LETHAL INJECTION VOTING & PROMO THREAD

I’m so sorry, Chris. I know what I did to you was wrong…I shouldn’t have lied to you baby. I should’ve told you I knew about Jaime and your father…but don’t quit on me, CB. I won’t betray you again. I’m begging you. Please give me another chance…

Despite his feelings towards her, Austin knows that Alex can trap him again. Austin lays eyes on her from outside her window, knowing he can’t turn her away, no matter how hard he tries or how much he loathes himself and her for this. The mere sight of her flawless body weakens him; truly she was built for him. His hatred remains stagnant, and his increasing lust continues on. The eyes of a Radical become more intense as they seem to morph into eyes of something more lethal. His heart and mind feel more pain…but it doesn’t stop. Her face becomes flushed with guilt. She tries to make him see that she hurts too but the only thing overriding her pain is his agonizing desire for her flesh. He enters her home in stealth, keeping his presence hidden as she begins to lay herself down to bed. As her body begins to collapse onto the comforters he silently appears in front her quickly enveloping her in his arms, silencing the soft shriek escaping her lips.

She can’t do anything about it; he can have his way with her. Honestly, it would be what she wants…if only she had known his true intentions. The next morning he sits at the foot of the bed, his body showing the remnants of a night of unholy, ugly passion…his eyes wild with fear. He looks towards her cradle of rest and in its place, the deathbed of Alex. She lies motionless as the comforting rays offered a tragic contrast to the sickening scene; her throat bruised and eye swollen shut while she has been wrapped into sheets stained with her betrayal…this room soiled by his aggressive hate. Her cheek broken, the walls silently yell out to Austin “MURDERER” but while he can’t believe what he’s done he rises up, agonizing step after step closer to the crime scene, the scarlet cocoon… he leans in close, then seals her fate with a kiss to her lips, thinly veiled with dried blood.

He exits without a sound, finding himself at peace or perhaps locked in a stunned silence. Austin's mind furiously darts about, questioning his actions while his body bathes in the hideous glory of his handiwork. He merely watches, unable to put forth any effort to clean up the mess he made to cover the mess in his heart. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding behind his eyes and his mind a world of confusion. The starlit sky shines brightly as he finds himself in the driver’s side of his new car: American Muscle, a black Chevy Impala, late ‘60s model. He looks around and to his terror he is in the driveway of Alex’s residence. Has he just seen his future? Or is it yet another dream? Will someone help him or will one dark night, her mother visit and instead encounter a nightmare?

Whichever may be the case, Austin pulls out of her driveway without hesitation. His anger won’t allow him to see Alex, despite his primal urges wanting to be satisfied and Alex being the one with the only fix that’ll please him for now. His mind can’t remember how or why he got there of all places. But deep inside, his heart hardens a little bit. He can feel the desire building within, his monster must be released, but Austin says to himself, no. He looks back, hand tightly clenching the wheel as his eyes pierce into the soul of Alex’s home.

Bitch. You lying, conniving…sexy fucking bitch.

But be forewarned; little to Austin’s knowledge and FMW’s, the sickness has shown before and God help you if it does again because Lord knows you didn’t help Chris Austin, only hindered the rise of what could have been your hero. Sooner or later, FMW will bend to the irresistible talent and rage of Chris Austin and to stop that Ronin’s impending one man massacre, all FMW had to do was say yes when it was his turn to help you, even though he wasn’t the hero you had earned.

You will be mine, Chris. One way or the other…

To help ease his downward spiral, all FMW had to do was say yes to him, instead of to those who hadn’t returned from their second coming long enough to earn the right to hear it. All you had to do was say yes, yet you said no and lately Austin’s starting to feel like ‘No doesn’t mean No’. Austin cannot be saved. It is too late for FMW…just like it is for Abel Steele. Don’t be afraid…you couldn’t escape it; you can only hope to survive your Moment of Clarity. The student of the game has been preparing for this…and now it’s time for the first exam.




Once upon a time, there were two brothers: Cain and Abel were their names. Cain was the first son ever conceived. Adam and Eve, as placed on the Earth by the Lord above, had high hopes for their boys. Cain showed much promise and still had more left to discover. However, he was a server; a protector and worker of the land itself. He worked a thankless job where all of his hard work went largely unnoticed due to the efforts of his brother, Abel, a shepherd, watchman over the sheep. He too had much promise but his ability was limited. This is their story. Well, the end of it anyway. The beginning of the end, begins in front of the Lord.

Cain: Lord, I bring You the fruits of my labor. These are the best of my crops thus far. I offer them as a sacrifice and sincerely hope that You accept them as a heartfelt expression of my gratitude for all that You’ve blessed me with.

Forced to adapt to his surroundings in order to bring about some sort of change, something worth having, Cain rose up to the challenge and went above and beyond the call of duty, squeezing all he could out of his impressive natural ability and expanding on it in order to please the Lord. He secretly felt that it was high time he reaped the benefits. But even though he shunned his selfish desires in favor of the greater good, the Lord did not see fit for Cain’s desires to come to pass.

Abel: Lord, I bring You the firstborn, the fattest and the healthiest of my sheep. These are without a doubt the best I can offer, and I offer them as a sacrifice and sincerely hope that You accept them as a heartfelt expression of my gratitude for all that You’ve blessed me with.

And then….an intimidating yet caring voice began to sound out to the two brothers while they stood on the mountain top. Vengeful yet loving…it was the voice of the Creator.

LORD: CAIN, ABEL, MY CHILDREN…I SMILE UPON YOU THIS DAY. I HEREBY RECOGNIZE THINE SACRIFICES AND I ACCEPT THEM. ABEL, MY CHILD…THY OFFERING IS MOST IMPRESSIVE.

Cain: And mine, Lord?

Jealousy had been a problem for Cain ever since Abel found favor with the Almighty. Abel spent his workdays watching over his wooly charges, making sure no harm came to them. He felt deep down, he owed it to them to protect and provide for them as if they were his own family even though they weren’t. It’s a rather honorable thought, one would think. But here’s the thing; there was little actual work to be done save for the occasional freeing a stray from a thorn bush or delivering the offspring. There was no true desire to expand on his craft like Cain did. All he did was merely the basic requirements of his job, yet he had been yielded optimal results, through no actual fault or earning of his own. Cain truly loved his brother, but he no longer wanted to see his own flesh and blood prosper in the position he once called his own. He no longer could stand being ignored for what has come to be known as the ‘Flavor of the Month’ in today’s terms.

LORD: CAIN, I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT THY BEST EFFORTS WENT INTO THE SACRIFICE BROUGHT TO MY FEET.

Cain: But Lord, I’ve done all I can to appease You. I assure You my maximum efforts went into pleasing You. Anything less would bring me eternal shame.

LORD: WELL, KNOWING THIS, WHY HAS THOU NOT BROUGHT ME AN OFFERING AS IMPRESSIVE AS THE ONE I RECEIVED FROM ABEL?

Cain: I am a worker of the ground. My surroundings only yield me so much, I don’t have the luxuries of the animals as my brother does.

Cain’s face frowned up as Abel looked on, unsure what to make of what he had seen and heard. Abel felt that his brother had truly tried his best, but not wanting to jeopardize the good fortune and the approval the Lord placed upon him, Abel kept quiet as Cain silently began to boil over and hoped that his brother would help him plead his case. His anger over his abilities and offerings having been questioned began to build and the Lord sensed it instantly.

LORD: CAIN, WHY ART THOU WROTH? YOU HAVE BEEN A GREAT SERVANT. THERE IS NO DOUBT THAT I ACCEPT YOU SACRIFICE BUT I CANNOT SAY THAT I AM PLEASED WITH YOUR EFFORTS. YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR FIELD CAIN AND YOU TO YOUR SHEEP ABEL. REMEMBER CAIN, CONTINUE TO DO GOOD, AND GOOD WILL COME BACK TO YOU INFINITELY, BUT STRAY AWAY FROM THE PATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS AND SIN WILL RESIDE AT YOUR DOOR FOREVERMORE.

Cain: But Lord…

It was too late. The Supreme Being had already spoken and any further argument would be futile, much like resistance. Cain fell to his knees a broken man. He cried out to the heavens savagely, unsure as to why he had fallen out of favor with God. Cain asked silently ‘What had I done wrong?’ ‘Did I go TOO far beyond the call of duty?’ ‘Is God right when He says I have unlimited potential but I’m not sure how to reach it?’ Whatever the case, tears of anguish began to rain onto the ground where Cain knelt. Abel walked over to console his brother, placing a reassuring hand upon his brother’s shoulder. Cain bucked him away.

Abel: Brother, it’ll be fine. God has a plan for us all and He tests us knowing we can handle it.

Cain: Brother, I’m tired of being the only one that has to handle the stress and the tests placed on me by God! You don’t know my pain, my suffering! The nights I spend trying to better my output only for it to go unwanted…

Abel: Cain, I can’t say that I feel for you. I would gladly trade places with you in a second. At least you’ve been challenged. Some days, I hope that He’d give me a chance to truly prove my worth to Him. You are overreacting and it upsets me.

Cain: Brother, Enjoy what you have now while you can. You never know when it’ll be taken away from you for seemingly no reason, or worse, so it can be given to someone undeserving…

Those ominous words dripped from Cain’s mouth like venom; pent up venom waiting to be injected into the soft flesh of the innocent mouse with intense burning. Abel helped his brother to his feet and they went home. Abel to his pastures, Cain to his field…later on, Cain sat during a well deserved break, smiling proudly about the lush, green vegetation that he had cultivated through his blood, sweat and tears. Of course it hadn’t really compared to the crops he had created early on his life, but everything seemed easier then and his recent output was of higher quality than that in which the Lord found favor in at first. Nevertheless, Cain watched his brother Abel as he patrolled his flock. The warmth beat down onto the earth-crusted, sweat-drenched brow of Cain, and he rubbed there as pain and exhaustion began to make their presence known.

As Abel comfortably stroked one of his prized sheep’s smooth wool, he looked out towards the land, to a challenge he desired yet never knew. Here Cain’s mind began to have impure thoughts. He began to wonder what would happen if things were the way they used to be; if there was life without a brother, in spite of the love and respect they’ve shown each other. As Cain advanced towards Abel, he knew that he’d always want the best for him, but he realized that what Abel experienced now, wasn’t the best thing for him. He didn’t want the immense pressure placed on Abel as he felt that it would destroy him as it did Cain’s faith and belief in his own self. He wasn’t sure of much, but he had enough of being overlooked and unappreciated, just because in a sense ‘what was his best yesterday is no longer his best today.’ And thus this came to pass…

Cain: Brother, will you walk with me?

Abel: Of course.

And they walked. They talked of the flock, the crops, Mother, Father. And then they reached an open field, far away from civilization. Cain looked around, no one in sight. Abel took in the sights and suddenly a sharp discomfort darted through his upper back. He fell to all fours as the shadow of his brother stood over him; a reversal of roles had arrived. The darkness had overcome Cain, and it now shrouded over Abel.

Abel: Ca-Cain, What are you doing?!?!?

Cain: Something I should’ve done a long time ago.

Abel: Brother, don’t do this…

The time for talking had ended as Cain charged his brother, narrowly missing a vile punt to the skull. Abel got to his feet, and created balls of flesh where his hands used to be. Cain yelled out, similar to a war cry and wildly swung, only for Abel to duck and forcefully expel the air from the lungs of his brother with a solid fist to the breadbasket. Cain guffawed and doubled over, having never felt such rapid discomfort before. Abel had no desire to fight his brother, but the wild look in Cain’s eye had made the decision for both of them. Cain grabbed his brother’s ankle and took him into the ground. After a brief struggle, Cain gained dominant position and struck his brother’s temple sharply with a short yet explosive elbow. Cain then positioned his soiled forearms, one sore from firing the first shot into Abel’s back around Abel’s throat and he squeezed as tightly as he could; with a force similar to the mammoth weight of the expectations that he once could handle placed upon his shoulder. Abel struggled mightily, fighting off the allure of eternal darkness long enough to break away from his brother.

As both got to their feet, Cain swung and Abel craftily ducked his head and split open his brother’s cheek with two sudden jabs. Cain knew that he was faster and possibly stronger than his brother, but the expertise of his hands wasn’t something that Cain could overcome. Abel swung again and Cain’s agility was able to protect his sore torso from harm, but Abel strung together combinations without a hitch, finally landing a devastating uppercut to the jaw to stagger Cain and following up with a running haymaker. The pain shot from Abel’s arm into Cain’s face, as a dull throbbing of pain had begun to intensify inside Abel’s metacarpals. Cain fell to the ground, unsure of his surroundings and his face feeling as if it were assaulted by STEEL. Abel looked upon his fallen brother with regret as Cain tried to crawl to something that he could brace his sore body on to rise again.

Abel, not much better off, decided to walk away from his brother, feeling as if this was a one-time anomaly triggered by the disapproval God presented to Cain. But Abel forgot the resiliency of Cain and was oblivious to how far down his envy had brought him. Cain got to his feet and knocked down his brother with an elbow to the back of the head. Abel fell to his face; everything was fuzzy and disoriented and his head rang in pain. He rolled to his back and sat up to gain his bearings but it wasn’t to be as he was flattened by a devastating kick that caused agony to fill his bloodied face. The experience of discomfort resided slightly in Cain’s foot, but he limped to his brother and mounted him, grabbing a nearby rock as Abel, who began to feel his orbital bone float around his face which burned with swelling, was powerless to stop him. Abel undeservingly had everything…and Cain decided that EVERYTHING SHOULD BE TAKEN FROM HIM…so he could feel Cain’s anguish.

Cain: Goodbye, Brother…

Cain raised the jagged rock to God, looking into Abel’s face as he did it. And like the hand of God himself, Cain struck down his brother with that rock, similar to the brutal simplicity of the kick to the head which left Abel in this predicament. The hardened ball of earth forced its way through the skull of Abel, increasingly unforgiving and deadly in impact. Cain bashed Abel repeatedly, splitting open the blood-engorged mound of flesh near Abel’s eye as if it were a fattened tick which had been lanced. Cain continued until the dangerous hands of Abel released Cain’s clothing and fell limply to the ground. The life force of Abel seeped from his head into the ground as Cain stood, dropping the weapon onto the ground. His eyes closed as he felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. As he arrived back to his field to continue his work, alone, the Voice of Reckoning sounded.

LORD: CAIN, WHERE IS THY BROTHER ABEL?

Cain: I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?

The Lord had already known the truth. Cain’s sneer would have given it away, as it sounded louder than any messages that would be yelled from any summit. The anger of the Creator would not be hidden and Cain knew it and no longer did he care.

LORD: CAIN, WHAT HAS THOU DONE?!?!? I CAN HEAR THE BLOOD OF ABEL CRY OUT TO ME!

Cain: You never heard my cries! You never recognized all that I had given You! I was here before Abel, and You shunned me…I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING OF ME!

LORD: HOW DARE YOU! FROM THIS DAY FORTH, YOU WILL BE CURSED FROM THIS EARTH, WHICH HAS TAKEN FROM THY HAND THE BLOOD OF THY BROTHER! WHEN YOU TILL THE GROUND, IT WILL NOT YIELD HER STRENGTH, YOU WILL WALK THIS EARTH AS A FUGITIVE, A VAGABOND CAST OUT!

Cain silently gazed to nowhere. He had been bearing this punishment inside his mind as long as he could remember. He felt as if he didn’t belong every time Abel or anyone else for that matter received praise, praise that Cain had earned. Granted, fear lived in Cain as to what awaited him in the future but now, with God no longer in his corner or there for him to please, maybe Cain could realize the potential he had never known until he struck down his brother. Yet the vengeful Lord set a mark upon Cain, to avoid him from having his suffering ended as he felt it would be.

LORD: WHOSOEVER STRIKETH DOWN CAIN, WILL SUFFER VENGEANCE SEVENFOLD! NOW, BE GONE!

The Lord disappeared as Cain turned away, his bountiful crops having been reduced to shriveled nothing, thinner than even the rattiest and most aged of hair. Cain dropped his earth tools and trekked away, having seen his work destroyed. And he wandered away, without a master; as the first incarnation of a Ronin…he wandered to his true destiny. The scene faded away to nothingness, disappearing into dust as a howling whistle of the wind blew through and then deathly cold eyes open. They are the piercing, unforgiving eyes of the Chris Austin. The eyes add calculating lethality to the frown upon his face.

With his face filled with jealous wrath, Austin doesn’t break his gaze as he remains seated in the Lotus position fresh from meditation. Inside of his newly warped mind, lies relief. Having been increasingly haunted, or tempted, by the dreams and fantasies of what can be described as a tortured, broken, rapist-murderer of a man, Austin savors that his most recent hallucination was his intended future. Without a compass to point him in the right direction, Austin emphatically decides that maybe it is best this way. The way it had begun. This can be referred to as The Way of the Ronin. But beneath the surface of the studious, entitled Austin, something deadlier lurks. The student is ready to learn. No word has been spoken, he merely sits silently before he reflects on his opponent, Abel Steele.

In my search to find fatal flaws to exploit…I found that it begins and ends with one look in the mirror. I found that we’re so similar it’s sickening. Honestly, I feel as if I could warn Abel of what’s to come because I’ve been there before. But ever since he’s been here all I can recall is how you, as did I, bitched and moaned backstage. In his case it was because those he triumphed over weren’t enough of a challenge. He didn’t think that the adaptation from the ‘sweet science’ would be this easy. People, who don’t recognize their own talent no matter how little they have don’t deserve warnings and I am not his keeper. So why did it bother him? Shouldn’t that be a problem best dealt with those he destroyed? But I guess he just can’t let things lie. Abel, these are some of your imperfections. And despite our ‘new’ hardened exteriors…well, let’s just say that you’re still the same.

RCA: Good evening, class. May I ask where did my support go when I always showed humility, integrity? In reality, it never existed; it was given to people who hadn’t earned it. I deserved better than that and I’m not going on empty-handed anymore. It is a shame that FMW wants to put up a resistance when a guy decides to ‘go his own way’ and yes, it is futile.

I know you Abel. I’ve been watching you for months. Your honor, your integrity is dying with every passing moment as your personal reality descends further into a nightmare. It sickens me that your path to ‘justice’ has gotten you free pass after free pass. I mean let’s face it; the Gold Card was handed to you. Your biggest obstacles were Apostasy, Eastwood and Marcus. Really, FMW? REALLY? If you want another ‘next big thing’ at least make him prove himself like I did on September 25, 2008. Abel beat Smitten but I did so first yet no one lost their shit over it, as if I’m expected to beat him. That alone should show that I am his superior. But I digress.

After your ‘grueling win’ at Death Row I was forced to listen to this incessant squealing about how you would be a champion of the people, by the people, and for the people. At least this time, it’s wasn’t from me. Nevertheless, you remind me of myself before I became ‘enlightened’ as to what I really am. Gold Card Gauntlet you’ve ‘won’ so early in your career is just like my own personal mark of shame, the Hayabusa Cup. Don’t forget what became of your golden boxing career and your life. Don’t forget the fall from grace you used to be.

RCA: I will never forget how they criticized me, placed all of their hopes and dreams on me and tossed me aside. Because they THINK found the next me or that I’ve served my purpose. There will NEVER be another like me and I will not go away without my destiny fulfilled. I never should have leaned on FMW to show me the way when they were just as lost. This was my downfall and my subsequent mediocrity led me to where I am.

FMW, you had no idea what they had. Now, it’s time I did things as I did when I started, and that’s mowing people down and doing what I want. It’s only a matter of time before it takes me back to where I belong for it is the simplest and most obvious solution to my problems. Abel, you soiled my art with your educated fists and lack of improvement on the foundation; your main form of offense is nothing more than something I’ll BEST you in.

They should have already seen you as I have: a talented yet ignominious fraud; a half-ass mimic. You are right where I’ve been, feasting off of lower carded individuals and getting served by the ‘stars’. You’ve blamed yourself for another’s shortcomings like I used to. With your constant mindset ‘changes’ from boxer to punisher to whatever you are now, you don’t know what you want. I faced criticism for that everyday. But you are the new golden boy, Abel and whether you deny it or not, your time as such is on borrowed time and the end is near. So it is spoken, so it shall pass for I will be champion and FMW needs a champion that learns and masters the game. It is all I want.

RCA: Abel, in the big picture FMW really doesn’t give a shit about you. FMW already has a failing hero; you’re a warm body stupid enough to be fooled by FMW, if only temporarily. I know all about this race you are running. I ran it too and did so better than you did but I was worse off for it; you won’t prosper just because you just happened to play the hero card a lot quicker than I. Hell, you’ve even decided that you now ‘walk alone’ as I did. I will open your eyes to your constant leeching off of what I was and am. ‘Mini me’...this is the LAST thing you want because it means that either you matter to me, which you don’t, or that you pissed me off, which you have.

Of all the weak points you could have…one of them is my offense’s primary focus. Your judgment and thinking is clouded by personal traumas, just like some claim mine to be. You’ve overplayed your hand and you will lose at Lethal Injection. As hard as it is to believe, I’m jealous of you, in spite of you being nothing but a talented yet mindless maggot that forgot his role in the world of FMW. Now you’ll discover how that jealousy affects me. Just like all of the attention and admiration you’ve earned...you’ve earned this too because you remind me of me.

I want you to believe that these people care enough to come see you so your dreams will be annihilated. FMW knows that you’re just the flavor of the month that you see me as. I offer kudos as you smartened up a little, but Abel, you failed to be the hero that NONE of FMW would allow you to be because you knew it was suicide. Yet, you still love FMW. You still love my bitch and I can’t allow that.

I’m going to trash the remains of you two’s ‘fling’ and then annihilate you as she looks on begging me to stop. Abel, I wouldn’t count on me making a mistake that you can capitalize on. You need to be perfect or I need to be off my game in order for me to lose. The latter rarely happens and as we all know no one is perfect. FMW will also know that you are not me just because your life started to suck. I don’t give a shit how long you can talk or promo, how crisp your jab is. You can’t follow in my footsteps, Abel.

RCA: FMW, I won’t blame myself. I see through the lies you all feed into FMW. I won’t lose sight of my destiny, my purpose: I will not be denied for I am fueled by a desire to learn and exploit FMW, unmatched athleticism and an addiction, a lust for greatness. Abel’s fuel is a fucking hospital bill. Abel is running from his true self and when he looks back as you cheer him on, he’ll run into a devastating reality named Occam’s Razor.

I will embarrass you in ways you can’t imagine, Abel. His fate is sealed. He will suffer from a calamity even more finite than the furious hand of God over Sodom and Gomorrah. It’s time for his Moment of Clarity. Abel, I am not my brother’s keeper…I am my brother’s executioner and he will die by a Lethal Injection of my foot into his face. I do have one favor to ask of FMW…It shouldn’t be too hard as you’ve done it before.

RCA: Keep running, FMW. Run from the inescapable truth, for no matter what you do…you can’t escape your Moment of Clarity. Class dismissed.

I’m only going to ask once that you allow this to happen; otherwise utter annihilation will knock on your door. The Moment of Clarity is coming. There is no escape for you until you accept the simplest and most obvious solution to your dilemma and FMW…

I AM THAT SOLUTION.

The weight pulled at his shoulders. The additions to the peacoat still required adjustment.

His neck rolled, the nitrogen pockets between each vertebrae popping loudly bringing a smile of relief to his face.

His fists clenched, each knuckle cracking in unison. The smile upon his face growing wider with each pop.

Across from him a man spoke, but the words reverberated past his ears. He studied the movement of the man’s mouth, his posture, the tattoo of the worm wrapping around his neck. It started somewhere on his chest, under the shirt, before curling around his neck, finally going up the back of his skull. The gaping mouth and fangs rested atop the man’s head.

The words the man opposite spoke were useless, nothing more than baseless drivel. What mattered was the man himself, not his words. His posture, his stance, the way in which he carried himself. Quint stared into the man’s eyes, his focus tuning out the words of the man bearing the Worm tattoo.

The two men stared at each other with seconds passing like a lifetime before finally the first movement occurred. Quint’s fist pulled back, his lead leg pushed forward, his body lurched toward the man opposite. As the two men approached each other the movement of the world gained pace, with the sounds of fists connecting with flesh puncturing the silence of the night.

Reacting to the thin covering of flesh over bone connecting to their respective cheeks, the two men stumbled backwards momentarily. Regaining their senses they began to circle slowly. Each gauging the movement of the other.

“So this is where it comes to a head hmm? After your weeks of slowly picking apart my men, you finally get your shot.”

This is where it ends. This is where I take back my city. Nothing more.

Quint’s left fist swung into the air, catching nothing but a whiff of where the Worm in front of him had been. Following the miss, his right fist corrected its aim to hit where the man would be, catching against a forearm block.

“You’re city? Boy you got something loose in your head. ‘Your’ City is a turf war now. It’s a vacuum.”

The Worm countered, an uppercut catching Quint in the ribs doubling him over before a rising knee clipped his forehead putting him on his back. Gravity seemed to intensify around Quint while he felt the warm trickle of his own blood running down his face. With a smirk The Worm approached the fallen Quint, a noticeable swagger entering into his step.

Scrambling after the collision of heads and knees, Quint pulled himself backwards before rising to his feet. A now open wound dropping blood slowly down his face.

So you let the streets run red? How many do you have to kill before it ends? Does it ever end?

Quint coughed the words out from behind bleeding lips. Barraging The Worm’s ears with questions before giving him any time to answer.

The Worm’s fist crashed down against Quint’s left forearm deflecting harmlessly away. Dodging to the right away from another incoming fist the quick movement of Quint’s head splashed a trail of blood across the Worm’s face.

Sensing his opportunity Quint lunged forward sending fist after fist against the chest and stomach of the reeling Worm. Quint’s flurry put the man to the cold ground, giving him back the advantage. Confidence swept through Quint’s mind as he approached without caution, moving in to bring the Worm the sweet slumber of unconsciousness.

No answer? No quip to make? Funny, I had you pegged as nothing more than a mindless mouth breather.

Quint’s bravado consumed him as he approached his fallen enemy. The enemy that had consumed his thoughts as of late, that had torn apart the structure he had created, however vile it was. The enemy that had stepped in to destroy his City, his masterpiece.

Quint loomed over top the man, staring at the Worm tattoo that adorned his head. His mouth opened to speak yet only a pained grunt escaped his lips as his opponent forced the heel of his boots hard against the knees of Quint. The force of the blow sent him toppling backwards, his head connecting hard with the cement.

With eyes fluttering after the stiff impact of the cement against his skull, Quint helplessly watched as the Worm now loomed large over him. How quickly Quint had lost his advantage, how quickly he had fallen. A sadistic smile crossed the man’s face, his yellow teeth shining in the late night’s light as he looked down upon the man known as Harley Quint.

“You asked how long. How long would I bleed this city, how long would I slaughter? It’s simple, until there’s nothing left. I will bleed them all out until this city is mine. Until it is Conquered by The Worm.”

The cackle escaping the man’s lips brought a smile to the bloodied lips of Harley Quint. The irony at someone else laughing in his face was too much for Harley to not laugh back. There were only two of them on the street and already there were too many clowns. The first of the fists reigned down upon Quint connecting with forearm after forearm as he fought desperately to defend himself.

“Don’t you get it? There’s a void. When the clown up and disappeared he opened the door for us. The fight for power, the blood that pours through the gutters of the streets was his greatest achievement. When he left, he took terror with him. He took the fear. He gave us the light to exit the tunnel.”

The falling fist of The Worm manoeuvred its way through Quint’s guard connecting with his collar bone. The pain was instantaneous, shooting down to his fingertips and back to the joint that locked his arm in place as Quint could feel his shoulder instantly go limp at the joint.

“So we, I, stepped in. Now I AM fear and it all starts again. I am the one to fill the void, I am the one who has inherited the laughter. There’s nothing of your city to take back.”

With a cackle hardly befitting a villain, the Worm pulled his right fist back as far away from Quint’s face as possible readying it for impact. As Quint’s eyelids fluttered, bracing for the impact of the Worm’s fist, he watched the fear seep into the man’s eyes. The blood soaked across his face, dripping down past his ears and into his hair as he watched the man’s fist simply hanging in the air. Then he heard it.

Metal dragging against the cement.

The skipping clicks of the links of a chain.

Terror swept across the man’s face. His smile disintegrating into a pained worry.

The Worm rose from Quint’s chest, his eyes squinting to make out the shadowed figure dragging the chain closer to him. As he stood, his back cracking with his straightening posture, a sole bullet careened past his head embedding itself deep into the brick wall behind.

Fear swept over The Worm, above him a shooter lurked, down the alley a sadist approached. His muscles twitched as his body gave way to base instinct. The numbers were not in his favour whether the approaching men where with his attack or not. He fled, leaving an exhausted and bloodied Quint to collapse down to the cement, his chest heaving for breath. Above him he caught the silhouette of a man turning, and an arm extended in greeting.

The dragging of the chain came closer still as Quint turned his head to focus on the approaching figure.

”Been awhile Harles...”

A wave of recognition passed through Quint’s mind, chased quickly away by the slumber of unconsciousness. His eyes flickered shut and the voice returned.

That same voice that haunted every moment Quint begged for peace. It was the same small voice that rang out so clearly through his mind before quickly disappearing. Before quickly being silenced by the keenness of a blade, silenced by his hand. Like clockwork the girl’s voice returned with each slumbered breath.


The damp cloth burned as it pressed against the wound atop his head. Just above his hair line the skin had been split open by The Worm's rising knee. The flow of the blood had been stopped, but its crimson colour still stained Quint's skin. He winced once again as the cloth dabbed against the open wound cleaning it with whatever chemical Katherine had chosen to punish him with.

She held his head pointing upwards to minimize his movement allowing Quint a clean view of the bathroom's ceiling. His eyes squinted as he fought to move his face away from the glaring lights.

"You know you can avoid this right?"

Quint knew she wasn't talking about the light shining in his eyes, at least not entirely.

I'm well aware. But it's not as easy as it sounds.

"Then how long do you plan on keeping this up exactly?"

Katherine pressed the cloth hard against the open wound eliciting a sharp inhale of breath from Harley.

I don't know.

Defeat resonated throughout Quint's voice as it trembled ever so slightly upon delivery.

As long as I have too. Until this is over. Until its safe.

With an exhale of breath that Harley couldn't be sure symbolized approval or disdain Katherine leaned further over top of Quint, placing her lips gently against the wound on his head.

Tonight was different. It didn't seem...right.

“What do you mean?”

Katherine released Quint’s head allowing him to turn in the chair so the two faced each other.

I’m not entirely sure. He was just an ordinary man, but his eyes…

Quint blinked before allowing his own eyes to focus once again on the face of Katherine Hookton. A smile curled at the corner of his lips as his vision swept across her tender face. Her blue eyes glazed as if she was fighting back tears, trying to remain strong in his presence.

In his eyes, there was no fear. As if he saw me for what I was. Just another man. A man trying to stop him, but in the end, just another man.

“So…?”

So, I don’t know. I have no idea what to do. It never used to be this hard.

“You always used to carry a big gun.”

Valid point. I don’t know how, but I’ll find away. There has to be something I’m missing. Everything just feels incomplete.

“Everything?”

The grin stretched across Quint’s face, Katherine’s false insecurity at least temporarily brought his mind away from the throbbing wound across his forehead.

Yeah, everything.

His eyes rolled as he smiled bringing another small bubble of blood to the surface of his wound.

"Okay. Just don't die..."

Their eyes met both expressing more concern and worry than words could allow. The soft hands of Katherine Hookton gripped tightly around the fingers of Harley Quint. He could see the water forming in her eyes as he watched her trembling bottom lip as she opened her mouth to speak.

"...for Charlie's sake."

Oh, right right, for "Charlie’s" sake.

Quint rose from his chair, smiling at Katherine in the mirror. A brief chuckle was exchanged between the two before the waking voice of Charlie Hookton called Katherine away.

For what seemed like an eternity Quint stared at himself in the mirror. His mind, his eyes, replaying every detail from the night's incident. He had been denied. The Worm had stood in his way and stopped him. In a confrontation Quint was confident he could win, he had emerged defeated. Saved only by a friend he wasn't sure was a friend and a man who wanted nothing more than to decimate anyone in his path.

What am I missing?

Quint’s fist slammed down against the marble countertop, sending pain coursing through his body. His face squinted tight as his brain received the pain signals.

Something doesn’t add up.

He knew I would be coming for him.

He knew it was just a matter of time.

And he knew I wouldn’t kill him.

Why would I? I hadn’t killed any of the others. He only had to fear losing or jail. Nothing more.

Quint stopped speaking, his mouth still open forming the words his mind was trying to relay. Then it hit him.

He knew.

A familiar smile began to spread across Quint’s lips, widening with each passing second.

It was so simple. So obvious. So easily overlooked.


The laughter danced through Quint's mind as if spoken by someone right beside him. It's decibel level seeming far too high for that of a mere thought. It terrified him at first as his eyes shut firmly to try to force the thoughts from his mind.

Pain shot through his hands as his fists pulled tighter together. His digits pulled tighter and tighter before snapping open along with his eyes. The laughter coursed through his mind.

And the smile returned.

With nothing more than a sharp exhale of breath from his nose representing a singular chuckle, Quint slid open the third drawer on the left side of the bathroom counter. Effortlessly the drawer opened revealing nothing but a closed tub.

Hello old friend.




Most men never see it coming.

The inevitability that is their end.

Most men stare blindly into the darkness, unsure of what they are looking at, before turning away. Before giving up. Little do they know that what lurks in the darkness is their end, haunting them around every corner. What lurks in the shadows is their undoing.

The long strides from The Worm's gangly legs pulled him across the open warehouse floor, the dim overhead lights casting his shadow in multiple directions. His pace seemed to quicken each time he stopped to change directions, the clicking of his heels echoing against the barren metal walls.

His men were out. Away from the building. The Worm had wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. After the attack from the previous night the last thing he wanted was a cast of overprotective goons hovering above him. They clung to him like a disease, like a virus, never allowing an inch to breath. He had cast them out for his solitude, for his sanity.

His pace quickened once again as he turned to face the far West wall. The clicking of his heels and the muttering of his voice marked the only noises resounding through the warehouse.

So he thought.

He stopped, his pace coming to a rapid halt before pivoting his body to face the now far Eastern wall. However his pace did not resume, he instead remained frozen. Staring at what had emerged from the Eastern shadows.



Well...Hello there.

The Worms jaw dropped. He stared at what couldn't be. His eyes focusing on what had long passed. Surely his mind played tricks on him. Surely the solitude must be getting to him.

So, my fine feathered friend, it seems, you and I have some business to attend to.

The shadow pushed himself off of the pillar he rested against. In darkness he approached The Worm. His body, his appearance shrouded by the shadows cast by the dim lighting of the warehouse.

His footsteps moved closer to The Worm, his eyes glazing over in fear.

You've been a busy little bee haven't you? Hmm?

"W-Wh...How is thi--"

Shh, don't speak. This is a lot easier if you just listen you insignificant insect. Let the verbosity of my lexicon flow through that thin skull of yours.

You took something from me. Something very dear to me. Something I love very deeply, and do you know what happens to those who simply take without asking?

"N...No."

Quiet!

I go away for a nice little vacation and return to find this? Petty lowlifes like yourself rising through the ranks? Trying to take my City?

Very ambitious tasks. Ambition I would applaud if I wasn't about to maim you. But alas, I am.

The shadowed figure of Harley Quint passed under one of the many lights hanging from the ceiling illuminating his figure clearly for the first time. The white face paint was smeared carefully across his face covering every inch of flesh tone. The tilt of his head cast a shadow across his eyes, somehow highlighting the twisted smile plastered across his face.

"Bu...But you're dead?"

Yes. So I've heard.

Let me assure you Wormy-Pants, rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.

With a quick step forward Quint pulled himself within striking distance of the trembling Worm. His left fist careening carefree through the air before making an impact against the sharp cheekbones of the scared criminal.

As his opponent stumbled backwards from the impact as the right boot of Quint rose up, colliding hard against the knees of The Worm buckling him backwards.

I've told you before. This. City. Is. Mine.

Quint could feel the blood trickling down his knuckles, the impact against the bone had cut open his knuckle but now was far from the time to care.

A lesson must be learned dear friend and I plan to teach it to you in the most vicious way possible.

The worm desperately fought to pull himself backwards across the unforgiving cement of the warehouse floor. Despite his pleas, whimpers and attempts to escape the being he knew only as The Harlequin drew closer to him.

I am her protector Wormy. This City is my charge. Stand in my way and I will put you down.

Quint stepped forward, onto the ankle of The Worm, the joint snapping under the pressure of his boot. Screams of pain erupted from The Worm's mouth quickly filling the surrounding warehouse.

I've done some terrible things in my life. Things I regret. Things I wish I hadn't done. Tonight I take a step towards rectifying that. Tonight I stop you from ever being capable of what I have done.

The boot of Quint rose once again, crashing down against the weakened left knee of The Worm. Continuing his march up the fallen Worm before resting his left foot against the Solar Plexus of the downed man.

The worst part of all of this for you is that you will live. I'm not in the business of taking lives anymore. Merely preventing you from taking them. My absence created a void, you've said it yourself but you opened my eyes to a whole new world.

Keeping the fallen man pinned to the ground with the weight of his boot Quint dragged his hand across his face, removing a portion of the smeared face paint, revealing the flesh tones of the man’s skin that was Dr. Harley Quint.

Sometimes being a man alone isn't enough. People need an icon.

People need something to fear.

With a twisted smile Quint reached down, tapping the side of The Worm's face with a gloved hand.

But there's always a catch. Ego's and Icon's crumble. False Idols fall and Man...

Man endures. Man prevails, I will prevail.

And there is one rule that triumphs through everything. One rule that continues to exist.

You Do Not Fuck With The Harlequin.

Quint stared at The Worm below, their eyes locked on each others, fear in one, bliss in the other, and only one smiled.

So spread the word, the band's getting back together.

The fist of Quint crashed down against the man's face, his nose shattering against the impact of the knuckles. The Worms’ eyes rolled up as he embraced the comforts of unconsciousness.

...And HavOc Shall Be Wrought...

Someone plunged a dagger deep into God's chest and... when he groaned... it laid our entire civilization to rest...

The ornate ceiling fixtures flashed before the eyes of Father McNultey while they rolled toward the back of his head in ecstasy. At this moment in time nothing could disturb the pleasure that coursed through The Father's body.

Nothing save for the wrapping of human knuckles against the large wooden doors to his preparation chambers.

Deacon Jacobs: Father, the service starts in 10 minutes. Please join us when you are ready.

With a devious hiss and the rise of the back of his hand Father McNultey hurried the young boy away from him and out the back door of the chamber.

Father McNultey: I am coming Deacon Jacobs, remember, patience is a virtue.

Father McNultey pulled at his robes trying to keep them away from his erect member as he approached the door.

With a smile Father McNultey stood before his congregation prattling on and on about the dangers of giving into the desires of the body. He spoke, sang and read for an hour about the hypocrisy that was his life until he reached his second climax of the day, yet his first in theological pursuits.

Father McNultey: Outside of our hallowed halls, away from the House of God, humanity sinks deeper into depravity. Outside our doors it wallows in its own filth, content to live its life rolling in the world, eating its own fecal matter. You my Children are above that.

His knuckles griped title across the golden inlay of the pedestal, the colouring soon escaping from his flesh.

Father McNultey: You have braved the storm to be here today. Here in God's House. Miscreants and petty thugs scour the streets during disasters such as the ones we find ourselves in, yet you rose above this. You have come to me, and I shall give you the message to spread. To go out into the community and save it from its destruction.

Father McNultey smiled behind his words, concealing his hypocrisy and lies behind a Godly facade.

Father McNultey: So go forth, into the rain, the wind and mud. Go forth and spread the word of love between only a man and a woman. So spread the word of the ONE True God.

You Are My Messengers! You Must Spread Like The Disease To Stop The Disease.

*-*-*-*

The words had assaulted his ears from every direction. In the darkness the oratory took over as all other senses were dampened, not that his eyesight was the strongest to begin with anymore.

The voice seemed to come at him from all directions within the darkness.

Jaro: You managed to not fail me this time. I’d applaud you if you hadn’t of been facing such a worthless opponent.

Jaro: Though...you did do it in a rather convincing fashion.

Virus listened intently in the darkness. No other in the apparently titled ‘Goon Squad’ was micromanaged on such a level. Dunnwood operated in a uniquely independent fashion, often disappearing for days on end to perform mysterious tasks. And now Hatchet had arrived, and the man was an enigma in himself. Jaro’s footsteps circled around in the darkness, what appeared to be his visage crept in and out of Virus’ view periodically.

Jaro: But here’s the deal.

The slap caught Virus in the back of the head eliciting a grunt with an exhale of breath.

Jaro: What I’m looking for is a maiming. I want you to take every possible opportunity to squeeze the life and breath from that annoying waste of life that is Seth Omega. I want you to send a message. Let them know where the power lies.

Jaro: Last week we saw the Saints bloodied, this week I want one of them broken. This week, you break the Saints. And if you don’t?

*-*-*-*

The rain pelted down against the cold red brick. Drop after drop assaulted all those who found themselves out on the streets, caught in the terrible weather. It had been cold, seemingly too cold for the rain that fell, but it did regardless.

Each drop that fell seemed to burrow its way down through the skin, past the muscle and into the very skeletal structure of all those it touched.

The wind had been strong for the past week, driving the rain hard against the soft skin of the men and women it found. Trees had been felled, limbs cracked off by nature’s power and the flow of electricity all but stopped entirely in certain quadrants of the city.

The anchors on the nightly news made it clear that the city, this city hadn’t seen a storm like this in years. For as long as they could remember the rain had never assaulted them in such a way. Houses had become flooded, schools and businesses shut down, and worst of all to the inhabitants lives had been lost.

It wasn’t something they had been prepared for. With no warning it swept in through the buildings of the downtown core, shattering glass and ruining office furniture.

It was in this tumultuous time of human existence that it continued to spread. So while many feared that the inclement weather was the be all and end all, the end of days, the flood rivers ran red with the end of their lives.

When the keepers of peace and purveyors of life were unable to attend the flock designated to them, corruption griped them. The murderous disease tore through the outlying communities in the city. Those who could simply began to take what they wanted and leave life bleeding out in their paths.

But now the disease was spreading. Working its way towards the Cities core, towards what had stood for centuries before. And in this time of chaos and turbulence another evil was spreading.

The metal blade of the knife dragged across the stone wall of Saint Luke’s Cathedral. Against the pattering of the rain the scratch of metal upon stone struck out through the night’s sky. The wind howled ferociously, tossing the hood that laid at its rest against the knife wielding man’s neck.

The gathered water sloshed out from under the man’s boots as he slowly climbed the Cathedral stairs. The cold liquid had permeated every facet of his being. His clothes hung heavy to his body, weighing down his shoulders, his feet numbing to the sensation of the freezing water.

With each step taken the blade of the knife bounced off the wrought iron supports of the guardrail. The loud clang reverberating against the walls of the buildings that surrounded the centuries old Cathedral.

CLANG



The resonation of noise halted as the man reached the top steps. The large oaken doors rose in front of him sending an overwhelming feeling throughout his body. With a hidden smirk he pulled his rain sodden hood onto his head before placing the blade of the knife against the left side of the wooden door.

The blade dug itself into the wood, slowly etching a symbol before returning to its place, hidden within the man’s sleeve.

Ω

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before being swallowed by the sounds of the pelting rain. With a simple shove and the pressure of the man’s body he pushed open the Cathedral door exposing the sanctity of the hallowed halls to the hell that had become the outside world.

Father McNultey: My son, the Sanctuary is closed for the evening.

The Father’s voice carried between the pews to the ears of the man at the entrance of the Cathedral. Staring down at the water leaking from his shoes into the marble flooring he obscured his face from the Father’s view.

Virus: William Harrison was twelve.

The man mumbled from the back of the Church. He didn’t care about the sins of the Father. He didn’t even need a reason, but it helped.

Father McNultey: My Child, I know the weather is poor, but you must have faith in yourself. The Church cannot provide for you. You must leave.

Virus: Bryan Madison was ten.

The man at the back of the Church strode closer, closing the gap between him and Father McNultey.

Father McNultey: My son, service ended hours ago, you must leave. Now.

Virus: The evils of this world are bountiful Father. Every direction that one looks, there is something more to hate.

The blood mixed with the drops of water, splashing against the marble floor. The head of Virus slowly rose revealing the bloody mask to the priest. An audible gasp is heard escaping from the man’s lips.

Virus: I don’t care for you crimes. I do find you to be a disgusting human being, but that is neither here nor there. I’m not here to punish you for your crimes. I’ll leave that to the God you see yourself as. I am here to destroy you.

To Send A Message.

The backhand of Virus caught Father McNultey in the cheek, unceremoniously tossing him to the floor. The Father pulled himself backwards quickly, resting against the stairs leading towards the altar and sanctuary.

Death. Hell. Evil. All these things hung over the head of Father McNultey. Blood slowly trickled down from the site of impact on his lips.

Father McNultey: Please, my Son, think about what you’re doing.

Virus: Think? Doubtful Father. I am paid to act. I am sent to send messages, to deliver pain and torture. I am paid to eviscerate.

Can You Guess Why I’m Here Father?

Father McNultey: Then act as a Child of God Son. Repent for what you have done, beg for forgiveness.

Virus: You’re mistaken Father. I see no error in my ways. I am happy with what I do.

The foot of Virus fell upon the chest of Father McNultey, pinning him to the stairs as the Father stared into the blackened eye sockets of the mask of Virus.

Virus: You seem to imply that I find fault with what I do. That I find it wrong or incorrect by your standards. Au Contraire Father. I thoroughly enjoy the smell of fear that exudes from those who stand in my way. It gives me purpose.

The sweat beaded upon the brow of Father McNultey, his lower lip trembling in fear.

Virus: The simplicity behind this is brilliant Father. In your community you are revered as a Saint, regardless of your crimes to the congregation. But you are a Broken man Father. You are a blight upon this society and I am here to break you further. To spread the disease.

Agony tore through the mind of Virus. Under the blank expression of the bleeding white mask his remaining eye squint shut. Tensing, his hands clenched into a fist as he fought against the memory, the pain sweeping through his head.

A haze of white.

A Smile.

Laughter.

The physical pain of squinting his face and fists slowly forced away the emotional memories, returning Virus to the task at hand.

The boot of Virus pressed deeper into the chest of Father McNultey. His breath wheezed from his chest against the pressure.

Virus: But don’t you see it Father? You are destined for something greater. This is what your God wanted for you. This is your purpose on this Earth, you should rejoice.

You Are Bound For Something Greater.

Virus: This dear Father is your swan song, this is your Omega.

As the foot pressed harder into the robes of Father McNultey, Virus could feel the sternum of the man begin to crack underfoot.

Virus: Can’t you see it Father...the Saint is Broken.

The Saint Is A Bug Crushed Underfoot.

Father McNultey’s fists crashed against the leg of Virus, desperately trying to fight the foot off of his chest. The more he struggled the more the pressure increased against his chest. Second by passing second Father McNultey increased his risk of puncturing his lung exponentially as he continued to struggle.

Virus: This is the beauty of the situation you find yourself in Padre, you’re only killing yourself. The more you fight, the faster you die. The less you fight, the slower you die. In the end, you die, you always die.

The pressure from Virus’ foot continued, pressing harder against the Father’s solar plexus until the gaping mouth of Father McNultey drew in no breath. A laugh escaped the lips of Virus as he gave one last forceful push against The Father’s chest forcing out what little bit of oxygen still existed in the man’s body.

Virus: Now it’s time for you to come out of the woodwork. The ball is in your court Omega. So rise up against me, fight against the Virus but do not overlook this Priest.

Understand that I will come into your house. Where you feel safe.

Where you feel secure.

I will come upon what you treasure as your own.

And I will leave you Broken.

The Virus Will Become You.

When I pulled out the dagger... I marvelled at the pain I could create. And then I stuck another in his back to seal creation’s fate.

We open up on Our Hero seated across the cherry wood desk from the indomitable Christen Smitten. He has come to the Commish with an idea, a plan for his star to rise and get a little notice. He has offered to be Trye Spruance's sponsor in the rehab program and get clean himself and in return he gets to team with Trey and try to make his way in the Tag ranks......

"Osbourne, I am doing this as a favor to a friend of mine, you may have heard of him, Irchiro Mikado. He says you two go way back....If I do this for you, you will owe both him and I and you know I collect on my debts, Good Sir...So do us all a favor and don't fuck this up...Got it???"

Clear as mud boss man...I take Trey and myself to the tippy top of the mountain and you keep your "pal" Mikado off of my back .... For good! It looks like you already have us booked in the preshow....Butters and Sleg eh? Moore and some Dragos cat..... Only thing easier woulda been midgets....Let's do this....

************************************************************************************

Kickstart my Heart....


Axel pulls up in front of the brownstone and looks up, shaking his head....He hasn't seen anything this run down and decrepit since....well since he was in the bottom of the bag himself. AVO slowly mounts the steps and hits the buzzer for 221b. A gravelly voice barely audible slithers out of the speaker that's only hanging on by a red and black wire....

"Yo? Who's there?"

Hey bud, It's Axel!! The FMW sent me here to pick ya up.... I got us a match at the pre-show! SFW is gonna roll man....

"Trey's not here man....."

Trey, bro I know its you up there just let me in and we can go do what we gotta to get back in that ring....

Some laughter is heard and the speaker crackles loudly...

"Trey's not here man...."

You are ate up bro...some old lady just let me in I am comin up!!

Axel chuckles vaguely remembering an old Cheech and Chong bit just like what just happened....Our hero knocks on the door and it slowly swings open and we are greeted with a small apartment flithy from floor to ceiling...Trey is sprawled out on a stained matress, his arm tied off. Apparently he just got done shooting up. Axel smacks him on the face pulling him up to full height. He gets no reaction...Looking around the room desperately he sees no way to get this guy moving again so he pulls out his cell and dials 911....


"911 what's your emergency?"

Yeah I am at a brownstone on 5th and Jackson this guy here OD'ed...It looks like heroin....I can't get 'im movin...Send a rig .... We got work to do!!

"EMS has been dispatched to your location Sir....Stay calm....

Five minutes later EMS barrells in the door spreading a semi conscious Trey out on he floor. The rattle off hospital speak to one another and the bigger of the two jams a large scary looking needle into Trey's chest....The arenline kicks in a Trey jumos to consciousness...

"What the FUCK!!! WHEW WHAT A RUSH MAN!!! That's the third time this week...."

The EMS just shake their heads and Axel thanks them and Trey pats them on the back as they leave....Axel plops down on the couch and Trey tosses him a bottle of Jim Beam and a pack of smokes....

"Dont say I never gave ya nothin man...So what's up?"

You and I gonna do this man...SFW is gonna rule the world!! Or at least give it a go....

"Well fuck me and call me Nancy....We are really gonna do this shit huh? I thought you was just drunk the other night when you pulled me outta that motel and you was flappin your gums...."


Axel gets him down the stairs and flops him into the Camaro and they are off to their very first "meeting".... As they go through the city, AVO looks over at his new Tag Team partner and is immediately reminded of just how bad he, himself, used to be....

Waves go through the air and we are transported back to a halfway house eerily similar to what we just saw....This time the deadbeat sprawled on a beat up couch looks scarily smiliar to our hero....There is a guy trying to slap him awake dressed in black and chains with a sick punker mohawk....

"Hey Osbourne its Punk ...Platnium Punk....Mikado needs ya at the arena .... Let's go....I ain't doin this much longer....We haven't had a match for like 2 months.....C"MON!!!"

Axel springs up swinging and almost knocks his stable mate to the floor....Knocking over a couple empty Beam bottles and one a third of the way full....

Damn Bro...that's fucking alchy hol abuse man....You owe me a fifth! And I want the good stuff this time!!!

That time it took an army of advisors and friends to pull our hero up to some semblance of normalcy....Between pills, coke,speed and alcohol, no one thought he would live the year out much less make his in ring return with FMW just five years later....
We cut back to the Camaro as Axel is pulling up to the high school where their meeting is held....He shakes his head, wondering how Punk ever put up with him when he was on a bender like this....Trey has passed out again and is drooling all over Axel's custom leather....

Spru...Let's go man....Time to get right with Jesus or some shit....

Axel slaps him conscious and he mutters something unintelligible....

Alright Sunshine....Let's do this.....

***********************************************************************************

I Don't Like the Drugs, but the Drugs Like Me.



Hi Folks....My name is Brian Coogan, some of you may know me as the FMW's own Axel Van Osbourne, and this tub o fun next to me is Trey Spruance

The five or six assembled recovering addicts shake their heads, they have never seen either one of them before...Axel looks at his watch...Whew...45 more minutes of this shit....HOORAY!!

Ok well like I said I am Brian and I am an addict...I have been sober all of um...twenty minutes now. I know its a battle Trey and I are gonna have to struggle with every day. I have tried these kind of things so many times I don't have enough fingers to count on. My poison is alcohol and Trey he is a pharmecutical plant in Doc Martens....We are here because our employer, Full Metal Wrestling, has made it a condition of our employment. That and I am sick of waking up in a new town and not knowing where the fuck I am!! Trey would speak for himself, but Cuddles over here is still in the bag!! All we ask is your understanding and a little patience....I am sure y'all have been in our shoes.

A rather plain dressed blonde woman stands adjusts her glasses and motions for Axel to have a seat....

"Thank you Mr. ... Osbourne.... We here at SAA strive to help our participants get clean through prayer and meditiation as well as following the 12 steps...."

Thanks, we won't be here in town too long...Just for a couple weeks then we are moving on to the next cess pool....We just wanna get clean enough to pound the mat with a couple other tag teams and get our check and go home.

"Well we hope your time spent with us will be productive and get you set on the right path..."

After about a half hour of learning medititation and self correction techniques Axel and Trey make their way back to the Camaro. By this time Trey is fully up and aware....

"Man that was a load of horse shit...Let's go get us an 8 ball and some sliders!!! I am starving!!!"

Axel looks at him over top of his sunglasses...Smiling just a bit.....

Bud we have a match to prep for against Butters and Sleg and Moore and his new buddy...I am fucking sick of losing and need a W in my column. You already have one, but this is actually IMPORTANT to me!! Its
our much hyped debut!! Sliders are cool but we get piss tested Monday and I want us both as clean as possible...K?

Trey rolls his eyes, smirking for the first time.....

Whateva Miss Buzzkill....Let's just get the sack o ten and do this shit OK....

This is gonna be way harder than he thought Axel muses....Irony sets in as he hears the song rolling out of the speakers....

Norm life baby "we're white and oh so hetero and our sex is missionary."
Norm life baby "we're quitters and we're sober our confessions will be televised."

You and I are underdosed and we're ready to fall
Raised to be stupid, taught to be nothing at all

I don't like the drugs but the drugs like me
I don't like the drugs, the drugs, the drugs

Norm life baby "our god is white and unforgiving we're piss tested and we're praying."
Norm life baby "I'm just a sample of a soul made to look just like a human being."

Norm life baby "we're rehabbed and we're ready for our 15 minutes of shame."
Norm life baby "we're talkshown and we're poiting just like christians at a suicide."

You and I are underdosed and we're ready to fall
Raised to be stupid, taught to be nothing at all
I don't like the drugs but the drugs like me
I don't like the drugs, the drugs, the drugs

"Ha...Ain't that the truth...." He muses to himself.....I wonder if we can pull this off without being sober. I am sure it ain't the first time someone has done it. He shakes his head, no, we gotta do it the right way or no way....We do it our way....So Fuckin What....




Tune in ... Same Bat Time Same Bat Channel True Believers andd see if Axel and Trey can stay sober long enough to make SFW's debut a SUCCESS!! See if Jim Beam and Concaine can give our heroes the W when stone cold sobreity couldn't!! See if they pass their first piss test and stay gainfully employed...Most of all see if Trey can stay conscious for more than 5 minutes at a time!!! Until nest time EXCLESIOR!!!!

"Did we forget something? I just know we forgot something."

Hannibal Frost, hands at the wheel of his Ford Taurus rental, glanced over to Nick after posing the question. They'd gotten on the road a couple of days after the show, making sure to pack everything. On top of having to track down some mystic artifact, Frost also had the pleasure of being able to mull over the loss he suffered during his return. He'd come back to try and right some of his wrongs, but only ended up falling away into the obscurity commonly referred to as the cluster fuck.

Frost was a proud man. He knew he'd have to get after Striker before his pride let him move on. Of course, another obstacle was placed in his way- well, four other obstacles. Frost did his best to bury the hatchet- deep within the man's chest- and move on, but the issue had definitely been left unresolved.

Then, at Supremacy, Frost fell short once again. His former tag partner, Jack Eastwood- Dunnwood, whatever- saw fit to try and end Frost's comeback before it had even started. His neck was still a tad weak from Striker's attack so many months ago and then the subsequent surgery had left it all the more vulnerable whilst it was trying to heal. Just thinking of it, Frost had to rub the sore spot on said neck.

"We didn't forget anything. You're paranoid when you're sober," Nick said, bringing his gaze away from the passenger side window. A laptop sat resting on his knees, a download bar inching its way across the screen.

Frost chuckled at the statement, noting the irony. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since waking up, but that would definitely change here in a few minutes. They were about to happen upon a small town- if you could even call it that- on the Georgia state line. Eli's Gulch, as the locals knew it, didn't appear on any maps and could only be found by word of mouth or by accident. The entire population could probably fit inside a Burger King.

"How are we even going to find this thing?" Frost asked aloud, momentarily forgetting that most of his debate had gone on internally. Nick glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow, before twisting his laptop around for Frost to see.

"This man," Nick said, pointing to something on the screen.

Frost glanced down and took in the image before returning his eyes to the road. The man he saw looked very out of place considering the town they were heading to. Quality features, sophisticated clothing, and a devilish grin could all clearly be made out even through the grainy satellite image. The picture could've been taken on the set of a movie; the man had that much of a presence.

"Austin Carter. Former movie star-

Frost scoffed, a smile twisting his lips. Glancing over to Nick, he found the man with a curious arched brow. Frost just rolled his eyes and prompted him to continue.

"He fell off the map a few years ago. A few headlines indicate that he was involved in an accident during the shooting of one of his movies. After that, nothing..." Nick trailed off, his eyes lost in the information on his laptop. His brow furrowed at something that must of caught his attention. "He's definitely the one with the artifact. Although, I doubt he knows what's in his possession."

Nick's last nugget of information gave Frost a bit of pause. "How's that?" Frost asked, easing his foot onto the brake as a stop sign rolled up onto his right. Nick turned the laptop around once more, another image replacing the last. Frost saw Austin, a smile on his face and the artifact in his hand, posing with a check made out to a charity foundation. Shit...

"He bought it at an auction," Nick said, stealing the words right from Frost's mouth, "And no one had any idea what it was."

"Technically, we don't even know what it is."

"Right. Technically."


Small Town Girl


A myriad of unrelenting stares had greeted Frost and Nick when they first arrived. A few dirt roads later, they found the town square and decided to start the search. Nick, for the Trinus Oculus. Frost, for the closest bar. Frost had no idea how Nick was doing, but, on his end, things were going just fine.

Frost's hand was curled around a glass of slightly off tasting beer, doing his own bit of staring at the moment. In seconds, he had glanced over the few patrons milling about, the collection of mounted fish adorning the walls, and the aged jukebox in the corner. Now, he found himself transfixed on the waitress moving about the place. Every part of her demanded Frost's utmost attention. A simple white t-shirt and jeans curved around a modest body. Her brown hair, curled and shimmering, framed a face so angelic one could think Heaven had blessed her personally.

Frost, after what seemed like an eternity, finally pulled his gaze away from her. It had been awhile since Frost had even tried to make conversation with the opposite sex. He really hadn't believed he deserved it. But now, as if God himself was throwing Frost a bone, here she was. He wanted to ignore her; pretend she didn't exist so he could get on with his job. It wasn't working, though. This girl, so out of place in this town, couldn't be brushed off.

Frost glanced over to the bartender, trying to signal for another beer from his corner table. He knew that if he was meant to meet this girl, she'd come to him-

"You stare at me for the better part of fifteen minutes and then try to flag the bartender down for another beer?" The voice that brushed up against Frost's left ear sent a shiver down his spine. The barest hint of a southern accent broke through the surface of her soft voice. He glanced over, and found the angel- er, waitress- with a hand on her hip, eyes lit up with a smile. Bingo...

Frost took in everything he could behind aviator shaded eyes and returned the smile, "I happen to find the bartender attractive."

Both Frost and the waitress glanced over to the bearded, middle aged man standing behind the bar. The waitress laughed, the sound beautiful and warm. Frost found it soothing; each ripple of sound giving him another reason to breathe.

"Guess I'm at the wrong table," The waitress replied, still taking a seat despite her words. Every instinct Frost had was screaming to leave this one alone; to minimize any sort of baggage. But Frost had made it a habit to ignore logic. "I'm Amy."

Frost tipped his hat and slowly, for dramatic effect, slid off his aviator shades, "Hannibal. I'd be lying if I didn't say it was a pleasure."

Amy blushed, but Frost could tell the routine had been practiced. This girl had apparently dabbled in the sarcastic arts just as much as himself. Frost wasn't offended; only mesmerized that much more. Frost had never felt so balanced from half a conversation and a stale beer. Which, unfortunately, made him question just about every second of this surreal moment.

"So I'm going to guess and say this doesn't place doesn't hold any childhood memories for you..." Frost said, trying to shed some light on his doubt. He hated the way his head was wired; doubts, suspicions, and the like. But the life he'd been given never really helped the situation. So many moments had intertwined and thread themselves into the man Frost had become. The simple answer had never been the actual answer. There were always a few layers to peel back.

"Maybe, maybe not," Amy replied, a sheepish grin curling the edges of her lips. Of course she'd want to play the cat and mouse game. They always did. Whether they had something to hide, or planned on spilling the honest truth at some point down the line.

"My guess is you've been here awhile, but your childhood memories are locked away out west," Frost suggested, baring a grin born of confidence. Always the master of self sabotage, he was trying his hardest to bring to light her involvement with Austin Carter.

"I'm calling that a lucky guess, but you're right. I came here a few years ago with my brother," She replied.

Thank. God. Frost, always the pessimist, had figured his angel for a permanent member of the couple's choir. But, now that Frost was breathing easier, a quick check of the left hand yielded no such marital evidence.

Amy arched an eyebrow, obviously noticing Frost's newly relaxed demeanor. "Did I miss something?" She asked, a curious smile spreading from ear to ear.

"Not exactly," Frost said, matching her smile with his own. Ruining the moment, a rapid vibrating began to tingle his right thigh. Frost slid a cell phone from his jeans pocket and saw Nick's name flashing on the caller ID.

"I hope you don't have to take that," Amy said, drudging up extremely effective puppy dog eyes.

Frost sighed, covered his eyes with his shades, and pushed himself to his feet. "Unfortunately, it's important."

"That is unfortunate," Amy said, sighing a bit heavier than the situation warranted.

"A bit melodramatic, are we?" Frost asked, being as playful as his callous soul would allow.

"I get off at nine. Just incase you're interested."

"Maybe, maybe not."


Austin Carter of Hollywood


The last few rays of light had begun to disappear from the sky hours ago. The clouds now held just the barest hint of a dull, incandescent shimmer. The streets were now clear of any traffic; any people for that matter. The town, Eli's Gulch, had become something like a ghost town in just under an hour.

Nick, eyes wandering to the passing buildings, had opted to drive this time out. He'd procured a meeting with the illusive Austin Carter and, now, they were heading towards his place of residence. His... two story, thirteen room place of residence.

And Frost could'nt help but to find himself in a state of awe upon seeing the house. It wasn't overly large, or lavish. It was just an exquisite sight to see amongst the rest of the town. The driveway led up past a small marble fountain and curved around in front of a wide staircase. Up the staircase, what looked like oak double doors adorned the front of the house.

"I bet he could live like this for the rest of his life," Nick said, his voice full of appreciation. Frost had seen a couple of Carter's movies. Nick's appreciation- as much as his own -was more for the work he'd done as for the way he was living.

"Well, at least somebody's got it made," Frost said, following on the heels of Nick's comment.

The tires of the rental car squelched against the gravel driveway as it came to a stop in front of the house. From the passenger side seat, Frost could see into every window on the front of the house. He scanned each one, a practiced eye taking in every detail, until finding something out of place. A silhouette on the first floor, loading a gun.

Frost quickly eyed Nick, silently bringing his attention to the threat to his right. Nick acknowledged, and readily accepted the pistol Frost drudged out from the glove box. With a pistol in his hand as well, Frost opened the passenger side door and silently glided towards the front stairs.

"Just once, I'd like to keep the guns in the glove box," Nick said, his sarcasm as quiet his words.

Frost smiled, but kept his attention on the sounds echoing about on the other side of the door. What sounded like glass shattering prompted Frost to check the front door. His hand gripped the doorknob, twisted, and found it to be unlocked. Nudging the door open, Frost slipped inside.

The polished wood floor didn't even creak under Frost's weight. The furnishings in what had to be the foyer were sparse, but elegant. One set of stairs traced up the left side wall, while two open doorways adorned the right. Against the back wall, one solemn door sat nestled almost underneath the stairs.

"Where are we headed?" Nick asked, sliding into the foyer right behind Frost.

Trying to keep the noise level to a minimum, Frost nodded to the first doorway on their right. Frost then stepped lightly, gun held down at an angle, and peered into the room. Surprising, the only man to be found was Austin Carter. The shattered glass from moments ago appeared to be -or was, rather- a crystalline ashtray. The gun that Frost had seen was sitting on an end table off to the right.

"Mr. Carter?" Frost asked, his voice loud enough to catch Austin's attention. The man jerked his gaze up, and then fumbled for his pistol. Raising his own, Frost prompted Austin to stand down, He quickly obliged. "Let me start by saying that I think there's been a misunderstanding."

Austin, sweat beading down his forehead, gestured to the whole scenario, "I'd love an- Gaze flicking past Frost, Austin furrowed his brow in curiosity. "Mr. Webber?"

Nick laughed, apologetic in tone, and slipped past Frost. Tucking his gun away, Nick headed towards Austin with an outstretched hand. The bewildered man accepted the handshake, but his eyes revealed that he still had no idea what was going on.

"Is this how you greet everyone?" Austin asked, gaze flicking to the pistol Frost still held.

"Not exactly. On our way up, we saw someone with a gun," Nick explained, dropping his hands to his sides. "In our line of work, you can't exactly be too careful."

Frost opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a shutting door stopped him short of it. Swinging his pistol around, Frost found the barrel pointed right at an angel. Well, his angel, anyway.

"Shit..." The feminine voice breathed.

Shit indeed...


Up The Creek... Sans Paddle


"What the hell are you two talking about?"

Frost blurted out the question without much of a forethought. After Amy had caught Frost staring down the sights of a pistol- aimed at her, no less- a lot of truth was quickly thrown about the room. From what Frost had gathered so far, the siblings knew of the Trinis Oculus. They just didn't know of its exact purpose.

"We're being stalked by a group that wants the artifact," Amy repeated, but Frost still couldn't see the big picture. In such a backwoods town, away from high society, any group would've moved in by now.

"So what exactly is stopping them?" Frost asked, his brow tightened in thought. He glanced over to Amy and Austin, sitting side by side, each one with eyes closed in worry.

Finally, Austin took a breath and glanced up at Frost. Nick sat across the room, studying the conversation. His penchant for human behavior was a necessary tool.

"You're hiding something. Just spill it."

"I'm a werewolf," Austin breathed, turning away as the words left his lips.

Frost hesitated for a second. For one, he actually accepted the fact that this man was a werewolf. He didn't doubt that they were real, and he certainly didn't doubt that the man was telling the truth. A normal person would've laughed, or figured there were drugs involved. The other reason was that he'd never run into a werewolf before. It scared him a bit more than he'd like to admit. This man had no intentions of making a light dinner out of Frost, but the beast inside of him probably wasn't a vegetarian.

"That explains why your little group of admirers are so hesitant to attack," Frost said. Feeling a tingle on the back of his neck, a sense of hair standing on end, Frost turned to the window behind him. Peeling back the drapes, he scanned the front yard. Nothing.

"But they're done waiting. One of the townspeople was killed last night," Amy said, prompting Frost to turn back to the conversation. He eyed her, as did Nick, and found a solemn calm resting just beneath the surface of her eyes. Maybe the fact that her brother was a werewolf had instilled in her a bit of resolve. Still, though, there should have been some evidence of worry. She was acting as if people dying around here had become the norm'.

"That was a warning. They'll be here. Soon," Frost said, his eyes locked tight on Amy. She wiggled a bit under the ocular pressure, but still managed to hold herself together. Frost forced himself not to call her out. It was probably a mistake, but he didn't want his little fantasy ruined. He liked Amy just the way she was: no fur, no fangs, and not working for the other side.

From the other side of the room, slouched back in a recliner, Nick eyed Austin, "Happen to have an idea of who is after you?"

Austin, visibly shaken, closed his eyes. "Vampires."

Frost laughed, spinning his pistol around his index finger, and eyed Nick, "Just another day at the office, huh?"

Before Nick could respond, Austin jumped to his feet. Fists clenched and eyes wild, he yelled at Frost, "You think this is a joke? They've threatened to kill my sister, kill my family. These things are powerful."

Frost felt his smile slip away after Austin's tirade. But before the situation could get out of hand, Amy pulled him back onto the couch, calming him. She then looked at Frost and opened her mouth to speak, "I'm sorry. He's generally not an angry person. He only gets like this before the change."

Frost and Nick both snapped back the hammers on their pistols in unison. "A little warning would've been nice," Frost gritted through his teeth, but Amy only shook her head.

"This is a warning. He still has a few hours, maybe longer. Keeping him out of contact with the moonlight, he can go three to four hours without changing."

Frost eyed Nick as the tension eased. Being torn to shreds by a werewolf before Lethal Injection didn't sound like the greatest idea. His business in the ring was just as important as his business out of it. He very well could have a prophecy to fulfill. "Have an opinion on the matter, Nick?"

"As it is documented, vampires have a long standing grudge against werewolves. I do believe they'll wait until he's changed before they attack," Nick said, still being sure to sneak a peek out the window Frost pulled the drapes back from earlier.

Frost nodded, turning back to Amy and Austin on the couch. "Alright, two things. First, the Trinus Oculus. We need it," Frost said, a demanding tone coiling around his words. "Second, Nick and I need to set up shop. We've got a shit ton of gear."

Austin nodded in agreement, hopefully with both of Frost's requests. "We've got a room overlooking the front yard, and the Oculus is in the basement."

"Alright, but I'll need your help setting up."

Austin was shaking, trying his best to hold on to whatever sliver of humanity was left. But Frost wasn't looking at Austin. Amy noticed, and arched a brow, "Why?"

"I've got a lotta' guns."


An Armory With A View


Three bags, each around forty pounds apiece, were now splayed across the bed in the aforementioned bedroom. Truth was, Frost didn't need any help bringing them up. He just didn't want to leave Amy out of his sight. A necessary precaution, for unraveling her true intentions and keeping her safe.

Frost was eying her at this very moment. She was sitting in the corner of the room, watching Nick unpack one of the bags. But he could see that her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes betrayed her.

"And here it is," Austin said, catching Frost off guard. Frost turned to the door and watched as Austin entered. The man was looking even worse than before. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.

But in his grasp, finally, was the Trinis Oculus. Frost took the artifact from his hand and ran an appreciative eye over it. Intricate designs decorated its circular face, bringing together three eyes depressed in the surface. Ignoring the fancy decoration, the thing didn't really seem all that special. No purpose came to fruition upon inspecting it. No buttons, no inscriptions. Nothing.

Frost set the artifact on the nightstand next to the bed as Amy peeled herself from the chair in the corner of the room. She glided over to Austin, her eyes finally showing worry. "Should we be leaving the artifact here? It was safer in the basement."

Austin glanced over to Frost and studied him, "These guys know what they're doing." Austin then threw his gaze over to the artifact, "And whatever that thing is, it's safer with them."

Amy glanced away, but Frost couldn't place the emotion that was playing through behind her eyes. The glamour that had once been so angelic was beginning to show cracks, crevices. Frost, though, still held hope for her. His mind was wired to pick apart everything that seemed to go right. He was doing it now. Sabotaging himself.

Frost finally brought his attention to the cache of weaponry now laid out across the queen sized bed in front of him. A myriad of pistols, light machine guns, and a couple of assault rifles met his gaze. Each gun was loaded and ready to go. Although, Frost had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He needed his strength for Lethal Injection. Sleep was a stranger to him at the moment as well. Before setting off to Eli's Gulch, Frost had to stop and check on an old friend. Worth it, but tiring nonetheless.

"Every gun here is loaded with silver rounds," Nick said, for Frost's benefit. Although, a certain someone in the room hadn't taken the news too lightly. Frost watched Austin curl his fists out of the corner of his eye.

"It's deadly to vampires as well. It's told that the first of both beasts were cast in a silver mold. This was done in an attempt to keep both species bound by an element. Easier to kill, just incase the gods lost control," Frost explained, watching Austin's expression lighten as the words left his lips. Frost then glanced over to Nick, "Did I get that right?"

"Spot on."

Frost smiled, grabbing a TAR 21 from the bed, and sighted it with excitement. The TAR 21, or Tavor Assault Rifle, was equipped to use 5.56 NATO ammunition. It had a selective fire system: semi-automatic, burst mode, and fully automatic. The matte black gun looked sleek in his hands. It was comfortable, deadly, and efficient.

A pained growl tore Frost from his admiration for the gun and to the door. Austin was leaning against the threshold, holding his stomach.

"How much longer does he have?" Frost asked, his grip on the TAR tightening out of reflex.

Amy, arms around him, glanced over to Frost, "Not long. We need to get him locked in the basement."

Frost traded glances with Nick, who had just finished strapping half their personal arsenal to his body. "I'll take him. I need to secure the doors anyway," Nick said, taking hold of Austin and escorting him out of the room. Amy watched them leave, concern buried deep in her features. She then turned to Frost, a new emotion in her eyes.

"I'm glad you're here, Hannibal. Although, I'm curious as to why..." Amy let the question hang in the air. She seemed to be genuinely curious.

"I need the artifact. This whole "prophecy" thing I've got going on," Frost replied, rolling his eyes. He didn't really believe it himself. Being the world's champion wasn't really on his To Do list. But, if it meant saving lives, he wasn't going to ignore it completely.

"I just meant, in general. I've seen you at the bar before," Amy said, pausing to smile, "The guys love your show."

Frost smiled, nodding in understanding. "Through a series of random, albeit unrealistic, events... I vanquish evil as a part time job."

Amy laughed, a first since earlier in the day, and brought Frost back to why he had liked her in the first place. She wasn't some spy, or a demon after his blood. She was just a small town girl, from a slightly bigger town, trying to cope with the fact that the supernatural actually existed. Frost would've had a problem with coping as well, except his first encounter involved being possessed by a demon.

Tearing him from his thoughts, Amy moved in closer. She laid a hand on his arm, her eyes boring deep into his. "Why I am thinking that this is the first time you've been recognized?" She asked, biting her lip. She was making the small talk seem all too obvious.

"The people I run into generally end up dead. The evil ones, anyway. For the most part, I'm never seen at all," Frost replied, the line coming off a bit cheesy. It was true, though. House calls generally involved running into the lives you were saving, but those were few and far in between. Cleaning out the scum from the dark parts of town involved much less fanfare.

"Well, be glad you were seen this time. I'm going to make your job a little more worthwhile," Amy breathed the last few syllables of the sentence before pushing in close to Frost. Their lips touched, simultaneous feelings of fire and ice igniting inside of him. He hadn't felt this way in a long time; could be the reason for it. He needed this.

Frost slid the TAR onto the bed behind him and attacked Amy with vicious erotica; a primal urge snaking its way through his veins. Legs around his waist, Amy moaned with desire as Frost pressed her against the wall on the other side of the room. His lips found the flesh of her neck, and began to take a life all their own.

Balanced by Frost's waist and the wall, Amy slipped her white t-shirt off in one fluid movement, revealing herself to him. Frost attacked immediately. Unrelenting desire drove his lips to the top of her breasts, kissing and prodding every uncovered inch.

A hand snatched a handful of Frost's hair and suddenly he found himself lost in Amy's eyes. Lust and desire swirled under the surface of her gaze, pulling Frost in that much more. He pushed them both from the wall, and with his free hand, undid the clasp of her bra. She quickly slid it off, letting it hit the floor at their feet.

A palpable sense of sexuality erupted between them as Amy bared herself for Frost to see. Pushing her back against the wall, Frost cupped one of her breasts and attacked it with his tongue. Attention completely on the task at hand, he barely had time to glimpse the candle stick now locked in Amy's right hand. The strike came swiftly, whipping across Frost's temple to darken the edges of his vision. He fell, dropping Amy in the process, but managed to cling to consciousness.

"Sonuva' bi- Another strike silenced Frost completely, stars now decorating the blackness that blanketed his vision. He held on for one last second, long enough to see Amy reaching for her clothes, and then he completely succumbed to the darkness.


Home Cooked Treachery


The darkness swirled; unrelenting spasms of pain colliding against one another. Sounds echoed somewhere inside of the vast abyss, beckoning for Frost to find his way home. But he was lost amongst the current. It carried him to and fro, against his will.

Icy tendrils of lucidity shot through the darkness, wrapping themselves around Frost, and began to drag him towards the surface. He could hear his name. It sliced through him, each time gaining clarity and volume. Finally, the darkness was beginning to disperse, making way for rays of swirling light. And just before it all came to a head, Frost broke the surface.

"Wake the fuck up!"

A sharp pain seized Frost's left cheek, bringing him back to reality. Through blurry eyes, Frost could see Nick shaking the strike off of his right hand. Anger boiled, but subsided just as quickly as the pain.

"What in the hell is going on?" Frost asked, his words fumbling over each other. Frost was always welcome to new ways to play out a situation, but short term memory loss wasn't exactly an aid.

"Shit if I know. I locked Austin in the basement and came back to find you taking a nap," Nick replied.

Frost opened his mouth to speak, but in one fluid motion, everything came rushing back. Amy, with the candlestick, in the bedroom.Clue? No, damn it. Concentrate!

"Where's the artifact?" Frost asked, the haze surrounding his thoughts finally lifting.

"Gone."

"I've said it a thousand times, you can't trust 'em, damn it," Frost rolled himself onto his knees and glanced over to the nightstand where he'd left the Oculus. Nick was right.

"Trust who?" Nick asked, getting to his feet along side Frost.

"Women- Amy. She almost put me into a coma," Frost said, wobbling a bit before finding his balance. Immediately, Frost searched the bed for pay back.

"I haven't seen her, Frost. She's gone."

Frost kicked the edge of the bed as two things sunk in: she had gotten away with the Oculus... and his Tavor Assault Rifle. "The bitch is gonna' die, Nick."

Frost scooped up two pistols from the bed and stumbled out of the room, his equilibrium still a bit shoddy. He'd liked her. A lot. Thought that maybe life was easing up on him a bit. His line of work wasn't really conducive to maintaining a healthy relationship, but was getting laid still so out of the question?

"Calm down. We've got other problems at the moment," Nick said, right on Frost's heels.

"Like what?" Frost growled, pulling back the slides on both pistols, chambering a round in each. The Trinis Oculus was gone. His fucking TAR was gone. Not much else could top that.

"The vampires are here."

Frost was wrong.

Hitting the bottom of the stairs, Frost crossed over the foyer and took a glance outside. Four black BMWs were sitting just beyond the fountain, each one spilling out vampire after vampire. "Check the door in the back."

Frost watched as Nick jogged to the door at the back of the foyer and threw it open. Seconds passed, and the man didn't move, didn't make a sound.

"I, uh... think I found Amy," Nick finally said.

Anger and adrenaline intertwined in Frost's veins, pumping him across the foyer and to a skidding stop beside Nick. The door had lead to an entertainment room; a den of sorts. Slumped against the back wall was Amy, eyes completely devoid of life. Blood, dry and motionless, caked the right side of her face and most of her upper torso.

"It looks like she's been there for hours. She's been dead for awhile," Nick said, his voice stricken with disbelief. Frost slammed an elbow into the door frame, rage splintering the wood.

"Cock sucking, shape shifting, damned to Hell fucking demon," Frost shouted, his hands shaking from the anger boiling underneath his skin. Whatever wanted that artifact had killed an innocent, blissfully ignorant young woman to get it. Then, for some reason, had left Frost alive. This shit was getting thicker by the second.

"I need some air. How about you, Nick?" Frost asked, a twisted smile spreading from ear to ear. Nick raised a hand to protest, but it was too late. Frost had already started for the front doors.

A swift front kick splintered the wood at the door handles and sent both doors swinging open. Pistols leveled, Frost immediately opened fire at the undead blood suckers at the base of the stairs. Two, three, four of them went down before they even knew what hit them.

Then, all at once, the remaining vampires returned fire. Frost and Nick both dived in opposite directions, each one finding cover behind twin columns. Both pistols held up, Frost glanced over to find Nick with two Steyr TMPs. Each Tactical Machine Pistol used 9mm Parabellum rounds and could fire in accurate bursts of ten to fifteen rounds. Nick was ready to raise some hell.

"How many are out there?" Frost yelled over the gunfire, blinking as debris chipped off the column around him.

"Maybe nine or ten more. Didn't really get a good look- A huge chunk of column erupted into bits and pieces just over Nick's head, drowning out anything else he had to say. Frost finally found a break in the fire and shot a glance out towards the front yard. One vampire, positioned in the back, was steadying something on his shoulder. Frost turned back just in time to see Nick take a look as well.

"What the hell is that?" Frost asked, sliding a little farther from the edge of the column.

"It's a fucking RPG!"

Frost only had a moment before the Whooooosh of the Rocket Propelled Grenade impacted at the base of the stairs. Sound and light erupted in a furious mix to momentarily deafen Frost, throwing his world into a chaotic mess. Bits and pieces of flaming debris rained down on the porch, scorching the surface.

In one rushing moment, the world around Frost stabilized itself. "I know what we forgot," Frost yelled, smiling at the look of complete shock on Nick's face.

"Now you remember?" Nick yelled back, blind firing one of his TMP's into the driveway beyond. Frost stole a moment and glanced out to find a vampire hit the dirt in convulsions and the scorched remains of their rental car.

"Insurance... for the car," Frost yelled with a shrug.

"Who gives a-

A piercing howl cut Nick off, and silenced the gunfire from the vamps amongst the driveway. Frost traded glances with Nick, worried glances, before a giant blur of reddish brown fur cleared the porch. Immediately, Frost tore himself from behind the column to find Austin- or rather, the beast that Austin had become- ripping into the remaining vampires. Bullets and screams permeated the night sky as Austin maimed each vampire in his path.

Finally, the screaming stopped. With no one left, Austin turned towards Frost and Nick. With legs built to hunt, the creature pounced atop one of the BMWs and locked its yellow eyes on them.

"I promise, I'm doing you a favor," Frost whispered, raising the pistol in his right hand to eye level. Austin howled, a chest deep sound that went on for miles, and leapt from the car. Pulling the trigger, Frost felt the light buck of the weapon and could've swore he saw the round exit the barrel. But, milliseconds later, that same round was lodged deep within Austin's forehead. The beast hit the gravel just a few feet short of the stairs and slid to a stop.

"This could've gone a lot better," Nick said, sighing as he dropped his TMP's.

Frost silently agreed, making his way down the stairs as Austin began to shrivel back into his human state. Unclothed and still as the night, Austin looked harmless. Just like in FMW, there were things that had to be done. Necessary evils that had to be committed in order to preserve the balance between the light and the darkness. It hurt no less to justify it.

Bringing Frost back from his thoughts, a light jingle rose up and tickled Frost's ear from the direction of their scorched vehicle. Frost crossed over Austin and dug around in the car, before pulling out his cell phone.

"And the phone survives again," Frost said with a laugh, prompting Nick to do the same. Frost then punched the button to connect the call and held it to his ear, "Frost."

"This is Denisoff. I do hope you have good news," The man said from the other end of the line. His sophisticated, English accent was coming through loud and clear.

"Well, we found the artifact. Then lost it. Then... made quite a mess," Frost admitted. He could hear Denisoff sigh on the other end. From disappointment or expectancy, he couldn't tell which.

"I'll send a clean up crew to your location. As for now, get to Philadelphia. And do make sure to win. We know the prophecy is connected to FMW, we just don't know why," Denisoff explained.

"I have every intention of winning," Frost replied before disconnecting the call. He knew he had to win, and not just for some insane prophecy, but for himself. Frost hadn't been able to fight for himself in a long time, and it felt good. To make his own decisions, to win- or lose- because of his own actions. It felt right.

And for once, Skyler Striker needed to be taught a lesson. It'd been so long since the man had seen the light from flat on his back. He needed to be shown that no man can go on this long without falling prey to the consequences. That no man... should fuck with Hannibal Frost.

As for the others, Frost hoped that they would stay out of his way. He enjoyed kicking ass, taking names, and the like. But this match... wasn't going to be for the thrill of the fight, or for a stupid prophecy. This was going to be Skyler Striker getting everything that he deserved. This was going to be Frost tearing Striker apart, limb by limb, so he could move on.

Smiling, and finding himself a little parched, Frost motioned for Nick to follow him to the closest BMW.

"Nick, I need a drink. We've got one hell of a long road ahead of us."

Gabriel wandered into the locker room, his arms and hands shaking from the adrenaline. His eyes cast about, glancing at the stares the people backstage were giving him. He could see the looks of approval, of congratulations from some of the boys in the back. Sitting down in front of his locker, Gabriel began to undress slowly, his back groaning from the strain of the match. Once he was done getting into his civilian clothes he went to the bathroom sink. Slowly, he peeled away the face that he wore for the ring but the three crimson tear drops remained, a constant reminder of what started him on this dark path.

There was a knock at the door. Crystal walked in, a sureness in her steps that hadn't been there when they first met. She was wearing a creme-colored dress that extended below her knees with a conservatively-cut neckline. The dress did make her look feminine but not sleazy, almost something that Gabriel could imagine his older sister wearing if she were Crystal's age. Still shirtless, Gabriel turned around to face her. Crystal's eyes wandered over Gabriel's upper body, soaking in every detail.

The crow tattoo on Gabriel's back was flawlessly done, with wings extending out over his shoulder blades and up over the shoulders themselves. Every feather shimmered, almost as if a living bird had been captured in his flesh and with every movement he made, it struggled underneath to escape its captivity. The tattoo is perfect, she thought, but there are no scars on his back. His chest has several but its almost like the tattoo cannot be marred by anything.

"What do you want", demanded Gabriel, a harsh edge infecting his normal baritone voice.

"Jess has gone ahead to the hospital with Damien. She wanted to know if you would be coming as well?"

Gabriel stared into his young charge's coal black eyes, eyes that had changed from warm, inviting brown to ominous midnight after her ordeal. There was not depth to those eyes yet, unlike the reflection Gabriel looked at every morning since awakening before Supremacy.

"Here's some money for cab fare", he said as he tossed her a wad of six or seven twenties from his wallet. "Tell Jess that I won't be coming to see Damien."

"But Damien's your partner. Shouldn't you check up on him?"

With a swiftness born from years of training in the ring, Gabriel closed the relatively short distance between himself and Crystal in the blink of an eye. Towering above the teenage girl now, Gabriel stared down over his nose at her.

"You're trying my patience, Crystal. Damien made a mistake that could cost him his career. I've got the biggest opportunity in my life waiting for me at Lethal Injection. Dealing with some cripple is not going to help me prepare for Michaels."

"But what about my training", she asked, a hint of a whine entering her soft voice.

Without warning, Gabriel backhanded Crystal across the face with great force. The young woman fell to the floor, her face shooting back to bore holes through Gabriel's form.

"This is your first and only lesson Crystal. Do as you will shall be the whole of your creed. Moragan didn't teach me anything about my abilities. I learned on my own. So'll you. Now get out of my sight before I put you back in the grave."

"Why?"

"Because I am the servant of Death. I don't need a sidekick or a partner. I gave you a life you couldn't even have dreamed of. Now you get to live it. Get out."

Without uttering another word, Crystal got to her feet and left. She allowed herself only a quick glance back but she found Gabriel pointed for her to continue. Once the door shut behind her, Gabriel put on a simple gray t-shirt, gathered up his wrestling gear, and left the building.


Gabriel stood in the home he had shared with Damien, his hands resting by his side. He could feel the connection between Damien and himself grow stronger, which was normal when they were near each other. For the last three days Gabriel had been moving his sparse belongings into a new home, closer to the city and only a twenty minutes from the airport by car. Now all that was left to do was something a little more permanent.

Jess's father stood before him, a wasted, gaunt figure that would have looked more at home in a crypt. It was this devil-worshiping psychopath that had bound Damien and Gabriel together to form Danse Macabre. If there was anyone who could undo what had been done, it was the Dark Father, as Gabriel preferred to call him.

"What'd you want Gabriel?"

"Break whatever binds me and Damien together."

"It isn't that simple Gabe", the Dark Father replied, his voice weary but still resonating with demonic power. "You made a deal, remember? A deal before all the lords of Hell that you and Damien were bound as a team, two dark crusaders spreading evil across the world. Those things can't be broken on a whim."

"Yes, they can. You consecrated the binding, you can break it. Do it now."

"Only death can break what you two have between you. But your code won't allow that, will it?" A satisfied smirk crossed the hollowed out face of the Dark Father, his pit-covered face spreading into an obscene caricature of a smile.

But an even larger smile came over Gabriel's face as he walked around the desk.

"You'll find my code has become much more flexible since our last encounter. I'm facing a Saint soon, did you know that?"

"Yes, that damnable prick Drew Michaels. The one who thinks he serves the Will of Heaven."

"If I'm going to beat the 'Savior of FMW', I must be his opposite. He is light, I am shadow. He serves life, albeit in a self-righteous way. I serve Death. But my connections to Damien and Crystal do not affect me positively. They're hindrances, obstacles that I've got to overcome to complete my work. You saw what happened after Damien was injured. Scorpio was little more than a washed-up former champion who's bill had come due. Wouldn't you agree?"

The Dark Father could only nod his head as Gabriel inched closer, the demonic strength he had prided himself on maintaining even in this wretched form was evaporating with each passing second. The Dark Father struggled to get up from his chair but there was no strength left in his body. It felt as if his bones had become calcified with bands of iron or steel, weighted down like a diver entering the cold dark of the ocean. The Dark Father almost didn't even feel it as Gabriel's hands wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze with increasing pressure.

"You are right on one thing Dark Father", Gabriel said as his grip tightened over his victim's airway. "Only Death could break what Damien and I share together. As the creator, your death will suffice. I will take my destiny from you and the hordes of Hell you serve. Hallowed be the name of Death."

The Dark Father could do little against this onslaught. With a whimper, his life came to an end. Gabriel's eyes shifted slightly, peering beyond the veil into the realms of the dead. Standing there as a decrepit and cancer-riddled spirit was the Dark Father. To his right stood Uriel, the Angel of Death. A dark fire burned in Gabriel's eyes at the sight of one of Heaven's greatest archangels.

"Greetings Gabriel Crow, servant of the Abyss. You are hereby warned: Drew Michaels is under Heaven's protection. We will not let any great harm come to him. He is a beacon of light in this world, someone who is meant to save, not destroy. You cannot defeat one who bears the mark of Almighty God."

"Even your God knows that he has a set amount of time here. Wander through the Abyss sometime Uriel. You'll find the gods of the old world staring back at you, their essence almost eradicated from existence. Deification doesn't preclude annihilation." Gabriel smiled yet again but this time it was filled with malice and capriciousness. "Drew Michaels will not come to grievous bodily harm. I'm not Jaro or even Quint for that matter. I don't want Drew dead. I want him beaten. Drew becomes a martyr if he dies. As a beaten man, his message dies. But I do get carried away from time to time, as you well know. You may prevent his death, as you did once before, Uriel. But you cannot intervene in our contest."

"I know that, as does Drew Michaels. He will not need our assistance to deal with a godless whelp like you."

Gabriel allowed his mind to focus sharply, connecting himself to the shadow world of the dead, his closest thing to a true home. The shadows there sang to him, coiling and contorting like a lithe dance partner would during a sensual song. These living shades felt the desire of their master's faithful servant and wished to please him. And so they did. A whiplash of shadow came from behind the Angel of Death, cutting him across the face. A second came from the opposite side, tearing a long gash through the resplendent golden robes worn by Uriel. It was only then that Gabriel noticed the ends of Uriel's robes and wings were covered in blood. Gabriel could help but feel that was appropriate for someone of Uriel's position.

"What is the meaning of this attack?"

"If I wanted to attack you, I'd do that. This was a reminder Uriel. Even an angel can die. Although it comforts me to know that even the most high and mighty among God's servants can't help but be soiled in some way. Take the Dark Father away. I wouldn't want his servants in Hell to miss out on their delectable feast."

As his eyes shifted back to seeing the world around him, Gabriel felt the tether that bound him to Damien dissipate completely. Satisfied that he was no longer held to this place anymore, Gabriel grabbed the last of his things and headed off. He had a flight to catch later that day to get to Lethal Injection.

Drew Michaels....

You claim to be the Savior of FMW

The Bright Beacon of Hope and Light that will wash away the filth that clogs our good company

For every great light though, there is a greater shadow

That is what our match will be

The eternal struggle between Light and Dark

Not Good and Evil

Neither of us is entirely Good nor entirely Evil

Had things been different, we might have been allies

Even you must admit we are two sides of a very jaded and scarred coin

But that is what Lethal Injection will determine for us. Which side of the coin will fall face up.

Light Versus Shadow

Life Versus Death

Winner Take All

DECEMBER 30TH 2000. EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND.

Inside the offices of renowned psychiatrist Professor Eve C. Johnstone sits a fed-up looking 17-year-old Christian Moore.

So “Dominic” is becoming … more vocal?

That’s what I said, wasn’t it?

Has he tried to take control again?

Yeah, it’s all he ever wants.

Has he actually been able to take control again?

Probably … I dunno.

Ok, what I think we should do is take you off the Haldol because that doesn’t seen to be helping now and we’ll try you with Stelazine instead as it is a little stronger so it should keep “Dominic” more in your control, or even completely silent. Is that alright with you?

Like I have a choice.

Professor Johnstone scribbles on a small pad of paper before quickly ripping out a page and handing it to Christian.

Start taking those tonight instead of the Haldol, ok? And if you notice that they’re not helping and “Dominic” is still very vocal, please don’t hesitate to come back and see me, ok?

Yeah, sure.

Christian stands up and walks out of the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, his eyes grow wider and his lips turn upwards into a grin.

Oh we won’t be needing that piece of paper will we Christian? … We both know that I’m not going anywhere!

As Christian/Dominic walks out of the building tiny pieces of paper float to the ground at their feet.


MARCH 31ST 2010. READING, ENGLAND. 1:30AM.

DING DING DING DONG!

DING DING DING DONG!

DING DING DING DONG!!

Who the fuck is sending you a message at this time of night?

I dunno! I’m not fucking psychic!

A tired looking Christian Moore comes into view and picks up his phone from a wood-effect kitchen counter.

BEEP … BEEP … BEEP

Ah, bout time to! The Lethal Injection card.

I can see that! Who we got? DGS? That big-mouth who challenged ya?

Nope … Not even on the main card.

WHAT? Oh this is so your fault!

Shut up Dom. I’ve got the opening match on the pre-show … Tag Team match.

Oh great! So much for going up in the world bruv.

Christian continues to push buttons on his phone, completely ignoring his brother.

Looks like I’ve got Cheech and Chong.

I didn’t know they wrestled! Then again if they don’t, at least ya might actually have a chance at winning a match! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

You really are a fucking moron Dom! I meant Axel and Troy.

OHHH … Well like I said, you might actually have a chance at winning a match! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I’d win whoever I was against, so shut up! … Hmm this tag partner they’ve given me could be interesting.

Christian starts to walk out of the kitchen towards his large Gothic style lounge.

Where ya going? … What do ya need a tag partner for? You’ve got me!

Dom, I think that’s why the bosses gave me a tag partner. Anyway it might be nice to have someone around who will actually listen to me for a change instead of constantly talking while I’m trying to concentrate!

I don’t do that!

YES YOU DO! You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to stab myself in the head just to SHUT YOU UP!

I … I …

Have you finally run out of things to say? GOOD! Fucking keep it that way!

With a satisfied smile on his face Christian walks over to his laptop and flips it open. Once it has booted up Christian taps out two words … COLE DRAGOS.

Who’s he?

Christian continues to look at the screen as numerous sites pop up in front of him, completely ignoring Dominic’s voice in his head. Christian scrolls down the page …

FMW fansite? Wonder if there’s anything there …

Christian clicks on the fansite link and chuckles as it immediately pops up with the topic “NEW CONTENDERS FOR TAG TITLES? DRAGOS & MOORE? … Christian once again clicks on the link and begins to skim through the posts by fans.

FMWMARK: With their completely different personalities, watching Dragos & Moore could be like watching The Rock ‘N’ Sock Connection all over again! LOL

BIGBOOBSRULE: Christian should just go it alone, he almost has as many personalities as Mick Foley!

Told ya so!

Shut up Dom!

WHYAMIHERE?: Whoever thought of putting these 2 2gether was flamin’ insane! They’ll kill every1 in sight … including each other! Wicked! I’ll be watching!

MOORETOLOVE: Hmm, flames and knives? Definitely a Lethal combination!

INEEDFOOD: Dragos & Moore 2 become FMW’s version of The British Invasion?

QUINT-ESSENTIAL: High-flyers? Check … Lust for blood? Check … Tables? Check … Knives? Check … Future FMW Tag Team champs? Double check!

Well it looks like most of the net geeks reckon you two will work alright together.

… Hmm I suppose so.

What ya gonna do then? Surely ya ain’t gonna do it just coz they think it’s a good idea?

Dom! Shut the fuck up just for once will ya! I’m trying to think!

I wondered what that grinding noise in here was.

That’s your fucking voice! Now shut it!

Christian taps the keys quickly on the laptop again, bringing back up the search listings. The page moves down in a blur as Christian continues to search for information.

Now this could be helpful.

What could? … Christian? … Stop ignoring me! … CHRISTIAN!!!!

http://ewrestling.wikia.com/wiki/Lord_Dragos

Christian hums to himself as he reads through the information on the screen in front of him.

So Cole IS the same guy I thought he was.

So ya know this guy then?

I heard his name in passing before.

Think ya can trust him?

Christian stands up and closes the laptop.

I dunno yet.

With that Christian walks out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom.


MARCH 31ST 2010. 8:46AM.

RRRIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!

Turn that fucking alarm off! Why was it even turned on?

Coz unlike you, I ain’t a lazy bastard!

Whatever! I’m going back to fucking sleep.

The sheets are thrown off the bed as Christian gets up. As he heads towards the bathroom, the early morning light shines into the room, illuminating the numerous scars that cover his back … most notably the one from his neck, down his spine towards his boxer shorts, a constant reminder that his brother was once more than just a voice inside his head. The bathroom door slowly closes behind him and the sound of running water soon fills the air.


MARCH 31ST 2010. 9:18AM

A now dressed Christian slowly makes his way down the stairs and heads towards the kitchen.

So have ya decided whether this Cole bloke will work as a tag partner, or are ya gonna tell him to fuck off and let me help ya?

I thought you were going back to sleep?

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sleep when you can hear someone’s constant thinking?

Uh … yeah!

Look bruv, seriously what is there to think about? Blood is thicker than water.

And while that is true Dom, you seem to be missing the big picture … as usual.

What picture?

You’re a voice in my head! We have one body between us!

So?

Christian face palms himself at his brother’s obvious stupidity.

… You know what Dom, forget it. If ya can’t understand that us being a tag team would NEVER work, then I’m not gonna waste my time trying to explain it to ya … Again.

If ya won’t let us try it, how do ya know it won’t work?

Christian again face palms himself, sliding open a kitchen drawer and pulling out a large kitchen knife. As Christian slowly brings the knife up to his temple his phone begins to ring …

“ON THIS DAY, I SEE CLEARLY …”

Christian lets the knife fall onto the countertop with a clatter and picks up his phone.

Yello? … Hey Eth, sup? … Oh you’ve seen it then? What do ya think? … Yeah … Yeah … Well I did wonder that … Yeah … Has she mentioned anything bout it to ya? … STILL? Shit your sister really knows how to hold a grudge don’t she? … HAHAHA true! … Yeah … So as long as I make sure he knows who’s in charge he’ll be alright to work with? … Excellent! … Yeah I think I will … No, do you have it? … Let me just grab a pen …

Christian walks over to the window and picks a pen out of a pot. Quickly looking around hw spots a piece of paper on the fridge and grabs it.

Ok, what’s his number?

Christian scribbles down a few numbers on the piece of paper.

Cheers Eth, I’ll give him a bell in a bit … Yeah will do … You coming over to see it? … Ah ok, well I guess we’ll have to catch up some other time … Alright, catch ya later.

Christian pushes the end button on his phone and puts it on the counter next to the piece of paper.

Who was that then?

Ethan.

The guy from RAGE? The one they made ya pretend was your brother coz they thought their fans were too dumb to understand that you weren’t the same as the other dickheads they employed?

That’s the one. He’d just seen the show advertised on the Extreme Sports channel and thought he’d phone.

To stick his nose in about this Cole guy?

Not quite. Turns out Cole is Ethan’s brother-in-law, so he had some interesting advice.

He’s Molly’s old man? Shit he must be a glutton for punishment! HAHAHA!

Nah, he’s Katlin’s old man. Everyone knows Molly’s a fucking dyke!

I’m sure I could soon change that … Just give me a couple of hours with her!

You ain’t going anywhere near her with my dick! That’s just … No! It ain’t gonna happen!

What? Are you fucking queer or something? Molly’s hot!

Hot for a chick who’d rip ya throat out if ya even think that her arse looks a little big in her new jeans! … Anyway, I got a phone call to make.

So you’re definitely gonna go ahead with teaming with him then?

YES.

What about me? … Christian? … Where do I fit into this team? … Christian?

Christian is already punching the numbers into his phone, as Dominic continues to try and get his attention.

Christian? … Where am I gonna fit in?

Christian picks up the knife from the counter and begins twiddling it between his fingers as he waits for his call to be answered.

Cole? It’s Christian … Never mind that, let’s just say a mutual “family” member … Yeah … Listen, I think it’s about time we meet … Excellent! I’ll be there in an hour.

Christian pushes the end button again and, with a satisfied smirk, slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

You’ll be where in an hour? … Why don’t I get a say in this?

Christian starts walking towards the front door.

Because I’m gonna do something I should’ve done years ago … Ignore that niggling voice in my head and learn to trust other people.

What do ya mean ignore that voice in your head? I’m the voice in your head! … Christian? … Christian? … CHRISTIAN!!!!!!!!!

Christian picks up his keys and walks out of the front door, leaving it to bang closed behind him.

Abandoned

“Abandon All Hope He Who Enters Here”

!SNAP!

The waiting area was oppressively bright; light shone from large high wattage bulbs and reflected off ornate polished surfaces to give the impression of a room without shadows. Daniel Lincoln grimaced, partially due to being ill at ease with this amount of illumination and partially from tired from night upon night of sleeplessness. A throbbing headache painfully pounded endlessly against his skull, threatening to engulf him. The pretty receptionist behind her shining desk typed away at her computer, only occasionally looking up at him and smiling sweetly before looking away again. The room smelt like smoke but he ignored it, every room smelt like smoke to him lately.

Daniel Lincoln’s dead “son” sat cross legged on the floor staring, unblinking at his father through dead soulless eyes of grey.

“You look sad Daddy, why are you sad?”

Reality had abandoned Daniel Lincoln; reality had abandoned him and left him in a world where nothing made sense anymore.

The phone rang and was quickly answered by the girl behind the desk.

“Of course sir, I’ll send him right in.”

She hung up the phone and turned smiling towards one of the most feared and vilified men in Full Metal Wrestling, no fear in her eyes.

“Mr. Sameal will see you now.”

Quickly to his feet, Syanide turned and looked down to the floor, the place where he saw his “son” sitting.

“Stay here...”

The boy nodded, smiling sweetly.

!SNAP!

I Have Been Abandoned

My Family

My Friends

My Sanity

!SNAP!

Slowly and silently he carefully pushed the door open and peered inside. It was a child’s room; he had known this before even stepping inside The illumination afforded by the moonlight which poured through the window revealed the outline of a boy sleeping soundly, safely. The bedclothes rising and falling almost rhythmically as he slept.

‘Can I stay here and I play with the boy while you look round Daddy?’

Daniel Lincoln closed the door with the same care and delicate touch that he had opened in with and turned to face the twisted manifestation that was his “son” Joseph. His skin was burnt and red raw, unsettling to look at for any extended period of time, his eyes were dead and unblinking, his once lustrous strawberry blonde hair was now blackened, scorched and in some places melted to his scalp.

“No, you can’t...”

The demonic, abnormal face of the dead eleven year old twisted slowly into a disturbing grin.

‘Why Daddy?’

Stepping past his “son”, Daniel paused for a second at the base of the staircase, looked up first and then down at the slumbering Duck Toller which was sleeping motionlessly at his feet before continuing down the dark hallway silently.

‘Because you’re dead...’

!SNAP!

I Have Been Cut Adrift

I Have No Foothold

I Have No Home

I Have No Future

!SNAP!

Eyes wide, confused, lost. Darkness; so dark.

Where am I?

The smell of smoke was familiar and calming.

A voice, familiar, calming.

“This is home...”

Suddenly an oppressive brightness which quickly burning away the darkness, revealing a small padded room. Daniel Lincoln sit with his back pressed against the protected walls. His eyes dart to the door, no handle. This is not a room, this is a cell.

'Where the fuck am I?'

“Home...”

The padded walls are adorned with manic scrawls; words and pictures that seemed almost alive. Words jumped out at Daniel, catching his eyes amongst the chaos of the frenzied collage.


Daniel Lincoln’s mind raced frantically searching for a foothold truth in this delusion. Was it a delusion? He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again everything would make sense.

‘Daddy?’

He didn’t open his eyes; he knew he was there, standing there. He could smell his “son”, the death, the decay, the smoke.

‘Are you crazy?’

‘No...’

‘Am I real?’

‘No...’

‘No this place real?’

‘...’

‘Daddy?’

‘I don’t know...’




‘What about me Sy-Sy? What about your good friend Harley?’

Daniel Lincoln opened his eyes and there he was. White face, twisted smile, the laugh, the knives, the gun.

‘I quite like it in your head Danny Boy, it’s a veritable Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium of The Sick , Sadistic and Twisted.’

Dirty Harry glistened as it spun around and around Harlequin’s index finger. The gun was part of him, an extension of his being.

‘So just as Quint seems to have gotten all his marbles back in his basket you decided to take a long walk of the short pier of sanity?’

Daniel Lincoln just sat and stared at the man in front of him. Harlequin’s eyes shone with madness, chaos radiated from his every pore.

‘Reality has abandoned you my fine feathered fiend. You’re really up Looney Creek without a peddle boat aren’t you?’

‘What do you think Laughing Man?’

‘What do I think? WHAT DO I THINK? Hmmmmm.....’

With a flourish and unnatural dexterity Dirty Harrry flew up from the hand of the Denizen of Darkness towards the head of Daniel Lincoln where it came to an abrupt stop, much to Daniel’s suprise, back in the outstretched hand of Harlequin. Loaded, cocked and pointing straight at the forehead of The Man Known As Syanide.

‘You know what it’s hard to know what to think when you’re not real...’



Triggered pulled, body tensed, no bang, only a pop, no bullet, only a flag, a flag with a message.

Smile

!SNAP!

I Was The Future

I Was The Cancer

I Was The Fear

I Was Death

Now, I Am The Abandoned

!SNAP!

He looked wrong sitting there behind the large dark lacquered desk, very much out of place in such a ornate room. His face was the worn and emaciated face of a man who hardly ever slept; his skin clung tightly to his skull as if all the muscle and flesh underneath had been worn away. His eyes were large and blood red, his frame was tall and slender but under his expensive looking dark suit it was unmistakeably muscular and powerful. He appeared ageless in the way that whatever age one was told he was would seem wrong, off or just not right. Onkar Samael seemed out of place, he was the type of person who would probably look out of place in any room, anywhere. The door open and a carefree smile spread across his face as Daniel Lincoln stepped into his office. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils and sighed happily to himself. That smell...

Chaos.

Utter chaos...

‘Mr. Lincoln, please take a seat. It’s a pleasure to see you again and this time in more pleasant surroundings.’

Daniel Lincoln sat without word or reaction.

‘You’re not a man of many words Daniel and I like that. You’ve heard the saying loose lips sinks ships haven’t you? Well I believe that loose lips get people fucking killed!’

A booming laugh erupted from the chest of Onkar Samael, a laugh so unusual for a man of his stature.

‘What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?’

He laughed again, not as loudly as the first time but a hearty laugh nonetheless.

‘My eyes? I bring you here, all the way here and you want to ask about my eyes?’

The Sadistic Skinhead shrugged.

‘Don’t you want to know why I brought you here? Aren't you curious?’

‘...’

Samael licked in hips in a manner not was far from serpentine.

'You see Daniel, I can call you Daniel right?, We allowed you, at great expense and risk, the great pleasure of killing your lovely wife, your darling father in law and that charming little boy. We also allowed you to get away with it. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t cheap and now we want you to return the favour.’

A sick, sadistic unnatural smile broke across the hardened face of the former FMW Television Champion.

‘What’s the job?’

Smoke

‘Oh it’s a doozy! Are you sitting comfortably?’

Thick, black putrid smoke.

!SNAP!

Hannibal Was My Friend

Eastwood Was My Ally

Caprice Is My Enemy

Apostasy Will Be My Victim

Striker Is My Target

!SNAP!

Beautiful.

She was an angel; sleeping softly seemingly unconcerned with the madness that raged in the world outside this room. He reached out to touch her face but withdrew his hand quickly. He heard the heavy front door click closed behind whoever had just entered the house and listened carefully as he heard footsteps make their way steadily down the corridor towards the very room in which he stood. The handle turned and the door opened slowly, light spilling in from the hallway into the dark room. Quietly and carefully a man stepped in the room, his visage was obscured by a white cloth he was using to remove what looked like the remnants of white paint from around his face.

‘Hello Harles, it’s been awhile...’

The man stopped dead in his tracks and pulled the white cloth away from his face. Harley Quint stared through the near darkness at the imposing figure that stood hovering above his sleeping partner.

‘Dan...’

Daniel Lincoln looked once more down upon the beautiful sleeping form of Katherine Hookton before returning his gaze once to his old friend in the doorway. Something was different, there wasn't the same sense of chaos around this man as there had been before.

‘You’ve changed...’

A corner of Harley’s mouth turned up in a wry smile.

‘I could say same about you old friend.'

Silence

Listen, you never gave me the chance to say 'Thanks' for helping me out last night.’

The Man Known as Syanide rubbed the stubble on his chin, his gaze searching the room avoiding eye contact.

'...'

Chatty as always Daniel, drink?

Daniel Lincoln silently moved away from the bed and the slumbering Mrs. Hookton and made his way towards the door and his former ally.

‘I wouldn’t say no...’

!SNAP!

My heart has four chambers, blood flows through it, and without it I would die.

This cage has four chambers, blood will flow in it, and it will help me feel alive again.

!SNAP!

‘The world thrives on anarchy, the world needs disorder, and the world yearns for chaos. The Company and I want you to shock the world; we want you to bring Full Metal Wrestling to its knees.’

‘Cut to the chase...’

‘It’s simple Mr. Lincoln; we want you to kill The Harlequin’

The Man Known as Syanide felt his chest tighten as the words of Onkar Samael slowly but surely sunk in.

‘What if I don’t fucking feel like it?’

There was an eternity of silence in the briefest of moments.

‘Kill Harlequin, Mr. Lincoln or we will kill you.’

Confusion

Anxiety

Chaos

Anger

Daniel Lincoln was adrift in the abyss of insanity, confusion reigned supreme once more. Only one thing cut through the thick smoke of the psychotic unhinged quagmire that was the mind of Syanide.

HavOc shall be wrought.

!SNAP!

!SNAP!

!SNAP!

Billy: It’s a simple question doc. Ah’m Ah’ clear to wrestle or not?

Dr. Steven’s had been staring at the charts for what felt like the best part of fifteen minutes. Billy was far too old now to be enduring such suspense as he waited for the doctors word. The World Champion sat on the check up table wearing nothing but underpants that would have looked better on a playboy model given how much of his hairy round frame was left exposed. The medical room was as much a medical room as you would expect. Strange apparatus were lined up against the wall, devices that somehow managed to test your heart rate whilst you performed star jumps along with more familiar devices like running machines and other strange equipment. Billy McKenzie was almost certain a lot of it was there just so the doctors could get a hard on watching big men get sweaty. Apparently it was required to strip down as well whilst you jumped through hoops and performed doctors tests, a fact that only further proved McKenzie’s paranoia. He tried to think of the comical value of his own thoughts to help pass the time and ease his nerves whilst his doctor had a stare out with his chart. He wondered what had been taking him so long.

Dr. Stevens had been his doctor since he came out of retirement, funded by the FMW with a ton of awards to litter his wall over the plain white surface to show off just how good he was at his job. He had a few wrestlers under his name, but the TyranT had to be his biggest name, especially in the wake of his achievement as the World Champion. When it came to a medical opinion, Dr. Steven’s word was law. It was his report that mattered to the higher ups in the FMW when it came to booking a card. It was because of him that TyranT had to sit out of the last few shows as a competitor, having concerns over his health. He was a tall man, gaunt at the face and alarmingly pale and frail for a man who looked to be only in his late thirties. He stood watching through rectangle glasses at the results chart of Billy McKenzie after his medical examination. Something that had become a compulsory check up before each match.

Billy: God’s sake doc.

Billy was growing impatient. How long did it take to skim through a chart and tell him what he wanted to hear? The next words that escaped from the good doctor however where not words he had anticipated.

Stevens: No. You’re not clear. I’m sorry Mr. McKenzie but your still in no fit shape to wrestle. A man of your stature and of your age takes much longer to recover from such competitive sports. You still need about four weeks before I‘ll be confident in your fitness to wrestle…

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

His fire had burned for decades, surpassing all those that had began when his flame had first breathed its life. Many sparked brightly, others diminished before they had a chance to start, TyranT’s fire had endured harsh winds for many years, but somehow remained and endured until there was no others. Now it burned its brightest whilst it remained amongst new flames. Despite surviving through so many hardships, it approached it’s own fall, like all things, it could not last forever.

The time of the TyranT was fast nearing its end… For Billy McKenzie, losing the TyranT was almost like losing his own life. With the end approaching, he began to experience the five stages that came with death, that other flames must have experienced before they could burn no longer.

The five stages, each visible as reality began to daunt him… the first being…


Billy: That’s not what Ah’m s’pose to hear doc. Ah’ll be facin’ Romeo in order to defend mah’ World championship title! Ah’ ain’t got four weeks, Ah’ve just got a couple of days before Lethal Injection.

Stevens: Mr. McKenzie, please understand that that your health is my top concern. Wrestling whilst your body is still in a state of recovery is very unwise, you risk permanent damage to yourself. As your doctor I cannot allow that.

Billy: It’s nearly been a month since I last wrestled. Ah’ think Ah’ve more then recovered. Smitten ain’t gonna’ accept that Ah’ ain’t ready, an’ quite frankly Ah’ ain’t gonna’ accept it either. Ah’m ready to fight now.

Stevens: Mr. McKenzie…

Billy McKenzie would hear no more from him. He stood up in the blink of an eye, fronting the doctor in his near naked form. For all the height of Doctor Stevens, he was towered over by the TyranT in both height and sheer width of his frame. He watched the doctor shrink before him, holding up the medical chart against his chest as if it would help to shield him against the defiant glare of the World Champion.

Billy: Ah’ said Ah’m ready to fight. You write down what yer’ need too on that lil’ chart of yours. Yer’ just make sure it reads out what Ah’ wanna hear, an’ that is the truth. The TyranT is ready to wrestle, he’s more then fit enough to compete.

Dr. Stevens was hesitant, but TyranT could see a simple threat wouldn’t sway him over as simple as that. He knew how stupid doctors could be, they had their code to abide by, and their concern was always their patient before anything else. He watched the man gather himself, standing as tall as he could manage as he cleared his throat in a nervous manner. Credit to the man, he had balls, and Billy couldn’t help but respect that for what it was worth. The FMW didn’t just hire crap. He couldn’t let some doctors opinion stop him from what would be one of the most important matches of his life.

Stevens:: Sir. It’s not as simple as that… my job…

Billy: Is to make sure Ah’m fit an’ healthy and that mah’ ass isn’t in danger. Doc, Ah’ appreciate yer’ concern, but this ass is mine, an’ Ah’m tellin’ yer’ that it’s more then ready to take a couple of boots. Five years ago, some know it all doc like yer’self said Ah’d never walk again. What the fuck did he know?

Dr. Stevens kept a stoic expression, it was clear he did not approve of Billy’s statement. But even he realized that essentially it all came down to the patient what he wanted to do with his body.

Stevens: I don’t approve of this Mr. McKenzie. You may feel able, but I assure you, you are running a terrible risk if you want to compete at Lethal Injection. If you can wait four weeks, you can compete as normal.

Billy: What?! An’ then stick to yer’ advice and wait another couple of months before Ah’ can fight again? Doc, Ah’ understand Ah’ ain’t gettin’ younger, but that chart of yours, it’s bullshit. Change it… it ain’t yer’ call what Ah‘ choose to do anyway. Ah’m fightin’ at Lethal Injection an‘ that is that.

Dr. Stevens was hesitant, that much clear by the silence that fell between them. Billy was well used to silence by now, his daughter was mute after all. With reluctance, Dr. Stevens began to alter his charts, his expression speaking more then words ever could as no doubt he was cursing himself. Unfortunately his like could not possibly understand just what this match meant to Billy McKenzie as he watched him make his alterations. Billy didn’t fully believe his report as it was. He had always been cleared to wrestle prior to a match, there must have been a minor error or the such. Whatever it was, it did not matter as Stevens looked back up to the Billy McKenzie, his expression telling a story as if he had done something wrong.

Billy: Thanks doc.

Billy spoke out, pulling his Megadeth T back on as he began to get changed. Stevens had no more words as he retreated to his chair, slumping down at his computer system as he no doubt sent off his record to the people that mattered. Without anything left to say, the TyranT made his leave, walking out into the corridor. An amused smile spread itself across his lips as he shook his head, walking down the corridor towards the exit.

Billy: Unfit to wrestle? Heh, what the fuck is he talkin’ ‘bout?

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

The state of denial is not one that lasts long, sometimes it can remain for only a few moments. Billy McKenzie’s own words of disbelief still lingered in the back of his mind when the next stage began to play its course.


Billy: Fuck!! FUCK!!!

All at once it all came toppling down around Billy McKenzie as he slammed his fists against the wall. His attack against the plaster was almost gorilla like as he carried his rage into the strike. He wondered how the hell this could have happened to him, why it would happen. Doors along the corridor began to open up as doctors and patients alike stared towards Billy McKenzie. He could only punch the wall again, carrying even more fury in this strike then the last, leaving a blood imprint against the wall where his knuckles clashed as the flesh split open. Another strike, and the blood became more clearer as the flesh on his other hand split open.

Billy: FUCK!

He stopped striking only after the pain caught up with him, forcing Billy to favour his knuckles as severe dents were left in the wall. He winced, sucking in air through his teeth as his face reddened with the pain. Deep heavy breaths ensued as Billy felt his knuckles sting as if someone had embedded a saw between each knuckle. When the worse of the pain passed, he looking to his knuckles, looking over his own bloodied hands. Was he really getting so old?

Billy: Not cleared to wrestle?… What the fuck!

Billy could only whisper to himself, looking around to see the eyes upon him. They began to shy away the moment they noticed Billy had become aware of their presence, but still they watched him, mostly scared eyes of the insignificant. None of them understood what it even was to be a champion, none of them knew just what Billy was going through.

Billy: What the hell ya’ll lookin’ at?!

A simple shout, and all the eyes began to retreat, leaving Billy McKenzie to his own despair. He dropped his head down, another wince as his left hand shook from both the nerves and adrenaline that ran through him in his rage. He began moving his fingers despite how much his hands complained, the last thing he wanted was to be unable to strike his opponent due to injury… he wasn’t even suppose to be wrestling after all.

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

Make no mistake. The TyranT… is dying. His only lifeline remaining was the World Championship, the status of being named Champion of Full Metal Wrestling. If he lost such a status now when he had only just earned it, he would leave behind a great void that could never be filled.

It is said that you are not really a true champion, not until you defend your title. A cruel fate that in such trying times, you are required to defend what you rightfully earned in order to gain respect from your peers. It was this simple fact of reality that brought TyranT to the next stage.


Billy: God… do not fuck with me on this one! I swear to you, don’t fuck with me!

When Billy McKenzie was done blaspheming, he killed the engine of his Peterbilt as it rested outside the arena Lethal Injection would take place in. Billy had scarcely ever went to church, he didn’t really believe in god, but was always quick to scream his name or that of his son when a situation became tense. Faith had never liked the church, all for good reason as she spent the first few years of her life being beaten by a priest. Billy always figured the actions of that one individual is what turned him away from religion for certain. His father had been very different, he was a man of god for all his faults, but had the decency to let Billy choose his own beliefs when it came the story of the heavens and hell.

Billy remembered his father quite fondly, he was a McKenzie through and through. He lost his arm in a terrible accident, developed cancer more times then Billy has fingers and beat it every time. Didn’t stop him from smoking either. Billy found it amusing now how his father was so adamant to stop him from smoking, he wasn‘t much of an inspiration. Billy wondered if he could endure what he was going through like his father had, the terrible feeling within his gut when you knew sometime soon the boots had to be hung up for good, that this time there would be no coming back from retirement. Billy sought answers from a higher power, but had no intention of going to church, his own peterbilt truck which had been with him through the best and the worse of times was all the church he needed. God was easily represented by the hanging pink dice Faith had bought for the truck with her pocket money back in the day. Billy stared longingly at the fluffy cubes that swayed too and fro, momentum still heavy from the stopping power of the massive truck that had been as good as home for him.

Billy: What do you want from me? What the hell am Ah’ suppose to do? How do Ah’ get back to the way things were? All mah’ career as a god damn fighter, Ah’ve been strivin’ to be the best there is! Ah’ve been strivin’ to become the champion! If yer’ had anythin’ to do with it. Why the fuck did you make me wait thirty years to make me a champ?! Thirty years! Why didn’t yer’ just put a stop to mah’ journey when yer’ shudda’ instead of waitin’ for me to become an’ old man before givin‘ me what Ah‘ wanted! What the hell do Ah’ do now?! How the hell am’ Ah’ suppose to defend this stupid thing when they say Ah’ shouldn’t even be wrestlin’ no more?!

It was all Billy could do to stop himself from flipping completely as he struck the steering wheel of his beloved truck, his taped up hands still stinging below leather gloves from his previous outbreak. He glanced at the world title in the place where his daughter should be sitting, such a wonderfully designed belt, plated in gold. It represented Ethan Black, it represented Drew Michaels, it represented Eric Scorpio, John Derrick, Christian G Smitten, Nick Bryson, Alex O’Rion and Hostyle. The gold plating represented champions and the federation which brought them to light, but TyranT wondered if it really represented him.

Could it represent his entire struggle as a lone wrestler, could it represent all the pain he had to endure when he turned away from his family. Could a belt really represent the troubling times a man and his only daughter had to endure on the road in such an unforgiving career. Had it been worth it? After the cost he had to pay, Billy wondered if it had really all been worth it. He would have rather had Faith sitting beside him now, looking outside the window as she used to when they drove down the highway. He missed watching her climb out of the window when he hit 70, as she would climb on the bonnet of the truck and just sit there and let the wind dance furiously through her hair.

He traded her trust, and her friendship and her love for what? God had nothing to do with it, it had all been the TyranT.

Billy: Son of a bitch.

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

It is common fact that sacrifices had to be made if you wanted to become a champion. Ties with friends and family all have to be cut away. The strive to be a champion of the World has to be done alone and can only be done alone.

A question was once asked of Billy McKenzie however when he was starting out his career as the man he is today. A question asked by his father, “Can happiness be achieved without sacrifice?”. He spoke of his religion at the time, of Christ, but the question could still be applied to life and all that is. Billy discovered the answer at Deathrow, and the answer to such a question lead to the next stage of grief…


Now in the arena, the TyranT was back in control. A monster of a man even during what could prove to be his final days. His wrestling attire remained unchanged for the better part of three years, a man clad in all black, flak like armour protecting his torso with swat like gear and a nightstick in hand to complete the look of a man that was now known all around the world. For a while he stood in darkness, his frame tall but his head lowered as the sunglasses all but blocked vision of the dark room he stood in. Faith was on his mind, all the wrongs that he had done to drive her away. Over the last week he only caught a glimpse of her, sitting upon a wall all alone, staring at something he couldn’t see. He’d been too afraid to approach her since Supremacy, even as the TyranT, Billy didn’t have it within him to face her. He would make it up to her somehow, he just had to.

His guilt aside, there was still much for the TyranT do to. Though his end was coming, it was not yet here. There was still time to make things right, correct the mistakes, but first came an important matter, a duty he still had to uphold as champion, and that was facing Romeo at Lethal Injection. He stood within is office, a room set aside personally for the man who intended to become owner of the FMW. Romeo stood to lose everything he aimed for with his ambitions, meaning this match meant more to him then anything. He would come at the old timer with everything he had… that was unless TyranT could do what he did best, and break his resolve prior to what promised to be one of the toughest challenges, and potentially even the last of his entire career.

Light was shed into the room when the door opened, allowing for a business suited Romeo to enter the room. Darkness was still coating TyranT as he watched Romeo, setting aside his thoughts of Faith and his legacy. The curtains brought light to the office the moment they were drawn, and Romeo turned to look upon his clean office, taking a seat as he assorted through several documents. From where TyranT stood, Romeo didn’t look like champion material, too set upon the pen and paper rather then the rough training needed that TyranT had to endure all over again to get him into the best shape his aging body would allow. It was only now when Romeo became immersed in his work when TyranT tapped his nightstick on the table, walking into the room with that vicious smile he had practised into perfection over the long years of his career.

TyranT: Well well… If it ain’t the number one challenger.

Romeo didn’t stand from his chair, though a look of concern did form upon his face as he looked around before glaring at TyranT.

Romeo: Where the hell is Ty?

TyranT: Ah’m right here yer’ fuckin’ dimwit.

Romeo: Not you, my assistant!

TyranT: Yer’ named yer’ pet dog after me? Heh, gotta’ say Ro, Ah’m flattered. Didn’t think yer’ held me in such high regard. He’s alright, but he’s gonna wake up with a concussion an’ one helluva’ headache.

Romeo’s patience was easily tested, but there was very little he could do about it as TyranT had no intention of leaving with just his assistance blood on his hands. Rather then amuse TyranT, he began to shift through documents, no doubt important little sheets of paper that he needed for his own personal conquest to take over the federation. It was his way of trying to ignore a problem in his opponent it seemed. TyranT would not allow him even that however as he picked up the documents right from Romeo’s fingers, walking to the open window before sliding them out to let the wind take them on their own adventure. Romeo slammed his fist on the table, he had no desire to be mocked in such a manner.

Romeo: You want to settle this here and now instead of in the ring?! I’d be more then happy to throw you out the god damn window you old bastard!

TyranT: Nah, Ah’ just want yer’ attention, that’s all. No rules in the fed say that we can’t have a man to man before the big match at Lethal Injection.

TyranT spoke out, walking to the front of his table once more as settled down in the leather chair opposite from Romeo. He sometimes shocked himself on how well he could carry his own developed persona as the TyranT even with all the grim thoughts that floated in his head. His arms were folded over his chest as he leaned back, letting his feet up against the expensive oak as he stared Romeo in the eyes from behind his sunglasses. Any despair was locked away in the firm shell of the TyranT.

Romeo: Your presence here tells me one thing TyranT… it’s that you’re a desperate man. I figure you’re here to try out some mind games and all that crap. Let me assure you, you’re wasting your time. My heads in the game now more then it ever has been.

TyranT: Yer’ sure about that? Yer’ look as if yer’ more concerned ‘bout tryna’ win the ownership of the fed. Ah’ see yer’ signin’ documents when the only things yer’ hands shud’ be doin’ is pumpin’ iron. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve made some pretty good moves. Ah’ mean hidin’ behind the “bloody” Saints is a good call in the short term… but Ah’ wonder how that will go down should you somehow, an’ Ah’ mean somehow manage to best the TyranT.

Romeo: I thought you’d go there first. Clearly your attempts to split up the Broken Saints at Supremacy failed. In fact I’d go as far to say that the whole show failed for you when you strengthened the faction… oh and then there was the minor thing afterwards. You know, when I beat down on your daughter? It was something I wished to avoid, but she was too stupid to see things my way. Hopefully there might be a chance for her yet, but I‘ll worry about that after I take the title and the federation along with it. As for the Saint’s, I’m pretty certain they have my back.

Romeo was not without his own ammunition it seemed, but TyranT managed that smile of his as he always did despite the heavy blow to his pride. Supremacy had become a disaster. He had hoped to win the crowd with his unique bookings, and turn everyone against each other and against Romeo. Instead it was Romeo who stood tall, leaving TyranT and his legacy on the ground. Being reminded of the failure was a sharp sting, but he had to endure it.

TyranT: I could name four Bloody Saint’s that would suck mah’ dick an’ stab you in the back for a World Title Shot boy! When it comes to the World Championship there is no such thing as allies! Now Ah’ rode on a few backs to try an’ get established and work mah’ way up for a shot, but in the end, it was when Ah’ worked alone that Ah’ got where Ah’ needed to be. Where as you… heh, well yer’ makin’ all the same mistakes Ah’ did. But comin’ to the main subject now, Do yer’ really think you got what it takes to beat down the TyranT and take the biggest trophy this federation has to offer? After what happened at Deathrow when Ah‘ whooped yer‘ god damn ass?

Romeo was now looking TyranT in the eyes instead of what documents had been spared from TyranT’s hooligan ways. The Deathrow comment was something he knew he would react to, and TyranT knew exactly what words would escape his lips next.

Romeo: Deathrow? You didn’t beat me at Deathrow TyranT. You managed to pin Hostyle. It was Hostyle that you defeated, you just got to pin him before I did.

TyranT’s smile dropped now as he slammed his hand on the desk. The noise was so loud he could have swore he saw a slight jolt within Romeo. Either way he certainly had his attention as TyranT changed his posture to lean more forward, making sure Romeo could hear every word.

TyranT: You see, that’s where you misunderstand the whole situation we were in at Deathrow. You obviously don’t comprehend what it really is to be a fuckin’ champion. Ah’ had a choice of who Ah’ wanted to pin at the end of the day… but why in the hell would Ah’ have wanted to pin you? Who the hell where you in that match Ro? If Ah’ had have pinned you, what would that have meant to me as the champion?

Romeo: What the hell are you getting at?

TyranT: Still don’t understand do ya’? Hostyle was the World Champion Ro. Not you. Ah’ earned mah’ respect ’cause Ah’ pinned the very man that held the belt, not just some guy that was thrown in ’cause he was lucky to be there, Ah‘ pinned the man that mattered in that match an not you ‘cause at the time you were worth shit. Can yer’ really say yer’ know what that feels like? To pin the World Champion, do yer’ even think yourself as capable of doin’ so?

There was a moment of pause as TyranT let his words sink into Romeo, or rather his insult about the events of Deathrow. For all his faults in the ring, TyranT still had his way with words when he was up for playing mind games.

Romeo: Do you really believe… that you deserve that title?

TyranT: You tell me Romeo… You look back at my career, and where Ah’ stand in the federation right now, an’ you tell me if Ah’ deserve the title or not.

No more words, not at this point. Only a stare from each man, a look that shot straight through the core. A moment passed, and it was TyranT who finally made a move, standing tall before Romeo before he began to take his leave from the very man he would be facing in the next few hours.

TyranT: Ah’ll tell you one thing Romeo, that title that your so desperate to gain. Yer’ don’t deserve it…

It was the final words TyranT spoke to Romeo before he took his leave, stepping over the fallen Tiberius Jefferson who had been tucked conveniently out of Romeo’s sight. TyranT slid off his glasses as he walked out of the office, a single deep thought coming into his mind as he stopped for just a moment.

TyranT: … and neither do I.

The truth of the matter made him smile a little, for it was the nature of the TyranT to rise in such a manner, and it was the nature of the TyranT to eventually fall… It was simply a question of who would be the man to knock him from his alter… Such a thought led to the final stage…

It was late.

Everyone else had left the arena alreay, but Faith had taken her sweet time in preparing to go. It’s not like there was any rush – she had nowhere to go, no one to meet, no celebration to attend to. Tonight, after the match, she is as she always was, as she always preferred to be – alone.

The locker room was quiet, bereft of any other women wrestlers. Of course it would be – she was the only woman wrestler in FMW at the moment. Rather than risk a sexual harrassment lawsuit – which wouldn’t really come from someone like Faith, as she’d rather just beat up the harrasser instead – management decided to give her her own locker room instead. That was the norm everywhere else, anyway.

She was busy packing her athletic bag, putting in her wrestling gear. Her head down, focused on her packing, she did not notice the man who had just walked into the room.

The man stopped right in front of her, so that all she could see was his legs and shoes. Faith looked up. It was Romeo.

Romeo said nothing; instead, he just extended his right hand, inviting Faith to shake it.

She turned back to her bag, leaving Romeo hanging. Finally, after a moment, she zipped up the bag, stood up, and slung it over her shoulder.

Faith, without even shooting a glance at Romeo, walked past him, and out the locker room. He could do nothing but only look at her as she walked out of the room, rejecting him yet again.


“You can’t possibly be serious.”

Tiberius sat up, placing the glass of Cristal that Romeo let him buy for his successful handling of the campaign. He was supposed to be relaxing now, everyone in Romeo’s camp just relying on him to deliver his end of the bargain; the execution, the pinfall or the submission, and the victory. The title victory. However, it seems that Romeo has been sidetracked by another idea, albeit one that still keeps him on his main course. Tiberius, of course, thought his idea unfeasible and wholly unnecessary.

“Why are you still on this?” Tiberius asked his boss. “She gave you her answer. Like a hundred times, too.”

Romeo was pacing around the office, his usual image of calmness and stoicism starting to bend a little under the pressure of thought and challenge – the challenge of convincing Faith to finally jump ship. He shot a quick, slightly venomous glare at his lieutenant.

“Because I can see it. I can sense it,” Romeo fired back, clearly not taking kindly to his motives being questioned. “She’s just... I don’t know. Afraid? Proud? She’s something, that’s for sure.”

“What does it matter?” Tiberius said, sipping from his glass, not intimidated by his own boss, the man who, at one point, left a huge body count of criminals and street rats in his wake. “Let me ask you something, boss.”

Romeo opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it; instead, he walked around to his seat behind his desk without saying a word, a signal that he is listening. Tiberius put his glass down and steepled his fingers.

“Why do you need Faith’s help?”

Romeo sat down, and brought his hands together in front of his chin. “Numbers,” Romeo quickly answered. “There is strength in numbers.”

“I’ve heard that before. Does the answer happen to get any more elaborate than that?”

“Listen to me,” Romeo began, sitting up straight in his leather-backed chair. “Allow me to tell you a quick story.” He looked into the distance, through a window at the side.

“The moment I stepped foot on American soil, off the boat from Sicily, my life was devoted to the Famiglia. The Mob. The Mafia.”

Tiberius didn’t know where this was going, but it was better to be silent and listen than to interrupt the boss’s lecturing with an insolent query.

“When was that... four years? Five? It’s been that long. Long enough for the Godfather to drill one important thing into my skull: that loyalty is a dangerous weapon.”

Tiberius takes a sip of the expensive champagne, as his boss continued his story.

“All it takes is for one truly loyal person for you to succeed, so imagine... imagine what you could do with a lot more. That’s why Mobs, whether they are Italian, Sicilian, Irish, Japanese, or what have you, continue to exist and be powerful.”

Tiberius puts down the wine glass and leans in towards Romeo, who gestured with both hands, signifying that he was finished.

“First of all,” the lieutenant begins, “judging from her actions, even if you did manage to convince Faith to help you out, I strongly doubt she will be ‘truly loyal’ to you. Second of all, tell me. Are you doing this... because you’re scared you can’t beat TyranT on your own?”

Romeo slams his hands on his desk and stands up. “What did you just say?”

Tiberius remained nonchalant. “You heard what I said.”

“Why, I ought to...”

“...you oughta answer the question, boss, that’s what you oughta do. I didn’t say that you were actually scared. I merely asked if you were; it’s a legitimate observation.” It was brave of Tiberius, but to be fair, the question did have to be asked.

Romeo raised a hand, for uncertain purposes; he might have raised it to point Tiberius to the direction of the door, or to hit him, but whatever it was, he did not continue. Instead, he slumped back into his chair, and gestured for a glass of the Cristal.

“To be honest with you,” Romeo said, taking the glass, “I... don’t really know.”

“Why is that?” Tiberius asked. “After beating Faith, wouldn’t you say that you two are on the same level?”

“For one thing, I defeated Faith because that match was an absolute circus. As for her father... I’m probably just doubting myself. I remember the times I came so close. I remember that I was supposed to defeat X to become Television Champion. I remember I was doing so well at Mt. Vesuvius.”

“And? What do those have to do with the situation now?” It was foolish to ask something like this, but Tiberius figured that Romeo could cut him some slack since the latter was a little emotionally vulnerable at the moment.

Romeo took a swig of the champagne; in fact, he took two more anxious, nervous swigs. He waited to settle down before answering the question, which would be a few more moments. “I guess... I’m afraid that it might happen again. It might happen again, in the biggest match of my FMW career, so far.”

“That’s funny,” Tiberius said, as to him, it was. “That doesn’t sound like any Romeo Vizzini I know.”

Romeo took another nervous sip. “It doesn’t, because I rarely allow this side of myself to see the light of day. Why? Because it’s wholly unnecessary.”

Tiberius let loose a little smirked on his lips, to the annoyance of his boss. “Well, you’re both right and wrong there. This is pretty unnecessary going into the match itself... but this is good for you, once in a while.”

Romeo didn’t answer; instead he just took another sip of the champagne.

“For one thing, I’m glad you proved that you are indeed human, after all,” Tiberius continued. “But now, it’s time. It’s time for you to do what you’ve always done. You have to walk in there with a spring in your step, like you’ve done against Jaro, against Skyler, against Austin, against Faith. You have to walk in there with the momentum, and luckily, right now, you’re the one who has it.”

Romeo slowly sat up straight. “I know, Tiberius, I know. There’s absolutely no need to remind me of the obvious,” he said through slightly gritted teeth.

“Oh, yes there is, especially when you’re still thinking of running to Faith. You need to be reminded of what you don’t need to do. That you don’t need her.”

Romeo looked to the side, and sighed. “Very well.”

Tiberius looked up, this time a playful, evil smirk on his face. “Besides, when we release your new promo video... there won’t be a single soul in that audience that won’t be cheering you on.”

His boss’s eyes did light up as well. “Oh, I do agree.”

Tiberius stood up. “Speaking of, boss, I have to oversee the video’s editing, then I’ll personally hand it over to the studio technicians. I have to go.”

“Of course, of course. Make sure you tell them to play it, just once, at the right moment.”

“I will.” Tiberius then nodded to his boss and turned around to leave the room.

“Tiberius?” Romeo called after him.

The big man looked over his shoulder. A little too melodramatic, thought Romeo. “Yeah, boss?”

“Thank you.” The sentence was quick, but firm, and Tiberius felt that the gratitude was surely there.

“Don’t mention it, boss.” Tiberius moves to leave, but Romeo calls out again.

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Fire our security force and hire a completely new one.”

“What?” Tiberius asked, puzzled. “What for?”

“TyranT was able to get in here,” Romeo answered, bitterly.

Tiberius was shocked. “You’re... kidding, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Romeo said, a serious look etched on his face. “Fire them. All of them.”

Tiberius only managed to nod at his boss, before leaving again. He was content that they had this little talk. While it seemed that he was growing softer and softer every time his hand was not holding a gun and his finger was not in a trigger, as he was meant to do, somehow, this kind of work felt strangely fulfilling. Tiberius always fancied being a mastermind, even more than he did being a mere hitman. There was some appeal in being the brains. While he was not the head as long as Romeo was in charge, this setup seemed to be nothing less than an informal sort of apprenticeship. He was glad.

Romeo turned his chair around to face the large window behind him. The night was but young, and despite the little pep talk, his doubt remained, clouding his mind. Not to worry, he thought. Nothing that can’t be solved by a little indulgence, a little liquor. There was no reason to walk into that match full of self-doubt. He had to win, he thought, as he laid back in his large, leather chair.

It just feels like destiny.


The video package opens by fading in to a simple, medium shot of Romeo – clad in his trademark suit – against a white background.

Romeo: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Romeo, former FMW Abandoned Champion. If you will, please allow me to take a few moments of your time, to tell you what I see when I step into the arena every time there is an FMW show. What I see when I turn my television over to Distortion to prepare for my title match at Lethal Injection. This... this is what I see -


Romeo: Now that... that is truly a disgusting sight indeed. For the uninformed, that man is Billy “TyranT” McKenzie, current reigning FMW World Heavyweight Champion.

Romeo flashes a look of disgust.

Romeo: Now, can anyone believe that this man, if he can even be called a man, is our FMW champion? Can anyone believe that this man is supposed to be the role model of our young fans? The man who treats his own daughter - his OWN DAUGHTER! - as a mere tool to advance his career?

The camera cuts to a close-up of Romeo, with an intense look on his face.

Romeo: Billy "TyranT" McKenzie, simply put, is a cancer to not just FMW, no, but to society as well. You don't believe me? I'll show you proof - here is what happened to the world since TyranT has become world champion:


Romeo: The earthquake in Haiti, which happened exactly ONE week after TyranT's win at Death Row. It almost seemed as though God - God himself - was angry that this Devil won the championship. Imagine. Thousands of impoverished Haitians suffering... all because of TyranT.

The camera cuts back to a medium shot.

Romeo: I believe that God was so angry that TyranT become champion that He decided to punish the world once more by hitting South America yet again – Chile, to be specific – not just with a mere earthquake, but a tsunami as well!


Romeo: The first half of 2010 – a period of time we’re not even done with yet – has been rocked by numerous natural disasters all around the world. Haiti and Chile were merely the beginning of it. Now it has happened all around the world – Turkey. Indonesia. Mexico. All because of the victory of one Billy “TyranT” McKenzie.


Romeo: How many more people need to suffer for this man’s transgressions? How many more parents need to die, leaving innocent children orphaned?


Romeo: In the meantime, while TyranT lorded over FMW and God took out His anger on the world, I was busy funding rescue and relief operations to save the disaster victims.


Romeo: Because I believe that serving others, especially the less-fortunate, is the prerogative of a true People’s champion. FMW needs a true leader to guide it through whatever obstacle it may face.

Cut to a close-up again, where Romeo has a determined look on his face.

Romeo: My opponent once told me, straight to my face, that neither of us deserve to be champion. With all due respect, Mr. McKenzie... nothing could be any more wrong. You are the only one who doesn’t deserve to be champion, and FMW doesn’t need a champion who himself admits that he isn’t deserving.

Cut to a slightly less close shot.

Romeo: I promise, azlong with my brethren in the Broken Saints, I will be the one to lead an FMW that is an upstanding force in our society. I will be the one who will start to make the change. Ladies and gentlemen, it is not too late. It is not too late for you to place your Faith in me.

Back to a medium shot.

Romeo: FMW fans, and the people of the world, I humbly ask you for your support, and your vote. Your support for me means that you are willing to believe in me, if not to continue believing in me, and believing in true change.

Back again to the close-up.

Romeo: My name is Romeo, and my only wish for every FMW fan in the world is this: please, don’t stop believing. Thank you.

The storm had finally ended, the rain stopping to allow the sun to come out again as the flight crew did their final checks. Outside the jet, people started to gather along the edge of the red carpet to bid farewell to their current Lord as though he would never be coming back, and in a way they were right. Having handed over rule of their homes to his subordinate he was now leaving to return to the country of his birth where his wife and son had already moved into their new home.

Even though this time heralded a new chapter in the young Lord’s life some things never changed and as the former Master of the Isle and Lord of Storms stepped out of his government Limo for the last time rumours abounded about his future and hobby.

Although he was a man of means and science the Lord had broken his spare time up with his family and making a name for himself in the states wrestling (a past time which had reunited him with his wife and a son he hadn’t known he had).That was until a number of months ago when he left the wrestling industry and focused on preparing the island inhabitants for his departure, leaving them to govern themselves. Now as he walked the red carpet up to the boarding ramp many wishing him farewell and good luck, the word on the street was that he was returning to the ring with a new company and maybe continuing the search that first led him to the island but in the end only time would tell if that was true.

As the jet achieved its cruising speed and altitude, Dragos got up to take his formal robe off returning wearing a black suit and getting himself a glass of wine he sat in his luxury seat and decided to make a quick phone call.

Hi Kat, well we’re off the ground and should be at the airport in a few hours..............................Yeah I’ll be coming straight home once we’ve landed...............................No I haven’t checked my e-mails yet but hopefully they’ve sent it by now and I can get this signing over with................................Yeah I love you too Hun I’ll see you and Shane soon oh and tell your sister to stay out of my office. I still don’t trust Molly after that blood bomb she left in the last one.......................yeah ok, see you soon!!

With a smile Dragos hung up the phone but it didn’t take long before the boredom of the flight prompted Dragos to setup his Laptop to check his E-mails as his wife suggested. Opening his inbox he quickly slimmed through the messages until he came upon one from Full Metal Wrestling with an attachment containing his new contract and a request for a meeting at his earliest convenience. Sending back a reply saying that a representative should present themselves at the manor that weekend Dragos closed his laptop and decided to catch a quick nap before landing.

**************************************************************************

The sun was slowly setting over the Yorkshire moors as Dragos’ large black limo pulled into the drive of his new manor house and drove slowly up the gravel path. As the car passed the fountain half way in it was joined by a large pack of Alaskan Huskies that ran alongside the vehicle until it reached the main entrance of the building.

Stepping out of the limo Dragos was unprepared for the dogs to swarm onto him in a frenzy of yapping and tongues which was only stopped by a sharp whistle breaking the evening air. As the dogs disappeared around the house Dragos looked up from his position on the floor to see a slender dark haired woman stood in the doorway trying hard not to laugh

Katlin, I really wish you would teach those dogs not to do that. Dusting himself off Dragos makes his way up the steps toward his wife.

Now where would be the fun in that?

Kissing her hello he scowls good-humouredly Your an evil bitch at times hun you know that?

At least I’m not as bad as my sister. Speaking of Molly she’s taken Shane for the night thought she’d gives us some time to our selves.

OK what’s she after, she’s a self professed cow there’s no way she’d be nice for no reason.

Who knows but while your contemplating that get your arse up to your study the people from Full metal are here!

Already? Well they don’t waste any time do they?

As Dragos heads in to the house and across to his study the shear opulence of the building is clear to see, from the tapestries up the stair wells to the antique furniture around the ground floor the entire building screams money and yet as he enters the study the atmosphere changes altogether, while there is the standard bookshelves and mahogany desk one wall is entirely covered by wrestling memorabilia from trunks and picture to framed belts and trophies.

Walking into the room Dragos catches the attention of the two people already in the room and while the female of the pair stands looking at the wall of memorabilia it’s the male sitting behind the desk that catches his attention.

You sir are in MY chair!!

So? What are you going to do about it?

Before Dragos could manage to reach across the desk he was stopped by the woman in the suddenly turning around and fixing the man with a glare.

Smitten!! Would you show some manners and get out from behind his Lordships desk!!

Throwing a scowl at the woman Smitten stomped around the desk before dropping himself into one of the leather chairs before infront of the bookcase allowing room for the woman to approach Dragos.

My Lord Dragos, my name is....

Holding up a hand to stop her Dragos commented

Please, while you are guest in my home it’s Cole!

Thank you Cole I’m Celeste and this is my associate Christian G Smitten.

Cole!

I think in your case Mr Smitten we’ll keep it as My Lord! It’s a pleasure to meet you Celeste now what can I do for you, your e-mail was a little vague.

We’re here on behalf of Full Metal Wrestling to answer any questions you may have in regard to your contract, collect your signature and inform you of your first match.

Then I’m sorry to say you have wasted your time as I have already sent my contract in by courier, though this match sounds interesting what have you got for me.

It was Smitten who answered while scowling deeply[i]

You will be taking part in the opening match of the preshow for our next PPV which will be a Tag Team Match. We have you teaming with Christian Moore so if you expect to do anything here you’d better put on a good show or your contract will be terminated before the ink even dries properly!

I don’t know what your problem is but I’m going to enjoy correcting it. Now I have no Problem with having a Tag Match but why have I heard of Christian Moore before?

I believe he used to work for the sister company of your former employers.

Wait a minute, Moore..........ETHANS OLD PARTNER???? You do know he’s insane right??

It’s actually under control and he’s in therapy. As that’s all taken care of we’ll leave you to your evening and see you on Monday.

[i] Closing door after they had left with Smitten bitching about the waste of time the visit was, Dragos opened a cupboard door in his study and pulled out a large wooden trunk. Opening the lid showed the contents covered with a dark cloth but clearly in the lid was pasted the full active roster of FMW. Just as he’s about to remove the cloth his phone suddenly rings.

Hello?...............Christian? How the hell did you get this number?.........................ETHAN!!!!.......................I’m going to kill the little shit................I suppose you’re right well I have an appointment for tea at Balmoral tomorrow so I can be in Edingburgh around 9ish just text me where to meet......... No TOMORROW!!

Slamming the phone shut Dragos returns his attention to the case and pulls off the cloth revealing it’s full of weapons layed across the top are a baseball bal with razors embedded along its length and a cat o’ nine tails with barbed wire instead of whips.

Not long now and FMW meet a new force to respect and if not I’ll carve my respect out of their flesh starting with Axel Van Osbourne and Trey Spruance. Then it’s on to gold and finding the clans and NOTHING will stop me this time.

The digital clock on the nightstand read 11:00 AM.

Kaoru still lying in bed. Giving up the satisfaction of not carrying around his own body every morning was cruel. While in bed, nothing ached. His breadth melted into the mattress springs. Waking up meant a day of standing and walking. The bed was much more sympathetic.

He had been to the doctors several times as an overweight boy. They had all told him the same thing; if he didn’t lose the weight, he would likely have bone and cartilage problems later in life. But he couldn’t do it. Physically or mentally. The size was a part of him. It had given him respect in school. It gave him power over others. It gave him a purpose. It gave him utility.

The volume of muscle hiding under his corpulence had always been enough to hold him together. Yet every now and again he would feel it. Sometimes, walking up a hill. Other times, just raising his leg to kick somebody. That creaky feeling in his kneecaps. it wasn’t terminal by any means. He had developed a kind of fair-weather friendship with the pain. Feeling It was like seeing your murder weapon years in advance.

Eventually, you just make peace with it.

That’s what Kaoru did. He welcomed the throb. He let it pass in him and through him. He let it mingle and blend with all of his other senses until it was used up. Until the pain became comfort. Until the intimacy of the torment gave him faith in the constancy of all things, living and dead. That was why he wrestled so quickly. He wanted to squeeze every last drop of life from his body before it shattered on him. He wanted to feel light, fast, and free.

At the very least, he felt more affection for the pain than he did for the petite girl hanging off the edge of his sheets. She had been picked specifically for size, since Kaoru took up most of the bed. Sonny offered her as a kind of “reward” for coming out ahead in the tag team match the previous week. But Kaoru had no taste for her. She was overripe fruit, whose excessive sweetness made her taste all the worse. The only thing she knew how to give was exorbitant pleasure. Not clean, puritanical pain.

She was sleeping now. Her tightly shut eyes looked like closed flower buds in the winter. Ironic, considering it was spring. Her lips were pursed into a pouty little bow. Everything taut with a childishly grumpy look. Like a sleeping puppy. She looked like she was dreaming of sweet things. Kaoru had dreamt too.

He dreamt that he was spread out on a rack. His arms and legs were bound to it. As he tried to free himself, the ropes had gotten tighter and tighter. Until it was no longer him pulling on the ropes but the other way around. The manacles wrenched Kaoru’s arms and legs until his ligaments tore like wet paper.

His nerve cells fired a battery of convulsion, until he could no longer feel any of his appendages bearing him down. He was free to be light and airy, flying away from the hardships of his skin

And as Kaoru craned his neck to the side, covered in the sweat of pain and enlightenment, he saw the man turning the wheel of the rack.

Chris Kelson.

Submission specialist.

A man who made his living by inflicting that same brand of bodily pain that most took for granted. The dream had ended with Kaoru thanking Chris Kelson. Thanking him…

…and promising to improve on his instruction.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sonny: Wake up, wake up, emergency! Butterball, get dressed!

Sonny’s cantankerous voice broke the trance of Kaoru’s half sleep. Next to him the tiny girl moaned slightly before rolling over, away from the noise. Hanayama called out in a purposely irked and drowsy tone, not getting up from the bed.

Kaoru: What the hell do you want?

Sonny: Goddamnit, I don’t have the fucking time for this! Emergency assignment! We’re on lockdown! I want to see your fat ass dressed and in the war room in fifteen minutes!

Kaoru heard Sonny’s rapidly shuffling steps go down the hall, and wondered how he had managed to hear him depart but not approach. The old man was stealthy when he wanted to be. But there was something else. Kaoru had never heard the geezer in that tone before. Perhaps it was the door muffling his true intonations, but Sonny sounded worried. And not merely the feigned, exaggerated worry he would put on Kaoru to irritate him. The bald little fossil was genuinely scared. This was worth investigating.

As Hanayama rose from his bed it gave a groan, thankful for finally being released from his heftiness. The surface of the mattress immediately straightened back up, making the girl jump a bit under the sheets. She ignored the tectonic shift and kept right on sleeping.

As he put on the clothes he had meticulously laid out for himself the night before, Kaoru kept watching her. What a shame. She could have satisfied any normal man. The only part of her that he enjoyed were the obvious pangs that she tried to suppress. After all, she was much too small for him. But she was a sturdy thing. Never once did a scream escape her perfectly formed lips. The only hints were that slight look of discomfiture and the occasional squirms for better position. Kaoru liked that. In the throes of it, he convinced himself that she was thinking the same things he was. That she was soaking up the pain too.
Maybe she was just tenacious.

Either way it gave him a fierce (if not entirely sexual) joy.

Kaoru slipped his enormous belt through the loops of his widened khaki pants. A serious assignment usually meant that a semblance of professionalism was needed. On a hot day in Los Angeles, when spring was in full effect, professionalism meant a beige sports coat with a large black t-shirt underneath. Slipping his only pair of sunglasses into his front pocket, Kaoru gave the sleeping whore one last look, and closed the door behind him.

Walking down the hallway, Kaoru headed for the stairs in a casual pace. What Sonny had called “the war room” was really just the kitchen of the place. Only no one ever made anything in it. Supposedly the ground floor of the building used to be a restaurant. The door behind the bar opened up into a rather large expanse that was tailor-made for cooking. It still boasted a couple of old gas stoves and a long counter-top cutting the room in half. Above the countertop, there were a series of tiny winch-like apparatuses.
No one had ever quite figured out what those were for.

It was both its table space, and its location away from the main body of the building, that made the room ideal for planning. Strolling past the gambling floor, Kaoru swung open the white kitchen doors. Sonny was huddled around the central countertop, surrounded by men in suits. They concealed it well, but Kaoru could tell that the men were armed.

Sonny: You took your sweet time coming! Get over here, fatso! We’ve got a full-blown situation on our hands.

Kaoru was about to command the men surrounding the table to part, but they did so automatically. As Hanayama approached the meeting, he made a quick mental note of the men’s faces. None of them were the usual Nakasu guards. Usually, whorehouse duty was given to the tough younger kids, who were well trained but still needed to cut their teeth in the business. These men were older. Some had noticeable battle scares on their cheeks. Something wasn’t right.

Looking down at the table, Kaoru could finally see what it was that Sonny was crouched over. It was a map of the Los Angeles metropolitan area, with several pins stuck in it to reference locations.

Kaoru:What’s going on?

Sonny’s face looked pale, creating an odd contrast with his usual yellow sweat suit. His voice was all business, with just a smattering of panic.

Sonny: Twenty two hours ago, a member of our organization was abducted by the Inagawa-kai. They are our rivals in terms of th—

Deciding to test the waters, Kaoru purposely interrupted.

Kaoru: I know who the Inagawa-kai are. No need for a lecture.

Sonny cringed. Kaoru could almost hear the disparaging words come up to his throat, and then stall beneath the weight of his self control. He swallowed hard, and took the insult in stride.

Sonny: Yes…well…of course. You would know who they are.

If he was willing to stifle his insults for the sake of this mission, then the old man wasn’t playing. This wasn’t a mere debt-collection mission. Something important had gone wrong.

Sonny: At any rate, the member was taken at the corner of Fairfax and Melrose. A quick drive-by affair. The witnesses we’ve pumped say there was no violence involved, but that’s no guarantee that there won’t be. Our network of informants has been working around the clock trying to zero in on where they’re holding the hostage, but they’re constantly on the move.

Kaoru studied the map closely. There were notations in the margin that corresponded to various pins and thumbtacks. Sightings of the subject. Sonny cleared his throat, as if to demand to Kaoru’s attention again.

Sonny: As you already know, we’ve had a truce with the Inagawa back home. But here in Los Angeles, skirmishes and proxy conflicts still break out. This place is like no-man’s land for all of the old feuds.

Hanayama’s eyes scrolled over the map furiously.

Sonny: Obviously city-wide war isn’t an option. That would be expensive, and could potentially re-ignite the conflict back home. Not to mention that any overly-aggressive moves might force them to cut their losses and kill the hostage. We have explicit orders from the high command to solve the problem with as light a footprint as possible. Ichigawa…the file, please.

In all of his time in LA, Kaoru had never heard Sonny say “please”. One of the suited men briefly disappeared from the huddle, and returned with a beige file folder bursting at the seams. He dumped it on the table in front of Kaoru unceremoniously. Hanayama briefly gave him an evil look before inspecting the contents of the folder. Inside was a photograph paper-clipped to a rather long profile.

Sonny: His name is Ma Gangryoung but everyone just calls him “The Korean” for obvious reasons. He’s middle-management. Owns some shitty little bar down in Wilmington. He started off paying protection to the Inagawa, but through his organizational skills he managed to wrangle himself some modest promotions. One of the witnesses gave a positive ID on him being at the scene of the kidnapping. Right now, he’s our best lead.

His file was rather extensive. The Korean must have had an informant planted very close to him to get such thorough information. Daily habits, favorite movies, weapons of choice, income statements for all Inagawa properties directly managed by him. Someone had done their homework.

Sonny:We’ve got a tipoff. Gangryoung is going to be in the San Pedro Bay area in two hours. We can’t confirm if it’s a business related reason or if they’re trying to smuggle him out. But we are absolutely certain that he’ll be there. Which is why you and a strike team are going to be there first. Bring back The Korean and make him talk. Those are the orders.

Having skimmed the profile several times, Kaoru put the file folder back down on the table. It was immediately scooped up by the same suited man who had brought it, ostensibly to put it back wherever he got it from.

The details scrolled neatly through Kaoru’s brain, just how his uncle had taught him. First, start with what you know. Ask yourself whether you really know it. When you’re sure, continue on to what you don’t know.

No matter how many times Kaoru ran through the procedure, there were too many missing pieces. He needed to know more, but Sonny had finished talking. He would have to goad the old man into divulging.
Hanayama let out a somewhat exaggerated, lazy yawn.

Kaoru: As interesting as all of this sounds…I don’t especially see how it pertains to me.

Sonny’s eyes bugged out inside of his tiny, wrinkled head. It was working.

Kaoru: The way I understood it, my mission here was to guard the whorehouse and run some errands on behalf of the organization. This qualifies as a bit more than an “errand”. But you’re quite right in believing that you have a problem on your hands. Best of luck to all of you in solving it.

Kaoru turned his back on the discussion and made for the door. On cue, Sonny’s voice called out from behind him, incensed.

Sonny: W-W-What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk away! This is fucking critical! Hey, you turn AROUND when I’m talking to you!

Having stuck the tip of his foot out the door for show, Hanayama turned his head to the side ever so slightly.

Kaoru: If it’s critical, then I suggest you tell me exactly what I need to know.
Sonny’s mouth crumpled upwards into his nose, forming a kabuki-like scowl.

Sonny: I’ve already told you everything you NEED to know, and not a goddamn sentence more, you ungrateful behemoth! You come back here this instant or I’ll tell the boss you were being insubordinate.

Kaoru stuck his foot out from within the doorway and turned around, the doorknob poking onto the small of his fat back. His stare could have made a marble statue run from its pedestal. The men in suits fingered their firearms nervously upon seeing the sinister expression.

Kaoru: Good. And I’ll tell him that you were trying to force me into a mission after purposely withholding information that could determine whether I live or die. I’m his nephew. Would you like to see which one of us he will believe?

Sonny’s forehead contorted into wrinkled canyons of frustration. His body trembled slightly in anger. Realizing that he needed to act imperatively, he smothered his rage. It blew out of his nose in the form of hot, furious air. He spoke through gritted teeth.

Sonny:…and what exactly is it that his Highness “needs” to know?

Kaoru walked back over to the table. His eyes never left Sonny’s face. The old man’s expression would help determine the validity of his answers.

Kaoru: First off, what was a clan member with sensitive information doing on the corner of Fairfax and Melrose unprotected? That’s a red light district. Even a fool knows enough to keep bodyguard around when his pants are down. He could have at least come here to get a woman, where it’s safe.

Sonny suddenly broke eye contact and looked down, scratching the back of his head. Kaoru couldn’t tell whether the motion was one of shame or apology.

Sonny: Well…it wasn’t exactly like that.

Kaoru: What do you mean?

Sonny: Well…it’s just…the…the hostage in question was not “seeing a hooker” persay…

Kaoru: Then what was he doing on Fairfax and Melrose in the first place? We don’t have any properties there.

Sonny: Well…see…the fact is…

Sonny looked up with a dubious, sallow expression on his face.

Sonny:…word in the organization is that the hostage isn’t exactly a “he”.

The last word of Sonny’s sentence imbibed all of the noise in the room. Even the most minute shuffling among the suited men ceased immediately . It was so quiet, that you could hear the rhythm of everyone slowly breathing.

Kaoru:Is this some sort of a joke?

Sonny raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head from side to side as if to say “I’m not happy about it either.”

Kaoru: You mean to tell me that the hostage who is now being held by the Inagawa-kai is a hooker from Fairfax and Melrose? How did she find out the information in the first place? Was some nitwit using organizational secrets as casual pillow talk?

Sonny:I’ve been told that the original leak has already been terminated by us.

Kaoru: As well he should be. Exactly what kind of information did he divulge?

Sonny: That’s on a need to know basis.

Hanayama put both palms on the countertop, and leaned toward Sonny menacingly.

Kaoru: Are you still implying that I don’t need to know?

The old man recoiled an inch, but held his ground nevertheless.

Sonny: I’m implying that I wasn’t told. Nobody was. These guys here? They’re only sategaishira. Second lieutenants. Bloodhounds called up to increase our manpower within the city while we look for that bitch. They don’t know a goddamn thing. But judging by the response, the little whore must have stumbled onto something very important. All this morning, people have been coming in from as far away as Monterey and Imperial. Our entire Southern California operation has mobilized all for the sake of a goddamn prostitute.

Kaoru took his hands off the table, backing away from Sonny. There had been no deceit in the codger’s voice when he said he did not know. He was only a mid-level gofer. The depth of the knowledge he had was probably due to just being in Nakasu, which housed enough weapons in the basement to arm several hundred of the lieutenants being called in. Hanayama imagined him nagging and wheedling the suited men for information.

However Sonny happened to know what he knew, the circumstances were not good. If the principal was a hooker and not a high-ranking officer, then she would not have the mental strength to withstand torture.

Time was of the essence. Even waiting the few hours for The Korean to show up at San Pedro Bay was precious time lost.

Studying the map, Hanayama played and replayed prospective movements in his mind, calculating the citywide maneuvers like a game of chess.

Kaoru: San Pedro Bay is good location. It’s more separated from the major roads and highways than other parts of LA.

Kaoru’s head suddenly snapped back up at Sonny.

Kaoru: How soon can I assemble my team?

The old man chuckled slyly at the cooperation, exposing his wrinkles and missing teeth. He looked like a field mouse whose best days were behind him.

Sonny: Hee-hee-hee-hee! Right now. These knuckleheads that are standing around like statues? They’re your team.

Kaoru’s eyes quickly circumvented the group of men around him. They were second lieutenants, all right. Still on the younger side of thirty years old. Maybe younger. Some of them had probably just bought those suits. But their rank meant that they had seen a real fight before. And that was all he needed.

With a sweeping motion of his chubby hand, Kaoru ordered them all to pack in around the map. They did so immediately.

Kaoru: Alright…we will proceed in two teams. The first team will take the interstate to Lomita and then go south all the way to Portuguese bend, making sure to not seem obvious. The second team will go with me further west, almost to Clifton. From there, we will double back through Los Verdes Estates and catch them from the west, through Rancho Palos Verdes. The second team’s drive is longer, so the first team will have to wait until we get into position. We’ll converge simultaneously.

Everyone listened intently. Some nodded in a mechanical, trance-like motion. A few began to crack their knuckles in anticipation.

Kaoru: It will be a long drive this time of day. I am assuming that cars are already waiting for us?

Another high-pitched cackle from Sonny, who was glad to have someone else be in charge of the situation. Now he was free to stay back and exaggerate the role he had played to the hookers at Little Nakasu.

Sonny: You bet your ass there are! Out in the back. Oregon plates! Hee-hee-hee-hee!

Organizing the transportation had been his crowning achievement.

Kaoru: Good. We rendezvous outside in twenty minutes. All of you are dismissed.

Sonny: Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!


Off in the distance you could hear the faint crowing of a seagull. The typical ocean smell of iodine flirted with the much more pungent stink of the Los Angeles shipping industry.

You could smell it, even through the warehouse. Even through the car.

Ma Gangryoung, a modestly tall man of forty two years, looked surprisingly good for his age. Despite being a bar owner, he rarely drank. And given that he would probably not see his bar for quite some time, his health could only improve.

Sweating nervously, he reached forth from the shotgun seat of the Audi, and turned up the air conditioner.

Everything had been so simple only the previous week! He owned a business. The yakuza only stopped by to collect money, which he was finally making. Granted he was still a bachelor but, with the pay coming in, that problem was easily amendable. God damn that stupid little slut for ever walking into the bar! God damn him for memorizing her face! He was sure that if they had only looked hard enough, they could have found someone…anyone else to positively id the bitch! He had never considered himself a hardened gunman. Only a businessman. His primary use to the Inagawa-kai gang were his talents from collecting revenue. A tough guy he was not. But he did have the god-given talent of being able to squeeze every last drop of money out of every bar and gambling den he was asked to manage.

Anyone could be an Inagawa-kai street soldier. But it took an innate talent to be a man of business! At least that was what he told himself, when he used his newfound status to get a new wardrobe and haircut. He deserved it!

Only now, he could not help but feeling like he had strayed quite far from his area of expertise. When he was first told the situation, he refused to get involved right off the bat. But the over-bosses had been so persuasive, and named such large sums of money that just listening to them made his head swim in daydreams. Sure, he would have to go back to Korea. But he would return a rich man. He would have been able to find a wife for sure. In fact, he could have his pick of several wives!

The fantasy calmed The Korean down, as he reclined back into the leather seat, his sweat probably ruining the collar of his shirt. The driver of the immobile car, as well as the two men in the backseat, were strangers. He hadn’t spoken to them the entire drive. Or rather, he had indeed tried to speak with them.

But they did not reply. Probably some hired badasses given the task of making sure that nothing happened to the all-important and useful Ma Gangryoung!

Didn’t they owe him? He had done them an important service. And now he had his own bodyguards to show for it.

The Korean’s cognitive dissonance played back and forth . On the one hand he was a simple man, who had not quite grown up within the Yakuza culture. On the other hand, he was a man who took pride in elevating himself above what had been his social status for so long; he was a nothing.

He had to be strong in the presence of these bodyguards. He was the boss. He was the man to be protected. And in keeping with this new epiphany, Ma Gangroung straightened his back and stuck his jaw out.

Gangryong: Uh oh…

As soon as he had corrected his posture, he felt a pressure just below his abdomen.

Gangryong: Uh…guys? I---I have to piss. Could I maybe…you know…get out of the car?

The three men in the car exchanged stern looks through the rearview mirror. Their orders had been fairly explicit; park the car directly in the warehouse. They were only to leave when the barge had arrived to take away its “cargo.”

After a few seconds of rigid muteness, the driver gave a nod to one of the men in the backseat. Knowingly the man in the back got out. Gangryoung immediately got the message. He could pee as long as there was someone keeping him in sight.

Standing up for the first time in what seemed like hours, The Korean gave a long stretch. Sitting in a car for that long did not agree with him. The man who had gotten out cleared his throat curtly, letting him know to wrap it up.

“The hell with him,” Ma thought. “I’m the one who needs to be protected. And if my joints are sore, then that reflects poorly on him.” Having stretched himself to satisfaction, Ma looked around for the most inconspicuous crate he could find. Finally deciding on a large one with red lettering on it, Gangryoung walked over to the side of box and dropped his pants.

Somehow, the release of pissing made finally standing upright even more enjoyable. Ma had been holding it in for a few minutes now. He figured once the boat arrived, he could just pee in the bathroom there. But nature had called early, and he could not refuse her. Strangely, it had not been unsatisfying to hold it in.

Ma would have never discussed it publicaly of course, but he derived an odd kind of pleasure from that constricted feeling one always got from a full bladder. When he was thirteen or so, and had first learned to masturbate, he always found that it felt better with a member full of urine. In a way it was uncomfortable.

Sometimes, when he did it in the morning, he found that he had grossly underestimated how much he had to pee. His bladder would throb against his pelvis, unable to contain itself against the additional unforeseen swelling, ready to burst. But somehow it was gratifying to his senses. For the longest time, Ganryoung thought himself a closet weirdo. But after he had taken to edifying himself, he had discovered that there was really quite a bit of research connecting pain and sexual pleasure. Supposedly, the two were not at all dissimilar when it came to the human brain. It was quite common for people to drive one from the other and vice versa. Ma was more than surprised.

But then again, his conservative Korean parents were not exactly the time to bring up puberty at the dinner table. All that Ma learned he had learned himself. And what a waste! If he had possessed this sort of crucial knowledge earlier, he would not have been at all ashamed of himself. Goddamn Korean parents. They put so much emphasis on “learning” and “education”, and yet somehow they never teach you the important things themselves.

The important thing was that pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin. One only had to flick his thumb, and the coin would judiciously rotate between misery and explosive orgasm. Just as the brilliance of the sun had no worth without the emptiness of the moon, pleasure would have absolutely no worth without pain to follow or precede it. It took an intelligent man (like himself) to truly savor the exquisite blending of flavors that these two sensations could produce. He hadn’t been a pervert all along. He was a gourmand tasting the sweet relishes and essences of the body. Some were too scared to! But not he! Ma Gangryoung was a brave man wh—

Thug: We have to go. RIGHT NOW.

The Korean felt a powerful grip on his shoulder swing his whole body around. He was almost finished, but still unable to curb the remainder of the piss flow, managing to get several drops all over his pant leg.

His bodyguard, not noticing or caring, continued to drag him towards the car. Ma sputtered, incapable of curbing his shock (and his urine).

Gangryong: W-w-wait a second, I wasn’t done! What the hell is going on?!

The car door was already open, ready for Ma to be informally shoved into it like an unimportant piece of luggage. As soon as he was within the metal frame, the driver immediately pulled out. The rubber breaks screeched furiously against the warehouse floor as the car spun out, trying to turn one hundred and eighty degrees. While trying to steady himself in the spinning vehicle and put on his seatbelt, Ma managed to eek out a another question.

Gangryong: Wheh-Where are we going?

The same man who had dragged him from the box now responded from the backseat, over the maddening sound of the tires.

Thug: *Yelling* There’s been an incident on the highway exit off of Lomita! Our rearguard spotted what looked like a Yamaguchi-gumi raiding party heading south to our location! They opened fire! It’s no longer safe for you to be here!

Finally facing in the desired direction, the driver put the pedal to the floor. The car bucked for a second, like a horse confused about its destination. Then it careened forth, out the open back of the warehouse and into the narrow streets of the bay area.

The maneuvering had forced Ma to fight off a sudden wave of carsickness.

Gangryong: *Yelling* What about the boat?

Thug: Plan B. There’s an alternate boat coming from farther west, close to Rancho Palos Verdes. You’re catching that one instead.

Ma held on tightly to the handle above his door, and tried to convert the feelings of nausea and panic that now consumed him.

Pain was pleasure. Pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin. One only had to flick his thumb…

…One only had to flick this thumb…


Gangryong: Uhhhhhh...

A thick myopia enveloped his faculties. He could see nothing and there was a powerful ringing in his ears.

Yet somehow he felt weightless and free, floating through sweet-smelling air.

Was he dreaming?

Perhaps the weightlessness came from a comfortable bed, gentle and airy. Why, he could barely feel it! His skin felt stimulated and alive.

What had happened?

It seemed so vague and unimportant when he tried to recall it. There was a room full of boxes. And a car.

A fast-moving car.

So much cacophony and yelling. He was glad it was over.

Finally, Ma Gangryoung had gotten exactly what was coming to him. The hard work had paid off, and the just deserts were given. There was never a man more entitled to the splendors of living than he was . For years, he had been the toad. The underling. The sniveling manservant to boneheaded Yakuzas.

But not it was Ma Gangryoung’s turn! He felt exquisite. He felt free. He felt like he didn’t have a worry in the world. Once he arrived back in Korea, the women would be lining up around to block just to see him.

Maybe he’d admit them. Maybe he wouldn’t. It depended on their behavior. After having been spurned by so many women in his lifetime, Ma Gangryoung certainly had a right to break a few hearts himself!

Fathers, lock up your daughters, Ma Gangryoung is on the town! Who? Ah, yes, Ma Gangryoung! The man who returned from the United States to make his fortune! What a fine figure he cuts in that new foreign suit!
He’d be a catch for any woman.

He felt unrestrained.

He felt rejuvenated.

And with his newfound strength, Ma finally allowed himself the ecstasy of seeing this brand new world for himself!

He opened his eyes.


Kaoru instinctively whipped around after hearing the groan behind him. Judging by the metal jingling, The Korean had finally woken up. The man really must have had fabulous organizational skills, because it was almost ready.

Wiping the sweat off of his forehead with his palms, Kaoru observed him, as his eyes took in his surroundings. It always took them a bit to fully process the situation, and it was during this time that

Hanayama found their reactions most interesting. At any rate, it would be much more interesting than watching him dangle there. It would have been absolutely unacceptable for him to sleep through it.

Kaoru watched the two orbs slowly maneuver around the boundaries of the swollen eye socket. At first, they latched on to him. No surprise there. The human eye naturally gravitated towards features they associated with the human face. Then came the usual orbit all around the room, to ascertain the placement of the walls and the boundaries.

Perhaps the lighting was a bit too dim for full cognizance?

Ah yes…but he did realize something when he tried to move his arm just now! It swung back on him grudgingly, pulled back by the as-of-yet unseen pendulum.

He would become aware quite soon. And for all intents and purposes, he should be honored. I would be the best moment of one of their lives. In recent memory.

Hanayama turned back around to the cooking pot and continued to stir. It was as much a surprise to him as anyone that the old gas oven in the Little Nakasu kitchen still worked. But it did. In fact, it worked like a charm. He had even scrounged up a perfectly sized pot for his purposes. As any dilettante chef knew, a good cooking pot was quite the find.

A find quite worthy of the diversionary first car that had been dispatched from Lomita to Portuguese Bend. The world always did have a classic sort of equilibrium. One man’s death was another man’s birth and so on. They had done their duty very well.

Somewhere, a car with a strike team gets hit by a rocket propelled grenade. Meanwhile, a man making shrimp tempura had the good fortune to find a cast iron pot of precisely the right dimensions. And it was a fine-smelling tempura too. The aroma had wafted all round the kitchen before Kaoru knew it. It was hearty and enlivening. Just right for the occasion.

Behind him, Kaoru could hear the jingling of the chains get more and more frequent, until it became a constant, steady chime accompanying the music of the joyously bubbling pot.

Then it came.

Finally, the revelatory scream.

It was quiet and staccato at first. As the full weight of the reality came down, so too did the fullness of the noise connect into one powerful aria of comprehension.

Gangryong: ah---ah---AH---AAAHHHHHHHH, AAHHHHHHHH!

Kaoru: Thank goodness. I thought you would never wake up.

Gangryong: AAAHHHHHHHH, AAHHHHHHHH!

Kaoru: Yes, yes, I know, I know. Personally, I was very proud of myself. I never knew what those tiny winches were for. But it was always so obvious. The restaurant here used to hang fresh meat from them. I even found the hooks. Quite ingenious.

Gangryong: AAAHHHHHHHH, AAHHHHHHHH-AHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA! LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LET ME GO!

Kaoru: I would not necessarily advise struggling if I were you. I’m not sure quite how sturdy they are. Besides, the tempura is almost done.

Gangryong: AHHHHH-HAA----AAAAAAAAHH---AHHHHHH….ahh……*sniveling*-….te---te----tempura?!

Kaoru: Yes, tempura. My uncle’s recipe. He taught me how to make it when I was a boy. “The key to a good deep-fried tempura,” he always told me, “was to make sure the oil was just hot enough.” I generally do not have the time to properly make it. But you have given me an occasion for that, and other delights. For that I thank you.

Gangryong: *Panting and sniveling* ahh---haaa----haaa---w----wh---where am---what is---why---why….

Kaoru checked his watch and decided that it was as good a time as any. Taking the pot of oil off the stove with his oversized cooking mitts, he turned to face Ma Gangryoung in all of his naked glory.

Kaoru: Don’t worry. There will be plenty of time for questions. I have a few myself. Most notably the whereabouts of a certain young prostitute that you may have seen recently.

Ma’s eyelids disappeared into his forehead, as he finally understood. The enormous man in front of him came closer, carrying the steaming pot.

Kaoru: You know, you have to be very careful when frying tempura. You might burn yourself. Have you ever burned yourself, Korean? When you dip the shrimp in without gloves, a drop of the hot oil can get on your fingers. It stings very badly. And if you have a small cut somewhere on your fingers from…oh…let’s say from having chopped some vegetables earlier? It hurts even worse, because the skin is so raw and tender. Like your back. Right now.

The fat man got even closer. Ma heard his heart beating between his ears, as Kaoru felt his mouth salivate.

Clean, puritanical pain.

Passing in him.

Passing through him.

Until the intimacy of the torment gave him faith in the constancy of all things, living and dead.

The art of submission.

Magnificent.

Kaoru:…shall we begin?

Michaels: WHAT ARE YOU!?

Drew stares down the torrential storm; he reaches out and attempts to force it to disperse with no luck. Instead, he is thrown back violently into a tree; a tree that reaches down and grasps him, assaults him. Drew pulls his knife and cuts the branches, allowing him to fall to the ground. His left knee buckles upon landing causing him to fall face first into the dirt. The impact stuns him temporarily as the storm pushes the clouds over the full moon and the world around him becomes pitch black…


The scene opens to Drew Michaels riding into Dare County, North Carolina with his “cousin” and confidant Seth Omega next to him. Seth seems perturbed by this trip, a smile never even attempts to cross his face during the drive and instead often only a grimace adorns his face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence to Drew, the Chosen One breaks the awkward and uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.

Michaels: So…what is wrong?

Omega: Why are we doing this Drew?

Michaels: What do you mean?

Omega: Why are we traveling halfway across the country before a pay-per-view where I have a huge singles match and you have a C-4 title defense against Gabriel Crow?

Michaels: Because the truth cannot be ignored.

Omega: But right now?

Michaels: It also cannot be held to a timetable.

Omega: You have an answer for everything.

Michaels: Most things at least.

Omega: Sometimes I hate you.

Michaels: Well, you are possibly mildly retarded at times so I will just attribute it to that.

The two share a weak laugh; they are constantly going back and forth in such a manner. It reminds Drew of better times with someone else, someone he misses dearly…

Omega: What are we going to do about Nick?

Yeah, him.

Michaels: I…I do not know.

Drew sighs, a war with his cousin Nicholas is his most honest nightmare. The two had been close only for a relatively short period of their lives; Nick coming into his older cousin’s life through their shared professional career. However, in that time, they grew extremely close; Drew was closer to Nick then he had ever been with anyone else in his life including his own little brother. Now, with all this going on with Anaks and divine heritage, Drew wished he had Nick to lean on. While Seth is great, Nick shares the same genetics as Drew and thus would be confronted with similar issues.

That is, if he did not already know.

No, Drew thinks, he cannot allow himself to ponder such thoughts. Nick is just lost and misguided; he can still be led back to the light. But first Drew has to figure out what that light is and that is why he and Seth are on the road to Roanoke.

Omega: We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen; Nick attacked one of our own and claims he will destroy the entire Broken Saints until he gets to you. We have to do something.

Michaels: I know this…it just takes some time to deal with, you know?

Omega: I know man but time isn’t something we have.

Michaels: Right now, let us just focus on the task ahead.

Omega: But is that task our careers or some wild goose chase into the Atlantic Ocean?

Michaels: I have to find out what is going on Seth…

Omega: But what if nothing is going on Drew? What if we get out to Roanoke and there is absolutely nothing going on, nothing out of the ordinary? What if all this time that we could be using to train and study film and generally become better prepared for our matches at Lethal Injection is totally and completely wasted? What then?

Michaels: Then well… (Thinks for a second) Then I will have failed you. Have I ever failed you before Seth?

Seth sighs and shakes his head slowly.

Omega: No…no you haven’t. But I still don’t like this.

Michaels: Duly noted. Listen Seth, we both do have huge matches coming up. Your battle with Virus is an important piece of our war to save FMW. Virus has aligned solidly with Jaro and his forces; we cannot allow him to continue to propagate his message to the masses. On the other end, we have my title defense against Gabriel Crow. Crow is a dangerous competitor with a lot of untapped potential but what really worries me is his stance as a bringer of evil. His message is corrupt, his actions are vile, and every breath his takes is a blasphemy against all that is good and pure. However, not everything is about wrestling; to limit ourselves to such a thing would be like putting a word limit on writers, foolish and short sighted. (Looks at GPS) We’re closing in on the ferry. Now are you coming with me or staying on the main land?

Omega: I guess I’ll stay on the main land, I have some things I need to do and this will give me that time.

Michaels: Fair enough.

Omega: And Drew…Drew, please be careful.

As they pull up in front of the ferry station, Drew turns towards Seth and smiles his trademark devious smirk.

Michaels: I never am Seth, I never am.

And with that, our scene fades to black…


The scene opens to Drew Michaels riding on the ferry to Roanoke Island. His mind is wandering, thinking of the words he said to Seth before leaving. Yes, he knew what he had to do when it came to Full Metal Wrestling, and he really did not plan to ever fail Seth, but this…this could not be ignored. Roanoke Island was the last place his ancestor was known to be seen and he has to find out what happened. No one in his direct bloodline had been Chosen since then and Drew can only hope that by tracing the life of Christopher Bryson that he can discover more about what this position is.

Or how it will end.

As Drew is lost in his thoughts, a man wanders over and seats himself next to the Chosen One. The older man, by looks one could guess him to be around forty or so, wipes his brow with a rag before turning to Drew.

Man: Hot day we’re having, huh?

Michaels: Yeah, this weather has been a little crazy.

Man: Weather’s always a little crazy around the island.

Drew, who had been disinterested in the conversation before this remark, suddenly becomes much more attentive.

Michaels: Are you a local?

Man: Born, raised, and will likely die one. Name’s Ethan Levi.

The man extends his left hand to Drew, an offer quickly taken.

Michaels: Drew Michaels, wonderful to meet you. So tell me, do you believe the legends?

Levi smiles, one can tell he has heard this question a million times.

Levi: Which one? My personal favorite absurd theory is that aliens kidnapped the colonists but I have heard them all. Indians, a French invasion, spirits, Bigfoot, everything.

Michaels: You did not say if you believe them though.

Levi: I didn’t, did I? I’ll tell you what sir; there is something wrong with that island. I don’t know what it is but something is off about Roanoke Island. Are you heading there to study, one of those archeologists or anthropologists or something like that?

Michaels: Let us go with “something like that”. How about you?

Levi: I work for Dare County; I am heading out there to check on a complaint by the “Lost Colony” play crew about wildlife eating their scenery.

Michaels: That sounds…thrilling.

Levi: Tell me about it. At least it is a day out of the office, can’t complain too much about that I presume.

Michaels: Fair enough.

Levi: So what do you expect to find on Roanoke Mr. Michaels?

Michaels: I hope to find…(Thinks for a minute) answers. Yeah, I hope to find answers.

Drew just nods slowly as our scene fades to black…


The scene reopens to Drew walking through Roanoke Island, in particular the historical section devoted to the legendary Lost Colony. Drew examines each stop carefully, attempting to get some type of feeling from the island. He just wants a clue, any clue, in order to find out what happened to not only the lost colonists but also his ancestor Christopher. As he runs his hands over a nearby tree, wondering if it stood here when Christopher came to the island, he catches a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye. As he turns around, Drew sees what can only be his cousin Nicholas standing in front of him. Drew strides towards him, intent to confront his relative about the recent…developments in their relationship.
As he gets closer, the man turns towards him and Drew stumbles back. While it looks like Nicholas, his eyes are burning a fiery bright red. He steps forward in Drew’s direction and the Chosen One falls back, unsure about his next move.

Michaels: HALT!

The faux-Bryson trudges forward, Drew drops back while never taking his eyes off of him until suddenly he feels a violent impact in the back of his head as our scene fades to black…


The scene opens to Drew waking slowly, his eyes force themselves open as his mind is a few steps behind. The blow to the back of his skull has his ears still ringing; he shakes his head slowly and deliberately trying to block the noise out. As he begins to look around, Drew sees a familiar form in front of him; that of an old nemesis Ethan Black. Ethan is smaller then Drew remembers, he seems to have lost some muscle mass in the time since they last encountered each other. However, Drew knows for sure this is his oldest enemy standing before him.

Michaels: Morningstar…

Black: So you remember me Andrew? Good, I was worried I had slipped your mind after all this time.

Michaels: I will never forget your face as long as I live.

Black: Nor should you. Now let me get the pleasantries out of the way. How are you doing? How is beautiful Juliet? Does she so enjoy the present I gave her?

Michaels: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU ARROGANT ASSHOLE! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!

Drew lunges forward but his legs feel like jelly and he falls face forward, seemingly too weak to even move let alone complete his attack while Ethan just scoffs at him.

Black: You will find this land is not your own and your powers, your blessed little abilities, have no use here. Thus, your precious body is falling apart from all the years of abuse that should have killed you by now.

Michaels: What…what are you talking about?

Black: Have you really never thought about it Andrew? How you can go through absolute hell day in and day out, a hell beyond that of even the most hardcore of professional wrestlers, and still not only stand the next day but compete at a level beyond all others. You are blessed with a rapidly healing body due to your Anak nature and your divine gift. That is, until now. As it is, if you were a normal man without the Anak blood flowing through your veins you would have woken up from the blow to the back of the head.

Drew wants to argue, he wants to interject and say something, anything, but cannot. Even trying to speak is straining him and he can tell that despite his mental objections, Ethan is regrettably correct. Drew is useless and withering away into a pile of beaten and bruised flesh. He can feel every broken bone unmending, every cut and tear returning. He can feel every blow ever inflicted upon him by an opponent and, all at once, it is killing him.

Black: You have been digging into the affairs of some important beings lately Andrew and there are people on both sides out for your blood. There are those is Heaven offering huge rewards to stop the Chosen One from digging into the last Nephilim and finding out what happened to Christopher Bryson and believe me, there are far too many in Hell who would love nothing more than to collect on said reward.

Michaels (Struggling to speak): Like…like yourself.

Black: Me? No Andrew, I am not here to destroy you. We have had our conflicts and you won, I congratulate you on that. No, I am here to warn you to watch out where you step and on whose toes you step on. For you see, everyone’s hands are a little dirty in all of this and if things were to get out, it could lead to another war in Heaven. You remember what happened last time, don’t you? Gabriel took the throne and those loyal to the Presence were cast out into the Citadel, holed up as outlaws. Meanwhile, those in Hell in Gabriel’s favor were rewarded with power including my one-time servant known as the Lord of the Flies.

Michaels: Bee… (Takes deep breath) Beelzebub.

Black: Beelzebub, like myself and other infamous demons like Satan, is one of the seven princes of Hell. The seven of us rule the underworld, constantly moving to gain more power and influence. When Gabriel took control of Heaven, Beelzebub was given full authority over Hell. And when, thanks to you, things were returned to normal, Beelzebub fell hard. Hell was thrown into disorganized chaos and now the infernal plains are a constant warzone. With turmoil possible in Heaven, that means demons are looking to make deals with the Host in order to gain power if such a revolt were to take place again.

As it stands, one of those princes of Hell uses Roanoke Island as a point of entry into the world of the mortals. Unlike myself, not all of my contemporaries can cross between your world and ours at will, they must have help. Here on Roanoke, the boundary between the two worlds is weaker and one of the lords of Hell, which one I am not sure, has been able to capture this place as their own. You are infringing on their territory, I can only suggest you leave as soon as I release you back on to the island.

Michaels: Back…back on to the island? Where are…(Forces a shallow breath in before continuing) we now?

Black: We are outside of existence, in a dark period between life and death. Congratulations Andrew Michaels, you have now seen Purgatory. It is here my power is greatest and it is here I am hidden from the view of the other six lords so that I may warn you about this attempt on my life.

Michaels: But…but why?

Black: Because, you ignorant fool, the status quo benefits the greatest of the Fallen. If things change, I lose power. As it stands, as you can see from my smaller form, I am already losing strength and prestige due to the turmoil in Hell. And perhaps, well perhaps I have a vested interest in what you are looking for as well?

Black laughs and waves his hand over Drew before the Chosen One can question his once nemesis again for the scene instead suddenly goes black…


Michaels: STAND DOWN!

The storm rages in front of him, if he did not know better Drew would think he could run from the slow moving front. However, he knows that is impossible; that this demon would hunt him the ends of the Earth if possible now that he has been truly released. Drew was a fool to come here, he should have taken the warning and fled without the truth.

He never should have been so cocky.

However, it is that cockiness that takes over as Drew holds up his left hand, intent to disperse the demon as he had done many times before. However, his powers seem to be for naught as a lightning bolt crashes out of the sky and cracks a branch of a nearby tree off and causes it to crash down upon the skull of the Chosen One. As he crumples to the ground and we fade again to black, he can only think one thought; one singular idea that this has happened before…


The scene opens to Drew Michaels riding on the ferry to Roanoke Island. His mind is wandering, thinking of the words he said to Seth before leaving. Yes, he knew what he had to do when it came to Full Metal Wrestling, and he really did not plan to ever fail Seth, but this…this could not be ignored. Roanoke Island was the last place his ancestor was known to be seen and he has to find out what happened. No one in his direct bloodline had been Chosen since then and Drew can only hope that by tracing the life of Christopher Bryson that he can discover more about what this position is.

Or how it will end.

As Drew is lost in his thoughts, a man wanders over and seats himself next to the Chosen One. The older man, covered by a dark trench coat, leans over towards Drew and smiles a crooked, evil smile.

Black: Hello Andrew, hope I find you well.

Michaels: YOU!

Drew spins around to swing upon his old enemy but Black is able to quickly duck and pin Drew against the railing of the ship.

Black: Andrew, I would implore you to stop.

Michaels: Why should I after all you have done to me!?

Black: Because you are confused, because this is not right.

Michaels: Fuck you!

Ethan puts his right hand over Drew’s mouth to silence him and winces as Drew proceeds to bite his middle finger. However, Ethan maintains the position of control and stares deeply into Drew’s eyes with total conviction.

Black: Have you not figured it out yet? We are trapped Andrew, we will never escape until you can break us loose!

A muffled “Fuck you” can barely be made up from Drew’s covered mouth.

Black: You have to see through the illusions Drew; you have to break the cycle. The Lords of Hell, from Beelzebub to Leviathan, are deadly and devious. We have the power to create entire worlds outside of your own. Think about it Drew, think about it.

And with that, Ethan punches Drew in the back of the head, leading him back into the darkness…


The scene opens to Drew waking slowly, his eyes force themselves open as his mind is a few steps behind. The blow to the back of his skull has his ears still ringing; he shakes his head slowly and deliberately trying to block the noise out. As he begins to look around, Drew sees a familiar form in front of him; that of his “cousin” and close friend Seth Omega. Seth is bigger then Drew ever remembers, he seems to have gained some muscle mass in the time since Drew left him before getting on the ferry. However, Drew knows for sure this is his closest friend standing before him.

Michaels: Seth…

Omega: You are a fool Drew, a complete and total fool. I mean really, a cousin you have never encountered before just waltzes into your life and he has the exact same profession as you…AGAIN!? Really Drew, fucking really?

Michaels: Seth…

Omega: I mean, do you really think I buy into your “revolution for FMW” bullshit!? Seriously Drew, I never knew the FMW you want to bring back; I was never a part of it and I truly do not care about this. I just latched on to you in order to become a star, once I’m done with you I can toss you aside just like Nick did, just like Tommy did, and just like Mark and I shall.

Michaels: Seth, this is wrong…

Drew feels weak, a weakness that seems so familiar. So familiar that it is stirring memories too long hidden…

Omega: No Drew, you are wrong.

Michaels: Seth, this is Purgatory. Here my powers are weaker but they still exist and with these powers I will break this, I will break you.

Omega: What are you babbling about this time Drew?

Drew, focuses all his strength, lunges forward and tackles Seth to the ground. Pinning his ally to the ground, Drew raises his right hand into the air and drives it into the chest of Seth. Instead of punching Omega, Drew’s hand instead slides through the chest of Seth Omega. Drew then turns his hand and rips it out, creating a gaping hole in the chest of Seth Omega. Omega looks on shocked as Drew forces a weak smile.

Michaels: Gotcha you demon son of a bitch.

The Omega-Demon lets lose a primal growl and dissolves into the ground as Drew watches the scene fade to black, filled with new realization…


The scene opens to Drew Michaels riding into Dare County, North Carolina with an evil demon faux-Nick Bryson. Drew shakes his head upon landing in this situation and turns to see Demon-Nick staring at him with the fiery red eyes.

Michaels: NO!


The scene reopens to Drew walking through Roanoke Island, in particular the historical section devoted to the legendary Lost Colony. Drew examines each stop carefully, attempting to get some type of feeling from the island. He just wants a clue, any clue, in order to find out what happened to not only the lost colonists but also his ancestor Christopher. As he runs his hands over a nearby tree, wondering if it stood here when Christopher came to the island, he catches a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye. As he turns around, Drew sees what can only be his old enemy Ethan Black standing in front of him. Drew strides towards him, intent to confront his enemy…

Michaels: NO!


The scene opens to Drew staring down the torrential storm; he reaches out and attempts to force it to disperse with no luck. Instead, he is thrown back violently into a tree; a tree that reaches down and grasps him, assaults him. Drew goes to pull out his knife to cut the branches but instead thinks the move through.

Michaels: NO! NO! NO!


The scene opens to Drew Michaels riding on the ferry to Roanoke Island. His mind is wandering, thinking of the words he said to Seth before leaving. Yes, he knew what he had to do when it came to Full Metal Wrestling, and he really did not plan to ever fail Seth, but this…this could not be ignored. Roanoke Island was the last place his ancestor was known to be seen and he has to find out what happened. No one in his direct bloodline had been Chosen since then and Drew can only hope that by tracing the life of Christopher Bryson that he can discover more about what this position is.

Or how it will end.

As Drew is lost in his thoughts, a man wanders over and seats himself next to the Chosen One. The older man, by looks one could guess him to be around forty or so, wipes his brow with a rag before turning to Drew.

Man: Hot day we’re having, huh?

Michaels: Funny thing Mr. Levi, this is the only part of the cycle you seem to appear in. Just so…funny. Yes, very funny.

Levi: What are you talking about son?

Michaels: I know what you are; one of your contemporaries tipped me off. Leviathan, reveal yourself.

Upon Drew’s words, the man in front of him twists and turns into a form more reminiscent of a snake then a man but still an odd hybrid of both. The Leviathan hisses at Drew and scowls, or at least what passes for a scowl on a man-snake’s face.

Leviathan: How did you figure it out?

Michaels: The Morningstar helped, I will admit that. However, it was sadly not his words but instead his location, he trapped Purgatory within the cycle so I would eventually return there. Once I entered Purgatory for the second time, my powers were mostly shut off once again and I was able to see you had trapped me in a cycle, a cycle of events that at first had already happened and later became a sloppy, disgusting combination of all the above. And really, what better place to be the Leviathan’s anchor to cross over into the mortal realm than a piece of land surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean?

Leviathan: Brilliant little man, too bad you chose wrong in this war.

The Leviathan smiles a toothy grin similar to a crocodile before dispersing into the wind. Drew feels the ferry rocking underneath him and knows what is happening; the torrential storm he saw in one of the scenes has come to pass for it was the Leviathan all along. Drew’s mind explodes in revelation, he now knows what was going on through this all, every time Drew was almost ready to escape the cycle he was attacked by the monstrous wind and thrown back in just as the Leviathan is trying to do again.

But this time, Drew is prepared for the demon’s assault upon him. Drew closes his eyes, trying to block out the developing sea sickness from the tossing of the ferry. As the storm rages on, Drew calmly raises his left hand into the air and clenches it tightly into a fist.

Leviathan: YOU CANNOT CONTROL ME CHOSEN ONE! I WILL HAVE YOU AS I HAD THOSE BEFORE YOU! YOU SHALL FUEL MY RETURN TO CONTROL THIS REALM!

His voice booms through all of reality, Drew has to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand and not on the echoing in his ears.

Michaels: No…

As Drew concentrates, the raging winds begin to concentrate on the central location of Drew. The seas calm themselves somewhat and the downpour turns slowly into an isolated area upon Drew.

Leviathan: WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?

Michaels: Before, Chosen One’s were blessed only by Heaven; they were given their right by angelic means. But I have traversed Hell and consorted with demons. I once housed the Spirit of Vengeance Exodus within my frame! I gave a demon redemption and allowed him to reclaim his wings! I AM THE CHOSEN ONE OF ALL THREE REALMS; HEAVEN, HELL, AND EARTH! BOW BEFORE ME DEMON FOR YOU BELONG TO ME!

Lightning crashes out of the sky on to Drew’s hand, the thunder booms immediately afterwards. After the flash subsides, the storm is gone. Along with the storm, also gone are the ferry and the ocean and pretty much everything else in the scene. The only person remaining is Drew and the only item is a small stone, inscribed with a snake on the front, sitting in the palm of Drew’s hand that had once been held up in the air trying to master the storm.

The cycle is broken, Drew has won. In one on one combat, Drew has challenged Hell itself and arose victorious.

Drew looks around and sees nothing; the emptiness is vast and seemingly never-ending. He recognizes this as a mindscape, similar to when he invaded the mind of his friend Harley Quint in order to combat the deadly Harlequin. Drew can only assume this is the dying mind of the Leviathan, the demon has been bested and now the remnants of it hold tight to the astral plane instead of instantly dispersing.

Bryson: Hello?

Drew spins around to see a man in his early thirties. Drew does not even have to ask, for he knows this man instinctively, this is his ancestor Christopher Bryson standing before him in the flesh.

Michaels: Christopher, are you okay?

Bryson: Who are you?

Michaels: I am…a friend. Yes, a friend.

Bryson: Did the Leviathan capture you as well?

Michaels: The Leviathan is gone now, maybe forever. Did he capture you?

Bryson: Yes…must have been a couple years ago. What year is it, 178-something? Did the Americans win independence?

Michaels: They did win.

Bryson: Splendid, What year is it then?

Michaels (Sighs): It is…2010.

Bryson: Ah, so I must be dead.

Michaels: You seem to be taking it well.

Bryson: I long ago accepted that was my fate, to even get to speak to another person again is a bit of a relief, even if it may only be for a passing minute. I have long suffered in order to tie the Leviathan to this world, he needed human souls in order to anchor himself and, with my special heritage, he was able to do just that. (Sits silent for a second before speaking again) Do you think now that the Leviathan is gone, my soul will pass? The old colonists have all long passed, if it was not for my nature I expect I would have joined them by now though.

Michaels: I…I guess so. Can I ask you a question though, before you go?

Bryson: Yes, you may.

Michaels: What was it like, you know, being the Chosen One?

Bryson: The Chosen One? What are you talking about?

Michaels: You were the Chosen One of the LORD Almighty, His Emissary on Earth. Right?

Bryson: No, I was never the Chosen One friend, you must have heard wrong. I was gifted, that much is true but I was something else, something called a Scorpion. It was my mission to spread the faith through whatever means necessary and I did that by removing the wild spirits worshipped by the natives so that they could be converted to the true Christian faith.

Michaels: Oh…

Drew begins to speak again but Bryson is gone, his soul gone into the ethers of time. Drew reaches out to where his ancestor’s spirit had once been; wishing he could question him further. How could someone in his bloodline be the Scorpion, his sworn enemy? Drew’s position of power is based entirely in opposition to that of his ancestor, an ancestor he had begun to look up to since hearing his story from Uriel. But how did his guardian angel get such an important detail of the story wrong? Who misled him?

Was he meant to mislead Drew?

Drew shakes his head; he has to get such thoughts out of his head. If he could not trust Uriel, who could he trust? No, Drew has to believe that Uriel was misled and the obvious answer is to look towards the archangel Gabriel. Drew has mastered Hell, defeating one of its greatest in combat, but is he prepared to again wage war against Heaven?

These are the thought raging through Drew’s head as he focuses to escape the mindscape of the dying Leviathan and our scene fades to black for a final time…

The wind rushes past, roaring so loudly that all other sound is drowned out. The ground is a blur beneath you as the landscape flashes by in an ever changing pattern that simultaneously taunts and tantalizes the eyes. Your skin tingles as the caress of hot and cold thermals rolls over your body like waves crashing into the shore. Immense forces are pushing you ever higher in a defiant swipe at gravity. You breathe in deeply and are hit with the overwhelming taste and smell of pure clean air. There is nothing above you but the boundless blue sky and nothing but open spaces and limitless opportunities before you. The mind reels at the over stimulation of senses as the pure adrenaline of the moment blurs your grasp of reality. The realisation dawns on you as you struggle to fully comprehend your situation, that nothing and no one can bring you back down.

YOU ARE FLYING

Thirty three left, seventy two right, forty one left….click. The bolt slid home and Abel heaved open the door to his safe. “Overkill” Brian had called it when Abel had the security installed into his warehouse. Sure the door to this safe could stand uncompromised through a barrage of missile strikes but Abel had never been one for doing things by halves.

Like my old scoutmaster used to tell me, sometimes it pays to “be prepared”

The handiwork of his recent uninvited guests was clearly evident around the hinges and along the wall. Gouge marks in the plaster met exposed steel, where paint had been scratched off the door as someone had tried unsuccessfully to crowbar the safe open. Black scorch marks like evil fingers crawled there way up the wall, making their way out of a fridge sized cavity that could only be the result of an explosive charge.

CLANG CLANG

Abel leaned into the blast hole and knocked firmly against the section of the ten foot square steel plate inside the wall that had been exposed by the blast to test its integrity. No doubt the crew that had taken his friend captive gave up on their attempt to dislodge the safe after a similar inspection. The plate stood solid as a rock and short of bringing the entire building down there was no way that safe was budging in anything less than a week.

C.R.Y.P.T. doesn’t seem to mind wanton destruction. I wonder how long it will take before they decide that bringing the whole place down is the only option?

Abel looked inside the safe and inspected the contents. Everything was still accounted for, various items of paraphernalia from his boxing career stood alongside passports, his will and photo albums. Right at the very back stood a briefcase.

The Gold Card…..if only deciding when to use that was my biggest problem.

Abel had kept his ticket to glory, his guaranteed shot at the big time and his most treasured possession in that safe since the day after he won it. He could still clearly recall the pure thrill of the moment he claimed victory in the Gold Card Gauntlet match. That moment remained the peak of his brief career in the FMW and he never wanted to lose that feeling.

Abel turned the briefcase over in his hands a few times. It was finely crafted with supple leather and gold clasps. The FMW insignia was embossed into the leather and even to someone who did not know about wrestling they would know that this was something special.

And yet I would trade this in an instant for just a chance to have my friends back.

Abel left the safe door open as he trudged despondently toward a small stool in center of the room that had somehow remained undisturbed amongst the chaos surrounding it. He flopped down onto the cold, hard, untreated timber and held his head in his hands as emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Abel was under attack from an enemy that had no apparent motive.[/i]

I can’t do this anymore.

Abel looked across the room to where the slumped form of the only remaining link he had to C.R.Y.P.T lay sprawled on the concrete. Lenny had been particularly unhelpful despite repeated interrogation. Abel had driven for hours last night, bleary eyed and weary, pushing on through the exhaustion with will power and caffeine past every building that Lenny had known or suspected belonged to C.R.Y.P.T. At every stop Abel had come up empty in the search for his kidnapped friend.

Wrestling just doesn’t seem important anymore.

Abel had only joined FMW on Emma’s insistence that there was no other way for them to pay Tim’s medical bills. Up until then he had been living the simple life of a truck driver in outback Australia. Sure it was a rough lifestyle and you worked bloody hard just to get by but Abel had been happy then.

At least nobody was trying to hurt me or my family.

Abel hurried back over the destroyed contents of his hideout and reached into the safe once more. As his fingers grasped on to the passports he heard footsteps behind him.

T.J.: Abel, what happened down here?

Abel spun to see the only family he had left staring in astonishment as he took in the carnage around the room. Abel carefully shuffled in front of Lenny’s broken body before sweeping T.J. up in a giant embrace. T.J.’s little hands clasped around his neck and pulled Abel into him with astonishing strength.

Abel: Hey T.J, how would you like to go for a holiday?

T.J.’s little face beamed in excitement. It still stunned Abel how quickly he had recovered from the shock of his mother’s death. Sometimes at night Abel heard him crying in his bed, but the boy was strong like his father and every morning he would be up again and ready to face the world.

Abel: I thought we could go to Australia and do a bit of camping… what do you say champ?

T.J.: That sounds awesome.

Abel put T.J. back down on the floor and knelt down to his level in amongst the rubble.

Abel: We could drive right around the whole country and go fishing, surfing, roo shooting and just do whatever the hell we want all day.

T.J.: What about school?

Abel: What about it? You’ll learn more trying to catch your dinner and besides missing one year won’t hurt.

T.J.’s face was so excited Abel though he was going to explode. Then a slow look of consternation crept in and T.J. suddenly looked a little disappointed.

Abel: What’s the matter mate, don’t you want to miss school? We could get you a tutor.

T.J. shook his head glumly and pointed at the briefcase Abel was still holding in his hand.

T.J.: If we go for a whole year you won’t get to use your Gold Card.

Abel smiled an understanding smile to his adopted son. He had anticipated this argument even before he pulled the Gold card out of his safe. T.J. seemed to want Abel to win the FMW Championship even more than Abel wanted to himself.

Abel: Don’t worry about that T.J. Go pack your suitcase and then we will head on down to FMW headquarters and see if we can’t make some sort of a deal.

Abel would have sworn it was impossible but somehow T.J.’s smile widened even further until he could not believe that the little boys face didn’t burst like a giant balloon.

T.J.: You’re going to Cash it In?

Abel grabbed up his little companion in one arm and scooped up the passports and his Gold Card in the other and proceeded to walk toward the door.

Abel: You’ll just have to wait and see little man?

As T.J. began prattling about the size of the fish he would catch, how he wanted to see the look on his friends faces when he told them he didn’t have to go to school for a year and how Abel would beat Romeo and Tyrant when he cashed in his Gold Card all at once, Abel glanced behind him at the destroyed room that he had set up as a hideout.

Brian was right about one thing. If you surround yourself with a fortress you will always end up in a war.

********************************************************************


The view is awe inspiring as you look down upon a world that is filled with beauty and wonder. The majestic eagles soar around you as you take your place with the king of birds. And yet you climb higher, faster and more desperate to reach the top. Everything you do is about climbing higher and ascending even into the stars.
Burning lungs that cannot seem to get enough oxygen out of that thin air no matter how hard you puff begin to weigh you down. Your mind retreats into the corner as you begin to blackout. Suddenly the safety of the ground is an eternity away and you are lost and alone. The wonder and beauty that lifted you up higher than the gods is now waiting to catch you, to drag you back down and you feel yourself wishing for the sweet, cold embrace of the earth once more. The wind that was once rushing by and lifting you up has faltered. The momentum that so brashly scoffed at the confines of reality and gravity is gone and you plummet.

YOU ARE FALLING.

Abel tossed his suitcase in alongside the smaller matching one that T.J. had already dragged into the locker room. He shoved one shaking hand into his pocket and searched for some loose change.

Why am I so nervous?.

A few loose coins and a crumpled up dollar bill are all that Abel can find so he hands it over to T.J. who simply raises one eyebrow and leaves his hand outstretched.

Abel: Fine, do you know where the canteen is then?

T.J. nods acknowledgment and rolls his eyes at the question. Abel has brought him here plenty of times during training sessions or sometimes after shows.

Abel: Well go up there and get yourself something then come straight back. Just tell them to put it on my account ok?

Abel closed the locker room door behind him as he walked away, not waiting to hear T.J.’s response. That boy was on first name basis with the ladies in the canteen and no doubt he would get spoilt rotten even if he turned up empty handed.

Abel swung the Gold Card briefcase alongside himself as he walked down the corridor. Commissioner Smitten’s office was about as far away from his private locker room as you could get and still be inside the building but for once Abel didn’t mind. It gave him time to think about how he could Cash in the Gold Card. Sure he could just say he wanted to use it at Lethal Injection but what if he won? Smitten would never let him walk away holding the company’s greatest prize, he’s too fucking greedy to let that happen. But T.J. expects to see Abel Steele cash in that Gold Card and claim the title. Abel really didn’t want to let him down

Maybe I can ask for an extension?

Deep within thought Abel was oblivious to the two men approaching him from the other end of the corridor. Unfortunately the two men were having a heated discussion of their own and didn’t see Abel either. As they met in the middle Abel crashed hard into one of the two men and was knocked backwards. As he reeled back in shock the gold Card slipped from Abel’s fingers and fell to the floor with a thud.

The second man, who was taking up the bulk of the corridor on his own stepped forward as his companion was also knocked backwards from the impact.

Seth: What the hell convict, you looking to get your ass kicked?

Abel was pretty sure the only thing he was looking right at that point was stunned from the impact of his recent collision. Before Abel could recover a calming hand appeared from behind on Seth’s shoulder, pulling him back out of Abel’s face.

Drew: Easy Seth, easy, I should have been looking where I was going.

Abel: Yeh sorry Drew, me too. I’ve just got a bit on my mind.

Drew pointedly looks down at the briefcase in Abel’s hand and nods.

Drew: On your way to cash that in with Commissioner Smitten huh?

Abel: Yeh.... I mean not exactly. Listen Drew it’s complicated ok.

A knowing smile comes over Drew’s face as he places one reassuring hand on Abel’s shoulder.

Drew: I understand. By cashing in your chance you could become the biggest name in this company but at the same time you risk losing the one thing that makes you stand out from the crowd of people clamouring for a shot.

Abel: Wow…messiah, leader, C-4 Champion AND a psychiatrist……is there anything you don’t stick your nose into Drew?.

As Drew calmly opens his mouth to respond he is ripped away and Seth once again jumps into Abel’s face.

Seth: That’s it!. I’ll tell you what you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into Steele…. Saint’s fucking business is what. Romeo is gonna take that belt and if you wanna cash in your Gold Card you can wait until he is damn well ready for you!

Seth’s rage boils over and he reaches down past a stunned Steele and grabs up the Gold Card briefcase and slams it directly into his gut. The case busts open and clatters to the floor and Abel hunches over nursing his stomach.

Seth: Got it?!

Abel instinctively flexes and clenches his right fist with the Broken Saint standing menacingly over him. In one motion Abel straightens and delivers a vicious hook to the face of his attacker who doubles back in pain.

After a momentary pause the massive frame of Seth Omega begins rolling forward as he is fully enraged now. Abel braces himself for the onslaught but it never comes as Drew steps in between his charge and the former Olympic boxing champion.

Drew: Seth! Stop it..

Seth: Bud I think he broge my nobe!

Drew: Seth! You started it, now I’m finishing it. Go back to our locker room and wash your nobe.

Grudgingly Seth stands down and walks back to the other end of the corridor, muttering the whole way about his modelling career.

Drew: Sorry about him Abel.

Abel: Forget it besides I think he actually just helped me out.

A look of complete confusion slips across Drew Michaels face for the first time that Abel has ever seen.

Drew: How?

Abel: Let’s just say Seth gave me my moment of clarity….

Drew: I never know what the hell you crazy Aussies are talking about half the time but I am sure that you will do the right thing regardless.

Abel: How can you be so sure?

Drew: You always have before…Listen Abel I better go check on Seth. He’s probably in there having a cry right now.

Abel: OK Drew…tell him I said sorry ok?

Drew smiled over his shoulder at Abel as he walked away toward the Broken Saints locker room.

Drew: No worries Abel, as long as you do something for me.

Abel: Name it?

Drew: Next time….try and break his jaw.

Drew laughed more to himself than anything as he continued on down the hall. Abel waited as he stepped through the locker room doorway and then scrambled over to where the Gold Card briefcase lay against the wall. As he had stood on his haunches gathering breath from Seth’s attack Abel had spotted something lining the inside of the briefcase.

He hoped against hope that he had been mistaken but as he knelt down on the cold hard concrete he already knew that he was not. The answer was so obvious, how had he not realised before.

Every time he had tried to remove C.R.Y.P.T. from his life they had been one step ahead. Every time he tried a counter attack they knew where he would strike. Only one man had known about all of his plans. Only one man had known about his warehouse hideout. The clarity of the moment was infinite and suddenly the shroud had been lifted from his eyes and he could see the truth.

Abel felt a shiver like someone was raking iceblocks up and down his spine as his eyes confirmed what he already new in hi heart to be the truth. The inside of his briefcase was lined with photographs stapled to the inside wall. Each photograph was of Brian. His friend…. Who he loved like a father and the man he had wasted countless hours searching for.

Brian had known all of Abel’s plans, fears and secrets and here Abel had evidence that it had all been a lie since the day they had met. As his shock turned to rage Abel began tearing each photograph out of the briefcase like he was exorcising demons from his life. As each staple popped free of the briefcase Abel felt like he had removed a nail from his coffin.

As the last photo tore free Abel’s mind was racing. Why had Brian befriended him? What reason could he have for wanting to hurt him? Why had he staged his own abduction from the hideout?

As sure as eggs the answer Abel was being lured into some sort of a trap. If he went looking for Brian eventually he would poke his nose in the wrong hole and the trap would snap. Brian was obviously very clever to hide his deception this long and only now showing his true colours. Only now showing what a depraved and worthless piece of dirt he is.

The truth hurt Abel deeply as he shuffled through the photos in disbelief, each image further destroying the respect that Abel had held for a man who he had considered a legend of the sport and a top bloke besides. Abel had modelled his career after this man and had only ever dreamed of reaching his level and now Abel wanted nothing more than to destroy him.

Throwing the photos into a pile in a pocket of his briefcase Abel couldn’t help but wonder.

Who the hell put these photos in here? And why?

As he head began to spin from the possibilities, only two people knew the combination to that safe. Brian was one and it made no sense for him to concoct such an elaborate abduction only to blow it with these photos. The only other person was back in his locker room waiting to head off on a plane to Australia.

There is no way a 12 year old boy could be behind this?.

Abel scolded himself for even considering the possibility and quickly packed up the briefcase and continued on his way down the corridor. As he approached the door of the FMW Commissioner’s office Abel kept on waling by. Smitten would be pissed at him for not showing up to their meeting but Abel had more important things to worry about.

He stopped outside the next locker and raised a hand to knock when voices from inside convinced him to listen first.

Seth: Doebn’t he knowb whob I amb! Nobe one breaks Seb Omega’s nobe and gets away wib it. I amb the bloody Warb Dawg!

Drew: I know Seth, but I don’t think your nobe is actually broken… just a little bloodied. I’ll go get a towel and some more ice and come back ok.

Abel quickly pulled his ear away from the door as the shiny brass knob slowly turned and Drew Michaels appeared in the hallway.

Drew: Hey Abel…... what are you doing out here? Back for round two?

Drew smiled a rueful grin and Abel let out a laugh that never reached his eyes.

Abel: I wanted to say sorry again Drew.

Drew: Forget it, he isn’t really hurt anyway, he’s just having a bit of a whinge.

Abel: That’s what I’m sorry for.

Drew: Don’t be, he’s always whinging about something anyway. At least now he has something besides PX to sook about.

Abel: Well if it is any help you can tell him I think he may have cracked one of my ribs.

Drew: Oh God don’t ever admit that to him, I can barely deal with his ego as it is. Imagine if he actually had something to gloat about….. Now, why are you really hanging around out here?

Abel shifted uncomfortably as Drew waited patiently for a response. He needed a favour and had no one left to turn to but he also knew that he and Drew hadn’t exactly been best mates since he arrived in FMW.

Abel: Listen Drew, I wouldn’t ask but I’ve got no one else to turn to right now and ---.

Drew: I’ll do it

Abel looked at Drew with suspicion. He had little trust for anyone these days but for all he thought Drew tended to be a self righteous arse Abel had to admit he had never been anything but honourable.

Abel: You don’t even know what I want….

Drew: It doesn’t matter Abel. I know you would never ask if it wasn’t important so I’ll do it.

Abel let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding until that moment.

Abel: T.J. is back in my locker room, could you take care of him for me tonight.

Drew: Sure

Drew nodded and placed a hand reassuringly on Abel’s shoulder. He could sense there was something more sinister going on and looked genuinely concerned for his colleague.

Drew: If there is something wrong Abel then let me help. Let the Saints help…


Abel: I appreciate the offer but this is my fight.

With that Abel turned and began walking back down the hallway toward the parking lot. Everything seemed clear now and he knew that by the end of the day he would be free of Brian’s meddling or die trying.

Abel: Oh and Drew…..give T.J. this.

Abel’s arm quivered as he turned back and held out the Gold Card briefcase. Drew reached out and after a moment Abel released his grip and allowed his friend to take it. Whilst rubbing his hands across its supple leather keenly admiring the fine craftsmanship of its design, Abel could clearly see the cogs in Drew’s mind ticking over.

Abel: Tell him if I don’t make it back….No. Just tell him that I am giving it to him. Tell him he can cash it in wherever, whenever and for whoever he wants.

With that Abel walked quickly away leaving a somewhat stunned Drew Michaels standing alone in the corridor holding a guaranteed shot at the number one prize in the business.

********************************************************************


The roar of the wind is louder than ever before. Your face is contorted into a caricature of itself as the G-forces drive all blood from your brain. There is a tingling sensation in your arm, like a million pinpricks at once. Your life flashes before your eyes and you wonder if anyone will remember you. You break out in a cold sweat and your body turns to jelly. Every movement is met by the piercing screams of muscles no longer responding to rational thought but reacting to sheer panic. As resignation overtakes you, you are no longer concerned with pulling out; you know that your fate is sealed. As you plummet out of control you latch onto the one thing you can see, one last chance to make a contribution with your life. Away in the distance a target appears something you can vent all of your anger onto, a focal point that you can channel all of your panic and fear into. If only you can make it……

YOU ARE KAMIKAZE.

The crack of splitting bone was like a balloon popping on a hot day. The look on the security guard’s face was a mix of disbelief and utter horror as he crawled backwards, dragging his now useless leg along behind him.

Abel: Page Brian Cousin’s office. Tell him his nine o’clock is waiting in the lobby.

The guard looked back at Abel blankly, clearly not recognising the name. It wasn’t a surprise to Abel, he knew that C.R.Y.P.T were very careful to keep their employees in the dark as much as possible and a security guard on the front desk would probably not even know the names of the people who would know Brian. Abel waited patiently as the guard slowly dragged himself back to the control panel.

Guard: There’s no Brian Cousins in this building sir.

Abel smiled a twisted smile at the guard who cowered back anticipating another backlash.

Abel: I was hoping you might say that. Now we get to do it the old fashioned way.

Abel grabbed up the guard by the collar and slammed his head into the desk, knocking him unconscious. He quickly gathered up the guard by his shoulders as blood began flowing like a gushing river from his shattered nose, leaving a crimson trail across the floor as Abel dragged him toward the nearest alarm panel.

Seeing that it was covered by a protective Perspex panel he swung the butt of his shotgun as hard as he could toward the panel. The reverberations of the swing left Abel’s arms numb for a moment as he was knocked back a step.

Abel: Would you mind getting that for me?

Abel motioned with his head toward the alarm button before grabbing up the unconscious guard’s hand and swiping it over the fingerprint scanner. The Perspex panel slid away and Abel wasted not time in hitting the big cherry red alarm button.

Abel: Now….somewhere here…aha

Abel pulled a microphone out of the wall and flicked on the emergency broadcast system.

Abel: Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain speaking. It’s currently 9:03 local time and the weather outside is a balmy 29 degrees C. We are about to begin our descent into complete and utter chaos and anyone who has not evacuated the building within 3 minutes will be shot on sight.

Abel spun around with the microphone still in hand as a second security guard attempted to sneak up behind him. Without hesitation Abel unloaded a round into the kneecaps of his would be attacker and dropped him to the floor.

As the sound of the shot echoed out over the broadcast system and deep into the building’s depths Abel heard screams followed by dozens of doors opening as people began clawing their way past one another in a mad rush to exit the building inside the aforementioned deadline.

Abel: On behalf of the crew I would like to thank you for flying Steele Airlines where “We may not get you there but it’s always a blast”


Despite his somewhat unhinged exterior Abel was in full control of his faculties. By clearing the building of any innocent workers not involved in the C.R.Y.P.T inner sanctum he was also announcing his presence to the people he was looking for.

If I have no idea where to find Brian then why not let him come to me.

Abel sat motionless on top of the security console desk in the main lobby watching as hundreds of people fled the building and gathered at a safe distance pointing back inside at the madman sitting idle in the centre of the room.

Two minutes and forty five seconds… Brian should be here in Five, four, three, tow and one.

Abel pointed at the entrance to the lobby only to see the last few workers make their ways through and out of the building.

Dammit Brian. I really hoped you would at least have the balls to come out and…..

The Broadcast system crackled into action as a voice Abel had heard all too many times before spoke.

The Voice: Welcome to the C.R.Y.P.T Abel. We are glad you could make it.

An image of Brian flashed up on one of the security monitors. He was slumped over and tied up on an office chair in a room surrounded by C.R.Y.P.T. security guards.

The Voice: Your friend Brian is a little tied up right now…. Why don’t you come and see him.

Abel carefully controlled his emotions, no doubt he was being monitored himself on the security system and any reaction besides shock at seeing Brian tied up might give away that he knows the truth of his friend’s betrayal.

He hopped down off the desk and as he did so a door marked “Authorised Personnel Only” opened in front of him.

Oh well…. Time to spring the trap.

As he made his way through the twists and turns of the building a series of doors mysteriously opened before him and slammed shut behind. He knew that this was an almighty gamble he was taking but he was sick of sneak attacks from behind and was determined to finish this one way or another today.

The Voice: That’s far enough. Now drop your weapon.

Abel threw down his shotgun and after a momentary pause began pulling knives from every part of his body. One from each boot, four from his belt, two from his back and another from his inner thigh.

The Voice: And the rest…...

Abel smiled up at the nearest camera, yet his eyes tried to burn a hole in it fuelled by his rage. He reached and pulled a small pistol from his shoulder and a cudgel from behind his neck. As they clattered to the ground to rest atop the small pile of arms he had formed the voice spoke once more.

The Voice: Impressive. Now come along it is time for you to join your friend.

With that another door opened and two guards stepped through one with rifle drawn on Abel the other holding a tazer nudged him forward out of the room and into the large chamber beyond.

Brian: Abel …...you shouldn’t have come for me.

Abel quivered with a rage that he hoped would be mistaken for a desire to save his friend. Brian was slumped against a desk on the far side of the room. Abel had to appreciate the effort involved in this elaborate ruse. Without those photos he had to admit to himself that he would have never suspected a thing. Now he wanted nothing more than to simply stride out across the marbled floor and snap the neck of his so called ‘friend’.

Abel: I had to come Brian.

I couldn’t let you get away with what you’ve done.

A quick spin and sweep of the legs took out both of the guards by his side, he quickly removed the tazer from one guards grip and slammed it down into the chest of the other guard even as he tried to draw his rifle around.

The guard slumped back into unconsciousness and Abel grabbed up his weapon by the barrel and spun, swinging the weapon hard without looking just in time to take down two more guards who had left their post by Brian’s side.

Abel: This is…. too easy

The remaining guard looked nervously around the wide open chamber, hoping for some sign of support arriving. As Abel took a purposeful stride forward the guard turned and ran out of the room leaving Brian and Abel alone.

Not really alone.

Abel glanced around the room. The walls were vanilla coloured broken at regular intervals by a series of large mirrors that had the effect of making it nearly impossible to tell exactly how big the room was and how much was a trick of the mind. As he tried to work it out he noticed several cameras concealed in the walls. They were well hidden, but not that well.

C.R.Y.P.T has never been that sloppy before. They want me to know I’m being watched, otherwise they would have hidden them better.

Abel put thoughts of voyeurs from his mind and shuffled over to where Brian was still tied up. Despite urges to simply destroy him then and there Abel resisted and began roughly untying the ropes that bound him.

Brian: Hurry up Abel, let’s get the fuck out of here before that guard finds some firends and comes back.

Abel undid the last of the ropes and helped the old man to his feet. Brian quickly shooed away Abel’s helping hand and stretched out as if he had been tied up for days.

Abel: We are not leaving Brian, not yet anyway.

Brian wandered around the room as he continued to stretch out his muscles.

Brian:Oh?.

Abel: This has to end tonight. These fuckers still have my best friend in here somewhere and I’m not leaving without Tim.

Brian: Somehow …….I knew you’d say that.

Abel ducked the blow he had anticipated from the moment Brian stood up out of his chair. As the old man found nothing but air he overbalanced and Abel sensed more than anything else that he needed to move as a knife slashed through the spot where his back had been a moment ago.

Brian rolled away from Abel and smoothly came to a kneeling position with arms ready to defend an attack.

Brian: You are the luckiest son of a bitch I ever met.

Abel: Believe me Brian, the pleasure is all yours….

Brian: So what gave it away? Was it the guards, I knew it was a mistake telling them not to kill you. It’s not like they could have anyway.

Warily Abel backed keeping one eye on Brian away toward the fallen guards on the other side of the room.

Abel: It wasn’t the guards Brian.

Brian lunged forward with a roar as he realised what Abel was doing. As Abel dodged out the way Brian deftly kicked away the rifle that still lay on the ground where Abel had dropped it before.

Brian: C’mon Abel, you really think I’m going to let you spoil my fun by bringing a gun into this.

Abel: You think this is fun?

Brian flashed a crooked grin at Abel who could not believe he had never noticed the wildness that was now dancing in the old man’s eyes.

Brian: Not yet….so if it wasn’t the guards then what was it?

Not waiting for a response Brian leaped forward spinning his body in a blur that seemed impossible for a man of his years. Abel watched mesmerised as the attack morphed into a jump hook kick.
Abel let out a groan as the kick knocked the oxygen from his lungs and he staggered back into the wall gasping desperately for oxygen even as Brian launched into another attack.

Brian: Was it the kidnapping? I told them not to overdo it!

Brain spun as he spoke closing on Abel was still doubled over from the last kick. At the last moment Brian feigned a neckbreaker and as Abel did his best to sidestep his former mentor morphed the attack into an elbow shot directly to the back of Abel’s skull.

Abel staggered forward as the world around him turned to black only broken by a myriad of swirling stars. He held the back of his head firmly trying to massage away the pain and exorcise the fogginess from his mind.

Brian sauntered casually over to the fallen guards and picked up the tazer that was still lying on the floor. Whilst the C.R.Y.P.T guards may not have been trying to kill him it was becoming painfully obvious to Abel that Brian had nothing else on his mind.

I’m not finished yet old man.

Abel: Not the kidnapping.

Brian paused in mid stride, a look of curiosity on his face.

Brian: Oh no? Then what?

Abel took the pause to gather his wits, he couldn’t let this become a fight on the old man’s terms. Free flowing innovative attacks at close quarters were Brian had built his reputation upon. They were the reason that rookies trying to make their name in the industry came to train with him and Abel could never hope to match him on those terms.

Abel: You were betrayed Brian.

Brian stopped in his tracks and stared Abel in the eyes. After a moment a wide grin broke out on his face and he let out a deep laugh.

Brian: Ha! By who, that dim wit Lenny we left behind at the kidnapping? Please Abel you’ll have to better than that. The poor sap never knew what he was involved in. I’m not that careless.

Brian shook his head as he nonchalantly made his way over toward his victim who was still on his knees as he struggled to gather his wits.

Brian: It doesn’t matter anyway Abel. You are finished.

With that Brian lifted the tazer up and swung it down hard towards Abel’s neck. Not only content with stunning him into submission, Brian was doing his best to cave in the skull of his former student.

At the last possible instant Abel rolled to one side and as Brian overbalanced from the force of his missed attack Abel drove his fist deep into his stomach. The force of the blow was so brutal that Brain spit blood.

Abel: You are right Brian, it is over. I know your true nature now. I will never let you return to your gym.

Abel drove another fist into Brian’s torso this time greeted with a satisfying pop as ribs audibly cracked under the strike.

Abel: I will never let you harm another person.

As rage overtook him Abel swung back and delivered an almighty strike to the chest of his former friend and mentor. Blood flowed even faster from Brian’s mouth now and as he coughed the foul stench of bile was introduced to the air. The smell was putrid and it matched Abel’s mood.

Brian lay near motionless on the clod hard marble floor as Abel despondently walked over to the fallen man. As he drew close he gathered a fistful of the old man’s silvery locks and lifted his head up off the ground until his face was only inches from his own.

Abel: But I have to know one thing…..Why?

Brian’s body contorted as he was wracked by a series of whooping coughs, each one bringing more and more vital fluids out o his body to spew onto the pristine floors.

Brian: I gave my life to wrestling Abel. I was the great Brian Cousins, Hall of Famer, multiple times champion and a pioneer of this business.

Brian stopped as more of his life leaked out onto the ground before him. Each breath now was a battle and Abel could hear that the old man’s lungs were filling with fluids.

Brian: But the business chewed me up and spat me out Abel. I was washed up and forgotten, nobody cared about me anymore and what did I have to show for my life’s work….. a bad back and a grudge.

Abel took two fistfuls of the old mans shirt and heaved him upright, shaking him as he spoke.

Abel: So why did you take it out on me?

Brian: You waltzed in to FMW, the number one company with no credentials and stole the show. You are everything that is wrong with this business. You had no respect for those who went before you.

Abel: What are you talking about Brian? I loved you like a father. I had more respect for you than you would ever know.

the pool of blood and bile at Brian’s feet was now nearing fatal proportions. He had lost a lot of blood and the acids from his ruptured organs had to be eating away at his body from the inside.

Brian: Bullshit you used me like every one else. But guess what I was using you too. The Voice promised me my own company, fully funded by C.R.Y.P.T for as long as I lived, a place where I could NEVER be forgotten.

Blood had now begun flowing from Brian’s ears and nose now and Abel knew the end was near.

Brian: Tell me Abel….cough….cough….how did you know the truth about me?

Abel: I already told you Brian, you were betrayed. Someone left me a pile of photographs that gave you away.

Brian: Who….who….was it?

Abel lifted Brian up above his head he wanted to let his anger out. Anger at Brian, anger at himself, anger at C.R.Y.P.T and the mysterious Voice behind the whole operation.

Abel: You want to know who it was? Fine I’ll show you.

With that Abel let out all his anger into throwing Brian’s wrecked body across the room. The old man slammed into one of the giant mirrors lining the walls and crashed through, sending shards of shimmering glass in all directions.

Brian walked over to the hole in the wall where the mirror used to be. Inside he could see Brian’s limp form, now bloodied from head to toe from a thousand shards of glass, but that was not where his attention was focussed.

I wish I had been wrong.

Abel’s eyes looked past Brian into the room beyond. The room was filled with medical implements and machines. A single bed at the centre of the room contained a man hooked up to a myriad of machines and at the foot of the bed stood a beautiful woman, a small stool sprawled on the floor at her feet where she had knocked it over as she jumped up in fright.

Emma….. I don’t know wether I thank you or kill you.

Emma looked tired as her gaze met Abel’s. Abel climbed through the broken window and approached Emma at the end of the bed.

Emma: How…… how did you know?

Abel: No one else besides T.J. knew the combination to the safe Emma, which meant no one else could have gotten into that briefcase and left those photos. It was so obvious now I think about that I am sure you wanted me to know.

Emma: Abel I did want you to know

Abel: Know what? that you faked your own death? That you abandoned your son as an orphan? That you had sold out to the very people who were out to destroy my life?

Emma: No Abel, I had to do all of those things to save Tim. I made the mistake of trusting C.R.Y.P.T initially but once Tim was here I had no choice but to go along. Besides Abel, I knew T.J. was safe with you. Really I just wanted you to know that I was still alive.

Abel: Why?

Emma broke eye contact with Abel and carefully studied the floor.

Emma: Because after everything Abel I still lo…..look out!

Emma shoved Abel to one side and he stumbled and tripped over the stool. As he fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion Abel could only watch as Brian lunged toward Emma with his dying breath. Cold sharp steel plunged into her chest where Abel had been only a moment ago.

Abel: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Abel knocked the stool flying and crashed into the bed in his effort to get to Emma. The machines rattled and one or two fell to the ground from the impact but Abel did not care. Even as Abel dragged Brian off of Emma he knew they were both already dead. He was only in time to see the crimson stain on her blouse balloon out of control.

Abel: WHY!!!

Abel slammed his fist down into the lifeless body of his mentor in a vain attempt to make somebody else share his pain. As he reined down blows into the dead man, wrecking his bloody body beyond recognition Abel screamed over and over.

Abel: WHY!!!, WHY!!!, WHY!!!......WHHHYYYYYY!

The Voice:Perhaps I can answer that?

Abel felt a prick in his neck and a vial of fluid injected into his body. He spun around in rage at to finally see The Voice that had haunted his life for the last few months.
Abel fell backwards, the world spinning around him. He wasn’t sure if that was from the drugs in his body or the shock of seeing his comatose best friend up and out of his bed standing with an empty syringe in his hand.

The Voice/Tim: Emma loved you Abel. She always did and now she died for it…..fitting really, you seem to bring pain and suffering to everyone close to you.

Abel’s mind shut down as the drugs Tim had injected into him took effect. As the world went blank those final words rang incessantly through his head.

YOU BRING PAIN AND SUFFERING TO EVERYONE CLOSE TO YOU.

Do you remember the days when you were young enough to think you knew you could conquer the world?

Do you remember a few years later when you looked back and realised you didn’t know anything about what life was like? And do you remember a few years after that, where you experienced that same feeling?

Today I turn thirty years old. Thirty years on planet Earth. It’s times like these that you look back and really analyse yourself, whether you’ve succeeded with a handful of decades under your belt.

Me? I can only laugh at my resume for life:

I was born.

I was zero and naive.

I was loved.

I got a younger brother and sister at the same time.

I went to school.

I was six and still naive.

I was introduced to wrestling by friends.

I was told I was a joke by my father.

I attended my father’s funeral.

I moved on.

I became a teenager.

I started training to become a wrestler and achieve my dream.

I fell in ‘love’.

I moved to America.

I was eighteen and still naive.

I started my journey in professional wrestling before I was nineteen.

I was a Champion before twenty.

I got in a fight with my best friend.

I broke bonds of friendship apart that weren’t even mine.

I watched my best friend end his own life.

I ruined a young girl’s life. Probably.

I became a father.

I moved to Japan.

I was twenty and still naive.

I raised a daughter.

I trained.

I became a trainer.

I taught my younger brother the art of puroresu.

I taught my brightest student and future best friend how to wrestle.

I returned to America to live out my dream.

I was twenty six and even more naive.

I won championships.

I bled.

I kept fighting.

I saw my daughter turn her back on me for my enemy.

I fought to truly be her father.

I watched my rival attack me.

I fought to truly be his equal.

I sustained serious injuries.

I fought to come back.

I became a World Champion.

I fought to be the best.

I retired.

And then I joined Full Metal Wrestling.

I was twenty seven and still naive.

It’s now two and a half years later, and I’m thirty years old. I’m a double champion with the world knocking down my door and very little space to breathe.

I’m thirty years old, and probably still naive.

Oh well.

If life is a dark mess of entangling trees, thorned roses and overgrown roots underneath the black sky...

I’ll be the wildfire burning the forest to ashes.

Aussie pro wrestlers to hit for six
By Victoria Neves

It’s not often that Australia hears much about the world of professional wrestling, but in just a few days Australian wrestlers Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice will have tens of thousands cheering for them.

While it’s big in the United States, Canada, Mexico and Japan, Australia normally doesn’t feature too many pro wrestling events. However, Full Metal Wrestling, a Canadian wrestling company, features three Australian wrestlers on its current roster, all from Perth. Abel Steele will duke it out with American foe Chris Austin, but the real story will see Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice fight each other and four other men in an ‘Elimination Chamber’ match.

For those of you not versed in the terminology of the sport, an Elimination Chamber match features the regular four-sided ring surrounded by a colossal metal structure. Weighing over sixteen tons and with over three kilometres of steel chains, the Chamber is designed to punish those inside. The company has only featured the match twice in its three year history, and looking at those previous matches, it isn’t hard to find the reason. Blood, sweat and tears can’t even begin to describe the horrors of a match like the Elimination Chamber. But nonetheless, at the upcoming event Lethal Injection, six men will walk in and only one will be declared the winner.

The reason many Australians - particularly residents of Western Australia and Perth – are talking about the event is that home-grown heroes Leon Caprice and Skyler Striker are two of the six competitors.

Leon Caprice was born in Perth in 1985, and graduated from Curtin University with a combined accounting and business management degree. He then moved to Japan for a number of years to train under Skyler Striker, a relationship which is best described currently as ‘up in the air’. Caprice would eventually follow Striker to Full Metal Wrestling and the duo have since become known as ‘Crash Scene’. While they enjoy the status of the company’s best team as FMW Tag Team Champions, a recent falling out has seen the two fighting and this match will continue that trend.

Skyler Striker is the man to beat in the match, in which the winner will be declared the FMW Abandoned Champion. Born in Sydney but raised in the eastern suburbs of Perth since he was four, Striker is the current Abandoned Champion co-Tag Team Champion. Only the third man in the company’s history to remain a champ for over 300 days, Striker has found success in a business where it’s hard to come by.

The two will face off against not only each other but also four other hungry competitors. Hannibal Frost has a history of losses to Striker and will surely be looking to redeem himself. Dunnwood, a mysterious figure, has recently made threats vaguely directed towards Striker’s family. Syanide – a vicious monster of a man - has attacked and left Leon Caprice flat on his back a number of times. And Apostasy, the company’s youngest employee, previously assisted in an attack on Striker. Any one man will find themselves hard pressed to rise above five other caged animals in a match such as this.

The match is steeped in controversy, too. After re-aggravating an old injury in his left wrist, many fans and company staff have reported a change in Striker’s attitude as of late. Online websites feature numerous rumours of an addiction to painkillers, although these remain unconfirmed.

The wrestling industry is notorious for its management of drug problems, where a conviction would lead to a publicity disaster for the company involved.

Regardless of the circumstances, Leon Caprice knows exactly what he wants from the match.

“For me, even though the Championship is on the line, this match is about helping a friend. Skyler needs to be brought back down to see reality around him,” says Leon. “He just needs to take a little time off, see what really matters. He’s been obsessive lately and that’s not what he’s usually like. It’s not about tit for tat. It’s about seeing that there’s a right and a wrong way to go about things.”

At FMW’s previous show, Supremacy, Striker defeated Caprice in a one on one match. He then attacked his partner and caused a similar injury to Caprice’s left wrist. Leon says that he barely notices it, and that pain is a common result of an intense wrestling schedule.

“I’ve learned to deal with it in ways that keep me going. Pain is pain. End of story. I won’t let it affect me like Skyler has, and if it takes beating him to do it, then so be it. I know I can do it. He trained me, after all. It’s the best test I could ever take.”

Lethal Injection will take place in late April and will be available to watch on Foxtel’s Main Event channel for $29.95. Full Metal Wrestling’s divisional shows – Ammunition, Corruption and Distortion - take place monthly on Fox8. FMW is scheduled to tour Australia to film its 12.1 shows in September.

Day XXII

Ten-chan’s getting big now. I reckon she’s about seven years old. Her ovaries will be almost fully developed. I just can’t wait to shove my thick meat-stick in that underage virgin pussy of hers.

Some days I wonder whether what I’m doing is morally wrong, but then I think: fuck the haters. Did people bitch when I made the call to have a Deadly Drag Race match? Yes, but I went the fuck ahead with it anyway because I goddamn well could.

I’ll go ahead with this too. I’m not even aware of my living anymore. I can’t really be sure when I last slept. When I last ate. When I last stood up from this desk and moved. Jack brings me food, he has to to keep both of us alive. Without him, I die. Without me, he dies. We’re both just filthy, disgusting parasites, living off one another’s being.

His body, my mind.

Our souls.


The gleaming record studio is filled with a crazy buzz of noise. Sat in identical chairs, in a loose ring, are the six men who will fight for the Abandoned Championship come Lethal Injection III. Around the circle are so many varied personalities, each one with their own agenda and lifestyles. That gleaming silver belt tied them together inseparably, with all the force the universe could muster. Dunnwood looks around the ring of people; from the left we have; Syanide, who glares at the others in contempt; Leon Caprice, glancing at Skyler with a mixture of pity and envy; Hannibal Frost, head hung low, his proverbial cards close to his chest; Skyler Striker, the Abandoned Champion, his pain ever-present; and Apostasy, the silent anomaly and representative of the Broken Saints.

Behind glass screens, employees of Full Metal and the record company alike scurry like headless chickens. The Full Metal team are aware of the explosive nature contained within that room and are sure that plexiglass won’t be enough to hold these six titans back from tearing the place apart, given the chance. So they apply pressure to the record company, which puts them under stress and in doing so, forces them to make careless errors, which they then blame on the Full Metal staff. It’s just another vicious circle in this interwoven ring of destruction. Eventually, things come to a head. One of the record company employees storms out while the wrestlers sit in stony silence, daring one of the others to speak. Someone grabs the intercom – it really doesn’t matter who, they’re all suits who don’t understand anyway – and says, “OK guys, take five.”

Instantly, the atmosphere shifts. Shoulders tense; hairs stand on end. The six slip from their unwilling, all-performing singer roles and back into the people they are known as. The fighters, the blood-spillers, the sadomasochistic fuckers of Distortion. Syanide snickers loudly, flicking through the word sheet for the song. “What is this bullshit for?” Hannibal looks up then, cowboy hat shadowing his unshaven face, and replies, “Didn’t you even bother to look at the notice? Or did you read the words ‘go to here’ and follow, like a good little boy?” Syanide throws his chair back, snarling. “You always were a cocky little shit back in HavOc, Frost. I stopped myself from making sure you knew about it because, in my own stupidity, I thought you a friend. But now? What’s to stop me from wrapping my hands around your neck and choking your throat?”

“Save it for the Chamber, you idiots,”, Apostasy says, looking up from the papers in front of him. “Brawl in here and we’re all for the chop. You think Celeste Rosseau and the Board of Directors would take too kindly to six of the best beating the ever-loving hell out of one another when what we’re supposed to be doing is performing for a charity?” “Now hold up just a minute,” snarled Syanide, “this is for charity? Why the hell would I even bother to lend my time to fuckers who are too lazy to get off their asses to help themselves?” Caprice looked through him, angrily.

“Maybe it’s because some people can’t help themselves. Maybe they’re addicts, or maybe the bread-winner in their family died. Family like that of the Rabbi. That’s who we’re helping, you self-indulgent fool. The charity is for those who have been injured in our sport, or those whose loved ones have died doing what entertained millions. You mean to tell me you don’t even have a shred of compassion inside that hatred-fuelled body of yours to care about the wife of the man you killed?” A sarcastic exhalation of breath preceded the response. “She married a filthy Semite. She deserves every injustice that the world and I can spit at her.” He took off, flinging open the doors of the recording studio and walked out, scowling. Dunnwood slipped out of his chair, motioning after him. “Back in a moment, gentlemen.”


Day XXVI

I don’t have much longer to wait now – but I don’t know how long I can hold on for. Nearly four weeks, almost a month... how long does it take to produce one of these fucking things, anyway?
I keed, I keeeed.
I hope Jack, and by extension we, are keeping things entertaining. It’d be a shame to walk in there and not have my opponents scarred by the mere sight of us. Ah, the glory days of Anxiety...


Chaos reigns supreme in the once-tidy room of recording. Desperate team members struggle to hold back the four men, all of them eager to follow Syanide and Dunnwood, both of whom have gave them the slip. “Look, ok, all of you, let’s just calm down, maintain some decorum...” A useless voice trails off. Outside, the dreadlocked schizophrenic man walks in the shadow of the sadistic skinhead, catching up with him. The former Daniel Lincoln feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and he turns around, muscles thumping around his pectorals underneath a dirty white t-shirt. “What?”
Eastwood: Hey.
“Sy. Iz me.”
Jaro: Yeah?
“Oh. What do you want, traitor?”
Eastwood: How come I haven’t been in your promos lately?
“Yer wha’?”
Jaro: Why should you be? We have a loose association, nothing more.
“You fucking heard me, Jack. You were supposed to be the future of HavOc, and what happens? Hannibal breaks his neck thanks to those cunts Skyler and Leon, O’Rion swans off somewhere never to be fucking heard from again and Harlequin finds that he actually likes that God-botherer Drew Michaels! Meanwhile, I’m stuck in a fucking coma and you decide to jump into bed with that piece of shit Jaro! Whatever happened to ‘HavOc survives’, Eastwood? I got told about that cutesy little speech you gave when O’Rion disappeared. Where did your fucking pride go?”
Eastwood: Yeah, but, I won Jaro Idol. I’m your protégé.
“My pride? Ye wanna tal’ abou’ pride? Where’s the pride in the fallen? I din kill ‘avOc, i’ killed i’self.”
Jaro: Please. You’re not my protégé. Harlequin was the real winner of Jaro Idol.
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong. I’ve made contact with an old friend. HavOc... will always be wrought.”
Eastwood: 
“Per’aps. Bu’ then ‘avOc...
...is like Cancer. It destroys everything around itself and then commits to its own self-consumption. You and try and revive your merry little band if you wish, Mr Lincoln, but I must forewarn you, it will only end in failure.”

“...if you know what’s good for you, you fucked-up piece of shit, you’ll never... ever... refer to me by that name again.” Syanide starts to storm off down the back alley, but Dunnwood calls after him.

“Why? Is it because you abandoned that name? Like you abandoned everything else? Isn’t that what you were just berating me for, seconds ago? I deem you a hypocrite, Mr Lincoln.”

“...boy. I warned you. When that match is over, I’ll be more than glad to smash your ugly British teeth down your throat with my Abandoned title.”

“A pleasure to speak with you as always, Mr Lincoln.” Turning back, Dunnwood walks into the chaotic studio and coughs politely for attention. Scores of shocked and confused eyes snap across to leer at him. “My apologies, I needed to step out for some air,” he said. “I believe Mr Lincoln no longer wants to continue with the recording session; shall we utilise what he has already recorded and carry on, regardless?” There is hush for a few moments and then a noise issues, “OK... do that. Carry on.”


That took fucking forever.

Day XXX

How apt that today’s the day I get to awaken her.

I simply, simply, simply cannot wait...


Finally, an end to the turgid, annoying process of producing one song for some charitable organisation. It’s probable that 50% of the profits that are donated towards charities get lost in ‘administration’ and ‘recovering finances’. So everyone is happy to get out of there... all except for Dunnwood. He leans over to Apostasy, a disconcerting smirk lighting up his grime-covered face. “Hey,” he begins, “good work out there. You’re a surprisingly talented singer.” A solitary eyebrow questions Dunnwood’s sincerity.

“Well thanks... I guess. I might not have enjoyed my time in the choir, but that time certainly wasn’t wasted. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” He made to leave, but Dunnwood barred the door, tongue rolling on blood-flecked lips. “I want you to know, Mr Yates, that lightning never strikes twice.” Apostasy grinned, pushing his way past Dunnwood. “I don’t need lightning to strike you or your so-called split personalities down. And this time I’ll make sure to give you double what you gave my friend.”

“Oh, you’re referring to Mr Michaels? Yes, why don’t you discuss with your broken friends about how I don’t actually exist? I’m sure Mr Omega has an excellent report on the phenomenon that I am. You just see what he says. And tell Mrs Michaels that Matthew says hello.” A sickening grin accompanied his walk off.


“I just don’t know anymore,” Leon said, water bottle in one hand, steering wheel in the other. He took a sip slowly and sighed, looking across from the man whom he offered to give a lift to the airport to. Hannibal Frost. Not too long ago these men were on opposite sides of the line, but now... if not allies, then they were at least not enemies. And both of them were concerned for a former friend. “When I talk to him it’s like I’m walking barefoot on broken glass. The slightest thing, one hair out of place and it’s like he’ll snap. His relationship with Leah seems at breaking point, Jade’s too busy trying to take back something a burglar stole and the kids... well... I just feel sorry for them. I really don’t know how to help.”

“You shouldn’t be so worried. When I knew Skyler – properly, that is – he always had his ups and downs. It may seem hard to see someone you have so much respect for spiral downward as it is right now, but what he needs most right now is some space. You were admirable in your match against him, Leon, and I can’t help but feel that that gave him some food for thought. Hopefully, after the Elimination Chamber match he’ll have time to clear his head, and rest that injured arm of his.”

Leon nodded, thoughtfully. “So, what time is your flight?” Hannibal glanced down at his printed-out details. “Three hours. I’ll have a couple of drinks at the bar beforehand, kill some time. What about you?” Leon thought about it. “A little later.” Hannibal nodded back. “Welcome to join me, if you’re interested.” Leon smiled and shook his head. “Going back to Australia. I need to check-in as early as possible.”

The traffic built up around them as they approached the airport, coming almost to a complete standstill. “This is busy...” Leon mused. “Hannibal? Can you see anything?” Frost wound down his car door window and leaned out, looking up ahead. “Seems the police are checking every car before they’ll allow it through. Wonder who they’re looking for...?”

And wouldn’t you know it. Leon’s rental car pulled up to the two uniformed officers. “Passports, please,” one inquired. Caprice handed his over and Frost did the same. The officer looked at them both and then turned to the other officer. “These are the two gentlemen,” he said, snapping them shut. “Sir? If you and your friend could drive your car over here for a second?” Perturbed, Leon did as he was ordered and pulled over to the side, allowing other cars to flow through easily.

“Is there a problem, officer?” Hannibal inquired. One gave a small, uneasy look. “I wouldn’t call it a problem... approximately half an hour ago, there was a minor collision on the outskirts of the runway. It seems one aeroplane was parked deliberately, so that as the pilot of the other came alongside it, they were forced into contact... the strange thing is that it couldn’t have possibly been an accident. The damage caused to both planes was so accurate that, had it happened on two full planes, then only two passengers would have been killed. I can imagine that you realise it would have been both of you. With this in mind, I need to ask... would you two gentlemen have any idea as to why your lives may be targeted?” They looked at one another then, knowing there to only be one person who could have put both of them at such an extreme risk.

The scene opens on a young man walking down a path. He has a youthful look on his face; he’s probably only in his teens. He is walking along the flower-lined path with his head down; his long straight hair hides his face from the vision of passersby. He is wearing a large jacket, and a white shirt and red tie are visible underneath at the v of the jacket. He is carrying a bag on his back, using one of its straps to carry it. He turns a corner, and glances up at the path ahead of him. Two people are standing ahead of him, leaning against the wall, hoods up. The young man’s pace slows as he looks at them. One of the two spots him, and the other turns to see him as well. His eyes dart away from theirs. They stop leaning against the wall, and face the direction of him, standing in his way.

The young man keeps his head down as he approaches the hooded men. As he gets closer, one of them takes a slow step forward in his direction. As he walks by, the hooded man hits him with his shoulder. For a brief moment, the young man thinks he has lost of his footing, but he doesn’t, and merely stumbles. He gives no reaction, he just continues his walk. The hoods do not continue to pester, he doesn’t care. He has no reason to care now. There’s little that occupies his mind now.

He lets out a sigh. As he follows the path, now lined with large trees that bear no leaves, he looks around him, taking in what surrounds him. He takes in the trees, the walls, the dark, cloud-ridden sky, everything. Soon the path reaches its intended destination: a park, one which he chooses to cross.

With any object he can, the young man hops onto objects he can walk across, be it logs on the grass, or low lying walls, he walks on them, one foot in front of the other, he rarely walks on the beaten track. He made no attempt to, because he knows his destination. He is heading for the far end of the park, which as he can see, is lined with thin wooden walls. He knows his around this place where he lives; the path he’s following is clear cut in his mind. With the aid of the rocks lying on the ground, he climbs over the wall. He tosses his bag over first, and then pulls himself over, dropping and rolling on the far side.

The far side of the wall presents a small playground. He trudges across it, but stops at the swings, and chooses to sit on one, not to swing, just to sit. He holds onto the swing, staring at his shoes. He is thinking over his plan and whether it’s the right thing to do or not. His plan isn’t simple, and for the first time since setting out, he is having doubts. He sits and ponders, reminiscing over past memories of this playground, and the fun it brought in his childhood. Today however, it is not going to provide the answer he is looking for, nor will it be written on the shoes he is thoroughly examining. He looks up, and looks at the bare trees once again, which can be seen standing over the wall of the playground. It gives him a small smile, and he reaches his arm around into his backpack, and withdraws a pad. He pulls a pen from his pocket, and flips open his pad onto a page containing a drawing that looks a lot like the trees in front of him. He begins scribbling at it, shading where shading is required, drawing onto the tree, touching up on the wall. It gives him time to think. Even as he draws, he knows the Holy Spirit isn’t going to descend upon him and grant him the answer. Once he is content with the picture, which now looks like a carbon copy of what stands in front of him, he flips the pad shut, and shoves it back in his bag. He stands up, and after a little stretch, crosses the playground to what appears to be a boarded up wall, but is actually door that he swings open, and enters.

Behind the door is what looks like an abandoned set of buildings, projects. The buildings are quite tall, and all the doors and windows are boarded up. Many of the walls are covered in scrawl and small graffiti tags, but some have large works of art complete on them, portraits of people done in the artists specific style, on the makes the facial features look very large, without looking disproportionate. Though he’s seen them before, they still look impressive to him as he sees them again like it’s the first time. He breezes by them, and pushes open a boarded door. The door is boarded, but not boarded shut, so it can be opened.

Inside, the building is entirely concrete, nothing is painted. It is clear the projects were never completed. He begins an ascent up a concrete staircase. He allows his hand to run along the steel railings, as he takes each step slowly upwards. The staircase is long, and he continues to follow it up. Soon he reaches the point where he can climb no more. He reaches the top, where there is a huge open space, nothing to occupy it but the pillars supporting the building. There are large windows that would provide a nice view if there were occupants here. As he approaches the windows, he can see out on a large highway passing nearby, busy with traffic, as well as the other projects. His heart rate accelerates. It is as daunting as he imagined. His head shoots right, and spots a door. He walks over and exits through this door, which leads to the roof of the building. A small staircase brings him to the top, where there is a heavy breeze, sending his long hair backwards. The view here is even more daunting, and beads of sweat form on his head. He lets his bag drop to the ground. He walks forward, and climbs over a small railing. The world has become oblivious to him. He has suddenly become far more aware more of the ground below him. His sweat really starts rolling now. His face is blank. He takes a step forward, and he can see the ground directly below. It looks very intimidating right now. “Time to let go” he thinks. He shuts his eyes. “Just... Let... Go...” and leans forward.

His eyes burst open. He is looking over the ground below, standing in an impossible position. He should be falling, but he isn’t. His eyes bulge, and he gasps. From behind, a hand has a firm clasp on his jacket and shirt underneath.

“I don’t recommend that. It’s a long way to the bottom.”

Using the small railing as a foothold, PX has a solid grip on his back. With a strong tug, PX brings him back to ground. He hits the floor hard.

“What were you thinking? What kind of waste of young life is that?”

He is still somewhat shocked. PX is looking down his nose at him. He attempts to stammer out what he wants to say.

“I... I... How did you... Where did you come from?”

PX smirks. This time he looks down at him.

“I just so happened to be sitting back there, I heard and saw you come up there. Some would call it chance, or maybe I was meant to catch you there. Like destiny or something...”

Total. Bullshit. PX was sitting there because it’s a totally secluded place, good for some peace. This kid happened to walk up here with a death wish by total chance. But PX figured he may as well make the most of it since his peace and plotting have been disturbed. The kid’s in a sorry state, so he’ll probably eat up whatever PX says, he figured. The kid stared blankly at him; this moment is still surreal for him.

“You got a name kid?”

“... uhh, yeah, I’m Eric.”

Eric grabs the railing, and uses to get back to his feet.

“Tell me then, Eric, why you want to throw your life off of a building?”

PX asked him while staring over the ledge. Eric replied without looking at PX, in a more serious tone than the one used before.

“I have nothing to live for now.”

They weren’t facing each other, so Eric couldn’t see the smile that PX couldn’t prevent.

“Well then, that’s no reason to end it all. There are better solutions I assure you.”

Eric sat down on the railing with a sigh.

“I’m all ears.”

It’s like the kid is playing into his hands. Luck is on his side today.

“Simply start a new one. One I’m willing to give you.”

PX is thankful for his self control at this point or he’d be laughing hysterically. Eric looks longingly at the back of PX. He is Eric’s second chance at life. And who would turn down that? PX is counting on the answer to be nobody.

“You would do that?”

“Of course.”

PX couldn’t turn around, it’d risk giving the game away. The scenario is terribly amusing to him, as well as terribly convenient.

“I don’t know... Can I trust you?”

Now is game time, time to face the kid.

“Eric, you’ve got to take the chance, it’s the only one you’ve got, to be frank. I know I’m just a stranger you’ve just met, but the chances of us meeting here were a million to one! Doesn’t that make it feel like it was meant to happen? Maybe this is the greater plan for our lives. We don’t know, but we never will without taking a chance. I can’t convince you, but I know deep down this just feels right, and if you look deep down inside yourself, you’ll see this is right, that is what’s meant to happen. Please, trust me Eric.
“I’d like to thank the academy...”

After a short stare down, Eric climbed back over the railing, and walked over to PX, who is baring a smile. He felt just a little sinister at this moment.

“Wait... What is your name?”

“Call me PX”

“PX?”

“Trust me on this. It’s all I’m addressed by these days; my former life is gone now, like you. I gotta say it’s one of the best things that have happened to me. Maybe it’ll be the same for you”

“Maybe... So what now?”

“I’ll tell you now, I’m making a plan, and you’re just the man to help me. I’m going to help somebody, and you’ll have a part in it all. I just want to ask you a couple things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, does anybody know about this “plan” of yours? Let’s walk and talk”

PX turns and Eric follows him towards the door he came through.

“Well uhh, no, I guess not, I just grabbed my bag and left really, see...”


Major Allen is sitting in his chair at his desk. His desk is mostly covered with various assortments of pages of paper. He is staring at a picture that is hanging on his cubicle wall. It is a picture of a face drawn in pencil, with “Artist’s interpretation” written underneath. It resembles PX to an extent. In his time on the force, one of his pet peeves has always been cases left unsolved. Allen has never left cased unsolved when he’s taken a special interest in it, bar one, and this is one of those cases. In fact, the only other case he hasn’t solved while taking special interest is of the man whom was hung, resulting in this case.

After a lot of research, and a couple sleepless nights, nothing could be found about him. It’s almost as if he went out of his way to destroy his identity. Allen has been left clutching at straws, with nothing but a face to go on. Christina was planning to extensive research on the population of the city to match the face; it will confirm whether he has an identity or not.

Allen’s fingers run around the rim and handle of his cup of coffee. He is immersed in his thoughts. How do you find a man with no knowledge of his existence? They wouldn’t know about this crime yet if they hadn’t seen it for themselves. There isn’t even a guarantee he’s still in the city, but Allen is confident that the man he’s looking for will be back; the psychos always come back. For Allen, it seems all he can really do now is play the waiting game, wait for this menace to get back in contact with him. It is never a good thing for the bad guy to be holding all the cards. It makes Allen feel uneasy.

“This guy may be smart, but I bet he just knows it. They all think they’re brilliant. He’s not the first guy like this I’ve seen. If we can find him, we can catch him. God damn, I better get some good news.”

Allen grabs his cup, hastily takes a sip before leaving it down again, then swivels his chair away from his desk and gets up. He walks across the hall, and opens a wooden door, entering a small room. Inside is a table with eight chairs around it; six along the side, and one at each end. Three of these chairs are occupied by Detective Christina Ray, and Officers Matt Davis and Takashi Matsu. The quiet talking ceases when the door opens, and when Allen enters, three pairs of eyes are all looking at him.

“Afternoon, sir”
“Hello, sir”
“Afternoon, sir”

“Good Afternoon, team. Are Marcus and Nathanial out on the street?”

“Yes, a call came in this morning, reporting a missing person. They’ve headed down to the house to talk with the parents; they may be out on search for the day as well.”

“Did the two have to go?”

“Marcus hates filling out the forms, so yeah, he had to being Nathanial to do it.”

“Alright then. Okay, I want to hear some good news, preferably. Whataya got?”

“Well, as you requested sir, we’ve been taking phone calls from people concerning our suspect’s whereabouts based on the photo-fit that’s been posted around town. We received calls from eight people claiming to have seen him, and three calls from claiming to be him, and other crank calls and such. We’re following up each of the eleven calls of course, but honestly, I’m not feeling very optimistic about them.”

“I can understand that, Matt, thank you. I personally felt the photo-fits were a long shot anyway. We’ll have to wait and see on those I suppose. What about you Christina?”

“Matsu and I were investigating the city’s populace; I searched through all the people living in the city who have served jail time first, comparing the mug shots to the photo-fit and my own memory of his face. I didn’t find any match, so he’s not a former offender in this city.”

“It’s been really difficult to look for this guy, boss. We haven’t got a name on him, there were no prints at the crime scene, and we’ve got practically nothing to go on here. If he even had done some little thing, it’d help, but we got nothing!”

Matsu’s short career hasn’t seen a case this difficult before; the jobs he’s done have been more straightforward, so his struggle with this one with so little to go is understandable. Allen leans back in his seat to think for a moment, with Matsu looking at him wide eyed, and Christina looking at Matsu.

“I understand, Matsu, but we have to keep working at this, nobody said it would be easy.”

With a sigh, Allen leans forward.

“Look, I hate to say this, but it looks like our best hope is to wait until this guy gets in contact with us again.”

“And what makes you so sure he will get in contact with us again? He could have taken off and we may never see him again!”

“Because he’s a psycho. The psychos always come back. Trust me, he didn’t choose to pick on us as a once off deal. He’s up to something, I know it...”


PX and Eric are sitting on a rooftop. Their hair can be seen flying about in the breeze that accompanies heights. Eric is sitting in one corner of the rooftop. PX is crouching next to him, with a creepy, gleeful look written on his face. He’s holding a piece of string in his hand, staring across at a large cage. The piece of string is attached to the latch holding open the cage door. Inside this cage is a large collection of tin foil. Eric takes a breath to speak, but PX lands his index finger on his mouth to silence him. PX speaks in a whisper.

“Shhh... Watch and learn.”

The two sit in silence. They remain this way for a couple minutes until a bird flies just over their heads, landing on the roof, to the surprise of Eric. The bird is black and white.

“Do you know what that is?”

“ehmm...”

“It’s a Magpie. Magpies are birds with a keen fondness for shiny objects. It represents both Calvin Carter, and the people in FMW in the scenario I have so deviously created. My collection of tin foil represents both my championship and all the championships in FMW.”

The bird casually hops towards the cage, with an occasional flutter of its wings.

“This scenario can also represent people in general, with my tin foil here being a desire. People are easier mislead than they realise.”

The bird hops into the cage to grab the tin foil in its beak, and in the same instant PX pulls the string he’s holding, and the cage door falls shut.

“Gotcha! See how simple that was?”

“Point proven?”

“Ha! No, no, not at all. That was too simple. To prove my point, it has to be done on a much larger scale. Anybody could have done that. This was a little demo of my bigger plans.”

PX stands and walks over to his prize. The bird is fluttering furiously, trying to escape.

“This is just a lowly Magpie. What we’re going to prove is that people are just as easily fooled as this magpie. Just show them what they want, and they will blindly follow.”

“I still don’t understand how this involves me.”

“Don’t worry; it will become clear very soon. It’s almost time for the first step, in fact, we just a little trip to make. You’ll have to lead, I don’t know the way.”

“Huh? Me? Where are we going?”

“Home.”


Nathanial and Marcus are sitting in their police car, with Marcus driving. Nathanial has a clipboard and various forms and paper attached to it.

“Take a left at the upcoming junction, that’ll take you into the estate.”

The voice cackling through the radio is providing the directions for Marcus. He follows as he’s told, and turns into an estate of houses.

“It is house #26.”

Nathanial picks up the speaker on his end.

“Thank you Jack, we see it.”

Marcus pulls up directly in front of the house. It has a Georgian house look to it; it is a tall house, 3 stories high, built with brown bricks. He pulls the handbrake and takes his keys out of the car.

“Nath, you’re doin’ the talking. I’ll do the searching.”

“As usual. You don’t even know if we’ll have to search the home.”

“We usually do. C’mon.”

Marcus pops open his car door and steps out, and waits for Nathaniel to walk around the car before walking to the door. Marcus knocks. After a brief wait the door is opened by a balding man of average height with a keg for a belly.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Harris. I am Officer Nathaniel Woods, and this is my partner Officer Marcus Jacobs. We’re here about your son, presumably?”

“Oh... Yes, please come in.”

“We just have some questions to ask, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. Please come this way. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

"No thank you"

"I'm fine, thanks"

The two step inside the house, and follow Mr. Harris into a living room. He sits down in armchair, and the two officers.

“I will have to gather a detailed description of your son, but first I’d like to ask you about the circumstances of his disappearance. When did you notice he was gone?”

“This morning, I guess, when we went to get him up in the morning he wasn’t there.”

“That would indicate a runaway to us, Mr. Harris. Tell me, has he ever expressed a desire to live somewhere else? It could nearby, or even abroad.”

“Uhh... Not really, I mean he’s said he never liked most of the people here, but he never said he want to leave or anything...”

“I see...( he jots down the info he’s gathering) Well, how was he with other people? Do you think he was bullied in school or anything?”

“He... He did have some bullying problems; we were called to the school more than once to talk about it. When he went out it seemed to be with his regular friends, he is a quiet kid”

“Could be an endangered runaway...”

“Your right Marc... Mr. Harris, I need to ask you these next few questions to determine if this is an endangered runaway.”

“Endangered?”

“Yes, if his life is at risk. If this is an endangered runaway we will have to signal an Amber Alert. What that means is that both local and state police will become aware of this, and immediate search will begin, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Has your child ever had drug, alcohol or other problems or dependencies?”

“No, not that I know of. I’m sure I’d know if he did.”

“Is relationship with you and your adversarial or amicable would you say?

“I’d say it was good for the most part. I mean, he does have a temper if we argue about things, but not more than any other teen.”

“Has he ever been reported missing before?”

“No, never.”

“Does he have any mental or physical abnormalities?”

“No, well... actually he has had some bad depression if that counts.”

Marcus’ waning attention perks up.

“How bad?”

“Well, he had been on anti-depressants for a while. He had been visiting a psychiatrist for a while, but had stopped not too long ago.”

Marcus and Nathaniel look at each other, the latter with a grim look on his face.

“I know what you two are thinking... I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harris, we can find him. Now, it’s standard procedure to treat the last place he was seen as a crime scene. With your permission, we’d like to search your child’s room and evaluate its contents.”

“... Okay, it’s the first door you see when you go upstairs. You’ll know by the door.”

“Marcus will have a look. I’d like to get this description from you so I can send this to NCIC and issue amber alert.”

Marcus gets up to his feet, and walks out of the room.

“Okay, what is your son’s full name?”

Marcus gives a slight jog up the stairs. The door he’s looking for is facing when he gets to the top of the stairs. The door has “Keep Out!” written on it, and a “Misfits” poster underneath. He’s opens the door and looks into the small room. The room is painted purple, and its most prominent feature is a large window, currently ajar. The bed is against the same wall as the window. Marcus looks casually around at the posters and such that decorate the room. As he surveys, his eye is caught by something on the bed. There are two pages sitting on it. Marcus picks up one and looks at it. It is a poster of PX’s photo-fit, with “courtesy of” written on it. He grabs the other page. It has missing written on it, and FOUND written underneath, followed by “Eric Harris”

“Oh Fuck... NATH!”

Marcus runs out of the room and powers down the stairs, jumping the last two, and turning into the living room, to the surprise of Nathaniel and Mr. Harris.

“Nath, I think it’s Him again.”

“What?!

“Look... This was sitting on his bed.”

Marcus hands the two pages to Nathaniel and he shakes his head.

“He must have found him before we got a chance.”

“Hey, wait, what’s going on here? Do you know where my boy is?”

Neither man gives a response right away. Nathaniel realise Marcus won’t say it, so takes it upon himself.

“We have reason to believe your son has come in contact with another man we’re currently searching for.”

“Well what does that mean?”

“We don’t know yet. It may be some sort of hostage situation, but it’s impossible to tell right now.”

“We have to ring Allen right now. He’ll want to know.”

“Right, we should take these back to him as well. I doubt the meeting is over yet. It hadn’t started when we left.”

“Does this mean you’re going then? Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing but wait, Mr. Harris. Your son may be more locatable now, but first we need to get back to the station and see what the rest make of this. We’ll be in contact.”

Marcus and Nathaniel head for the door, with Marcus pulling his phone out of his pocket, and he starts dialling a number while they get back into the car.


“And how would he do that? I mean, if he hasn’t got an identity, how would he have the resources to leave the city? ”

“He could steal a car I guess.”

“No, that’d make him easier to find. That’s not his game. He-”

Allen is cut off by the vibration of his phone. He takes out of his shirt pocket and gives it a glance. The screen reads “M. Jacobs”.

“Hm. It’s Marcus...”

With a click of a button, he answers the phone.

“What’s up, Marcus?”

“...”

“Yeah, I was told this mo-”

“...”

“What do you mean he found him?”

“...”

“On his bed? How di-”

“...”

“I see. There’s no way of knowing how long they had been there of course...”

“...”

“Okay, I understand. I’ll see you soon.”

*Click*

“Some interesting news. According to Marcus, the missing person, whose home he visited this morning, has been found by our suspect.”

“What?! What does this mean? How does he even know?”

“According to a poster he found left on the bed in his room, our suspect claims to have him. They’ll be here in a couple minutes for us to see these posters for ourselves.”

“What do you think will happen boss?”

“I’m not sure, but I think these posters will give us a clue to his whereabouts.”

“You don’t think... He’s going to do the same thing again as last time with that kid do you?”

“Hmmm... It’s not impossible. But if he’s planning something, I doubt he’s planning to do the same thing twice. No, I don’t think his mind works like that. He wants something from us, but what “it” could be is what’s bothering me. I can’t work it out”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t think somebody would go to this trouble, and put himself at risk for no reason.”

“Good point...”

“With due respect sir, haven’t you referred to him as a psycho many times?”

“What of it, Matt?”

“From what I know, Psycho’s have never needed a reason to do insane things.”

Matt is met with a silent stare from Allen. He’s not wrong, but this suspect seems to be so much more than just that to Allen. There MUST be something he wants. When Allen finds out, he’ll have his bait for catching him. Before this conversation can continue, the door swings open, revealing Marcus and Nathaniel.

“Hey Guys. We got here as quick as we could. Here, Boss, these are the two pages I found. This first one is the one that says Eric Harris, the missing kid, has been found, and this second one is our photo-fit with “courtesy of” written on it. It’s pretty straightforward, nothing cryptic about it.”

“I see. It seems our suspect’s intent is clear on this one; he wants us to he’s got this kid. He’s giving us more incentive to find him.”

The others have gotten out of their seats, and are all standing behind Allen, looking down at the photos on the table. Matsu picks up the photo-fit of PX.

“Why did he tell us though? To piss us off?” Did he want us thinking “Oh you can’t find me, now you can’t find this guy either”?”

Allen picks up the other page.

“I was expecting these to give more clues to where he was going to be. What is his game now...”

“Maybe he’s giving us a sort heads-up; he may be still setting up his “plan” and will contact us again tomorrow perhaps?”

“I don’t think he would give us a heads up Nathaniel. He’s an impact player. There must be some tell on these pages...”

Allen flips over his page. Matsu goes to do the same, but drops his sheet.

“Oops!”

Matsu goes to pick up the sheet, when he notices something about it.

“Aw man, I tore it!”

Allen’s head shoots up. Matsu is looking at the apparent tear, when Allen snatches the sheet from him. He examines it for a moment.

“It’s not a tear, Matsu. It’s a peel. There are two pages here.”

“Two?!”

Allen carefully tears apart the pages, indeed revealing a second page.

“What’s on it?”

“Instructions.”

Allen displays a wry smile. It is just what he is looking for.

“It says: Congrats, you found the message that was poorly hidden and poorly glued! Yes, this is a confirmation of the obvious, that this lowly child who strayed away from home has found his way to me. I’m sure as officers of the law; you’re all concerned for his safety in my hands. Well truth is, I didn’t find him, per say, he just found me on his own actually. And, I, being of sound body and mind, will happily return him to you. This needn’t be a big deal, so don’t make it one. I don’t want more than the squad I know who are looking after me involved, or I’ll stab the kid in the back of the head, and that’ll be the end of him. I won’t have a firearm, so you needn’t bring one. You have my word on that one. One person may come collect him, and our deal will be done. In fact, I don’t even need to be there! I hope you co-operate as I have asked. Directions are below, with the time I will be there. Well, here is our lead!”

“Are we going to do what he says?”

“I think we should. He says he won’t be there, but if he’s planning something, he’ll have to be there. The six of us should be enough anyway.”

“What about the firearms thing? Do you believe him?”

“It’s hard to say. We’ll bring three. Whoever goes to collect him won’t bring one. We’ll provide cover if it’s needed.”

“How does just one of us collect him if we can all come?”

“According to these directions, collection is on a rooftop, so we can only go as far as the building.”

“That’d mean if he is in the building, he couldn’t escape!”

“That’s right... That’s what I don’t understand. He said he wouldn’t be here, and he couldn’t escape, so maybe he won’t be...”

“We’ll find out when we get there I suppose.”

“True... Here’s the plan. There are two exits, one at the front and the other at the back. The fire exit is also at the back. So two people each guard each side of the building, and two enter it. One ascends to the rooftop to get the kid; I’ll stand just below to make sure nothing funny goes down. Who wants to go to the roof?”

“I’ll do it chief.”

“Thank you Matsu. I’ll make sure you are okay.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get though; why didn’t he ask for anything in return? Isn’t that what people like him usually do? Like a ransom or something?”

“I’m sure it will be revealed when we get there. There’s a bit of risk in this, since his plan isn’t very clear cut, but we can’t leave this child’s life in his hands either, so it’s a risk we have to take, especially if it gets us close to our suspect.”

God Damn you. What do you want from me? I have a bad feeling...


There’s a cold chill in the evening’s air. When you’re possibly about come face to face with somebody responsible for somebody else’s death, the man you’re chasing because it, you get that feeling. Allen is silent in his car with Matsu. There was no thinking involved last time. There was no time to think. There is no adrenaline rush this time. Just a thudding heart beat of nervousness. It’s a feeling rarely felt on the police force. This type of tension is rare. It’s not often one can put an officer in this situation. This child that has crossed path with the suspect is not Allen’s interest. If his target was not involved, Allen wouldn’t be either. This day would be a disappointment if his target isn’t here, as Allen thinks he will be. The nerves come from the words used in that note.

He’s made this sound so innocent. He’s made himself sound like a good guy here, like he’s just giving an object he found to a lost and found, hoping for a little recognition for it too. It’d be believable if Allen didn’t know better. It’s causing the unease. The last time Allen felt tension like this was from doing raids as an officer in his youth, a long time ago that was.

There would less of it if Allen could answer the one question he’s had since this whole thing began; what does he want? It’s the question that keeps him up at night. After that first night, he knew the suspect would return, and he was right, but there has to be a reason why. Why oh why. And yet this question has been put into perspective by his right hand man Matt Davis who quipped the remark that he may not have a reason at all if he is, as Allen has so frequently called him, a psycho. Allen refused to believe that the man they were dealing with had lost his humanity. Allen felt the suspect’s attitude is not that of a crazed man. But then again, who is to tell. If the beast rears its ugly head today, Allen knows what question to ask when they meet, when he catches him.

Allen’s car pulls up at the front of the building, followed immediately by Christina and Matt, who drive around to the back. Marcus and Nathaniel follow soon after and they pull up near Allen and Matsu. Allen and Matsu both step out of the car. Allen leaves his door open, and the engine running, in case quick access is needed. It seems unlikely, but one never knows.

The building is tall; the roof can’t be seen from the ground, so anything could be up there as far as the officers are concerned. This opinion soon changes as a head peers from over the roof, then quickly disappears.

“Chief, did you see that? Somebody looked down at us!”

“Could you make out a face Matsu?”

“No, it’s too far away to get a good look, and it was only there for a second.

“Let’s get going.”

Matsu runs into the building, soon followed by Allen. Inside, it is empty, but for the concrete holding it together. It is a project building never complete. Matsu moves quickly up the long stair case. He is much younger and fitter than Allen, who has to put an effort in to keep up with him. The top soon beckons, and Matsu pauses at the door to the roof. Allen stops a few steps short.

“I’ll be here listening, Matsu. If there’s any danger, I’ll be up in a shot.”

“Okay chief.”

Matsu opens the door, and steps out onto the roof. He is greeted with blustering winds. Standing on the roof opposite him is Eric Harris, the sixteen year old reported missing several hours earlier.

“Hello? You must be Eric! I’m Officer Takashi Matsu; I’m with the local police force. I’ve come here to take you home.”

With a smile, Matsu extends a hand. Eric doesn’t move.

“Ah, Officer Matsu, it is good to see you again.”

Matsu recoils and gasps, Allen’s alertness rises.

“What did you say?”

“You’ve come for Eric, yes?”

“Aren’t... Aren’t you him..?”

“Well, you are looking at him.”

Allen takes a step forward before thinking better of it. He grasps at his back pocket, making sure his weapon is still where he left it.

“What’s going on here?!”

“Don’t panic, Matsu. You are looking at Eric, just not talking to him. He’s speaking for me as I tell him.”

Both Allen and Matsu are hit with shock. Their suspect isn’t here, he’s just using some radio communication! He wasn’t lying after all. Just where is he going with this...

“It’s you! Eric, why are you listening and doing what he says?! You don’t have to do! Come here to me, so we can get you home!”

“Eric didn’t run away so he could go back home again. He seems fine here.”

“Hey, I thought we had a deal! You were going to let us take him home!”

“Oh boo hoo. I told a little fib. See the point of this was to see if you would trust me and blindly walk up here like a fool! I could have hotwired a bomb to that door, and you’d be dead right now! Did you think of that coming up here?”

Matsu can’t respond, he’s tongue tied.

“But bombs aren’t something you can pick up on short notice, so the old fashion way is always good!”

Eric reaches into his pocket, and withdraws a pistol. Matsu grabs at his holster, but it’s empty, as they agreed.

“I did say I wouldn’t have a gun, and it’s true, I don’t. I said nothing about Eric however. And he’ll gladly shoot you in the head.”

“What?! Eric! Why are you doing what he says!! You wouldn’t! Would you really risk a lifetime in jail just because this creep told you to do this?!”

Allen barges up the stairs and kicks through the door, gun raised.

“So, we’re not going to play by the rules then are we?”

“Oh, how nice you could join us Major Allen.”

“Eric, listen to me, stop listening to this guy. Just drop the gun, and we can all go home.”

“It’s not that simple, Mr. Allen. That’s not the plan here.”

“And what is the plan then?”

“I shoot you both in the head.”

“And what do you want from me? From us? What is it you want?”

“What do I want? All I want is for you guys to play along!”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. It certainly wasn’t what he expected. It seems he doesn’t have his humanity after all. It changes everything he thought he knew about this guy. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Allen looks across to Matsu, who’s sweating a bit, he does have a gun pointed at him after all. Allen offers some reassuring words.

“I don’t think he can do it Matsu. Stay Calm.”

“I’m going to see if I can get to this kid. I don’t think he’d shoot an officer either.”

Matsu takes a step forward, and slowly follows with a second. Eric’s grip on his weapon tightens.

“Careful Matsu.”

“Eric! Please, lower the gun. Nobody wants to see anybody get hurt here. You don’t want this.”

Matsu slowly moves forward and the beads of sweat start to drop from all three. Allen is praying the kid doesn’t fire, he can’t imagine himself shooting at him.

“Stop walking! I’ll do it! I swear I will drop you there!”

Allen’s head tilts. Was that Eric talking for himself?

“It’s okay Eric. It’s all okay...”

“STOP! YOU FOOL!”

“Don’t worry Eric, you’ll be fine.”

“DAMN YOU!”

BANG

The blast takes everyone by total shock. Matsu drops straight to the ground. Eric looks in disbelief to what he’s done. He starts backing away. On the ground, the four look up in unison. Marcus shouts out, and draws his gun instantly.

“I’m going in, that’s it!”

“Marc, wait!! Fuckin’ hell, wait up!”

Nathaniel tears after Marcus, who’s charging up the steps. At the back, Christina looks to run inside as well, but Matt prevents her, by standing in her way.

“Get out of my way! Did you hear that!

“No Christina, we have to wait here! If somebody was shot, then somebody is going to come down, be it Allen or The Suspect, and we have to be here at either possibility!”

“(with a sigh)... You’re right...”

Allen is looking between Eric and Matsu, trying to decide who to tend to first. Eric drops the gun, and is still backing away.

“Damn it kid! Get down on the ground! Now!”

Allen starts marching towards him, but Eric is shaking his head, and standing close to the edge of the building now. Allen realises this quickly.

“Whoa kid, watch your step! Hold up there!”

Eric keeps shaking his head however, and steps one foot over the ledge. Then he drops.

“Whoa... FUCK! Shit! Christ!”

Allen starts running over, but stops at Matsu. As he does, Marcus and Nathaniel arrive at the top of the building.

“What the fuck happened here?!”

Allen turns over Matsu. There is a mark on the side of his head, but no blood. He is unconscious.

“It was just that Eric kid. He had a gun. He shot Matsu with a rubber bullet. He should be fine, but he might have taken some skull damage. The bullet hit him at an angle at the side of the head, it wouldn’t have been lethal anyway.”

“Where’d the kid go?”

“He jumped.”

“He What?”

“Fell off that ledge over there.”

What Allen hadn’t realised was that as Eric fell from the side of the building, PX was waiting, hold a giant mattress over a balcony on the second floor, which Eric landed on safely. Once reeled in, the mattress was thrown over the side; the two jumped over again, and were once again safe. He chose to tend to Matsu instead, and missed the feat. Marcus ran over to where Eric had jumped, only to see a mattress lying on the ground below.

“Uh, guys, you might want to see this.”

The two join and look down at the mattress.

“What in the-”

“There’s no way. There is no way he’d survive that drop landing on that thing. Christ above...”

“This means he gotten away.”

“It also means he’s a conspirator with our suspect.”

“Well Fuck me. How did this happen. Now we’ve got two people to deal with, who are probably crazy. Just my god damn day.”