FMW 11.1 VOTING & PROMO THREAD

Shattered. Broken. Decrepit.

Quint’s palms dug into his eyes as he let out an exhausted sigh. He wanted nothing more than sleep, to feel the warmth of his own bed, the touch of the woman he loved and the ability to take a step without his foot cracking against broken glass.

The floor below him was littered with dirt and glass, scattered remnants of what had been before and what hadn’t been in a very long time. In the far southwest quadrant of the city a row of unremarkable buildings sat. Nothing too predominant on the City skyline, but never an eyesore either, simply buildings left abandoned, some for years, others for decades.

It was in these buildings, with their dirt covered walls and glass strewn floors that Dr. Quint stood, the palms of his hands digging into and rubbing his eyes.

“So how’d you land this anyways?”

Easier than you’d imagine. I simply purchased it.

Quint slyly smirked, unbeknownst to the other man.

Of course not under my own name and through a series of companies set up to be very annoying to track back, but it was purchased none the less.

So...now it’s home. I know it’s no Theatre, but it will do. There’s enough room for the three of us to conduct our own personal business, and anything we need to take care of as a group. The parkade entrance is off the west end of the building, underneath the building beside this one, so entrance underground is no problem.

“And the rooms?”

There are a few administrative offices down here on the first floor, I’m going to get those cleaned up and use those for my purposes. Come on, let me show you upstairs.

Quint stopped as he breached the top of the stairs, letting the other man simply wander around and gather his bearings. Minutes passed as Quint remained stationary, watching the man before him search around. Through the broken glass and dusty air Quint finally spoke, his voice carrying across the empty floor.

It’s a proverbial clubhouse, so to speak.

The interaction between Quint and Frost was quick and flowing. The quick speech that occurred on base instinct alone reverberated nowhere in Quint’s mind. It was the same way when Frost had left HavOc during his crisis of conscience. There had been so much emotion in their speech, yet none of it registered. Until the finals words of their interaction. Frost was unsure why he was back, why he could trust HavOc, until Quint gave him a reason.

“What do we do?”

Frost asked, intrigued as to what the next step could possibly be.

It was the question Quint had been waiting for, the moment he would not only win over Frost, but beyond it all, he would convince himself that this was the right step. The smile began to creep across his face.

We go, and give evil something to fear.

With a quick smile and a sharp bow of the head Quint turned away from Frost, leaving his standing, staring at the Warden’s Offices.

Oh! Clean up crews and renovators will be here within the next few hours. I’ve laid out some plans for you, they’re on the desk in your office, check it out and make some corrections. Upstairs is all yours.

Quint’s hand rested against the cold, grimy railing at the top of the stairs as he paused, both for dramatic effect and in search of the words that had always flowed so naturally.

And remember Hanny...

HavOc Shall Be Wrought.

Silently Quint walked to the main floor leaving Frost alone to explore his new domain. His footsteps crackled across broken glass as he explored his new Clubhouse. Quint’s footsteps guided him across the open floor, his head facing down watching the grime pass by before meeting a pair of ragged leather boots. Slowly his eyes rose, meeting the icy glare of Daniel Lincoln, his lips curled in his typical malicious smirk.

“Don’t read too much into this.”

I’m sorry?

With a grunt and a nod Lincoln gestured to his extended hand. Griped within was a vision of beauty and destruction. The pure black steel of the barrel gleamed with radiance. Unstained, untested. The hand crafted wooden handle curled up towards the cylinder, forming a beautiful synergy between the wood and metal.

With a sharp inhale Quint took the weapon into his hand. His fingers curled around the wood, acting on pure instinct and memory. His hand adjusted quickly to weight as though it had been only hours since he had last held something similar.

“I had it made, specifically for this purpose.”

Colt Python, 0.357 Magnum. Double action, I-frame, eight inch barrel...

Quint studied the beautifully handcrafted weapon in his hand. With a practiced discipline he flicked out the chamber, cycling it with his left thumb before snapping it back to a ready position, the steel barrel reflecting his image, a day’s growth of scruff adorning his face.

...Dirty Harry.

Quint’s eyes met once again with those of Daniel Lincoln, the often outspoken Professor seemingly at a loss for words.

“You’re welcome. As I said, don’t read too much into it. I don't like killing an unarmed man if I don't have too and this way, no one can say I didn't try. I have other things to attend to, get out of my way Quint.”

In a stunned silence Quint obliged allowing Syanide to shoulder passed the smaller man. Spinning the loaded gun upon his index finger Quint exited the dilapidated asylum making his way to the parked car outside the front doors.




The car door closed behind Harley Quint as he walked up the entranceway toward his front door. The double beep signifying the locking of the doors behind him. His hand paused, hovering slightly above the brass doorknob while his eyes scanned across the door and down to the slightly ajar mailbox attached to the side of the house. His hand searched through the box retrieving a thick, small piece of paper delicately hidden and folded, his eyes rolled as he turned the paper toward him to read.

...Seriously, fuck.



Dear Dr. Harley Quint,


Sorry to use such impersonal methods of communication but we feared an initial face to face meeting may lead to a confrontation. That, after all, is the last thing we would like.

We are, as we call ourselves, The Order of Assisi and an audience with a man such as yourself is all that we desire.


Tonight, 11:30 PM, the Friarbrook Bridge.


Do not bring your associates, for now we wish only to speak with you.


Sincerely,

The Order of Assisi


Of course. You stop one, and there’s always another.

Quint refolded the note before placing it into the breast pocket of his shirt. With all other distractions out of the way Quint swung open the front door and entered his house. The exhaustion and physical fatigue of the last few days and this day in and of itself had begun taking its toll on Quint. Carelessly he tossed his suit jack across the banister of the stair case before wandering into the living room.

Before him the vision that was Katherine Hookton sat on the large forest green couch that adorned the back wall of the room. Her knees were raised creating a platform to position the book she was reading. She had seen Harley enter the house, their eyes had met and exchanged all the words they had needed too. She knew that he would speak when he needed to, until then she was content with her book.

The baby monitor positioned on the table between Quint and Katherine lowly buzzed static masking Harley’s approach on the stained hardwood floor.

So...you’re going to need this.

Silently Katherine lifted her eyes from the book gazing upon the carved wooden handle of the handgun.

“What the hell Harley! Get that out of my face.”

Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. The last thing I want in my hands is this gun. Hell I want even less what, who it represents. But it’s not for causing harm, simply to protect you and Charlie.

“I don’t want a gun in the house, I don’t care what it’s for. Get it the hell away!”

Her eyes welled up immediately. Quint knew he had taken the wrong approach, though he was unsure if there was a right approach to take in the first place. Calmly he pulled the note from his front pocket, unfolding it and placing it on the coffee table between them.

This came today. I found it in the mailbox just a second ago. I’m never going to be free from this Kath. I was hell before, but this is a burden I’ll have to deal with for as long as I can imagine. As soon as one is stopped, another will rise up. I don’t know how long that flow will exist, how long it will take for the message to resonate.

Quint moved toward the couch, seating himself opposite his radiant partner, her eyes slowly streaming tears, her cheeks and nose becoming flush from the rush of blood. Quickly she blinked away the coating of salt and water from her eyes as they scanned across the carefully written note.

“Who are they?”

I have no idea.

“And you know it’s a trap?”

Without a doubt.

“You’re going anyway aren’t you?”

Quint’s hand reached across the couch, his fingers wrapping around the cold hands of Katherine Hookton, offering what little support and reprieve he could.

I have to.

“Why! Why do you have to? What is forcing you to put your life on the line?”

Kath I-

“No Harley, no! You come home and crawl into bed and I can feel the cuts across your body. You get in the shower in the morning and I can see the bruises slowly replacing your skin. Do you know how much it hurts me to bandage you? To stitch your wounds closed? To see the tears in your eyes from the pain you’re enduring?”

Kath please ju-

“I’m not done Harley. What are we going to do? What do I do if Officer Roberts shows up at the door and tells me you’re missing, or worse dead? What do Charlie and I do? He’s your son now Harley, you have a responsibility to him too. He’s already lost one father to a helpless cause, don’t make him lose you too.”

Quint stared into Katherine’s eyes, unsure of what to say. What could he say? Any words that came out of his lips were sure to only hurt her more.

Please Katherine, just listen for a second...

Quint inched himself closer on the couch, his thumb gently wiping the flow of tears from Katherine’s face.

I love Charlie. Beyond any shadow of a doubt I love Charlie. Hell, I’m even starting to love Hektor, even though he drools when he sleeps, and he sleeps on the leather furniture. But above all that, I love you. I’ve always loved you and that isn’t ever going to change. If someone thinks they can come into our lives and try to take mine, they are sadly mistaken Kath.

I know you don’t like this. I don’t like this. But this is something I have to do. I can’t show hesitation, I can’t falter because if I do the lives and safety of the people in this City are at stake. And beyond that, the safety of you and Charlie and I can’t live with that possibility.

So please, take the gun, hide it wherever you want, do whatever you want with it. I’m sorry you have to go through this, but please, please know that I love you more than anything, the last thing I want to see is you hurting, so I will come home. I will always come home. One way or another.

Quint rose from the couch after checking his watch. The conversation had gone longer than he had intended, but then again, he had gotten home far later than expected. By now the tears had dried, embraces had been exchanged and the Hookton/Quint household had regained the familial warmth it had once had.

Opening the door the night air crept into the house brining a slight shiver from Quint as he turned to face the woman still seated on the green couch in his living room. As they had done hours prior, their eyes met exchanging many of the words they had needed to. Turning to leave Quint was stopped by the still fragile voice from inside the house.

“Please, just promise me one thing Harley.”

Anything.

“Come home.”

Quint smiled. It was for moments like this. Everything he did, everything he would have to do was for the woman on that couch, was for Katherine and Charlie Hookton. Slowly the smile spread across his face, unable to be contained.

I promise, I’ll come home.

The door shut behind Quint, leaving Katherine Hookton alone once again, the pages of her book being stained by the slow drip of falling tears.




The lights of the car dimmed with the key releasing from the ignition, the slowly dying engine ringing out in the silent night of The City. As he approached his destination Quint had seen the lights of the vehicles spread across the width of the Friarbrook Bridge. Parking a block away had afforded him the luxury of at least being alone with his thoughts for a few minutes on his approach to the bridge.

He had seen four men present. Three in suits, one, larger than the rest in informal black clothing. He knew something was amiss, but he senses couldn’t situate exactly what it was. Striding into view of the four men Quint soon discovered exactly what was wrong with the situation.

With what could have easily been mistaken for a snarl or a bark the larger man sprinted toward Quint. His shaggy, unkempt appearance stood in stark contrast to the clean cut men behind him. Watching the man approach Quint stopped in his tracks to study the lumbering giant. Large enough muscles, slow mover, more animalistic than human. Nothing more than a human attack dog.

Quint ducked the first uncoordinated swing of the lumbering man’s fists. Quickly, grabbing a hold of the man’s shirt with his hands, Quint placed his right foot against the left kneecap of the larger man and applied pressure.

Using the attackers momentum against him, Quint felt the man’s patella snap out of place, sending the entire joint out of place and bending backwards. With a howl of pain the beast of a man collapsed to his one remaining knee, the only viable knee he’d ever have after this point.

Big mistake Bubba. I don’t play nice when I’m attacked for no reason.

Quint reached down, tapping the face of the larger man before clenching his fist. Each knuckle popped and cracked in unison as Quint pulled his fist back, preparing to strike. With a smirk and sharp exhale of breath Quint launched his fist forward.

A sharp snap and a resonating crack through his own knuckles symbolised the shearing of the cartilage in the man’s nose. Quint, half blind from the lights shining from the car's headlights, watched as the man’s eyes fluttered, trying to retain vision with a broken nose. With a slight shove Quint toppled the Order’s attack dog to the ground.

Sit Ubu Sit.

Quint examined the short work he had made of the lumbering giant.

Good dog.

Turning away from the human debris at his feet, Quint continued his approach toward the men who had beckoned him.

Its interesting gentlemen, because from your letter I had assumed you had sought to avoid a senseless confrontation such as the one we just witnessed. But alas here we are. You haven’t even spoken yet and you’re already behind the 8-ball.

“Dr. Quint, please allow us to explain.”

By all means, your cute little puppy over there isn’t going to be useful again, so I’ve got all the time in the world.

“You’re an educated man, so I assume you already know about St. Francis.”

My hagiography is a little weak, but I’m aware of Assisi yes, and since I’m assuming you aren’t environmentalists it generally means there’s only one thing you could be.

“Yes, you are a smart one aren’t you.”

The man in the middle of the three remaining men spoke, the other two had remained silent thus far, merely standing still, refusing to blink.

“While I'm sure you're expecting me to introduce myself with a Fransiscan type name, or perhaps I'd stoop low and choose a Shakespearean name, I assure I will not. For all intents and purposes you may call me Ludlum. You see I’m a businessman Dr. Quint, a merchant of sorts. Nothing more, nothing less. And while I may not be that gifted physically, I am a wise man.”

And modest too.

“Yes, well, anyways. I’ll make this very simple for you. You have something I want. I get what I want. You have shown us recently that you have this wonderful ability to inspire people. You can see it, you can feel it in the air of this City. Slowly it is coming back to life, as though colour is returning and the grayscale is being banished.”

The man in the middle known as Ludlum stepped forward into the path of the lights, obscuring himself from Quint’s strained view.

“I’m a simple man Quint. I want to use my resources to give me power. I want control. Everything you see around you, everything within the borders of this city, I want. The Order wants. And we, like all good merchants and followers of our Patron Saint simply work towards taking what we want at as little a cost as possible. That includes you Quint.”

The two men on opposing sides of Ludlum stepped forward once again obscuring themselves in the headlights.

No.

“Come now Dr. Quint. Don’t be so rash. Imagine what this could do for all us. The Order benefits from your Vigilante Heroics and you benefit from our protection. Business will boom.”

No. Simple as that.

“Now, now Dr. Quint, you’re being unreasonable. I simply don’t like that. I can just as easily wipe your inspiration from this world.”

The first fist connected squarely with Quint’s jaw sending him off balance enough for the strike from the man on his left to miss high.

Stumbling from the strike to the jaw and blinded by his trying to adjust to the light Quint shut his eyes tight. With his eyes squinted tightly shut the yellow of the headlights managed to shine through, softly creating the shadows of the three men around him.

"Like our Saint before me, before us, we will shape this world in our image Dr. Quint. Money will win the day and the masses will bow before The Order of Assisi. As we are followers of his teaching, they shall be followers of ours."

On base instinct alone Quint swung and opened his eyes to a blur of floating square lights. His fist connected with the soft tissue of one man’s Adam’s apple sending him to a heap crumbled on the pavement below.

Still temporarily blinded by the lights Quint spun around swinging wildly into the air and missing the men around him. Rising his fists back into a defensive stance he felt the arms of Ludlum lock under his own arms and around his neck.

The fists laid into Quint’s chest and stomach as he exhaled coughs and curses. Seeking any reprieve from the strikes he could muster Quint thrashed his legs into the air connecting with the knees and testicles of his attack on multiple occasions.

Still restrained and with vision returning Quint caught sight of the down second man, cupping his genitals. Continuing his thrashing the heels of Quint’s boot connected again and again with the side of the man’s head until he helplessly collapsed prone on the ground below, yielding to the unrelenting gravity.

Thrashing and trying to wriggle free Quint could feel the heavy weight of unconsciousness drifting over him as the hold upon his neck tightened.

“Please Dr. Quint, this is easier if you stop resisting. We get what we want Quint. And we want power. We want it all. So you can either help us, or be a casualty along the way, the choice is yours.”

The grip on Quint’s neck loosened, the man tossing him backwards against the hood of the middle car.

“It’s simple Quint. With us. Or Against us. What will it be?”

Now on the other side of the headlights Quint’s vision remained unobstructed as he clearly saw the situation around him for the first time. Ludlum approached slowly, waiting for an answer yet remaining reading to strike the final blow when needed. He straightened his tie as he approached the car, a sinister sneer adorning his lips.

“What's the answer Quint, here and now.”

Well, let’s hope third time is a charm.

“Hmm?”

Quint launched himself from the hood of the car, both legs off the ground and connecting with the kneecaps of Ludlum. The neck muscles of Quint pounded and throbbed at the damage done to them as he quickly rose to his feet. Quint knew the strain and struggle places against his neck would limit his movement, anything he was going to do would have to be done quickly.

Instantly Quint was hovering over top of the fallen Ludlum. Quint had found that when dealing with large groups going straight for the knockout punch was ineffective. It was a lot easier to disable their freedom of movement first.

It’s simple. So long as you want to control. So long as you want to oppress, I will stand against you. Until I have no blood left in my body and no breath left to breathe. I will stand against you.

Quint’s foot pressed against the chest of Ludlum forcing the back of his head to viciously connect with the car’s wheel well. The whipping momentum tossed about the gelled and slicked black hair of Ludlum, a single grouping of strands falling forward across his face, breaking free from the mold the others sat in. A trickle of warm liquid began to ooze down the back of the man’s head, dripping down his neck as he sat on the ground, struggling to keep his eyes from shutting.

Since you clearly aren’t the one in charge I’d like you to pass on a message. Stay with me here.

Quint bent down, his hands tapping the cheek of the prone man.

Tell whoever it is that runs this Order of Assisi, tell whatever shadowy cabal you have to that I will not play nice with you. Try not to let your own personal ambition get in the way Ludlum. I've dealt with your shadowy groups before, somehow the most ambitious always end up strung and quartered.

Harley grasped the man's chin tightly in the palm of his hand, allowing the two men to lock eyes.

Look around you Ludlum. These people deserve their freedom. The hell they have had to deal with, the hell that I have caused is finally starting to feel like a memory. They deserve to be able to openly walk their streets. To have dinner in the parks with loved ones. They deserve a happiness that has been denied for so long. A happiness that I took away from them and that they are just starting to get back.

Quint turned his back, leaving the group of four men scattered helplessly about the ground, grasping their various injuries and broken bones.

So if you want to come into my home and try to seize control. Know that I will never play nice.

I Will Stand Against You...


And HavOc Shall Be Wrought.

The smell of wax permeates the air and intertwines with the essence of wood polish as we fade into the scene. A man of the cloth enters as the strong, rapid click of his feet on the floor gives a sense of purpose; someone wants to be cleansed. After making a crucifix on his chest, he enters a confessional. The breath slowly escapes his lungs, bringing calm to his body before another of the world's many ugly sins is confessed to God. Suddenly, a door opens and shuts with apprehension, followed by the vicious slide of the door and the priest whips his head to the side.

RCA: Forgive me Father, for I will sin.

Father: My child, that is not quite how this works, but what will you do?

RCA: I will lash out against a woman. I feel like God should think it over before denying me.

Father: That isn’t true my child. God is always here to help you.

RCA: I get that a lot. It’s just that...

Austin scratches his jaw in slight confusion as to what is happening inside of him. He looks towards the priest and composes himself before continuing.

RCA: Look, I’m not that much of a religious man.

Father: Go on son. What you say here will not leave this booth.

RCA: It’s just that I used to feel like God was fucki-…sorry…toying with me. I ask you…you ever pray for something you wanted your whole life? Ever second guess yourself?

Father: Well, I can’t say I’ve second guessed myself as with God in my heart, I’ve never felt the need to. But to answer your first question, yes. I pray every day.

RCA: There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted but one of the main things was to be…was free.

Poor soul…

Father: My condolences.

RCA: I don’t want condolences. I want merely to be free. Free to do as I wish, like I will against that woman.

Embrace it…embrace it so I can reach my goal.

Father: Son, I’m worried.

RCA: Don’t be. Redemption isn’t hard to find. The problem is that it is not what people think it is.

Father: You don’t want help or forgiveness it seems so why did you come?

RCA: I believe in the truth. I believe someone needs to know what I’ll do. Someone needs to know that despite that, it’s only the beginning.

More lethal, more precise…more devastating, heinous…

The priest sits quietly as Austin’s face shows acceptance of sorts.

Father: Well I believe that you can be better. Just coming here shows that.

RCA: Then giving me the benefit of the doubt without just cause marks a positive step towards my idea of redemption.

Right Drew?

Father: I do not think that redemption can be reached in your current state, child. I implore you to find God, seek out someone who knows His magnificence.

RCA: I loosely follow the Code of Bushido, Father.

Father: OK. But I can tell that you would be a fine servant of God if you chose to allow him to control your life. You will be saved if you do that.

RCA: God may have a plan for me but I will let NO ONE control me. I suggest you save yourself, Father. Honestly, the things I see and I obsess over, are thing no one can be saved from. Thanks and God Bless.

Austin rises up and leaves the booth as the priest remains seated, mouth agape from the words he’s just heard.

God, watch over him…

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

Silence. Nothing can be seen save for a seated Austin lost in the mind of the only person that matters to him at this moment. His chest rises and falls like his career has done. The face shows no hint of anger, just complete, eerie calm.

RCA: You know, a lot of this God shit is starting to make a little sense to me. I feel as if I know a bit more than I used to. I feel like I know myself. I found that my name means ‘Gift of God’. There’s so much in a name, so much in things that we don’t see. The actions with the greatest effect are usually unseen. Take in my case…people aren’t acknowledging my change and it’ll bite them in the ass.

Isn’t that right, Seth Omega? The more I read about you from these smarky sites, what the co-workers say…the more I study you, the more I hear your lies, you insignificant maggot. I can still hear the scandalous remarks that you had the audacity to soil my name with. You don’t throw stones when you live in a glass house.

RCA: I am not satisfied in having to share a ring with someone as dishonorable as Seth. I hate lowering myself to the gutter levels of addressing you and your bitch Mark. I hate having to share the same air as someone as untrustworthy and ass-backwards as them. And you know what I really hate? I hate that Drew’s too blind to see the grave error that he’s made.

What’s in a name, Seth? More than anyone would truly care to know. But its things like this that places me ahead of the curve, ahead of everybody. Despite the fact I see a bigger picture, I know that the smallest detail can make or break my masterpiece. Isn’t that right, Seth? Even the most insignificant little speck can derail a train and you…of all people…will not destroy my work. Same goes for you Mark.

RCA: Drew, you know there are likely soldiers better than these; you know this, yet you subject yourself to bullshit. Why? Because you think you can save anyone and do anything. But, you can’t save these two. I am going to euthanize your bitches, Drew and I’ll allow FMW to relish in it. I am going to rip out their insides then feed them to one another.

The more I pay attention to the Saints, I think about how FMW doesn’t really know my outlook. They don’t know the plan of a man better than them. I find methods that would be successful in achieving it. But you know what else? I found what was truly in a name.

RCA: Did you know that ‘Seth’ means ‘granted’ according to the Bible? Did you know that Seth was believed by Eve to be the replacement for Abel, who was killed by Cain? Well, you saw Lethal Injection. You’ve been granted a chance to be a replacement, in more ways than one.

You and Mark are nothing but a replacement, Seth; moreover replacements for the grand prize that Drew can’t have. Drew is settling for you because he didn’t get Nick Bryson and I as the ORIGINAL Broken Saints. You two hang on to his every word like ignorant, mindless fools; Drew is your God, maggots, and that is a sin last I checked. Not even God Himself wants me to fail to someone pathetic as you two are.

RCA: So riddle me this Drew, why? Why would you choose men who were either so close to selling his soul to the highest bidder or basically not good enough? Seth would have done it had he not found out that your death was faked. Why would you choose a man that is so racked with mediocrity in Mark? Why would you choose to destroy your respect over these pieces of shit?

Omega…it means the end and Saints, it’s time to be granted your end. It’s time you learned the truth Mark. It’s time you two learn just how dangerous my redemption can be to FMW. It’s time all of FMW knew you as the slime filled fuck-face you are, Seth. You can be modest all you want but I know about how you screwed War Machine and tried to bury Apostasy. I know you thought you were doing something honorable, but the individual that is you isn’t that honorable to begin with.

I don’t find victory in defeat. I don’t need to be given a good word or an ace in the hole as that is weak and besides, I am the ace in the hole. Mark cannot function without someone saying ‘you’re good, you’re worth something.’ It’s why I stand alone and why it is time for your Moments of Clarity. Open your eyes to how sorry and how disgusting your hypocrisy and shame is. But I’m not surprised…you’re in a group called the Broken Saints. And if you want to be a broken saint, then who am I not to break you? I do believe in the truth, you know?

RCA: In the mindset I’ll be in come match time… I am capable of annihilating any and all on the simplest of whims. Two worthless asses must be exterminated. Drew, The Ronin, The Radical intends to destroy your slaves because it would be the Alpha of my redemption and the Omega of hypocrisy. It’s time for your next exam. I hope you studied for it…then again; I’ve just changed the questions. Class Dismissed.

Austin’s eyes snatch open with the quickness of a cottonmouth’s bite…his perfect serenity brought crashing down with the rugged vibration of reality. As he flips open his phone…his anger is brought back with the voice he never wants to hear, but struggles to turn away.

???: (crying) Hello?

RCA: What.

???: Why have you been ignoring my calls? I’ve been trying endlessly to get to you.

I miss you…it kills me to know you don’t want to talk…

RCA: GOODBYE, Kylie. You made your choice when you lied.

Austin pulls the phone away from his ear, and goes to slide it closed as Kylie, (also known as Alex, Jaime’s sister) pleas of desperation tears through his defenses. Her reply shows the surprise of being referred to by her first name, and not the shorthand version of her middle name that shows a feeling of care.

Kylie: NO-NO-NO-NO! PLEASE WAIT!!!

RCA: What the hell for?

Kylie: I didn-

RCA: NO. There is nothing you can say to me. Quit fucking calling me and leave me the hell alone.

Kylie: BUT WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!

RCA: There’s nothing to talk about, you lying bitch.

Austin hangs up by tossing his phone against the wall, shattering it. Austin’s breathing becomes slightly aggressive as he paces. Meanwhile Alex, ahem, Kylie, slumps against the wall inside her home, letting out a sob and covering her mouth as she tries to hide the excruciating blow that Austin has dealt to her. She rubs her hands through her hair in utter loss as to how to continue. Her body shakes in hurt while Austin calmly walks out of his room. His hands remain clenched tightly into fists as every muscle on his lean, granite-chiseled body rips. She yells to the heavens, in frustration and sadness.

Dammit, Alex…Let it go.

Eventually, she manages to compose herself and instead of a look of defeat…a slightly crazed look crosses her tear-drenched face. Her pearly whites pierce into her soft bottom lip, ripping into the tender flesh and causing it to weep with sanguine tears.

We will be together Chris…Love makes you do crazy things. We will be together…no matter what.

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

OOC: The following takes place a few days ago I.E. before other promos happened, if you know what I mean.

A feeling of cleanliness accompanies our next scene as busy chatter and random, rhythmic beeps of machinery create a boisterous atmosphere in which people are treated and rehabilitated. Through all of the hustle and bustle, one thing stands out: the calmness of Chris Austin as he proceeds with his head down, not making eye contact with any passerby. Expressing the body language of a viper, Austin slithers through the sea of humanity, occasionally glancing into open rooms and his palm. And then, she catches his eye. He glances at the picture and his head rises up. Popping sounds emanate into the air as his neck twists sharply each way, as if he’s loosening up for physical exertion. He quietly walks in, closing the door behind him as he nears a bandaged up, unconscious woman. Despite the facial lacerations, her beauty still manages to shine through.

RCA: Hello, Annalisa…

Austin surveys his surroundings as he walks around the bed of young Annalisa Moretti. He lifts up a few strands of her hair, letting them fall effortlessly as he stares, seemingly entranced.

RCA: How you met Seth, I’ll never know. But, I have to say…even in this state…wow.

Austin brushes her hair away from her face as he leans in close. The heart monitor begins to increase; it’s as if someone far away thinks she’s in danger and is trying to warn someone, anyone. Austin exhales as he prepares to speak again.

RCA: You know, I feel sorry for you. I hate to see you suffer, someone ‘who’s done no wrong’. You remind me of Mark and I feel compelled to apologize for what I will do to Seth. But I refuse to apologize for what needs to be done, because he has let you and others down too many times.

Austin takes her wrist softly, rubbing his hand up on hers solemnly.

RCA: I’m guessing that you, like Mark are used to abrasive bosses and pigs that use their power to bend you to their will. You in particular are used to blubber-filled midsections that magnify the spinelessness that he, who couldn’t save you, has.

Austin rises up, and begins to talk out loud to someone that isn’t here. He hopes that somehow his message finds its target before he has to teach it by his own hands.

RCA: Mark…all of this talk about the Broken Saints not needing a crutch apparently hasn’t registered with you yet. You are their crutch, you take all of the weight of the detractor’s wrath. Why, Mark? I know your situation as I’ve been a stable’s crutch. Your friends aren’t honest with you Mark and I urge you to accept this Moment of Clarity because truthfully, you won’t survive it if I force it on you.

Austin looks back to Anna with a smirk.

RCA: Your hero hasn’t been honest with you yet either. All I will say, is simply this…(leans into her ear as he starts to mount) Anna, you and Mark are nothing more than stupid whores that I will destroy if it gives the BS their Moments of Clarity.

The door creaks open as Austin slowly dismounts, making no attempt to hide his actions. The visitor is not expecting another to be visiting Annalisa. His face shows a a wave of fury.

Michaels: (growling, ready to fight) Christopher, I warned you...

RCA: This’ll only take a sec, Anna. (to Drew) Come on.

Michaels grabs Austin and just then, Alex O’Rion quickly emerges from the bathroom, separating the two and roughly grabbing Austin by his shirt.

YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME…A rapist just can’t live up to his namesake these days.

Michaels: If you do not kill him, I will Alexander.

RCA: Like you killed D. Hammond Samuels when he falcon punched Juliet and killed your baby on your wedding day?

Austin looks on, unflinching as his devious insult sinks its teeth into a soft spot for Michaels with the sharpness of fangs. O’Rion slaps the taste out of Austin’s mouth as Michaels can barely stand to see Austin breathe.

O’Rion: The fuck’s wrong with you, bye? You have the gall to say that shyte to him?

RCA: Eariler this week, I confessed my sins to a REAL man of God and I know I have no qualms destroying Seth or Mark for that matter in the name of ‘brand pride’. I hope it’s the result of our confrontation, actually. Anna’s a tune up for those two and for what’s to come.

Michaels angrily advances to Austin and O’Rion strains to keep them apart.

Michaels: You had better consider yourself lucky Alexander showed when he did.

O’Rion: Shut up! I told you that he’s my problem now.

Michaels: So why am I always here before you?

RCA: You know, If I went through with this, I’d save Seth time since he believes she’s done for as it is. What really grinds my gears is that you know that Seth is an idiot and that the Broken Saints have only spelled doom and pain for Mark. Yet you let it ride.

O’Rion doubles over Austin with a shot to the breadbasket.

O’Rion: I told you to shut your yap, bye! Speaking of idiot, where’s Seth?

Michaels: Seth asked me to check on Annalisa; he along with Mark is putting in extra training for you two. I must say that it would please me greatly to see them crush Christopher.

RCA: And why is that? Last I checked you’re Ammunition through and through.

Michaels: I cannot say that the epic bitch-fest that would result from it would not be entertaining, especially since he does have an instance of superiority over you thanks to the Hayabusa Cup.

This brings blood-red fury into the eyes of Austin. He frantically struggles to reach Michaels but O’Rion’s hold is too strong. For a split second Austin imagines slitting Anna’s throat but he composes himself, silently reminding himself to save it.

Michaels: But, I know without a doubt that do not want Christopher on this earth. You had a great sense of honor and the desire to be good. Alexander, I have accepted that you want to handle things. I will warn you, if he goes too far with the Saints or Anna, I will do everything in my power to kill him.

Austin frees himself and advances towards Michaels. Austin stops short, only a foot separates the two but the tension in the room grows exponentially.

RCA: I’ll kill them if it is the SLIGHTEST bit necessary and you know deep down that FMW doesn’t believe in your Saints. Besides, Seth’s training won’t help him for at his roots he’s a brawler that watched some UFC in his spare time and called it puro. Mark’s about the same but more talented if he wanted to be. They want to brawl and with Alex O’Rion on my side it’s a dumb idea. I’ll just hit them more; harder, more precise. After Occam’s Razor shatters a skull, their experience at the Learning Tree will be over.

Michaels: Your arrogance is causing you to underestimate competitors, something I have not seen before. Seth, while still rough around the edges and a little quick with his mouth, is very good. Mark has the heart of a lion. Dante and I see his potential.

RCA: I don’t take anybody lightly; what you call arrogance on my part is merely a fact; it’s basically your confidence coming out of my mouth and yet, it’s wrong. Heh-heh… Shit, Mark can have all the heart he wants, it won’t mean anything when I take it from him. Neither of them can help you.

Seth’s not quite seeing the light and Mark, despite the claims, has been nothing more than a free sample for the wolves you fight against. Yet you still try to reform them and convince the masses? Pathetic. You should have left him to the sewer rats to feed off of their useless bodies but don’t worry, I’ll correct your mistake. That’s all they are, mistakes that no one had the balls to take a fucking coat hanger to.

O’Rion: Piece of shyte has a point, Drew.

Austin sneers and spits to the side nonchalantly as he grimaces while holding his torso.

RCA: You know something, I hope your decisions work out for the best. As long as corruption and building resentment waiting for the right moment to strike, stands beside you. I will wait in the lab, learning, training…waiting for MY moment to strike with the Hand of God.

Michaels: What makes you think that Mark is likely to fall off the path that I hope he continues on? You do not even know him.

RCA: I don’t need to know him, to KNOW him.

Happened to me in II, remember?

Michaels’ angered tone dissipates as Austin’s pores exude uncaring neutrality.

RCA: I learn from his mistakes and mine. I know that you can’t help them be honorable, Drew. With Seth being who he is and Mark Johansson being a former snitch from what I researched, the concept isn’t in their nature. They are death of your crusade. Your forgiveness will cost them their livelihoods.

Michaels: How fucking dare you, Christopher! I am still here for them and despite your retarded comments…I would still be here for you but you do not want to make the first move, you sniveling coward!

RCA: Retarded to you is being a step ahead to the masses. People hate and fear what they don’t understand and I’m pretty sure you can’t explain why I’ve become what I have.

O’Rion: You’re giving him an empty net, Austin.

Michaels: That is easy. You are a petulant child that is too aware of his ability, looking for attention. That is it. As much of a man as you thought and we all thought you to be, you have not grown up yet and to be honest, you obviously have not been in many relationships nor have any clue how to deal with women because nothing can make anything short of a fucking brat react as you did.

O’Rion chuckles under his breath.

RCA: Good try, here’s a gold star for effort. But while there may be a degree of truth to that, answer me this as I dabble in the theory of ‘Occam’s Razor’. The obvious solution to my problems would’ve been to turn to God, yet I didn’t. You know why that is?

Michaels: Enlighten me.

RCA: Because He picked you. Instead of you fulfilling His plans, you became a gold-whore; a jaded, hypocritical, bible-thumping, stone throwing in a glass house living man that has lost sight of his purpose. I’m already jaded Michaels and that FMW title will soon come but I refuse to follow in your footsteps…I consider myself lucky that I wised up when I did.

Michaels: You do not know a Goddamn thing about me, Christopher…

RCA: Yeah…I know nothing about allowing other shit like sex, family problems, jealousy or lack of titles to stop someone from being the hero he’s supposed to be and one FMW supposedly needs.

O’Rion: But I do, which is why this asshat is MY problem and no one else’s. Got it?

Michaels: I trust you, Alexander.

Austin glares into the eyes of Drew as Austin knows he made a point just then. Both men’s gazes do not waver.

Michaels: Christopher…

RCA: Yes, Andrew?

Michaels: You are destined for failure and you will fall.

O’Rion: Not if I have a say in it, bye.

RCA: Thanks. Now go and prepare them to lose. Tell them about this conversation and how I know that they who think that hitting matters more than getting up from it are doomed. Tell them I know about Mark’s bad knee. Tell them I was here with this bitch and that had you not shown your face she’d never be seen again. Try to save them…and know that I know you will fail them, then fail us all again because of your own greed.

Austin walks away, shoulder bumping Michaels. They remain locked in a gaze as Michaels’s hand flinches as Austin is struck with a fist. Austin merely turns his head back to Michaels, who’s preparing for a fight. Austin shakes his head in pity.

RCA: Drew, don’t worry. I know that what hurts you most is someone hurting innocents and those close to you, not you yourself. Now, the Broken Saints have a Moment of Clarity due. If I ever need long-winded wooden dialogue to extend a promo more than it should've been or a reminder about how no amount of accomplishments can hide a failure, I’ll let you know.

Austin looks to Drew, then to Anna. He spits a small glob of blood-tainted saliva off to the side and walks away as Michaels seethes and O’Rion is close behind. Austin then tries to sneak attack Michaels only for the bigger O’Rion to grab Austin by the back of his shirt collar and drag him away outside. Michaels seethes as he shuts the door. O’Rion callously tosses Austin from his own grasp.

RCA: And just what in the hell was that?

O’Rion: (coldly) Shut it. Now, since nothing happened and I know how hard it is to control pent-up shyte, I’ll give you a free pass. But, I know you’re serious now, bye. I’ll be damned if you screw your life up on my watch. I’ll always be here, kicking your ass every time you try to fuck up. Always.

RCA: It’s about time, slacker. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have two hypocrites to embarrass. Your help is appreciated.

Challenge accepted, big bro.

Austin walks away angrily as O’Rion shakes his head and follows from a watchful distance. Fade out.


Fade in. Austin comforted with visions of his future crimes that slither in and out of his head, walks slowly around his bed, studying medical records of a ‘S. Corleone’ and a ‘M. Johansson’, muttering one thing in a collected tone…

RCA: It’s Game over, bitches.

Austin turns back his bed…and the crash of glass breaks through his peace. He merely sighs as his head darts around, waiting to strike down the intruder. As he nears his door, he is met with a thwack. Austin flies backward into his bed, holding his head. Austin tries to rise, but the surprise of the blow has weakened him more than expected. He sits up, only to be forced down by a human-like shape. Austin drifts out of consciousness, as the faint clinking of steel and chain and a soft, angelic voice become the last things he hears…

???: …we can finally end this…

Fade out.

OOC: Sorry about the short promo. Life caught up, but my next promo will be alot better.

"It's a proverbial clubhouse, so to speak."

Hannibal Frost, eyes bare and searching the dusty room, barely registered Dr. Harley Quint as he spoke from across the room. Clad in an informally formal gray suit, Quint looked just as out of place as Frost himself. They stood on the second floor of an abandoned mental asylum, in a corner room overlooking the street. Based on the tarnished sign hanging from the door, Frost guessed this to be the Warden's office.

But the cob webs and water damage weren't the things bothering Frost. Granted, the musk was curling up around his nose and soiling his highly priced black leather duster. But still, it was why he was here.

"I understand the hesitancy, but it's just a name," Quint said, pacing over to where Frost stood.

Havoc...

The name, that for so long, had struck fear into the hearts of everyone in FMW. A name that Frost had once claimed as his own. His identity had become warped and scorched until only charred pieces remained. He had maimed people, found pleasure in evil. It disgusted him to no end.

"It's more than a name," Frost finally replied, shaking his head at the thought of Havoc reforming. "It's a god damned nightmare."

Frost watched as Quint's eyes lit up, an epiphany of sorts tugging his lips into a smile.

"You are absolutely right."

Frost grimaced, the voice of Dr. Quint finally getting under his skin. It could've been the fact that Frost had been sober now for the better part of the day, or the realization that the good doctor might be regressing. "And yet you're smiling?"

Clasping his hands together, the sound echoing inside the empty room, Quint opened his mouth to speak.

"Skyler Striker. Jason Roy. Drew Michaels. Even our dear World Heavyweight Champion... all have something in common."

Frost licked his lower lip, trying to imagine an aged whiskey flowing over it. He couldn't believe this might actually be coming to pass. Frost had once said that necessary evils would have to be committed, but this felt like going too far. "I'm assuming you have a point."

"They have nothing to fear, Hanny. Nothing and no one."

Frost glanced up, the first hint of understanding beginning to show him the truth. Just a name...

"The hearts that beat so black within their chests have weathered all before them. You know the signs all too well. You've been there."

For the first time in hours, Frost looked Quint in the eyes. He could see the Harlequin, staring back at him, but with a new game. Both of the men in this room had been to Hell and back, quite literally, and were now all too aware of the world around them.

"They've forgotten the order of things. They've forgotten what fear tastes like."

Frost closed his eyes, letting Quint's playfully crisp intonation wrap its tendrils around his mind. If Frost needed one painfully clear example of Quint's logic, he needed to look no further than Skyler Striker. The man had called Frost a joke and had laughed at the idea of him being a threat.

Frost smirked, and for once, only logic shown in his eyes. No chaos. No disorder.

"What do we do?" Frost asked, intrigued as to what the next step could possibly be.

Dr. Harley Quint smiled. "We go, and give evil something to fear."

And Havoc Shall Be Wrought

Moonlight from the sky above filtered in through a window on the second story of a newly inhabited mental asylum, appropriately named The Clubhouse. The entire place had been refurnished to serve as a base of operations for the newly reformed Havoc. It was quite a step up from the condemned, mess of a place it was before.

Hannibal Frost, Ray Ban aviator shades dimming the bright lights of the hallway, stepped lightly to his new office. In his right hand, he carried a duffle bag filled to the brim with personal affects. In his left hand, held ever so tightly, was his newly won Abandoned Championship.

The Elimination Chamber match at Lethal Injection had been no walk in the park, and Frost was extremely pleased that he'd been the victor. Everyone had an ego. Whether it was big, small, or ignored... it was still there. Frost's ego was quite swelled at the moment. Not every battle can be the epic be all, end all the movies made it out to be. Sometimes the advantage, no matter how underhanded, must be taken. Frost wasn't going to make a career out of pinning someone else's leftovers, but sometimes a situation was so dire that the end justified the means.

Striker and Leon were at each other's throats. Frost had to show them, sooner rather than later, that the world was bigger than the two of them. Skyler could be salvaged, and Leon could be saved. Caprice is a great fighter all his own, but Skyler was getting ready to drag him into the depths as well. Now, with Frost at the top of Distortion, he could put both their little worlds into perspective.

Finally, a polished oak door came into view. Frost stood before the former Warden's office and smiled, alight with the possibility of new beginnings. He slowly twisted the doorknob, anticipation building, and stepped into the threshold.

The scent of industrial strength cleaner hit Frost first, thick and heavy. He fumbled around for the light switch for second, but soon enough, the room was filled with light from the fluorescents above. A desk was sitting in the far corner, a computer sitting atop it. To the right was an oak cabinet with glass doors. And to his left was the most important piece of furniture in the room...

A wet bar. A stocked, fully functional wet bar.

Frost slid his bag over to the cabinet and immediately went to make himself a drink.

"Knock knock, champion..."

Behind the bar now, Frost whipped his gaze to the door and found Syanide filling the expanse of the threshold. His muscular frame heaved with threats of violence, but Frost felt safe. They were reunited as a team again, after all.

"Drink?" Frost asked, tipping a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label his way.

Syanide shook his head. "Heard some commotion. Thought the rats were still here."

Frost smiled, a brief laugh escaping his lips, and poured a couple fingers of whiskey into a glass tumbler. "Just us Havoc boys."

Syanide stared on a moment longer, awkwardly silent, before disappearing from Frost's view. He listened as the big man's footsteps finally died out, not even an echo remaining.

Frost had always suspected there'd be some tension between himself and Syanide. Back when Havoc was in its first run, Syanide had known a different man. An evil, twisted son of a bitch that thrived on chaos. Even then, they didn't really get along. Now, with two thirds of Havoc trying to right their wrongs, it must've been even more of a moral conundrum for the man. Still, Daniel Lincoln was a good person. It just happened to be buried deep under layers of mental degradation and a fucked up world perspective.

Frost shrugged, finally taking a sip of his whiskey, and moved to stretch out behind his new desk. The desk... of FMW's new Abandoned Champion. The polished oak desk- Frost had a thing for oak- was supposed to be riddled with secret compartments and hidden uses. Outside of FMW, danger was a very real and constant presence. Frost had to be ready for anything.

Frost felt under the desk for a tiny lever, and upon finding it, he switched it on, activating the mechanism. Silently, a hidden panel ejected from the side drawer column and revealed a .50 caliber Desert Eagle. Frost palmed the silver plated pistol and tested its weight. A little heavy, and the kick wasn't going to be fun trying to aim against, but the gun would serve its purpose in the tight confines of his office. It would seem the Organization had a bit of knowledge on the subject of close quarters ass kicking.

Frost had gotten with Nick and made sure that a crew would come to the Clubhouse to outfit his office. Obviously, Nick had made good on his end of the bargain. Hopefully, the rest of the room would reveal treasures like the one he held now.

With the hefty weight of security gripped in his right hand, Frost swiveled his chair to face the window behind him. Cream tinted shades dressed the window to match the calming tones of the room. Frost removed his Ray Bans with his free hand and opened the shades just enough to get a good view.

The street below obviously wasn't much for traffic. It wasn't late into the evening, and it wasn't like the Asylum was buried deep within the back roads of the City. Still, the mild seclusion comforted Frost. If the evils of the night were lurking anywhere about, he'd hate to wake the neighbors with gunfire and curse words.

A content smile quirked the edges of Frost's lips as he sighed. His life had taken so many twists and turns lately; it was starting to wear him thin. Only now was he able to take a calming breath and really relax.

Frost snatched up his Abandoned Championship and took another content glance around the room. It was so, so good to be home.


It Came From The Basement


With a black leather duster hiding the fifty caliber bulge at his back, Frost made his way down to the first floor the Clubhouse. The second floor was high security, for the really twisted patients during its time of use, but the first floor provided much needed normality. If Frost were to exit the stairwell, he'd find Quint's offices to his left and a reception area taking up the remainder of the room. Beyond that, the low risk cells- now defunct and devoid of their primary use- were stretched along against a back wall. But Frost wasn't heading there. He was actually going one level further.

Frost opened the door to the first sub level and found himself staring out at a moderately sized parking garage. It was accessible from the street, but now only Havoc held the key to it- or, rather, the electronic key cards needed to withdraw the barricade.

Frost smiled as his eyes fell upon a restored '67 Camaro. A few of the fine folks at the Organization were former mechanics and car enthusiasts. Unfortunately, Frost was not. So, he took their word that the jet black car in front of him could do zero to sixty in six seconds. Not extremely fast by today's standards, but that's what the nitrous system was for.

Frost was about to start towards it when an echo brushed up against his ears. The faint sound, almost inaudible, sounded like a voice. Frost squinted, trying his best to scout out the parking garage, when another echo sent chills racing up his spine. This time Frost was sure he'd heard a voice, except it wasn't coming from the parking garage. Frost slowly glanced to his left, down another set of stairs faintly lit by fluorescents above. That echo had drifted up from the lowest level of the Asylum. The basement.

Frost hadn't been down there personally, but a quick glance over the building's history report a few days ago had told him it wasn't a regular basement. A cavernous labyrinth of rooms waited just beyond those stairs. The basement used to be a cell block for the asylum, back when the worst of the worst... of the worst were being shipped there. Brick walls, barred cell doors, and the smell of mildew described the place to a tee. After a maximum security prison opened just a county away, the patients were shipped out to become inmates. The old cell block was never remodeled, only stuffed full of shit. The cells were used as supply closets, a small security office started seeing weekly poker nights, and the only two cells to have padded walls... were used for after hours fun with the female patients. Who'd believe a whack job, tits or not?

Of course, this was all before the place closed down. Why did it close down? And why was it sold to Dr. Harley Quint for so cheap? People were murdered here. Why else? Three doctors, two security officers, and four patients were found hanged in the basement. All in separate rooms, all with no evidence of foul play. So why call them murders? No one knows, but that's what the remaining patients said. Eventually, the case was closed as a mass suicide and the place was shutdown. Still, no one could figure out just why they would up and kill themselves. And if that wasn't the case, no one could figure out who murdered them.

Of course, when high impact fighting was your day job and killing off the supernatural was your part time gig, who gave a shit about lame ass ghost stories?

At least, that's what Frost was trying to tell himself as he inched his way down the stairs towards the basement. Every step got shakier. Each palm got sweatier. No amount of pep talking could banish the growing unease in the pit of Frost's stomach.

Finally, Frost reached the door leading to the basement. The door itself was freshly painted, as was the entire stairwell, but Frost new the same couldn't be said for the opposite side. Rumblings from Quint had confirmed that not one man from the restoration crew would step foot beyond that door. Frost now knew why. Just a glance at the doorknob had Frost on edge. Had him wanting to race up the stairs and back to the comfort of his office. He'd faced down a three thousand year old vampire, some of the best that FMW had to offer, and he was the Abandoned Champion. Still, just looking at that door was like staring down the darkest this world had to offer.

Fortunately, Frost was in the business of bringing light to the darkness. And beating the shit out of trespassers. This was private property. Knowingly crossing that line was like knowingly pissing on the toilet seat. You just don't do it.

So with the weight of his pistol now firmly in his grip, Frost opened that door and stepped into the darkness.


Brick By Brick


The inky blackness hit Frost first. The space in front of him was so unnaturally dark it was impossible to see. Frost wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, a film of damp moisture building up on it. It was hot, and wet. Not the good kind either. It felt like a water heater had busted; the aftermath just left to sit and fester.

A few seconds of patting the brick walls next to Frost finally yielded results in the form of a light switch. With a flick of the wrist, dim, spastic fluorescents flickered to life down the expanse of what looked to be a hallway. Frost squinted, trying to see down to the end, but nothing came of it. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. Impossible, and yet, there it was.

Finally gathering up the courage to press forward, Frost started down the hallway. A few cells lined each side of the hallway. Each one dressed with thick bars and filled with old, rustic cleaning materials. The bulbs overhead flickered for seconds at a time, playing shadows where the eyes would allow the trickery.

Another echo drifted along the expanse of the hallway, and brought Frost to a halt. He scanned the area, noting that the hallway finally broke off at the end in separate directions, and tried to think. He tried to turn over the possible supernatural explanations in his mind, but he couldn't work the fog. Frost's mind protested to work a technical angle. Instead, it kept succumbing to the legends and ghost stories that surrounded this place. And yet, he'd never heard any of these stories personally. His mind just assumed that they had to exist, and that they were real.

Frost gripped his pistol tighter and started for the end of the corridor. Shallow puddles splashed beneath his feet as he walked the length of the hallway. His footsteps echoed into all directions, carrying themselves across the entire cell block.

He took a breath, and found the nerve to speak. "Hello?" Frost couldn't think of anything else to say, and quickly fell to the trappings of horror movie cliche`s. True to form, no one answered.

Frost stepped to the "T" break in the hallway, flicking his gaze down both directions. Suddenly, a noise caught his attention from the right. Puddles splashing underneath a fast paced gait. Frost quickly started down that section of hallway, pistol at the ready.

Cells lined the hallway on his right. On his left, nothing. Except for one lone door. Frost slowed to a stop, examining it. The frame had to have been three inches thick, all steel and bolts. A small viewing window sat nose height, allowing Frost to peer inside. The room was empty. All but for a lone chair in the middle. No straps, no torture devices. Just a wooden chair, much like you'd see at any kitchen table. Frost tried for the handle, but the door didn't budge. He glanced down to find a padlock serving as a permanent "do not disturb" sign.

Accepting he wouldn't be able to enter, Frost turned and stumbled back when he found someone blocking the way. Blond, oily tresses hung low to cover the face of what appeared to be a teenage girl. Frost twitched as she turned away, her battered black dress swaying with the movement.

"You know you scared the shit outta' me, right? Not a good first impression."

The girl didn't seem to acknowledge his voice. She was stoic. Her body facing the wall, her attention back down the way she'd came. Could've been Frost's lack of subtlety. When faced with danger, he was quick to resort to humor.

"How'd you get down here?" Frost asked, trying to bring the situation to light. He didn't know what else to do, or say. That damn fog was still clouding his mind. This absolutely reeked of supernatural shenanigans, but Frost couldn't bring himself to ask the right questions.

"I've always been here."

Frost cocked an eyebrow at the girl's first words. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Like she'd been broken at some point and stripped of her spirit.

"That's impossible," Frost said, knowing it to be true. But just looking at this girl... Damn it, she wouldn't lie. She could barely stand.

"Others are here too. Stuck in the places they came from."

Frost glanced down the hallway nervously. Others. It smelled like a trap, but... this girl wouldn't do that. If there really were others, they might need help

Frost gestured back to his side of the hallway. "Lets get back up top. We'll bring help..." But as Frost finished his sentence, and turned back to face the way he'd came, he found nothing but a single hallway. The corridor he'd come down... was gone.

He turned back, frantic, only to find the girl had started off down the hallway. Frost growled, his frustrations finally boiling over, and jogged to catch up with her.

Now, at her side, he examined her face. Through her stringy webs of hair, he found a soft, angelic face. Her eyes were tired, ringed with black and sunken in. Her thin lips trembled. Frost glanced down the hallway, trying to see any sort of destination. In failing, he decided to ask, "Where are we going?"

"To the others."

Frost struggled to turn back, to find a way out, but he didn't want to leave this girl alone. The "others" might have been drawing her back. To hurt her, or kill her. Frost had to be there when they finally showed themselves.

"You have a name?" Frost asked, trying to get her to talk. She looked like she needed it.

"No."

Frost sighed. Alright, strike out on that one. There was something off about this entire situation, but now, Frost couldn't place it. His mind was running in circles, slowing down with each lap.

The girl finally looked up at him, her face bared for all to see. She stared at him with gray eyes, the barest hint of a smile twitching her lips. "Do you have a name?"

"Hannibal Frost. I just moved in." Frost rolled his eyes. He wasn't exactly trying to score with the girl, but no answer could've been more stiff. Where'd the charisma go when you really needed it?

"But you've always been here."

Frost felt a twinge of cold dread slide down his spine. Either the girl was crazy, or Frost had hit his head on the way in. It felt like both.

Glancing away from the girl, Frost surveyed the surroundings. Astonishingly, he found himself right back at the spot the girl had led him away from. The steel door was to his left, still padlocked. Still empty except for the wooden chair.

The girl stopped, prompting Frost to do the same.

"Didn't we pass this already?" Frost asked, confusion gripping at the edges of his mind. There was no way this could have happened. Unless... there were two rooms. This place was huge. It was definitely a possibility. No, it was a certainty. This wasn't some two bit horror movie in the two dollar bin at the corner store. The real world didn't trick Hannibal Frost.

"No," The girl finally answered.

"What is this room?" Frost asked, trying to see if this one yielded a different view. But no amount of nervous glances brought different results. The room was an exact mirror image of the one before.

"Go inside. The others are waiting."

Frost shook his head, getting ready to point out the padlock, when he discovered there wasn't one. The girl was grasping nothing but a handle. She finally pulled and the door slid free of the frame. Frost slid his pistol into his waistline at the small of his back to free his hands. He helped the girl with the door, opening it the rest of the way, and stepped one foot inside. He turned back to her. "You're coming too, right?"

The girl, her eyes filled with sadness, shook her head. "There's too many already."

Frost squinted his eyes in confusion, sure he had misunderstood. And yet, the girl's eyes flicked to the space behind him. So Frost turned, and found an old friend waiting for him. An old friend and his family.

Frost smiled, delighted to be amongst such wonderful company, and started forward as the door latched shut behind him.


Family Matters


A warm feeling bubbled in the recesses of Frost's stomach. He'd forgotten so much since his first days amongst Full Metal Wrestling. He vowed right then that he'd never forget another moment. That he'd never let them go.

In the center of the room, with his back to Frost, sat Skyler Striker. Frost took a few steps forward until the man turned, a welcoming smile spreading from ear to ear. He looked healthy, happy. Like he was content and blessed with the warm, fuzzy feeling Frost was experiencing.

"Hanny! I thought you weren't going to make it. I'm so glad you're here."

Frost stretched his hand out, delighted when Skyler took it in his own. They shook hands, like so many friends do, and stepped to briefly hug each other. "Sorry, got lost on the way here."

Skyler laughed, breaking away from the hug, and slapped a friendly grip onto Frost's shoulder. "I want you to meet my family, mate. I've told them so much about you."

Frost smiled, excitement building beneath the skin. He'd never gotten the chance to meet Skyler's family. He mentally chided himself for not taking the chance to do so earlier, but at least the time had finally come.

Skyler beckoned them forth, the single bulb overhead flickering as he did, and smiled as he stepped between them. He first gestured to the beautiful woman on his right. She turned her head at his touch, a smile warming the room. "This is Leah, my wife." And then he knelt down to the two children on his left. "These are our youngest. Twins, if you couldn't tell."

Frost laughed, nodding along with the joke. Then, he noticed two people were missing. Frost had already met Jade, and no doubt she was busy. She was quite the busy body. But the other missing family member should've been there. He was such a part of the family. Him and Skyler were inseparable. "Where's Leon?" Frost's voice was dreamy, like that of a bewildered child, searching for those he loved.

Striker sighed, and pushed himself into a standing position. The bulb overhead finally gave up and thus the room was bathed in darkness. A dim beam of light swept through the viewing window in the door, faintly illuminating Striker and his family. "He doesn't belong here, mate. Not with us."

Frost cocked his head in confusion. What Skyler said just wasn't true. Of course Leon belonged with them. "Are... are you sure?" Frost asked, his voice cracking with uncertainty.

Skyler nodded, his features plagued with sadness, and took a step towards Frost. Leah and the twins, still behind Skyler, crumpled in heaps of dust. The cloud of smoky debris mushroomed up, pushing past Skyler to surround his thin frame.

"What in the hell's going on, man?" Frost asked, some of his strength returning. His mind bounced back and forth, trying to dissect the situation, but nothing came of it.

Skyler opened his mouth to speak, but only pills fell from his lips. There were only a few at first, slick with blood and saliva, but soon impossible amounts littered the floor at his feet. Skyler's eyes were dead, all his life now hitting the floor.

Frost stumbled backwards, crashing down onto the concrete floor. Skyler fell to his knees, his lifeless eyes still trained on Frost, and finally collapsed against the pills surrounding him. Frost frantically backed away, finally bumping into the only door in the room, and jumped as it slowly swung open.

Fresh light spilled onto the floor, and when Frost's eyes darted back into the room for the remains of the Striker Family, he found nothing. Only that solemn wooden chair met his gaze.

"Did you have fun?"

Frost jerked away from the door as the voice crept along his neck. He turned, surprised when he found his teenage chaperone standing in the threshold. She took a step forward, prompting Frost to draw his pistol from the small of his back. The fog was lifting from his mind, if only a little, and now the gun seemed like a good idea.

"Just what the fuck is going on here?" Frost all but yelled. His hands were shaking, his aim suffering for it. But he was sure, from this distance, he could take the girl's head right off her shoulders.

"You're like me. Stuck in the place you came from."

Frost screamed, a primal sound that tore through the emptiness of the room. The girl didn't even flinch, didn't move a muscle. "Give me a real fucking answer or I'm going to deck the halls with your fucking face."

The girl sighed, shook her head, and slowly stepped out of Frost's view. He could hear her bare feet retreating down the hallway. Quickly pushing himself up, Frost stumbled out into the corridor and found the girl had disappeared. In her place stood fear incarnate. Bowler hat and all.

Frost fell back, mouth agape at the horror before him, and swung his pistol forward. Finger curled around the trigger, Frost opened fire on the demon standing before him. The rounds tore holes through his target, each wound spewing forth a darkness no man could see through. Plumes of wispy black nothingness lurched towards Frost until, finally, the demon erupted. The lights above shattered against the force of the nothingness as it devoured everything before it. In seconds, the hallway was consumed, Frost along with it.


Back To The Future


"What happened?"

"He took quite a fall. Third time this week he's knocked himself for a loop."

Voices trudged through the haze of fog and disorientation. Frost could hear every word, but he couldn't see anyone. The smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol curled around his nostrils. Suddenly, a sharp pain pricked at Frost's neck, forcing his eyes open.

Bright fluorescent light tubes blinded Frost momentarily. They swept passed him. One after another filling his vision and then leaving again. Frost flicked his nervous gaze around and found himself strapped to a gurney, flat on his back. Pristine white walls whipped past him at his sides. Two smiling faces finally found his wandering eyes and demanded his attention.

"Where... am I?" Frost asked, his speech a bit slurred. The prick in his neck must have been some type of sedative. A fast working one at that.

The face on Frost's right shook his head in disappointment. "I thought we were past this."

Past this? Past this...

Past.

Frost clung to the word like he'd float away if he let it go. It stained his lips, leaving a familiar taste in his mouth. In retrospect, the past was something he'd always clung to. Frost had no idea whether or not he'd float away. He'd never tried letting it go.

His past is what made him who he was. But, it's also what kept him from moving on. Knowing that you'd been the cause of countless deaths and unforgivable acts weren't exactly things a person could just forget about.

Frost didn't need to forget, though. He'd spend his entire life atoning for the things he'd done. What he did need to do... was quit living in it. As long as he let the past hold him to who he was, he'd continue to fail. He'd make mistakes, like making a deal with the devil. He'd lose, like he did to Hostyle.

Frost had to become a new man. One who accepted his past. And fought to redeem it.

He doesn't belong here, mate... Skyler's words from earlier thrashed about inside Frost's mind. Leon didn't belong in that room because... he was the future. Caprice was the deciding factor, the test. Frost would either fail, and prove that the past held him down, or he would succeed, breaking the shackles that bound him. The latter option brought a smile to his lips.

And a gun to his hand. Frost suddenly felt the weight of his Desert Eagle in his right palm. The straps at his wrists were gone now, and the sedative was fading. None of it was real. Frost had no idea what kind of being could produce such an illusion, but it had almost worked. Time to go the fuck home.

Frost pushed with his feet and flipped himself to the front of the gurney. The two doctors paused at the scenario, their eyes wide with fear. Frost stepped forward, grabbing the male doctor by the wrist, and promptly dislocated it with the butt of the pistol. He screamed, as did the female doctor. Frost whipped the pistol around to find her cowering against the wall, and without hesitation, fired two rounds into her temple. The pristine white wall behind her became tainted with gore. The doctor herself slid to the tile floor, dead.

Frost turned to the male doctor and whipped him with the pistol one good time, knocking him out cold. Any other day, Frost wouldn't have been able to do this. No matter how vile, he couldn't bring himself to kill a human being. These two were only projections, though. The thoughts of some sick creature that haunted the Clubhouse's basement. A sick creature with untold power. But Frost had his wits about him again. He'd gathered his resolve, his spirit, and made sure nothing could break it.

Sparing a glance down the hallway, Frost found it to be lined with doors. Though, at the end, one lone door stood beckoning Frost forward. That was the way out.

Frost marched for the door, pistol in hand, ready to finally leave this place. Suddenly, all the doors running parallel to him swung open. Dozens of people stepped out, blocking his path. But these weren't strangers. Frost knew every one of them personally. His eyes widened in fear as they all gathered in his way, threats of malice and violence dripping from their bodies like acid.

Frost saw Jennifer, Kayla, and Hostyle. Their fists were shaking, anger causing them to tremble. Then Frost saw Matt Dunn, Vanguard, and Skyler Striker. They too were chomping at the bit to put Frost down for good. Finally, at the foreground of the group, in front of the innocent people Frost had murdered and the men he'd wronged in FMW... stood The Harlequin and Frost's demon doppleganger himself.

Frost snarled, his mind turning loops to find a solution, but nothing came to mind. No way out. No escape. "Don't mean to be rude, but... you're in my way."

The Harlequin laughed his sick laugh while the demon unsheathed his cane sword.

Frost nodded. "Yeah, I'm not much for talkin' either."

With that, Frost raised his pistol. He didn't aim, he didn't have to. There were so many. Someone was bound to bleed. So, Frost squeezed the trigger. And again. And again. He was running now. Screaming. Pumping bullets into the mass of people in front of him, until the gun ran dry. Tossing it aside, Frost dove into the fray and let instinct take over.

A gleaming sword rushed for his throat, but Frost sidestepped the strike. A thrusting elbow dislocated the demon's arm and Frost took the sword for himself. He immediately lashed out, slicing those around him, until he came to The Harlequin. The clown had his signature .357 Magnum drawn, but Frost was ready. An upwards strike took The Harlequin's hand off at the wrist, causing blood to spew from the stump. Frost snatched "Dirty Harry" out of the air and whipped around to find the crowd once more. Clicking back the hammer, Frost let loose an explosive round from the hand cannon. Two people went down, chunks of bone and flesh missing from their faces.

Then, the masses started forward, coming for Frost. Everything became a blur of blood, steel, and muzzle flashes. People screamed, cried out in agony, until finally no one was left standing but Frost himself. He was bathed in blood, covered from head to toe, but the door was now in sight.

The future was now in sight. All Frost had to do was walk through that door. The past was nothing but steaming corpses and bloodshed behind him now. So Frost dropped the cane sword and the pistol. They were relics. Remnants of the past that Frost was going to leave behind.

The only thing that was in his hand now was a doorknob. The last thing standing in his way was a ball of copper. Still, it represented so much more than that. Whoever had trapped him inside of this place, whether it was a different dimension or just his own mind, needed to be thanked. They had shown him that the past is no place to live. No place to seek power from. Instead, strength should come from the knowledge of what the future may hold. The will to make it happen, so to speak.

So Frost stepped through that doorway.

Towards the future.

Towards Leon Caprice.

Towards redemption.

After Lethal Injection

As Gabriel sat down in front of his locker, the adrenaline began wearing off like a stone-cold high, all he could focus on the pounding of his temples. Before tonight, he thought to himself, I was one of the rising stars of FMW. Now I’m…not sure what I’m supposed to be. Slowly, so as to make sure his head was kept as motionless as possible, Crow took off his boots and leather pants. Sitting there in his underwear, he looked at the spot in his bag where he’d planned on putting the C-4 title belt once he’d won it. I can sit here and feel sorry for myself or…Drew Michaels can pay for this embarrassment.

Almost as if on cue, a rapping at the wooden door caught Gabriel’s attention. Gabriel quickly slipped into a pair of shorts, leaving his upper body bare. The door opened as Crow turned, revealing the shaven-headed figure of Eric Scorpio, dressed in a finely-tailored outfit of muted dark colors. The effect of his attire gave him a more commanding presence that someone of his stature would expect to have. Even now he can still command respect, Gabriel thought as he pulled a bottle of ibuprofen out of his travel bag. Popping four extra-strength pills into his mouth and swallowing them with a sip of water, Gabriel leaned back against the cold, rigid metal of the lockers, waiting to hear what Scorpio had to say.

“You were the one I chose,” he said, dismissively staring down at the much-larger Gabriel. “All you had to do was beat him, something I’ve done three times in the past. Are you the next Hallowed man of Full Metal Wrestling?”

Gabriel’s body language tightened up and though it was still sore from the thrashing it had taken at the hands of Michaels, his body coiled in on itself to spring forward and attack at the slightest provocation. “I don’t answer to you, Eric. One of the virtues of defeating you in the ring and your ‘retirement’ is that your opinion matters for jack shit.”

A cold breeze swept through the room, emanating from Scorpio. A hard, icy feeling coalesced in his dark eyes, boring holes through Gabriel’s already pain-wracked skull. “Don’t ever speak to me like that. Remember who I am.”

I probably shouldn’t do this, Gabriel remarked to himself a moment before turning his back on Scorpio. Pulling a loose fitting semi-dress shirt out of his bag, Gabriel finished dressing, put his shoes on, grabbed his bag and made for the door directly behind Scorpio. “I remember who you are, Eric. You’re the past. I’m the future. Now get out of my way.”

Eric could hardly believe the entire scene in front of him. “If I’ve gotta come back to deal with this, after Drew, you’re the first one on my list.”

“Drew’ll fall, sooner or later. Enjoy your retirement, Eric. Feel free to stop by anytime.” Gabriel shouldered the smaller man away en route to the locker room door, exiting the building. I’ve got a long flight ahead of me. I don’t need anymore of his bullshit.

The flight from Philadelphia to Trenton was sparsely-populated. Gabriel’s slightly swollen face caused the flight attendants and other passengers to give him strange looks. Being famous has its advantages…and drawbacks, he thought as he settled into a seat in first class. The front of the plane was empty save for him. Warm, plush chairs comforted his aching muscles, allowing him to drift into a semi-sleeping state. Just as Gabriel was about to drift off to sleep, his eyes opened slowly as he felt a presence forming nearby. The energy radiating from this entity was…familiar to him.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I Moragan,” Gabriel inquired, his baritone voice carrying a significant tone of resignation.

Of course you’re dreaming, Gabriel. How else coulda speak wit’ yah?

Gabriel shifted his head to the right, away from the window and the inky-black midnight sky. Sitting beside him on the aisle seat’s arm rest was a white crow, resplendent and pure as the mountain snow. Her aura shifted, revealing a hint of holy energy mixed with the stench of death that emanated from both of them.

“What do you want, Moragan?”

Canne’ want to see my old student?

Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle. A stewardess walked by, seeing the sleeping wrestler slightly laughing. Smiling, the flight attendant placed a blanket on Crow’s body. Watching from the Dreaming, Gabriel found the flight attendant’s actions charming, even if he never asked for such treatment. Returning his attention to snow-white crow, Gabriel replied, “You haven’t spoken to me in almost four years, Moragan. Why now?”

Heard ‘bout yer incident wit’ Uriel. Yah never did learn not pick fights wit’ people stronger than yah.

“What can I say…I enjoy challenges.”

Yah enjoy provin’ yer strong, dat’s all. Coulda been a better way to make yer point.

“What do you want, Moragan?”

Yer gonna need my guidance to beat this…Drew Michaels fella.

“No, I don’t think I do.”

And whats’ make yah so confident?

“First, a mundane means of success. Then, a spiritual one means of success.”

Yah know, I let yah continue. Yer actions are causin’ too many problems for the Children.

“And when has the concerns of our fellow Abyssal servants been something I cared about?”

Never. And dat’s the problem. Yer forcin’ dem to send someone after yah. This is yer warnin’.

Crow drew a long, slow breath into his lungs, beneath the blanket he pulled a small pen from his pocket. His mind kicked into focus, searching for the lessons on glyphs and runes that Moragan had taught him. Finally, his memory shot into focus and he scribbled something quickly on the palm of his right hand.

What’r yah doin’, Gabriel?

In the Dreaming, Gabriel’s hand shot forward to face the pure crow. The runic symbols etched into the circle on his palm cascaded with magic, older magic than even Gabriel knew existed before meeting the enigmatic Irish woman Moragan.

“A simple banishment charm, Moragan. See you soon.”

In a crash of incandescent white light, the unclouded crow vanished. Gabriel awoke with a start from the Dreaming, pulling himself out of that place of waking dreams. The flight attendant who had placed the blanket on him earlier jumped back a step when Gabriel flung forward before she approached him.

“Bad dream, sir?”

Gabriel took a few moments to collect his composure. His coal black eyes danced wildly, seeking any hint that Moragan’s presence still remained on the plane. Once he was satisfied that his former mentor was nowhere to be seen or felt, he answered, “Something like that. How long ‘til we land?”

“You’re in luck, sir. The flight lands in less than twenty minutes.”

“Excellent.”

Steven Urich unlocked the front door to his modest suburban home. The lawn had just been cut that day and with the rainfall earlier in the night, the smell of fresh grass and early summer added a heady feeling to the FMW referee’s return home. Steven was looking forward to seeing his lovely wife Mary-Ann. The front room stood before him but it didn’t feel right. Mary-Ann knew he was coming home after Lethal Injection before heading back out to Ammunition. After his stellar job in the C-4 championship match, Steve was put in charge of the main event for Ammunition’s 11.1 show in Baltimore. A couple of days rest before heading out on the road again.

At least that was his initial idea.

The living room was in order, a soft brown leather couch set against the wall to the left of the front door. To the right and left of the sofa were brown wooden coffee tables. Both had ornate crème-colored lamps and coasters for drinks. Completing the crescent moon design of the front room were a leather loveseat made for two and across from that a blue recliner that didn’t match the brown, earthy tone of the room. Steven’s wife always complained about the seat but Steve had owned it from his days as a bachelor and he liked having something that always felt comfortable and familiar. On those few occasions when he was home for a weekend from Full Metal Wrestling, Steven would sit and watch the Jets and the Orangemen play.

Everything seemed to be in its proper place, from the entertainment center with the flat-screen TV and laden with pictures of Steven and Mary-Ann, but Steven couldn’t help but feel off. As if on command, the phone rang, startling the referee and making him drop his luggage suddenly. The phone rang two more times before Steven made a move to pick it up. Each step was heavier than the last for Steven, as if all the iron and minerals in his blood sank instantly to his feet, making each step more difficult to manage but his brain kept sending the signals to walk. As he reached for the phone, Steven felt his intestines twist into knots, painfully causing him to fall into the sofa set against the wall.

“Hello,” Steven said slowly.

The voice that came across the phone was scratchy, robotic even. Steven had seen enough movies to realize the person speaking on the other end was using some kind of voice box.

“Hi, Steven. Have a good flight?”

“Who’s this? And where’s my wife?”

A mechanical sigh came through the receiver, sending a shutter up the referee’s spine. “Isn’t it obvious, you dumb shit? She’s been taken. You’ll get her back though, so long as you do as you’re told.”

“Who IS this?” Steven could barely contain the rage that wanted to crash through his façade of calm.

“Just your average fan with extra money to burn. You really pissed me off last night, you know that? Not good, Steve, not good at all.”

Steven crumbled to his knees in front of his couch. This is happening because of a match, he thought to himself. “How’d I upset you?”

“You called the C-4 championship match, remember? I don’t really care why you cost my idol the match, I just know you did. And that’s gonna change.”

Like the sudden breaking of a chair leg, Steven understood what was happening to him. “What have you done to Mary-Ann?”

“Nothing…yet. Here’s the score, bud. I heard on the internet that Drew Fuck-face-Michaels is defending the title again in Baltimore against Kaoru and my idol the Demon of Violence. Guess what you get to do?”

Steven knew the words before the fan even uttered them.

“Call the match for Crow, no matter what. If Crow wins, you’re wife gets to go home and maybe squat out a cupla kids. If Crow doesn’t win…let’s just say this, she’s not gonna like the ending to her storyline. If the cops get called, she dies. If you tell anyone in the locker room, she dies. I’ve got a tap on your home phone and I’ve cloned your cell number. I know every step you take from now til Baltimore. DO NOT FUCK WITH ME, UNDERSTAND?”

Steven tried in vain to hold back the sobs. “How…how do I know…she’s not dead….already, you son of a bitch?”

“Now, now Steve. It’s not nice to say shit like that to me. I might just cut off her nose to spite you. Do you understand what you’ve gotta do?”

“Yes, just don’t hurt her.”

“Crow wins, she’s in the clear.”

“You promise,” he pleaded like he used to as a child with his parents.

There was a long silence over the line. “Yes.”

The line went dead. Steven Urich went dead inside a moment or two after that.

One of the benefits of my temporary home, Gabriel thought as he walked from the hotel room he’d arrived at after leaving his flight. Outside the city limits, the suburbs surrounding the area were rife with the stagnant energy of other people. The hotel was a recent creation, built back in 1996 or 1997 as an Art-Deco home trying to appear like a more expensive and higher-class establishment. For Gabriel though, the choice was clear as to why he’d chosen this place to set up residence for a day or two. Within walking distance of the complex was a massive cemetery, practically overflowing with the energies of his home domain of the Abyss. Gabriel sauntered through the graveyard leisurely, allowing his hands to glide over tombstones just enough to collect residual energy but not enough to get full impressions.

Near the center of the cemetery sat a mausoleum. This was probably the first one built on here, Gabriel said to himself as he approached the stone building. Done in a traditional English Gothic-style, the mausoleum rose to about ten or twelve feet in height with marble pillars on either side of the door holding up an extended roof and covering for the entrance. A pair of gargoyles stood guard above the entrance, medieval sentinels whose threatening demeanor could frighten even adults. Gabriel stared at the gargoyles, feeling the left-over sentience of the spirits inside as they peered down at him menacingly.

“I won’t disturb the graves. I just need to feed.”

For a moment or two, nothing happened. Then the gargoyle on the left shifted its merciless features just enough to nod in approval. Gabriel opened the double doors, hearing a thunderous creak echo through the corridors. This particular building wasn’t large in terms of height but it ran on for almost a whole city block. The Michaels family tomb was generously maintained, with not a cobweb or rat’s nest in sight. On his left and right, like the Pagan and Christian kings of old, the forebears of the Michaels family were stored in marble encasements. No doubt the caskets are stored within, likely in caskets only the rich could truly afford, thought Crow.

The air was stifling inside the necropolis but Gabriel knew that was due to the overwhelming fountain of death energy situated in this nexus. The borders between worlds are weak here, barriers that could barely hold the newly-dead on the other side. Let’s see if anyone’s home.

Removing his jacket and shirt, Gabriel slowed his breathing, centering himself in both the physical world and the spirit realms. His consciousness slipped into a state of duality, allowing him to perceive both worlds simultaneously. The transfer to the other side was cut short however, when a sharp, blinding pain cut into the lastissmus dorsi below his left shoulder. Looking down, he could cleanly see a bullet hole in the middle of his pectoral muscle. The wound stayed open for barely a moment before closing.

“That healed faster than I thought it would,” a sweet, feminine voice admitted, her voice more startled than frightened.

Steeped firmly in the furnace of his realm, Gabriel turned to face his attacker, his eyes a swirling miasma of inky darkness. Standing before him with a small-caliber handgun in one hand and a machete in the other stood Crystal. She was wearing tough denim pants that looked painted on, not for comfort but from Gabriel’s perspective utility, and a rough wool shirt tied around her waist tightly to avoid the shirt interfering with her movements.

“Didn’t I get rid of you before,” Gabriel asked nonchalantly, his voice mocking and abrasive. “Nice toys. Know how to use ‘em?”

“I had a good teacher,” Crystal remarked as she raised the gun again to fire off another salvo.

Before she could get off another shot, Gabriel’s foot reached out and connected with her left hand, dislodging the weapon from her grasp. He pulled his leg back quickly, anticipated an attack from her sharpened blade. “Let me guess, Moragan?”

“She didn’t teach you shit, did she? How pathetic is that?” Crystal smiled like a predatory cat as she circled the stationary Crow.

“About as pathetic as your attempts to hurt me will be.” Crystal’s grin disappeared immediately, replaced by her earnest attempt to scowl. “Is that the best you can do? Moragan obviously didn’t teach you much about intimidation.”

Crystal let loose a screech and began wildly attacking with little rhyme or reason to her pattern. Her machete sung as it sliced through the air but none of her strikes found purchase in the flesh of her target. With deft movements and stretching, Gabriel allowed his diminutive Asian adversary to exhaust herself. Crystal kept slashing away, her anger fueling her muscles after the fatigue would have made the appendages useless. Growing tired of the whole display, Gabriel stepped into her latest attack and seized her wrist with one meaty hand. Squeezing with destructive force, Crow forced Crystal to drop the weapon, crushing her delicate wrist in the process. Releasing her wrist and taking a step back, Gabriel’s leg shot around, slamming his size 13 boot in the side of Crystal’s face. His former ward crumpled to the porcelain-covered floor.

“You remind me of someone at work, you know that. You never had a chance Crystal. But don’t worry, you’re free to leave.” Gabriel’s lifeless eyes scanned the mausoleum; stopping in a corner near one of the newest tombs had been built. “I’ve got greater concerns this time. Leave now or I’ll end whatever life you think you possess.”

Stepping over Crystal, Gabriel made sure to grab her weapons and toss them on top of his jacket and shirt. Watching her leave the room, Gabriel hands shifted together slightly. The mausoleum’s entrance shuttered close, locking all on its own. Each step to the corner brought him closer to his realm. With his last step ending closer to the northeast corner of the building, Gabriel crossed over to the lands of the dead.

Everything exists as its opposite, Gabriel remarked to himself. The barren, sterile landscape stretched before him stood out as an island, a small hamlet in a sea of darkness. Ghostly reflections of stars hung overhead, providing some of the light souls would use to guide their passage. Casting his gaze down, Gabriel eyed the chasm, the final resting place of the Nightmare Child and the mouth to his Master’s home. The sepulcher of the Michaels family glowed with faint blue and green fires situated where the physical tombs existed on the other side. To Gabriel’s right, a ghost took shape, revealing itself to be an older woman.

“What do you want, living shadow?”

A malevolent grin painted Crow’s face as he said, “Your help, of course.”

Sensing an imminent threat, the ghost attempted to flee, drawing the fire that maintained its presence in both worlds into itself. Gabriel sank his hands into the green flames, the balefire burning his human flesh. What can I do now, he thought to himself. Can I draw this power into myself, like I do in the physical world?

Gabriel kept his hand in the ethereal flames, linking himself to the ghost and preventing its escape. Drawing on his experiences reading the memories of objects, Crow sharpened his focus on the sensations in his hand. A myriad of cords connected this ghost to its resting place revealed themselves to him in that instant. Gabriel followed the cords, drawing them around his fingers like a puppeteer would do with a marionette’s strings. The flame slowly changed from green to blue and the burning sensation ceased. As Gabriel removed his hand from the heart of the flame, he was surprised to see that his hand had not suffered any significant burns and he also saw the flame following his hand, keeping the connection between Crow and the specter in place.

“Balefire doesn’t burn flesh,” a commanding male voice bellowed angrily. “It affects the spirit.”

“Are you saying I don’t have a soul?”

“Only enough of one to keep your flesh alive. The rest is Abyssal power.”

Gabriel detached himself from the flames, shutting down the connection between himself and one of Drew Michaels’ ancestors. Before him in resplendent cloth of the purest white, save for the fresh blood serving as crimson lace around the bottom of the garment and his sandals, stood Uriel, the Fire of God, with a sword formed of living fire and an expression of utter contempt and righteous fury.

“You sicken me, Gabriel.”

“Don’t mince words, Uriel. Although I had no intention of harming the ancestor.”

Uriel’s posture changed, his glorious wings stretching out and the sword of flame brought before his chest in a defensive posture. “You knew I would come. You knew that by disturbing the spirits of Michaels’s family, I would come to protect them.”

“Got it in one, Uriel. You know, for an angel, you’re actually kinda bright.”

“Why? You cannot possibly kill me. I have the Lord of Hosts’ grace. With it, I am impervious to your Abyssal magics.”

Gabriel shook from his heels up to his head. As the shiver ran its course over his body, his appearance shifted to the shadow-clad warrior priest of his vision prior to Supremacy. “Thought and essence are power here. Haven’t you learned a fuckin’ thing yet, Uriel? My name is Death and the end is here.”

Each opponent leapt at the other, Uriel leading the way with the purity of God’s holy fire and Gabriel with shadowy gauntlets of forged in the Abyss. The blows were furious, with fire cursing away the shadow only to have the shadow return with greater fury. Their movements were a blur of white and blackish-violet. Beneath them, the maw that led to oblivion crackled with unbridled energy, almost as if something or someone were reaching up to touch this clash of opposites. Uriel would connect with a slash across Gabriel’s chest or arms, cutting through the shadow armor he had conjured. Crow would follow up with punches and kicks, cutting the distance between himself and Uriel to neutralize the effectiveness of the sword.

The two exhausted warriors pulled back, each of them showing the scars of their battles. The dazzling robes of perfection Uriel wore were now tattered, scuffed, and torn, showing grievous but not life-threatening wounds. Gabriel, on the other hand, had taken the worst of the exchange. The shadowy cloak he’d conjured was as equally tattered and torn as Uriel’s, but his wounds flared with holy fire, refusing to close properly.

“You will find that God’s purity cannot be so easily defeated by the powers of darkness,” Uriel mockingly stated, confident that he had the match decided. “Why did you even attempt this, Gabriel? Rebellion against the Father that made you?”

“No. I was lookin’ for a spiritual means of success,” answered Gabriel with a laugh. “I already arranged the mundane means yesterday.”

The meaning of Crow’s words dawned on Uriel at the same moment he felt spears of pure shadow pierce his shoulders and hips. Four-point hooks sprouted from the ends, gouging even into angelic flesh with malicious glee. Uriel could sense the living shadow almost enjoying the moment, relishing the chance to sup on the blood of one of the Christian God’s chosen creations.

“What have you done?”

“Ensured my success over Drew Michaels.” Gabriel drew himself up, each step bringing excruciating pain. “You’ve always protected him, Uriel. You’re the reason he does not take greater care in the ring. He knows you’ll keep him safe from harm. But what if you’re not there? Then…then, my dear angel, he isn’t the Chosen One, he’s just a man. A man can bleed. A man can be beaten.”

Uriel shuddered as Gabriel approaching, struggling mightily to break free of his bonds. “Lord of Hosts, Father of Creation, King of Kings, help your faithful servant in his hour of need!”

Gabriel stood back and waited, a confident grin streaking his utterly inhuman features. “My powers are king in this domain. In the physical world, I’m just a man with a few of the fringe benefits of being one of the Children. Here, I’m part of the god of this realm, a piece of living Death.”

“You cannot kill me, Gabriel. It is still our time. The God of Abraham, Issac, and Joseph still has dominion and we are not subject to Death’s claims.”

Sauntering around to stand behind the defeated angel as best he could given his condition, Gabriel laughed, his voice a malignant spirit on its own. “I’m not gonna kill you, Uriel. You’re right, you know. Your God has rein over Earth for some time to come, not like he does anything with it. But there is something I can do that’s worse than death.”

“What?”

Gabriel’s answer was swift, sudden, and celestially painful. With two double-quick movements, Gabriel called into being a pair of blades made from pure shadow and sliced through the cartilage connecting Uriel’s wings to his shoulder blades. A sickening thunderclap echoed throughout the realm, causing every spirit that could hear it to cry out in delirious pain. Uriel’s body wracked itself with convulsions and only the chains kept the contractions from being truly violent. Once the madness of pain had worn off, Gabriel placed his face directly next to Uriel’s ear and uttered, “I can take away your Grace, for a time at least. You’re not going anywhere, anytime soon Uriel. I planned this to a tee. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna leave you here for awhile. And remember this for the next time we meet: Just because you work for a god doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

As Gabriel walked away, his shadow façade faded, leaving behind a full view of three burn scars across his chest. I might need to wear a shirt in Baltimore. These should look like really bad oil burns by the time the bell rings, he thought as he shifted back to the physical world. The last thing he heard before leaving the Michaels’ crypt was the faint weeping of an angel.

From the Shadows....

It had been a stretch of time since Brian, aka Axel Van Osbourne, had been back to the ornate basicalla like structure that held the remains of those he loved. Not only was Becky buried in a vault here, but the FMW's resident rocker's mother and father were also interred within its walls. He was always creeped out by the thought of those he cared about being eaten by bugs and worms and reclaimed by the soil, and here he felt a sort of reverence for these people that he didn't grasp when they were alive. He took the customary place at a kneeler in front of the slab bearing his long dead love's name and spoke silently....

I know I haven't come 'round all that often, but things have been crazy. You know how my life can get, running from shit hotel to shit hotel. Well throw in dodging Mikado yet again and teaming with a near comatose druggie and I have my hands full love. just because I don't come around doesn't mean you ain't still with me everywhere I go and it kills me every day.

He bows his head tears flowing just a bit...He shakes them clear and look up at the wall where she rests....

I will be with ya soon trust me, it just may not be as soon as I thought once upon a time. Suprisingly, even though I am gettin my ass handed to me all over the place I am generally enjoying life again. My running buddy may be a lil bit o' what I used to be but its good to have someone in my corner again and it feels like he wants to head down the right road. For once my APATHY for life and all the bullshit has finally melted away. I am all about me and my world again!! I think you would be proud...For once I think you ALL would be proud....

He makes a wide gesture to include not just Becky but his folks as well...He then crosses himself and rises to his feet touching the stones almost like he was touching her again. He slides on his shades and steps out into the sun. Feeling refocused and refreshed its time to find his center again, time to beat the world into submission.


.....Into the Sun.

Axel makes his way into his old haunt, Joey's Place. This is a bar like no other. It is about the only place that Axel gets left behind a Brian can emerge again. Being Axel 24/7 can weigh a man down and every now and then the man inside needs to make his presence felt. A trip home is just what the doctor ordered if Axel was ever going to get refocused and revitalized to take on his biggest foe yet in a man who is the human embodiment of his name....Apathy. If someone with AVO's track record has any chance they have to beat this man at his own game. This will get him what he needs....Make him remember his humanity...That he is more than just a name. He is a man!

Hey Joey, how ya been?? How about a double of the good stuff huh?

The man behind the bar raises his hand in geeting and pours a tumbler full of sweet amber liquid....

Brian takes the tumbler and throws it back shedding Axel for just a little bit. He slaps a couple of his old friends on the back and takes up a pool cue. For the first time in forever it is just like old times. He has almost forgotten about the new cycle that looms ahead. He has almost forgotten about the obstacle that stands in his way. But, like all the other events of his past it sits on his shoulder like a parrot mocking him, dogging him. He shakes the thoughts away and immerses himself in the game...

A few hours pass and Brian waves his goodbyes and grabs up his duster heading for the door. For the first time in forever the man has shed the monkey. This man is on his own, ready to take on whatever comes his way....

Once More With Feeling...

AVO walks towared his Harley that he liberated from its resting place at his parent's old farm house...He is keenly aware of the breezy, cool night air as it makes its way over his newly shorn head. His is aweare of the dampness that wafts from the trees and fills him with longing for this simple life again. His eyes see the sparse headlights of traffic on old 72. He feels the crunch under his boot of the all familar gravel parking lot. So this is what it is like to feel the world, he thinks as a smile parts his lips....Not bad at all. He takes a cigarette from the gold case tracing his thumb over the ridges of the monogram of his father on the surface. He puts the Marlboro between his lips lighting it with a sulphur match. He breathes in the sweet smoke that he has needed for oh so long. He straddles the bike firing it up and feels the engine growl to life under him. One last look back at Joey's and "Brian" and Axel is back in control being worn just like the old duster and off toward the next arena and what waits for him there.....

Defining the Man...

AVO hasn't done a promo quite like the one he is about to cut in quite some time. The camera pans around the room and we see a dingy unfurnished room, lit by a lone bare lightbulb. Things creep in the corners, but it is too dark to see what is looking back at us. Sitting under the sparse light backwards on a wooden chair is our hero, his face lit from a light deep within that we haven't seen in quite a long time....

For the longest time I hid behind anything I could get my hands on. Whether it was drugs, alchohol, or whatever, just to not feel anything. Just to hide away deep inside myself. For the longest time, I, much like this room, was empty, dark and cold.

Axel reaches for the wall flicking on the overhead light and the room brightens into the SFW locker room...

But just like this light, I have found a new life and new focus, banishing the dark and giving me new life!! I have found that people matter again and I am more than just a name, more than this flash. I have humanity and substance that cannot be denied! I am more than just a caricature of an emotion or lack there of. I am more than a strung out defeated has been as many have seen me. From here on out anyone that steps in that ring will see, hear and feel the new Axel Van Osbourne in spades! I am done with the show, from here on out its all the really real world and everything it has to offer. My opponant calls himself the human embodiment of Apathy. He proves with every action and word that he has no drive or care for anything but himself. It is my mission to show him the human embodiment of everything that he stands against. I will fight, not just for myself, but for every single man, woman and child seated in that arena!! I will show this man that for all his blustering and big talk feeling and life can't be denied!! That no matter what he says or does, he can and will bleed. He can and will FEEL pain and suffering. This cycle will be known as the new beginning .... MY TIME HAS COME!!

The Date is October 2nd, 2037

The scene is completely black as the static of a television set from the ninety’s slowly drones on.

Newscaster Mike: I’m Mike Shauver reporting and the circumstances of this 7 AM show are being reported to you here first…because they happened to me first. Just twelve hours ago the famed wrestler Andy Savana broke into my house…with a gunshot in his ribs and forced me to complete an impromptu interview…this is that interview.

There is finally an image. The image of Andy Savana slouched down in a lawn chair with his right hand over a patch of blood as Mike Shauver looks around nervously. Shauver leans forward and wipes a layer of sweat from his head.

Mike Shauver: Alright, so is there anything you want to talk about…maybe I can-

Savana: Just shut up and ask questions…from…the top of your head.

Mike Shauver: So what do you regret most about-

Savana: What the fuck? I want an opening, a middle, and an end. Get in the mode…because if you were going to ask me what I think you were, I’ll kill you now…

Mike Shauver: I’m Mike Shauver and I’m here with Andy Savana, who has just informed me that this impromptu interview will be taking place live at my house. He showed up himself with the camera and here we go.

Savana takes his hand off the patch of blood and starts clapping slowly. Blood dripping from his hands as Mike Shauver looks real nervous at the blood hitting the floor.

Savana: I like that…you got in the mode real quick…I was always in the mode for a match. No matter who…though…I often forgot what mode I needed to be in. Sometimes I was determined, sometimes I was scared, and often I wasn’t in my right mind…

Mike Shauver: I’m a little dazed about all of this but the first question that immediately pops into my mind is this one question: why are you bleeding to death in front of me right now?

Savana: Interestingly it’s a long story…probably too long for me to finish…but it gets good real quick and it begins with my first match in FMW.

Mike Shauver: That was against Jeff Watson, right?

Savana starts to laugh with heavy inhales of breath scattered. Mike Shauver looks nervous but simply swallows a lump in his throat and adjusts his position in his seat.

Savana: That was LPW, sir…FMW was a couple years after that…2010…twenty-seven years ago and I can remember as I walked out…I felt like I was on top of the world…

Mike Shauver: That being because…well I can't really tell you why…I was twenty and wrestling was the last thing on my mind.

Savana: Of course…unless you wrestled…it was either a form of entertainment or total bullshit…though there were people like me whose lives were molded by wrestling…no matter who… The Celt molded my life in a way I cannot even fathom.

Mike Shauver: And how is that?

Savana: Let me…begin with Ray Donovan.

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

The scene jumps to Ray Donovan along with another cop by the name Ricky Martinez behind him walking down a dark hallway. Gun in hand; Ray slowly opens a door to investigate.

Mike Shauver: Wait, that’s the same Ray Donovan that-

Savana: Was murdered in a nightclub, yes…my gimmick back in the day was someone who wanted to be remembered…be noticed…no matter how much you knew about me at any given moment…there was more to talk about…so…when The Celt vs. Andy Savana was announced…I promoted the event.

Savana’s Voice: And so you have to understand just how it works…

Donovan hears Savana’s voice and quickly ignores the room he was about to walk in and hastens his pace towards the end of the hall. He readies his gun and pushes the door open abruptly with gun brandished only to find a Radio DJ duck tapped to a swivel chair, potentially dead.

Martinez: Goddamn it, Donovan.

Donovan: We’re too late.

Martinez is looking at the body and looks over to see that Donovan was actually referring to a video on a television set. It shows a much younger Savana having an interview with the DJ in the chair.

DJ: So, you’re saying that as long as you remain employed by LPW all of the horrible stuff you’ve done can't be tried against you?

Savana laughs and runs his index finger along his chin before popping his neck. The DJ runs his tongue across the lining of his teeth as he starts to get nervous.

Savana 2010: Listen closely please because I’m getting tired of repeating myself…I’m no longer worried about the policies of LPW. You have to have gold to be immune there and I don’t have gold there for a reason but FMW…they know how to treat a guest.

DJ: So you’re debuting in FMW against this guy The Celt…and uhm…

Savana motions for the DJ to stop talking in the middle of his sentence.

Savana 2010: Don’t be so nervous…tell you what…to make it a bit easier on you I’ll just make a public service announcement in regards to my upcoming debut against The Celt. Here it goes: stay tuned.

The television screen immediately switches to static as Donavan’s face fills up with blood and Martinez looks on confused.

Martinez: Who the fuck is that guy, Donovan? What about the duck tapped guy?

Donovan finally loses his cool and starts thrashing in the room: throwing paper, flipping over a table, and punching glass. Martinez puts his hand on his gun which is located in its holster.

Donovan: The guy’s dead, Martinez. He was dead as soon as he let Savana in, as soon as he let Savana in when no one was here, and especially when he gave Savana unlimited access to pretty much advertise mayhem.

Martinez: I don’t get-

Donovan: Savana is a fucking psychopath! Not a normal one! Normal ones continue to do the same thing over and over…and over. Not Savana, he killed this guy to let people know he was serious. He’ll continue to kill people all the way up until his match in FMW.

Martinez: Arrest him.

Donovan: I can't if we don’t get him before his match. If he enters the building, he is officially immune, as per the “Safe Star Act”: no certified wrestlers under a major wrestling organization can be tried in accordance to the specifications of their umbrella company. It changes from company to company and Savana knows it. He’s in FMW to avoid me because he knows I can't get him there if he gets to the arena where he performs. In FMW if you are at the building of your performance your immune. Outside of that he’s open game.

Martinez: This guy’s going to kill people until he gets there…like a path of death.

Donovan: Except his point is that everyone should take notice…it’ll work too. People will tune in to see the great mastermind of corruption, Andy Savana, performing his first match in FMW.

Just then the static on the television disappears and the screen is black before the face of Andy Savana shows back up.

Savana 2010: Hello detective…if you’re seeing this which I know you are then you are as predictable as the outcome of my match in FMW against The Celt…and just like I knew you’d show up, I know you won't be able to ignore this next clue. Mayor.

Savana winks and the screen go to a blue screen with the words “Good Luck” typed out.

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

The scene switches back to current day as Savana coughs up blood in a napkin and throws the napkin in a trashcan beside the lawn chair.

Savana: I used to love doing that kind of stuff. Every chance I got was a reference to a match I was having, a point I was trying to get across, and all build up towards something.

Mike Shauver: So you’re personal advertising for your match against The Celt was underway and your about two steps ahead of Ray Donovan.

Savana: To be completely honest I was never even a step ahead of Ray Donovan. In order to be ahead of someone you have to know where you’re going. I didn’t. I talk and then I acted….I had few-

Savana starts to cough heavily as Mike Shauver notices he is unable to talk and quickly thinks up something.

Mike Shauver: So you give him a clue and the clue is Mayor. Obviously I know what happens but how did it happen is kind of what I want to know. How did you get away with it and where did Ray Donovan go wrong?

Savana:…Donovan went wrong when he thought he could apply logic to my motives…back then all I wanted was someone to notice. For each person who knew, I knew that there were more to educate, if you will.

Mike Shauver: If I remember back correctly I heard that Donovan was taken hostage and forced to speak at the podium. Originally it was supposed to be the Mayor announcing some sort of public policy but thanks to…well you…

Savana: It changed…I got Donovan at his house the day before…and I can remember the first thing he said when I caught him.

Donovan Voice: You’re going to die one day, Savana. I don’t care how but it won't be on your terms.

Mike Shauver: So you have Donovan captive and he’s standing at the podium with a gun secretly pointed at him. Where is the mayor?

Savana: Well that’s another story to come later…but do you remember what Donovan said when he was up there? Probably not…let me remind you: Sometimes when you live in a world full of lies, deceit, and a total lack of empathy…you have to think…are you living in the real world?

Mike Shauver is silent for a moment as Savana looks to be remembering the line.

Donovan Voice: You think you're witty don't you? How about you take a step back before you make me go up there and look at just what you're doing. Eventually they'll turn on you. I know how you work, the DJ was a drug dealer, I'm full of bullshit from the past I just can't shake. You kill the bad guys but for the wrong reasons. People are stupid though so they pay attention and think it's entertaining.

Mike Shauver rubs his hands together as Savana closes his eyes for an extended amount of time, he could attack him now but he doesn't...not yet...more to learn.

Mike Shauver: Obviously a bit of insight to how you viewed the world…

Savana: Everything I did was insight…people desired attention…not to have it but to give it. They wanted to feel like they had something to look forward to so I gave it to them. The Celt had something to look forward to in facing me and I knew I could go out there and make it memorable. What about the audience? What would draw them in? Lies, deceit, and a lack of empathy were completely it. If they felt half the amount of empathy for anyone that they should, I’d not be shot right now.

There is an awkward silence as Savana seems to be humored by his personal rib at himself but Mike Shauver is a bit more nervous.

Donovan Voice: You know what makes the fact that everything you do will eventually catch up to you better? You still won't know if your happy. You don't know now. You're going off against some douche in FMW and not because you want to. It wasn't even your idea but Hatchet got you in the pickle. As much as you preach about control of your destiny...you believe, at this moment, that The Celt has more control of your destiny that you could even hope to grasp hold of.

Mike Shauver: So…Donovan finishes the speech and it’s documented he died on this day. What happened?

Savana: Ah the next part is exciting…

Savana closes his eyes and recalls a particular moment. In his mind he can see, after the speech was given, him and Donovan standing behind a curtain.

Donovan: So now what are you going to do, kill me?

Savana 2010: Keep up the wisecracks and I'll kill your dignity. I assure you it's worse than a hole in the head.

Donovan: Do it because I don't care anymore...I'll sleep happy at night knowing that people like The Celt will be the brick wall to your success.

Savana 2010: Or the hole in the head sounds alright at the moment-

Donovan: Like that Whore of yours got!

Savana is pure anger and goes to shoot Donovan but Donovan uses the extreme inhale before the pulling of the trigger to turn and get the gun off of Savana before punching him in the nose. He goes to shoot Savana but our humble narrator has escaped behind the curtain.

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

The scene immediately jumps to Donovan running down a sidewalk in pursuit of Savana. Donovan pulls a phone out of his pocket.

Donovan: Hello?...Martinez! Call for backup and tell them to report to the 2100 block of Tidwell and Wertheimer!

Donovan puts the phone back in his pocket and sees Savana enter a bar, so he follows. He enters to see a semi-filled bar with a stage and a hunched over person with his hair in his face talking into a microphone. He scopes around for Savana but can't find him.

Stage Person: Absurd…everything…is absurd. From the breath you took a second ago to the cigarette you didn’t smoke a minute ago. I eat an apple because it’s healthy…but that’s absurd. Everything kills you, some just slower than others.

Donovan looks for a back door but there isn’t one so Savana must be in the bar.

Stage Person: Absurd…is attempting to find reassurance that just because everyone believes in you…you stand a chance. Absurd is…believing that just because you have the upper hand you should win.

Donovan slowly starts to back up towards the entrance so not to lose eye on any of the patrons of the bar.

Stage Person: Absurd is the abnormal fear of failure when you’ve experienced it all your life and have yet to die from it…Absurd is chasing something at a speed slower than your target is chasing their target.

Donovan keeps looking back and forth at everyone in the bar as he continues to back up.

Stage Person: Absurd…is believing…that you can prevent destiny…well of another person. Destiny is subjective to what I want it to mean…absurd would be believing that I won't make my match against The Celt and fulfilling my destiny…

Donovan goes to pull his gun out but Savana is quicker and fires, shooting Donovan in the head, killing him. The Stage Person pulls a wig off of his head to reveal Savana standing with a malicious smile on his face. The view zooms in to his face…

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

As the view gets to only his face, it suddenly ages and zooms out to present day.

Savana: Needless to say that I made my match.

Mike Shauver: I’m no therapist but it sounds a lot like you had no inhibitions about going into your match against The Celt and doing what it took to be remembered. If you knew that lying flat on your back and letting him pin you would be memorable you’d do it.

Savana: Of course it’s never that simple…

Mike Shauver: So now the news starts to flow out that you’ve left a trail of death and made it to the arena the day of the show. It’s a hot topic, Andy Savana, who is he if you haven’t heard of him…where is he now if you knew who he was already.

Savana: Correct.

Savana suddenly takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out as Mike Shauver reflexively jumped forward to help in some form of way but stops himself at the jerk.

Mike Shauver: Given how you built up to the match you could’ve gone into the match and taken the fall and still be memorable.

Savana: Yes, but there was more to achieve. I’d retained more attention if I won so I went out ready to win…because I could build off of a win considerably better than I could build off of cashing it in…it was my motivation to build off of what I had already that kept me focused…in whatever way was keeping me moving forward at the moment..

Mike Shauver: So I’ve got to ask because like I admitted earlier I didn’t watch wrestling, did you win?

Savana: Well…

Between Heaven and Hell,

Between God and the Devil,

Between Messiah and Macabre,

…but better than both.

Go, go, go!

Hanayama’s commands hit the back of his throat, as the black Sedan lassoed through midday Los Angeles traffic. The driver curled his fingers around the wheel’s leather covering. Everyone else held their grip handles in imitation or panic. The car moved was maneuvering drunkenly around clogged lanes, switching when confronted with a second of pause. There was no time to waste. Every second lost guaranteed failure.

With his dying breath, the Korean had talked.

Kaoru sat shotgun, the seatbelt digging uncomfortably into his gut. The speed of the sedan made cars before him materialize and fade from view in seconds. They would disappear with one last desperate “”honk,” before they were cut out of view. Japanese people on the curb would turn to look at the black four-wheeled patch shooting past the corner of their eye. But they knew better than to ask questions.

Rounding the corner of the California Bank & Trust Tower, the car made a knife-edged turn onto San Pedro street. Trying hard to draw breath into his constricted stomach, Kaoru croaked into the banana-yellow walkie talkie Sonny had provided. His voice rattled under each bump of the craggy road.

C-car one, w-what’s your status?

The advance car, which had gone down East 2nd Street instead of East 1st, would have been making the same turn onto San Pedro one block ahead. A static-clouded voice answered from the other side.

On San Pedro now! Passing Inouye Auto and Bike Shop!

Copy. Any police?

None!

Good! Hurry!

The bottom of the car shook between the cracked, uneven pavement. Kaoru had to do his best to keep his voice firm and steady, before shoving the walkie-talkie back into the car door. The speed limit on most of San Pedro Boulevard was forty-five miles per hour. They were easily pushing seventy.

Naturally, this was still home turf. The police in the area had their bread well-buttered by the family. Any cop in the know would have thought twice before pulling over a car that was clearly “on business.” But there was always the chance. The closer they got to the Santa Monica freeway, the closer they were to no-man’s land. And no man’s land meant bleeding heart cops. Both strike teams needed to move as quickly as possible and still drive carefully enough to avoid suspicion on the road.

It was the essence of organized crime.

The balance between abandon and obedience. Between archaic rules and the predatory instinct. All one ever had to do to break the law with impunity was show the very minimum of respect for it. As long as the scale was balanced, neither side sought to upset that balance.

Let’s go, move it!

The wheelman switched lanes relentlessly, hitting the break after each pass to avoid slamming into the cars ahead of him. Every narrow maneuver was a gambit of stop-and-go. The driver, a young man with spiked black hair, moved his ankle up and down with furious reflex. Breaking into a clear stretch of road, the four-way intersection of San Pedro and Olympic leapt out at them from the horizon. The driver pushed the pedal to the floor, just as the traffic light turned yellow.

Leaning back into his chair, Kaoru saw the three men in the backseat close their eyes tightly. For a split second, the yellow silhouette was frozen in the pupil of his eye. He imagined the cars on either side revving their engines, crushing him like pistons in the merciless machine of the Los Angeles grid. The last image superimposed in his mind would be a halo of yellow glass.

He would die between “stop” and “go.”

*HONK, HONK*

The traffic light turned red just as the black sedan was caught in the middle of the large intersection. Drivers on both sides slammed their brakes. Somewhere unable to come to a stop, and slid freely around the sedan as if it were the epicenter to a skidding metal whirlpool. Caught in the middle, the black automobile just managed to slide away from the breaking waves of metal. As they made it to the other end, Kaoru jerked his head around the seat and looked through the rear window. He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look like there was a collision. The car had sped away too fast for him to get a clear look.

Everyone in the backseat looked shaken, as they caught their breath from the near-crash. Kaoru faced front again, bracing against the car’s acceleration. He felt nausea creeping up into his throat, but he did not dare show it. How a man confronted the inseam of life and death was something he took seriously. It was easy to live just for the sake of staying alive, just as it was easy to kill yourself.

But to walk the line between life and death? That was where courage lay. Strength lay in the windowpane separating existence and mortality. And it was strength that Kaoru would show.

He picked up the walkie-talkie again, composing his articulation.

Car one, what’s your ETA?

Just now getting to Washington boulevard! We’ll drive down the block and come back up until you get here!

Do you see any watchmen on the lawn?

Not on the first pass! The lawn looks clear! If she was ever here, they might’ve cleared the bitch out! Provided she isn’t dead already.

I’m counting on the possibility that she isn’t. If not, we’ll have hit the Inogawa-kai for nothing.

They peeled past the freeway entrance ramp onto East Washington Boulevard. The driver flung the wheel sideways, almost tipping the car over as it turned. All three men in the backseat let out loud grunts as they all scrunched together. Kaoru’s head lurched dangerously close to the mirror, before he stuck his beefy hand in the way.

With no police in sight, they hustled skittishly up the block before finally pulling up to address the Korean had divulged.

You have got to be kidding me…

Hanayama’s eyes, as they had done so many times before, took in the geography of the structure. In front of him stood white, old-fashioned building. It was mostly brick, but the bright orange had long ago faded.

Four ionic, but rather dirty columns stood guarding the front, with three rather colorful banners hanging in between them. The bright color of the banners, advertising such empty-headed slogans as “ART-LA”, made them stick out conspicuously. Crowning the dishwater-colored establishment was a simple, white cross.
The Japanese Union Church.

Kaoru’s strike time pulled past the gate of the church and unloaded it’s cargo one block down, to avoid suspicion. Including Hanayama himself, five shaken, but formidable men emerged. From further down the street, a matching Sedan observed the movements and hurried to join the stragglers. Car number one made a u-turn and came back up the narrow street, parking on the opposite side of the corner. As they slowed, five more men in black suits emerged onto the street. There was an air of energy about them ,as they scrambled to make sure their firearms were still in place. One of them, a man wearing a blood-red shirt beneath his jacket, sprang to the front of the pack and gave Kaoru a look of empathetic bewilderment.

Hanayama instantly knew him as the man on the other side of the walkie-talkie.

Hard to believe this shit, isn’t it sir?

Kaoru looked his addressor over, top to bottom. He was a very unimpressive-looking man. Top of his head barely reached the bottom of Kaoru’s substantial chest. His shoulders did not go straight out, but sloped abruptly before attaining any kind of noticeable breadth. He had a bony face, and inklings of facial hair spread throughout. Either a very young man, or a very poor shaver.

You were the one speaking to me, yes?

The other man turned up his chin proudly, and flashed a boyish smile.

Yes sir. I insisted on manning the walkie in the other car. They call me Tsoi. Victor Tsoi. I was the informant during our Korean operation. I even sat in the backseat of the fucker’s getaway car, while he was pissing his pants in that warehouse…

Kaoru opened and closed his mouth in noiseless acknowledgement. He did indeed remember suspecting that there was a man very close to The Korean. The depth of information was too vast for there not to have been one. Victor Tsoi was that man. Hanayama remembered seeing him in the aftermath of the skirmish, putting bullets in the forehead of those still clinging to life.

Victor kept talking. It was an odd blend of misgivings and eagerness to please.

…but I think this tops it. I’ve never done a retaliation hit on a church before. The fuck are we, Italians? Inogawa-kai are hiding their hostage whores in Kirishitan churches, nowadays? Before you know it, we’ll be running around the streets with Stetson hats and Tommy guns. These bastards have no honor.

The mention of guns made Kaoru aware of the .45 ACP Glock pistol tucked away in the inner-pocket of his jacket. There was no time for perplexity. They had to move fast. Kaoru’s mind returned to the harried state of alertness he had felt moments ago in the speeding automobile. Hardening his stare, Hanayama gave a summoning glance to all of his men, instantly drawing all of their gazes into his own.

Two men on the door. The rest on me. If there’s anyone that deserves to get caught in crossfire, then it’s a filthy Kirishitan race-traitor. Fan out!

The gang of men walked towards the church’s gate with purpose, ascending up the short row of stairs and making their way through the dirty ionic columns. Upon closer inspection, the large doorframe of the church was adorned with small carvings. On one side of the doorframe was an army of angels captained by Archangel Michael. On other was a gaggle of demons being cast away by the heavenly host. Jesus himself was at the very apex of the large door, sandwiched between the opposing sides. With one hand, he cast the rebel angels out. With the other, he beckoned those entering the church to join the battalion of saints.

Consequently he bore a sword on his left hand, and an olive branch in his right.

Two of the Yakuza gunmen put their backs against the church wall, guns at the ready in case of a flanking maneuver. Victor Tsoi and two others had run around to circumvent the building and check for alternate entrances, taking a walkie-talkie with them. Hanayama figured there would have to be at least one more entrance for clergy or garbage men. The rest of the team got into a one-knee stance directly behind Kaoru, who stood face to face with the main entrance. Tensing his muscles, Kaoru stared at the portal, waiting for the telltale signal. Suddenly, he heard the crackle of a fresh transmission.

We’re at the backdoor boss. Give the order.

Hanayama felt a charged sweat go down his back. The men behind him tensed their trigger fingers and took aim. Suddenly, Kaoru heaved his enormous foot forward and booted the sanctified door agape.

Fan out, fan out, fan out!

He screamed it loud enough to be heard over his intercom. The wave of suits behind him poured into the doorway, brandishing a potpourri of weapons. They spilled through, each man instinctively ducking behind pews as he made his way forward to the altar. Kaoru himself pulled out his Glock and took aim at the pulpit from across the church floor.

Yet…

…the only thing facing this troop was the ornate altarpiece. There was no one inside the main cloister. No gunmen. No sentries. Not a single Inogawa-kai to be found. From the back entrance, Victor and his two accompanying gunmen emerged with two Japanese men clad in white robes and simple green sashes.

Keeping his gun at the ready, Kaoru walked hurriedly down the aisle to get a better look at the quarry. Victor Tsoi had already made them kneel and zealously held his gun to the back of one of their heads.

Found two of them sir. But uh…as you can see by the attire, they’re not exactly Inogawa-kai.

Without looking up from the kneeling men, Kaoru muttered spitefully through his teeth.

I know that you idiot. They’re deacons.

Tsoi’s face sank. His lip quivered for a second, as though he was about to stammer, but he thought better of it.

O-of course sir. It was stupid of me to say. I’m sorry for…

Never mind that. Go check the altar.

Right away sir. Right away!

Victor ran for the altar like a booted pup, desperately trying to regain the affections he had been working so hard for. The two men who had accompanied him immediately took his post, and unceremoniously shoved the barrels of their guns into the back of the Deacon’s skulls. As the two clergymen trembled, Kaoru knelt down to face them. Brushing his unkempt hair aside with a porky finger, he tried to lock eyes with them.

But they could only look away and snivel. Hanayama’s eyes smoldered like embers beneath his bangs. He pressed his lips together tightly, until they were almost invisible.

Where…is…the girl?

One of the deacons gazed back at Kaoru with mewling righteousness, and answered. His eyes were wide as wells, and Kaoru was trying to fill them with his own intimidation.

I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! What girl? What girl do you mean?!

Hanayama inched closer, until the distance between himself and the deacon was no more than an inch. His eyes remained fixed on the deacons, as if he were trying to pour his menace into the clergyman’s face. In a curt motion, he pulled his hand across the preachers face and slapped him with gargantuan knuckles. The other deacon cried out at the sound of the slap. The strike had sounded fleshy and wet, bearing none of the crispness that clapping or a childish hit would have.

Like I said…I’ll only ask you once. If you do not answer me, then I don’t think I have any use for you.

B—but I can’t tell you what I don’t know! W-what girl are you talking about?! There are many that come here!

The smoldering eyes bore as deeply as they could…but found nothing. Kaoru sighed in exasperation, and creakily rose to his knees. The men knew nothing. There was no way to prove it, of course. But he could sense it. He had interrogated men before. He had seen how the liar’s countenance, his manner, even his tone of voice sounded when he was trying to conceal the truth. He had taken pleasure in contorting the faces of storytellers from their molded clay tears, into adobe masks of truthful horror. But the men in front of him were pure marble. He could whittle away at them for ten years with blowtorches and get nothing.

The gunmen looked to Kaoru for instruction, already anticipating the order to kill them. It was an order Kaoru was prepared to give until…

Sir! Sir!!

Everyone’s eyes turned to the altar. Victor Tsoi stood there, prodding an older Japanese man forward with his pistol. Victor’s face beamed with happiness, accentuated by the fact that he was standing in front of illuminated stained glass.

We found another one, sir! He was hiding in one of the shrines behind the altar!

The old man’s robes were more ornate than the deacons. As Tsoi bullied him down the steps, Kaoru’s watched him intently. He was not panicking like his younger counterparts. There was a look of defiance to him, magnified by the dignity of his slightly graying hair.

Victory gave him one last authoritative shove before credulously looking at Kaoru’s face as if to ask, “…did I do good?”

The older man did not wait for Kaoru to question him.

What is the meaning of this?! Young man, this is a house of god!

The priest’s commanding voice, one used to convincing large congregations, bounced off of Kaoru’s unresponsive bulk.

The house of …god?

The priest wrenched his arm free from Victor, who relented in his grip, but still pointed the gun at his prize.

Yes, the house of God! I am Father Kaguro. And unless you have all come to take confession, I suggest you leave! We take care not deal with your kind here! We don’t want trouble!

All of the gunmen looked to their gargantuan leader, expecting some sort of brutal reprisal. Instead, Kaoru just stood there, passive and cold.

Forgive me, father. I have heard otherwise.

The fervor swelling in his chest, Father Kaguro raised his voice even more, as if his volume could somehow blow all of the intruders out of the church.

Yes, YOUR kind! The criminal kind! The unrepentant hooligans in Little Tokyo who damage the good reputation of our people! You are lost. All lost. We do not serve your kind here, unless they come in honest repentance of their deeds. I will say it again; if you have not come to take confession, then you have no reason to be here. Whatever endeavor you are here for, we do not wish to get involved. And if you’re here to ask for some sort of protection money, I will not be paying! Now please leave us to our business!

Kaoru, who had still been holding his handgun out in the open, now proceeded to tuck it back into his jacket. His tone of voice remained unchanged.

It is precisely your business that I wish to speak with you about, father. Who do you do business with?

The priest, still incensed, did not back down.

Speak plainly! What do you want?

I want to know with whom you have done business lately, father.

Your question makes no sense! If you mean to ask me who I serve, then I serve my congregation.

Does your congregation include any Inogawa-kai?

The priest cocked his eyebrow, all the while maintaining his stern demeanor.

Inogawa…kai?

Kaoru nodded, the bottom of his flabby chin touching his chest.

I am unfamiliar with that term. Now would you please kindly exit the church?

If your are unfamiliar with the Inogawa-kai, then how is it that they are familiar with you?

I don’t know. This is a well-established church. It is quite within the realm of possibility that people I do not personally know have heard of it!

Looking down at his shoes momentarily, Kaoru walked the short distance to Father Kaguro. In theatrical expectation, Kaguro closed his eyes and stoically stuck out his chin, expecting a bow to fall on him.

But it did not come. What came instead was a sudden, stiff grip on his wrist. Opening his eyes, the Father saw the large hulk of a man standing almost on top of him. Kaoru’s sausage-sized fingers were wrapped around his priestly vestments. With a swift jerk, Kaoru dragged the Father back up the steps that Victor had walked him down only moments before. Hauling him back up to face the elaborate altar triptych, Kaoru shoved him forward and planted himself between the altar and Father Kaguro himself.

What was that for? What do you mean to do?!

Kaoru stared at him vacantly.

You said I had no business being here unless I confessed to you, did you not?

Do not play games with me!

Kaoru put his mammoth palms together in front of his chest.

I have killed. I have tortured. I have raped. I have stolen. I have done all of these things for years, father. And I have never gone into a church and confessed to these sins until now. I ask for forgiveness. Do you absolve me?

Father Kaguro curled his nose in disgust and screamed in devout conviction as loudly as he could.

DO NOT MOCK THE RITE OF CONFESSION!!!

The church, built to echo sermons over the sea of pews, reverberated loudly with the priest’s reproach. All of the Yakuza remained motionless, unable to take their eyes off of the strange scene. A small man, in elaborate catholic robes, was standing before an altarpiece in the shadow of a goliath.

Kaoru, his back to his captivated audience, got down onto one knee, much to the chagrin of the Father.

I am sincere. I ask for absolution.

Father Kaguro stared at Hanayama with confusion and apprehension. The man he had been yelling at moments before…the man who had asked such sardonic questions of him and his demands, was now on one knee asking for forgiveness.

You are patronizing me. I refuse!

Kaoru did not budge from his knee, keeping his palms together.

If you grant me confession, I will leave and never come back. If you do not, then I will not leave. And perhaps your deacons will never leave either.

At the less-than-subtle command, the two gunmen who had been standing behind the deacon’s pressed the barrels of their guns deeper into the back of the holy men’s throats. Kaguro stared daggers at Kaoru, as if his glance could somehow open up a hole beneath the giant and make him disappear into the earth. But the two young deacons cried out helplessly from below, and Kaguro’s death-stare was softened.

He had no choice.

Approaching the corpulent, kneeling mass, Kaguro slowly extended his hand forward. His steps echoed singularly against the altar. Each one made the air in the church shudder, like massive raindrops rippling a pool of water.

Father Kagoru’s methodical approach with his hand out made it look like he was reaching for the altar behind Kaoru, who knelt like a fat gargoyle before it.

As the last step came down, Kaoru’s nose was almost touching Kaguro’s robe.

I….

The word came strenuously as Kaguro’s attentions shifted from his Hanayama to the whimpering deacons, and back to Hanayama.

I…

The altar was almost within reach.

I forgive you.

Good,…

Two hands erupted from beneath to grab Father Kaguro around the throat. He felt his body be flung back against the callous altarpiece behind him, as the front of his throat touched the back. Kaguro’s eyes instantly flooded with the blood of popped capillaries, as he stared into the face of his goliath. The deacons below began to scream, only to be abruptly silenced by pistol whips from their would-be executioners.

…you filthy race-traitor.

Hanayama’s voice came like a hiss.

AAAAAHHHHAAKKK

Kaguro’s legs kicked violently as Kaoru lifted him farther off the ground.

It was people like you who tried to evangelize Japan in exchange for European trading rights. You tried to control us with heaven and hell and absolutes. I am Yakuza. I am Shinto. I have the sword in one hand, and the olive branch in another. And I’ll use both whenever I please to whatever effect I want. There are no such things are your devil and your messiah…

….HHHHAAAAAHHHHAAKKK

…only those in between.

Kaguro’s legs stopped wiggling, as the last morsel of air wheezed from his body. Like a spring-loaded bear trap, Kaoru’s fingers pneumatically unclenched, letting the lifeless heap of robes fall to the floor.
As he descended from the altar, not one of the foot-solders said a word. Victor Tsoi stood there, mouth agape, before Kaoru brought him back to reality.

Is there a dumpster outside?

H-H-Huh?

I said…is there a dumpster outside?

Oh w—well…well yeah! Sure there is!

Go throw him in it.

It took a few seconds for the order to register in Victor’s brain. But as soon as the shock wore off, he dutifully snapped his fingers at the two men who had guarded the deacons, and ran back up the altar.

Kaoru lumbered toward the two deacons, who were still laying face down. The mission was already a failure. That much was certain. He would have to go back to little Nakasu and listen to Sonny’s laughter, as the old man scampered towards the nearest phone to call up Uncle for a reprisal.

The head priest was dead. The girl wasn’t found. And the two men before him were eyewitnesses.But a body-count of three civilians, three religious figures who were known in the area, meant more trouble.

Re-brandishing his gun, Kaoru waved it limp-wristedly over the heads of the unconscious deacons. If they were left to their own devices, they would testify that it was a Yakuza hit. It would be a vague testimony, but enough to draw press attention. Maybe even a police crackdown.

Killing them was safer…even if the body count did go up.

Kaoru drew back the hammer...

…but didn’t fire.

Take them out back with the priest. Put a bullet in their heads…silenced. Light the dumpster. Then we’ll go.

Two of the footsoldiers immediately stepped in to fill the orders, picking up the clergymen on their backs. Kaoru looked at his handiwork, flung over their shoulders.

He had used to sword on them.

He had used the olive branch on the priest.

The mission failed but he was sti--

SIR! SIR, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

Victor had come sprinting back in, his black blazer covered in blood. He was out of breath.

*Breathing Heavily*…The…the girl! It’s the girl, sir! She’s….She’s out back! In the trash! She’s….she’s in pieces!


Los Angeles, CA, April 9th, 2010—The chief mission executive of The Japanese Union Church sees a new outbreak of church burnings as an attack on religious liberty and a sign of the need for healing in the lives of the arsonists and society.

The Rev. R. Shinzo Fukuyda said that the torching of a prominent Japanese church in the heart of Los Angeles is “a grim reminder of the values and the fragile nature of tolerance religious liberty in the United States.” Day heads his denomination’s General Board of Global Ministries.

Fukuyda said that “the malice that provokes such violence is a stark reminder of the need for healing and reconciliation in the broken lives of the arsonists and in some parts of American society.”

With respect to religious liberty, Fukuyda declared that “the members of all religious groups and communities deserve the right to go to sleep at night without fear that their houses of worship will be destroyed in the darkness.” He deplored the fact that

While the racial overtones of the burnings remain unclear, the manner of the arsons suggests deep hostility to religion. Reports indicate that in many of the nine cases, fires were started in the area of the pulpit and communion table. Little could be more offensive to Christian people than attacks on proclamation and sacraments.

We are further distressed that many churches are burned each year, for a total of 1,000 from 2000 to 2010, according to the Christian Science Monitor. This is a scandalous record, one that calls for greater public awareness and greater vigilance on the part of law enforcement.”

Mayor Villaraigosa went on the record as saying that the most dangerous threat to our society is tolerance posing as acceptance.

"True tolerance is not the same as ambivalence. There is a right way to treat people, and a wrong way. Sometimes, those we believe to be truly accepting of other people's cultural differences are merely tolerating, while nursing a deeper hatred. These acts will not be tolerated. The citizens of Los Angeles cannot afford to be on the fence about this. When it comes to questions of racial hatred..

..the most dangerous man...

...is the man in between.

Michaels: I have to say, not even ten years ago I never thought I would come back to this side of the world.

The scene opens around Drew’s words in the vibrant commercial district of Kobe, Japan. The metropolis roars around him as Drew Michaels and his assistant Abraham step off a bus and into the open air. Drew has a smile on his face, something that regrettably the Chosen One does not allow himself to possess too often these days. Abraham, however, just seems worried.

Abraham: Are you sure this is a good idea sir?

Michaels: I sure hope so since we already paid for two round trip tickets. Plus, you know, we are already here. That is a fairly significant bit of commitment.

Abraham: You know what I mean Chosen One; this isn’t exactly…friendly territory.

Michaels: You mean this is not a supposedly “Christian nation” like those in the Western World, right?

Abraham: It does not even have a majority who worship Abrahamic faiths…

Michaels: Does not matter, we were contacted by a group of Templars here and they seem to have what I am looking for.

Abraham: Which is what exactly? You have not been very clear or open with me. You simply called me and told me you had booked a trip to Japan and needed me to accompany. Now that we are here Chosen One, I would really appreciate answers.

Drew stops walking as Abraham speaks and instead looks at a flower cart sitting in front of him. Leaning over, Drew takes a big whiff of a white rose before nodding at the man running the cart and turning back to Abraham.

Michaels: What do you want answered again?

Abraham: Why are we in Japan?

Michaels: Oh, that is simple; we are demon hunting.

Drew keeps walking, admiring the shops nearby as Abraham freezes in his steps; staring blankly at the young man in front of him.

Abraham: I cannot have heard you right sir, for some reason I believe you said “demon hunting” but that would be ridiculous.

Michaels: And what in my life is not?

Abraham: So you’re serious?

Michaels: Serious as humanly possible. I placed all Templar organizations on watch for very specific anomalies in the world; repeating events, abnormal weather patterns, missing person reports, impossibilities in nature; basically combinations of the strange. A group here in Kobe reported back that a number of people have gone missing in this area and a number of “practical jokes”, the story according to government officials here, have really rocked the city. Thus, we are here.

Abraham: And you think it is a demon?

Michaels: I have reason to believe so, yes.

Abraham: What if it is something less…supernatural? You know, like a group of domestic terrorists or a publicity campaign or… (Looks around before whispering) the Yakuza.

Drew laughs before looking at his close friend.

Michaels: The Yakuza Abraham? Are we really going to be scared off by some boogeyman mobsters who may or may not exist?

Voice: Actually Mr. Michaels, we have no intention of scaring you away.

Drew tenses up as he feels a familiar pain in his lower back, that of a hand gun being driven into his spine. Drew looks back just enough to see a hooded Japanese man behind him, a grimace covering his face.

Michaels: Well Abraham, I guess we have somewhere else to be, huh?

Drew forces a chuckle as our scene fades to black…


The scene reopens in a dimly lit room where Drew and Abraham are being held. The two are drastic contrasts of each other, Drew completely calm and casual while Abraham is obviously consumed by his own fear; a fear shown by his constant pacing of the room, his hands continually running up and down the walls as if searching for something.

Michaels: Not exactly how one expects to spend their first trip to a foreign land, huh?

Abraham: How can you joke at a time like this!?

Michaels: How can you not?

Abraham: We’re going to die here!

Michaels: Die? Nah, they will not kill us. Well, not me at least. I am enough of a celebrity that they probably believe they can extort a ransom out of me and make some easy money. You might be fucked though dude.

Drew looks over to see the panic growing in his partner’s eyes and quickly moves to reassure him after that horrible attempt at a joke.

Michaels: They will not kill us; I can promise you that Abraham. It is not the way the Yamaguchi-gumi works.

Abraham: How can you be so sure?

???: Because we have a history. Hello Andrew, it has been a long time.

Michaels: Hello Hiro.

Abraham: You know him?

Michaels: Regrettably.

Hiro: Is that anyway to talk about an old friend Andrew?

Michaels: You are an old something Hiro but friend is not it. Why have you taken us?

Hiro: You stole from us Andrew; you stole from us and thought you could get away with it.

Michaels: I took what I was owed.

Hiro: You believe you were OWNED $2 MILLION AMERICAN DOLLARS!?

Michaels: Sounds about right.

Abraham: Drew…what happened?

Michaels: This gentleman believes I owe him some money and I know I do not. That is pretty much it.

Hiro: Andrew here was a pit fighter in Korea, the mob sponsored the fights and Andrew was our white star. However, Andrew found his way out with a large sum of our money and now, we want it back.

Michaels: And you wait until I come to Japan to do it? Man, I thought you guys were supposed to be all powerful and shit; you could not even snatch me up outside of your home territory.

Hiro: We had heard…rumors of your possession of powers beyond that of an average mortal and did not want to risk an international incident where our power was not strongest. Having seen how easy our muscle picked you up however, I think your abilities have been greatly exaggerated.

Michaels: Seems like it, huh?

Abraham (Whispering to Drew): Why must you incite him!?

Hiro: Now, may we talk about payment. See, we thought about breaking you violently and repeatedly until you screamed out for mercy that you have no right to deserve but, well, we are trying to branch out from that image. Instead, the kumicho had a different idea. Our family has a long and proud history of investing in athletics and we are interested in doing just that with you in order to recoup our losses.

Michaels: So you are going to…manage me? Is that the proper euphemistic term?

Hiro: Works for us.

Michaels: Kind of like how you guys managed PRIDE right into the ground, right? Fixing fights, threatening competitors, that kind of classy stuff.

Hiro: Unproven accusations can leave a man dead.

Michaels: And then you lose a cash cow.

Hiro (Looking towards Abraham): I did not say which man.

Michaels: He is not to be harmed Hiro, you would be wise to heed that warning.

Hiro: No Andrew, you would be wise to heed our warnings. You will do as we say and you will do it with a smile. Understood?

Hiro looms over Drew with an obvious anger radiating off of him. Drew just looks at him and smiles.

Michaels: Freeze.

Hiro remains in position; obvious strain is shown in all of his muscles as he fights to move in closer towards the Chosen One as Drew smiles.

Hiro: What kind of black magic is this!?

Michaels: Silence.

Hiro falls silent as Drew turns towards Abraham nonchalantly.

Michaels: Let us go.

Abraham: Why couldn’t you have done that earlier? You know, like when they captured us and threw us into a van? That would have been a wonderful time to do that.

Michaels: Well, two problems with that. One, I kind of wanted to see where this way going. Two, my…abilities only work on those who believe in me and I did not think some Japanese street punk would give two squirts of piss if I am the Chosen One of the LORD Almighty or not. However, Hiro said that they were fearful of the abilities I possessed meaning that he at least had a tiny bit of faith within him in me giving me control over him. Now come on, we have a meeting to reach. (Turns back to Hiro) You will remain here for oh; let us say around four hours. Then you will turn in your resignation with the nearest wakachu that outranks you. Good luck.

Drew laughs as he exits the room. Abraham stalls for a minute and stares at the immobilized man, knowing in his heart what a “resignation” will actually entail, and shakes his head as our scene fades to the expected black…


The scene reopens to a clown. A giant, building shaped clown with a smile for a door and painted eyes for windows.

Yes, a fucking clown.

Michaels: You have got to be kidding me. This is the address, right?

Abraham: How could it not be?

Michaels: Point taken I guess. So what am I supposed to do about a clown house where we were supposed to meet the Templars?

Abraham: Giant seltzer bottle?

Michaels: I was thinking massive banana cream pie to the front/face but that could work too.

Clown: KNOCK KNOCK!

Michaels: The Hell?

Abraham: I, ummmmmm, think it is trying to tell a joke.

Clown: KNOCK KNOCK!

Michaels: Should I answer it?

Abraham: Do we have a choice?

Michaels: I really do not want to.

Clown: KNOCK KNOCK!

Michaels: Fair enough… (Yelling) WHO IS THERE!?

Clown: BOO!

Abraham: …And the joke is as old as Abe Vigoda.

Michaels: Motherfucker… (Yelling again) BOO WHO!?

Clown: ARE YOU CRYING BECAUSE OF ALL THE RAPE!?

Drew turns towards an open mouthed Abraham, both in total shock.

Michaels: Did it really just say that?

Abraham: I think…I think it did.

Michaels: A house just told us a rape joke.

Abraham: Yes, I think that just happened.

Michaels: Do you think someone is actually getting raped inside?

Abraham: How would we know?

Michaels: We have to stop this thing. I…maybe I can dispel it.

Abraham: Good luck with that.

Drew steps forward, staring down the clown house’s window eyes. He raises his right hand up towards the door mouth and begins to speak before a window flies open and two very tiny midget clowns jump out.

Abraham: Oh God…

The midget clowns dance around The Chosen One, obviously annoying Drew with a number of literal bells and whistles interrupting him every time he attempts to speak. After having four more attempts to exorcise the home go awry due to interruptions from the miniscule clowns, Drew finally snaps and backhands the one to the left of him and turns to the one on his right, shaking his hand in pain after smashing in the nose of the other clown.

Michaels: I command you to ce-

Drew’s command is interrupted as the miniature entertainer whips out a seltzer bottle and blasts Drew in the face with it. The clown laughs evilly as Drew stumbles backwards and wipes his face clean.

Michaels: You have got to be fucking kidding me…FUCK!

Drew grabs his face as excruciating pain rips through him, a pain seemingly caused by the seltzer sprayed on him seconds earlier. Drew claws at his face, as if trying to rip off his most outer layer of skin in an attempt to dull the pain.

Abraham: Sir, what can I do for you!?

Michaels: FUCKING CRUSH THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!

Abraham rushes over in an attempt to grab the still standing clown but the downed mini-clown, the one taken out by Drew’s well-placed backhand, tosses a banana peel into the path of Drew’s assistant and hopeful savior. Abraham slips on the fruity covering and falls not only to the Earth but through it, disappearing into absolutely nothing. Drew witnesses this event through his fingers, still attempting to do whatever it takes to remove the burning sensation covering his entire face, and decides he must act and act now. Falling to one knee, Drew is able to curl into a ball with his head tucked into his knee and his left arm covering the exposed portion of his forehead. Holding up his right hand, Drew speaks.

Michaels: DISPERSE!

The nearest midget clown begins to convulse, unable to interrupt Drew’s command due to The Chosen One hiding his mouth from another seltzer blast, and lets loose a horrid scream as he explodes into a pile of ash that falls the Earth. His partner, seeing the scene around him, quickly scrambles to his feet; still holding his red clown nose from the blow Drew threw earlier at him; and dives back into house allowing Drew to stand up and stare down the monstrosity in front of him.

Michaels: I do not know what you are but dammit…BE GONE!

Drew feels his power, the power granted to him by the LORD Almighty Creator of Heaven and Earth, rush through him as the house buckles, screams, and finally returns to normal. No more face paint, no more rape jokes. As Drew trembles, shaking with the full power he just displayed, he looks over to see Abraham returned to his side.

Michaels: Are you okay my friend?

Abraham: I saw it.

Michaels: What?

Abraham: I saw the demon. I looked it in the eyes before you rescued me. He…he is angry.

Michaels: Do you know his name?

Abraham: I heard nothing, he just…he just looked at me. He had no eyes, just a painted face and hair that seemed to go on forever.

Drew thinks for a minute before speaking again, slowly and deliberately.

Michaels: Was he wearing a robe covered in stars?

Abraham (Closes his eyes to envision the scene): Yes…yes he was. And one was much more prominent then the others…

Michaels: Like the North Star perhaps?

Abraham: Yeah, that makes sense.

Michaels: Amatsu-Mikaboshi.

Abraham: Excuse me?

Michaels: It was Amatsu-Mikaboshi, a figure from Japanese mythology. Actually, he is not even as much a figure as generally all the darkness and evil in the world taking a form. This is not good, this is not good at all…

Drew begins pacing nervously as Abraham stares at him quizzically.

Abraham: Are you sure?

Michaels: Positive, I researched a few possibilities as to what we may encounter here and Amtasu-Mikaboshi comes up time and time again in relation to that which is evil in Japanese culture. That and, you know, he totally fought Hercules and Thor a couple times in Marvel Comics.

Abraham: We’re basing our guess on what is threatening this country on your readings of a funny book?

Michaels: Do you have anything better?

Abraham: No…no I guess not. So what is your plan?

Michaels: I go.

Abraham: Where are we going?

Michaels: “We” are not going anywhere; I am going to Mikaboshi to end this.

Abraham: How?

Michaels: When I dispelled the clown, it released some errant energy that would look to find its way back to the original user; that user being Amatsu-Mikaboshi. Thus, I follow that energy trail to wherever the Mikaboshi is hiding.

Abraham: Why must you go alone though?

Michaels: Because I have no desire to see you placed in harm’s way here Abraham. This is my battle and my responsibility just as yours is to stay here and take care of those surely still in that home.

Abraham turns towards the building that had moments ago been possessed by an evil spirit and thinks about the horrors those people could have gone through and sighs, knowing Drew is correct. He turns back to agree with The Chosen One but when he looks back, Drew is gone and instead our scene fades again to black…


The scene reopens to a dingy warehouse in the shipping district of Kobe, one that seems to have been long abandoned by any type of proper means. The darkness is complete and seemingly never-ending. A loud bang echoes through the building as the door crashes back into place and a person, perhaps an intruder, forces their way into the warehouse.

Drew Michaels is prepared for the worst.

As he wanders in, Drew squints in an attempt to allow his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness in the room when suddenly, the room is flooded with light. The darkness has all been pulled to one central location and floating there is the Amatsu-Mikaboshi, the evil that existed before all of time. The Mikaboshi reaches down and touches Drew on the head and The Chosen One wobbles backwards in shock and pain simply from the touch of the void.

Mikaboshi: HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY DOMAIN!

The voice echoes through all of existence, it is not as if the form is speaking as much as the world itself is yelling at Drew for his insolence. Drew steadies himself slowing and stares down the being floating before him as he digs deep to try to find the authority he knew his voice would lack after that blow.

Michaels: I come here in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Stand down!

Mikaboshi: THAT WHICH CAME AFTER ME I FEAR NOT!

Michaels: He has power over all dominion, whether it is the abyss or not!

Drew holds up his right hand and emits a bright white light, the same light he used in battle with the Leviathan only weeks earlier. However, Mikaboshi extends his void to cover the light and extinguish it completely and totally. Drew is barely able to rip his hand out of the emptiness before it was able to overtake his entire arm.

Michaels (Staring at his hand): It is so cold…

Hiro: ANDREW!

Drew whips around upon hearing the familiar voice and sees Hiro standing at the entrance, his anger visible to Drew and rightfully so after the way Drew left him previously.

Michaels: I really do not have time for this Hiro…

Hiro: You tried to get me killed!

Michaels: I see it did not work so why are you so angry?

Hiro: It didn’t work because I am the highest ranking wakachu in the city currently.

Michaels: You got a promotion, that is nice. Now I really need to deal with this.

Drew motions towards the floating and thankfully silent Amatsu-Mikaboshi.

Hiro: So that is your plan, toss me into death to avoid anyone possibly finding out about your indiscretions.

Michaels: I do not know what you are talking about.

Drew’s confidence seems to be breaking even as he struggles to maintain whatever composure possible.

Hiro: You do not remember how you basically sentenced my brother to death when you robbed him on the side of the road and stole that money? How you left that girl with nothing but debts to the family? How you abandoned not only your responsibilities here but also a child?

Michaels: Wh-What?

Drew says it weakly, his mind rushing. A child? How could it be, she never told him she was pregnant…

Hiro: He would be what, eight years old now?

Michaels: A son…(Thinks for a minute) You said he “would be”; does that mean…?

Drew allows the sentence to trail off, unable to bring himself to finish it.

Hiro: Is he dead? Perhaps, perhaps not. Your “beloved” was shipped to Thailand to serve as a call girl in order to pay off your debts, your wretched little spawn with her. I’ve lost track of her since she became a play thing for bored businessmen.

Michaels: You bastard…

Hiro: Says the man who sentenced my brother to death and attempted to do the same to me.

Mikaboshi: I BORE OF THIS!

Hiro clutches his ears and falls to his knees, shocked by the explosive rumble that is the Amatsu-Mikaboshi. Drew however reacts in stride, knowing that his mission has to come before this recent discovery.

Michaels: FOUL BEAST, I COMMAND YOU WITH THE AUTHORITY OF HEAVEN TO STAND DOWN!

Mikaboshi: I NEED NOT STAND DOWN, INSTEAD I TAKE FLESH!

Michaels: I would love to see you try to take my body as your own foul abyss.

Drew is confident that his body is possession proof due to the multitude of blessings upon it in order to allow him to complete his function as an emissary for the LORD Almighty on Earth. However, Drew is thrown off when the darkness does not advance towards him but towards the recovering Hiro.

Michaels: Oh shit…

Drew rushes over as the blackness pours into the mouth of Hiro, he rocks back in shock and pain as the void possesses him entirely.

Michaels: I will not allow this Mikaboshi, he is not yours to have!

Drew reaches into a pocket on his side and pulls out his knife, a knife blessed by the angels themselves. Drew rips open Hiro’s shirt exposing his bare chest and looks up quickly to see the darkness still flowing into his body, showing Drew he still has time.

Michaels: You shall not have him beast for he belongs to me!

Drew knows he has to react quickly or else the Amatsu-Mikaboshi will control the flesh of Hiro and have a stronger foothold in the physical world which would strengthen him infinitely. Drew takes the knife and carves a cross into the chest of Hiro.

Michaels: IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY SPIRIT…I CLAIM THIS MAN AS MY OWN!

The religious symbol carved into the chest of HIro begins to shine brightly and painfully, illuminating the entire room. The darkness freezes in the midst of its forceful entry and instead begins to drain out of body of Hiro. As the darkness begins to take form again, Drew drives the knife violently into the floating void.

Michaels: TO WHENCE YOU CAME!

The darkness swirls around the knife and collapses into itself around the tip of the knife. Drew pulls the knife to look at said tip and notices that blade is no longer simply silver but now made of jet black obsidian. Before he can ponder this further, however, Drew hears Hiro stirring and steps over to check on the downed victim.

Hiro (Weakly): Michaels…

Michaels: Hiro, now is really not the time to continue our meaningless struggle.

Hiro: No…I owe you.

As he forces those words out, Hiro collapses and Drew just nods acceptingly as our scene fades to the expected black…


The final scene reopens to Drew sitting in an empty section of the airport, waiting for his plane to prepare for takeoff. As he sits, Drew palms his knife and turns it over slowly time and time again, seemingly examining every inch of it before finally speaking.

Michaels: Well shit, when it rains it pours huh? Revelations, far too many of them, and now I have to go back and somehow bring myself to wrestle a match. Just…damn. So Kaoru, Gabriel; let me ask you both a very important question: why?

Why do you think you deserve this title shot?

Why do you think you are the men to beat me?

Why do you believe that above all others you represent not only the C-4 division but Ammunition as a whole?

Here is the thing for both of you; this is the biggest match of either of your lives. You have a chance to win the first title of your Full Metal Wrestling careers and defeat the man some call the Greatest of All Time. You are going into the ring to give everything you have and then some in order to drop me and take the title I so crave. But what happens if you fail? What happens if your best is not enough? What do you do next?

The reason I have looked down on you both so much is that, quite simply, you have done little to nothing to earn my respect. You both are getting title shots based on not on being the best possible competitor you can be but instead on being better than nothing. Hell, Gabriel already lost his shot at the title when I kneed him into oblivion!

So let me ask you again, what happens if you fail? See, if I lose here I move on to bigger and better things. It is considered a fluke, an upset that probably would only happen 1 out 100 times. I will just continue to move closer to my goal of winning the FMW World title while you represent the most prestigious division in FMW and probably hold the top title you will ever get the chance to possess. But if you lose…

If you lose, you become a footnote in history. If Full Metal Wrestling closed down tomorrow, I would have an entire chapter devoted to me while you both would probably be lucky to make the index. You HAVE to win this match to make an impact; you HAVE to drop me in order to become something in this company.

The weight of the world is on your shoulders, not mine.

Years ago, in a company called Psychotic Wrestling Alliance, I was given the chance of a lifetime in a United States title match against a legend known as The Rabbi, a legend who competed here in FMW years ago I might add. I was able to defeat him and capture my first title to start my ascent to legendary status despite everyone telling me it was impossible. Flash forward a few years and you are both in the same position I was in then. The question is though, can you pull through?

Can you do it when Abel Steele could not?

Can you capture the title Christopher Austin was not ready for?

Can you hold gold when Janus Flare never even sniffed it?

Kaoru, Gabriel…can you be better than the best? Can you carry a division on your shoulders and look at the entire roster and know there is not a single man on it you cannot defeat? Can you succeed where legends, demons, and world champions have failed?

Can you stop Drew Michaels? If the answer is anything but a definite yes, then I suggest you reconsider your plans this week…

Drew just smiles as he reaches over and flicks his camera off causing our scene to fade to black…

“Fame is the perfume of heroic deeds.” – Socrates

“FAITH!”

Romeo had only managed to say just one word ever since he came around that night. He had just been on the wrong end of a screwjob he first thought was going his way; he could not believe he was so betrayed, and all for what? Just because he’d pestered her endlessly, until that night, to reach into her heart, acknowledge how he truly feels, to just do the right thing–

“FAITH!”

He was searching for her everywhere; he was out for too long, long enough for his betrayer to make a good escape, long enough for her to leave the arena, but nevertheless, he was searching, searching, and searching – everywhere backstage, tearing through the corridors and the locker rooms like a madman, surprising the women and amusing the men, raising the suspicions of the security, who knew that they couldn’t really contain him if they tried. Romeo was rabid, lusting to achieve justice on his end–

“FAITH!”

He could not find her anywhere, realizing his fears may be coming true; it would be clever on her part, she may have been mute but she was intelligent to know that Romeo wouldn’t take this ending lying down, and of course, she was right, and he was angry and everyone else knew and everyone else would be smart enough not to get in his way and outright feel that anger, an anger he was freely unleashing, and he knew what he would do if he didn’t find her that night, it was risky, but he didn’t care–

”FAITH!”

“She ain’t here, y’idiot.”

The World Heavyweight Champion was sitting there in his room, calm, as though he fully expected Romeo to act out like this – he didn’t even look up as Romeo screamed his way into his room. TyranT was dressing up, with the title belt resting beside him on the bench.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

“How’m I s’posed ta know?” TyranT answered with a laugh, realizing that he was sharper than Romeo this very moment, and capitalizing on it. “You know she don’t come home to daddy no more!”

He was right. Everyone knows it. That’s why she attacked them both. Romeo could not answer as he was trying to find his breath.

“Best suck it up, Ro, it’s over,” he drawled as he was putting on his shoes. “Y’can go and bitch and whine all ‘bout it ta the Board or ta management, ‘bout how y’were screwed – and I do ‘gree that y’were screwed – but y’aint gonna find Faith here. She’s gone, and I dunno where she’s gone to. Not tha’ I’d tell ya if I knew, anyway.”

TyranT finished tying his shoes and stood up, picking up his championship belt.

“Now you’d best git outta my way, Ro,” he began. “Only reason why I ain’t bashed your skull in yet is ‘cause my Faith hit us both, and we finally got us sum’n in common. But if you don’t tuck tail and run along now, then I’m’na c’nsider this li’l conv’rsation trespassin’, and you know me... I ain’t afraid ta ‘nforce the law anytime.” He gave him a little, mischievous sneer.

Romeo only managed to leer at his nemesis as he slowly backed away from the doorway of his room and slid out of his sight. That encounter sobered him up; while he was previously an explosive ball of anger moving from room to room, searching for the girl that done him wrong, now he was just numb, still reeling from the effects, reeling from the small distance that stood before him and the Championship.


“There’s a very strong case for you, boss. I don’t doubt that we could get to see Romeo vs. Tyrant III soon enough, given the circumstances.”

It is a few days after and Romeo was quickly resigned to his fate; he never had any problems accepting the truth after being given some time to let it sink in. He was now back in his office with his aide-de-camp Tiberius Jefferson, continuing their grand game of career chess, plotting their next moves.

“Of course,” Tiberius continued, “asking Faith’s help is definitely out of the question now.”

Romeo did not answer; instead, he shot him an intense, piercing look.

“Relax, boss, it was a joke,” Tiberius said nonchalantly, though there was a trace of fear in his voice.

Romeo leaned in. “Must I... reinforce the fact that I am not in the mood for humor right now?” he said, dangerously.

“It won’t happen again, sir,” Tiberius replied, obediently.

“Very well.” Romeo sat back down, leaned against his huge leather office chair, and took a sip of the brandy. “I may get a rematch with TyranT, but there is no guarantee that I won’t be screwed – either out of it, or during the match itself. I need... I need a backup plan, Tiberius.”

There was some silence. It was not the silence of awkwardness, but rather the silence of thinking, actual thinking. Finally, Tiberius spoke up.

“What about we continue the takeover, full-force? Their little requirements were nothing but jokes, paper-thin excuses to stop you from buying the company. If we try and steamroll-“

“No,” Romeo interjected sharply. “No. I do not wish to continue the takeover. I’ve made my mind up, and it has already been more trouble than it’s worth.”

“But-“

“But if we finally take over FMW, we can do whatever we want to when it comes to the matches? That’s what you were going to suggest, was it not?”

Tiberius nodded.

“I agree, it is a smart plan, but I have waited too long. That plan is really a lot more trouble than it’s worth, and even then, it will still be a long battle. I want my vengeance. I want my justice now.”

“...So what would you rather do?”

Romeo steepled his fingers together under his chin, thinking... or pretending to think, as his answer was quick, and clear, as though he had already been giving it a lot of thought prior to this conversation.

“I want you to start accompanying me to the ring.”

Tiberius was taken aback by the suggestion; Romeo initially hired him to be his bodyguard, but he never thought his boss needed protecting when he stepped out from backstage. There were in-character bodyguards in pro wrestling, but this was never in his original job description. He figured that Romeo was starting to become a little desperate.

“Are you serious?”

“Quite serious,” Romeo said, flatly.

“I don’t know, boss. I... I’ve never trained to be a pro wrestler.”

“And? I’m not asking you to wrestle my matches for me, Tiberius,” Romeo said. “I’m just asking you to go out there and watch my back.”

“What if I legitimately hurt someone?”

“So? All the more better.”

“Aren’t you wrestlers supposed to keep each other-“

“Safe?” Romeo finished. “I don’t know where you’ve heard your little urban legends, Tiberius, but in Full Metal Wrestling, we wrestle to hurt. I’m not asking you to be my tag team partner, Tiberius, I’m asking you to be my bodyguard out there. If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to do anything unless I am in danger.”

“But wrestlers are always in danger in the ring.”

“Stop being cheeky with me,” Romeo warned. “You know what I meant.”

Tiberius fell silent, thinking of the offer. Or the demand, more like.

“Look,” Romeo continued, breaking the silence. “If it really bothers you that much, just go ask Cain to train you.”

“I can’t exactly do that, boss.”

“And why not?”

“Cain’s dead.”

Romeo raised an eyebrow. “When did this happen?”

“Sometime during the night of Lethal Injection,” Tiberius said quietly. “One of the men called me while we were at the arena.”

“Did that man see him die?”

“Strange thing, actually,” Tiberius answered. “He says he was with him when he got shot. He ran to get some help, but when he came back, Cain’s body was gone.”

Romeo chuckled a little. “Interesting.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. I’ll tell you later, we have more important issues at hand.”

“Cain’s death isn’t important?”

“As a matter of fact, Tiberius, no, it isn’t,” Romeo said, taking a swig of brandy, as if Cain’s death were a generally-accepted fact of life. “Now, about the deal. Will you accompany me to the ring, or not?”

Tiberius raised his own eyebrow. He wanted to press the issue further because he felt something unusual about the entire thing, but it would be both futile and volatile to cross the boss now, so he conceded.

“Very well, boss,” Tiberius agreed, heaving a great sigh. “...But, boss?”

“What?”

“I want a raise.”

“No problem,” Romeo said, smiling at the fact that that was all it took. He raised his glass of brandy to make a toast. “To our dominance.” Tiberius raised his own and clinked it with Romeo’s.

“To our dominance.”

MAY 12TH 2001. THE LAKE DISTRICT, ENGLAND.

Outside in the picturesque Lake District ...



Sits the 18-year-old Christian Moore. He's sat quietly on a log looking angry and upset as he holds what appears to be a photo in his hands.

Look bro ...

Save it Dom! Just fucking save it!

I really didn't mean ...

I SAID SAVE IT! I don't wanna hear your excuses Dom! YOU took control when I told ya not to! YOU took her out on the date! YOU were the one who did this! This is all YOUR fault!

Christian looks down at the photo.



If I'd realised how much ya cared about her I wouldn't have ...

Wouldn't have what Dom? Wouldn't have taken control of me? Wouldn't have taken her out? Wouldn't have hit her the first time? Wouldn't have what Dom? Go on say it! SAY IT!

I wouldn't have hurt her.

HURT HER!? You didn't “hurt” her Dom! You KILLED HER!

I … I...

You killed her Dom and then you had the nerve to give me back control so that I'd be the one who had to clean up the mess!

I … I...

Christian runs his hands through his hair.

Why did you do it? Do you even know why?

I don't know. I guess I wanted to know if I'd get the same rush I did when I “dealt” with mum.

Christian reaches into his pocket and pulled out a flick knife.

Let's see if I get the same rush now, shall we?

Christian? What are you doing?

Christian doesn't answer. Instead he flicks open the knife and slowly draws it across his arm leaving a thin line that wells up with tiny dots of blood.

Christian! Stop it! What the hell are you doing? Christian?

Christian abandons his slow pace and begins desperately slashing across his arm until it is covered in cuts and blood.

How was that for a rush Dom?

What the hell did ya do that for?

To see if I could feel the rush! … To see if I could feel … anything.

Christian's eyes flutter closed and a look of pure contention spreads across his face.


MAY 12TH 2010. CHRISTIAN MOORE'S HOME, ENGLAND.

Christian is sat with a faded photo in his hand as he sits in the dimly lit lounge of his home. The only light coming from 2 small candles on a table in front of him.

Nine years on and I still remember that night … Still remember the feel of the blade across my arm.

Christian looks at his arm.



I still remember feeling so empty that night … Wanting to feel something good, but getting nothing.

Christian pulls off his shirt and looks down at the scars covering his chest.

Hundreds of scars, and not one of them gave me an answer.

Then why the fuck do ya keep doing it?

So I may one day feel something … anything other than the pain of losing Krissy.

Not this again. It was 9 YEARS AGO! Get over it!

Get over it? How the fuck am I supposed to get over the fact that the ONLY person who has EVER understood me is dead? Murdered by my own fucking brother!

She didn't understand you! She just pretended to so you'd fuck her! She just wanted to be the one who got laid by the fucked up kid who heard voices!

Christian screams and punches his head trying to stop Dominic's voice.

She saw you as an easy fuck so she'd be able to brag to everyone that ...

Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! You don't … didn't know her like I did!

I know enough!

So ya know she loved me.

Oh please! She only said that to get ya to sleep with her!

NO! She really loved me! We were gonna be together ...

Yeah I know the story. You were gonna get married and have kids and live happily ever after. Grow up bro! It was never gonna happen!

Christian stops punching his head and stands up, blowing out the candles.

Yes it was! That's why ya killed her!

What?

The sound of Christian's bare feet echoes through the dark towards a light outside the room.

You heard me!

You have completely lost the fucking plot!

I'll prove it!

Christian blinks against the bright light of the hallways as he pads towards the kitchen.

How are ya gonna prove something when there is nothing to prove?

With these ...

Christian pulls open a drawer and takes out a small bottle of pills. The label reads Stelazine.

W … where did you get those?

You're not awake all the time Dom, so it was easy for me to get the doc to give 'em to me.

Christian shakes the bottle, teasing Dominic.

W … what are ya gonna do with them?

Now that depends on you Dom. Are ya gonna admit that ya killed Krissy because she loved me and not you? … That ya knew once me and her were together I'd start taking these and you'd be gone? … Tell me the truth Dom!

NO! That wasn't why I did it!

Christian pops the cap off the pills and tips into his hand.

Oh I'm sorry that was the wrong answer!

Christian palms the tablets into his mouth.

No! Don't do it!

Christian smiles as he swallows the tiny pills without water.

Sorry Dom, but ya had your chance.

Christian stands listening for a few moments before his smile grows even bigger.

Wow! That worked quick! Should've used you little guys years ago!

Christian pops the cap back on the bottle and slides it into his pocket.

I think I'll keep ya around for a while … Let him stew in the darkness for a while hahaha!

Just then the large grandfather clock in the hall strikes 6.

Shit! Is that the time?

Christian runs back towards the lounge, flicking on the light and grabbing his shoes as he goes.

I've got an hour to get to the airport!

Christian slid his t-shirt back on and sits on the couch to put on his shoes.

Hopefully without Dom constantly talking in my head, me and Cole can make even shorter work with Butters and Slegna than we did with Axel and Trey.

Christian smiles as he stands back up and listens again to make sure he still couldn't hear Dom.

Who knows we might even get lucky and get drafted … or better yet a shot at those nice shiny tag belts.

Christian heads towards the front door, grabbing his suitcase as he leaves the lounge.

Now THAT would be a nice way to celebrate my freedom from that fucking voice in my head.

Christian listens again and with a satisfied nod of his head he walks out of the front door, leaving it to click shut behind him.

Inspired by one of the greatest works of fiction ever written in Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”, I, in conjunction with Full Metal Wrestling, proudly present:









From this day, natural philosophy - and particularly chemistry in the most comprehensive sense of the term - became nearly my sole occupation. I read with enthusiasm those works that are so full of genius and discrimination. I attended the lectures, and cultivated the acquaintance, of the men of science of the university. My application was at first fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded, and soon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.

As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress was rapid. Two years passed in this manner: I was engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I hoped to make. None but those who have experienced them can conceive of the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.

A mind of moderate capacity, which closely pursues one study, must infallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study. And I had improved so rapidly that at the end of two years, I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical instruments which procured me great esteem and admiration at the university. When I had arrived at this point, and had become as well acquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy, my residence in university became no longer conducive to my improvement. I thought of returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident happened that protracted my stay.

One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was the structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with life. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed? It was a bold question, and one which has always been considered a mystery. Yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming acquainted with, if not for cowardice or carelessness restraining our inquiries?

I revolved these circumstances in my mind, and determined thenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of natural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I had been animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this study would have been irksome, and almost intolerable. To examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death. I became acquainted with the science of anatomy: but this was not sufficient; I must also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body.

I do not ever remember to have trembled at a tale of superstition, or to have feared the apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy; and a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become food for the worm. Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of this decay, and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.

I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and analyzing all the minutia of causation, as exemplified in the change from life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me. It was a light so brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so many men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same science… that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a secret.

Although I am recording the visions of a madman, I can assure you what I write now is cold, hard fact. The sun does not more certainly shine in the heavens, than that which I now affirm is true. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the discovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life. And somehow I myself became capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.

The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery soon gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in painful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the most gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so great and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been progressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result.

What had been the study and desires of the wisest men since the creation of the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it all opened upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of a nature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them towards the object of my search, than to exhibit that object already accomplished. I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead, and found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering, and seemingly ineffectual light.

I see by your eagerness, and the wonder and hope which your eyes express, that you expect to be informed of the secret with which I am acquainted. But I will not tell you. Instead, I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was, to your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much saner that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it. Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame for the reception of it… with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles, and veins… still remained a work of inconceivable difficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization.

But my imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to doubt my ability to give life to an animal as complex as man. The materials at present within my command hardly appeared adequate to so arduous an undertaking. But I doubted not that I should ultimately succeed. Although my work will undoubtedly be imperfect, when I considered the improvement which every day takes place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present attempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor could I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any argument of its impracticability.

It was with these feelings that I began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts formed a great hinderance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first intention, to model the being after a former associate of mine within the ranks of the Original Sin: Matthew P. Dunn. After having formed this determination, and having spent some months in successfully collecting and arranging my materials, I began.

No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these reflections, I thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption. In effect, with this newfound power, I was becoming God himself.

These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking with unremitting passion. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my person had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very brink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the next day or the next hour might realize.

One secret which I alone possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding places. I collected bones from charnel houses; and disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame.

In a solitary chamber, I kept my workshop of filthy creation: my eye-balls were starting from their sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The dissecting room and the slaughterhouse furnished many of my materials; and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation, whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.

Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossom or the expanding leaves. The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near to a close; and now every day showed me more plainly how well I had succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other unwholesome trade, than an artist occupied by his favourite employment. Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone sustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and amusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself both of these when my creation should be complete.

It was on a dreary night that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion. His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

“It’s alive!”, I exclaimed in my wonder. “It… it’s ALIVE!”

The creature scarcely resembled that of whom I modeled him after, Matthew Dunn. Yet the similarities between the two were paper thin, as this creature took on an embodiment so horrifying and so demanding that I would be remiss to not provide it a name of its own. In my hurried thought, and because of his large and imposing tree-like figure, I breathed a name into my animated monster: Dunnwood.

I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an enthusiasm that far exceeded moderation. But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my cold heart.

Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain: I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams.

I thought I saw Celeste, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her; but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held a corpse in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.

I startled from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead. In the corner of my eye, I beheld the wretch -- the miserable monster whom I had created.

Celeste left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages of the house, and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to my creation. But I discovered no trace of him, and was beginning to conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the execution of his menaces, when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful scream. It came from the room into which Celeste had retired.

As I heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed into the room.

"That cannot be," I thought to myself. "The monster exists only for me to destroy it. It begs, nay, it howls for me to end it."

My revenge is my vice, however, I must confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable when I reflect that the monster, whom I have turned loose upon society, still exists. And it exists not to serve my every purpose, but instead, exists only to die.

I have but one resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy in my manner and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. This elevation of mind had much the appearance of madness.

And I pledged to channel this madness to assist the monster in his solitary wish.

And now, dear reader, you know the true story behind Dunnwood. And consequentially you know what I must do.

It is true that I am the one who took the once reasonable Jack Eastwood down this path of insanity, and infused him with the frightening essence of the tormented Matthew Dunn.

At Lethal Injection, my creation had failed me. It failed to capture the Abandoned Championship, and then even more importantly, it failed to aid me against the forces of its former comrades.

Why was this, Dunnwood?

Was this your fear of HavOc? Was it a reminder of the life you’ve left?

Or better yet, a reminder of what you’ve become?

This is why I have taken it upon myself to request this match with you. So that I can personally offer you such a reminder of these horrible things you’d like to forget.

In Greek mythology, Prometheus stole Zeus' fire from the sun. With this fire - often referred to as the fire of life - Prometheus was able to create and animate mankind from clay models.

I am the Modern Prometheus.

I have defied the Gods by creating life itself.

But unlike Prometheus I will not be punished for my deeds. There is no Zeus to chain me to the rock of Caucasus.

Instead, I will become the punisher.

For every constructive urge in my body, there is a destructive urge that is a thousand times more prevalent.

What I have created, I can also destroy.

Dunnwood, you have given me reason to destroy you. You have instigated my fury with your incompetence.

Tonight, I am going to split the proverbial atom... we will see two where there once was only one.

Dunnwood shall be no more.

There will only be Jack Eastwood…

…and Matthew P. Dunn.

“When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.”

Hello Celt
You don’t really know me yet, but you will soon, very soon. I’m just leaving you a little note to say this: I am an evitable force. Whatever you say, whatever you do, you’re not going to be able to change what I do. Don’t believe me? In the next couple of days I will murder a man, quite openly, in order to increase the interest in our match; you won’t stop me. His name in Ray Donovan, but you won’t find him in time. You can either accept this as fact or attempt to change it, but if you, you will fail. Either way, you’re going to learn that what I say is true. Celt; I am also going to defeat you at 11.1.
Deal with these facts as best you can.



Deep into the Night, when the moonlight is strong: Twenty seven hours gone, but no sleep.
The Celt tosses and turns violently in his bed, eyes heavy like lead. Before the morning comes will someone lay dead? Running though his mind are the words Savana had said. Wearily Celt lifts his head, rising like yeast in hopes of finding his release.

Bleary eyed, he sluggishly drags his right leg towards his freezer. Even in the dim light it’s clear that his knee has been bruised black and blue. Standing cold in his boxer shorts the Celt opens the freezer door and plunges his right hand into the heart of it. After a few painful moments it returns with an ice pack in tow, which Celt immediately presses to his knee, before sitting down and resting against the wall. He tries to stay awake but the urge to rest his eye, just for a moment, is overwhelming.

SMACK

Celt slaps himself across the face

“A man’s life is in danger for fuck’s sake: keep your fucking head in the game” thinks Celt to himself


Midday
-------
Surrounded by massively expensive equipment in FMW’s custom built studio truck, Celt gets ready to do his soundbyte for the next show.

Audio Guy: “Celt? Celt? Come on man are we going to cut this promo or what?”

It was happening more and more now. Celt just kept diving in and out of sleep, but only in short bursts. It was becoming embarrassing now.

Celt: “Oh shi-, sorry...Must have closed my eyes for a second. It’s this Savana thing...eating all my time.”

Audio Guy: “Yeah, no problem but we really got hurry this, it need to be in post production by the afternoon”



Midday
--------
Back again in the FMW production truck

Audio Guy: “Celt, can we get you a cup of coffee or something? Seriously try and keep it together, this has to get done”

Celt: “Yeah, again sorry...long day? Man I can’t even tell anymore. Hey, did any calls come in for me?”


Morning sun hurts my eyes, thirty five hours, still rolling
Operator: “Look sir, we can’t disclose the names of police officers to the public; the only way you may contact an officer is if they give you their number via their call card during an investigation”

Celt: “Look I just need to speak to the guy, is that so fucking crazy?”

Operator: “Don’t take that tone with me, Sir.”

Celt: “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to take this tone if you weren’t being a prick about this”

Operator: “I’m hanging up now sir”

Celt: “Listen you dumb bastard-”

Cue the “Beep Beep Beep” of the dial tone


Afternoon: Soon forty-four hours will have past.
------------
Celt stands arms folded in a plush and grand looking office. The tall walls are reinforced with towering bookshelves all full to the brim with thick and sturdy books. The thick carpet that covers the floor bears the seal of Washingston, D.C. and in the corner stand two proud poles bearing the flag of the District of Columbia and the American flag. Leaning on a solid oak desk in-front of Celt is none other than the mayor of DC himself, Adrian Fenty, who looks extremely unimpressed with the man who calls himself “The Law”.

Celt: Look, I haven’t slept in the last four days, want to know why? Because there’s a man life on the line and his death is completely preventable. Now, I have been calling your office non-stop; nothing. I’ve been calling up your Police Department no-stop; nothing. Every damn person I’ve talked keeps telling me the same thing over and over: “We can’t give out private details to members of the public, privacy has to be respected, you could be anyone”. Listen, that friggen attitude is going to get a man killed, KILLED! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?

Mayor Adrian Fenty: Look, do you think we’re idiots or something? You think we’re not aware of the situation? We know about this “Andy Savana” character, and we’ve contacted this Detective Donovan about all this, and he’s told us it’s a case he’s working on and he’s quite on top of things. Are you happy now?

Celt: I don’t think you realise what you’re dealing with if you’ve just one detective on this-
Mayor Fenty: “Two, actually. Not that I should be telling you, I mean seriously, who do you think you are? You’re standing in the office of the Mayor of the Capital of the United States of America, looking half dead, as a goddamn wrestler, telling me what to do?! Look, thanks for the heads up on this but the situation is completely under control. Now if you’ll excuse me you’ve cost me five minutes of my precious times which I really can’t spare.”

Fenty moves to walk past the Celt but Celt grabs his arm as he does so

Celt: “When this blows up in your fucking face and the murder of a cop in DC is splattered across the Media, don’t say you weren’t warned”

Fenty’s face tightens up, insulted by the Celt

Fenty: “Wow, I’m sure you'll be overjoyed that you got the last laugh”

Celt: “Not fucking likely”

Fenty removes his arm aggressively from Celt’s grasp as a security guard edges ever closer to Celt.


XXX:??? Uncountable hours have past, how much longer can I last?
------------------

Morrígan: “Don’t do this to yourself, not again.”
Celt: “You’re implying I’ve a choice in the matter. Sorry, but you know it’s not like that; this is an obligation.”
Morrígan: “I just don’t want to see you get eaten up by this...
A Grá, you haven’t slept in days, you need to stop for few hours.”
Celt: “The clock is ticking on this Morrígan, I’m afraid I can’t even waste a second on this.”
Morrígan: “You’re going to burn yourself out!”
Celt: “I gotta get back out there, I’ll see you later.”


Afternoon
---------------

HHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

“GET OFF THE ROAD DUMBASS!”

The pick-up truck misses Celt’s car by inches. Celt swerves violently to the side of the road before slamming on the breaks. His heart is positively booming now, pounding fiercely against his rib cage as his body unleashes a flood of sweat; he just could have been killed. This is getting scary now.
He should stop...but there’s something pricking under his skin telling him to keep going, that this going be important.


Night:
-------------

A frantic Celt is walking down the streets of Washington, D.C. Big; black bags have formed under his eyes, declaring his lack of sleep to the world. He puffs on a cigarette like a chimney while repeating scratching himself or running his hands through his hair. He walks erratically, swaying almost as he moves. The fresh air that is supposed to help him thing is doing nothing.
Suddenly two things catch his eye; across the street is a spiriting Andy Savana and a police officer trying to chase him down.

Without any hesitation Celt runs across the street, not even stopping to look both ways. He doesn’t have the time to look, already the two are becoming distant figures down the street.
Celt forces his weary body forwards hard, throwing one foot in front of the other at rapid pace. He can now barely make out Savana and the officer, both of whom seem to rush into a small club of some kind.
Celt presses forward, trying to avoid knocking people down as he powers forward.

POP POP

Celt: Shit!

The all too familiar sound of gunshots rips through the air, causes Celt to stop in his tracks just for a moment. Shaking the shock off, Celt rushes after the noise and burst through the heavy set door of the club.
Immediately Celt is greeted with the horrifying sight, the image of the Officer; his head split completely open from a point blank gunshot wound to the cranium. Instinctively Celt turns his eyes away from such a monstrous sight. Peeking back one time, the urge to vomit is overwhelming as Celt can see literally into the inside of the Officer’s head.
Taking a moment to absorb the scene, Celt, with one arm shielding his face, walks over to the body. Reaching into the Officer’s pocket, Celt draws out his wallet. Inside: An I.D. reading the name:
Ray Donovan

Celt: GODS DAMNIT!

Morning, A week without sleep
-----------

Celt storms up the steps and into the back of the FMW production truck/studio.

Audio Guy: “You’re back? We’re going to get anything out of you today?”

Celt: “Don’t worry; we’re getting this thing done now.”
Audio Guy: “Yeah, for real this time?”
Celt: “Yeah...it’s pretty real now guys. Hit it.”

The Audio guy holds up his right hand with five fingers extended and beginning counting do

VanGuard: Can’t say I’m expecting an answer, but I have to ask… at what point did you change your mind?

A fair question, one Faith could answer so easily if she had a voice to speak with. Instead, all she could do was place her attention on the hot chocolate VanGuard managed to buy for her with what little change inhabited his jacket pocket. It was midday, surprisingly dull outside the small café with the threat of rain coming in. The café was an establishment well set on the edge of a hospital, a place Faith came to with VanGuard who was due a check up on that leg of his. Hospital’s were always chaotic by nature, and so the café was well populated with visitors and workmen alike who were taking a break from the misery just beyond the doors of the café.

Faith was casually dressed as usual whilst outside of the FMW, most of her hair tied back in a pony tail with a messy fringe hanging over her eyes. A cap was over her head, it’s purpose to shield her identity from the populace surrounding her. Everyone knew who she was now with her in ring success, especially as she was the first successful female wrestler the federation had witnessed. Faith had no liking to the new found “love” that the people had discovered in her. Children would approach her along with men bearing fake smiles to hide a lust she could see in the eyes. Children always demanded her name on paper, men would see her undressed within their own eyes. Other women were the worse, they believed Faith to be on some form of crusade for their right to compete with against in sport, hounding her with fruitless worship.

Faith didn’t enter this business for them, nor did she care about them.

VanGuard: Figuratively speaking, you told me you were going down to the ring to end TyranT’s reign. For a moment, you almost did! You planted him with that deadly kick you carry, he was down and out. So what made you turn around and drop Ro as well? I thought you wanted him to win. Instead you got both your old man and someone who offered to help you lying flat on their backs… and then you move TyranT onto Ro. What were you thinking in the end? What changed?

Faith broke out of thought to look upon VanGuard. Seconds later and she broke eye contact. It was hard to express in a simple way when the answer was so complicated.

Faith: … A memory.

VanGuard: Was it something you saw in the old man?

VanGuard went on. He was getting good at reading her, that much was clear with how close he managed to get to the truth of it. He was learning how to talk with her much faster then Striker ever had, nearly as fast as her father when the two of them met for the first time. Faith nodded to VanGuard to confirm his query. Thinking more on the matter, it really is what she saw that made her turn upon Romeo when she initially had all intention of letting him end the reign of the TyranT. It was the look in her father’s eyes before she struck him down that changed everything, a look she had seen once before in times almost forgotten to her.

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

Strange how Faith remembered this now. It was a memory that came to mind the moment she confronted her father in the ring. It was years ago, when TyranT was many years younger, when he and Faith were only just a few years into being a family. Faith was but a little girl, wearing a white dress her father had bought for her along with her favourite sandals. Given she lived a life on the road, she was used to being on her own at times when her father had to sort out the business end of wrestling. He’d leave her in the truck whilst he got paid for his work, earning money so they could live and stay in motels whilst on the road. One day was a little different from others however when Faith decided to leave the truck.

It was such a warm and sunny day, the neighbourhood was pleasant to look upon and peaceful. Her father had come here to collect a debt that he was owed, and as usual, Faith was suppose to stay in the truck. A shop had caught her eyes however, a place that sold gifts and souvenirs. Faith thought it would be alright to leave the truck and go and check it out, bringing her small bag of coins with her, bearing her pocket money which she had been saving for a few weeks now. She crossed over the busy road, making certain to look both ways as her father always warned. Before long she was pushing the door open to the shop, letting a bell above ring loudly to signal the entrance of a customer.

Those inside paid little mind to the young girl who silently went through the shop, looking over items, trying to find something that her father might like. She wanted to buy him a gift since he had been looking after her so well, showing her what it was to have a family of her own, as few as they were together. Her father used to buy her pink things quite often when they first met, pink bears, pink shoes and a pink purse. She hated the colour pink, but always had a suspicion her father may have liked the colour, hence why he used to buy her such things. Her father also loved his truck. It was their home for the most part, and provided them shelter in the worse times. It was these two factors that brought her to two pink fluffy dice that rested in a basket, an ornament to dangle from the truck. At only $1, she couldn’t pass on it, Faith convinced herself that her father would love it.

After paying the old man at the till, Faith left the store, holding the dice in hand as she couldn’t help but smile. The young mute looked upon them, holding them up to get a good look upon the cheap pink dice as they dangled before her eyes. It was then she saw her father over the road, clad in all black with his beach blonde hair slicked back and sunglasses to boot. He didn’t look too pleased as Faith could feel the glare beyond his shades, his hands on his hips having returned from his brief business trip. Faith knew he was cross, she wasn’t suppose to leave the truck. She thought she could quickly salvage the situation as she held up the dice for her father to see, walking towards him with a smile on her face. It didn’t seem to please her father at all. His expression changed completely as Faith suddenly became scared, backing away as she watched her father come forward, charging towards her with a look in his eyes she was not familiar with as the glasses fell from his eyes.

It was then she heard the terrible shriek, so loud it was piercing to the ears as Faith turned sharply to its origins, barely managing a great silhouette fast approaching. Faith might have gasped if she had a voice, instead she could only close her eyes. She heard a great thud, before feeling her feet leave the ground. It felt as if her body moved in several directions at the same time. It happened so fast that it gave her an instant headache, one of the worse she ever felt before. She felt something scrape against her arm and her legs, causing her some pain as she winced. Before Faith knew it, she was rolling, blurring her vision as she dared to open her eyes. It happened all too fast for Faith to comprehend, but when it ended, she found herself staring upwards at the sky, watching as clouds drifted by.

The ground was surprisingly soft below her, as she lifted her head to see what had happened. Bloodied arms were wrapped around her protectively as Faith frowned in confusion. She twisted her body to see her father, his face showing sheer pain before he grimaced. He released Faith as he turned onto his side, his clothing torn up at the arms to reveal nasty gashes that oozed blood freely. Faith herself only had a few scrapes and cuts upon her as she looked at her father, and then at the car that hit him. The bonnet was smashed up, along with the front windscreen as a man climbed out in shock.

Driver: Aw shit man! She just stepped out in front of me! I’m so sorry!

Her father seemed to ignore him as he sat up for all the pain it brought him, holding Faith firmly by the shoulders as he checked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. Faith was dumbfounded, she didn’t know what to do. Her father must have been so mad, it was enough to form water at the base of her eyes. When her father was satisfied she was alright, he then looked Faith in the eyes.

Billy: What the hell did Ah’ tell ya’ ‘bout the roads?!

Faith looked away, ashamed of herself and her mistake. She should have listened she realized now, her dad wouldn’t have been hurt if she had just stayed in the truck. Faith wished she could say she was sorry, but she could manage no words when she tried to speak. She could only hold up the dice she managed to keep a hold of, showing it to her father. He glared at the dice with a frown, before turning to Faith.

Billy: That ‘spose to be for me?

Faith nodded solemnly, and to her surprise, after a long moment passed of familiar silence, she watched her father smile. Despite all the pain he was in from the accident, he managed a smile, as cynical as it may have appeared. Faith remembered that he simply hugged her afterwards, until the ambulance came.

It was so many years ago now. Her father wasn’t the same man now that he was back then, at least that is what Faith thought when she walked to the ring at Lethal Injection to put an end to his championship reign. But the look on TyranT’s face changed everything, the moment before Faith struck him down, Faith watched him smile. Though his face was now weathered with age and his beach blonde hair was now its natural dark brown, the smile was still the same, as back then the pain he was in was still the same. Within the TyranT was a man that was her father, despite all that the TyranT had done, she couldn’t bring herself to finish his reign off. It was still her dad after all. That smile alone cost Romeo everything…

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

VanGuard: Aw shit, see what happens when I start gabbin’ away with you? Look! I’m five minutes late for my appointment. You really need to learn to keep that trap of yours from flapping away, it distracts me.

VanGuard exclaimed after checking his watch. Faith had to look away from him, she didn’t want him to see that she was almost smiling. VanGuard managed to laugh a little, a laugh that was short lived when he managed to struggle up to his feet, favouring the leg that caused him constant discomfort.

VanGuard: I thought I saw a smile then. I won’t be too long. See if I can’t do anything about this damn brace. Get another hot choc or something if I’m gone longer then I should be.

Faith pulled a face of disgust, she wasn’t exactly enjoying the one she had now. Given it took every scrap of cents VanGuard had on him, she endured it so the former wrestler would not be disheartened. She watched as he hobbled away, brushing past others in the busy café to exit through a door which led into the hospital reception area.

It was strange to think that the man who hobbled away used to be a great fighter. Now he was just a shell of his former self, destroyed by his own career and by the very wrestlers Faith had to fight off. The man had become worthless to the eyes of many, but he was the only friend Faith had, and being a friend was at least one thing VanGuard seemed to be good at. The atmosphere seemed to shift the moment he was gone. The world became so different when she sat alone with only her thoughts and the noise of others to accompany her.

The grey clouds darkened more, casting a gloom in the café as Faith began to feel a few eyes looking upon her. The last thing she wanted was to be recognised in a place like this. She kept her head down, stirring at the vile drink with a plastic spoon that came with it, making no eye contact with others. Faith hoped that VanGuard wouldn’t be too long, she frequented hospitals far too often for her own liking, and already she began to miss his constant talking. It made her feel better when he talked. Though she couldn’t speak back, it always felt like the two of them were talking, it wasn‘t just a one sided conversation. She wondered how VanGuard managed to make it feel that way.

Whilst she sat, she heard a heavy set of footsteps approaching. Expensive sounding shoes clopping down against the tiled surface as they grew louder, near drowning out the racket of the café. Faith frowned when the atmosphere changed again, feeling a sudden silence grow from café itself as once loud voices turned into mere whispers. For a moment, Faith thought she had forgot to take her medication, and this was nothing more then a side effect of her mind turning against her… but it was much worse then that. She felt her hat leave her head, loosening her ponytail in the process as jet black hair fell about her shoulders. Faith looked up sharply as a man sat in front of her were VanGuard was once seated. Her cap was in a gloved hand before being placed in the middle of the table.

Faith tried to stare into the eyes of the large man before her, but she could see only the reflection of herself in the mirrored shades that coated his eyes.

TyranT: Ah’ thought Ah’d find yer’ here. Ah’ don’t know wut’ it is with you an’ hospitals.

TyranT was a different man from when last she saw. He was clad in an pricey grey suit rather then the rockband T’s and jeans he usually donned in his free time. A heavy looking, auburn coat finished the look, making him appear like some high priced PI. Faith had rarely seen her father ever wear anything of worth, yet he sat before her in tailored clothing, void of usual food stains or scruffs. His goatee was well trimmed, the rest of his jaw clean shaven. A man of power is what Faith lay her eyes upon, not the same man she kicked in the head on the night of Lethal Injection. Faith’s expression remained unchanged as she stared at him with malice, able to look upon her own jade eyes as sunglasses stared right back at her.

TyranT: You an’ Ah’ have been needin’ ta’ talk for a lil’ while now. Ah‘ was hopin‘ to save this for a better occasion, but now Ah‘m not certain such a thing will come to pass. After Lethal Injection, Ah’ have to say Faith. Yer’ might have just blown everythin’ Ah‘ve been workin‘ very hard to build for ya‘.

Faith: … You’ve built nothing for me since your return…. NOTHING!

Faith gritted her teeth, insulted by TyranT’s words, by his mere presence. All the hate that she had felt prior to attacking him at Lethal Injection was fast returning to her. She could hear mutters and whispers all around her as the attention of the café was now on the TyranT and his daughter. How could anyone mistake the pair? TyranT sat back, simply studying Faith for a moment. His hand reached down to the empty chair besides him, picking up a gold plated belt which he set down on the table in-between them. It gathered Faith’s attention as it was the only bright object within the darkened café. There was no mistaking what the belt was… the Heavyweight Championship.

TyranT: Do yer’ see this Faith? Do you know what this means to me?

Faith: … Means a lot more to you then I do.

TyranT: Ah’ won’t deny it. This title has always been a long time comin’ to me, but Ah’ and everyone else knows it was suppose to be you who fought for it at Deathrow. Ah’m man enough to confess that. But the difference between you an’ Ah’ when it came to the title run? You weren’t ready for it Faith. It was too early for yer’ to be the World Champ.

Faith: … I’m sure you tell yourself that every night.

Faith stood up, she was in no mood for this. What she wanted to do right now was send another roundhouse kick to her father to put him down again. Had she not taken her medication an hour ago, she would have been in the right state of mind to do so. She was ready to leave, but TyranT was quick to stand tall, letting his hands curl into fists which slammed down hard against the table, making such an impact that it startled even Faith.

TyranT: SIT DOWN! Ah’ am far from done talkin’! Ya’ may be some top shit fighter in the FMW, but out here, outta’ the ring, Ah’m still yer’ damn father! You do wut’ Ah’ say!

Faith clenched her own hands into tight fists, she didn’t have to listen to him. She could walk out of here right now if she wanted. She wondered if TyranT would try and stop her, or if the cracks would show and Billy McKenzie would simply let her pass. It was always hard to judge the TyranT. When in front of a crowd, be it big or small, his shield always stayed strong. Reluctantly, Faith thought against taking action, and slowly sat herself down, glaring at the man before her who also seated himself again, sliding a hand over the gold plating of his belt.

TyranT: Ah’m very serious when Ah’ say that yer’ weren’t ready for it Faith. Yer’ can believe me or not when Ah’ say it, but it was yer’ well-being that was mostly on mah’ mind when Ah’ took yer’ place at Deathrow. Key word in there happens to be “mostly”, as winnin’ the title sure as hell was one crazy bonus to kick.

Faith folded her arms, her glare unchanging as she listened to what she considered nothing more then total bullshit.

TyranT: Ah’ can’t hide what Ah’ am no more Faith. Everyone knows Ah’ ain’t the dumb hick Ah’ make mah’self appear to be. Everyone is aware that Ah’m a smart man when it comes to business, but they didn’t know just how smart Ah’ was when Ah’ started playin’ a few major players without their knowin’. Ah’ had a plan, one Ah’ was orchestratin’ pretty damn well. It was a plan that was suppose to all come together at Lethal Injection… one that would have potentially put you in a safe place in the federation, with one fuckin’ bright future ahead of yer’.

Faith: … I’ve heard this song before. It is just as flawed and full of lies then the last time I listened to it.

TyranT: Since Deathrow, Ah’ve been tryna’ pair you up with Romeo. Ah’ knew after the Style tournament that it wouldn’t be long before he was getting’ ‘nother shot at the world title. Ah’ put mah’ focus, not on him, but on you, an’ Ah’ made certain that Romeo would be watchin’ whilst Ah’ made yer’ life in FMW a livin’ hell. Mah’ actions at Supremacy and every show prior, it was all to make the people feel sympathy for yer’, make other wrestlers want to support you, mostly those in the rise to power such as Romeo himself.

Faith frowned, she had no liking to where this subject was going. For all the years she had known her father, for all the years she had watched TyranT, it was too difficult to see if he was lying or not. The sunglasses he always wore hid Billy McKenzie, allowing for him to portray himself as the TyranT.

TyranT: Ro took the bait all too willingly. He felt sorry for ya‘, and saw the two of yer’ had a common enemy in me! He wanted to form a partnership with yer’ after the farce of Supremacy, a partnership that would have benefited yer’ both so well.

Faith: … This isn’t what you intended at all. You’re lying!

Faith shook her head in disbelief.

TyranT: Yer’ beginning to see where this is goin’ aint ya? Mah’ plan was a simple one, in its foundations at least. Ah’ was setting yer’ up with powerful allies. After all that Ah’ done an’ all that had happened, Romeo wanted to help you, he looked to bring you up to the top with him as he made his claim for the FMW. With an ally like that, yer’ would have been set. Lethal Injection was ‘spose to be Romeo’s victory, via interference of Faith. Ro was ‘spose to walk out there with the championship along with the company in his hands, an’ he wud’ve had you to thank for it Faith. Yer’ would have been the hero. Ah’ don’t deny that Ro wud’ve made good on his promise to offer you a shot at the World Championship, an’ if yer’ won, no doubt the two of you would have still been partners. Where Ro was goin’… an’ with all the people he knows an’ all those that trust him, it would have been the best place for you to begin yer’ own legacy.

Faith was beginning to feel sick. She was starting to believe the words he was saying. TyranT wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t making fun of her like he would so many of his enemies. He planned his own fall…

Faith: … Why?!

TyranT: Ah’ can see it on yer’ face… Why wud’ Ah’ do such a thing yer’ ask? Why would I pass on the very thing Ah’ve spent a lifetime tryna’ gain. Ah’m fuckin’ too old to be doin’ this shit now Faith. Ah’ got the title, what more can the TyranT do now? Ah’ was content to happily bow out and leave yer’ enough here at the FMW to get by without me. The people were behind yer, the wrestlers were behind ya’. Everythin’ fell into place so well Ah’ damn well found it hard to stop mah’self from smilin’ when yer’ came down as planned to put an end to me. To continue the legacy an’ finally put me behind yer’.

That smile, the smile that stopped her. Faith broke eye contact with TyranT, placing a hand on her forehead as she shook her head. She was hoping this was all just a lie, but the mention of the smile shattered every theory and nearly all her suspicions.

Faith: … You…. You betrayed me! You took everything away from me! That’s how it happened!

Despite her thoughts however, doubt was now dominant within her head.

TyranT: Mah’ shock when Ah’ awoken… still the heavy weight champion of Full Metal Wrestlin’. Yer’ did the one thing Ah’ didn’t anticipate, yer’ let me win… in spite of everythin’ Ah’ did to ya’. It’s fucked up mah’ perfect plan. The man who was suppose to be yer’ most powerful ally now wants yer’ head on a stick. Only yesterday did Ah’ encounter Romeo, the boy actually came to me, lookin’ for you. Your actions also mean that no wrestlers trust ya’ no more. Yer’ a wild card, no one knows what Faith is gonna’ do next! An’ worse of all, yer’ old man is still the champ, meanin’ mah’ career is now far from over.

Faith: … Your lying…

TyranT: There is nothin’ Ah’ can tell yer’ to make this better. Ah’m sorry Faith, at the end of the day, it’s me that let yer’ down. It was all goin’ so well. Ah’ didn’t know you could still love me as your father, even when Ah’ turned against ya’ as the TyranT. Ah’ tried to set yer’ up for everthin, and now ya’ got nothing.

It was Faith’s turn as she slammed her hand down against the table, before backhanding her drink away to let is splash all over the ground. She held her head with both hands, how could she have been so stupid. Her father had been in her corner the whole time, it had just been too hard to see. Faith was beginning to regret not letting Romeo finish TyranT when she had the chance. TyranT was right, now no one would go near her, she would be an enemy to all. Striker had long abandoned her, Romeo wanted her to pay for her actions and no one else would trust her.

TyranT: It’s gonna’ be hard from here on out Faith. For what it’s worth though, TyranT still has your back. Ah’ can’t help ya’ overtly, but Ah’m gonna’ do all Ah’ can to steer the trouble back mah’ way. Ah’m gonna’ have to ask that yer’ just sit tight an’ keep a low profile. Ah’ got a gut feelin’ that something big will be happenin’ soon, an’ Ah’ don’t want yer’ to get involved in it. Last time Ah’ had this feelin’ Ah’ ended up bein’ pitted against RoadPigg, an’ we both know how that ended don’t we?

Faith: … You can’t just pretend that everything is alright again. Whether it was for me or not, you still did those things. You still turned against me just like everyone else. I’ll forgive, but in no way will I forget this.

Faith’s dark glare returned, expressing not even half the malice she felt. Even when her father was trying to help her, it just made everything worse. TyranT collected the belt from the table, sliding it into a briefcase he had brought with him, only adding to the unusual sharp look he bared. Faith still had an ounce of uncertainty about his presence and even his words, as convincing as they may have been.

TyranT: Ah’m not askin’ yer’ to forgive me Faith. Ah’ did wrong, Ah’ know that. But what’s done is done, an’ it ain’t no good broodin’ over it. The results of Lethal Injection mean Ah’m gonna have to stick it out for longer. Ah’ll try and hold onto this belt for as long as Ah’ can. With any luck, next time an opportunity comes up, yer’ll be ready this time… maybe ya’ can prove to me that you don’t need the help at all, that ya’ can go at it alone in this federation… just like ya’ old man. Wish me luck against Caesar…

Faith: … Just go away.

Faith couldn’t even look at the man, she felt conflicted, unsure whether to hate him or not for all he had done. TyranT was manipulative, but Faith wondered if her father would go as far as to just mess with her mind. It was of considerable relief when TyranT made his leave, a completely different man from the father Faith used to trust, a man that drove his truck. Faith could only stare as TyranT made his way through the café, passing VanGuard who didn’t even recognize TyranT with his new attire, as he hobbled towards the table, a new hot chocolate within his hand. The first thing he noticed was the previous drink that had been tossed away, whilst cleaners reluctantly removed the mess she made on the floor.

VanGuard: Heh, good job I got you a new one hey? I managed to find a bit more cash in my back pocket. Looks like I might have to endure this stupid ass brace for a few weeks more. Chloe isn’t going to be best pleased, but what can you do?

VanGuard spoke with a smile, a smile that once again dropped as he looked upon Faith who held her head in her hands as she leaned against her elbows on the table. VanGuard slid down to his seat, leaning close as he placed his hand on Faith’s shoulder. Normally she would just shrug away, but right now it wasn’t within her.

VanGuard: What happened? What’s wrong?

Faith sat up, keeping her head down as she shook her head.

Faith: … What’s ever right in this life?…

I have to ask myself every day, and I have to ask it now. I’m sitting on this cold, damp floor looking at him, and I have to wonder, just how mentally damaged is he? I’m mentally and physically exhausted, so sitting here, and watching this genius, or psychopath, at work is the best option right now. PX is digging through assortments of junk that’s filled inside this large collection of filing cabinets here. The collection is almost impressive. He failed to mention what it was he was looking for, or if he had any notion to its whereabouts. For those reasons, coupled with tiredness, I don’t help. He’s the type of person best left to his own devices anyway. God, even when looking for something, there’s a demented look in his eyes as rummages through all these cabinets. He does so at remarkable pace. Each cabinet flies open, his hand delves in and searches, and soon after, the cabinet slams shut again. He has been doing this for a while, but I still get a little jump every time he shuts those cabinets. He sound echoes and is magnified by the large, empty building.

PX is hyperactive. Every action, every cabinet he searched chipped away at his patience. Each cabinet is getting slammed back shut louder with each failure to locate his... something. I’m hoping he finds it just satisfy my curiosity.

“Where oh where did I put you?”

PX’s mutterings were not directed toward me, they never are. He doesn’t speak to me often. I feel like a drone under him; when he speaks to me, it’s usually a command, not conversation. When he saved me, he had plenty to say, but not now. Now I am a tool. Yet, it doesn’t bother me. Before now, I was nothing. At least I am something now, I serve a purpose. He asked me to fire a gun at an officer, and I obliged, with only his word to take that they weren’t real bullets. I had nothing to lose, so I did as asked. I am in his debt after all. I wouldn’t be here without him. I’m not some sort of slave though; I do as he asks because I want to. He saved me, so it’s the least I can do. I may be a drone, but a happy one at that.

“What are you looking for?”

“You’ll see”

It was the answer I expected, but it didn’t hurt to ask. He’s a man that keeps to himself. I feel very much out of the loop of his plans, but that is how it’s always been, and how I expect it to remain.

“What are going to do next?”

“You’ll see when I find it. We’re moving forward.”

He answers only in riddles, it seems, but I can take his word for it. When the plan is on the table, I’ll be clued in. I pull myself to my feet, and dust myself down. The floor’s colour is a distant memory here, the floor is so dusty, and that’s how it’s going to remain. I wander over to the window to soak in some sunlight. It can’t be healthy to sit permanently in the darkness. I look out, and there is little to see. We are in an abandoned building, surrounded by more abandoned buildings. It’s the crap end of town. The people on these streets aren’t people to be crossed. They are outcasts of society. They live here because they aren’t wanted anywhere else, just like me. I’m used to looking out and seeing people just sitting around with nothing to do all day but sit on corners to deal somethings to strangers, and drink mystery substances from brown paper bags. It’s the life they’ve lead themselves into.

I’m kneeling at the window, arms resting on the windowsill, head resting on arms. In the corner of my eye I spot something most peculiar; a uniform. An officer of the law is rarely seen down here. He is getting damning looks from the residents, me included. I see him talking to somebody leaning against a building. As they talk, a car pulls up on the curb right next to them. The man suddenly tries to run, but his arm is caught by the officer, and he is thrown against the car, cuffed, and thrown into the back of the car. Nobody reacts or moves. They must have known him, and expected this. The law grabbed its man once again.

“Why are doing this?”

“It’s fun. Why else?”

“But why the lawmen? What made you do all this in the first place?”

PX slams shut another cabinet, and looks at me. I stare back at him, straight into his crazed eyes. I’ve struck a chord of some sort, I can feel it.

“The law fucked me over, Eric. That’s why. It really, really fucked me over.”

“How?”

I’ve got him talking. Maybe now I might get to understand him.

“My brother is a man of the law. He is a man who stands for law and order, and I stood by him. I followed him, believing in what he believed. We fought against monsters together. But we were getting nowhere. My brother became obsessed, and it was too much.”

“What happened?”

“I was beaten badly. My brother’s only concern was fighting these demons, and it consumed him. It still does. I fear he’s going crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“Yes. He stands rigidly by these beliefs instilled within him, refusing to budge from them. It has been most unhealthy. His obsessions are too much. He doesn’t understand when he’s wrong. He’s like a zealot of sorts. The only truth he has is his own words. Everything he does, everything he stands for, it’s all so crazy.”

“That’s why we play with the law?”

“Yes, I fight the law because that is what The Celt stands for. It is the thing that has corrupted his mind. If I can dismantle it, perhaps he will become a sane man again. I’m doing this for him, you could say.”

Wow. I would never have guessed the motive of PX. It all makes sense now. He’s doing this for his brother. I’m glad I am helping him now. I can help two brothers reunite once again. PX catches the little smile on my face.

“Of course, I want to enjoy doing this at the same time, so luckily; the lawmen are playing along in my game. They’ve been good sports so far. I could continue if I could just find what I’m looking for...”

PX turns around and pulls open another cabinet and his face lights up like that of a child’s on Christmas day. His hand dives in and pulls out a revolver of some sort.

“There you are!”

PX twirls the gun around his finger. His other hand delves into his pocket, and pulls out a bullet. He loads it into a chamber, and spins it.

“This is one of my favourite toys. It’s going to help us decide the next stage of our game.”

PX points his weapon at the far wall where I had been lying. I didn’t even notice before, there are pictures hanging on the wall. There are six pictures of the six people looking for us. They are lined up in a vertical line.

“You may have noticed there are six chambers on my weapon here, just as there are six pictures on my wall. We are going to decide now, is whose game is over.”

He takes aim at the first picture, of Major Allen, the lead man after us. He squeezes the trigger. I brace myself for the explosion, but none comes, just a click.

“Allen lives to fight another day. How about you, Ms. Ray?”

His arm lowers to aim at the second picture, of the detective Christina Ray. We are greeted with another click.

“Lucky you. What about utility man Davis?”

With a steady hand he attempts to fire at the 3rd picture of Matt Davis, and gets only another click.

“How about that. Three to go. Matsu, you’re up.”

He switches aim to the man I shot on top the building, Takashi Matsu. However, he is not shot here, the hammer merely clicks again.

“And then there were two, the patrolmen. Nathaniel first.”

With careful aim, he points at the fifth picture of Nathaniel Woods. He pulls the trigger, and the bullet explodes out of the chamber, splitting the picture.

“Oh Goody! We have a winner.”

“What are we going to do then?

“Why, kill him of course.”

I get a chill straight through me. We are going to kill somebody. I can’t say I’m overly surprised; this was inevitable. But no matter how inevitable it may have been, it still sends a chill. I give him a nod; I’m with him.

“So, what’s the plan then?”


I have to wonder all the time, even now as I drive to his house. I know Marcus doesn’t really care; he’s only concerned about bringing these two down. He’s the type of guy that asks questions later. I’m the one that’s been more concerned with motives, that asks the questions. Still, he’s a good guy, a good friend, and a good officer. I guess we make a good team with our contrasts. Still, I wish he’d realise we aren’t dealing with two average crooks. They’re both smart guys, and they’re both crazy...

“Nath”

“Huh?”

“You missed the turn.”

“Oh... Shit, sorry.”

I slam down hard on the brakes, and reverse. I’ve been thinking about this kid so much I wasn’t even thinking about the road. I just can’t understand why this kid teamed up with this psycho. He must be crazy as well. I hope we can get some answers at the house. Hopefully it will explain something. He didn’t seem like an ordinary kid the last time we were there. The kid had had depression, but his father didn’t mention him being bipolar or anything like that. It doesn’t click.

We pull up in front of the house, but neither of us gets out of the car immediately. I’m not looking forward to this, and neither is Marcus. We have to break the news that their son is a criminal now, and that he isn’t coming home. Marcus looks at me. He expects me to get out of the car first, and to do the talking. He always does. I let out a sigh, and open the car door. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to.

I knock on the door without much conviction. Marcus walks up next to me. He doesn’t look forward to these things anyway, so he’s especially dreading this. Mr. Harris opens the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harris, I am officer Nathanial Woods, this is officer Marcus Jacobs-”

“Yes, I remember.”

“We’re here about your son. May we come in?”

“Oh... Yes, yes, of course.”

Mr. Harris steps aside, and signals us to come inside. I walk in first, Marcus follows. I remember the living room, and where it is, and I make myself comfortable on the couch. Marcus sits next to me, and Mr. Harris sits opposite us.

“Now, what I can do for you?”

I hesitate slightly; I look at Marcus, in the offset chance he might do the talking, but I wasn’t going to be so lucky.

“Well, the thing is, your son Eric... We discovered he is now a conspirator with a criminal we’ve been tracking down.”

“He’s... What?”

“He’s helping a criminal we’re after. He opened fire on one of our officers when we found him, then escaped.”

For that moment, he is speechless. He sits back in his chair. He doesn’t quite know what to say. We sit in the silence for a minute.

“Oh god... My son... Why would he do this? He was a good kid...”

Mr. Harris conceals his face in his hands. I can tell he’s very confused.

“We’re trying to understand your son, and why this may have happened. Can I ask you some questions about Eric?”

“... If it helps find him, okay.”

“When we were here before you said he had a temper. Was he ever in fights at school or otherwise?”

“A couple times, yes.”

“Was he very aggressive?”

“You could say that.”

“In general, do you think he was happy with his daily life?”

“No, not really. He wanted to change schools before he left...”

Eric really didn’t like his life. It makes sense that he would want to escape it all, but to join with our target? It’s crazy to think...

“Eric’s emotions ran very high at times, it sounds.”

“Yes, it wasn’t easy to deal with at times...”

He just doesn’t strike me as someone homicidal, even with all the crap he went through...

“What do you think Marcus? He sounds like a kid that went through a lot, and I could see him wanting to get away from it all, but this?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous. But maybe he just wanted a fresh start.”

“With a criminal?”

“It might seem farfetched, but think about it. If I were him, I’d just to start all over again, any way I could. Maybe this is his escape.”

“This is my fault. I should have looked after him better... I just want him found...”

“Marcus, if your right, maybe we can talk sense into him if we find him”

“How is the question...”


I have to ask myself every time I play these games. Every time I tangle with these men of the law, I put my life at risk. Every plan I partake in must be carefully thought out to work just so. So far, every plan has worked out just so. Am I crazy for doing this? I cannot say. What I can say though, is I’m having a blast doing it. The joy of it all is most definitely worth it. It’s thrilling, watching things you had just imagined come to life, seeing things unfold just as you planned. I can only hope for the same once again.

I am always just a little nervy about plans like these, when I am not entirely in control. Delegating work to Eric is certainly necessary, but I’m more confident in myself than him. Still, he seems a loyal servant, and he has my trust.

Direct confrontation is always somewhat risky business, and that age old game of kidnap was never the easiest task. I suppose this isn’t the easiest game I’ve tackled. There’s more chance in this one than usual. The playing field is more even than usual; I tend to have it fair myself. We’re standing outside Eric’s former home, next to the car of the two officers. It’s time for step 1.

“Eric, please.”

Eric gives me a nod and turns to the car. He drives his elbow into the window, and it smashes, setting off the alarm. He reaches his arm in, and beeps the horn. I hope I’m not standing too far away. Now, let’s see who’s going to come out first...

“The fuck?”

Marcus. Perfect. He spots Eric. Eric gazes back at him.

“Eric? Wait right there!”

Marcus pulls out his weapon from his back pocket, and aims it at Eric. Marcus is walking forward and slumps forward at the step in front of the door. In this brief moment, Eric runs.

“Hey, hold up!”

I had a feeling they wouldn’t open fire on Eric. I was right. Marcus gives chase to Eric. He’s running out of my sight. Nathanial comes out of the house, and he is watching Marcus. They are both already a good distance away. Chasing by foot now would most likely be futile. Now is my time to move. I move as silently as I can up behind Nathanial, but not too close.

“Nathanialll...”

He spins around, and I greet him by digging a stinging right hook straight into his diaphragm. He doubles over in pain. I cover his mouth with a cloth doused in chloroform; it saves me beating the consciousness out of him. That completes step 2.



When I awake, I have no idea where I am. I look around, and see I’m in a dark and dusty room. The blinds are all shut. I’m sitting in a chair. What happened? Something hit me, and then I wound up here. Ugh, I’m dizzy. I feel weak. I could even drift back to sleep at this rate. I can’t will my body to even look behind myself at the moment.

“Oh good, you’re finally awake!”

Just as the thought enters my head, a shout comes from behind me. I do a sort of roll in my chair to look behind me, and spot two men; two criminals.

“You!”

“Yes, it is I. I’m sure you have many questions. Well firstly, we’re here to play the final stage of my little game. It’s quite simple, you wouldn’t even have to get of your chair.”

I look down at my body. I’m really slouched into this chair. I realise now that I’m not even bound to the chair, my arms and legs are free to move as they please. What is the meaning of this? Does he want me to resist? I’m edgy now. I feel it may be safer standing up, and with a surge of energy, I do so. I’m feeling a little more energetic now. It’s like a wave through me, replenishing my lost strength. I feel like I’ve awoken from a great long sleep. I have to stretch and feel out my body. I temporarily forget my surroundings and situation, and have a good stretch.

“I’m glad you had a good rest, Nathanial.”

“What do you want.”

“I want to finish the game. Here, this is for you.”

He takes a step forward, and I take one back, and assume a defensive stance. He understands my tensions, but continues moving forward.

“Don’t worry at all, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clenched in his hand is a weapon. I immediately grab for my own, but alas, it is gone. I soon notice he’s the one holding it, the handle facing me. I grab my jacket, and realise my radio is also gone. I am alone. Yet he’s handing me back my weapon. Why? It has to be some sort of ploy. He’s altered it somehow. Perhaps it’ll explode when I pull the trigger, or that he’s taken all the bullets, or something...

He stands in front of me, arm outstretched, expecting me to take back my own weapon, and I’m hesitant. No good can come from this.

“Don’t be shy now...”

I snap my pistol out of his hand. He gives me a little smile. This is very unsettling. I’m sure he’s very pleased with himself. He reaches forth, and goes to grab my arm, I swing back, and deny him, and raise my gun at him.

“Watch yourself! Don’t lay a hand on me!”

“I was only going to do what you’re doing anyway. Please go ahead, shoot me now.”

There’s no way I can pull this trigger with conviction. He handed this weapon to me, it can’t possibly be safe to use. Still, do I want him to know my mindset?

“Don’t tempt me!”

“Allow me to make it easier for you.”

He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a weapon of his own; a revolver. He points it at me.

“There, now it’s self defence. Blow my head off. If you don’t, then it’ll be yours to go.”

Damn, he’s forcing me to do it! But I know it’s just what he wants, just to get his laughs in on me. I don’t know what to do. I’m cornered. There must be a way out of this...”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I enjoy it, and because the law fucked with me first, so now I’m giving it what it deserves; a bullet to the head! But I’m offering you the chance to stop me in my tracks right now, so why don’t you take it?”

“I’m not going to kill you! I have to arrest you!”

“Give it up, nobody’s getting arrested here, just a bullet between the noggin. Give your bullshit law ideals for once and put me, this sick criminal, away for good. If I should be punished, so do it””

Fucking hell! If I make a move other than pulling the trigger, he’ll blast me. If I do pull the trigger, I wouldn’t be surprised if a giant anvil came down on top of me, or something bizarre. I have so little choice but to keep talking so I can figure something to do.

“What did the law do to you?”

“What did it do? I’ll tell you exactly what it did; it stole, and corrupted, and damaged the mind of my brother, and it has consumed him like a lethal virus, and split us apart! It has taken my family from me! The only thing left for me to do is remove the law, one brick at a time. It’s my only concern, and this is your only chance to prevent it!”

“I can’t!”

I throw me gun to the ground. This is too much! But as the gun clatters with the floor, it lets off a shot, and buries a bullet in the wall. A bullet. An actual bullet. I can’t believe it. I could have had him there and then for real. He tricked me! Damn! Now what...

“Oh Nathanial”

I look back at him, standing with a look of disappointment.

“You just lost this game.”

BANG

Nathanial hits the floor with a thud. The blood seeps from his onto the wooden ground beneath.

“If you thought that game was hard, wait and see what’s in store for you...”

Let the games begin.

Circle IX, Chord I

After such a complex event like the one the Philadelphia crowd have just witnessed, it’s understandable that a massive clean-up operation gets underway. Litter must be picked up, fans must be kept separate from superstars and the arena must be prepared to house its next event. One could draw the conclusion that the setting of the stage is almost as important as the acts that the stage produces. And, of course, there are the other ramifications of being part of the backstage crew as well. Those who are lucky enough to have VIP guest access themselves get a mere taste of what it’s like to be part and parcel of a Full Metal show. It is the staff who get the real perks.

TyranT’s used water bottle? $20 on eBay.

Drew Michaels’ autograph? $50.

Jaro’s towel? $100.

Yes, there is a lot of money to be made from the scraps that the predators leave behind. And although the life of a carrion feeder isn’t always an honourable or dignified one, it’s a way of keeping your head above water, making sure that the predators are, at least, aware of your presence and your potential, knowing that one day you could be strong enough to swallow them whole.

You just have to make sure you aren’t consumed by the predators first.

Kevin Alsace, a janitor, pushes his laden cart down a dusty corridor, the whitewashed bricks peeling from years of celebrities and superstars brushing their shoulders against the paint, leaving their legacy not only in memories, but also in the building itself. He turns a corner and parks his cart as he sighs softly to himself, in the knowledge that life could easily be better than this. He’s seen so-called “talent” come and go in the past eight years he’s worked here and he knows he could be more captivating than half the famous-for-being-famous people that step onto the stage nightly. Instead he has to make whatever he can, rummaging through bins for Lindsay Lohan’s used tissues to flog online. And he is sick of it.

So when Kevin heard what he heard through that small crack in the door to a certain superstar’s locker room, he thought his life would change for good. Finally, he thought, no more trudging through crap day in and day out just to put food on the table. I can use this. I know I can. And with a notepad, a pen and intentions to blackmail, this is what the late Kevin Alsace heard:

“Unlucky out there, bro. You just got taken a bad way.”

“Tell me about it.”

Kevin cannot believe his ears. Is that really former Abandoned Champion Skyler Striker, associating with the man who supposedly raped his daughter, Dunnwood?

“If only I’d really broken Frost’s neck when I had the chance, huh?”

“Then you’d still be champ and I wouldn’t have to put up with this HavOc revival nonsense.”

“Ow, jeez! Watch the teeth.”

“Shorry, shir.”

If Kevin’s heart races any faster he’ll have a heart attack. Leon Caprice is giving Skyler head!

“Are you not going to share the pet, Mr Striker?”

“Give me a minute. I’ve not come yet.”

“Shit!”

The sound is momentary, but it is enough. Kevin backs away from the door, glancing around for his cart to pretend he hasn’t heard anything.

“What was that?”

“I’ll go check.”

Kevin grabs his cart and wheels it away, not caring now if he is heard. A soft thudding is the last thing he hears as the impact of a chain-wrapped shovel makes contact with his head and he slumps, into the bin of his cart, dead.

“I really don’t like being disturbed when I’m practising my voices...”

Circle IX, Chord II

“It’s a proverbial clubhouse, so to speak.”

Quint and Hannibal conversed, their words flowing quickly, like something that flows very quick. Like... mercury. Yeah, mercury. Let’s go with that.

“Oh! Clean up crews and renovators will be here within the next few hours. I’ve laid out some plans for you, they’re on the desk in your office, check it out and make some corrections. Upstairs is all yours.”

Circle IX, Chord III

In the basement of the Church, a small trickle of blood runs to the floor, eschewing from the mouth of Ten-Chan. As it falls it is mingled with the ever-flowing tears that drip from her eyes, borne from the pain of the sharp manacles that bite into her wrists. Yet despite the tears, she is not helpless. For Ten-Chan is a twisted copy of the child prodigy, Jade Striker. And though impregnated – some might call it infected – with Matt Dunn’s child, she still has her intelligence. So when Dunn creaks open the cellar door and makes his way down towards her, the only weapon she has in her arsenal is the power of thought.

“Hello there, mother of my unborn child.”

“...”

“Not even a hi in response? God, the youth of today. So disrespectful.”

“...”

“You’re going to have to open your mouth sometime. I have food for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Really? You’re pregnant, you need food.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Fine, starve then. See if I care.”

He stormed out, slamming the wood and eclipsing her slender, naked frame once more.

Circle IX, Chord IV

As Jaro Jr. gurgles and kicks about in a way some would consider “cute”, Celeste smiles. She has an engagement ring on her finger, a beautiful baby son and Jaro for once seems to truly appreciate her. Now all she has to do is to bring in a little surprise of her own to ensure that the carrion feeder that clings to her fiancé never can mature into a predator. She picks her cell phone off of the table next to her and is about to make a call to a certain someone when she hears a loud thumping coming from downstairs. Her brow wrinkling in concern, she walks down the stairs to check it.

A large figure stands outside of the door, the knuckles of its fist continually tapping on the blurred glass. She approaches the door and opens it, hesitantly. As she expects, in front of her is the goliath frame of Dunnwood, who smiles as warmly as he can. As carefully as she can, she pushes her cell into the pockets of her sweatpants and tries to smile back, though the nerves show through.

“Dunnwood, I presume,” she says in greeting, coolly.

“Miss Rousseau. A pleasure, as always. Are you going to invite me in?” he replies.

“I’m afraid my fiancé is currently out, and I’m rather busy with my son at the minute,” she says, aware of his particular habits. “So if you wouldn’t mind...”

She makes to close the door, but a large, dirty hand stops it. “Miss Rousseau. Please. I am not here to see Mr Roy; rather I am here to see you. I have heard about your little idea to try and break the bond of trust Mr Roy and I have cultivated. May I ask why?”

“Does it need explaining? Though I don’t much care for the situation, you are still Jaro’s student. You should have been there to assist him after his match. And, I don’t mind telling you, he was none too happy about it himself. You should consider yourself lucky he hasn’t wanted to give you a harsher punishment than simply beating you.”

“And are you not concerned about your fiancé’s safety? I cannot be held accountable for how I perform once I am in the ring, Miss Rousseau.”

“Perhaps not. But then I severely doubt you’d be foolish enough to injure your mentor, when he’s the only stroke you have at the moment after losing in the Chamber.”

“That is regrettably correct.”

“Will that be all, Dunnwood?”

“Actually I was hoping we could discuss your wedding plans.”

“And what concern of those are yours?”

“They would be my concerns in my capacity as the minister marrying you.”

“What gives you the impression that you’ll be conducting the ceremony?”

“Perchance it is because should you and Mr Roy tie the knot in an official church service, your fiancé’s full criminal history will come to light and you shall be left a single mother with a husband imprisoned for life.”

“...you have a point. But what qualifications do you have?”

“I am the First Minister of the Church of Dunnwood, affectionately known as the Second Asylum.”

“And what are your practices?”

“That Dunn is the Second Cumming.”

“Funny you should say that.”

“Meaning?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll find out soon enough. But for now, would you care to come in?”

“That would be splendid, thank you.”

Circle IX, Chord V

A soft tapping arises from the door to Dr Quint’s study.

“Yes?”

“Housekeeping?”

“...Dunn?”

“Housekeeping?”

“Dunn, come in.”

“Housekeeping?”

“I come in now?”

“Don’t pre-empt me, you asshole.”

“Then don’t waste my time. Are you coming in or not?”

The door opens and closes in the briefest of moments it takes Dunnwood to slip inside. As he walks to sit down, uninvited, his stance changes noticeably.

“Since when did you have a limp?”

“I din. Mind if I spark up?”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?”

“No’ really.”

He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and flashes a Zippo in front of his face, lighting the rod with a flourish. Taking a drag, he watches a cloud of blue smoke unfurl in front of him.

“So what do you want? I’m assuming you used the guise of the contractors I hired to get in?”

“Aye. An’ I wan’ infermaichen.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

“Swapsies.”

“Alright then Jacky boy, but I’m going first. Why were we stabbed in the back?”

“’Cause I got told to by Jaro. Din ask me fer de’ails, i’ were ‘is idea. And I wanna ken ‘ow ye bea’ Jaro.”

“...remember he’s human. I know it sounds odd, but he is a man and he can be defeated. After all, I did it.”

Circle IX, Chord V

Broken Man/Someone Who Cares

To start our tale I need to take you back to where it all started for me or I suppose you can say all ended for me depending on your point of view. After all the effort I had put into it, was it any surprise that losing the FMW title at Ignition nine point one is what set this all off?

“THERESA!” A visibly irate Alexander O’Rion screams as he walks towards his locker room after what was in his mind an abortion of a match against Hostyle. A match where the FMW Title he had fought tooth and nail for was taken from him a mere night after he had earned it from that paper champion Bryson.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” he continues to yell as he kicks open the door to the room. Standing inside is the vixen who has more than anyone else played with O’Rions life since entering to FMW. His Theresa, the girl he had fallen in love with when he wasn’t yet sixteen. The same woman who had sold him out to Black, to his brother Adrian, and apparently had done so yet again. She just sits in her chair and smiles coyly at the visibly quivering with anger man.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT THERESA!” Alex shouts as he storms over to stand over her, bending over so look her face to face.

“I was wondering the same thing actually, last I checked you were supposed to win that match.” She says bored, as though she was simply passing along the weather.

“Last I checked you and your fucking organization were supposed to be helping me.”

“Is that what you were under the impression we were supposed to be doing?”

“It’s what I was told” Alex says, his anger quickly changing to suspicion. Not a hard transition for an O’Rion.

“Poor sweet little naive Alexander, even after all these years your still so trusting. You spend all this time telling people how you’ve changed, how hard you’ve become. But the fact is your still the scared little boy you were when you got on the plane to come here. Still looking for something to hold onto. It was so damned easy to make you do what I wanted. I never promised to help you keep your belt Alex, I was under the impression you could keep yourself dressed. We were just going to help you accomplish your goals while you were champion, you aren’t anymore so we have no reason to help you.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just lowers his eyes as his hands slowly rip the arm rest of the chair apart under the intense pressure he is putting on it. He breathes deeply once, twice.

Then throws the chair as hard as he can into the wall of the room nearby. It leaves a visible dent as it smashes into pieces against the hard plywood. But that doesn’t matter for Alex, he sees Theresa standing a few feet away suddenly, able to move from the chair effortlessly, not a hair out of place as she stares at Alex. Her face set into a mask of hatred, anger, and joy all wrapped in one as she stares at her former lover who has yet to move from smashing the chair.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” He finally mumbles under his breathe.

“What was that sweetie, I couldn’t hear you.”

“I. Will. Fucking. KILL. YOU!” He roars as he leaps at her once again, his fist hitting nothing but air as she somehow avoided the trained fighter, coming to rest right next to the wall he had thrown the chair into. Not pausing to take a breath Alex jumps at her, this time his fist leaving another little impact, and a bit of blood as he pulls away.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE” he screams, swinging wildly “I TRUSTED YOU!” yet every time he would just about hit her she would seem to be one step ahead of him. Moving like the wind around his body, never letting him quite touch her. Alex continues to rant at her, oblivious to the destruction he is raining down on his locker room. Nor the attention he is beginning to get from outside his busted door.

Two FMW security members rush in and try to subdue O’Rion but the man is too fueled by anger to do anything but catch one with a knife chop to the throat before catching the wrist of the other one and snapping it in half. Then he’s off again after Theresa.

More and more members of FMW’s crew comes in and Alex just pushes through them until the floor of his dressing room is covered with the slumped unconscious bodies of FMW security before a new breed of people start coming in to stop him.

First Drew Michaels, the savior of FMW and antithesis to all things O’Rion, comes charging through the door and bodily throws Alex to the ground. He quickly grabs hold of the rabid O’Rions arms as a few other wrestlers, Skyler Striker and Chris Austin among them come in and hold O’Rion to the ground. The pinned man writhes and curses, trying to rip free of the iron grip of his fellow FMW Superstars, trying to get at the woman standing above them all, cruel smile alight on her face as she beams down at him.

“I’ll KILL YOU, YOU BITCH! JUST WAIT, I WILL FUCKING GET YOU!” he all but spits at her, spittle flying from his mouth like the rabid dog he had become. As the men in the white jackets came to take him away he continues to fight and claw and curse, only vaguely aware at the corner of his mind something Chris Austin had yelled at him a few times.

“Alex! There’s no one there!”


“Why are you here Mr. O’Rion?”

“Because I went bat-shit crazy, tried to kill my imaginary friend, and then drank the kool-aid.”

“No Mr. O’Rion, you are here because people are worried about you.”
“That’s a lark Doc, I was wondering what I would do for laughs around here.”

“No Mr. O’Rion it’s the truth, you just need to open your eyes to it.”

“How is it the truth, I’ve been “future endeavored” from the only job I’ve ever really known. My brothers are gone off somewhere to circle jerk THEIR little delusional fantasies, and the love of my life turned her back on me for a THIRD fucking time. Oh and to top it all off, I’m spending my lovely retirement at the loony bin. So please excuse me if I don’t see the BIG LINE OF FUCKING FUZZY HAPPY PEOPLE YOU DO!”

“There is no reason to raise your voice Mr. O’Rion. We’re all friends here. Now why don’t we go over this again, why do you feel the need to think no one cares about you Mr. O’Rion?”

“Because they don’t”

“Now, now no need to be sullen, why don’t they?”

“Because no one does. And why would they, I kept letting them down.”

“Very good Mr. O’Rion, please continue. First I let down that fucking BITCH Theresa.”

“Let’s save her for later Alex, but why do you think you’ve let everyone down?”

“Because I couldn’t save them, couldn’t save any of them. Why the fuck did I even bother? Adrian didn’t want my help, Andrew didn’t want my help, I couldn’t hold up my end of the bargain for my friends against Original Sin, I turned my back on my fans. But fuckem’ right, all I need is me and my happy family of crazy people and I’ll fit in just fine, right doc.”

“I don’t think so Mr. O’Rion, you aren’t as crazy as you sound.”

“I’m not am I?”

“No, Mr. O’Rion you’re scared.”

“Is this going to be about me wanting my Mom Dr. Phil, cause I am totally not down for that.”

“Stop trying to evade it Alex, you’re scared and you know it.”

“After the things I’ve done nothing scares me Doc, you don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Fine then do me one simple favor Alex, tell me who you trust.”

“Myself.”

“Who else?”

“……….”

“Even if you don’t want to admit it right now Alex, that’s okay, but the first step is I need you to open your eyes to the truth. You are sacred Mr. O’Rion of trusting anyone or anything. It’s what caused your onset of paranoia. You have become so mentally used to people betraying you that you have lost all ability to connect to another human being, because you are scared it will happen again.”

“It’s not true, FMW…”

“FMW is just the same as a person. You felt betrayed by the company you had for so long worked for and trusted. You felt betrayed by the fans and compounded with your paranoid tendencies you felt like the company itself was at fault for all the betrayals that had happened to you before. Because none of them had occurred before you came there. So you set out to gain revenge on the company the only way you knew how, violently. All you need to see Mr. O’Rion is that there are people that care for you, and you’ll see outside the little box of a world you’ve created in your own head. Then you can begin to heal.”

“…….”

“Mr. O’Rion.”

“……”

“Alex.”

“I’m still here bye.”

“Alright, we’re almost done for today. But remember how I said you need to see there are people who care about you? I have one here today if you’re up for meeting with them.”

“Why not. Doubt I’ll get much rest anytime soon anyway.”

“Alright, Jeanne, could you send him in please. Alex, this may come as a shock to you, but you need to please remain calm.”

“Why wouldn’t I remain calm, you said this bugger cares about me right? Why would that piss me o…………YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Hello bro.”


“Hello Bro” he says as he stands calmly in the doorway, two almost identical sets of eyes meet as the intruders face sets into a familiar lopsided grin. Meanwhile strapped tightly to his chair by a straight jacket Alex O’Rion strains as hard as he can to get free. His eyes filled with red as the middle aged doctor watches impassively from the other side of his desk. The small office is filled with an almost palpable tension as the insane man stares down the new arrival, who simply returns his stare with good natured mirth.

“You” Alex all but hisses as he leans back against his chair, realizing further struggling was futile.

“Yeah, me.” The Adrian O’Rion says as he finally takes a step into the room and comes to stand next to his older brother. “How you been bye?” he says clapping a hand down hard on the elder O’Rions shoulder. Not noticing as his brother tries to twist away as though he had been stung by a bee.

“What the FUCK are you doing here.” Alex says as he cranes his neck to look back at Adrian. Before Adrian can reply however the doctor, a portly man whose fading and thinning hair and growing belly give testament to the difficulty and stress of his job, clears his throat.

“I can take that Mr. O’R….well for the sake of convenience we’ll use first names Alex. You see Adrian has been a patient of mine for the last eight months or so, my star patient you might even say. When Adrian came to me he his bi-polar had morphed into an addiction to causing bodily harm. Your brother was as much a threat to himself as he was to everyone around him.”

“But then Dr. Smith” Adrian says pointing at the doctor “helped me out. Helped me see that my anger was really more just jealousy at always being left behind. I was always the black sheep of our family bye, always the little brother not the twin, and that gave me a lot of resentment to build up over the years. Dr. Smith showed me the way bye, he can do the same for you. You just need to let him.”

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Alex says as he hangs his head, confused.

“Course not, that’s life bye.” Adrian says with a smile “But that’s what you got family for, because the docs right bye, I care. And I know more than a few others back home that do too.”

“If you cared so fucking much, why didn’t you warn me.” Alex hisses, not raising his head to look at Adrian.

“Warned you? Warned you about what?” Adrian says, genuinely confused.

“Theresa! About what she had become, what she would do to me! If you really fucking cared you wouldn’t have let me be put through that fucking hell.” Alex says, not noticing as Adrians face falls, dark shadows covering his eyes.

“Alex, bye, there’s something I need to show you.”


“Seriously, what the fuck are we doing in a cemetery” Alex asks as he hikes his jacket up over his shoulders tighter, trying to avoid the drizzling rain. Having been released into his brothers care the two were on their way back from Fredericton where Alex had been sent for help, to the old “family” home in Halifax. But as the two had driven towards the blinking lights of the city Adrian had sent the car down a side road to a ocean side cemetery. Now the two walk through the light spring rain, the older following the younger as he weaves his way through the city of the dead.

“Something you need to see bye.” Adrian says quietly, acting very withdrawn as he had since they arrived. His eyes constantly searching each stone as he passes.

“What the hell could I need to see in the middle of a fucking cemetery.”

“The truth” Adrian says as he comes to a stop in front of a well taken care of tombstone, fresh roses that couldn’t be more than a day old sitting in front of the granite slab. But it isn’t the roses or the angels that catch Alex’s eye. No, he falls to his knees, ignoring the puddle he lands in to get a closer.


And underneath it, carved out very carefully but obviously done by someone after the stone was put up.


“What….how?” Is all Alex manages to say as his one hand reaches out to touch the slab of stone, as if to prove to himself it’s all an illusion. Adrian’s next words cause Alex’s head to whip around.

“I killed her.” He says, his voice awash with guilt and pain for the mere moment it takes Alex to stand and tackle him to the ground. The larger O’Rion wraps his calloused hands around the neck of his younger brother, fully prepared to remove another member of his family from this Earth. Adrian doesn’t fight back , he just looks up at Alex with calm acceptance as the older O’Rion tries to choke the life from his chest. Alex pushes, and pushes trying to make his brother feel the same pain he does. His insides a whirlwind of pain, hatred, anger, everything he’s kept bottled inside to fuel him since the day he turned his back on his old life.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH” he screams as he chokes his little brother mercilessly “I THOUGHT YOU LOVED HER!”

“I did bye.” Adrian chokes out “Didn’t you love dad?”

With those words all the fight goes out of Alex, he stops squeezing and slides off to the side. All the anger and rage he had felt moments before fall neatly into the hole the loss of his father, by his own hand, had left in his heart. Adrian coughs for a few moments before trying to speak again, rubbing his bruised windpipe and turning to look at his almost catatonic older sibling.

“Don’t Alex, don’t you fucking try and walk away from me now.” Adrian says, smacking his brothers face once to no reaction.

“I loved her, and I killed her, it’s something I need to live with every day. Back then, I was so angry, so very fucking angry bye. But she stayed with me, sick as we both were I loved her bye, just like you did, and I killed her because I was too angry to know what I had. So every day I come out here to remind myself, remind myself what I can do if I ever let down my guard for a second. Remember I’m always going to be a threat to the people I love, but I use her memory to force myself to never act. I never want to be responsible for killing another thing I love.”

“But, none of this makes any sense. She’s been with me for the last few months, helping me, giving me instruction.” Alex says, his mind ready to overload with the information it had been forced fed since leaving FMW.

“No she wasn’t bye.” Adrian said sadly “That was all in your head. She’s been dead for more than two years now.”

“But she told me to do what I did to Patrick, told me how to get the insurance money, told me I needed it.”

“No she didn’t bye. You did.”

“But then….everything I did, it was for nothing. I killed our father for nothing, sacrificed everything for nothing. Nothing at fucking all.”

“Aye bye, you did it because you were sick, just like I was and Andrew is. But just like me, you needed to see how sick you really were, that’s the second step bye.”

Alex doesn’t hear him though, every action he had done in the last few years rushes through his head to haunt him, just as they will every night in his dreams for the rest of his life. He watches the life slip from his fathers eyes again, the sound of his signature baseball bat as it caves in heads and ends lives.

Alex O’Rion, former pride of Nova Scotia, former Full Metal Wrestling Champion, former Hayabusa Cup Champion falls to his knees in front of the tombstone of his deceased former love and cries like the broken man he is as his brother watches on, understanding.

Because broken things can be fixed.


Time passes as it is want to do. And slowly I began to reconnect to the people I had known before my life in FMW began. Peddlers Pub was where I grew up, no matter what home was, was anyone really shocked when I clung to it like a lifeline and rebuilt the bar I had burnt down.

“Alex, shoot me anotha beer will ya bye?”

“Ah shut the hell up Angus you lazy lout.” I say with a laugh as I slide a cool refreshing Alexander Keiths down the bar into the waiting hands of my old childhood friend Angus. Taking a moment I look around the pub, my pub now I guess, and see more than a few people I had known since childhood, either friends or patrons, wave or smile when they see me.

Definitely an enjoyable change from when I was sitting in a puddle before my ex-loves grave crying like a little school girl. For the first time in years I’m confident in where I stand. Sure it’s tough, I still only sleep about two hours every night before I wake up screaming, but I’ve got my life back together at least a bit and as the ole doc keeps telling me, it’s a start.

Yeah, I have my pub, my brother, my friends, life is as good as it can be for this ex mental patient.

Except, one little thing keeps nagging at me.

That little television I put in next to the bar because I was sick of trying to hear the large one I installed next to the pool tables. That little television that for some reason every few nights ends up showing the high flying world of Full Metal Wrestling because someone keeps changing the channel to it every fucking time.

Odd how I never notice the controller in my hand.

It’s like a small little voice beckoning to me to come back into it’s warm embrace. But I can’t, I know I can’t, the doctor told me there was still one more step to my recovery to go through before I can be allowed to even think of going back to my wrestling ways.

Even if I could, would I even want to?

I mean I’ve got my life on the mend, do I really need to go out in front of the crowd and put my body on the line simply to hear them scream my name?

Yes, unequivocally yes, but it’s not my time to go back, I’m not ready.

Then I see the newly dubbed “Rapist” Chris Austin come onto my screen. A bye who is so like me in so many ways, and walking the same damned path I’m trying to come back from.

Funny thing I learned about my paranoia, I was right about one thing. The world isn’t always fair, and sometimes you can’t wait till you’re ready.


I’m going to look back on the day I came back to FMW when I’m older, and it’ll either be the day I finished my recovery, or the day I lost it once more. But for the first time I came back for the right reasons, and I can only hope that makes all the difference. Too many sins on my hands left unwashed for me to stay away.

“So you actually showed up” Chris Austin says as he pushes his back away from the wall he had been resting on. The hustle and bustle of backstage Full Metal Wrestling rushes around him at a whirlwind pace. Alex O’Rion doesn’t respond right away, taking a moment just to look around and breathe in the sight. He was a wrestler again, and despite all the misgivings he has about returning that alone makes it all worth while.

“Yeah bye, I told you I was sick of letting people down didn’t I?” Alex says, hiking his gym bag up a little higher. Chris turns and heads down the hallway as Alex falls into step besides, his head swinging like a pendulum as he tries to see who he remembers and what new faces are walking the hallway.

“You never did answer me Alexander, why did you agree to this match. You could have done a lot of things for your return, why team up with me ‘older brother’?” The rapist asks, his voice stuck in the casual indifference that had become part of his trademark since the birth of his “son”.

“Because”

“I’m not going to play some stupid game with you O’Rion, either answer or leave, I don’t have time to waste before the match.”

“Because it was the last step.” Alex says cryptically as he walks away from his new tag team partner to find his locker room, waving a hand over his shoulder in a casual goodbye. Austin just watches him go, his quick mind already starting to deconstruct what Alex meant before turning his attention back to the match at hand and everything he needed to do in order to prepare.


Y Halo Thar Full Metal Wrestling.

Long time no see, I see you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.

Now I’m sure you’re all as tired of hearing about my recovery as I am of telling you, so I’m going to cut this short and sweet, and explain myself as plainly as I can so that maybe there will be no more miscommunications as to why the hell I came back. When as it’s plain to see this could do me much more harm than good. I’ve willingly walked myself back into the lions den that made me what I am before. Not the brightest move on my part, but then again I’ve never been exactly accused of an abundance of intelligence.

But it all comes back to the same reason I wanted to burn FMW down in the first place.

I was scared, hell I still am, fucking terrified almost all the time because unlike most people the world is hard for me to swallow. So many bad things happening to good people for absolutely no fucking reason, hell it might be enough to drive a man mad.

A little too late on that one I guess.

That’s just it, I was scared, and Full Metal Wreslting scared me more than anything else. I know what this place can do to decent people, and I don’t want to go through that again.

But you know what scares me more.

Myself, what I’ve done, and that it’ll happen again.

That’s why I had to come back to Full Metal Wrestling in the end.

Because the first step was realizing people do care about me.

The second was realizing what I did to people I loved.

The third is finding something to believe in.

FMW is still broken, make no mistake. A fine example of that is my tag team partner tonight, and for as long as he’s willing, Chris Austin. Chris was a good person, like I was, hell maybe even a hero to some. But this place warped him, took his personal life and screwed it all to hell, took his values and raped them to the point where now he thinks that same rape is allowed.

Chris is becoming what I was. He is exactly the thing I am terrified of.

He’s also my third step, because I need to believe in something, so I choose to believe that not everyone needs to go down that same path I did. I chose to believe it’s not too late for me to help him, stop him from turning into a person who will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

And I need to believe FMW can be fixed too. If I can be saved, anything can. There is no reason to burn this place down, it just needs the same thing Austin needs.

Someone who cares to do what they can for it.

And that’s me.

I’m home.

Ammunition vs. Distortion Draft Selection Match:
The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters) vs. Christian Moore and Cole Dragos
Waiting for all involved to promo or at least Cole Dragos.

Ammunition vs. Corruption Draft Selection Match:
Abel Steele vs. Calvin X. Carter

Ammunition vs. Corruption Draft Selection Match:
Special Referee: Nick Bryson
Alex O’Rion and Chris Austin vs. The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Mark Johansson)
Right now, Alex and Austin have put together two excellent promos. Unless Seth and Mark both show up with their A-games, I'm giving this one to them

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship:
Drew Michaels vs. Gabriel Crow vs. Kaoru


Corruption vs. Ammunition Draft Selection Match:
The Celt vs. Andy Savana
Gonna reserve judgement until Celt posts his full promo

Corruption vs. Distortion Draft Selection Match:
Apathy vs. Axel Van Osbourne (w/ Trey Spruance)
No-show vote at this point. Might change if Apathy posts

Corruption vs. Distortion Draft Selection Match:
Alistair Wolfe vs. "The Undefeated" David GS

Television Championship/Corruption vs. Distortion Draft Selection Match:
PX vs. Syanide
Great promo by PX. Might change if Syanide hits one out of the park.

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship:
Harley Quint vs. Romeo
Like I said in my feedback, Romeo's promo was kinda meh compared to Harley's. Gotta go with the devious clown on this one.

Distortion vs. Ammunition Draft Selection Match:
MASS Caesar (w/ Flavius Mercury) vs. TyranT
No show again but TyranT did write a good promo.

Distortion vs. Ammunition vs. Corruption Draft Selection Match:
MC Steel vs. Didier Diamant vs. Jason Krow
MC Steel didn't impress me. Neither does no-showing your first FMW match. Jason Krow gets the vote for putting in a decent promo.

Distortion vs. Corruption Draft Selection Match:
Dunnwood vs. Jaro
I have to say I enjoyed Dunnwood's promo more than Jaro. When choosing between two heels, who gets the vote is always difficult.

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship House of HavOc Match:
Hannibal Frost vs. Leon Caprice
From a storyline standpoint, I think it works best that Leon not get the title. The feud between Skylar and Leon is starting to heat up. Having said that, Hannibal wrote an exceptional promo that I feel Leon would be hard-pressed to top, especially with a one or two day penalty. My vote goes to the new Abandoned Champion.

Darkness. That’s most of what you see outside of the dim lamp lighting coming from the office in the southeastern corner of The School of Hard Knocks. Inside the office the two friends Mark and Seth sit in silence, the only sound coming between them being a loud squeak coming from the office chair of Omega. Neither men is showing much emotion, but both men were on the same page, they always were.

Mark: She’s still on your mind isn’t she?

Of course she’s on my mind, she’s always on my mind, and I was in love with her.

Omega: Of course not, the only thing on my mind right now is kicking some ass.

Mark: I’m not an idiot Seth, I know when you’re not ticking right, and it’s understandable to be hurt and upset.

Hurt and upset? I come home to find out someone had the plug pulled on her. How the fuck would you feel?

Omega: Yeah, well some of us don’t take out our frustrations by destroying a new boyfriend’s car Mark.

Mark: Cold, just cold.

Omega: I try, I really try.

Mark: So what do you have on our opponents for this week?

Omega: Well it was pretty easy to tap into our opponents this go round,
Alex O’Rion isn’t exactly what you’d call the model citizen.

Mark: Well yeah, isn’t he notorious for being disloyal, dishonorable, and untrustable?

Omega: Exactly, he’s the epitome of what The Broken Saints don’t want in Full Metal Wrestling. I figure it’s only a matter of time before Austin and Alex turn on one another.

Mark: Why would they do that? They are “byes” aren’t they? Something of a family if you will.

Omega: Yes they are, but what does it mean to be family with Alex O’Rion?

Mark: Well I’m not exactly sure, I mean I know him and his brothers didn’t get along very well.

Omega: Bingo. He turned on his brothers, the stabbed them in the back pretty much. Less than a show ago he took out his half brother in order to save Calvin X. Carter, who is just as bad as PX and Eric Ares. So what’s the point on wiping out your own blood to save someone you have zero connection with?

Mark: I’m not positive there is a good reason to do it.

Omega: Of course not, his motive was pointless besides to promote himself, something he has become rather good at.

Mark: Well yeah, but Alex O’Rion and Chris Austin aren’t really related are they? It’s more like a friendship.

Omega: So glad you mentioned his friendships. Remember RAMPAGE?

Mark: How could I forget him? Angry black guy who likes to verbally own people.

Omega: Sure enough, anyways Alex O’Rion turned on him. A man who was suppose to be his best friend.

Mark: Alright so he turned once in how many years?

Omega: Wrong Mr. Johannson, he also turned on The Resistance in favor of Original Sin. In other words he tried to kill the company a long time ago by fucking over the top guys who wanted to save it.

Mark: Okay, so he backstabbed his brothers, he turned on PAGE, he turned on Drew and the resistance, anything else?

Omega: He was also in court for the murder of his father, something he wasn’t ever convicted for.

Mark: So if he wasn’t convicted can we really fault him?

Omega: Can we? Of course we can. It’s one thing to kill someone, trust me it happens, but when you do it without just cause and you do it to your own family for your own benefit? C’mon now Mark, do you really think Alex didn’t do it?

Mark: I’m not a judge, but if I were a judge I’d find him guilty.

Omega: For that very reason alone you need to stay on your toes, it’s been proven Alex can’t be trusted, even when he claims to be the good guy.

Mark: That’s just one of our opponents, what about Chris Austin?

Omega: There isn’t too much to say that hasn’t been said about that boy.

Mark: Well we know he has an obsession for picking on those weaker than he is.

Omega: It looks like he’s barking up the wrong fucking tree then.

Mark: You think so?

Omega: These “byes” don’t know what they’ve gotten their selves into.

Mark: Exactly. Well I guess I’m going to call it a night, we have a busy busy couple of days coming up.

Omega rotates in his chair before grabbing a remote and pushing the power button on the television.
Before Mark can get up out of his chair the newscaster begins talking causing both men to freeze right where they sat.

Newscaster: Our top story for the night is a double homicide, while the police aren’t saying much the general consensus is that recently paroled mass murder Charlie Green is behind this. Charles currently stands at 6’7 and weighs in at around 375 pounds. He currently has no hair and blue eyes, he also has a noticeable scar over his right eye. It is important to note that the victims in this case were two people who testified against Green during his trial almost 18 years ago. We are encouraging all Tallahassee residents to stay inside until this man is caught, even if he turns out to be innocent. Now onto Vance Ike Louis for our sports report, take it away VIL!

VIL: Well the Cavs were shit on last night…

Before anything else is said Omega shuts off the television. He looks at Mark who appears to be on the same page as Seth.

Mark: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Omega: Aren’t I always?

Mark: Must you always answer a question of mine with a question of your own?

Omega: Of course not, it’s just fun to watch you get worked up over not finding an answer to something. Kind of like those nerds in high school who were good at math.

Mark: You’re a total cock I hope you know that.

Omega: So I’ve heard, but if you went through what I went through lately you’d be a total cock too.

Mark: Are you forgetting the epic breakup I had with Natalie?

Omega: Yeah, well Annalisa is dead. Gone. Someone in the family had her
plug pulled, but we have no idea who exactly it was because I didn’t know she had immediate family in the area.

Mark: Well you missed out on saving one life Seth, are you going to set around and let several others be hurt? Or are you going to stand up and fight against shit like this?

What in the blue hell is he talking about?

Mark: Don’t give me that look Seth, you know damn well Annalisa’s car wreck wasn’t a fucking mistake. How do you know exactly that her plug being pulled wasn’t a mistake either?

I don’t…I’ll never know how she died, and it kills me inside.

Mark: Exactly what I thought. Now there is a mass murderer on the loose and you have a chance to be a hero. Now are you going to sit there and bitch about the past or are you going to get up and do something about the future?

Omega: You don’t even have to ask, let’s get it done.

Mark: Awesome, I’ve got a costume for such an event!

Mark jumps up and grabs his gym bag before running off to the bathroom in the wrestling school.

Omega: Costume? The fuck?

Seth stands up out of his chair and opens up the bottom drawer on his desk. From it he pulls a bottle of whiskey, a black t-shirt, and a black ski mask.

I will for sure need the whiskey.

Omega takes off his white muscle shirt and slides on the black t-shirt. He then takes off the top to his whiskey bottle and takes a swig before sitting in back down. He turns behind him and smiles as he sees an old friend.

It’s time to come out and play sweetheart.

Seth picks up the black leather strap, on the end of the strap is a holster which would normally hold a sword. In this case it held an old oak axe handle. Omega quickly strapped it around himself and grabbed his ski mask. About that time Mark came out of the bathroom dressed in all black outfit and a small black mask over his eyes, he looked almost like Comedian off of The Watchmen. As Mark walked into the room his faced bared a look of disappointment.

Mark: What the fuck kind of superhero outfit is that?

Omega: Superhero? I’m Seth god damn Omega not some panty wearing superhero.

Mark: You’re such a buzz kill sometimes, fucking cock.

Omega: That’s why you love me, now let’s go we’ve got a long night.

Mark: Long night? How hard can it be to find a 6’7, 375 pound black man?

Omega: You’re in Florida…



Charlie sits alone in a dark motel room. The television is off, and the only sound the can be heard is the sound of mini fridge in the room running. The big man sits in silence looking down at something in his hands. It appears to be a small picture frame, the picture cannot be seen from the amount of darkness but a small tear can be seen falling onto the frame.

Revenge. Finally I got it. So many years I have sat in prison. You took my wife from me. You took my daughter away from me. I’ll never forget it, and your death is just the beginning.

Green finally stands up and crushes a picture frame inside his massive hands, it drops to the ground and the big man stands up and walks towards the door of the motel.

Green: My daughter, I will find you and I will make up for lost time.

Charlie opens the door and walks out slamming it shut. As he begins to leave we get one last look at the picture on the ground. It’s none other than Annalisa Moretti.



Mark: Would you slow the fuck down!

The black Dodge Charger goes roaring down the normally busy Tallahassee road, it appears to be going extremely fast, somewhere around 30 miles over the speed limit. Finally we see a stop sign as Omega eases the car to a stop.

Mark: For fucks sake, you’ll kill us before we even get there!

Omega: Shut the hell up, you don’t even know where we’re going.

Mark: I know you’ve damn near killed me twelve times now, and we’ve been partners less than two months!

Omega: Alright, next time you get the fucking car and you can drive until then shut up.

Without another word Seth slams on the gas and leaves skid marks behind where he was just stopped. As he continues to speed up Mark tries to relax in his passenger seat.

Mark: Where the hell are we anyways?

Omega: Tallahassee, Florida.

Mark: Thanks smartass, now do you mind telling me where in relation we are to this city you call home?

Omega: Only if you’ll admit you just sounded like a Macintosh Computer with what you just said.

Mark: Whatever.

Omega: We are currently right near the Seminole Motel on the old highway.

Mark: And how are we going to find this guy?

Omega: It’s 3 in the fucking morning, how many 6’7 black men will you see running around at this hour?

Mark quits talking until they get up to a stop light, once there he notices someone walking down the sidewalk right outside the Tallahassee Police Department.

Mark: Wait a minute, isn’t that our guy?

Omega looks down the road and quickly notices the man as he was described by the news.

Omega: What in the fuck is he doing? He’s heading directly for the Tallahassee Police Department!

Mark: He’s either dumb or crazy, let’s go check it out.

Seth waits for the light to turn green before turning down the road, he parks outside of the Tallahassee Democrat Newspaper office and the two get out of the car as quietly as possible. They quickly hide behind a news delivery van and begin peeking past the edge of the van to watch what the big man does.

Omega: This would be a lot easier if you weren’t dressed in your Halloween costume.

Mark: Shhh, shut the fuck up we have to be quiet. Also put on your damn mask before you get us busted.

Seth sighs and pulls out the black ski mask from his back pocket and pulls it over his face. Over the blackness a white skull Is outlined. He continues looking over the edge of the van at the 6’7 man.

Mark: He’s heading directly for that police car….but why?

Omega: We’re about to find out.

Charlie walks directly up to the police car where a policeman sits asleep at the wheel, but parked. Green cracked his knuckles and without hesitation punched the side window as hard as he could, breaking the glass. The bloody hand reached into the car and grabbed the smaller male cop by the tie on his uniform and jerked him directly out through the window. The cop looks up at Charlie who tosses the young man like a rag doll, effectively throwing him through the advertisement of a bus stop.

Mark: Okay, this has got to end now.

Omega: Lead the way captain.

Mark: Gladly…

Mark jumps out from behind the newspaper van and yells at Green.

Mark: Stop…freeze right there!

Charlie looks up at Mark, and shrugs him off and keeps walking towards the front door of the police department.

Mark: Fine…do it your way!

Johansson takes off in full sprint towards the much larger man before pulling back his right hand and nailing him directly in the chin. Mark looks down at his hand which bares the signs of bruising already.

Mark: Ow…fucking shit.

Omega: Look out Marky!

Before Mark knows what is coming he hits the ground as Seth comes running up with axe handle in hand he pulls back his axe handle and smacks Green right in the chest. Charlie hardly flinched as he looked at the two men. He shook his head before sending a powerful backhand that knocked Omega on his ass.

Charlie: I’m going to make you two wish you’d of minded your own god damn business.

Charlie picks up Mark who looks down into the eyes of a big man, by now several officers run outside to try and stop the madness that is ensuing.

Officer: Freeze Charlie, we have you surrounded!

Green smiles before chucking Mark at the police officers, effectively taking out all four that were outside.

Green: You took something from me you sons of bitches. You took my life away from me.

What in the fuck is he talking about?

Officer: All I did was protect my family…my wife and my little girl. Then you sons of bitches came and got me for killing the man who murdered my wife. You and the people who testified must die tonight.

One officer stands up and shoots a powerful stun gun into the chest of Green. While temporarily stopping him he quickly pulled it out and threw it to the ground. He walked over to the officer and quickly tossed him through the glass window of the police station. As the big man stalked the rest of the fallen officers and Mark, Seth finally stood up and cried out at the big man.

Omega: You aren’t the only one who lost something Charlie...

Charlie turns and looks sternly at the older black man, for once in a very few times Omega wasn’t the biggest dog in the fight.

Green: I lost my wife. She ran off with some guy named Antonio Moretti…she remarried and fucking forgot about me. My little girl, Annalisa grew up not knowing who her real parents were because they fucking left her at the orphanage.

Omega: Wait…Annalisa? Annalisa Moretti?

Charlie got an inquisitive look on his face at the mention of his daughter’s name.

Green: You know my daughter?

Omega: I did know your daughter…

Green: Did know?

Omega: She died Charlie…she died because she was injected after suffering a major car wreck.

Green: W-what? That can’t be! That was my little girl!

Omega: That was my girlfriend…

A look of rage forms over the face of Charlie as he sends a powerful uppercut to the jaw of Seth. He hit him with such a force that it sent him backwards onto the police car. Mark stood back up and took another swing at Green, which hit but didn’t do any damage.

Mark: Fucking a…why do I always get beat down?

Green smacked Mark with a hard double fist smash, promptly sending him to the ground. One of the other cops sneaks behind Charlie and locked him in a rear naked choke. Meanwhile the other two cops held to stun guns directly to the ribs of Green which dropped him to the ground. As he struggled to move one of the cops locked on a pair of handcuffs to keep him still. The cops then turned to Omega and Johansson.

Officer: And you two are going in for attempt of justice.

Mark: What? We just helped you!

Officer: More like hurt us, because of you we have damage to the station, injuries to two cops, and damage to a car.

Omega finally began to stir off his slumber on top of the car, he begins to hear the cop speaking as he lay still. As the cop keeps talking Green managed to get to his feet and break the handcuffs, by the time the cop finally turns around he is greeted by a huge boot from the big man. The other cops begin backing off as well as Mark, who at the moment was trying to think of a plan.

Mark: Seth if you can hear me now would be a great time to have you come back.

Omega: I can fucking hear you, and father this is between you and me.

Charlie heard those words and focused his attention towards Seth. Omega was now standing toe to toe with the much bigger man, who was the father of his fallen love.

Green: Boy are you fucking dumb?

Omega: No, I’m just doing what Annalisa would have wanted me to do.

Green: How the hell do you know what she wanted?

Seth grabbed his axe handle and swung it wildly nailing Charlie right on the chin. It stumbled Green before he regained himself to try and attach Omega.

Omega: You stupid bastard, don’t you realize I was in love with your daughter? I was protecting her this whole time when you couldn’t! You weren’t there when she was raped by her boss! You weren’t there when she was beaten by her ex-boyfriend! You weren’t there when she needed you!

Green: And according to where she is now, neither were you.

Omega: Why would you fight with me Charlie? We both loved her! We both wanted what was best for her! Can’t you see that?

Green: My wife left me, my daughter is dead, and I’ve got nothing but more hard time coming my way…if that’s the case I might as well make it worth my while.

Charlie wraps his massive hands around the throat of Seth and begins squeezing. Omega drops the axe handle and begins struggling to breath. No matter how hard he hit Green he couldn’t shake him loose. Mark tried hitting Charlie from behind, only to get an elbow for his efforts.

Green: Don’t you see the big picture? I’ve got nothing left to live for…consider this my self-righteous suicide!

As Omega struggled to breath he was able to mutter one last sentence.

Omega: Goodbye Charlie…you’d of made a great father.

Before another word could be said one older cop snuck up behind Charlie and pulled the trigger, killing him immediately. As Green fell to the ground, this time with only part of his head Omega looked down at the last remaining part of his love.

Officer: He was going to kill you, I had to do it.

Omega: Thanks for saving me.

Officer: Don’t thank me, we could not have handled this without you, now I suggest you get out of here before these other young bucks decide to press charges.

Mark looks at Seth as the both of them begin running back towards the Charger. Without another word the engine is fired up and they take off back to the School of Hard Knocks.


Finally back at the gym, Seth was alone. He had dropped Mark off at Seth’s apartment, he allowed Mark to stay there to avoid having him pay for a motel. When he got back to the school he began taking off his clothes for the night and prepared to lie down on the couch. Before he could lie down the phone in the gym rang, Omega quickly picked it up and answered it.

Omega: Hello?

Drew: Hey Seth, glad to see you made it back alright.

Omega: Back?

Drew: I had a feeling you were up to something, maybe just a hunch. How are you coping?

Omega: A lot better than the lot of us.

Drew: What is that suppose to mean?

Omega: The Saints Drew, the Saints.

Drew: What about them?

Omega: There has to be more to this, you know damn well this isn’t what
Dante wanted with us!

Drew was silent on the other end.

Drew: What do you want from me?

Omega: I want the truth Drew…nothing but.

Drew: It’s time you knew the truth Seth. There is a war coming and you need to be ready.

Omega: Great, a war coming…perfect, always another war in FMW.

Drew: It isn’t just FMW…

Omega: Oh?

Drew: After 11.1 Dante and I will explain to you and Mark the real reason behind the Saints Initiative
Program.

Without another word Drew hung up on Seth, leaving nothing but a deadline to listen to.