You tell me. One of you stickin’ bastards swapped Faith’s medication! She is fucked up because of one of you! Now I hear some shit about you pulling her out of the Main Event. All too convenient don’t you think?

Ro: Not that I give much of a damn, but the bitch is still good to fight at Deathrow isn’t she? Least for one match. I thought you’d be thrilled to still have a tag partner. I don‘t have to deal with any crap for punching a woman. Everyone wins…

VanGuard: That’s not how its going to happen! This is too important for her! You wanna’ pull her out of one of her matches, you pull her out of the tag match with me. She would much rather be fighting on Deathrow for the World Championship then the Tag Titles… anyone would. She’s good to fight a match… so make sure it’s the fucking Main Event!

Smitten: What do you take me for?! I had nothing but Faith’s wellbeing in mind when I made the call. Her fragile mind is not 100%, the medical advisor made it clear it was unwise to strain her, but assured she could still fight. A tag match seems more then suitable enough don’t you think? Keeps her well rested… not as much stress.

Smitten made no effort at all to hide the sarcastic tone of his voice.

VanGuard: Bullshit!

Jaro: It’s too late Vanny. Call’s been made, she’s got a replacement to fight for her at Deathrow. I dunno if any of you noticed, but he’s already amongst us.

Ro: What?

VanGuard: Who?…

It was then he stepped out of the shadow, one of the faceless individuals that had been standing near the table amongst those that were seated. A large auburn coat did little to conceal his broad frame, and a hood had kept his face concealed in darkness. Under the coat was all black clothing, an almost flat jacket like top whilst leather gloves coated his hands. It was hard to tell who it could have been, until a familiar laughter escaped, as the figure unhooded himself soon after.

TyranT: Who else but ‘nother McKenzie? That’s what name wus signed on the contract…

Hostyle: The hell?

VanGuard: You fuckin’ piece of shit! Have you gone completely insane? It was you wasn’t it?! You swapped your own daughters medication!

TyranT: Best calm yer’self down son. Let’s not be stressin’ ourselves out like yer’ partner already did.

VanGuard: My partner is your little girl! Your own little girl Billy! What the hell are you thinking?!

VanGuard stepped forward, on the verge of throwing himself over the table to get to TyranT who stood tall amongst the many. It was Hostyle however that managed to stop him, throwing an arm across his chest to stop the advance before it could happen. Advancing upon him was certainly not the best option with the likes of Jaro and Smitten present amongst the officials.

Hostyle: Easy. Don’t do anythin’ stupid man. Don’t play into their hands.

VanGuard: I can’t let them get away with this.

Hostyle: They already have. I’m sorry man, I really am. I don’t like dis’ anymore then you do. Faith got robbed, but she managed to get this far. She can do it again another time, she will get a chance… and so will you, until then we just bite the bullet.

TyranT: Best listen to the man. He knows what he’s talkin’ ‘bout!

TyranT laughed out over the tension hanging heavy in the air. VanGuard clenched his hands into tight fists, his teeth grinding together as he stared at the old timer in sheer malice. However, when a moment finally passed, VanGuard began to head his way back out of the room. Hostyle joined him, having heard enough from this meeting. VanGuard made certain to take his time as he watched the officials and the wrestlers alike from over his shoulder.

VanGuard: You’ll fucking pay for this… all of you. She’s better then you all think, and I tell you now she will come after you all one by one. Especially you TyranT… You’ve gone beyond reason, you will get what’s coming to you. This is far from over!

TyranT: Yer’ can tell Faith, she did good. Ah’m proud of her, an’ proud of the opportunity she has gifted her old man.

VanGuard shook his head as TyranT could only laugh out. The returning superstar had seen all he had to see, and he was not impressed, he was pissed off. It didn’t take long before he and even Hostyle were out of sight. Romeo himself had just about had enough of the latest development, and his words were no less kind.

Ro: Great. Instead of a bitch I have to punch an old man. What are you, pushing 50 now? You think you still got it Ty?

TyranT simply folded his arms with a dark menacing smile over his lips, staring through the dark sunglasses at Romeo as he couldn’t help but laugh.

TyranT: Got it?! Boy, Ah’ve got it, Ah’ve always had it. Yer’ll see it for yer’self when Ah’ ram mah’ fist right thru’ yer’ face many times over!

Ro: It doesn’t matter, you entering this match just sweetens the deal for me.

Romeo said, before he too took his leave, not so much as looking back as he made his way through the double doors.

Smitten: That went well…

Offical 1: Many won’t be happy with this news when it gets out. And get out it will.

Jaro: Fuck them. They’ll watch, they always do.

Offical 2: I have my doubts.

A loud thud sounded out, enough to startle most of the officials as the tablets bounced upwards from the table. TyranT’s clenched fist lay upon it as he glared through what little light came down upon him, showing that he wasn’t as round at all as he used to be. His frame had more muscle to it, his eyes visible above the rim of his glasses shown no weariness he was known for. There was something there in those eyes, a conviction and a fire that hadn’t been seen in those eyes for over a decade… and all of them could see it.

TyranT: Doubts? Yer’ got doubts ‘bout the TyranT? Deathrow made me what Ah‘ am today, Ah’ made mah’ name last year in this very show… so Ah‘m here to return the favour. Ah’m what this federation needs to pick its World Title up from the fuckin’ dirt! Ah’m what this federation needs to get back to its former glory! Hostyle, Romeo… hell, even Faith. They can say an' think what they want… but Ah’ more then earned this shot a long time ago, an’ that title is more then overdue bein’ slung over mah’ shoulder.

Yer‘ all figured it would be a good idea to deny me it last time, an' so this is what happens. Ah'm back here to finish what Ah' god dman started. Yer’ got doubts? Ah’ wouldn’t worry ’bout a fuckin’ thing. Ah’m cashin’ in mah’ torch… that’s all this is… an’ Ah’m gonna see to it that its TyranT that walks ‘way with the World Title, Ah’ ain’t gunnin’ for anythin’ less. This time around, it’s gonna’ be the TyranT that makes Deathrow… yer’ hear me... PunK?!

There was nothing else that could be said at this point. The meeting ended in a undecipherable amount of grumbling amongst the officials, whilst TyranT had said his piece and staked his claim. The switched medication remained upon the table, a clear symbol of treachery that had landed TyranT his unrightfully announced place in the main event at Deathrow. The man himself soon left the officials to their own devices, all whilst Smitten and Jaro continued about their business and FMW matters. TyranT was left with a single thought as he left the meeting room through the heavy double doors… what had it cost him to get where he was now? What this would mean between he and Faith. Such a contemplation was quickly disregarded when thoughts of the bigger picture came to mind… Hostyle and Romeo, of the World belt that was just beyond his grasp…

Of Deathrow…

He wasn’t terribly pleased with me. I knew he wouldn’t be. I didn’t much care, though. I had other concerns.

Edible had spent the entire ride to the airport lecturing me on the evils of weapons in wrestling. He said that their very presence tainted an otherwise beautiful art. I had heard this exact sermon several thousand times ever since I arrived in his gym nearly 2 years ago. I usually let him expound to his heart’s content, but I didn’t have the patience for him on this day. I had just made a name for myself. I had gotten the attention of everyone, and was heading into another Gold Card Gauntlet match. I should have been happy… but I was irritated.

I had lost so much in the last few weeks. I had lost my brand, I had lost my shot at the Television Title, and I had lost my beginner’s luck. It’s funny how it all changed so quickly, and almost completely independently of my intent. My mission that week was to win a match with Big Ugly Guy, and perhaps earn myself a place on the Death Row pre-show. I didn’t plan on destroying War Machine. I didn’t plan to make myself the patron saint of a dead division. And yet, that’s what I had done.

To be honest, it was hard for me to trace how I had gotten from point A to point B.

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We see a classroom full of young high school kids. Heath Yates (Apostasy) sits with a scowl, looking down at the stapled pages in front of him.

Teacher: Okay, listen. Today, I want to do something a little different with you guys. Now, in the last chapter, we read about how the characters in The Giver had their jobs chosen for them. So today we’ll be learning about what kind of jobs you all might be assigned to, if you were characters in the book.

A young female raises her hand, and the teacher points at her

Kid: So does that mean we don’t have to read a chapter today?

Teacher: Yes

Several kids throughout the classroom pump their fists in celebration

Teacher: I’ve brought in one of our school counselors. He will be giving out a few personality tests. Please welcome Mister Halder.

Mr. Halder Hello kids. Today, I’m going to be administering a personality test. If you’ll open up the booklets in front of you, you can start marking the answers on the scantron. There are no right and wrong answers here. Simply answer how much you agree or disagree with each statement. A being “Completely Agree”, B being “Somewhat Agree”, C being “Neither Agree nor Disagree”, D being “Somewhat Disagree” and E being “Completely Disagree”.

The kids put their heads down and begin filling out their answers. Heath Yates looks, for the first time, somewhat interested in the class.

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Perhaps it was a bit self-centered, but Heath Yates really liked this test. He felt as though he was exploring some big emotional truth. He agreed that it was hard for him to be stressed. He disagreed with “I am always prepared”. Each question drew him closer to himself. Towards the end of class, he turned in his completed scantron sheet, wanting badly to see his results. They wouldn’t come back until a few days later, though.

Apostasy remembered that day with a tinge of fondness. Self-exploration was always fun for him back then, though it seemed rather fruitless and tedious now. Now, when he didn’t understand something about his actions, self-reflection always seemed to bring up some ugly truth. It was fun, back then, to fill out that he had “Agreed Completely” with the statement “I am impulsive”. It was a smaller part of a bigger picture. Now, looking back at some of the things he couldn’t figure out, the statement was a reminder of all the ills it had caused him.

He considered himself a laid-back person. He wasn’t the type to take a microphone and scream blame to someone like War Machine. He didn’t think it was in character to destroy someone so violently, or to punch an otherwise defenseless man like Dennis Williamson. He couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for the bastards, though. Truth be told, if anyone else had done what he had done, he would instantly be a fan of them.

He didn’t know what to make of Seth Omega, either. Omega had attacked him, and had made him say “I Quit”. Omega wasn’t a bad guy, though. Apostasy wasn’t even sure he wanted the Television Title at this point, with the Gold Card Gauntlet ahead of him. He couldn’t quite search his feelings about a lot of things. It seemed as though he really didn’t have control over anything anymore. As if his brain had decided what to do long before he had.

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Heath Yates walks into the guidance counselor’s office. He walks up to a door labeled “Mr. Halder.”

Mr. Halder Door’s open.

Heath Yates: Hello, Mr. Halder.

Mr. Halder Hello there, I don’t think I know your name…

Heath Yates: I’m Heath Yates.

Mr. Halder Oh, you’re Jim Yates’ adopted son. Tell him I said hi!

Heath Yates: Uh… sure.

Mr. Halder What brings you in here today, Heath?

Heath Yates: I wanted to talk to you about that personality test you gave my class.

Mr. Halder laughs, and motions for Heath to sit down in front of his desk.

Mr. Halder That silly thing. Are you upset about the jobs we assigned to you?

Heath Yates: No, I think I’d like being a musician… if I had any talent for it.

Mr. Halder Yeah, well… it’s only a test. I mean, it’s a good test. The important part about that test isn’t so much the job suggestions, it’s the 5 factors. Openness, conscientiousness, extraversion, agreeableness and neuroticism are all real personality traits. And the scores you saw indicate where you are in the general population.

Heath Yates: I know, I know. I really enjoyed that… I was just wondering if there were any other tests like that?

Mr. Halder Well, there are quite a few. You see, in psychology, personality theories are a little… murky. All we have are theories, and most of them aren’t very scientific. You can’t really test them to see if they’re wrong.

Heath Yates: Right, the falsifiability thing.

Mr. Halder Good, you’ve been paying attention in science class.

Heath rolls his eyed, annoyed at that slightly patronizing comment

Mr. Halder I mean, they’re all better than, say, astrology. Star signs don’t have any sort of scientific thought behind them. There is at least some experimental evidence that shows that various personality traits actually exist. The one you took, the OCEAN or “Big Five” test, is currently the popular one.

Heath Yates: What other ones are there?

Mr. Halder There’s lots of personality theories. They really never are disproven, they just fall out of favor. I mean, nobody can really disprove Freud’s id and ego theory, but nobody really tests for it now either. The other ones that are used today are… well… the Jungian test is popular. That tests for 4 personality traits, and 3 of them aren’t on the OCEAN test. There’s also a test for sensational interests.

Heath Yates: What’s that about?

Mr. Halder It gives you a list of things, and you rate how much they interest you. Based on your answers, it tells you what sort of things stimulate your senses.

Heath Yates: Those all sound interesting

Mr. Halder They are. May I ask why you’re so curious?

Heath Yates: I just… I just want to find out more about me. That’s all.

Mr. Halder A fine endeavor if I’ve ever heard one. Come back tomorrow, and I’ll have a few tests ready for you.

Heath nods, and then leaves the office.

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I don’t know what I was trying to prove. The best I could figure is that I was trying to justify my flaws. I was trying to say that all of the worst parts in me could be accounted for by traits which were also responsible for the best in me. We are not gods. We are but mere men. If given the right set of circumstances, any one of us could be driven to become the devil himself.

I’ve never considered myself pure. I never thought that I was some perfect specimen that god himself would be proud of. I knew damn well that god had no hand in my creation. He had no say in my day-to-day affairs. For all intents and purposes, god doesn’t matter. I am an imperfect person, living in a world full of other imperfect people. With this knowledge, you can understand so much about human interaction. You see that other people are motivated by different beliefs. Different beliefs motivated by different flaws.

B.F Skinner once said that “a failure is not always a mistake, it may simply be the best one can do under the circumstances. The real mistake is to stop trying.” When you start to see things Skinner’s way, you start to think about the possibility that all of our decisions are made as a direct result of our past, our biology and our perceptions. Our biology comprises the instincts we possess at birth, which is our compass through the present and into the future. Our past acts as our light, shining through the foggy uncertainty that instinct leaves us with. Our perceptions are our tools, allowing us to everything. Each of these 3 systems brings us forward, and each of them can be easily flawed. All 3 can distort reality in significant ways.

An understanding of these 3 things is an understanding of the self, and can tell you what you’re likely to do. You can always act out of character, but it would have to be within your character to do so. It’s an amazing catch-22, and it points to a single thing: we are soulless. Everything we do can be traced down to its inputs. Thoughts can be boiled down to psychology & sociology, which is reduced to neuroscience, which is traced to chemistry, to physics, to math and finally to predictability. We do not have a metaphysical “mind” that makes our decisions, our decisions are made by the box of wires in between our ears. There is no god in us, and that isn’t something to be ashamed of.

We are still special, even if we can be predicted. If nothing else, we our own unique filter, making simple input stimuli into more complex outputs. And this is an amazing thing, that has been happening in the universe for quite some time. At the beginning, energy became mass, mass became atomic, atoms became complex chemicals, chemicals became even more complex, amino acids became basic life, which became more complex life, which continued advancing in its complexity until today, where chemical reactions are now thoughts. Our thoughts, our actions, our decisions… this is the universe at its peak. We may simply be a filter of things, but that doesn’t mean our existence is meaningless.

What it does mean, though, is that our so-called “mind” is the ultimate puzzle. To solve it completely is of the utmost importance. To understand oneself is to know ones own flaws. It is to understand where you are weak, and can be attacked. It enables you to know when you are about to be beaten, long before you actually succumb to defeat. So you can understand why it is so troubling to me that I couldn’t quite trace my thoughts that day. I couldn’t understand what led me to act so outside of myself. With enough reflection, though, I began to understand.

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Mr. Halder You, Heath, are an ENFP. E for extraverted, n for intuitive, f for feeling and p for perceiving.

Mr. Halder begins reading from a print-out

Mr. Halder ENFPs are initiators of change, keenly perceptive of possibilities. They energize and stimulate others through their contagious enthusiasm. They prefer the start-up phase of a project or relationship, and are tireless in the pursuit of new-found interests. ENFPs are able to anticipate the needs of others and to offer them needed help and appreciation. They bring zest, joy, liveliness, and a zany sense of fun to all aspects of their lives. They are at their best in situations that are fluid and changing, and that allow them to express their creativity and use their charisma. They tend to idealize people, and can be disappointed when reality fails to fulfill their expectations. They are easily frustrated if a project requires a great deal of follow-up or attention to detail.

Heath looks down, in thought.

Mr. Halder Not quite the insight you were looking for?

Heath Yates: I mean… that makes sense. That explains why I don’t like doing homework, or paying attention in class. It explains why I can’t bring myself to finish up projects, or actually produce any of the ideas I have. I have lyrics for songs I’ll never record, outlines to stories I’ll never write, and all sorts of ideas that will never see the light of day. It explains why I’m never… happy…

Mr. Halder The hell it does

Heath Yates: What?

Mr. Halder These personality tests basically tell you a modified version of what you’ve expressed in them. They’re just telling you what you’ve told them, silly.

Heath Yates: Really?

Mr. Halder Of course. It’s what psychology is built on. Human thought, human decision making… it’s very cloudy. Often, the only thing that people need to make sense of themselves is a filter for their own thoughts.

Heath Yates: So… the test doesn’t do me any good?

Mr. Halder It does you plenty of good if you think it clears things up for you. But clearly you aren’t satisfied. You just gave me a look of utter defeat, as if you knew that these answers weren’t everything you wanted. You wanted to know what you can do to change yourself, and be happy. You didn’t want to hear that your flaws are because of some personality trait that is permanent.

Heath Yates: No… I didn’t. I want to be motivated. I want to be inspired. I want to do great things with a sense of vigor.

Mr. Halder Those are some lofty goals there. I do have some good news for you, then.

Heath looks up to Mr. Halder

Mr. Halder Human beings can change. We have the power to react. We can see what is ahead of us and choose our way. If you want to be inspired, then you must seek that inspiration actively. Force yourself to do it. Find someone… something… that can light that fire. These personality traits aren’t 100% fixed… they are dependent on many things.

Heath Yates: That… that makes sense.

Mr. Halder Just remember one thing. As evidenced by the “big 5” test you took, and from listening to you for the last week… I can tell you’re quite the analytical person. You think through everything very deeply. If you are unsatisfied with your impulses now, then I must ask you… what is motivation?

Heath thinks for a moment

Heath Yates: It is the knowledge that something is important, and deserves to be valued. It is the willingness to put in effort simply because of the importance of… whatever it is.

Mr. Halder Interesting answer. Let’s think this through, though. Let’s think of someone with motivation.

Heath Yates: Well, there’s this wrestler. He just debuted a month ago. His name is Edible Matthewson. He fights because he’s trying to work his way to the top from the bottom… he used to be homeless.

Mr. Halder An interesting tale, I’m sure.

Mr. Halder rolls his eyes.

Mr. Halder Imagine you are this… Edible? Wow… that’s a weird name.

Heath Yates: I think it’s a cool name.

Mr. Halder That’s… fine. Anyway, imagine you are Edible. Let’s imagine you’ve got a bad stomach flu, but you’ve got a title match that night. You are throwing up in the locker room. You stumble down to the ring. You know that you don’t even have a chance in this fight. What do you do.

Heath Yates: He presses on.

Mr. Halder Does he?

Heath Yates: Yeah

Mr. Halder But, you see, that wasn’t the question. The question is… would YOU?

Heath Yates: What do you mean?

Mr. Halder Imagine you’re out there. If I had to guess, you’d be thinking that the match isn’t worth it. Staying healthy for the next match would be the better choice. You aren’t proving anything by getting your ass kicked, you’re just going to end up worse in every way. There’s no victory here. I think your mind knows this.

Heath Yates: Are you saying I would quit? Are you calling me a quitter?

Mr. Halder No, Heath. I’m saying that motivation, what you want, is a bit more than you think it is. It isn’t some magical energy that makes you behave differently. Motivation is the willingness to ignore those misgivings, however well-founded they may be. To truly be inspired, you have to sometimes turn off that analytical brain of yours. Do you really want that?

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I wanted to punch him right there. The smug bastard was right, though. At that age, I couldn’t ever imagine myself putting myself aside in such a way. Over the years, though, I changed. Despite my years with Edible Matthewson, I never became inspired by the things he fought for. I never thought much of the fact that the middle and lower class was disadvantaged severely. I never opined for the death of the “real American dream”. I wanted to see him succeed, just as so many did. I think now, though, that it was more out of affection for a man who had become my newest father figure.

Edible Smith, on the other hand, had taught me inspiration. And I had never even known it. I never will crusade against cussing, against violence or against rudeness like he did. That’s not the lesson I learned from him. He taught me the value of opportunity. And I didn’t know how much I had valued my opportunities until I had snapped.

I had never before felt such a loss of opportunity. I transported to a new brand, away from the television title I had been chasing. I had lost out on the chance to impress everyone, by quitting to Seth Omega. War Machine was largely responsible. He had beaten me, he had shown me my own fears and weaknesses. He clutched to his title, and his manager had managed to run the whole show into the ground. The bastards deserved every last bruise, and every ounce of pain.

As I said, if anyone else would have done it, they would have been my new hero.

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Edible: I mean, how many times have I told you… I don’t train garbage wrestlers! I didn’t train you in the art of hitting someone in the head with a steel chair, I taught you how to choke someone out in the middle of the ring. I didn’t teach you how to run your mouth, I have told you the virtue of humility.

Apostasy: You’ve taught me a lot of things, Edible.

Edible: What is that supposed to mean?

Apostasy: It means that you’ve taught me so much, but I am still free to interpret it in my own ways.

Edible: That’s true, but that doesn’t mean…

Apostasy: It means that I destroyed him for a damn good reason, my dear mentor.

Edible: What reason might that be?

Apostasy: I value my opportunities here. You’ve told me that I have to do so, and I believe that. I trust that insight more than anything. On Distortion, I created myself an opportunity.

Edible: What do you mean? You basically guaranteed that you’ll never get another shot at the TV title!

Apostasy: I made sure that everyone knows that I will not be held back. I will not be suppressed. War Machine was a monster, and he tried to stifle me. I broke through.

Edible: That doesn’t even…

Apostasy: What happened to me after that outburst? I was awarded a spot in the gold card gauntlet. I have a shot at an even BIGGER prize now. And you know why that is?

Edible: Because you’ve lost your mind?

Apostasy: Because I am motivated, and I showed that. I know it’s something you’ve been looking for from me. Well, there you have it. And now the whole world knows. More importantly, now I know. I know that I am not going to let another opportunity go to waste.

The two are silent, Edible contemplating his protégé’s words. For a few minutes, the only noise is the concrete moving underneath the wheels of their car.

Edible: So what’s next? What are you fighting for now? Who’s your next target.

Apostasy: My target is whoever is in my way, like the other competitors in the Gold Card Gauntlet. I am only fighting for one thing: opportunity. I fight for my right to continue on this wonderful journey. My right to continue to make a name for myself. No matter what that entails.

Darkness, planes of darkness that make up an eternal void. The void has been reached by a power infinite, a power that is only bound by the imagination of a man touched by the divine. The Father Almighty has given him a blessed gift and now he uses to reach into this void and create an existence for himself, a world of both harmony and chaos.

Tonight, the Chosen One wanders through the astral plane and into the mind of his most demented nemesis, a mind torn by different instincts and beings fighting for control of but one form, but one physical body. The conflict is reminiscent of those that have been going on since the time that the Son first walked the Earth, a time when the fabric between the supernatural and the mundane was much weaker and the world was two thousand years younger. A time when devils could wander the natural world simply because they willed it so and God’s children on Earth were subject to random and cruel torture. However, this is not a tale of that time but another; a time where much of the same is occurring but in vastly different means…



The scene opens to Drew Michaels standing alone, always so alone, as he wanders through the void seemingly looking for something, anything. With each step he takes, Drew can feel the void fighting against him. It resents him, the void can taste his divine energy and it does not want him there, he is throwing off the delicate “balance” that has been established within; a “balance” that Drew knows for sure to be so extremely off that he cannot help be laugh at the thought. Drew knows his presence is unwanted but forward he must march towards a goal that is both insane and noble, a crusade against the very nature of this beast.

As Drew steps forward, he feels the ground give a bit of a shake. He wonders if it is going to give out, if it is going to be able hold the weight of his war against it and keep him from fully descending into the madness of his surroundings. After all, there is nothing more maddening than absolute nothingness…

Nothing more maddening at all.



The laugh rips through Drew’s very being, he involuntarily shudders when it reaches his ears. That laugh…that damn laugh has meant nothing but pain and suffering for not only Drew but also for his adopted family that he has chosen to protect with his life, the wrestlers and staff of Full Metal Wrestling. Drew came here for them; he pushed the extent of his newly expanded powers as the Chosen One of the LORD Almighty in order to invade this sacred space, to step into the mind of a killer, all for them.

And it is for them that Drew presses forward despite the growing sense of dread in him, despite the laughter and the fear of falling into the abyss. While many in Full Metal Wrestling are turning their backs on Drew, he knows he cannot fail them. Drew must save that company and the first step of that is to prove his worth all over again by stopping the demon of pure chaos that has tormented the company for far too long.

Tonight, the Hellequin dies.



The laugh comes as if it knows what Drew is thinking, as if it is a defiant cry challenging the Chosen One and his authority over reality. The laugh, despite being the same as it always has been, takes a different approach this time. It is louder, stronger. It is…knowing. Yes, the laugh showed that this mind knows it has been invaded, it knows that something is there that should not be.

Drew’s presence is no longer a secret.

The darkness begins to take form around Drew, black falls away to reveal a new world of very unlike what Drew would expect to see in this mind. A beautiful park forms in the background around Drew; green grass grows out of nothing and trees sprout downward from the sky into the Earth. Drew holds his composure, knowing things are only going to get worse before they get better. He reaches out to touch one of the trees, a pine, but the tree seems to jump out of the way of Drew’s hand as if it feared his touch. Drew scoffs at the tree before he hears a voice cry out to him.

Quint: Help!

Drew turns around to see Dr. Harley Quint running towards him. Drew had seen pictures of Quint before but he never looked this…weak. Yes, Quint looked like your stereotypical nerd, extremely skinny and bespectacled and seemingly completely out of control of his situation. Quint rushes towards Drew, who stares at the slightly older man with distrust in his eyes. After all, Quint is the host of the Hellequin and Drew does not know how that relationship came to be nor how much of a willing pawn Quint is in the demon’s games. Quint runs up to Drew and tries to grab on to him but Drew brushes him off quickly and sidesteps to avoid his second attempt to latch on to the Chosen One.

Michaels: What is it you are looking to escape Quint?

Quint: H-H-H-H-HIM!

Quint points terrified towards an opening in the trees about a quarter of a mile away. Drew sees nothing.

Michaels: He seems to be taking his time in pursuing you.

Quint: He knows I cannot escape him, I can never escape him! He…He’s just so powerful!

Drew looks at Quint skeptically; he never thought the doctor to be a coward and still does not. This is not Dr. Harley Quint, this is something else entirely using his form. However, all Drew can do is wonder what “something else” could be…

Michaels: I see nothing Quint, I think your imagination has run amuck on you.

Quint: No no no no no! He took my imagination so that cannot be true! He took that and my courage and my intelligence and, for some reason, my sex drive! I have not had an erection in a year!

Drew just stares at Quint and shakes his head slowly.

Michaels: There is such a thing as too much information. Far, far, far too much information…

Quint: Oh your God, it does not matter what I do, does it? He is going to get me and destroy me all over again and it is all my fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

Harley begins to hit himself in the head with each “stupid” before Drew, reluctantly of course, reaches up to stop the bludgeoning.

Michaels: How is this your fault Quint?

Quint: Do you not see Andrew, do you not see!? I unleashed the monster, I allowed him the chance to escape the depths of Hell and wander this plane because of my ignorance and arrogance, a deadly combination.



Quint: Oh no!

Quint dives to the ground as he hears the laugh; tears begin to run freely down his face as Drew looks down upon the “man” with a mix of pity and disgust. This is definitely not the intellectual professor that Dr. Harley Quint had once been, something has extremely altered the Quint persona in Harlequin’s brain and Drew had the funny feeling that whatever Quint was running from would be that something in question.

Quint: The hour draws near!

Michaels: Yeah, I figured as much. Just get behind me I guess, I can protect you.

Drew’s bravado was false, even though so far this mind has been somewhat tame in its mission Drew does have a sinking suspicion that eventually, things are going to go insane; everything to do with Harlequin has a tendency to do that and when they do, that is when Drew is worried that he may no longer be able to effectively handle this mission. But for now, however, he prepares for whatever may come.

Quint: Nothing can stop him, he wants me and he will have me! Not again, not again, not again…

Despite his protest, Quint has indeed fastened himself to the back of Drew’s knees; his trembling is so powerful it sends small tremors through Drew’s entire body. Drew breathes deep and considers pushing Quint away but decides to instead grant him asylum; he deserves at least that much for whatever Hell he has been put through.

Drew looks up and finally sees something and what he sees is definitely the insanity he has been fully expecting since he stepped into the astral plane to enter this mind. Coming towards him is a wave of death, every blade of grass is wilting away and turning brown while every tree explodes into a shower of dead bark and brown leaves. Drew braces himself as the wave inches closer and suddenly, as the wave reaches only feet in front of him, a figure materializes in the front of the wave and stares at Drew. Their eyes meet, his a burning red as if actually crafted from the fires of Hell and Drew’s just burning with a fiery passion unseen in any other mortal, and the being actually falters backwards in a show of respect for Drew.

The being is a skinny creature yet seems to be full of such power, power that is amplified by the fact he does not step nor even stand but instead floats in place in front of Andrew. He wears rags and a sack is thrown over his shoulder, brown and worn. This is the Hellequin, the black-faced being of ancient legend that is tasked with capturing escaped souls from the depths of Hell who have come topside to the mortal realm to cause havoc and chaos among the children of God. The Hellequin is a demon, one of the supernatural, and thus Drew quickly figures out that the creature recognizes the divine in him and faltered in fear.

Michaels: Identify yourself.

Drew’s voice is strong, masking the insecurity he feels. He is not sure how well his powers will work over the Hellequin. He knows he can exorcise and dispel demons back to the infernal plains but he does not know how much control he has over them in their natural state. It is a test, a test that’s consequences for failure are extremely dire.

Hellequin: I am…the Rapture. I am he who captures escaped souls and brings them back home again, back to where they belong. I make sure the damned pay their dues to the LORD and to the Morningstar despite any protests. I am the Hellequin and you are the Chosen One of this generation.

Michaels: You know me?

Hellequin: I can sense your energy. Yes, I had a nice conversation with one of your kind, what, had to be 2000 or so years ago. Fine man named John, said his cousin was going to be the Son of God.

Michaels: John the Baptist…

The Hellequin just floats silently during Drew’s revelation and suddenly, Drew remembers the quivering pile of flesh still attached to him at the ankles. He looks down to see Quint crying violently, at this point it has gotten so intense that Quint is just silently sobbing as he can longer force himself to make any type of noise.

Michaels: What do you want with this soul?

Hellequin: He must return to his proper place, he must no longer be allowed to run free for he has a place to be and things to do.

Drew looks down at Quint, who is looking up at the Hellequin with one eye open before burying his head back into the ground. He then looks back at the demon in front of him and shakes his head with a smirk on his face.

Michaels: I do not think he is really into that.

Hellequin: He has no choice.

Michaels: Everyone has a choice.

Hellequin: Not when it comes to my mission.

Michaels: Your mission comes from Heaven and so does my authority.

Hellequin: My mission transcends Heaven.

Michaels: NOTHING transcends Heaven.

Drew slowly allows some rage and authority to creep into his voice, just enough to attempt to put some sort of respect or fear in the Hellequin and force him to back down in his pursuit of this soul.

It was not working.

Hellequin: I have my mission and you shall not stand in my way.

The Hellequin begins to float towards Drew, causing the Chosen One to take a step back before throwing his hand out and exclaiming with the full might of his divine authority.

Michaels: HALT!

The Hellequin freezes, unable or unwilling to move. While he is indeed a powerful demon, one of the most powerful allowed to traverse the mortal planes, he cannot possibly stand up to the full might of Heaven itself the reverberates in Drew’s voice.

Michaels: You shall NOT haunt this soul anymore!

Arlecchino: Oh Andrew, how you seem to enjoy these games we play.

The new player in this comedy of errors reveals himself as out from behind a tree situated about ten feet to the left of Drew, Quint, and the Hellequin steps Arlecchino, the trickster persona based on the Commedia dell’arte. He is dressed finely and, although he seems to look odd in his shape and size, he moves with a grace unseen.

Michaels: And so the jester comes into play.

The Hellequin turns his black face turns the equally black-faced Arlecchino and the two stare holes into the other’s soul. Drew attempts to interrupt these hateful gazes but is instead pulled down to the ground by Dr. Quint, who has somehow finally found some nerve somewhere in this scene of scenes.

Quint: We…We have to get out of here!

Michaels: No, I came here to stop this madness and now it stands in front of me. Arlecchino’s trickery and the Hellequin’s power are what fuels Harlequin, if I can somehow stop the collaboration of the two than I can stop him as well.

Quint: You…You just do not get it. (Swallows deeply) The Hellequin and Arlecchino hate each other; they only ever tolerated the other in attempts to prevent the fourth power from taking over. Know that the balance of power is broken, they are free to openly disdain each other and all those around must suffer for it.

Michaels: A fourth power?

Quint begins to answer but before even one word is out of his mouth, a conflict erupts between the two beings towering above them as Arlecchino rages at the demon next to him.

Arlecchino: Where is she!?

Hellequin: I deal in many souls; your inadequate explanation does nothing to help me. Was she perhaps someone close to you?

Arlecchino: Stop playing games with me demon and return my Columbina!

Drew turns towards Quint and whispers.

Michaels: Columbina?

Quint: The love of Arlecchino’s existence. She was a brilliant woman who passed on far before her time. Arlecchino and his compatriot Mercutio gambled the devil and believed themselves to win her soul but the Hellequin reclaimed her about a year ago. It…It was the great falling out that allowed the fourth power to swoop in and take control of the form.

Arlecchino: My Columbina has no place in your dreary sack!

Hellequin: I only do as I am commanded; perhaps if you were not such a fool you could understand that clown.

Arlecchino: The only thing that makes me a fool is my love!

Arlecchino draws a blade seemingly out of nowhere and brandishes it menacingly in the face of the demonic entity that is the Hellequin. Seeing that this could very well get out of hand quickly and cause massive problems, Drew jumps to his feet and places himself between the two as Quint whimpers weakly on the ground.

Michaels: Cease this!

Arlecchino: And who would you be young Andrew to intervene in this situation?

Michaels: I am the Chosen One of the LORD Almighty and I shall be respected for my station and my power!

Arlecchino: Don’t you know Andrew, God has no place here.

Michaels: God has a place everywhere.

Arlecchino: Oh no, not with the one who is the charge here. He has no place for God nor any need for Him.

Drew turns back and forth from Arlecchino to the Hellequin and then finally to Quint, quizzically staring at each of them in turn.

Michaels: I am fucking tired of hearing about this person in charge. If none of you psychopaths run this…this place, who does?

Quint pulls himself to his feet and, while still trembling violently, points slowly towards the sky.

Quint: He…He…He…He does!

Drew looks up to see a black form diving out of the sky, it is on him in seconds and suddenly, Drew’s entire world is that blackness. He swings wildly but to no avail, the Madness is upon him.

Michaels: What is this madness!?

Madness: Madness is just right, I am the darkness that creeps in men’s souls; I am the devil we all know too well. I am Madness.

Michaels: Okay, this just went from absurd to dumb. You are the living embodiment of Madness? Fucking really?

Madness: How is it so hard to believe that Quint, Harlequin’s human side has an embodiment in his mind but not I? Or the Hellequin, his spiritual side? Or Arlecchino, the story of love lost?

Michaels: I know of the man, the demon, and the clown. What is not spoken of is you.

Madness: Of course not, how could I be? I am the evil that lurks within; I am typically just the bad thoughts you have when in traffic or the nightmares that haunt your occasional sleep. But sometimes, sometimes I am more. Much, much more…

Drew looks around and sees only the dark void again, the field and the three beings we was dealing with only minutes ago are gone and seem like they perhaps were never there to begin. The voice that speaks to Drew is not one of any particular form but that of everything. It permeates through his very being and makes him feel empty inside every time it echoes through him.

Michaels: So Madness is what controls this form, Madness is the master of Harlequin?

Madness: Madness is the master of no man yet every man trembles at the thought of it.

Michaels: Your riddles are pointless and inane, speak straight with me or stop wasting my time.

Madness: You came here looking to dispel the Hellequin, you thought the demon was the cause of the evil perpetrated by this form, correct?

Michaels: That...That is correct.

Madness: You know but half the story just like, as I examine you I see that you are but half a man. Interesting how that works out…

Michaels: What do you speak up beast?

Madness: You are missing something, you are missing me. Every man has a little darkness inside of him…except you. No, something is wrong with you; something is off.

Michaels: I am pure.

Madness: You are incomplete and incomplete means the balance is off and that could be dangerous indeed.

Michaels: My darkness was cast out with a demon just as I planned to do here.

Madness: Then what is stopping you?

Michaels: I…I do not know.

Madness: Doubt lingers, you seem to know your mission is in vain. You are being manipulated Chosen One, you are being controlled and used as a tool all over again and you do not even see it. You were allowed to return to the plain of the living to usher in a new era of more like yourself but that new era will be frail and broken. Can you not see!?

Michaels: How dare you speak to me and my station like that!

Madness: I fear no God or His servants.

Michaels: Then you are Mad indeed.

The darkness begins to close in on Drew and he quickly looks around and sees no escape. Desperate, he reaches out into the void and tries to focus entirely on his hand, hoping against hope that his bravado was well placed and that his divine power would guide him out of this.

Nothing happens.

Drew feels the darkness seeping into him, it touches his very soul. The dark is repulsed temporarily by the light inside of him, by the brightness that is Drew’s purity. However, this is only temporary and Drew feels it consuming him. He tries to yell for help but nothing escapes from his mouth and instead the darkness takes the opportunity to creep into his body through the now open orifice. All hope seems lost as Drew drifts into nothingness…

No hope…

No escape…

No love…

No faith…

No God…

Suddenly the darkness rips open with a flash of light; the black pulls itself away from Drew and retreats hastily as if in fear. Drew slows regains himself he feels life flowing back into his form that he thought to be long gone. From the gash that spread the light steps a form, one now very familiar to Drew. It is Dr. Harley Quint, now standing much more proudly and strongly than he did before.

Michaels: Quint…

Drew’s voice is barely higher than a whisper; he knows this man saved him. He also can tell there is something…something different in him than what he saw previously in the field. He is stronger, he is proud, he is…he is a man.

Quint: I can only stave him for so long Drew so let’s make this quick.

Michaels: Of course…

Drew does not know what to say, he just looks at the person in front of him and knows. He knows that this is the true Harley Quint, full of spirit and life. He knows that this is good man who has been trapped in evil things, he knows that he deserves better. In just looking in Quint’s eyes, Drew learns a million lessons of the human spirit, of repentance, of forgiveness. What can Drew dare say to him that would ease the suffering he has been through, that can erase the things he has seen or been forced to do?

What right does Drew have to judge him for crimes committed by his flesh but not his spirit?

Michaels: I am sorry.

Quint: What do you think you have to apologize for? I accepted the Rider, I took him in. These are my crimes and will forever be my burden to carry.

Michaels: No, I am sorry for referring to him by your name. When I spoke to the Harlequin I…I called him Quint. I called him Harley. I dared to call him anything but demon. I have insulted you as a man by even implying you could be party to such heinous crimes.

Quint: Did you really though? Hannibal, Daniel, Andrew, and Jack all committed the same crimes and they have no excuse so why should you have assumed I did?

Drew cannot answer, he sees that this is something that Harley has suffered with immensely and his words do nothing but tear open wounds that will never fully heal as it is. Instead, he decides to ask the burning question he has had for some time.

Michaels: What is this darkness truly?

Quint: Truly? This is the Harlequin, everything he is. Yes, he is the Pale Rider. Yes, he is the jokester of the Commedia dell’Arte. Yes, he is my flesh. Harlequin is all of these things combined and that is what makes him so incredibly dangerous. He truly is Madness and truly believes himself to be above God.

Michaels: But you were able to push him back, to save me. How?

Quint: He may control this form but I still exist here. What you saw of me, that is what the Harlequin thinks of me. He believes me to be weak, to be unworthy. A fool, a coward; that is what the Harlequin believes those of flesh to be. He controls this form but I still maintain enough fortitude to power through time from time.

Michaels: It sounds like Hell.

Quint: At least in Hell others suffer with you.

Michaels: I will save you Quint.

Quint: I have no doubt you will try but…but just promise me one thing.

Michaels: Yes?

Quint: When the time comes, if you ever get the chance…stop him.

Michaels: Excuse me?

Quint: Stop him, stop the Harlequin. Allowing him to continue is a crime of itself. If you ever get the chance, do not think of me. Just think of those that have been harmed.

Michaels: I…I…I…

Quint: For me Drew, do it for me.

Drew just breathes deeply before answering his…his friend. Yes, despite everything he still considers Quint his friend.

Michaels: Thank you.

Drew closes his eyes and breaks the connection with this brain, he spirals through the astral and plane and back towards what he truly knows as our scene fades to black…





…And we fade back in at what looks to be a rundown locker room. Drew is sitting in a metal folding chair as his protégé and friend Seth Omega is watching him intensely with a worried look plastered on his face. Suddenly, Drew’s body jerks to life and Seth jumps out of his own seat and towards his close friend.

Omega: Are you okay?

Michaels: I…I am not sure.

Omega: What happened to you? I walked in and saw you collapsed in that chair barely breathing, you’re lucky I saw your note asking me not to call for help or you would have woken up to a big man giving you mouth to mouth.

Michaels: I thank you for respecting my wishes Seth, it means a lot to me. I was just…reflecting. Yes, I was reflecting on my match at Death Row.

Omega: About how you’re going to torch the clown?

Michaels: Seth, do you believe all men are fully responsible for their actions?

Omega: Yeah, I mean…I guess so.

Michaels: But what if they are manipulated? Controlled?

Omega: What the Hell are you talking about Drew?

Michaels: Have you ever heard of voodoo?

Omega: Of course. Not sure where you are going with this though…

Michaels: In some Caribbean nations, those who practice voodoo use the poison of a certain type of blowfish to control victims. The toxins put people into a sort of zombielike trance where they are extremely open to suggestion. Let us say someone in one of these trances killed somebody, are they guilty?

Omega: I…I don’t know.

Michaels: Can flesh be guilty? Or is it spirit?

Omega: Drew, this is really deep for a couple of professional wrestlers to be talking about in their shitty training camp.

Michaels: Seth, if we are going to embark on a war to eradicate evil from Full Metal Wrestling, we MUST be ready to take on the difficult questions. We cannot allow innocents to be harmed, not now and not ever.

Omega: You’re right. Where is all of this coming from?

Michaels: I…I am afraid I am going to have to destroy an innocent man in order to save others.

Omega: Whoa.

Michaels: Very. Is it right to cross that line? Is it just?

Omega: In other words, do the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?

Drew turns towards Seth and allows a smile to creep over his face, a sign of respect for the growth his pupil is showing.

Michaels: That is exactly correct and I know just who I need to talk to.

Drew reaches over and pats his friend on the back as our scene fades back out to darkness…



The scene reopens to a beautiful cemetery in the middle of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Drew Michaels, dressed somberly in all black, strides through the monuments to the dead before he finds two that catch his eye. These are what he is looking for. Drew places a bundle of roses he is carrying on the first grave and kisses the tombstone in a sign of respect. He may not love her children but she will always live on his heart. Next, Drew turns to the next grave and stands at a slight distance, staring directly at the concrete slab in front of him.

Michaels: Mr. O’Rion, how are you doing? I…I am sorry about Alexander and Adrian and Andrew. I tried my best, I swear I did.

Drew takes a deep breath.

Michaels: I am no good with this, no matter how hard I try. I remember when you were alive, all of us could come to you two at any time and you were there for us. Me, Nick, Dante, Peter; you took us all in as if we were your own sons and believe me; you had enough of those as it were.

Drew laughs, thinking about the good times before his face slips back into seriousness.

Michaels: I have come to talk, I need a chance to vent and no one ever listened better than you did sir. I…I do not know what to do. I have begun this war, this battle for what I truly believe to be correct. I want to fix FMW, I want to save it and make it back into what it used to be. I mean, I think back and I remember days when I could walk through the locker room and see friend after friend. I remember James, Eric, and Peter; the MWA guys. I remember Daniel, the wizard. I remember hanging out with Trey before a show then going in and teaming with Harley to rock the house. I remember getting into an argument with Dante in the back then us all going out to watch a football game after the show anyway.

I remember having my cousin to the right of me, Alex on the left. I remember going down to NEW and training with Celt and Pure Extremist because I lost a dare to Nick. I remember playing pool one night with the British Lions, Matt Dunn and Nick Lion, and losing $500 and my new watch. I remember having a BBQ and CGS riding up on his bike with an entire pig in the passenger car. I remember spending an entire night where Nick and I kept putting “Kick Me” signs on everyone until Andrew, well Mercutio at the time, and Harley cornered us in the bathroom and kicked the shit out of us, all four of us laughing our asses off the whole time.

I remember, despite our differences, Doc and I having some of the greatest conversations I have ever had with another human being.

What has happened to that FMW? Sure, we all worried about things then. Ethan Black was wrecking havoc and Dr. David Diabolical was trying to take over Anxiety but really, our problems just seemed simpler. Ethan was dangerous but manageable, it always seemed like eventually we would beat him and we did. But now…but now I do not know anymore. How are good men supposed to win when evil is so rampant? When the men I once looked at as the best friends I would ever have are now some of my worst enemies? When the fans cheer for people like Hostyle, men who have never done any good in their entire FMW careers? Why has everything changed so much?

Drew stares at the headstone as a tear rolls down his left cheek from his eye.

Michaels: Why must things continue to change? Why must life continuously evolve into something worse? When I started in Full Metal Wrestling, I had the world in front of me. I was young, headstrong, talented, and full of hope. I saw no evil and knew nothing of what bad men truly were. I thought nothing of diving head first into battle, taking on everyone who wanted to pick a fight. Ethan Black, War Machine, Styxx, Dr. David Diabolical, Hostyle, the Prince of Pretty, Korran Halycon, Sublime; I feared not a one of them. My mission was simple, save this company from all who would do her harm and that I did. I ended the Black Covenant and I dissolved Original Sin but now things…things are different.

Too many people have taken up arms in pursuit of foul gains, too many souls are lost. I once called Smitten a friend, I once knew Pure Extremist as someone I and everyone else could always rely on. I was FMW’s hero and she loved me for it.

But now…But now things have changed so much. There is no unity, there is no brotherhood. I barely know half the people backstage and those I do seem to be out for my blood. I am creating enemies in record time and all I can think is am I doing the right thing? Is this worth it? Can Full Metal Wrestling really be saved?

Mr. O’Rion, you…you cannot understand how much I love FMW. It is my home, my world. I would do anything to protect her but now…now I am being asked to break my own moral codes to save her. There…There is a really bad man, one of the worst I have ever encountered, and I think I can stop him but to do it…but to do it, I may have to destroy an innocent man. Is it worth it?

Drew’s stare is powerful and intense; it is as if he is trying to stare two small holes through the headstone in front of him. He so desperately wants an answer he knows he shall not receive, someone to tell him the moral path in this instance.

Michaels: I have begun to doubt my moral code lately for the first time in years and this…this is like all of the coming to a head. I mean, I have been trying to do the right thing for so long and now is no different but these people, people who I loved and trusted like Celt or Christopher…they no longer believe in me. They think I have changed and I cannot help but wonder, have I? Am I a different man? Have I truly become misguided, selfish, and perhaps evil myself?

No, no that cannot be. If I were an evil man I would not care what happens to Harley, I would only want my revenge. Right?

Drew is silent for a minute, as if waiting for an answer out of habit.

Michaels: My intentions are good, I know it. I mean, I am just trying to expose the truth and save FMW. I do not want to hurt anyone; I do not want to change anything for the negative. I want no power, I want no control. I just…I just…

I just want everything to be better again.

At this point Drew falls to his knees and the tears are running freely down his face. He wipes off his cheeks and continues to speak.

Michaels: Why can things not be like they used to be? Why must everything be such a moral battle? Why can people not see I just want to help them?

Why must I always be the martyr for what I believe to be just?

Drew reaches out and touches the headstone, he runs his fingers over the inscriptions and takes in every groove and crack that has developed as time has passed.

Michaels: I will be the hero, I have to be. No one else will do it, no else is left to do it. I will save Quint if it means damning my own soul, anything to prevent another man from knowing that torture. I will…I will…

I will take the world’s burdens on me. God help me, I will do it all to save this company.

Drew begins to sob heavier but continues to cry out through the tears.

Michaels: Mr. O’Rion, do you know I cried myself to sleep last night? I am afraid of what I see in my dreams; I am terrified of it all. I have seen death and death scares me sir, death scares me more than anything I have ever encountered but not because it is death. No, I fear this all ending before I have made my impact, before I have changed the world.

I fear mediocrity.

I once had the chance to bring a child into this world and lost it, now I have the chance to make this world a better place for other’s children and I SHALL NOT fail them. I cannot fail them. Oh God, what if I fail them? What if I fail Harley? What if I fail Seth? What if I fail FMW?



Drew just collapses in a pile in front of the headstone and continues to sob violently as the scene fades out to the eternal, and terrifying, black…

Our scene opens on a very awkward sighting; with the camera’s lens at ground level, a dark-toned oak floor with a matching couch skirt fills the image. Everything appears still, even the dust settled on the wooden surface. Within a few seconds, however, the dust started moving; imperceptibly at first, and more neatly with each passing moment. Quickly, two massive feet invade the frame, taking the focus away from the immobile scene. Our camera pans backwards, trying to catch the whole body connected to the feet below. A pair of pants, a belt, a shirt (with arms included) and finally, the face: that is the order in which the image revealed the compact frame of one Chris Kelson, standing in front of the aforementioned couch, on the aforementioned oak floor.

Kelson: Well?

I had received the text message just about two days ago. It was fairly simple and contained only a few words, but they were the most valuable few words I had read in a long time.

“If you want to know the truth, meet me at my home.

DK.”

I thought dad could only be serious about it when I saw the message. It had been ages since he’s ever referred to himself as “DK”. He used to do it all the time when I was a child, because it amused me that daddy’s initials were the same as the main character from my favorite video game, Donkey Kong. Turned out that when I asked the question, he became hesitant; very hesitant.

Kelson: It really is an easy question, dad: why did leave mom and I when I was 7?

I could see it tortured him inside. He wanted to tell me, but for some reason, he simply couldn’t. I was starting to grow impatient. Again.

Daniel: Listen Chris, we have to talk this over. We can’t just let this insignificant detail ruin our attempts at rebuilding our father and son relationship.

Both men were in the same room they had last met in: Daniel Kelson’s New Orleans house’s living room. The shattered glass had been cleaned from the floor and a new frame had been bought for the photography that fell from the wall.

Kelson: Wait, wait… you don’t mean to tell me that I’m not going to get the truth now, do you?

Daniel: Chris…

Kelson: DO YOU?

Kelson’s muscles contracted under his shirt, his eyes became bloodshot from the anger. Under those conditions, it was inevitable; the frustration from the events of 9.4, which saw him get pinned under the satisfied eye of his own partner, Drew Michaels, the stress from his match against Eric Scorpio at Death Row and now, his father once again refusing to reveal him the reasons that led him to flee to the United States, leaving young Chris and his mother without news for years had built up and were just about to explode.

Daniel: Calm down, Chris. We’ll talk it over and everything will become clear…

Kelson: I’M TIRED OF LISTENING TO YOUR CRAP!

With surprising quickness, Chris reached forward, grabbing his father by his shirt with both hands. In a quick motion, the young man Montreal pulled him closer, a wild look in his eyes before lifting him just about 6 feet into the air in a shocking display of a strength uncharacteristic to the self-proclaimed “Technical Phenomenon”.

Daniel: What the..!?

The elder Kelson looked about the living room as his feet floated a full foot above the ground, somewhat caught in panic. It is then that he noticed them. Those eyes! He had already seen them before; he remembered them and the traumatic events they were associated to. They were bloodshot, corrupted; his son’s irises were a disturbing taint of yellow and red while his pupil was completely dilated.

Daniel: Tha… that’s why I left! I knew it would be coming; I didn’t want to see it again! I had seen the signs! Your mother always told me nothing would happen!

Chris stared a hole in his father as Daniel’s words pierced through the barrier of hatred created by his Fury. Seconds went by slowly, silence reigning supreme in the living room, save for the elder Kelson’s panicked breathing. After a moment, Chris spoke up, his voice an unusual low and rocky tone.

Kelson: What are you talking about?

Daniel: Put me down, Chris, and I swear to God I’ll tell you what I know…

Something is telling me I should punish him for lying to me… An urge to shred his body into pieces has invaded my mind… Why do I feel so much hatred towards my own father? Why can I not resist resorting to violence when it comes to our relationship? It’s not like it mattered, what I want to know is the truth.

Without a second’s notice, the infuriated Kelson dropped his “victim” to the ground, the latter landing on his feet, albeit not without losing his balance. Before he could even properly stand up, the son grabbed him by the throat yet again, this time forcing his back against the nearby wall. Chris’ fingers solidly pressed against Daniel’s neck, uncomfortably oppressing his windpipe.

Kelson: You’re down, now talk.

He had a hard time breathing and swallowing his saliva; how could he muster enough breath to speak complete sentences?

Daniel: I met your mother when she was but 18 years old. At the time, I was 21 and in search of my true calling in life. *Breathing struggle* Mutual friends hooked us up and it was love at first sight. Our relationship… *struggle* was very passionate and quickly, we made up plans together…

Kelson: Go to the point, dad; THE POINT!

Chris’ voice boomed in the empty house like thunder. A rage filled frown twisted his facial features in a way no one could ever imagine possible. Although with some difficulties, Daniel spoke up again, his voice rocky from his son’s hand compressing his windpipe.

Daniel: Then you came in, a little surprise I did not know about. She was already four months into her pregnancy and she didn’t even have a belly yet.

As he remembered the time he spent with his former wife, Daniel’s voice became soothing to his son, whose anger slowly started to fade away. The pressure applied on both side of the man’s neck gradually disappeared, allowing him to speak freely and fluently.

Daniel: Just about five months later, a 9 pound baby boy came to the world without even a single tear, looking around at the new world unfolding before his very eyes. The doctors were worried at first, but they didn’t find anything wrong with you, so we were sent home rather early with a new member to our young family…

Chris’ hand slowly slipped away from his father’s throat as he listened to the story of his arrival in this world. The frown on his face had disappeared, and his eyes had returned to the hazelnut coloration they usually barred. Those eyes witnessed Daniel’s darken as he stared into the empty space for a moment before speaking up, his voice steeped with emotion.

Daniel: And then… it happened. You were just about two years old at the time. I remember the date to the day: it was April 27, 1991.

Spoiler:

The image of the elder Kelson fades into one of a younger, bathrobe-wearing Daniel, standing in front of a mirror while brushing his teeth. The surroundings have changed; we are no longer in his future home in New Orleans, LA. Instead, a spacious bathroom can be seen with a large bath occupying the right corner in the back of the room. His biddings now finished, Daniel set off towards the corridor, taking a right as he walked past the wooden door. As he headed towards the stairs at the other end of the hallway, a presence caught his eye in one of the rooms. Silently moving in closer, he looked on as he recognized his wife, Lyne, watching over their young baby boy, Christophe. A subtle smile floated on his lips, his heart filling with love from the sight. Daniel left the scene as quietly as he came, walking down the stairs to watch the third period of the Habs vs. Bruins game.

?: Hey mon amour, as-tu vérifié si Christophe allait bien?
* Hey baby, have you checked on Christophe?

The voice startled the young father for a second: it came from the living room, which was right next to the staircase he was in. Descending the few steps separating him from the lower level, Daniel looked at his wife, whom was looking back at him with a puzzled look on her face. A light frown settled itself on the man’s face as Lyne’s expression went from puzzled to outright worry.

Lyne: Qu’est-ce qui se passe, Dan?
*What’s up, Dan?

Without a word, Daniel slowly climbed the stairs back to the upper floor of the house, a mix of confusion and worry showing on his face. Carefully making his way back to his young son’s room, he listened attentively for any sound coming from inside. He was slowly closing in on the doorframe; the only thing he could hear was his heart frantically beating in his chest. With dread settling in his head and heart, Daniel finally reached his son’s room and peaked inside. Standing in front of Christophe’s cradle was Lyne, or at least, someone who resembled her very much. Lyne was downstairs, there was no way she could have out quickened him as there was but a single staircase in the house. Daniel closed in on the woman, trying to catch her by surprise before she could know he was there. The floor didn’t like the idea, however, as it produced a loud squeak in response to one of his owner’s steps. At that moment, the father stopped moving, he stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating. Time seemed to slow down as the figure turned its head to the right side, looking directly at Daniel over its shoulder. Trying to keep his composure, he mustered the deepest voice he could at the moment and spoke up.

Daniel: T’es.. T’es qui pis qu’est-ce que tu fais chez nous?*
*Wh… who are you and what are you doing in my house?

Not as convincing as he’d have wanted it to be, but it would do the job for now. Surprisingly, the stranger did not say a word and stood right where he was. Her head went back towards the inside of the cradle, where Christophe laid, still asleep.

Daniel: J’ai posé une question!*
*I asked a question!

No sound came out of the stranger’s mouth. She was simply looking at his son sound asleep, not conscious of what was going down around him. Daniel’s patience had its limits, especially when he thought something could happen to his son. Without warning, he marched up to the invader, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around.

Daniel: J’AI DIS QU’EST-CE QUE TU… C’EST QUOI ÇA?*
*I SAID WHAT ARE YOU… WHAT THE!?

The rest of his sentence blocked halfway through his throat. Standing before him was a woman looking exactly like his beloved wife, but with a major change: half of her face was burned off, leaving nothing but a mess of dried blood and burnt flesh. And those eyes! A red outer rim, a corrupted yellow on the inside; those eyes fixed him, anchored their sight into his own eyes! He simply couldn’t move a single muscle! The “thing” opened its mouth, revealing a terrifying set of razor sharp teeth as it aggressively hissed at him. With amazing speed, it jumped forward, aiming for Daniel’s neck. On instinct, the young man fell to the ground, and was shocked to see his aggressor land on the wall behind him, sticking to the wall like some sort of giant spider. A sharp pain zapped through his spinal cord as Daniel yelped in pain; his back felt like it had been ripped apart and set on fire. He reached around and laid a hand on the back of his shirt: it was soaked with blood.

Creature: Prépares-toi à MOURRIR!*
*Prepare to DIE!

Its voice was unbelievably high pitched, almost akin to an eagle’s shriek. Daniel tried to move, but his back was killing him. He heard Christophe moving in his cradle, a sign that he had just awoken. The baby boy instantly began crying loudly; whether he had seen the creature and his father or not was a mystery to Daniel. Maybe he was hungry was all it was. Looking at his wife’s look-alike clinging on the wall, he felt his blood flow through his veins, his heart beat frenetically in his chest; he knew the end was coming. His vision started to blur; the only thing he could see were those two eyes fixed on him and the creature contracting its muscles…

?: Daniel!

The voice came from the doorstep; the young man swung his head over to have it sight and so did the creature. He couldn’t really see who was standing there, but he had recognized her voice through Christophe’s whining; his wife Lyne had just entered the room.

Daniel: Lyne, pousses-toi!*
*Lyne, flee!

The hemorrhage wasn’t improving, and Daniel’s vision became dramatically blurry. The room around him started to spin back and forth, he couldn’t focus his sight on anything; he would pass out any minute now. He looked over at the doorstep once again, trying to distinguish his wife through the fog that clouded his mind.

Lyne: Vas-t-en de chez nous!*
*Get out of my house!

A bright light erupted at Lyne’s location. Daniel’s clouded vision wouldn’t let him figure out what happened, but he could guess that the light came from his wife’s right hand. Maybe she was holding a flashlight… no, that couldn’t be it. It looked a lot more like… fire.

Everything happened very quickly from that point on; the creature hissed at the woman and jumped towards her, its teeth ready to bite and shred through flesh and bones. Lyne swung her arm in its direction, sending the light-emitting object at the creature. When they came in contact, it emitted a sharp scream of pain which lasted but a second or so before an explosion happened, illuminating the room. Moments later, the only sound one could hear in the room was the crying of a child.



Daniel: That’s what I remember. I passed out right after the explosion. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed with doctors surrounding me. When I tried to see where you and Lyne were, they restrained me and injected me with a sedative.

A light frown appeared on Chris’ face as his father looked on, waiting for a reaction. Seconds transformed into minutes, which seemed to last for hours. Every now and then, the younger Kelson would open his mouth as if to speak, but would immediately shut it, thinking about his next words. “That’s very unusual of him” Daniel thought. The more time passed by, the more stressed he was. Then, all of a sudden…

Kelson: You’re lying.

Daniel was taken aback by the statement; he had thought of the possibility of his son questioning the events, but he was not expecting him to outright reject the idea in its integrity.

Daniel: Chris…

Kelson: I don’t like you lying to me, dad. I didn’t come down here to be fed with lies like you used to do back when I was a child.

Daniel: I AM telling you the truth!

Kelson: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!

?: He’s telling the truth.

Time stopped for a moment as both Chris and Daniel’s eyes widened in surprise. The voice came from behind the younger Kelson, which meant the father could see its source. Judging by the look on his face, he did not expect the person, or thing, to be in his house at that very moment. Somehow, Christophe knew that voice; a soft, feminine voice that softened the aches of the heart and soul. After a moment, Daniel’s voice filled the silence which had settled on the room.

Daniel: I told him what you wanted me to tell him, Lyne. You’ll have to make him believe it.

Chris turned around to face the newcomer. Standing before him was the one person he did not think he would see in this house: his own mother. Her red and black hair was cut at shoulder length in a way he had never seen her wear before.

Kelson: Mm… Mom!?

Lyne: Hey Christophe, I’m glad to see you.

Kelson: How… how did get in here? I didn’t hear the door open or anything…

Lyne: Come with me, I’ll show you.

Without hesitating, Kelson stepped forward, meeting up with his mother in the middle of the living room. He could smell her perfume filling the air around her. So many memories were linked to that scent, that of a loving mother which one never forgets.

Lyne: Brace yourself, this could hard for you.

Kelson: What?

Lyne laid her hands on her son’s shoulder, a movement very much familiar to him ever since his childhood. Daniel looked on, oblivious to what was happening between Chris and his ex-wife. She had come to him months earlier and tried to convince him about telling his son what went down on that faithful night, which left both mental and physical scars. For a second, Daniel thought his vision had become blurry; looking again, he realized that his eyes weren’t the cause. All around Lyne and Christophe, the air seemed to flicker; then, without a second’s warning, the both of them disappeared, leaving nothing but a heavy puff of dark smoke, a strong sent of sulfur and a shocked Daniel Kelson in their trail.



Here we are; the end of the first chapter in my FMW career. Now that everything has been written down and the page has been flipped, I can look back and fully understand the few things I’ve accomplished as well as the many failures I’ve faced. I can look back at all of those matches I’ve lost and those few I’ve won and say “I understand”. Life is all about challenges; I’ve been challenged time and time again to step up to the plate, to take my place in the spotlight by force if necessary. All of those opportunities I said I “couldn’t miss”, I’ve missed. All of those high profile matches I said I “couldn’t lose”, I’ve lost. I’ve been told time and time again that overconfidence could cause my downfall. It did.

You were one of those men who told me so, Eric. You told me not to overlook you because if I did, you would beat me. I didn’t listen. You did what you said you would. Now I see why Danse Macabre seeks your guidance. As much of a great competitor you are in the ring, Scorpio, there is one thing which I know will lead to your own downfall: your ego. It’s your ego which cause you to lose the FMW World Championship, isn’t it? Your ego forced you to challenge Austin and I to a match for the C-4 Championship. Don’t you see a pattern? You told John Derrick that you would crush him at Supremacy after granting him a World Championship opportunity; you’ve told me just about the same after I’ve accepted your Death Row challenge. Unknowingly, you’ve given me weapons, Eric; you’ve initiated a change. And you relinquishing the C-4 Division Championship to me will only further my evolution along.

At Death Row, the second chapter of this story will start. A chapter which I had initially foreseen as being named “The rise”; however, I have since scratched it out and replaced it with a more fitting title: “Starting anew”. At Death Row, we’re throwing the past out the window; wins and losses don’t mean anything anymore. I’m starting fresh.

This brings me to an issue I have to deal with. Recently, many things have happened with my FMW relatives: Flare has been injured on his Corruption debut; Hostyle has been busy with his Styles Point Tournament and the ensuing World Championship defense, and Austin has had personal problems against which I am powerless. Our common goals have drifted apart and while we will remain great friends, I believe it is time for a change. Therefore, as a founding member, I hereby declare the Innovative Initiative…

disbanded.

Prepare yourself, FMW;
There’s a new Kelson in town.

The Story of Damien Inferno: Demon Spawned

Chapter 1-1

The letter had come to her through a hired messenger a few hours earlier, and she still hadn’t opened it. She couldn’t open it. Usually Damien would call her or come and see her if he needed to tell her something, but not this time.

Jess was terrified of whatever nightmare might be lurking on the paper within the envelope. She felt her everlasting connection to her lover still, but his feelings seemed clouded in blackness. As she held the letter in her hands, she thought of everything she and Damien had done together, from the first time they met to their first date, and even her tending to his wounds after Ammunition 9.3. She then thought of how he’d saved her life after…what had happened. He’d even gone to the hospital to see her every day that he could. He truly was her perfect man.

Her hands shake around the letter, and her eyes have not yet left the words written on the envelope:

Quote :

To Jess, my Love

With all of the courage she could gather, she finally tore the side off of the envelope to remove the letter. She closed her eyes momentarily to gather more courage, and finally began to read.

Quote :

Jess,

You are truly the love of my life. My heart cannot beat without you to give it a reason, and I can’t sleep without dreaming of your face. There is no existence for me without you to complete it, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you or do to keep you safe, which is why what I have to say will be unpleasant for you.

Please understand when I say that this is only to protect you from harm. If there were any other path possible, I’d take it without a second thought, but that is not possible. Therefore, I’m afraid that we cannot see each other again, Jess. Events have occurred which have rendered our being together as impossible. I can’t tell you why, as your knowing the reason would only put you in more danger, and I won’t allow that.

Just remember that in spite of what must happen, I do love you, and I always will. This will not be the end of us, my love. This is only an indefinite intermission.

-Damien

Before she’d even finished reading, tears were pouring from here eyes, her heart suddenly aching with despair. She dropped the paper to the ground and ran to her dresser. As she rummaged through her drawers, the agony inside of her soul grew and grew.

I can’t live without him, she thought to herself. I cant live without his touch.

In her top drawer, she found what she was searching for: a razorblade, clean, shiny, and sharp. She first stared at the small but deadly piece of metal, and then slowly moved it towards her wrist. The edge of the small blade touched her wrist just above her veins. She applied enough pressure to break the skin and sever the veins, and new pain rushed up her arm. She made sure to cut deep enough that the wound would not easily be repaired, and the finally pulled the razor away.

Almost immediately, the wound closed itself, and the pain was completely gone.

“What’s happening to me?”

--------

Chapter 1-2

”What‘s happening to me?”

Damien asked himself this while walking the streets of Los Angeles, a place that could be the new Gomorrah to Las Vegas’ Sodom. He can see the sins of every man and woman he passes in his mind. Prostitutes, adulterers, murderers, and rapists, most of them. The few that are truly pure don’t look the part in the least. In fact, they look exactly the same, if not worse. They are ravaged every day by the pressures of living on this tainted ground, but speak not against it.

Damien sensed their ever-growing pain, and the urge to bring about vengeance upon the ones who had caused the pain he could feel. He wouldn’t act though. Not yet. That would come later….

He could barely hold himself back from slicing the throat of one particular sinner who he could see was a serial rapist. The man looked to be about forty-five, possibly a family man, and was in moderately good shape. You wouldn’t know his vices just by looking at him, but Damien could see much deeper. Every victim had been a college girl of twenty or twenty one years old, and he’d murdered all but the first three of the thirteen girls. Damien would have loved to have gutted him right there on the sidewalk, but with all of the people who were around, it would have been ill advised.

The temptation to deal this tainted soul his inevitable punishment was too much for Damien to bear. He soon found himself following the rapist along the sidewalks of the city streets for many blocks, passing adult book stores, offices of corrupt talent agents, narcotics rehab centers, and other places that brought about even more seemingly random flashes of the sins of those inside.

Why won’t these insights end? thought Damien, his mind aching close to the point of migraine.

In due time, my dear, Damien, came Sonneilon’s raspy, whispered reply. Once you’ve become accustomed to the abilities I have instilled in you, you’ll be able to pick and choose whom you read, and without the pain between your temples.

Is that so? How exactly do I become “accustomed” to this fuckin’ shit?

It really is quite simple, Damien. There was more than a hint of amusement in the still quiet voice. The more my gifts are used, the more control you will have over them, dear one.

Damien didn’t trust the demon who had taken the place of his other, David, and the demon knew it. There were only three souls whom Damien had ever trusted in his life: One was now gone, buried deep in the bowels of his mind, somewhere that he could not reach, one had recently come close to breaking that trust with a revelation that had disturbed Damien down to his core, and another whom he hadn’t seen since his days in the asylum….

The rapist never noticed Damien’s persistence in following him, nor did he notice young death-dealer at all. He was preoccupied with navigating passed all of the other pedestrians, seemingly not wanting to touch any of them. Damien’s eyes never wandered from his target. He didn’t care if he hit anyone with his shoulders, but that was not a problem in any case. Damien’s intimidating size caused most of the people to avoid him at all costs. The few who thought they were strong enough to force their way past him were forced off balance at the least.

The pursuit ended at a small pool hall called Quick Billy’s Billiards. As Damien followed his soon-to-be prey inside, the aroma of layered liquors and beers punched him in the nose. Once he’d gathered himself, he noticed the man had taken a seat at a bar stool at the far left of the bar. Damien seated himself at the opposite end of the bar, still watching the man from the corner of his eye.

“Hey, hot cheeks. What can I get ya?” asked a young woman from behind the bar.

The bar tender was a young goth woman of the same approximate age as Damien. Her eyes were a deep blue-green, and her shirt was cut quite low to show off her ample assets. Her uncharacteristic bright blonde shoulder-length hair reminded Damien of Jess….

“Uh, just a coke,” he replied with a bit of a tremble in his voice.

“Are you sure I couldn’t get you something a bit…” She raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “…stronger?”

She licked her lips and winked at Damien, who could only imagine what she had in mind, but he didn’t care. His heart belonged to Jess, forever more.

--------

Chapter 1-3

Jess had tried to cut herself many times since she received Damien’s letter, and each time the result had been the same. The wound would heal within seconds, leaving not even a scar. She cut her wrist, her shoulder, her face, even one of her breasts, and still the wounds would close.

“What is this?” she screamed. Within moments, her father ran through the door and was by her side.

“Jess,” he said, “What are you yelling about?”

He noticed the razor in her hand and grim realization covered his face. She looked from his face to her hand and back, and then dropped the blade.

“It’s not what it looks like, dad.” she explained, tears once again flowing from her eyes. “It won’t work. I-I-I….”

She then broke down completely. Her father watched as she fell onto the bed with her hands over her face and sobs coming from her mouth. For once, his fatherly instincts took over, and he sat next to her with his hand on her back.

“It’s all right, hun’,” he said in the closest semblance of a soothing voice he could find. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

She told him everything that had happened, from receiving the letter to the intended self-mutilation. His mouth grew dry in fear once she told him of the sudden healing. He pulled her up to look into her eyes.

“Tell me about the healing,” he nearly screamed, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arms, and fresh pain ignited in her nerves. The look on her father’s face seemed to gain tension with each passing moment.

“Dad, you’re hurting m-“ she started.

“JUST TELL ME!” he screamed at her.

There was total silence for what both Alex and Jess thought was an eternity. When he finally realized his error, he released Jess’ arms and stood up next to the bed. He once again looked at the razor his daughter had dropped moments earlier. He retrieved it and looked at it closely, seeming to try and look into the shining metal at his own reflection as if a new revelation had dawned on him. He then raised his other arm up and slowly moved the blade toward it. Jess was confused and fearful of what was happening.
“Dad, what are you-“

Before she had finished, he had already made a thin slice up from his wrist to his elbow, and then before she could breathe the wound was gone. To make his point, he then made another slice from the top center of his forehead to the bottom of his chin, and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Dad…” she began.

Alex looked at her for a moment with fear and understanding in his eyes. Jess then knew why this was happening to her, and wondered if this was what Damien had been so worried about. Alex then sighed a heavy breath, one that betrayed a greater amount of fear with the tremble that accompanied it.

“Jessica,” he said, a tremble still evident, “I have…s-something to t-tell you….”

--------

Chapter 1-4

“Well?” continued the bartender.

“Just the cola, thanks,” he responded.

The girl moved away from him with disappointment written all over her face. Damien ignored this and looked down the bar at the man he’d targeted and once again scanned through his disgusting acts once again, not sparing himself the disgust the visions brought. With every memory of the sins he looked into, he found more justification to utterly destroy the bastard.

The bar tender came back and set down the soda in front of Damien. She looked at him with lust barely disguised behind her eyes, and leaned over the bar to give him a better view of her assets. The black sleeveless Marilyn Manson shirt she wore left little to the imagination, from the fact that she was braless to the rather large nipple piercings she was wearing.

“Has anyone told you that you look a lot like Dani Filth?” she asked.

”If you say so,” he replied in monotone.

She still stood there, saying nothing, but staring at him. Damien once more looked at the man at the end of the bar, and frowned slightly. He looked back at the girl and pulled a few bills out of his pocket, but didn’t show them to her.

”What can you tell me about that guy at the end of the bar? he asked, deciding to not yet break his monotone.

She looked towards the man, and then back at Damien, trying to read him. Damien’s face gave no clue to his reason for asking, and she wasn’t about to ask a reason.

“Nothin’. I’ve never seen him before.” she said.

Damien raised his hand with the bills inside up and showed them to her. There were two hundreds and a fifty, and her eyes became glued to them.

”Would these jog your memory?” he inquired.

She snatched the bills from him and pulled a pen from behind the counter. She made a mark on each one to be sure of their authenticity, and then looked back at Damien.

“He comes in just about every other night. He gets shit-faced, hits on girls half his age, mostly in pretty inappropriate ways, and then stumbles out of the bar.”

”Anything else?”

She gave him a look of complete seriousness and leaned over the bar to whisper in his ear.

“I can do some pretty amazing things with my tongue….”

She retreated to a foot in front of him and bit her lip seductively and tilted her head to the right. Damien smirked a little, took a sip of his drink and looked at her again.

”I’m sure you can,” he replied with a little laugh, ”but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m…committed.”.

The same disappointed look from earlier covered her face again, and she walked away in defeat. Damien glanced again over at his intended target, and smirked yet again.

The perfect warm up for Death Row, he thought to himself. A little torture, a little vengeance, a little violence. This is the perfect chance to try out some of my new skills.

His mind filled with quiet, raspy giggles. Sonneilon found the thought of destroying this man quite funny, but Damien took it quite seriously. Damien couldn’t stand the harm coming to the innocent. He’d seen too much of it in his life.

--------

Chapter 1-5

After his talk with Ripper only days earlier, Damien knew that allowing David to remain buried so deep in his mind was wrong, but necessary, as well as irreversible for the time being. In any case, Sonneilon was a necessary evil. Damien knew he could do so much good with the demon by his side, but didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.

The demon knew of this distrust, and found it quite amusing, as he did every emotion Damien felt. What little humanity Damien had left, Sonneilon planned to do away with, but the boy was too strong, it seemed. That was quite alright, though. Strength was something that he respected and needed in his host….

--------

Chapter 1-6

When the rapist finally grew tired of drinking, he headed for the front door, and Damien followed yards behind. Damien felt that the time to punish this man had grown near. He would enjoy this next undertaking.

The man stumbled through the front door of the bar, and only barely caught himself. Damien knew there would be little if any fight in this one. Though there was less sport in it, the fun of making him suffer would still be there. The inebriation would no doubt numb some of the pain Damien would inflict, but he’d take that as a challenge.

The target staggered into an alley off to the side, and Damien closed in, pulling his butterfly knives from their hiding places in his sleeves, and quietly slipped them open. As he approached, the rapist fell to his knees and vomited all over the ground beneath him. Damien began to laugh, and didn’t even attempt to muffle it. The man looked back to see Damien approach, and a chill ran up his spine.

“Wh-who are you?” he croaked in a rasp almost as disturbing as Sonneilon’s.

“Your death,” came Damien’s reply, and he attacked with the speed of a cheetah.

Somehow, his intended prey moved out of the way, causing Damien to crash into the wall directly behind where he’d been, but Damien was quick to recover. The man Charged, but Damien ducked out of the way. When his prey turned around, a strange instinct came over Damien, and he spat at the man’s face. What came out was a dark, blood red mist. The man’s hands went to his eyes as he screamed in agony.

“It burns!” he screamed. “Oh, my god! My eyes!”

Damien grew tired of the screams quickly, and decided that more torture was necessary. He grabbed the man by the chin, forced his mouth wide open, and pulled out his tongue. Once it was fully extended, Damien laid the edge of one of his blades across the tongue, and with one twitch of his wrist, it was severed. An inarticulate howl of pain was then emitted from the man’s throat, which was quickly silenced by a quick open-handed thrust to the throat by Damien.

“You deserve to suffer,” whispered Damien. “You deserve hell for what you’ve done to those girls. When you get down there…”

Damien then plunges his blades into the man’s stomach, and slashed across, successfully gutting him. Within seconds, he moves one blade up to the man’s throat and makes an inch long thin cut on each side, severing to two blood vessels on either side.

“…tell them Damien sent ya.”

He then turned and walked away, satisfied. As his target lay dying in that alley, he chuckled to himself. Killing those that deserved to die was the only high he really needed; the only one, that is, besides her.

--------

Epilogue 1-1

Inside Jess’ mind, thoughts of what her father had told her raced faster than she could keep up with. All this talk of pacts with demons and powers from Hell; could her father be going insane?

If he is, she thought, then so am I.

Interspersed in these were thoughts of Damien’s place in all of this. Intuition told her that he was the central piece of this riddle, but her heart told her that he was even more important than that. Without him, she felt incomplete, but for now, that couldn’t be helped.

There was something else that intuition was telling her: Damien was in great danger.

Her father had told her that with this healing may come other abilities; telepathy and telekinesis. She’d need them all to help Damien, and she would help him however he could, even if he would never know.

The Conqueror Worm had long devastated Full Metal Wrestling. No being had ever been so fatal, or so monstrous. Blood was his avatar and its seal. In what many will attest to as no exaggeration, the Conqueror Worm was a pestilence that plagued the company.

But the superstars who occupied it remained happy and dauntless and sagacious. It was commonplace to believe that the Conqueror Worm was on a path to self-destruction – that his unquenchable hunger would inevitably cause him to consume himself and the company would be at peace. It was perceived to be foolish to dwell on the Conqueror Worm, and so the superstars provided themselves with appliances of pleasure.

On this night they gathered in the theater. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of an eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned.

With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. Amongst the superstars, there were buffoons, there were dancers, there were musicians, there was beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Absent was the Conqueror Worm.

While the Conqueror Worm raged furiously outside, the superstars inside were entertained by a voluptuous scene of unusual significance.

There were seven rooms branching from the theater. Each room formed a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from a love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue - and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange - the fifth with white - the sixth with violet.

The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet - a deep blood color. In not one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or descended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illuminated the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances.

But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the superstars bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole happy company.

And while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and foolishness, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a night of magnificent revel. The tastes of the Celt, the ringleader of the evening, were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric luster. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.

To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these - the dreams - writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock.

The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away - they have endured but an instant - and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the superstars who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appalls. And to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote exquisiteness of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled.

And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise -- then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had the most ominous of presences. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equal jokes, there are matters of which no joke can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed.

The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed his visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in identifying its realness. His vesture was dabbled in blood - and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of a party guest by the name of Mark Johansson fell upon this spectral image he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him. "Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery?”

The Celt chimed in, waving his hand: “Seize him and unmask him - that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"

It was in the blue chamber in which stood these men as they uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly, for the music had become hushed at the waving of Celt’s hand.

It was in the blue room where stood Johansson and the Celt, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of Johansson.

And, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centers of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple - through the purple to the green - through the green to the orange - through this again to the white - and even thence to the violet, and not one individual made any movement to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Celt, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while only Johansson followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon the rest of the guests.

The Celt bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry -- and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Celt.

Summoning the wild courage of despair, Mark Johansson a throng of the other guests at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Conqueror Worm. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Conqueror Worm held dominion over all.

Death Row has fallen on this night
Within the lonesome latter years
A throng of men engage to fight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A show of hopes and fears
While the orchestra breathes restlessly
The music of the spheres

Mark Johansson and The Celt,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly
Mere dummies they who come and go
Manipulated by the puppeteers
That shift the scenery to and fro
Flapping from out their condor wings
Oblivious to their woe

That motley crew, oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot
With its phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that traces round and round
Finishes in a familiar spot
And much of madness, and more of Sin,
Adds drama to the plot

But see, amid their blue collar rout
A crawling shape intrude
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude
It writhes, it writhes with mortal pangs
The Celt become its food,
Johansson victim to its fangs
In human gore imbued.

The lights go dark, the curtains fall
And, over each quivering form,
The scene is drab, the crowd goes pall
Witnessed the eye of storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
The tragedy of this scene is man
And its hero, Roy, the conqueror worm

----



Celeste: (in panic) Jason? Jason, can you hear me?

No response.

Celeste: Jason! Please wake up!

Jaro: I'm resting. What the fuck do you want?

Celeste: I need you to take me to the hospital.

Jaro: No. Why?

Celeste: My water just broke.

Jaro: Fuck off.

Celeste: What does that mean? Please! Don't screw around with me!

Jaro: After my defense.

Celeste: Are you serious!? You can't just wait on something like this.

Jaro: Did I stutter? AFTER my defense.

Celeste: You're the absolute fucking worst, you know that? Why do I put up with you?

No response, as Jaro turns his body away from Celeste and returns to slumber.

Celeste: I'm calling a cab. I have to get to a fucking hospital.

Jaro: (turning back) Sweetheart...

Celeste: What?

Jaro: When you and the little bastard are on your way back from the hospital, can you pick up Chinese?

Suburban Western Australia
The Future
2019

April: Muuuuuuuum, Jonathon won’t pass the saaaaaalt!

John: Yeah? Well, she didn’t leave me any tomato sauce!

Leah: Both of you need to quiet down at the dinner table. And John, give your sister the salt!

Nine year old Jonathon Striker reluctantly passes the salt shaker to his twin sister April. The young girl thanks Jonathon by cheekily poking her tongue out at him, much to his chagrin. The rest of the table laugh and eat together with the atmosphere of a well-oiled family exuding from them all - largely thanks to Leah’s home-cooked roast lamb. Now with her vision partially restored thanks to advances in bionics, Leah smiles at the sight of her husband Skyler, who is cramming as much meat as possible into his mouth. Next to him, the now twenty-year old Jade Striker rolls her eyes at her father.

It may be short, sweet and silly, but in the Striker house, family dinners are enjoyed and respected – by everyone.

Well...mostly.

John: You’re stupid, April... when you grow up you’ll be dumber than the monkeys in the zoo!

April: Well, when you grow up, you’ll be IN the zoo!

John: Nuh-uh! When I grow up I’m gonna be a wrestler like dad!

April: You don’t even have any muscles!

Leah: Hey! I asked both of you to be quiet!

Skyler grins, then leans down to his only son, John, and speaks quietly.

Skyler: Let me tell you a secret, JD - when I first started wrestling, I didn’t have many muscles either! And I never weighed too much. You don’t need size to be a good wrestler. One of my old friends was called Jayden, and he weighed less than his girlfriend!

April: Haha! John, if you’re a wrestler, you have to have a girlfriend!

John: No way! Dad, did you have to have a girlfriend?

Skyler: It’s a long story. I’ll tell you the story later, alright? Finish your veggies and then we need to get you to bed. School tomorrow!

The twins comply with these instructions, and once finished eating, they help clear away the plates while Jade resets the table. Bedtime swiftly follows for the twins, and as Jade remains downstairs to polish off her latest literary work, Skyler and Leah also enjoy their night together in bed, although for slightly different reasons than the sleeping twins. Later that night, husband and wife hold each other close. Regular nights in the house aren’t usually this peaceful – many times Skyler or Jade are away, and the twins are often more chaotic. Nevertheless, peace reigns on this night, and the earlier conversation between the twins over dinner sparks a question in Leah’s mind.

Leah: Sky, can I ask you a question?

Skyler: Of course.

Leah: We’ve been married so long now, and I’ve heard all these bits and pieces of information around the place, but you’ve never told me the story of how you started... how you became a wrestler.

Skyler: That’s not a question.

Leah: Don’t be a smart-arse if you want sex any time within the next month.

Skyler: Touché.

Leah: Well?

Skyler: You want the story right now?

Leah: Would you mind? If I fall asleep, we can keep going later.

Skyler: Fair enough.

*******

I began my life in a hospital in metropolitan Perth, Western Australia - the most isolated capital city in the world. During high school, some people called it a hole. I don’t think they could’ve been any further from the truth. The small, Aussie city was mostly friendly, and maybe a part of me liked the isolation. It’s not really important. I was born to Amanda and David Striker on the 20th of April, 1980. It was an ordinary birth, like any other, no complications. I was my parents’ first child, though I got siblings a few years down the track.

I was raised like any normal child. Dad didn’t ‘work’ as such – he was a professional surfer. Mum picked up various small jobs in the hospitality sector to make sure we always had money coming through. I was placed in a private school, Midland Christian (upon my mother’s insistence), and went friendless for the first two years. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. I had a nice surprise in my second year of school when mum brought home twins one summer afternoon. Christian and Whitney, a boy and a girl, were my new younger siblings. Of course, this garnered me less attention from my parents, and I was unhappy for quite a while. I received a shred of relief when Jayden Sarek and Dylan Ryder joined the school. The pair were good friends from another school and they’d transferred after moving from the Gold Coast. We hit it off really well – we all enjoyed the same cartoons, played the same sports, everything. It was great.

Another year later we met Scott Southland and Andrew Timms. Scott was from England and had the accent and everything, something we amused ourselves with to no end. Andrew was the strong and silent type, and was huge for his age. The five of us were the school terrors, or at least we thought we were. Scott, however, would change the course of our lives by introducing us to wrestling.

*******

Leah: So you started wrestling at the age of ten?

Skyler: Not quite. We just got told about it. You bored yet?

Leah: Of course not! It’s... really interesting.

Leah yawns and Skyler smiles, running his calloused hands gently through her hair.

Skyler: You’re tired, babe. We can finish later.

Leah: Just keep... keep talking until I’m asleep...

Skyler: If you say so...

*******

Scott’s dad was the referee for a small promotion over in England. Scott brought loads of tapes with him, and invited us to watch. None of us could get enough of it. It consumed our conversations for the next four years of school, and we often took to imitating moves in the sandbox at lunchtime. We got word one day from Andrew’s dad that he’d been told we were called ‘Index Five’ by the teachers at the school. We didn’t get the joke at the time – supposedly it was because they indexed all our school files together due to the exclusive group thing we had going on. We adopted the name anyway though. Jayden thought it made us sound like a stable. We mostly agreed!

This was in year seven, 1992, when we were all about twelve. Wrestling wasn’t big at all in suburban Perth around the beginning of the nineties, but Scott’s dad managed to get us tickets to an event by some guys called EPW. We thought it was absolutely fantastic. When the event finished, we all shook on a promise that we’d stick together and become pro wrestlers. That night in bed, I sat up late, thinking of my future in one of the big American companies. Dad came in to tuck me in and I told him about my dream.

He laughed in my face. The bastard told me I couldn’t do it, that I didn’t have it in me, and that I should give up because the whole idea was ridiculous. I was angry to say the least. In a childish sulk, I refused to speak to him or even acknowledge him. I never spoke to him until the day he died.

It was a whole 48 hours later.

I got a message from the school office in class, telling me mum was coming to pick me up. We drove to the hospital, where we were informed that my dad had suffered a severe heart attack and had passed away. Mum was almost suicidal... I remember the tears in her eyes that day. She saw plenty of grief counsellors over the next few weeks. I went on as normal – I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. If anything, I was pissed off more than before, because now I’d never get to rub it in my dad’s face when I became a wrestler. I still hate him now for the very same thing. But I’ll give credit to him, reluctantly, for pushing me into a path I’d never return from. From that day on, I had to be a pro wrestler or my life meant nothing.

High school continued the same trend as primary – the five of us remained as inseparable as ever. During year eleven, I told everyone else the story of my father’s death and what it meant. We made another pact that day; that once school was over, we’d pool our money, fly to America and get training as soon as possible. Year eleven came with another challenge, though – the school dance. To cut a very, very eventful night short, I asked out-

*******

Leah Striker is fast asleep when Skyler next looks at her. A soft smile comes across his face and then he puts an arm around her waist, his story finished for the night.

It is the next morning when Skyler watches his youngest child, John Striker, emerge from his bedroom adorned with FMW pyjamas. The young boy sits at the breakfast bench, rubbing his eyes, his hair a tangled mess.

Skyler: Morning, champ.

Jade: Hey, dad. I had this weird dream where I was wrestling you and then April was at ringside with me...

Skyler: Haha. Was April your girlfriend?

Jade: Ew, no! I don’t know what she was doing there...

Skyler: Uncle Christian and aunty Whitney worked like that when they were in the wrestling industry, you know. Not every girl at ringside is a girlfriend!

Jade: Did you have a girlfriend, dad?

Skyler smiles, pouring milk into John’s bowl and passing him his morning corn flakes.

Skyler: It’s a story for when you’re older. Go and eat your brekkie in the living room, I think Cheez TV’s on!

John smiles and runs off with his bowl of cereal as Jade walks down the stairs and takes a seat.

Jade: Go on then, dad. Tell us about how you got your first girlfriend.

Skyler: You really want to know?

Jade: Well, seeing as I’ve already read the morning news, I need something to keep me interested.

Skyler: Fair enough, I guess.

*******

Before my year eleven school dance, I’d asked a girl by the name of Erin Knight to come with me. She’d agreed, in some way because to be seen with any of Index Five was just that – to be seen. We really hit it off at the dance and I asked her out. She agreed and we were a couple from that moment on. Erin was effectively an informal member of our little group – hanging out with us at lunch, following us on our outings to whatever wrestling was on, that kind of thing. There was a point where Scott became somewhat frustrated with her constant attendance. He’d always liked the fact we were such an exclusive club. He eventually got over it but there was a point where we fought, definitely.

The next year flew by as we studied to make our grades. Plans to leave for the United States began approaching reality as we organised plane tickets, accommodation, training schools and the like. A wrestling school in New York had agreed to take us in and once we graduated, it was time to go. The farewell we received at the airport wasn’t huge. It was just what we wanted, though – our parents came to see us all off. Erin had received a scholarship to go to university in Australia, and so after a difficult discussion she decided to stay, and we’d work with a long-distance relationship until she graduated.

It was late 1997 when we arrived in America. We were met at the airport by Greg Jackson, a local promoter who we’d talked with about starting our wrestling careers. He knew we were dedicated simply by all the effort we’d gone through to get into the business, and so training began without any shenanigans. We dived straight into the deep end, improving fitness, learning moves, setting up the ring, building our athleticism to the highest levels. He sat down and spoke with us three months into our training, saying that we were moving along really well. He mentioned the names of WWE, WCW, and even ECW, that these companies were something to aspire to. I looked forward to the day I got the call-up from a federation like that. However, for now, we were being offered spots in a small independent federation that went by the name of Pure Octane Wrestling.

The next year we spent becoming stars in the federation. Index Five became a heel stable of great proportions and the local fans hated us. We won championships and really enjoyed our time together. Erin even managed to visit towards the end of 1998. Eventually, however, there came a time where we needed to move on. Scott suggested sending tapes to the big three companies. I, however, wasn’t convinced. We weren’t of a high-enough quality to be television stars yet. As we passed the next two or three weeks in small promotions, trying to find a direction, things came to a head. Scott and I had a substantial verbal disagreement and he left the group.

It was a wedge that would change our lives.

It was June 7th, 1999 when we decided to pay Scott a visit in Los Angeles. He’d gone there to try and break through into a mid-level promotion following our fight. However, when we went to his hotel room, we saw a scene that will remain forever implanted in my mind.

The doorway of Scott’s room was open. Strange. I could see him sitting on his couch as we approached the doorway – he was just relaxing, watching the television. Andrew had been waiting for this all day. Scott and him were best friends, after all.

Skyler: Hey, Scott! What’s-

Scott turned his neck to face us. His left hand, now in view, held a gun to the side of his forehead.

Skyler: Scott, DON-
Jayden: NO!
Dylan: SCOTT!
Andrew: NOOOOO!

The gunshot blasted our eardrums pretty badly, but I couldn’t look after watching him pull the trigger.

Scott killed himself right in front of us. It wasn’t pretty at all. The end of Index Five was nothing compared to the remorse we all felt. Everyone handled it differently. We all attended the funeral back in West Australia, but at that point we were finished. Jayden and Dylan went back to America to participate as a tag team, and had some success on the independent circuit. Andrew gave up on wrestling, citing it as the reason Scott was dead. He’s never talked to me much since then, presumably because he blames me for Scott’s death, which isn’t unreasonable. My own regret at ending things so badly with Scott killed me for months afterwards, and then began fading, although it still gives me pangs to this day.

To cope, I decided I would go to Japan. Puroresu wrestling had always interested me greatly. I started making arrangements, but it was at this point Erin came to me with a problem – she was pregnant.

I’d made up my mind in the aftermath of Scott’s suicide, and a stupid decision though it may have been to run away from my problem of guilt, it was one I wasn’t going to change. Erin refused to go to Japan. She didn’t want to learn the language, and I planned on being there for a number of years. On top of this, we’d drifted apart during our long-distance thing and although I was at her side during the birth of my precious Jade Striker, she made an unexpected move and told me that she didn’t want the child. I had no qualms with raising her by myself, and Jade, a baby only a few months old, joined me when I left for Japan in late 1999.

I trained in Japan for seven years. Those were eventful years. I became more and more skilled in the Japanese style, eventually becoming a trainer myself to both Leon Caprice and my younger brother Christian, who wanted to follow in my footsteps. Jade was certified by MENSA as a child prodigy. I became fluent in Japanese, although shamefully was ousted in skill by my five year old daughter. When I returned to America to begin a real career, it was mid 2006. I signed onto FMW in late 2007.

These are my origins.

*******

Jade: Quite the tale.

Skyler: I’m just making it a little more dramatic than it actually was.

Jade: I find that hard to believe, knowing you.

Skyler: You find everything hard to believe unless you’ve researched it yourself.

Jade: And I have no plans to research you, dad. It’d take far too long.

Skyler: I’ll take that as a compliment.

John peeks his head around the corner, spoon in his left hand.

Skyler: Have you been listening in, John?

Jade: Sorry, dad. I wanna ask you a question.

Skyler: Shoot, kiddo.

Jade: What happened when Jade went away the second time?

Skyler: It’s a long story, but I promise I’ll tell you soon, kay? Go get your bags, we’ve gotta get you to school!

John grins widely and runs up the stairs to fetch his school gear. Jade stirs her own bowl of cereal slowly, thinking over the story behind John’s question.

Jade: What an epic that was.

Skyler: Tell me about it.

*******

Suburban Western Australia
The Present Day
2009

The phone in the Striker household rings, picked up by Leah as Skyler comes down the stairs to greet her, having just arrived back from the events of Distortion 9.4.

Leah: Striker residence... yes, that’s me...... wait, WHAT?...... well, who do we talk to about this? I-... mmk... Bye.

Skyler: Hey, baby. Who was that?

There is a pause of silence, enough for Skyler to discern something is clearly wrong.

Skyler: What’s going on?

Leah: Sky, we’re getting a letter in the mail soon. It’s a court summons.

Skyler: What for? For who?

Leah: For both of us. Jade’s mother wants custody.

Fin.

Drip Drop Drip Drop

The sounds of the sink were the only thing that could be heard in the small apartment. Together Seth Omega and Annalisa Moretti sat on the couch, blank expressions on their faces. Annalisa took another sip of her hot chocolate and sat it down on the coffee table. Now she knew as well as he did that both of them were in this together.

Annalisa: Did we do the right thing Seth?

Seth sat in silence. His body was numb, he didn't flinch a bit, he didn't move, he could move. This wasn't the hot blooded murder that had been commited to that son of a bitch IRS Agent. This was different...someone had seen him do what he did. But they were in danger, surely that was something that had to be considered right?

Annalisa touched his arm softly, almost causing Seth to jump...if he wasn't frozen to the couch he probably would have done just that. Yet he was still stuck, numb, unable to feel anything. A look of concern spread across Annalisa's face as Seth looked blankly at the wall.

Annalisa's cell phone ringing awakens the both of them out of their somber moods. Omega who is finally broken from the silence numbness he felt moments ago turned and looked at Annalisa who was barely able to speak on the phone.

Annalisa: Yeah, look I'm sorry I was caught up in traffic and I couldn't make it to dinner.

Seth could hear the other man yelling at her over the phone, he sounded really fucking pissed.

Annalisa: I know, it was our 1 year...I know...I know the restaurant took 6 months to book. Yes baby I know tha...

Before she could finish she heard the line go dead. Annalise threw herself back against the couch and tried to fight the tears that were starting to form into her eyes. Seth rested his hand on her kneecap and wiped away her mascara with a tissue he had in his hands. For once it seemed like he was showing some compassion for someone, a very rare trait for the Italian brawler.

What is wrong with me? I just assisted a murder and blew off my boyfriend of a year for it none the less? Am I insane? Part of me doesn't want to move from fear, the other part of me can't move due to compassion for the individual I'm next to. I need to clear my head, but how? Its all happened so fast...everything, I'm so lost...I just don't know anymore.

A loud crack of lightning broke Annalisa's thought pattern. She jolted upright onto the couch and looked over at the solemn Seth Omega, who once again was staring at the wall. Annalisa wondered what was in his head, she was almost afraid to ask. He seemed so tense, so jumpy, ready to explode any minute. She wasn't sure if touching him was smart at this moment was a good idea, so she began speaking to him on his level, as if to calm the beast.

Annalisa: Seth, its alright. It was self defense...it was justifiable. You did the right thing to make sure those around you were safe, that's all anyone could ask out of you.

Seth continued his silence, not saying a word, but allowing his thoughts to gather in his head.

Yeah, right. That's all anyone wants. Knowing that someone they're close to has killed two people in two weeks. One for greed, one out of self defense. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a professional brawler, not a super hero. So why would I constantly be caught in the range of danger? Why would anyone want that for themselves? Why would I want that for myself...I'm suppose to be a fighter, a hero to many. What you consider me doing is right? What the hell is wrong with you?

Annalisa looked at Seth, his face was still blank. His feeling was that of ice, now wasn't a good time for her to be near him. He was a very upset person right now, and his emotions showed such. Annalisa began to cry softly to herself, with that she stood up. Seth still didn't move, not even speak. She stared down at him waiting for him to reply, but no words were coming from his mouth for a while. She sighed and walked slowly towards the door before putting her hand on the doorknob. She looked at Seth one last time and uttered one last sentence before leaving.

Annalisa: Seth, when you're ready to talk...y'know...about us...then call me.

And with that she walked out the door letting it shut behind her. Seth just sat in silence without saying much before he finally stood up and walked over to the television set. He picked up a VHS tape that said "JAPAN TOUR 2003" and popped it into the VCR before he walked back over to the couch and began to watch it.

The TV screen became lighted with the images on the television had a marquee which said "HardKore vs Asai Ngata."

Seth sat in silence as the entrances played throughout. His words weren't there, and his mouth was quiet. But his mind longed to watch this match after the death of his mentor. It was one of the few matches they had against one another, but it was one of his favorite matches by far. He kept staring at the screen until the entrances were over, and from there he just sat back and watched.

Wasabi: Hello, I am Ching Mong Wasabi alongside my broadcast partner General Tso.

Tso: Glad to be here with you Wasabi in this clash of two solid warriors, little known fact but HardKore was actually trained by Asai.

Tears started to form in the eyes of Seth. It had been such a long time since he was called HardKore, it was his rookie name, a name he'd used in backyards, and a name he used in Japan. He was one of the few gaijins to not wear a mask, yet he was a favorite in Japan due to his extreme style.

Wasabi: They aren't even fooling around with the lock up, HardKore and Ngata are just exchanging hard strikes!

Tso: Ngata just nailed that headbutt, and it won't be long until the weapons come into play with this one.

A small tear rolled down the cheek of Seth as he watched him and his trainer exchange strikes as they did so many times in training. In Japan the punches and kicks weren't pulled like many Americans did, so the strikes they were throwing were real. As much as the two men loved each other like family they both enjoyed wrestling like this. Omega's eyes stayed locked onto the television screen.

Wasabi: There is Omega with the Kendo Stick shot, and that thing just exploded over the head of Ngata.

Tso: That Kendo Stick was wrapped in barbed wire as well, you know that had to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Seth knew if he could wrestle with Asai he could take on Flare, PX, and Gray. He knew that he would be alright and that he would never back down from a fight ever again after watching this match. He knew that everything up until this point didn't matter, he knew that his drug problem, his titles, the strippers, the money, all that was nothing now. Apparently over the course of his realization the match came to a stunning end.

Wasabi: No, don't do it HardKore, that piece of glass is on fire!

Tso: TORNADO DDT THROUGH THE GLASS AND FIRE, HERE IS THE PIN 1...2...3!

With that, the match had came to an abrupt end. There was nothing but blood, glass, and broken bodies laid out on the canvas. Seth looked on, he saw what most people would consider horrific. He just considered it part of life. Asai loved that bump, he said he didn't feel anything due to the nerves in his back being blown at the time.

I feel for PX, Gray, and Flare. Not only do they have to face me while I'm on a roll, but I'm emotionally distressed right now. I seem to be lost as of right now, and somewhat confused...but why? I wasn't this way after the last time...what made this different? Was it the fact someone witnessed this one? Or was it something else...fuck it, I've got to get some sleep. My day is long tomorrow.

With that Seth went to bed. Not another word to anyone, just got up and walked to his bed. He laid down and shut his eyes and his rest came easy, in fact he was asleep in less than 10 minutes.



It had been one week on the dot since that night. A lot has happened to me since, Annalisa hasn't called me, I've barely talked to Drew, and I was fucked out of a clean win on Corruption. My mind was racing with all the things that could of happened had Flare not fucked me out of my clean win over PX. I could of beaten him...right?

Seth walked down the old cracked up white sidewalk in Tallahassee. He was walking through the southside district, far away from the campus. It wasn't as nice, the buildings were made of an old brick which was once a dark red, now it was just a light tan. The billboards were old, and there was never any construction going on in this part of the town. The last thing they built here was the Macey Projects in the late 90s. Even they looked abandoned, as did the rest of this part of town. The road had potholes, and all in all there was nothing down here. Nothing but space.

These empty streets will help me clear my head. I need to regain confidence and know that I'll be able to defeat PX. I have to, the whole purpose of coming to Full Metal Wrestling was to prove that I can come in and hang with the big dogs. To come in and say I was there, I was something. Never did I think at the age of 29 I could be considered a future of anything, however they have placed that solely on myself. I'm going to usher in a revolution, something that hasn't been seen before, a new FMW...a harder hitting FMW...somewhere that Asai would wrestle if he was still breathing.

Seth's train of thought was interrupted by a large tan dog running across his path chasing after a small black cat. He stopped in his tracks and watched the cat jump over the fence. The dog just looked up at the cat and barked, which eventually scared the cat off. Something about that whole scenario set something off in Seth's mind.

Running. Wait, is that what I've been doing? Up until last week it seems that all I've been doing is running. I ran from Nashville to Tallahassee after my legal troubles, I ran from my problems with the IRS by killing that man in his office...that wasn't heroic that was something done out of self impulse. The man, his voice...I killed him, but he caused me to kill another. Maybe someone who wasn't guilty. Or was he? Now isn't the time for me to question what I've done...I need to focus on what I need to do in the future.

Seth turned around and saw the cityscape in the distance, he knew his apartment was on the north side of town near the campus...however, he knew someone else who lived around here. Less than 6 blocks away to be exact. So Seth did what he thought he had been all along, he ran down the broken sidewalk as fast as he could go. His body ached from the constant abuse of wrestling, and his head was hurting from thinking so much about things. Different things. It had been like this for a week. He hadn't even spoke to anyone in that timeframe, which was odd for Seth.

The streets were all a blur for Seth as he kept running as fast as he could, the project buildings, the old billboards, the potholes in the road, even the old sidewalk was a blur. He was only another three blocks away, even though it seemed like an eternity to him. Everything was eating away at him on the inside and he just wanted to seek redemption for his sins. However, a church was not where he was going this time around. He knew only one person could set him free, he knew that there was someone who would be there for him all along, he knew that no matter what she would always be there. Even when he pushed her away.

Omega stopped running, and when he did he was at the front steps of an old townhouse. The door was made of a solid oak and looked as if it had been redone in the recent times, the bricks on this building were a lot newer than the other buildings he had passed, and the stoop was almost intimidating to walk up. He slowly took soft steps onto the brick steps, as he did so he felt a chill shoot up his spine. Unusual considering the weather was 65 degrees out. He looked at the listings on the side of the door, until he found the one he wanted. Annalisa Moretti, A-6.

Am I really about to pour my heart out to someone I barely know? Am I going to go up into her townhouse and reveal myself as what I really am? Am I a coward? Or am I a hero? Do I run? Or do I defend? These are things I need answers to, maybe she can help me find them. Or maybe it is to late.

Seth opened the door and heard a loud squeak coming from it when he did so. The inside looked like something you'd see at a fancy motel, the carpet was a shade of royal blue, although it was hard to tell with zero lighting. Pictures were hung on the wall, works of art that probably cost more than Seth made in a week at FMW. He walked with caution through the front door, he looked around and on the bottom floor he saw townhouses A-1 through A-4. He looked to the left and the right, on his left he noticed an old grandfather clock sitting there ticking away. On the right he noticed an oak staircase. He went towards the staircase and using precise caution he began going up the stairs one by one.

Even though he was careful from time to time the stairs let out a loud squeak, it only happened about once every four stairs, but it was enough to be annoying. He got 3/4th of the way up the stairs and went to take another step, just as he did so he heard a sound from downstairs.

DONG. DONG. DONG.

The loud sound was almost enough to cause Seth to fall backwards down the stairs. He stopped for a moment, but only long enough to maintain his composure and finish his task at hand. He kept climbing the stairs until he finally reached the top. The top looked a lot like the bottom, except it wasn't carpeted and instead of a Grandfather Clock they had an expensive looking vase. It was purple and blue and a mix of all dark, cold, soft colors. He looked to the left when he found the townhome he was looking for. A-6. He knocked lightly on the door, other than that small knock it was silent. Well almost.

He heard crying on the other end of the door. It didn't take him long to figure out that it was Annalisa who was doing the crying. He heard her get up and sniffle, the he heard her softly walk across the hardwood floor of her townhouse. By now she was probably looking through the peephole to see who was on the other end. After about 5 seconds she quickly opened the door and jumped into Seth's arms.

Annalisa: Seth, its horrible...I can't believe it, I can't believe he actually did it!

She pulled him into her townhouse, which looked as you'd expect for a single, white, business class, working woman. It had some nice furniture, was kept tidy, and looked way different than Seth's apartment. He couldn't quite imagine why she was always over there, unless of course it was him. He wipes her tears away and looked at her with concern. For the first time in over a week he began to speak.

Omega: What's wrong Annalisa?

She looked down at the ground and tears began to drop onto the hardwood floor. She was choked up, and now it was her who couldn't talk. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he felt the warmth of her tears seep through his shirt. He stroked her brunette hair softly as he looked around the room. He noticed a bookshelf full of books, types that only really smart people could read. Law books, books on Astrology, other things of course. To the right was a box full of old gaming systems and a TV. She looked up at him and tried not to smile, she lightly pushed him and her eyes showed signs of happiness.

Annalisa: I know, I'm a total fucking nerd.

Omega: Ignoring the fact that you completely read my mind, you never did answer the question of what was bothering you.

She lightly grabbed his hands and lead him over to the couch. It was a nice Italian Leather sofa, something that would cost more money than most people could afford. Except for Annalisa, she was as close to an Italian Princess as you'd find in Florida. She held his hands next to hers and took a deep breath before she tried to explain things to him.



Annalisa walked back into her townhouse where she expected to find her boyfriend Eddie Valdez waiting for her. She looked around into the large kitchen area and found that there had been Chinese takeout ordered. There had been enough ordered for two people, yet there was none left.

Annalisa: Wow, Eddie must of been hungry. Oh well I'll just make a sandwich later.

Annalisa went upon her way of taking off the clothes she had been wearing for a while now. She was walking around in her jogging suit and decided to go grab something more comfy and read a book. As she approached the bedroom she heard something that made her feel uneasy. She heard loud groans coming from the room, she stopped for a minute and listened to see if she was hearing things or not.

Eddie: Oh yeah, you like when I fuck you like that don't you? You're such a dirty little whore...begging to be fucked in my girlfriends bed.

For a minute she assumed that Eddie was just masturbating, as he normally would do when she was away and he expect to get some. Well at least she thought that until she heard something else.

Girl: OH EDDIE, YES EDDIE YES!

At that point Annalisa was so pissed she burst into the door and stared and her boyfriend on top of another woman. If looks could kill Eddie would be dead, and so would the random ass girl. Annalisa's face was so red that it almost appeared she could shoot steam out of her nose at any minute. She was literally burning hot as she saw Eddie quickly scramble off the other woman.

Girl: What the fuck are you doing here cunt? Can't you see we're in the middle of something?

Apparently that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Annalisa wasted no time in jumping ontop of the fiery redhead. She grabbed a handful of hair and started banging the chick's head up and down on the bed. Annalisa was going to town with elbows and fists until something hard hit her and knocked her to the ground. It was Eddie's hand.

He stood above the fallen Annalisa and looked down at her. He coughed up a big wad of saliva and spit it on the fallen girl. He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her back up before hitting her with a hard backhand and knocking her back down to the wooden floor. Shortly thereafter he picked up Annalisa again and the redhead to a cheap shot which caused the poor abused woman to fall to the ground and spit up blood. The two laughed at her as Eddie began putting back on his police uniform. He got down close and up in Annalisa's face where he held his badge.

Eddie: Don't you even fucking thing about going to the cops you filthy cunt. Don't you know I'm the law around here?

After that powerful message Eddie shoved Annalisa's face back into the hardwood floor as him and his redheaded lover took off out the front door, leaving poor Annalisa in a pile of her own tears and blood.

Back to the present

When Seth heard this story he tensed up. His face was blank, his expressions were gone. He was pissed for sure, majorly pissed. Annalisa squeezed his hand and it was at that point he noticed she still bared the bruises on her face. He looked down and tried to hide his shame.

Annalisa: Seth, what's wrong? You seem down.

Omega: I've been searching myself, I've been searching this city, I've been looking for who I truly am. You have showed me who I truly am Annalisa. You showed me what my purpose is. You made me realize who I really am, what my real purpose is. It is to protect people that I care about...it is to be a hero to the millions of kids who watch FMW every week.

Annalisa cried softly and looked up at Seth. He was soft, yet strong at the same time. He was the rock she needed in a time like this, he was her strength. Annalisa knew this, for the most part she thought Seth knew this as well. At a time like this a lot of things were a big blur to Seth. He knew Annalisa and him were getting closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before it was made obvious. He stroked her soft cheek with his firm hand and leaned closer to her. Again they almost kissed until his cell phone rang.

Omega: What the hell? I don't recognize this number...

Seth answered the phone with caution, he opened it and spoke softly into the speaker.

Omega: Hello? Who is this?

???: Seth, my name is Lewis Michaels...your real father.

Omega: What?

27 Years Ago

We see two young infants playing inside a playpen. One is darker than the other, and is also a lot bigger. Apparently they were playing with a bright red fire engine, both of them at the age of two, neither with a care in the world. They sat and played and made all the sounds that little boys make, meanwhile two grown men sit in the kitchen and talk over cups of coffee.

Wayne: I dunno Lewis, adoption is a big thing. You could graphically change this kids life by doing this you know.

Lewis: You adopted little Drew from the Bryson fellow did you not?

Wayne: I did, but that's because I did not create my own son. You have created your own son, how would little Seth feel about this when he finds out?

Lewis: That's not the point Wayne, his mother is dead. This Corleone family is willing to adopt him, they're a very nice family. They seem dedicated, I think the mother is working a job out of Knoxville, Tennessee.

Both men look over in the playpen at the two children playing around with the fire engine. Both children have smiles on their faces, both appear to be enjoying themselves. All you can hear is children's laughter and happiness in the air.

Wayne: Look at them Lewis? Could you really ruin that kind of family? Could you ruin what we have here? Those two love each other like brothers. Technically they're only cousins. Are you telling me you could sit back and destroy what they have?

Lewis sighed and looked down at his cup of coffee. It like his heart was black and somewhat cold. Every since he lost Jillian to that car accident he hadn't been the same man. Their love child, little baby Seth was staying in the same daycare as Drew while his father worked two jobs. They were growing up like brothers, but Lewis knew in the end what he had to do. Lewis got up from his seat and looked down at his brother.

Lewis: I've got to do what is best for him, even if it means letting him go Wayne. I'm sorry.

Tears rolled down both men's cheeks as Lewis walked to the playpen. He picked Seth up and held him close to him. The young child got a saddened look on his face, as if he knew what was about to happen. Seth waved to a younger version of Drew, who waved back. With that the two were on their way out of the Western Influenced home. They walked down the stairs with care, little baby Seth looked up at the window and saw his uncle Wayne holding baby Drew who was in tears. Lewis buckled young Seth into his car seat and hopped into the driver's side of the old Ford F-100. He fired up the engine and that was the last time that they saw one another...for now.

Lewis: Its time to go meet your new family Seth, you're going to love them very very much.

Back to the present, after the phone call and explaining to Annalisa the news.

Seth sat in utter shock. His words were no longer there, he tried to speak but he just couldn't. It had been almost an hour since he had that phone call that kicked his mind into another piece of darkness. Annalisa lightly rubbed his back and massaged his shoulders. He picked up the phone again and called a person he knew all to well.

Omega: Hey, Drew you got a minute.

Drew: Sure, what's up?

Omega: Meet me at my apartment, we need to talk.

Omega stands up and looks down at Annalisa, he almost frowns as she looks down at the ground. A mutual understanding is between them, and they both know that what just happened was a very big deal. She sighed heavily and stood up before kissing his cheek lightly.

Annalisa: I understand, you and Drew are like brothers...and now you may actually be closer than you think. It is a very big deal Seth, and I'd be hurt if you didn't go for this chance.

Seth smiled at her, and embraced her tightly. She squeezed him firmly and held on as long as she could before Seth turned and sprinted out the door. She was left alone, however she didn't feel alone anymore. She felt as if everything was going to be alright. Even if Seth didn't know it yet.

That boy is making me crazy. But for some reason I don't mind it as much. I hope things work out well for him, he's so close to Drew. I wonder if this will bring them closer. I just hope it doesn't drive them apart, Seth would be heartbroken by news like that. He has enough to worry about, including his big time match against PX at Death Row. I hope his mind isn't to clouded...I'd hate to see my man get whooped up on.



We see two men, casually dressed. Both wearing the new Broken Saints t-shirts and jeans. Both sitting on a futon couch watching wrestling, almost like Trey and Seth use to do except this time there was no weed involved. The tension in the room was killing Seth, however Drew seemed to be doing just fine. He seemed relaxed and calm as he normally was. He wasn't upset about his match with Harlequin, as a matter of fact if you didn't know better you would even go as far as to say you didn't even know he was booked against Harlequin.

Omega: Is something bothering you Drew?

Drew: Shouldn't I be asking you about that? You did call me over hear for something important.

Omega: Fine, you caught me. I'm a little worried about my match with PX, and I got a phone call today.

Drew: No need to worry about PX, what has he done lately besides stab his brother in the back?

Omega: Wasn't he a NEW Champion at one point?

Drew: Does that really matter now?

Omega: You ignored the second part of my statement, I got a phone call today.

Drew took a drink of a soda he was sipping on as Omega continued with his statement.

Omega: From a man by the name of Lewis Michaels.

Drew spat out his soda and stood up. He looked down at Seth with the first hint of concern on his face, he was almost speechless. His mouth was held ajar as he tried to search for words but simply had none. Seth stood up and looked eye to eye with a man many considered his mentor. They were no longer on that level, Drew didn't know it yet but he had a feeling. Seth could feel it, he felt the bond that they had grow stronger. Drew finally caught his breath.

Drew: What did my Uncle Lewis say?

Seth hesitated before he finally broke the big news to Drew. He was looking down at the ground and was trying to avoid the topic, when at that very moment it hit him that Drew would tell him if something like this ever happened to himself, he would expect the same from Seth.

Omega: He said he was my real father...and talked about what happened the day he gave me up. We were at your old house, we were there with Wayne Michaels the man who...

Drew:...raised me after the death of my biological father Matthew Bryson.

Both men stood firmly and looked at each other eye to eye, they often considered themselves brothers but now they were really officially a semi-family. Both men who were shocked and couldn't believe it eventually understood that it was why they had the connection they did. Both men eventually got a grin on their faces, and shared a family embrace as if they were long lost brothers. Which to them, they might as well of been.

Omega: My long lost cousin, my long lost family member, never do I have to feel alone in this world, never will I stand alone, and together...

Drew:...we will burn FMW to the ground. We will rise above this, and we will stand as a united front from here and forever. Not as protege and student, not as good friends, but as family.

Omega: A family called...

Before either man could finish they heard the door open and they looked behind them, both men wore a smile on their face as a familiar person walk through the door. Before they could say another word the familiar person finished the sentence for them.

???: A family called The Broken Saints.

The final image is the two men finally letting go of the firm embrace, now united and stronger than ever. Two men, one family, they were indeed the Broken Saints.

The school bells rang out just like the alarm bells sounding off in PX’s head. Everything he hears, he hears at extreme volume as if he were listening to it all through headphones at max volume. Every footstep, every word spoken, he heard so clearly. It is an almost unbearable clarity, like his ears had suddenly become ten times stronger than before.

When exactly it was that PX’s mind deteriorated into what it is now happened is a dead memory. But with every heartbeat he hears he is reminded that he is not the same. He stood facing the school seemingly at his own will, yet the whole situation had an ill feeling about it. And as the scene unfolded before him, just as he had foreseen, he could only move as a part of it like a puppet on strings that was aware of its own hapless existence.

As countless children walked past him, PX felt like the story too is doing the same. Every vehicle drove off, emptying the scene. And soon, silence consumed. PX slowly revolved around, fearing the worst, and it is the worst he got. There she stood. That girl. That sweet, innocent girl. And when PX locked eyes on her, the rest of the world faded out of his vision. She became the absolute centre of his attention. It was as if nothing else mattered. The nightmare that haunted PX became reality in that instant.

The wind whistled and swept down the street so lightly it could not be heard. It was weak; it could not budge the discarded items lying on the ground. Although the sky is almost clear, the few thick clouds that occupied the sky shielded the sun from view. One could admire a peaceful day like this. But PX would be admiring nothing this day. In fact he wouldn’t even think. This child had a vice grip on him. In every aspect, in every detail she is exactly as had pictured, from the colour of her hair, the rosey cheeks, the button nose, and each little freckle, it is a remarkable sight to him. This child of course, is completely unaware of PX’s looming presence. The only thing on her mind is her mother, eagerly awaiting her arrival. On PX’s mind is nothing. He could only stand and wait for reality to strike.

And strike it did. Every moment, every scream, every struggle hit all at once. PX dropped to his knees with a thud. The girl spins around to see a man in pain. She is scared to say the least. She had been unaware of his existence until now, and there he is; standing right there behind her. She squeezed the books in her tighter, they only protection she could find. One thing she did know is to avoid strangers, and this one in particular didn’t look too friendly. But even so, he looked to be in suffering, and this made the girl worry. She felt sympathy for this stranger she has only known for mere seconds. Her foot is raised, not knowing to step back to be safe, or step forward to help. She delayed so long on her decision she almost loses balance, and she stumbles.

PX soon regains his bearings. She shock of the sudden rush of images; memories, had been overwhelming. He is panting, holding his body up with his arms. He looks up. Standing tall before him, is that girl. She blocked the light from behind her. Oh the innocence of childhood. She couldn’t know. She held only sympathy for her fellow being, only caring thoughts. Her big blue eyes locked with his. Not a word is spoken. What was there to say? PX raised himself to his knees, never losing eye contact.

Hello.

No response. He wasn’t expecting one. Still, he smiled. PX found her choice moving. She abandoned her own safety to ensure it in another. She committed an act one would rarely see done for anyone by anyone. When one is as young as she is, she can expect no wrong doing in the world. This kind of innocence resulted in a foolish- no, uneducated decision. She is unaware of the demons of the world, or of the one emerging inside of the body before her.

In his mind he saw it. There is not doubt in his mind that is the girl he condemned to suffering. Her life destroyed by his hands. Just as it happened then, was it to happen again? PX’s arm stirred. It raised slowly. From the moment it twitched the girls eyes switched focus to it. It raised, fingers open, and moved towards her. His eyes looked empty. He looked like he was reaching out for reality. The girl trembled slightly as PX’s arm moved. His index finger is stretching to its limits in her direction.

No.

He looked into her eyes, as he uttered the single word quietly, almost a whisper. His hand moved ever closer to hers. He stopped within an inch of touching distance for a moment. She looked at him once more, with the same cute face, which remained unchanged the entire time.

Not this one.

He finally places his finger on her hand. Her skin is soft and warm. The feeling is pleasant. The girl does nothing.

Not you.

PX’s smile grows. He lets out a small chuckle, then starts laughing hard. The girls starts to giggle when she sees PX happy. PX calms down soon enough, and they return to silence.

You are just precious, aren’t you? So young, so innocent. I bet you don’t even know what a sin is, do you? Do you know what a sin is?

The girl shakes her head side to side, her hair dancing as she does so. PX is at level height with the girl. In this moment PX felt normal. It’s like everything that had happened in the last month had never happened. He missed the care free days of youth, when there was nothing to fear, and much less emotions to understand.

Well, a sin is when somebody does something bad. It’s when somebody does something that makes God unhappy. But you wouldn’t do something like that.

She shakes her head once more. PX raises to a knee.

That’s good. If you don’t commit sins, then you are a good person. No one will hurt a good person like you. Make sure you stay a good person. Okay?

She nods her head with a smile, not realising what could have happened to her. A car turns around the corner. They both look at it. It comes to a halt just beside them. PX gets to his feet.

Mommy!

The girl runs over to the car, and pulls the door open; a task requiring the strength of both hands. The driver, a young woman, cast a wary look over at PX, with good reason. One should never trust a stranger after all. As the door closed behind the girl, she could not even be seen through the window by PX because of her size. The car pulled off, and once again, there is silence. PX buries his head in his hands.

Just like that, it was over. None of it happened. None of it would ever happen. A crime has been avoided this day. PX had come here with purely evil intent, but choose against it…




PX’s thinking is purely wishful. His head has become so convoluted clearing it would be a feat in itself. PX doesn’t know himself like he once did. Going on this soul searching has been more painful than he could have imagined. Nothing could cure his nostalgia of what once was. PX walked slowly along a beach. Each step taken saw his feet sink into the soft sand. The tide is high. The waves crash on the sea, and roll onto the beach, losing energy long before they could reach PX, so they gave up and receded to the sea. He could feel a stronger breeze on his face that had crossed the ocean to greet him. With each step taken PX left his mark in the shape of his footprints, acknowledging his travels.

This beach seemed to stretch endlessly, and PX seemed to be walking eternally without direction, contemplating what to do next. It was bad enough abandoning his brother, but considering doing worse still was something different. PX never thought it was in him to consider what he is considering, but he has proven himself wrong. The Celt, and his demise, was the centre of his thoughts.

Hello, brother.

That absolutely unmistakable voice rang through PX’s ears, and his head shot straight up. And there, standing next to him, is The Celt. A wave of emotions flooded through PX. The Celt is walking at the same pace as PX alongside him, dressed in white. PX looks longingly at his brother. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss him, but in his current state of mind, he is the last person PX wanted to see. Celt looks decidedly calm. He is not looking at PX, but ahead of himself PX on the other hand, has eyes only for Celt. PX is looking at Celt as if he were a mysterious, unorthodox looking person, like he’d never seen him before. He is perplexed by Celts sudden arrival. But after some deliberation, PX looks away, reaching a conclusion.

You are not my brother.

Now it is Celts turn to look at PX, with raised eyebrows.

Why do you say that?

Celt’s response was said more like a statement that a question. Any eagerness for an answer he possessed could not be heard in his voice.

My brother hates me. He wouldn’t want to speak to me.

PX’s tone showed disappointment. He was aware of the possibility that Celt would be angered, but he considered a worst case scenario that had come to pass. It made everything that much harder.

Is that so?

I know that it is. You’re not my brother. I’m imagining you. You aren’t really standing next to me. I’m just losing it a little…

PX was speaking with finality, but his words were soon trailing off. He didn’t believe his eyes still. Celt gives no response to PX’s answer.

There’s no denying you put a barrier between us. A bridge has been burned, but even so, there’s still no need to resort to the drastic plans you have.

I don’t have a choice now. I have to salvage something out this suicide mission…

But does it really seem necessary to harm me?

PX looks at Celt with wide eyes. Celt is looking back him with a soft look. How could he know? This only fuelled further speculation in PX’s mind that he was imagining him. He was almost sure of it now. Still, Celt is looking at him in search of an answer. PX however, has no answer. It is the question he had been asking himself, and it was the answer he hoped to find on this beach. PX stayed quiet. Celt then spoke up rather than waiting for an answer.

Look at the footsteps that follow us, brother.

PX looked over his shoulder, as Celt’s hand gestured. PX is amazed the sight of endless footsteps that followed. The two tracks seemed to stretch backwards infinitely.

We’ve come a long way together, as you can see. These footsteps are just like our lives. We walked side by side for a long time. Some of the tracks cross and intertwine over each other, just as you and I have crossed paths many times before.

PX stops, and Celt does too. There are places where the footprints are side by side, and there are also places where the footprints cross over. There are places too where there is only one set of footprints. PX finds the footprints of himself and Celt almost indistinguishable from each other.

There is a lot of history here. It’s been a long time, and you want to wipe it all away, get rid of it, and hope things will be like none of this ever happened. I know deep down that that’s not what you want. The footprints run out your sight because our history goes back further than you can remember. There’s too much for anyone to remember all of it. But the important thing is that we’ve always moved forward. And until now, we’ve done that together. But if you get rid of me, you’ll never be able to move on from it, because your history is mine.

PX doesn’t speak, he only listens. He takes in every word he hears. He admires the scene it like a work of art. He is giving it careful consideration. This was never an easy decision, but Celt had given him even more to think of.

Even if there’s no hope for us, you don’t have to do this…

PX’s face is blank. It is only getting harder. But then, he notices something.

You’ve come with me all this way. But there’s one thing I can see.

PX speaks without looking at Celt, but he points out to the footprints.

There are times along this journey where there is only one set of footprints. All the times when I was down, at my lowest is where there’s only one track. Celt, when I needed you, you weren’t there.

This time PX turns to Celt. He spoke without a waver in his voice. Anger is more evident than sorrow in his tone, but he is speaking calmly. Celt remains still, with his arms folded. In fact, he lets out a chuckle.

Oh no dear brother, you don’t understand. I have been with you every step of the way. These times where you were at your lowest, when you needed somebody, I was there. You see, where you see only one track of footprints… Is when I carried you.

That struck PX like a tonne of bricks. It took his breath away. It hadn’t occurred to him at all, he felt stupid! Of course! It put things in a different perspective.

You’ve always been there…

It’s entirely up to you now.

PX turns away from Celt and faces the sea. The sun is sitting on the horizon, painting the sky red. The water is still. He puts his hand on his hips. It ate away at him. PX hadn’t quite realised what Celt had done for him.

I never realised…

PX turned around.

Y’know something…

But PX would never finish that sentence, because Celt was gone. It was like he had never been there. The wind made the sand dance around the sport where he once stood, though there is no evidence of that now. PX blurted out a laugh. He fell back onto the sand.

Thought so.

PX, sprawled out on the beach, continued to laugh as the scene fades…

What do you fear? Do you fear the psychotic clown man who tries to bring the world to its knees? Perhaps the eerie dark sends chills through your spine? It matters not what you fear, I will find it, I will exploit it, and I will have you begging for the light. Grab a warm glass of milk, have your mommy tuck you in, its story time ladies and gentlemen. In tonight's tale a pair of priests have their faith tested. Can the young idealist fix the world? Can the elderly man square himself with the lord before the piper comes calling? Tonight's tale is called....


______________________________________________________________________________________________________




"Forgive me father for I have sinned."

The words echoed through the cavernous halls of the cathedral. The young priest knelt before the effigy of the Lord, Christ crucified, and poured his soul out. His latest trespass had been minor but he was still wrought with shame as young men of the cloth often found themselves. There were far worse things being done in this house of God then sneaking a sip of communion wine, of this he was certain. Like the rest he had heard the stories of the old priests alleged improprieties, but there was an unspoken understanding amongst all that unless a complaint was lodged nothing could be done.

The thought of Father Maxwell and his various sexual peccadilloes made the young Julius physically ill. Regardless of what the other fellows had told him, he was determined to put a stop to this behavior. The men of the church had once been held in such high regard and now, due to all the lawsuits and malfeasance that went on they were little more then a punchline. This just would not do. By happenstance it would be not be long before he would meet the gavel of his judgment.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________



Marcus woke up that morning with the knowledge of what the day would bring. He looked over at Natalie, warm and smiling in the embrace of the beds satin sheets and shook his head. He couldn't believe what he had lucked into. The simplicity of his life had been replaced with a menagerie of complicated ventures and he could not be happier. He was to be married to Natalie the following night, but first there was the matter of the pair of priests that needed his attention. He wasn't quite sure how the young man had gotten his name but the passion in his voice is what assured Marcus' participation. The old man would be punished. He would learn to be afraid. Not afraid of god, no, afraid of Marcus. He rose from his bed and after a long glance at his angel went to shower.

As the water cascaded over his body he thought back to the previous weeks excursion. It had been entirely to easy to manipulate that man and while the result pleased him he wasn't certain the impact would last. The same mistake would not be made now. This man would have to be punished. Before he knew it the shower had grown cold, the wrinkles on his skin betraying his age. He left the shower and dried himself before quietly making his way to the kitchen. He replayed the message from the young priest over again in his mind as he stirred the cream into his morning brew.

"I was told you were a man who could take care of..problems. My name is Julius and I am a priest at Saint Saratoga Cathedral. There has been impropriety on the part of one of our older flock. It has to do with children. If you are up to the task see me in the morning. I await your arrival. God bless you."

Marcus finished his coffee and dressed heavily, knowing all too well the bite that the outside held waiting for him.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________



The old priest laid on his cot as the young boy between his legs serviced him. Father Maxwell ran his fingers through the boys sandy brown hair and muttered incoherently. Now on the wrong side of seventy the old man had lost most of his vibrancy, his age becoming more apparent as the arthritis overtook his body. Surely the lad before him could have resisted and fought off the advances had it not been for his fear of eternal damnation that Maxwell spewed from the pulpit each and every Sunday. The young boy finished his disgusting task quickly and began to gather his things. This had become something of a routine for them, whenever Father Maxwell found himself wanting he would summon the boy for what he referred to as "special lectures." The boys family was of course happy that the kindly priest had taken such special interest in their kin and thusly had begun pushing him toward a life in the seminary. The boy hurried out of the room and down the hall, eager to return home and rinse away his shame.

The phone at the old mans bedside began to ring.

"Father Maxwell, you cannot hide from us. We know who you are and what you do. Your fate has been sealed. See you tonight Father. May god have mercy on your soul."

The good father looked around the room frightened. His trembling hand held the phone still, the ominous warning still looming inside his brain. The voice had sounded almost otherworldly and his heart began to palpitate. He struggled for breathe but found none.

The phone fell to the floor and before the old man could black out a dark figure enveloped him. The figure carried the priest from the room quickly, eager to set his plan into motion. As the door closed behind them, the figure heard a voice.


"If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again. If you need help hang up and dial your operator."

_________________________________________________________________________________________




Marcus arrived home chilled to the bone. The Chicago winds had been if full force that day and he longed for nothing more then the warmth of his fireplace. He took off his jacket and shook the snow from his hair, relieved to finally be home. He found Natalie in the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, waiting for him. They embraced one another for a long while, her head buried in his chest. When she finally looked up at him he smiled.

Marcus: So what do we still have to do babe?

Natalie: Actually it's just making sure everything is ready for tomorrow. God I can't believe we are actually getting married tomorrow! I know how hard you worked to give me the wedding I always wanted and I hope you know how much it means to me.

Marcus gave her a sly grin.

Marcus: You could always show me babe.

He slid his cold hand up her leg and under her dress. She pulled away from his chilled touch, though the feelings inside told her not to.

Natalie: Excuse me mister but I hardly think this is appropriate behavior.

Natalie did her best to feign shock, teasing him even then.

Natalie: Plus you can wait till tomorrow night.

Marcus whimpered.

Marcus: But tomorrow is like a whole day away. That's a really long time!

Natalie's hand slid down his chest to the bulge in his pants.

Natalie: Something tell me our little friend down there can wait just a bit longer.

Marcus shook his head and grinned. If that woman had any idea what was going on in his mind, well suffice it to say he would be sleeping on the fold out couch for a long time. Marcus dropped his head and the smile wore from his face as he played the dejected subject and went off to make final preparations for the big day. Natalie giggled to herself as he playfully walked off like a scolded dog. It was little moments like that one that had left her with no choice but to marry him.

She busied herself for most of the rest of the day. she put plastic over the frosted windows, stopping the howling winds from entering even before they tried. Why did we decide a winter wedding, she thought idly to herself, it's just so damned cold.

Natalie: Hey Marcus? Why would we go and do a dumb thing like getting married in the middle of a snowstorm?

Marcus ambled into the room and took her in his arms.

Marcus: You know, it's a bit late to be thinking about stuff like that now don't you think? Anyway imagine how wonderful you are gonna look in your white dress with the backdrop of the freshly fallen snow?

As Marcus readied himself to make another swoon-worthy comment, the phone rang.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Young Julius held the phone gently to his ear, listening to the ring and waiting to hear from the unlikeliest of God's soldiers.

Natalie: Hello?

Julius: May I speak with Marcus please?

Natalie: Marcus is indisposed at the moment, can I take a message?

Julius bristled, where was this masked man? He had a task to do, one that Julius was paying him kindly for. If he was required he damn sure had better make himself available.

Julius: I really need to speak with him miss. Tell him it is regarding a Mr. Maxwell.

There was a long pause followed by a shallow breathe.

Natalie: Oh, yes, that. Preparations have been made. There is no need to worry Father. Everything will be taken care of.

Julius: Very well. I will expect him this evening then.

Natalie: He will be there.

Click.

Julius held the phone for what seemed like forever, quietly pondering what kind of man would bring a woman into that line of work. Doubt slowly began to creep into his mind as to weather he was going about this the right way. He certainly could not seek council from another priest, no, this would be his burden to hold. And hold it he would, fore no child should ever be put through what the many had been at the hands of Maxwell over the years. He became emboldened by his course of action, he felt righteous. There once had been a time when men stood for something, their word and their character were all that they had, the only currency that mattered. Julius was far to young to have seen such a time but that pride, that feeling of a cause greater then ones self, ran through his veins. He set the phone back onto the receiver and trudged to Father Maxwell's room. In silence he cleaned the mess that had been made hours earlier. If anyone came calling, it needed to look as though the good Father had just stepped out for a walk.


___________________________________________________________________________

Damien sat in the room and looked at the comatose man. He couldn't help but think how sad and pathetic the white collared man was. His skin was roughly the same tone as the walls in this piece of shit building, almost an ivory with an large and unsightly amount of brown splotches throughout. The ceiling creaked and dust fell every minute or so as Gabriel and Dallas busied themselves upstairs. All they needed was the word from Marcus and the fun would begin. Damien stood and went over to the heavily rusted sink. He washed his hands before prepping the syringe with a moderate dose of adrenaline. Marcus had made it known in no uncertain terms that the good father needed to feel everything that was being done to him. He needed to be awake to see how another persons actions could impact his own life.

In their short time together Marcus had always struck Damien as a sort of oddball. Not in a derogatory way but just that he sensed Marcus had difficulty finding his place in a situation. It was good to see him take some initiative. It would serve him well in the long run. Perhaps he would even be useful in a way that even Dallas had not achieved yet.

The heavy steel door screeched open, and as Marcus walked through he nodded to Damien.

Marcus: Gather the others. It's time.

___________________________________________________________________________



The fresh winter snow glistened like the diamond ring in Marcus's pocket. He was impeccably dressed in his silken tuxedo. His Charcoal gray pants were a little tight, a result of not being brought out properly but beyond that he was pleased with the final result. As he stood at the altar and waited for his bride to be he could not help but think of the previous evenings work. The old man was much sturdier then anyone could have anticipated and as such the motley crew would have to continue their work after the ceremony. He looked over at the violinist, trying furiously to warm her hands, her bow swinging aimlessly at her side.

Dallas leaned toward him and snickered.

Dallas: How much would you mind if I went and....kept her warm?

Marcus looked at him and grinned.

Marcus: There will be plenty of time for that later I promise.

Dallas nodded and fell back in line with the other groomsmen. Natalie appeared like a vision, slowly walking the pathway as the violinist slowly began to play. It was a song that a mere few months ago Marcus never thought he would have the privilege to hear. So much had changed in his life in such a short period of time and yet, Marcus was at peace. The turmoil was there certainly, but in this moment nothing else mattered. Natalie seemed to float toward him, her dress cascading brilliantly over the snow. Her hood and veil disguised her face but he was certain she was smiling as he was. The pair met and clasped each others hands, the only warmth in the entire city felt between them.

Julius looked at the pair with wonder. Overseeing this union brought forth odd feelings inside of him. Here were two people, so very much in love so pure in this moment and yet, he knew what both were capable of.

Julius: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the forming of a special union. A union that cannot be broken. Not by anger or death or anything else your mind can conjure. This will bind these two together through this life and to the next, where they will be in the company of almighty God. Weddings always remind me of a story. If you would be so kind as to indulge me, I would like to tell you that story now.

A very long time ago, before us, or any of our parents were even thoughts, there sat a little boy with his mother. It was snowing heavily outside, the ground covered much like the ground is here today. The little boy sat by the window and watched with amazement. His mother noticed his rapt attention and patted the boy on the head.

The mother told the little boy that each snowflake was unique. They were all special. She told him that snowflakes a gift from god and that somewhere in the world there was a little girl who right at this very moment was looking at the snow fall as well. She told him to get a sheet of paper and scissors, and they proceeded to make a beautiful snowflake of their own. The mother sat down with the little boy and told him to keep this with him always, and that one day he would find the little girl who watched the snow as well and he was to give it to her.

They would always have the snowflake. They would always have one another.

Now the story may be a bit corny but the message still stands. For every one of us, there is someone out there waiting for you. You may be holding a snowflake or a ring but really it makes little difference. These things, these ideas, these feelings are what connect all of us together.

So today we come together to bask in the joy of this pairs love. Do you Marcus, take Natalie, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?

Marcus smiled at Natalie then as time slowed to a crawl. She was radiant, beauty personified and his forever. He stood up straight and looked into her eyes.

Marcus: I do.

Julius: And do you Natalie, take Marcus to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health for as long as you both shall live?

Natalie: Yes, yes of course I do.

Julius: Then, by the power vested in my by the state of Illinois and almighty God, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Marcus, kiss your bride.

Marcus slowly raised her veil and placed his hand on the sides of her face. He kissed her softly as the tears tickled down both their faces.

__________________________________________________________________________

Saturday 11:57 PM

The reception came and went with little excitement, they danced and ate and opened presents, smiling the whole time. Now Marcus and the three were back in the room with the old priest, his cries echoing throughout. The bruises on his body were evident, the previous evenings beating obviously taking its toll.

Marcus: It's so good to see you again father. I trust my friends have been more than hospitable?

Maxwell sneered at Marcus who just laughed.

Marcus: Old man you had this coming to you. Now tell me, are you afraid that we will defile you like you have so many others? I promise you father we will not. We save that type of behavior for cretins like yourself. You see, I'm not all that bad a guy once you get to know me. Ask Damien. Hey Damien I'm a good guy aren't I?

Damien nodded his head and smiled.

Damien: Super swell kind of guy Marcus.

Marcus: You see father? Now back on subject, I hear you have a taste for young boys. Is this true?

Maxwell laid motionless, not speaking a word.

Marcus: I'm prepared to accept your silence as a yes. I am giving you one chance father. Are you sorry for what you have done? Was yesterday enough to show you the error of your ways?

The old man looked at Marcus differently. The hate that had inhabited his eyes just moments before was replaced with something else. Hope.

Maxwell: I'm sorry every day for the things I do. I am just a man and sometimes these impulses, these impulses are just to much to bare.

Marcus: I completely understand the impulse thing. Like right now I have this impulse that is telling me to rip your fucking throat out!

Marcus lunged toward the old man and took him by the throat. He stared long and hard into the old man's eyes before letting go.

Marcus: However, some of us have the ability to control ourselves. A Lesson you would have been smart to learn before you had to meet me. Damien, grab it. Let's get this over with. I have packing to do for my honeymoon.

Damien, Gabriel, and Dallas exited the room for a moment before entering again with a large wooden crucifix in tow. The priest looked at the crucifix and began to struggle against his bindings. The trio set the cross against the far wall and walked toward Marcus and the old man.

The door opened suddenly, something no one expected. The young priest Julius burst in, completely out of breathe.

Julius: You can't do this! This isn't the right way.

Marcus grabbed the young priest and flung him down. Julius pulled himself to his feet quickly and walked toward the old man. He caressed his face before slapping him hard.

Julius: This is the right way. Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this, our daily bread, and forgive our trespasses, as we forgive the trespasses of others against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.

Young Julius began untying the ropes that bond the old man.

Julius: You see father, I have forgiven you for what you did to me so many years ago. By the grace of god I have. I will not forgive you for what you did to the others though. Damnit Maxwell, don't you see? They are children. They trusted you to do the right thing. To guide them. But your perversion got the best of you. Lucifer inhabits your body and he must be done away with. You too must be done away with.

Julius ripped off the old man's collar and threw him toward Marcus.

Julius: Do what you will with him.

Marcus: Do you want him to die?

Julius: Yes I do. That's just something I will have to live with.

Maxwell: Please god save me!

Julius looked at the clock as it struck midnight.

Julius: I'm sorry Maxwell. God doesn't work on Sundays.

The Young priest left the room to the sound of Marcus's laughter and the screams of the feeble old man.

_____________________________________________________________________________________



Natalie sat with Marcus in his dressing room, preparing for their flight to the Bahamas after the event. Marcus was putting on his gear but before he put on his mask he handed her a box. She smiled at him as she unwrapped it. She pulled the paper out of the box and dropped it. There in the bottom of the box was a mask as grotesque as the one Marcus donned. Natalie put it on and Marcus smiled.

Marcus: Do you see what I see?