FMW 11.2 VOTING & PROMO Thread

Dunn is going to kill you...




Dunn is going to kill you...

Seth Omega is standing alone in the darkness, it is pitch black all around him. He can feel a chill in the air, and moisture all around him. He is in a very cold and dark place and all he can hear is the sound of a ticking clock in the distance. He tries to run but moves nowhere as his feet aren't even on the ground. The ticking stops, and all he can hear is the sweet soft voice of Annalisa.

Annalisa: Save me Seth you're my last resort...

Omega: No, you're dead...you've been dead...this isn't real!

Annalisa: Am I dead Seth? You work so hard trying to save the lives of the innocent yet you couldn't even save me...

Omega: The hospital called and told me you were dead, they said someone had the plug pulled on you! I didn't know! I swear I didn't know Annalisa...please forgive me.

Annalisa: You couldn't even come check, maybe I was still there Seth. But no, you put yourself before me again. You kept going on the road and trying to win another fucking belt, earn another fucking paycheck, fuck another whore, maybe even get shitfaced drunk. You are pathetic and there is no redemption for your soul Seth.

Omega: Annalisa, I can't save the world, I can't always save you from the danger that lies in front of you. I had bills to pay, I am losing my fucking apartment because I cannot pay the rent on it, and I was only doing what I could to make sure I had a place to live.

Annalisa: Yeah, put yourself before someone else again you selfless prick. You saved me before...from the rape...from the abuse...from the psychopath...why not now? Is it because I would not open my legs for you like the other whores you spend your nights with? Am I not good enough for you anymore? Why couldn't you save me Seth?

Omega: I don't know Annalisa, I just don't know...

Annalisa: YOU FUCKING KNOW SETH, YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHY YOU CAN'T SAVE ME!

Omega: Why can't I save you Annalisa? Tell me why!?!

The voice changes from Annalisa's sweet soft voice to a deeper and darker voice...

You have no fucking clue...
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



Omega reaches out in front of him and grabs the person in front of him by the throat. A deep and dark cackle is audibly heard right in front of Seth's face. His vision begins adjusting in the dark and he can make out the facial figures of a man, who it is he isn't sure of. He tightens his grip on the man's throat as he feels the man's cold hand pushing down on his Adam's Apple.

You think you are a hero?
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!




Gasping for breath Seth is able to push out one final sentence.

Omega: I am your fucking nightmare you sick son of a bitch.

And I am...
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



The evil cackle howls through the air again as Dunn releases his grip on Omega's throat. The ground below lights up with fire and Seth begins free falling at a rapid rate towards the flames.

Now...
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



Seth inches closer and closer to the flames growing ever closer to falling in them, right before he hits the flames something stops him.

Omega jerks up out of his bed with a cold sweat dripping off his body, he winces as his head hurts from the drinking he did the night before. He grabs the bottle of aspirin beside the bed and pops three of them in his mouth before washing it down with a warm bottle of cheap whiskey. He tried to collect himself as he sat upright on the edge of the bed.

It was only a dream...yet it seemed so surreal.

Omega rubbed his eyes with his one hand that wasn't covered in a cast. It was then he realized that his hand was in tremendous pain.

For fucks sake that kid had some heavy ass knees.

Seth stood up out of his bed and went to walk forward, accidentally kicking a box full of stuff laying next to the bed. He kept stumbling to the kitchen where he kept his aspirin to dull the pain, along the way he weaved through the boxes full of his stuff that he was preparing to move out the next day.

Omega: Note to self, next time I'm moving have Mark move the boxes out of the walk way from the bed to the kitchen.

When Seth finally got in the kitchen he turned on the light switch and checked on top of the fridge where he normally kept his medication. He grabbed his bottle of aspirin and popped 6 of them into his mouth before opening the fridge to grab something to wash it down.

Beer, whiskey, and two week old milk. It's a fucking wonder how I can survive with my diet being what it is.

Seth turned around and looked on the counter. It was then he realized that there was a black purse sitting on his counter.

How the fuck did that get there?

Seth peaked around the wall to see a half dressed blond laying in the same bed he just got out of.

The fuck did I do last night? I better see who this chick is…because I have no clue of who she is or where she came from.

Without another word Omega quickly goes over into her purse and digs for her wallet. He sets numerous bottles of pills on the counter, most of which are sleeping pills and some hallucation as well as the occasional muscle relaxer and heavy duty painkiller.

Well the odds of me getting drugged last night just got a lot higher, wait…here is a passport.

Seth picks it up and looks inside, quickly he notices the last name.

Omega: Eastwood? Oh man…I’ve been duked by his sister! That was low Jack, sending your sister Trinity to throw me off my game.

Trinity: You really are smarter than you look sweetheart.

Seth turns around and almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of Trinity. She’s still barely wearing any clothing and he blond hair is highlighted with black lowlights all around it.

Trinity: Scared to see me big boy? You were pretty excited to see me last night.

Omega: No! I wouldn’t…I couldn’t do that to Annalisa!

Trinity: Oh you’re so full of shit you cynical bastard, you fucked my brains out and you forgot all about that vegetable who died in the god damn hospital.

Omega: You are lying, there is no way I would do that!

Trinity: You’d be amazed what people would do when they are stoned out of their mind on painkillers and hallucation.

Omega: I should report you to the cops you sick, twisted little whore.

Trinity: I am not a whore! Whores get paid, I just fuck people for shits and giggles. And you can’t report me, because if you do I will send a letter to Full Metal Wrestling and have them drug test you. With your contract situation being the way it is and you not having the long leash that Skyler has you’ll be fired for sure and you’d lose more than this crummy apartment.

Omega: What the fuck do you want? What will make you leave me the fuck alone?

Trinity: Come here baby, give me a kiss…

Omega: You are fucking sick.

Trinity: Oh Jack said I was more than welcome to have all the fun I wanted with you, and trust me I took advantage of it. Now get your ass over here and kiss me.

Seth hesitates but realizes it is the best to get her to leave. He walks over to Trinity and leans in closer to her face, who impatiently pushes her lips into his. Not more than a second later Seth feels something stab into the back of his neck. He pushes Trinity away and tries to pull the needle out.

Omega: You whore…what did you do?

Trinity laughs as Seth fights to stand up, he keeps shaking his head to try and focus.

Trinity: You really are one stupid son of a bitch, I just injected you with something to make you see shit that isn’t there. Don’t you know by now not to trust an Eastwood?

Seth begins slurring his speech as he fights to stand up.

Omega: Fuck you, I will kill your brother for this…I swear on it!

Trinity: Goodnight lover, I will see you in hell!

Without another word Omega hits the floor with a loud thud. He lays unconscious as Trinity steps over him to gather her things. Seth quickly begins slipping into another dream.

Ω

Would you like to play a game?

What the fuck is going on?

Seth opens his eyes to the vision laid out before him.



Omega: Who the fuck are you? And where the fuck am I?

???: Ah yes, the question I get the most out of you morons who I kidnap. My name is Jarosaw, and you are here to play a little game.

Omega: So you magically kidnapped a 300 plus pound man, drug him to an undisclosed location, and made sure he was asleep so you could play a game? The fuck is wrong with you…

Jarosaw: Oh, I didn’t do it. I paid Miss Eastwood to do it for me.

Omega: Eastwood? Jack has a sister?

Jarosaw: Don’t worry, I made sure you weren’t brought here alone Mr. Headstrong. Your friends are all right behind you in the same room and should be waking up any minute now.

Omega: My friends? You mean The Saints?

Jarosaw: No you ignorant fucking wop, your true friends. Not all the Saints are your true friends, you find comfort in Heath, Mark, and non-saint member Aidan.

Omega: Oh, and how do you make sure we want to play your stupid ass game Jarosaw?

Jarosaw: Simple. I have something you want back.

The screen flashes to Annalisa Moretti tied up in her bra and panties lying in a barbed wire net.

Omega: No! Where is she?

Jarosaw: Don’t worry, Matt Dunn is taking good care of her.

By this point and time Apostasy, Mark, and Celt wake up to see Jarosaw on the screen.

Celt: The fuck?

Omega: His name is Jarosaw Celt…he wants to play a game.

Mark: I fucking love Monopoly.

Celt, Omega, and Apostasy all turn and look at Mark at once.

Jarosaw: Now that my IQ has dropped by several points let us get started shall we?

Omega: I know what you have that I want, but what is in it for the rest of these guys?

Jarosaw: Oh goodie, my favorite part of the story. I’ll start with Marky.

Mark: God dammit, I’m always the one who gets the worst of everything.

Jarosaw’s face disappears and we see a glass tank with Natalie in it.

Jarosaw: You see her Mark? Your anger drove her to this point. She was so worried about you, so in love with you, and your anger casted her aside. Now you must use your anger to get her out of this tank which will start to fill with water when you leave this room. The catch? It’s shatterproof glass and piranhas will be added in at the very end.

Mark: You really truly hate me don’t you?

Jarosaw: Oh but of course my good friend. I’m expecting a bloody good show from this. You must overcome your apathetic feelings towards Miss Natalie in order to save her Mark, should you succeed you’d be rewarded with her love and maybe some poon here and there.

Celt: And what about me?

Jarosaw: I know you and Mark are close but I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t share that fine piece of ass with you.

Celt facepalms.

Celt: I meant why am I here?

Jarosaw: Always anxious to stick your nose in everyone’s business aren’t you Celt?

Celt: I do what I feel is right Jarosaw, nothing more and nothing less.

Jarosaw: And that’s why you always finish last. It kills you inside to know that PX is holding a title right now and you are not. It kills you to know that he is better than you in every phase of the game. It kills you to know that while I was burying you he was toppling your fat Italian friend and trying to become the greatest TV Champion of all time.

Celt: Are you implying I am jealous Jarosaw?

Jarosaw: You must overcome your biggest fear Celt, you must overcome your jealousy. We have something that you want, but can you overcome what it takes to get it?

Celt: Depends on what it is.

The screen flashes to the Gold Card laying on a platform, underneath is a sign that says “Celt’s push.”

Celt: What’s the catch?


At that moment a seven foot four , five hundred pound man with four arms comes out and stands in front of the gold card.

Jarosaw: Oh, you just have to get through Goro Hamayama

Celt: Really Jarosaw? I thought we were done with this Mortal Kombat Parody stuff.

Jarosaw: Well you stupid ginger bastard this isn’t my parody now is it?

Celt: Carry on.

Apostasy: Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait one damn minute. You’ve explained why everyone is here but me. So why am I here Jarosaw?

Jarosaw: Holy shit, Apostasy you’re still on the roster? I thought you had left or pulled a Trey and was in a ditch somewhere.

Apostasy: Yes I’m still on the roster I am facing Nick Bryson at 11.2!

Jarosaw: Oh, right. Um well this is unexpected. Your faith in God will finally be tested…

Apostasy: I’m an Atheist.

Jarosaw: …really?

Omega: Yeah dude, he’s been Atheist forever.

Jarosaw: Right…it’s Drew that is the religious zealot.

Mark: You can say that again.

Jarosaw: It’s Drew that is the religious zealot.

Mark: You can say tha…

Celt: Mark shut up, we have to figure out why Apostasy is here.

Jarosaw: I’m sure my secretary just made a mistake Apo, I mean you’re really not suppose to be here. I told her to get Romeo, or Drew, or someone of value. She’s a dumb bitch, but god does she have a sweet rack.

Apostasy: Would you just give me something to fucking do already?!?

Jarosaw: Sadly I have nothing for you Apostasy, so go flip that giant light switch over there.

Apostasy: Oh yeah, like I am going to fall for that trick. I would flip that switch and I would fall into something terrible or be shot or something stupid that they always do in the SAW movies.

Jarosaw: You aren’t as dumb as you look. As a matter of fact I cou…

Without another word Apostasy disappears under the floor, slowly a trap door begins cranking back up.

Celt: What the fuck did you do Jarosaw?

Jarosaw: I didn’t do anything! This time it really wasn’t me!

Mark: Uh guys…

Celt, Omega, and Jarosaw all divert their attention to Mark who is playing with the light switch.

Mark: I can’t get the lights to come on in this dark and grungy room!

Jarosaw facepalms over his huge white mask and finally gets angry.

Jarosaw: You know what, fuck you guys…get the hell out of here and go do what you’re supposed to do!

With that a giant stone door opens to the left of Mark, all three men quickly hurry through it. On the wall there is writing that reads Celt, Mark, and Omega with three different arrows.

Omega: Well gentlemen, the sooner we split up and finish this the sooner we can go pound back some brewskis and eat some good old fashioned bar food.

Celt: I love me some beer.

Mark: Oh oh oh I want potato skins!

Seth and Celt look at each other before walking away in their own directions leaving Mark to follow his own arrow.

Ω

Meanwhile in a pit somewhere at the bottom of the house.

Apostasy: Oh, I’m sorry kidnapping you was a mistake Apostasy. My secretary must have fucked up. Yadayadayada.

Apostasy keeps wondering around the put until he discovers a giant cross with a hooded man hung on it. The giant screen behind him turns to static and Jarosaw appears upon it.

Jarosaw: So glad you found someone to play with.

Apostasy: I thought you had nothing for me? I am not relevant enough for you apparently.

Jarosaw: Oh my, it’s quite the opposite good sir. My secretary didn’t fuck up after all, and she wore a revealing top today too!

Apostasy: Get on with the fucking point you chowder head.

Jarosaw: My my, such anger for a man who is practically my bitch at the moment.

Apostasy: I’m just eager to get out of here and return to what I do best.

Jarosaw: Jobbing out to mediocre individuals in order to make them look better?

Ignoring the question Apostasy stays focused on Jarosaw.

Apostasy: Who is on the cross?

Jarosaw: Oh right, that is one of the cousins wielding the name Bryson. But which one?

Apostasy: Isn’t there only two?

Jarosaw: Actually there are four, you have a 50/50 chance of saving someone, or being destroyed upon revealing who it is. Three of them have been FMW Champion, the other one has beaten you twice.

Apostasy: So it’s Drew, Nick, Seth, or Ethan Black?

Jarosaw: Now you’re catching on…have fun with it.

Jarosaw disappears off the screen leaving Apostasy with the masked man who is struggling against the cross.

Apostasy: Well Jarosaw did say that his secretary didn’t mess up, so this has to be Drew or Seth. And Omega is on his way to save Annalisa. So by process of elimination this has to be Drew!

Apo begins to unwrap the barbed wire from the wrists of the masked man, after he is done unwrapping Apostasy smiles and removes the hood revealing none other than Nick Bryson who is also smirking.

Bryson: You fucking lose, game over.

Nick jumps off the cross and tackles Apostasy into another giant pit, this time full of syringes.

Bryson: Enjoy your stay into this pit Heath…this is your last stop.

Without another word Bryson pushes the button in his hand and the walls to the pit containing Apostasy begin to close in.

Ω

Meanwhile upstairs in the room to the left.

Celt is sitting behind the corner scouting to see where Goro Hamayama is. He waits several moments without seeing the giant monster and begins to sprint towards the gold card, he dives towards it and rips through a green screen that once held a picture of the empty room and the Gold Card. A giant screen behind Celt lights up with the image of Jarosaw.

Jarosaw: Your aggression will be your downfall you fucking Irish idiot.

Celt: I was trying to outsmart you both…

Jarosaw: And in the end you’ve just managed to wake up a sleeping giant.

Celt: What?

Before Celt realizes it a giant forearm comes from behind and clubs him in the neck and spinal area. Jarosaw disappears off the screen and Goro Hamayama begins manhandling Celt by throwing him across the room into a pile of metal rods that were used to prop the screen up.

Goro Hamayama: KAORU HUNGRY! KAORU SMASH CELT!

Celt barely gets to his feet before the giant Goro Hamayama begins sprinting towards him and hitting him with a huge shoulder block knocking him through the other side of the screen.

Goro Hamayama: GOLD CARD MINE! MUST CONTINUE MEDIOCRE GOLD CARD RUNS!

Celt stands up and socks Goro Hamayama hard in the jaw. After Goro didn’t flinch he threw another haymaker that hit him on the chin again. Goro Hamayama just laughed as Celt kept trying to harm him with his punches.

Goro Hamayama: IRISH EYES DON’T SMILE ON GINGERS!

Goro picks Celt up again and throws him into a wall creating the whiplash effect with his neck and spine.

Celt: The fuck was I thinking…I am outmatched badly right now.

Goro Hamayama: CELT MUST DIE!

Goro Hamayama grabs Celt by the hair and picks him up once again. He aims him directly for a window and tosses him right into it. Celt flies through the air and into a giant six foot deep hole in the ground. Celt tries to move but eventually just fades to black.

Goro Hamayama: CELT COMES FOR PUSH, ENDS UP BURIED!

Ω

Meanwhile in the room on the center.

Mark is walking into a giant open room when he spots the giant tank with Natalie in it.

Mark: Natalie!

Mark begins running towards the tank where Natalie is being held. She has a look of distress on her face as she sees the worry in Mark’s eyes, and the water is almost up near the top.

Natalie: Mark, help me…I need you.

Mark: I promise, I’m going to get you out of there!

Natalie: Mark, help me…I need you.

Mark: Hold on Natalie I’ve got this.

Johansson takes a step back and kicks the glass hard in order to try and break it. He barely put a crack in it but kept kicking it over and over in hopes it would give way.

Natalie: Mark, help me…I need you.

Mark looks at the tank with a puzzled look on his face as the image that was Natalie turns into that of Jarosaw. Mark stops kicking for a moment as Jarosaw starts up his maniacal cackle.

Jarosaw: You’re too late Mark.

Mark: What are you talking about Jarosaw? It was just a fucking hologram anyways!

Jarosaw: You should have came to save Natalie a long time ago, your apathy has caused you this distress of coming up empty handed while searching for her. However it is fitting that you’re willing to break something over her isn’t it?

Mark: Fuck you Jarosaw…I should kill you for over this.

Jarosaw: Oh but Apathy is going to kill you...

Mark looks more confused before as he tries staring in the tank to figure out what Jaro is talking about. Suddenly the hologram goes away and he is left staring at Apathy who shatters the glass around him in one kick.

Mark: Oh hell, this is going to suck.

Apathy: Mark, Mark, Mark…how nice of you to show up.

Johansson begins to charge at Apathy before jumping to send a kick into his chest. He rebounds off the bigger man who isn’t even phased by the kick. Mark tries to run and kick again but Apathy ducks and Johansson kicks the switch to release more water into the room. After falling with a splash to the ground Mark realizes that the room is filling up quickly and he has to get out.

Mark: Apathy, why are you doing this? Why are you working for Jarosaw?

Apathy: Because quite frankly I just don’t give a fuck you stupid shit.

Apathy takes a step back and delivers a stiff kick to the jaw of Mark who struggles to get to his feet.

Apathy: C’mon Mark, you’re not so tough when you’re not beating up an object are you?

The room keeps filling with water as Mark throws a hard punch in Apathy’s direction hitting him right on the bridge of the nose. Apathy just looks at Mark with cold calculating eyes as Mark keeps punching him in the same spot over and over.

Apathy: You can’t hurt me Mark. Pain doesn’t hurt if it is all you can ever feel.

Mark: Fuck you Apathy, you set me up for this…all I wanted was her back safe with me and instead you fucked it up for me.

Apathy: That’s right, let the anger consume you. Walk over to your dark side Mark!

Mark: I will never be on the dark side, I fight assholes like you to prevent people like myself, like Natalie from hurting.

Apathy: Real bang up job you’re doing Mark.

Without saying another word Mark puts his hands around the throat of Apathy and tries to choke the life out of him. Apathy just manages to laugh at the unsuccessful attempts of choking by Mark before he grabs him up and throws him hard into the wall knocking him out in a puddle of water, which by now was knee level. Apathy keeps laughing as he walks out of the room quickly filling with water and locks the giant airtight door behind him.

Ω

Meanwhile in the room to the far right.

Seth runs in looking for Annalisa but sees the screen with Jarosaw on it. Omega immediately grows angry and throws an empty chair at the wall where Jarosaw’s face is.

Jarosaw: Anger won’t get you anywhere Seth. You came here expecting to find Annalisa, and she’s in the hands of Matthew P. Dunn and she isn’t here.

Omega: What was the fucking point of bringing me here then you son of a bitch?

Jarosaw: To teach you a lesson, if you keep on being headstrong you will die. And to think you came all this way to almost save this.

A young girl of about 19 has a light shined on her from above, she’s wrapped in a barbed wire net and is completely nude. Seth doesn’t recognize her, but Jarosaw says he knows her.

Jarosaw: You know her Seth, but you can’t remember her. All those years of drinking, the years of drug abuse, the years of waking up next to whores and strippers…the chair shots, the ultraviolence, you can’t even remember this girl who you fucked two years ago?

Omega: That’s impossible, she couldn’t have been legal then…I wouldn’t have done that!

Jarosaw: She wasn’t legal then, and you did do that. She was employed by a strip club in South Nashville, Tennessee…they broke the law and then you turned around and did the same damn thing by fucking her.

Omega: I don’t recall that, and I am sure she doesn’t recall it either.

Jarosaw: Oh really now? She doesn’t recall? It’s a shame I met her at the abortion clinic where she destroyed your bastard son. And she did it because of you Seth, you want to pretend you’re the good guy. You want to pretend you’re a Saint, and you go and get a stripper who is underage pregnant?

Omega: I didn’t fucking know!

Jarosaw: You ignored her phone calls for weeks, you went back to that club and stuck your dick in another whore while she danced around naked carrying your little bastard! A kid that was going to be retarded due to the amount of drugs you were doing, why can’t you just accept that you ruined the poor girls life!

Seth looks at the girl and wipes away a tear, he shakes his head and can only mutter one sentence.

Omega: I’m so sorry…

Girl: I’ll see you in hell you spineless coward.

With that the girl pushes her face into the barbed wire mesh of the net and begins putting all her force into it. The barbed wire begins to puncture her eyeballs as a yellow puss begins to drip out as she keeps pushing, hoping to puncture a vein and bleed to death. Seth runs towards the girl but before he can get to her the flooring drops from underneath her as the barbed wire net remains hanging from the railing above.

Jarosaw: She’s dead now Seth…and you want to know something?

Omega turns to Jarosaw with a look of rage in his eyes. The image quickly turns into a hooded man who speaks in a darker tone and begins laughing at Seth’s rage.

You fucking fell…
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



Seth looks up at Matthew P. Dunn and shakes his head, he’s trying to regain composure as Jarosaw appears behind him again.

Jarosaw: She wasn’t really knocked up by you, but the fact of the matter is your brain is so fried you thought it was possible! There is no telling what skeletons are hiding in your closet Seth…and sooner or later someone will reveal you for who you real are.

Omega: If she wasn’t knocked up by me then why did she hate me so much?

She was drugged…
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



Jarosaw: And you bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Omega: Fuck you guys, fuck the both of you, tell me where the fuck Annalisa is right this moment you two twisted pricks.

Jarosaw: Oh but of course, Mr. Dunn has a group of people wandering the streets in robes looking for you…they will reveal more information about where Annalisa is once you manage to find them.

Omega: You could have saved me a lot of time and effort with this if you had told me before hand Jarosaw.

Seth, your test is over…
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!



The screen fades to black.


OOC: Continued in Matt Dunn’s promo.

“Who am I, Really?”

“That’s the question we all need to be asked!”

“I may not know who exactly I am, but I guarantee that I’m set. Although not much can be said about my opponent at this point in time.”

“Who the hell books this shit anyways? Is it Smitten? Na he’s too well, he’s to oblivious to real talent as he’s got his head shoved up his arse to do this shit.”

“No, maybe it’s this Skyler Striker guy holding back talent.”

“Na, it can’t be him. But hell I could be wrong”

“But anyways…”

“My name is Alexander Crysto, a Crusader of light and this is my story.”

***

**15 years ago, Somerset, England***

Screams could be heard from afar as a man could be seen killing his family in his own house. People around the neighborhood began surrounding this house that the murders were taking place in, wondering exactly was going on till they seen blood splash across a window in a very violent manner. This caused people to open their cell phones and call the police. The police shot to the house as if it was nothing but a damned thing.

“May I ask what’s going on in there?” A cop asked everyone as he knocked on to the blood ridden house. “Will someone PLEASE answer the damned door?”

The cop continued knocking till a shotgun went off, this shot blasted through the door and the cop. The shot sent terror and havoc through out the neighborhood. People began running for their lives as a swat team swarmed the house.

“All right, come out Crysto!” The leader of the swat team said as he walked in with a rifle in hand, ready to fire it at a moments notice.

“Why should I?” The man holding the rifle said as he pointed a gun at the head swat officer. “You aren’t my boss, I will never do as you say!”

The man dubbed “Crysto” pointed his gun at the swat officer, but the Officer seemed quicker on the trigger and killed the man. All of a sudden other swat members began swarming the place looking for survivors, they stumbled across a young man around 10 or 12 years old struggling to breathe as he took one hell of a knife gashing to the chest and stomach.

“Get a damn ambulance here, we have a survivor!” The SWAT chief screamed in anger as he carried the young man outside.

“Yes sir.“ one of the officers said as he radioed in for an ambulance and about 4 body bags.

…That’s all I can remember about that…

***Present Day, Somerset England***

“Alex, wake up!” a young voice hollered across a bedroom as he uncovered a man who was sleeping. “Today is that day!”

“What day?” The young man asked as he sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Seriously Josh, what day?”

“You know, that day we find out who you truly are!” the young man named Josh exuberantly said as he drug Alexander out of bed and threw some random clothes at him. “Hurry up!”

Josh clearly wasn’t Alexander’s brother as Alex made Sheamus look like a black guy, while Josh himself was clearly black. As Alex got dressed he took a gander at a wall that had a picture of what appeared to be a rich man holding a baby. Alex had no clue who the man was, nor did he really seem to care, but he did grab the picture from the wall and placed it in his pocket.

“Who I truly am?” Alex thought to himself as he walked out of the room and towards the kitchen of this house where his adoptive parents were located.

“Hey Alex, what’s going on?” Alexander’s mother asked him curiously as she handed him a plate of food. “You aren’t normally this pale.”

“I know ma, I just don’t really feel like eating.” Alex replied as he pushed his plate away from the table and walked away from it. “I guess I just want to get this shit over with.”

“Crusader, wait a moment.” Alexander’s father said as he placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and stopped him “Why don’t you seem excited about this?”

“I do not know, Fuck I don’t even know my last name!” Alexander scoffed as he threw his own father’s arm off of him.

“Your last name is Crysto, I believe.” Alexander’s father said as he looked at his son disappointedly. “I saved you, and yet you seem to lack any gratitude for our actions.”

It was clear that Alexander knew that the man who saved him wasn’t his real father. But he did call him dad since the man who saved his life did take him in and raise him as his own kid. So Alex did was was right and hugged his own father. Alex hoped it would make his father happy, but Alex knew it was just a quick cover up for him to go on to bigger things.

Alex then walked out the door and towards what appeared to be a train station when suddenly he began seeing these weird symbols pop up in his head, Alex couldn’t pick up exactly what they meant but for some reason he knew they couldn’t be a good sign for things to come in his life.

“What the hell was that?” Alexander asked himself as he dropped to one knee in pain. “Fuck that hurt like a mutha fucker.”

The code still ran its way through Crysto’s head, but he picked himself up and continued to walk. Upon getting to the train station Alex bought a ticket and climbed aboard a train where he waited for this person he was set to meet to arrive.

“Come on, hurry your ass up whoever you are!” Alex said to himself as he looked up at the trains roof from his seat.

He undoubtedly wanted all of this to end, but for some reason this code wouldn’t allow it to. So Alexander began jotting down the code on paper although he couldn’t make out the words in it. But the coding suddenly had a viewing all of it’s own, and it looked a lot like this…


“Hmm I wonder, what all this means.” Alex thought to himself as he looked at the coding on paper. “It has to be something important that ties me to my past.”

Suddenly a clean faced old man walks up and sits across from Alexander, and begins gazing over the coding Mr. Crysto put down on paper. The man knew what it meant, but he wouldn’t attempt to tell Alexander the meaning.

“Why hello there Mr. Crysto.” The man said as he took the paper from Alex and began laughing about it. “It seems as if you have all your priorities outta wack. You need someone to organize them, that’s all the code means chap.”

“Who are you?” Alexander asked the man curiously as he took the coding back from the old man and continued glaring at it. “And how do you know it says that, I mean can you understand this coding?”

“Mr. Crysto, that is not the coding, but it will lead you to a destined battle.” the old man stated as he ordered a tea from the local waitress. “My name is Genta, I’m the man that will lead you down your true path.”

“Genta, huh?" Alexander asked the man curiously as he put his fist under his chin in a curious state. “And how are you supposed to help me find my true path?”

“You ask many questions Mr. Crysto.” Genta told the young man as he received his tea. “There are many answers, but a lot more questions will come up as time goes on.”

“A lot more questions?” Alexander wondered to himself as he looked up at the roof still trying to decipher the said code. “What does that code mean anyways? And I’d rather the truth for this answer Genta.”

“I do not know Mr. Crysto, but we will decipher who it really is.” Genta said as he took another sip of tea. “Look Mr. Crysto, I may not have the answers to your questions but there is a place that does!”

“Where is that?” Alex asked the man curiously.

“It’s a place called Full Metal Wrestling.” Genta started. “It’s ran by a tyrannical being who goes by the name of Christian G. Smitten.”

“How am I going to work there? I have no Visa or Passport!” Alexander exclaimed as he stood up and over Genta.

“We are on our way to care for that Mr. Crysto.” Genta stated as he rested his hands on his lap and went right to sleep.

Meanwhile Alexander continued trying to decipher the code when one of the words came to him. Alex then grabbed the piece of paper and write down the words “Monument to all your sins” on it. Alex then began to think about what the words really meant, and more exactly who they were talking about.

**Two Days Later**

A scene opens in the United States as Mr. Crysto and Genta begin walking around a place in America labeled Cleveland, Ohio. Alex knew very little about America as his memory seemed to be completely shot, all Crysto could do is look for the certain place where the Full Metal Wrestling show would take place.

“So Genta, this is Cleveland is it not?” Alex asked Genta curiously as he looked at all the huge buildings in the area.

“Yes Mr. Crysto, it is Cleveland.” Genta replied with a smile on his face, as he followed Alexander down the street. “This is only step one to finding out the clues to your life.”

“I know it is, but where do I have to go…” Alexander replied as he fell to the ground again, most likely due to the code. “Crap, it’s that damn code again!”

“What must we do to stop this, Mr. Crysto?” Genta asked Alexander as he lifted the man up and sat him down.

All sorts of cogs in Alexander’s mind began going off as if they were never there before suddenly codes began coming from nowhere


“This damn code, it’s fucking ridiculous!” Alex screamed as he pushed Genta back and pulled out some aspirin. “We have to fucking solve it! And now,, before it gets worse!”

While Alexander sat down his cell phone began going off, it was a text that labeled a match at 11.2, on what appeared to be on the Distortion division. Alex sat back and rested his hand over his head in frustration. He didn’t really know what to think but, Alex knew his career would depend on this match. Alex looked at the phone again and seen his opponent would be someone named Dallas Roland.

“Dallas Roland eh?” Alexander asked as he took a gander at the phone still. “For some reason that name sounds familiar, but I can’t really put my finger on it.”

“Mr. Crysto, he could be a key to your past.” Genta stated as he took Alexander’s cell phone and put it away. “You need to face him and get it over with.”

“I know I do.” Alexander started as he looked up at the sky and began to think about it. “Maybe it can be a key, but what in the hell would I know.”

“Don’t doubt yourself Mr. Crysto.” Genta laughed a bit as he pat Alex on the back and went about his business. “You know you can find your past better than anyone.”

“I know that, but I don’t know if that’s the best move.” Alex stated as he began seeing the code again.

Burn Crusader,
▒̖̮͖͕̍ͮͧͯ̄ͮ̕͢͜͠W͑̇͒̐̚͏͕̲̖̘̳̺͉́͜a͈̗̘̰̼̞͍̫͉̻̣ͭ̂̃́̂̍̀͠͡ͅB̶̵͙̺̜̫̤̱͙̤̻ͪ͗̔͠e͓̺ͬ͋͆͢h̟̙͎̖̥̼̬̗̏̉̈́̽ͦ͒ͪ̚̚͝i͔̲͎̬̳̤̹͚͋͋ͫ̔ͮ̿̈́n̶̫͓͎ͩ̚d̘͖ͯ̑͗͑ͧͨ͆ͮ͘ͅ ̙̭ͪ̿ͤ̌̍ͦͦ͡ͅṰ̫̻͎̰̯̠͒ͤ͜ḧ͖̖̯̦̭̇͊͆̚͠ͅḛ̜̫̺̱ͯ̽ ̛̭̣ͭ͒̍eȋ̴̛̠̓́ͦͬ͡ͅt̶̠̻̩͓̱̲̽ͮ͌̔ͬ͠s̵̴͎̟̯̜̟̭̒̿͋͆̉̈̒ͬ͘ ndÇô!

“Fuck, not again!” Alexander screamed as he writhed in pain on the ground as the code embedded itself into Alexander’s cornea’s. which caused a massive amount of pain for the young man..

Genta ran in to help but when he looked into the eyes of this man, he seen the coding already there. Genta already knew not much could be done about that, but he was able to snap Alexander to his senses by slamming his head against the nearest wall.

“Is that better Mr. Crysto?” Genta asked Alex as he helped him off the ground and brushed him off. “Perhaps we should take a break this show, and wait till your eyes heal up.”

“No!” Alexander yelled in an angered manner as he sat down and began using his shirt as a blood towel. “I will not give up, I’m not a quitter dammit.”

“Good then Mr. Crysto, but you must head towards your first challenge soon then.” Genta stated as he prepared to make his leave.

“How do I go through this then?” Joseph thought too himself a bit before getting up and walking “Perhaps I should face this Dallas Roland guy and figure out what I have to do.”

Alexander seemed a little peeved about the code being embedded in his corneas although he couldn’t exactly see the coding he knew it was there. He turned and kept on walking away….

***

“Dallas Roland, better known as The Double Barrell, wow what a tangled web we weave. There is something that is coming clear about you dear boy. I’m pretty sure you wish to know what that is don’t you? Well let me answer that for you dear boy…

It’s your fears, they are coming realized, aren’t they?

You are fearing what I possess, what I crusaded years for, what I took and claimed for my own. My light, which will lead to your downfall.

But don’t worry, nothing bad will happen…

… To me…

…You on the other hand I can take you and tear you to pieces, but I won’t do that. All I want from you are answers…

Answers as to who I am, answers to what my purpose in this damned business is.

Maybe you can tell me what the hell this code has to do with me! Or maybe I will just beat it out of you. As I said I can care less who books this shit, all I truly care about is getting my life back. I’ll do EVERYTHING it takes for this to happen the right way.

I have it in my head that you will bow before my light, fuck you might even relish in it after I get my answers.”

***

“Wait, Genta!” Alexander screamed as he followed Genta down the road willing to learn more. “I’m willing to learn more from you, if you are willing to train me.”

“Ahh Mr. Crysto, I was glad you caught up and asked.” Genta started with a smile on his face. “This will be a pleasant job for me after all Mr. Crysto.”

End

The Scene opens up with Ash Strife and Jaro sitting on a couch talking business.

Strife: FMW Huh? So you want me to come back?

Jaro: Of course big man, you know I have always been a fan of your work. It really is a shame that you got taken out of action by PX. Besides you don’t have a closed deal contract so you can double book your self with LPW. Plenty of guys do and you know it. Point is I need your help big man. I need some muscle for something BIG I have in the making.

Strife: What Original Sin big?

Jaro: Bigger, and I have hand selected you for it. Besides us Canadians have to stick together.

Strife lets out a laugh.

Strife: So you’ve heard about me at least find out where I am from.

Jaro: You kind of broadcasted it for Insane Asylum so how would I not know.

Jaro rolls his eyes.

Jaro: But really are you telling me that you don’t want the chance at revenge at PX for taking you out. Remember the first time you two meet. You decimated him. Now I know you were in a rut when Eric left you on your own but look what you accomplished on your own at LPW? Longest reigning champion, about to have most successful title defenses. I know you can do a lot better here. Can I count on you?

Strife: Sure, while I may have over shadowed Eric at LPW in terms of success my older brother has greatly over shadowed me in FMW success and while I have nothing but respect for my brother… I just can’t let him make me look this bad there so sure.

Jaro: Great to hear it. Now I plan for you to be drafted to Corruption. I’ll even let you know when. The way we are doing it this year is only a few people are getting drafted not the entire fed. After PX defends his title, both you and Faith will be announced. As a gift to you my friend make your presence known and make an example out of both of them.

Strife:Faith, why should I worry about a guy named Faith?

Jaro: Faith, my friend, is a woman and the daughter of the current FMW Champion TyranT, and while still a second class person compared to the likes of me, is a hell of a fighter. She won last years Hayabusa cup. Don’t take the fact she is an inferior being lightly.

Strife: Ok so the broad is tough, she is still a woman and vastly out sized and out classed. Why should I care?

Jaro: Because your return match will be against her. It will be Ultraviolent rules as well. So show us what you do best.

Strife: So let me get this straight… your booking me in a ultraviolent match against a woman? Are you trying to get taken off the air? What is your real plan?

Jaro: Well first of all while TyranT may act as if he doesn’t care about his daughter and is giving her tough love, he in fact does and watching you bloody and break her will only make him want to face you. This is my way of brining you back with a bang.

Strife: I understand. It is about time for the Titan of Ultra violence to come back and this little whore will be the first of many to bleed, But tell me about this plan in the big picture?

Jaro: In due time my friend first you need to make an impact “champ” but regardless we will stay in contact.

Jaro gets up out of the couch with a grin as he leaves. Speed up time to after the beating that Faith and Strife gave to PX following Faith getting attacked by Strife.

Strife: Faith HA! This is the tough little bitch everyone seems to think matters? This little girl? I don’t care how hard of a kick she has I know for fact she can’t kick over seven feet in the air. But you see what to do after this moment? What to do after I smash a whore… I get my revenge and take his TV title? I assist Jaro is taking down HavOc and go after the Ultraviolent title… a title I feel is my birth right but then again if this little bitch’s Daddy really cares then he will want to get his hands on me. Fuck it, if Eric can win the FMW title I know I can and he won it from a champion like Michaels… beating up an old man like TyranT will be no problem. You see everyone else may see him as a threat or something special but even in the good old Original Sin days I only saw a washed up Old man that couldn’t speak in a coherent sentence that happened to be tough.

Strife paces back in forth in a private locker room

Strife: Are you fucking kidding me? Only in professional wrestling can an uneducated illiterate old timer be successful but hey you don’t need to be smart just be able to take a hit. Well News flash old man… you time has passed. Step away now just fucking stop… reason like this show why LPW is a much more responsible company for with the exception of that clown hatchet, no world title was held by anyone not championship material. Every champ had the look of a champ and look at it this way FMW… when your founder comes to LPW to challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship it just shows the superiority of LPW. Don’t get me wrong FMW I am a fan of the product hence me coming back but there is a reason why LPW has always succeed in the Main Event area and that is we keep the trash away from the title. Now my return is more then just to be part of Jaro’s secret master plan so listen closely FMW…

Ash Strife side steps a FMW poster in his locker-room and smiles at the alteration going across the purple logo.

THE INVASION IS COMING…

Strife: Yes FMW prepare you selves for be swept by a wave of Insanity and burned by an Inferno as WE LPW fix what is wrong with you. FMW it is because of our roots the PWA why you exist but know this we may share the same common roots of the PWA but by your actions of a World Champion like TyranT or allowing a whore Bitch like Faith to compete with the men of FMW only spits in the faces of the men that bleed and put their bodies on the line for the PWA. Corruption is a fitting name for the brand for FMW has been corrupted… but I will bring back some Anarchy. You are broken FMW and we will fix you. What should have happened at Lethal Injection a few years ago will come to pass… You think you are so great. You think you are ready for us? You want to spit in our faces and call us an inferior fed. So FMW I want you to listen up, especially you Faith.

Strife is fuming as he breathes in and out

Strife: I am the largest, most violent man in professional wrestling. You time of thinking that you matter has come to a stop. None of you matter all of you are under talented hacks that can’t cut it in a real fed other then the members of FMW that already hold an LPW contract. So I give a one time call of arms to anyone that currently holds an LPW contract. Join me in this crusade to cleanse FMW of the filth and wrongness that goes continues to carry on in LPW. The lines of battle will be drawn and for those of you that hold LPW contracts if you stand not by my side I have no choice but to assume to stand against me and woe is he who holds the title of my enemy for I will unleash my fury and send their broken and bloody corpse to a fiery hell below. Brothers make a stand and pick the right side… so think long and hard about your choice… you don’t have long.

Strife goes to his locker and starts to fill a duffle bag with some toys to use on Faith later. A razor wire wrapped base ball bat, a crow bar, a staple gun, a car battery with jumper cables, a stun gun, a thick steel chain along with some other goodies. Strife then takes the bag and sets it on top of a steel coffin waiting out side his locker room.

Strife: Faith… listen very closely. I will make the ultimate example out of you. I will make you bleed. I will bring pain beyond your wildest nightmares to you. I will break you and after I embarrass you completely on your Corruption debut I have the ultimate surprise for you waiting in the box after I am through torturing you.

Strife goes to the steel casket and cracks it open to show several snakes slithering around inside. Strife Quickly slams the lid closes to prevent them from leaping out.

Strife: You see Faith this box is just big enough for you to fit in. After I am done with you Not only are you going in it… but we are going for a ride. Corruption this show will open up with a bang for sure… a brutal bloody beat down along with a serious reality check. For you See Faith you will never be a man’s equal when it comes to war.
You just don’t make the cut but I do… and I’ll make that same cut again and again until your blood stains the canvas completely. You see Bitch I’m not here to win a fight but to put you down… PERMANTLY!

Strife then leaves the Casket and duffle bag parked behind a curtain and starts to take another walk until he is right in front of the female locker-room. He barges in to find it empty. Going right up to her locker he rips open the door and grabs an older picture of her with her father. Taking a knife from his pocket he stabs his own finger and drags his finger over the picture leaving a blood trail. Strife then lets out a laugh as he re-hangs the picture up and leaves the locker room as the camera zooms in on the picture. The blood smeared message can be seen loud and clear.

WELCOME TO MY WORLD BITCH!

Wake up…come on baby…

Chris Austin begins to writhe in a slumbered disorientation as he notices significant extra weight on his body.

What the hell?!?!?

???: Hi, honey…

RCA: Kylie?!?!?

Kylie: I prefer Alex...

Even in the near pitch black darkness that envelops the scene, he can see a grin of pleasure on her face. He swings for that grin but his arm only comes a few inches off the mattress before being halted repeatedly as if restrained. Panic digs in as he tries to free himself from the binds and cuffs that have him attached to his bedpost. Kylie (Alex) rubs Austin’s chest playfully, paying no mind to Austin’s increasingly frantic struggle.

What the fuck is going on?

Kylie: You know it’s not right to hit a woman. Now, you play fair, I play fair.

RCA: Get the fuck off…

Kylie: Oh, I plan to.

RCA: I told you already, we’re done!

Kylie: Cooperate, or…

She brandishes a knife as Austin looks on bewildered.

Kylie: You’ll be less of a man than when you started. (teasingly) Turning down sex is already a bad start, if you didn’t know.

RCA: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?

Kylie: You barely answer my calls, you won’t hear me out... I’m not going to be some slut you can just fuck and toss aside. You will not ignore me, Chris.

RCA: You’ve lost your mind…

Kylie: (suggestively) Love does that to a person.

Love?!?

RCA: We were barely fucking together!

How can he say that? He told me everything…I could see it in his eyes.

Kylie: (increasingly bothered) Apparently that was enough. I don’t like that you want to keep us apart over something we can work out. Why deprive yourself of something you want?

Austin resists, being very much in danger but the naked sight of Kylie (Alex) in a twisted way, lowers his guard.

RCA: (trying to reason) Look… I don’t want you, I don’t need you...

Kylie: YOU’RE LYING!

RCA snatches up to free himself and is sent crashing back to his mattress with a pained grunt, seething in agony after having been stabbed. Austin begins to realize that it’s time for his own Moment of Clarity and NO ONE escapes their Moment of Clarity.

Kylie: (apologetic) I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you can’t get away from this. Don’t fight what you’re feeling. Don’t be selfish and stupid. What I did hurt me more than it hurts you but I’ll make it better, I’ll take care of you…

Kylie (Alex) leans in to kiss Austin. He tries to fight her lips away and we begin to fade out to she having her way with him as he closes his eyes in grim, shame-laced acceptance.


THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED! She caught me when I was weak, unprepared… I’m not weak; I don’t need a fuckin’ crutch! I’m taking control back as soon as I stop thinking about that bitch... I really could’ve used O’Rion’s help.

We fade into a beautiful morning. As a result of what happened at the hospital, Alex O’Rion has forcibly taken up the occasional residence in Austin’s abode. A slightly groggy O’Rion trudges into the den, stretching with a yawn before opening the fridge and grabbing a cold one. O’Rion sees an utterly catatonic Austin sitting on the couch. O’Rion smirks as he nears the den until he notices a dark red patch seeping through a large shoulder dressing and a sizable bruise on Austin’s forehead. There are also bite marks on his chest and neck. O’Rion’s interest piques as he sees a six-pack whittled down to three on the coffee table in front of the historically straight-edged, save for the once in a blue moon Pineapple Express, Austin, who massages his temples.

O’Rion: Looks like you had a rough go of it bye…I don’t recall kicking your ass.

RCA: (with a hint of a slur) I’d rather not talk right now.

O’Rion: Oh come on, a night without sex isn’t that bad.

RCA: Go…away.

O’Rion: Heh-heh…say bye, are those bites on your chest?

Austin quickly grows attentive and throws on the tank top he wore last night, and O’Rion notices a rather large slice in the region where his wound lies.

O’Rion: (sarcastic) Did a bad man jump on my little bro?

RCA: WHAT PART OF LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE DON’T YOU GET, SHITHEAD?

O’Rion: So you did get jumped. Tell big bro all about it.

O’Rion props his feet up and smiles as he looks towards Austin, who grows angrier by the second. Austin rises up with a half-drunk beer in his hand…and the beverage goes flying into the wall.

O’Rion: Now that’s just wasting a good beer.

RCA: …Someone was here last night…

O’Rion: I got in pretty late, didn’t hear anyone…what the fuck did you do?

O’Rion quickly downs his beer before breaking the bottle across the coffee table, making a weapon of it. He quickly advances towards Austin, who uncharacteristically backpedals in fear. O’Rion has none of it as he corners Austin.

O’Rion: I TOLD YOU THERE WOULD BE CONSEQUENCES!

RCA: I DIDN’T DO SHIT TO THAT BITCH!

O’Rion: What lass?

RCA: …

O’Rion: Start talking!

RCA: Alex.

O’Rion: Alex? You mean chick on the side Alex? What the shyte are you talking about?

RCA: That cunt tied me up and fucked me at knifepoint…wasn’t shit I could do.

O’Rion slowly backs away. He rubs his chin in confusion as Austin plops down onto the floor. O’Rion looks back to Austin then breaks the silence.

O’Rion: Are you telling me that a 20-someodd woman snuck in here, somehow rendered you incapacitated, bound you up, then raped you?

Austin's head drops, embarrassed. O’Rion looks to Austin, legitimately concerned.

O’Rion: Are you’re saying that you, Chris Austin…got raped?

Austin nods.

O’Rion: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!

RCA: That shit isn’t funny.

O’Rion: Oh yes it is! The big bad Student of the Game got his own ‘Moment of Clarity’! Bye, oh poor bye...this has made my day! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Austin pops up seething as O’Rion is shedding tears of hilarity as he grabs another beer and sits on the couch, propping his feet up.

O’Rion: So how was it having your ‘innocence’ taken?

RCA: …good sex is good sex even when it’s forced on you.

O’Rion: (spits brew) Come again?

RCA: You heard me.

O’Rion: Bye…you’re action-packed with issues.

RCA: She's going to pay for this…

O’Rion: Not on my watch Austin, you have enough problems as it is, not to mention an apparent aversion to getting laid, well the method it happened I guess.

RCA: I don’t have a problem, bro.

At least one I can’t solve.

O’Rion: You will if you attempt to…

RCA: Try me.

O’Rion: My pleasure, Austin.

O’Rion, oblivious to the ominous ‘click’, goes to grab Austin but is viciously dropped in a heap by two ASP baton blasts. Austin strikes O’Rion’s back before leaving. He comes back wearing darker clothes and lusting for revenge as O’Rion pulls himself up, only to be struck down again. Austin leaves as O’Rion lies, pretty much down for the count and dumbfounded as to where the baton came from. We fade out to the roar of a ’67 Impala leaving the driveway.


Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy steps ruthlessly assault a wooden floor as the rage behind the trek dissipates with the slow, haunting creak of a door. As the view pans upward, we see a large black shadow that seemingly hovers over someone precious and innocent. The large shadow cradles the small bundle into its arms as the precious package stirs from dreamland. Sensing discomfort, the shadow creates a more comfortable nest for the child to lie in. The large shadow sits in a rocking chair and a pale glow illuminates the face of…

RCA: Hey, James. How have you been? It’s been a while, too long actually.

Austin rocks gently as the unaware child remains asleep. Austin hasn’t smiled in a few days but the mere sight of ‘his son’ changes things just so. Austin looks out to the window, to a better life as he resumes.

RCA: You know I felt things would be different and change for the better thanks to you. So I tried to be a better role model, someone you could depend yet it turned out badly, but it’s not your fault. I screwed up…I forgot that you mattered more and you needed me.

Austin’s shoulder twitch jars the baby from slumber. Austin looks on as two short coughs precede the soft cry of young James. Austin bounces the child up and down to soothe the child offering shushes as he takes care of ‘his’ responsibility.

RCA: I don’t want things to be like this. No matter what…I will never forget my responsibilities again. I won’t let you go through life thinking you’re alone…one day we will be a family again, I promise.

In another bedroom; the occupant stirs. As he turns his face to face the baby monitor, the red hue of his clock identifies Jay, the father of the Austin sons. As he hears no sign of trouble with his child, he drifts back to sleep. Austin smirks as the young child looks into the eyes of his current protector.

RCA: James… I was there when J fed you for the first time, when my dad came to pick you up, when you were born. I’ve always been there and I still am. I’ll watch over you until you can stand on your own.

I won’t let you down. Ignition 9.1 can’t repeat itself.

RCA: I’ll leave you with something my father used to do for me. I never really got the point of it but maybe you will one day. Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done; lay your weary head to rest… don’t you cry no more…

Austin moves the pacifier and begins to feed the child as he resumes.

RCA: Once I rose above the noise and confusion, just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion…

Austin hears the slow shuffle of one source of the anger and torture that viciously caresses his ever growing self-awareness.

RCA: Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest…Don’t you cry…

Austin places the sleeping infant into his crib as soulless eyes glisten with hope as he backpedals towards the window. Jay enters; he finds no one inside but the sleeping child and an open window. He slides it shut and kisses his youngest son’s forehead. We fade from him and into Austin’s car, where the driver’s face is plastered with somber fury.

RCA: Don’t you cry no more…


We fade into a hotel lobby. The boisterous nature of the guests begins to overwhelm the exquisitely serene atmosphere. As a desk attendant shuffles papers, our view is quickly obstructed by a black cloth of sorts. Our view is switched around as the attendant’s eyes widen. The young man stammers as he speaks but the wearer of what blocks the view maintains a hushed, calculating tone.

Attendant: Holy shit…it’s you! Chris Austin!

RCA: Of course it is…FMW’s in town. I need two hotel keys…

Attendant: No problem.

RCA: To the rooms of Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice.

Attendant: Hotel policy says we can’t give extra keys unless it’s an emergency.

RCA: Your well-being is at stake.

Attendant: Uh…

RCA: I don’t have all day, maggot.

The attendant remains conflicted until Austin reaches into his pocket and brandishes his patented baton. As he retracts it, the attendant quickly produces the spare key cards for the rooms. Austin takes them, noticing a wedding band on the attendant’s left ring finger. Austin stares at the keys, noticing a faint film of sweat as well as "1155" and "1153" on them and motions to the attendant, whose bottom lip quivers as he blinks erratically. Austin ‘gently’ grabs the attendant by his tie.

RCA: Do you really think I am stupid enough to fall for the “partners staying beside each other” routine? I know that Skyler and Leon are as far away from one another as possible, only in this hotel by employment’s force. Lying has ended many marriages and I’m sure that you don’t want your wife…to suffer from your lying do you?

The attendant nervously types into the computer as Austin peers over to glance at the screen. The attendant then grabs the correct keycards after reading some numbers.

Shelia Blige: room 1112

Attendant: H-her-here you are, sir…rooms 1104 and 1648…

RCA: Smart man. Now, this conversation never happened right?

The attendant shakes his head no as Austin walks away. He goes outside and pulls out his cell phone.

Where the fuck is O’Rion?

Before Austin can press a key ‘Alex O’ glows on his phone display. Austin answers.

RCA: Alex O…

O’Rion: Yeah-lo?

RCA: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU.

O’Rion: You got a lot of nerve bye, given the shit you pulled.

RCA: We’ll talk about that later. Get over here now.

O’Rion: I’m running late, more important things on the table at the moment.

RCA: Like what, a six-pack of brew?

O’Rion: Actually no, I got arrested. You’re my one phone call.

RCA: Always something with you.

O’Rion: Get your panties out of a bunch.

RCA: You got arrested, ass-clown. Are you gonna make it to the match or not?

O’Rion: Maybe, not sure yet.

RCA: THE FUCK KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?

O’Rion: If I get there, at most I’m a little late. I showed up late to Ultimatum and left as FMW champ. You’re very punctual and you have nothing. I like my approach. The Early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

RCA: …

O’Rion: What’s wrong asshat, cat got your tongue? See, you think certain actions should yield certain results. Maybe Papa Austin drilled that into your head, but FMW doesn’t care how you go about shyte. ‘By the book’ heroes have killed people like Drew in the struggle against these evil fucks and it killed the hero in you.

RCA: I’m not nor was I ever a hero. What’s the point?

O’Rion: It’s not the information you gather, it’s how you use the information. I look at how you move, think and…

RCA: What does any of this have to do with your absence?

O’Rion: Maybe I want to know how will you behave when things don’t go according to plan.

RCA: Dark Knight reference? Really?

O’Rion: It’s all people get these days.

RCA: Well since you aren’t here, I guess I can have some fun for once. Bye.

Austin hangs up and glares furiously at his phone before entering an elevator and going up to Skyler’s room. He slides the key through the door and sneaks in. After getting a good look at the belongings and seeing a small pill bottle prescribed on the nightstand, he confirms that this is Striker’s room before he starts to ransack it.


RCA: (sighs, begins to search) People have forgotten the concept of “Know Your Role.” Society does its best to pigeonhole people into particular genres; to like certain music, to find certain things attractive. Then society is thrown into a tailspin when the loyal subjects begin to see that there’s another option. What the world forces on you doesn’t have to be what you choose. But sometimes, you need to choose that option as average people think they are capable of more than they can truly accomplish. Upon learning the truth they grow scared and nervous, eventually cracking under the pressure. They have a crisis, choosing a role they’ve never held in hopes of finding the way to become what they’ll never be.

Skyler fears seeing his ‘mirror image’ protégé prosper. It eats at him. Skyler’s recent behavior proves that by keeping Leon from his destiny as he turns away when you pop your pills...he’s not the same person he used to be. Until proven otherwise, I remember him as nothing more than pussy, a fucking moody baby-maker with a tendency to bleed and suffer for days on days and still live.

FMW can’t continue to bow to Skyler because of some unforeseen power that he claims to hold. Because of his delusions of grandeur, he must be punished. I’ve learned from both Alex’s just how blinding a pussy can be. FMW will see it when I remove Striker from their eyes and show them a self-made option. He’s a victim of FMW’s propaganda, the same propaganda that tries to infect my classroom. I have to educate FMW and defend it from bullshit; and when I am given something to defeat, I don’t treat it as beneath me unlike SOME PEOPLE who do so just because they can’t handle that they aren’t FMW’s darling anymore.

Skyler, for having the audacity to claim clarity THAT I HAVEN’T GIVEN YOU YET, you and Leon have to suffer because contrary to your beliefs, no one is truly human. Humans don’t kill other people or willingly hurt those they claim to love. Humans don’t manipulate situations because they’re losing control of their own lives.

Austin flips the mattress over, looking for something. All of the footage that he has seen of Striker: the death-defying leaps, the never say die attitude, the stubbornness… something’s just not adding up. Striker is just a man by his own claim. But something must make him man enough to succeed in the kings’ sport.

RCA: What am I missing? I know he has nagging injuries; his style has lent itself to that…yet he’s dealt all this time until aggravating a wrist injury of all things when his body has been through hell and back. He’s more aggressive when he should be cautious. He’s prone to brawling, which was never his forte and with a bad wrist it should be tougher. He’s dominating larger opposition when he’s always bested people with speed, resilience and technique. How? He’s only on painkillers. Or is he?

Austin rummages through the smaller, more personal bags of Striker and reveals a couple of filled pill bottles. He reads the labels; the terms relate to pain killers but his mind turns.

Do we have another Takeover on our hands? Maybe he switched the pills out to fool people, could be on steroids. Steroids can also promote healing and it would explain the mood swings, heightened aggression and strength. Besides, I don’t think he needs the drugs for pain. This all started with that long losing streak. He can’t handle the truth. He’s become aware of his own mortality, his perfect family is shown as imperfect. The drugs stop the doubt and the panic…It stops him from seeing the real Skyler Striker.

He doesn’t see that the man he’s always claimed to be but has never chosen to be when offered is waiting to come out. Sadly, Striker is making such a presentation that the rest of us may not recognize it either. He shows arrogance and selfishness to mask that he’s falling apart. People only know what they’re allowed to know but no one besides me seems to get that people allow us to know everything if you just knew where to look. Either way, lying has no place in research. In his attempt to remain human he’s slowly becoming the animal that he’s always been.

Austin gathers every pill bottle he can find and retreats to the lavatory. Many small splashes and a few flushes later, Austin emerges and takes one last look at the completely trashed room. He spies a picture and he glances at it: Skyler, Leah, Jade and the twins. Austin merely shakes his head as his eyes replace focus with jealousy.

He’s willingly throwing away what people would kill to have a shot at making. Make sure to suggest tougher drug policies to management.

Austin quickly ducks out of Striker’s room. After hiding against the wall for a few seconds, he madly dashes down the hall before crouching behind a wall, looking for any sign of people. He enters into Leon’s room stealthily. He peers out and sees a housekeeper making rounds. Austin slowly closes the door as he takes a long glance at Leon’s tidy room.

RCA: Neat room… typical. Leon is scared to realize that things don’t always work like the fairy tales Skyler experienced. He has to let go of the lost cause suffocating his potential. He hangs on Skyler’s every word like a helpless child wanting his hand held. Skyler taught him well, but being younger with less wear and tear Leon is a replacement that Skyler is trying to stop FMW from sampling. I think jealousy lurks beneath. I don’t know why since Leon’s greatest claim to fame is me beating his ass every time I get near him.

Austin scratches the bridge of his nose and gives Leon’s room the same chaotic search.

RCA: When charged with a role, meet it or otherwise be rendered useless; after all, society is predicated on what you can do for it. Crash Scene failed as tag champions and my personal hatred for this stems from Skyler damaging Leon, and Leon doing nothing to fix it. We continually see Skyler cloud Leon’s mind with idiocy as Leon follows the manipulative bitch to a tee but despite the ‘know-it-all’ air of supremacy they show, you two remain speechless when I ask you a simple question about a match. You can’t really give me what my class and I want and as such you will be expelled...violently.

Leon, you should have learned from ‘daddy’ that “You define your own life” is bullshit. Life is defined by peers that spread our memory and the environment that we are a product of. Leon, you can’t see that you’re becoming Skyler, who’s slowly making himself a shattered husk of lonely unimportance. I would spend more time thinking about your importance because you’re the key to this but you’re a shameless puppet. You both must learn what true clarity is and receive freedom from the lies that caress your partnership and livelihoods. It’s time for your Moment of Clarity, bitches and NO ONE escapes their Moment of Clarity.

Austin then hears footsteps and the slide of a card. Austin’s eyes widen as the door creaks open. Our view goes to the opening door; then a loud crash is heard. The operator of the door, Leon Caprice rushes in, seeing his room torn apart.

Caprice: The hell just happened in here?!?!?

Damn it, Skyler!

He eyes a hole where his window used to be. He looks out of it, sees no one. Just around the corner is a crouching Austin with a malicious glare on his face; the pale moonlight illuminates small cuts on his forearm thanks to his dive out of the window.

RCA: I don’t think Leon needs to give me any more advantages anyway. He’s beating himself, just like his master. Class Dismissed.

Austin sneaks away and happens to see Sheila Blige out getting some air. He smiles, creeping towards her.

Saved me a trip...

Austin grabs her so suddenly that no one notices and she can’t scream out. He forcibly takes her to his car, relishing in his prize’s unwillingness. He roughly throws her in, stunning her as he slams the door. Then the driver’s side door flies open, knocking down Austin as he approaches it. Austin is then rendered motionless with a hard bat strike across his back. The attacker crouches and removes his shades.

O’Rion: I told you little bro…not on my watch.

I won’t let his addiction win…even if he wants it to.

Alex O’Rion frees Shelia and then asks her to keep quiet about what happened. She nods nervously before retreating back to the hotel. O’Rion then tosses the limp body of Austin in the back seat before taking the driver’s seat and speeding off. The addiction loses and a relationship remains intact…if only OTHER tag teams and stables could learn this lesson.

Sadly, the most important things to know about this and anything else that matters…they can’t be taught.

REVISIT THE PAST AND START AGAIN

The sun was unusually warm on this weekday afternoon as a number of security guards escorted by a elder man in a suit made there way toward the lone figure in the primary school field. It had only been about 20 minuets ago that one of the 5th years had informed the head master of a stranger standing in the school grounds and after a quick response from the in building guard station he was finally going to get an answer as to who this man was.

Looking at the man the student had described the head was glad he had called on the security force as he would have stood no chance if this man turned out to be violent as even from the back he could tell this man worked out even with the full length coat he wore.

Teacher: Excuse me. Did you know this is a school area and NOT open to the public?

Turning around slowly the man responded calmly.

Man: Oh I know all about this being a school, after all I came here myself!

As the man turned the teacher finally got a look at his face and recognition set especially as the sun reflected in his violet eyes.

Teacher: Cole Dragos! Oh beg pardon LORD Dragos!!

Dragos: Sir, you’ve known me since I was 5 I think we can drop the formalities eh? It’s Cole!

Teacher: Very well then Cole what are you doing here last I heard you were working over in the states for in new wrestling contract.

Dragos: Yeah well you could say I’m re-evaluating some things.

Waving the security guards away the Teacher lead Dragos over to a set of benches set up for the students during breaks.

Teacher: Your not thinking of moving on again already are you Cole? You’ve only had two matches there after all.

Dragos: No nothing like that but after what happened in my last match I find myself trying to figure out what to do now

Sitting down at the benches the Teacher turned to Dragos a slight look of concern on his face.

Teacher: Your not going to let one loss get you down are you? I mean come on everyone looses a match now and then!

Dragos: Oh I know but this time it was my own fault I was completely off my game. The entire lead up to that match I was so distracted by meetings with the royals and attending the House of Lords never mind getting Kat, Shane and I settled in the manor again I totally neglected my training and Christian and I BOTH paid for my lapse. Well not this time.

Teacher= So why come here we certainly don’t the facilities to help you train!

Dragos: Yeah I know but it was suggested by one of the princes that maybe I should go back and remember why I started wrestling in the first place. And while I agree with that I decided to go further and ended up here where my entire journey started.

Teacher: that’s a good idea but I still don’t understand why you came back here! You certainly didn’t get the idea of wrestling here.

No but I started wrestling to finance my research and I discovered the reason for that research right here. Well, actually right over there!

Dragos points off across the school field where a long tree stands twisted and covered with moss it stands aside from everything else on the grounds even the few students out on the field for P.E. seem to be avoiding it.

Dragos: Do you remember Sir I had just turned ten………..

Flashback

Sept. 4th 1990
Hall Rd Primary
Humberside

It had been a miserable start for the school year as the rain hammered down from the black sky causing all the students to be kept in doors for lunch, all that is except one boy.

It had been around half 12 when the teachers first noticed Cole was no where to be found in the building, and after asking the other kids in his class they had learned that the schools largest group of trouble makers had been picking on the boy again. After an extensive search the 6th year head of department had spotted Cole out side the building in the heavy rain walking out across the now muddy field, hands in his pockets to go sit under the old tree out there.

Letting his colleagues know he was heading out to get the boy the dept head grabbed his golf brolly and went out into the rain to talk Cole back inside though that would be so much easier if the other boys would just leave him alone about his eyes, I wasn’t like Cole could help the strange colour of them though the girls in his year didn’t seem to mind.

As he made his way across the field he remembered the last time this had happened, the boys that had caused the fight had ended up being sent to the school nurse after somehow managing to seriously burn themselves though to this day no one had been able to find out what had caused the burns as nothing in the room was overly hot and as it was mid July non of the school heating was turned on.

Off in the distance the flash of a major storm could be seen and going by the sounds it was getting progressively closer at a rapid pace. Getting closer to Cole the teacher could tell the boy was depressed though didn’t seem to have been crying as he thought he would.

Teacher: Cole? What are you doing all the way out here?

Cole: Sir, I…..

Teacher: I already know what happened son

The roll of thunder directly over head interrupted him making them both duck instinctively as lightening lit the sky.

Lets take this inside out of this storm shall we?

Leading Cole across the field in the heavy rain the teacher didn’t notice when the boy fell behind to re-tie his shoe lace, until that is a massive flash of light accompanied by a scream of pure fear overcame him.

Spinner quickly the poor man beheld the worst image he had ever had the misfortune to see as there in the centre of the field amongst the rain stood the dripping wet ten year old boy as thousands of volts of electricity poured through him in the form of a bolt of lightening. Although the moment was over in quite literally a flash to the poor educator it seemed to take an eternity and as the young body crumpled to the floor he knew that image would be emblazoned in his mind for the rest of his life.

The moment passed the teacher quickly ran back to his student and carefully rolling him over with his foot (taking care due to the residual electrical discharge flickering across the boys body) he was astonished that not only was the boy still breathing, but other than the fact he was unconscious there was not a mark on him, no burns, no scarring, nothing.

End Flashback

Shaking off the memories of that incredible day Dragos continued

Dragos: If it hadn’t been for that day I would never have gone into my research, I would never have needed the funding that led me into wrestling. Of course without wrestling I wouldn’t have found my wife and son. And without them I would have no reason to go on now.

Teacher: So what do you do different this time? Remember you don’t have a partner to fall back on this time!

Dragos: No your right but this time I’m ready for it. I’ve been in the gym training every day, my official duties have been reduced allowing me to focus, hell even Katlin is helping me train. No, never again will I make the mistake of sitting back and letting someone else do all the work from now on I’ll let me own spirit lead the fight and woe betide any who get in my way.

Speaking of which I was actually on my way to the gym when I stopped in here.

Teacher: I thought you said you came to revisit the start.

Dragos: Oh I did. But I wasn’t planning to I just happened to be passing.

Standing Dragos shook his old teachers hand before tuning to leave.

Well I wish you luck in the coming match Cole and if you need to refocus again your always welcome back, but do me a favour. When the bell rings, fight smart try not to loose that temper of yours.

Making his way across the tarmac Dragos couldn’t help but turning with a smirk.

Dragos: Oh now come on Sir are you forgetting? There’s a reason they call me the Wild Fire!!!

Heroes and Glory

For the last few weeks, and honestly it feels like months, I’ve been completely adrift. I’ve been a non-factor in my last two matches, getting my ass handed to me without getting much of a chance to really show off my skills. So… shit… I guess I’ve got to try harder, right?

It’s hard for me to be angry about it, when I have only myself to blame. There’s no use in being angry at yourself. If my name was Drew Michaels, I might be praying for some magical invisible sky wizard to give me strength and resolve so that I may carry on. But… fuck that. I’m still walking, I’m still wrestling, and I’ll keep fighting to advance the causes I’ve set out to further. Duh… what did you think would happen?

Though lately I’ve been thinking a bit about those causes I’ve taken up. This particular week, I get put to the task of defending this new and wonderful group of mine against a particularly insidious threat: former FMW World Champion Nick Bryson. Make no mistake, Bryson has become a madman. He has set out to destroy each and every one of us, out of some foggy revenge notion aimed at Drew Michaels. Now, I could look at this as a great opportunity. I get to take on a former FMW World Champion, and prove something big. But let’s not fuck around.

Nick Bryson is out to dismember me, and everyone I have formed an alliance with. He is the villain in this play, and I guess that makes me the hero. That’s usually the role of one Drew Michaels, of course. Without a doubt, I wouldn’t be fighting to rid FMW of the shit it’s so completely stained with without Drew’s vision. I wouldn’t normally be on the same team as a guy like Romeo or Seth Omega. I wouldn’t be putting myself in the way of a buzzsaw named Nick Bryson, aimed at someone else. Normally, it wouldn’t be any of my fucking business.

Funny how people can do things so uncharacteristically unselfish when presented with the proper motivation, eh?

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

We now are shown a scene, directly out of one of Mr. Yates’ (Apostasy’s biological father) bedtime stories. Here, two men sit in front of a tv, watching Edward Norton’s Incredible Hulk. On screen, the Hulk is stomping on Abomination, while tying a chain around it’s neck.

Vince: Damn, the graphics in this are already outdated. Shame, because I remember being really impressed with this in theatres.

Greg: That’s such shit!

Vince: What?

Greg: The general just lets The Hulk get away after that?

Vince: Well, he did just do The General a big favor, and it’s not like their bullets have been particularly effective anyway…

Greg: No, that’s complete shit. That’s just a sappy happy ending.

Vince: I don’t know if it’s happy, I mean he ends up having to live alone in Canada.

Greg: Hey, Canada’s not so bad.

Vince: And he still can’t bang Liv Tyler.

Greg: You’re missing the point! That’s not heroism!

Vince: What are you smoking?

Greg: You don’t do something heroic just for a favor. You don’t save New York City for a fucking medal, you save New York City because it’s nice to save New York City.

Vince: In theory

Greg: I don’t know, I just don’t see how that’s what a super-hero movie should be about. Unless it’s Iron Man, but that’s different.

Vince: So, what, you want the Hulk to die?

Greg: No, but the whole point of the Hulk franchise is that heroism is suffering. A true hero does heroic things because it’s right to do them.

Vince: I think Bruce Banner suffers plenty. I mean, he can’t fuck his drop-dead-gorgeous lover because he’ll turn hulk and rip her insides in half if he’s too excited. Not to mention the whole having to live outside of society thing.

Greg: Yeah, and that’s what this movie got right.

Vince: So, what’s wrong with the ending?

Greg: Dude, when he jumps out of the helicopter to stop Abomination, facing probable death… that’s a heroic moment. He’s falling out of a helicopter, not knowing if he’ll even change into the Hulk and survive the fall. He’s going into a battle he’s not even sure he CAN win. He’s doing it because it’s the right thing to do.

Vince: I actually thought that scene was kinda cheesy.

Greg: But think about it, with the way the General lets him go, and with this Avengers storyline… we’re seeing Bruce Banner now slowly becoming publicly acceptable. He’s training in Canada to better control The Hulk.

Vince: Well, yeah. I think the world eventually grows to like its heroes. If people see The Hulk saving the city, I think he would become more acceptable.

Greg: See, but the glory detracts from the heroism. So many people get the two confused. People think that baseball players and musicians are heroes of some sort, just because they’re glorious. True heroes don’t want that glory, and will shun it in an instant. Like Batman, at the end of The Dark Knight.

Vince: Not every comic book movie can be as good as The Dark Knight. And, to be fair, I don’t think the Hulk or Bruce Banner give a shit about the glory. It’s hard to give a fuck when you’re in isolation in the middle of fucking Canadian nowhere.

Greg: Is that worse than regular American nowhere?

Vince: Much. It’s way fucking colder.

Greg: (chuckling) Fair enough

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

The hero and his glory. Heroic acts often come with glory, and they often do not. Glory also comes to those who do acts which aren’t really heroic at all. A baseball player may be a hero to many young kids, and that’s understandable. To the kids, the player is fighting hard for THEM, doing his best to deliver victory. As we grow older, we learn that most athletes have little attachment to the fans and cities that they play for. A fact made all to clear to me, as a Cleveland sports fan watching the current LeBron James drama unfold.

It’s too easy to become cynical in a town like Cleveland, also the home of my opponent, Nick Bryson. Watching the same failures repeat themselves in sport, in economy and in many other areas of life. It’s too easy to assume that nobody fights for anything but themselves. Bryson must believe this, as it’s the only reason I can see him turning on his cousin like so. Bryson is a bitter man, fighting to destroy when he could be fighting for improvement.

I’ve come to be a bit cynical myself, regarding Nick Bryson. I’ve come to believe that his winning of the FMW World Title was not some glorious triumph of good over evil. It was merely one man, a highly skilled man no doubt, out to vindicate himself. And now he’s out to prove himself the alpha male once again, by going through every single member of my group. And if he gets past me, he’ll do that.

But I promise I won’t make that easy.

This isn’t for me. Sure, a victory against him would look nice on my record. That’s not the point though. See, as an underdog, I can virtually win either way. If I have a nice showing against him, I win even if I lose. That, however, is not my mentality. There is something at stake for me. That is the blood of my new brotherhood.

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

We now return to see Greg, walking out of a theatre late at night. The theatre is showing Iron Man 2, though evidently the crowd for this showing wasn’t great. Greg walks out of a small gathering near the theatre, making his way to the parking garage, alone.

His cell rings

Greg: This is Greg

Vince: Greg, what are you up to?

Greg: Just rewatched Iron Man 2. Thinking of turning in for the night.

Vince: Sure? I mean, I’m hitting up the bar with Scotty tonight, it’s his birthday.

Greg: I fucking hate Scotty, the guys a douche.

Vince: Just because he threw a box fan at you ONE TIME…

Greg: Forget it man, I’ve got work at 7 tomorrow. I’ll catch you some other time.

Vince: Alright, peace.

Greg: Peace

Greg shuts his cell phone, and walks up the ramp of the dark parking lot. He hears a commotion in the distance. He sees a tattooed man in a physical altercation with a woman.

Tattooed Man: You owe it to me, cunt!

Woman: I don’t owe you a goddamn thing

The tattooed man shoves the woman into his car, and punches her in the face. After a moment, Greg yells at them.

Greg: Hey! What the fuck?!?

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

At first, the coward in Greg tried to convince him that this was a stupid move. Perhaps there was more to this story than he knew. Perhaps, inexplicably, the woman truly deserved that punch in the face. To Greg, this seemed unlikely. Greg had a nearly overwhelming urge to not get involved in the tangled affairs of others. And yet, Greg felt compelled by the best parts in him to speak up.

The aggressor turned his venomous gaze towards Greg. The woman in the car made nary a motion. Greg made sure to look at his features. Greg made a mental note of his big, wide nose with a black and grey moustache adorning his thin pursed lips. A tattoo on his neck pictured the angriest moose Greg had ever seen. His cold black eyes and bushy eyebrows stared a hole through the timid comic book movie fan.

The aggressor hadn’t said a word to respond to Greg, and didn’t need to. Greg approached the aggressor half-heartedly for a few steps. He hoped that perhaps this show of aggression might somehow convince the aggressor that he wasn’t worth the fight. But the tattooed man knew he had the upper hand. He moved swiftly towards Greg, who slowed, then stopped. He debated running away for a split second, but realized he probably wouldn’t escape this mad man.

Greg dived at the man’s knees, hoping to catch him by surprise. The man quickly sidestepped Greg’s pitiful dive. Greg felt the heel of the man’s boot come down upon his head, driving his chin into the pavement. A wave of pain rushed over him, as his teeth spewed onto the asphalt. Greg felt his head being pulled up by the roots of his red hair. Blood was gushing down his mouth. Greg knew he was no match for this man in a fair fight.

He opened his eyes to see the woman shaking her head and wobbling her way out of the tattooed man’s car. It hadn’t occurred to Greg before, just how beautiful this woman was. He suddenly felt inspired. He suddenly felt close to victory… somehow. He felt the arm of the tattooed man reaching around his throat, and knew he just had to hold on. Greg tried to wrench the aggressor’s arm away from his throat. He didn’t have the strength to hold it off forever, but he thought he could buy some time for the lovely woman stumbling her way towards the exits.

Suddenly, Greg could not breathe. And watching the woman struggle to put together two stable steps in a row, Greg knew he had to do something else. Greg pulled forward his left arm, as if to try to break the hold the aggressor had on his throat. In a swift motion, he then stepped right and threw a desperate elbow to the crotch of the aggressor. For a brief moment, the aggressor released a small amount of pressure on Greg’s throat. Greg gasped, but in his rush, inhaled a fair amount of blood from his mouth.

The woman fell over to the floor of the parking lot. Her eyes were glazed over. But Greg could not truly process this, as he attempted to cough whilst once again being unable to pass air through his throat. The aggressor struck Greg in the groin with a knee, and another wave of pain washed over Greg. Greg felt sick to his stomach, and perhaps the need to vomit. He knew this would be a terrible idea, as vomiting while choking would only force the vomit into his lungs. This was not the way Greg wanted to die. Thinking about it only made him queasier.

Greg then felt his knee give out from under him, as his face was once again hurled towards the unforgiving concrete courtesy of the tattooed man. Greg could finally breathe, but his first instinct was to vomit. His face lay in a sea of disgusting red. Greg opened his eyes to the pile of vomit, faintly hearing footsteps going away from him. Greg tried to make peace with this, until he heard her scream.

Wearily, Greg tried to focus his gaze on the woman and the man whose conflict he had foolishly interrupted. The woman was being thrown into the trunk of the tattooed man’s car, her clothing in tatters in the parking lot. Greg reached in his pocket and dialed 911. This was the last thing he could do before finally passing out.

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

The reasons for heroism are, at best, vague. At worst, they’re selfish. There always seems to be a bit of recklessness involved. The smart thing to do is often not the heroic thing to do. Reason would tell Greg that he can’t possibly help in this situation. Reason would tell me that an angry Nick Bryson is something I want no part of.

However, reason is limited by our conscience. Our conscience will allow us to live with failures and mistakes only if there is a valid reason for said mistakes. For most situations, we excuse our failures based on our ignorance. We convince ourselves that we had reasoned the best we could based on the information available. If I were to fail a test in history because I hadn’t studied, I might be able to live with it if I had figured I wouldn’t need to study based on my past success on history tests without studying. For heroes, though, the conscience may make different demands.

In Greg’s case, he knew that his conscience would nag him for failing to interject in such a situation. He knew that the regret he would feel for futilely interjecting would pail in comparison. No matter who you are, you are a slave to the whims of your conscience. You act in ways that will hopefully make you comfortable later.

This, in many ways, is what the Broken Saints are about. We attempt to, in the words of Drew Michaels, shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness. We attempt to fight the inequities of the selfish, and bring an end to the tyranny of evil men. When Drew first told me this passage, I immediately recognized it as a reference to Pulp Fiction. Of course, Drew didn’t quite mean it in this regard. He meant it as something more.

I won’t wait for the lord he believes in to strike down Nick Bryson, though. I will do it my goddamn self.

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

Greg awakens in the hospital. He immediately clutches his jaw, which has been wired shut. Greg presses the red button by his bed, calling the nurse. She comes in.

Nurse: Mr. Folgia, it’s good to see you awake. Listen, we’ve got morphine set up for you, which should make you a bit more comfortable. I’ll get you a pen and paper, so you can write out anything you need to say to us.

The nurse disappears, then returns with a pad of paper and a pen. They are set on the table next to Greg, who immediately snatches them. He scrawls the word “water” on the pad.

Nurse: I know you must feel thirsty, Greg, but you’re currently hooked up to an IV. We have your jaw wired shut now, but you should be done with that in a few days. In the meantime, simply rest as you can. The remote for the TV is to your right. Oh… and one more thing. Would you be up to writing up a police report.

Greg nods “yes”

Nurse: Great, I’ll get Officer Wilson in here as soon as possible.

Greg blinks, and we go to black for a moment. When he opens his eyes, Officer Wilson is waiting by his bed with a clipboard.

Officer: Good to see you awake. Listen, we were able to find you when you made your phone call. We believe the man who beat you up may have been involved in another crime. So, I’m going to have you fill out a police report. Describe exactly what happened, be descriptive. Try to list any details you can about your aggressor. Be honest, too. If your story holds up, which it will if it’s 100% true, you may help us put him behind bars. Is that understood?

Greg nods, and takes the clipboard from the officer. After a few minutes of frantic writing, he returns the report to the officer. The officer returns it to him.

Officer: Please sign it at the bottom.

Greg signs it quickly, then hands it back. The officer reads the report with great interest. After awhile he smiles.

Officer: Angry-looking moose tattoo on his neck?

Greg nods. The officer pulls out a photo of the tattooed man’s mugshot

Officer: Is this your attacker?

Greg nods, and begins to fall back asleep.

We wait another minute, before Greg once again awakens. The nurse is back

Nurse: Only one more day before we can take out that wire. I realize you must be hungry. However, you do have a visitor. She insisted on meeting you after you identified your assailant.

The woman walks into the room. She has several bruises all over her body, stitches covering her face and walks into the room looking slightly dejected. Upon seeing Greg, she begins to tear up.

Nurse: I… will… be right outside

The nurse leaves, as Greg also begins to cry. The woman cannot speak, though she attempts to several times. Finally she, simply mouths “thank you”

The front door unlatched, followed by a slowly turning doorknob. With a creak belying the upkeep of the house the door crept open, first allowing black dress shoes and a pair of gray slacks to enter, before the rest of the body attached.

With a limp unbefitting of returning hero, Dr. Harley Quint entered his home and immediately into the arms of his partner. The embrace was comforting, but entirely too short lived as her arms traced around his body, probing for injuries.

“Your ribs are broken.”

Aren’t you an observant one today? And it’s only cracked.

He hadn’t meant to snap. He had simply wanted to walk in the door and collapse in her arms. To just lay down on the couch and let her run her fingers through his hair. It was all he wanted, all he ever wanted when he came home, but today...today he just didn’t want to be questioned.

“Good to see you too. You don’t need to be so snappy.”

Katherine sharply pulled her hand away from Quint’s rib. As though he had slapped her away.

I just want to crash right now. I’m sorry, but I’m tired, I’m hurt and I’m a little pissed off.

Wrong words.

That didn’t come off right.

“You’re damn right it didn’t Mr. Harley Quint. You don’t get to talk to me like that. Not now and certainly not ever again. You’re the one who voluntarily stands in the way of fists, bats and bullets on a nightly basis.”

I-

“No, I’m still talking Harley. When you walk in through the doors after I’ve been spending the entire night worrying that you won’t come home and I’m concerned because you have cracked ribs you better fucking just smile and nod.”

Quint could tell she was upset, the tears had begun to well up in her eyes. But he was smart enough to not fall for this trap. She wasn’t upset, she was angry. Upset and angry tears where two entirely different things.

“So you can put your own damn ice in the tub and soak yourself, you can wrap your own ribs and just stay away from me today. In fact, I’m going out for the day to just try and relax, you can take Charlie to the zoo with the McAllisters.”

Quint froze. He hated the McAllisters.

Katherine was quick to exit the house, leaving Quint completely unsure of what had just happened.

Hell hath no fury I suppose.

He hated how this was becoming the norm. He’d walk through the doors, she’d be waiting, she’d make a comment about an injury and he’d get defensive. He had no idea how to get out of that rut, how to change it. Nothing more than trials and tribulations he supposed.

His footsteps were quick as he propelled himself up the stairs, the shaggy fur of Hektor closely trailing behind. Without even a word he swept into Charlie’s bedroom and scooped him into his arms.

C’mon bud, we’ve got some friends to visit.

...

And we’re not going anywhere near the McAllister.




“Haven’t seen you in awhile. Where’ve you been?”

As fantastic as they were, he hated the mirrored aviators that adorned Hannibal’s face. He could never tell where his eyes were looking, all part of the intrigue he imagined. But for a man who studied the body language and importantly the face of friends and foes alike, losing an avenue was beyond a measure of frustration.

I’ve had some other things to attend to. Gathering information.

“Yeah, I frequently end up with knuckle burns across my jaw when I gather information. Cut the shit Quint.”

What was the point, Hannibal knew him inside and out, there was no point trying to conceal his absence, yet that didn’t stop him from trying.

You’d be surprised, getting slapped with a dossier hurts a lot more than one would imagine.

“...Right.”

The two men remained frozen in their locations, Harley carrying a child in his arms, Hannibal an array of weaponry. Watching the scene in his mind, Harley couldn’t help but smile, feeling like himself for the first time in a long time. Since before he stepped into that ring with Jaro.

“You know what we’re up against this week.”

I do.

“So you know that—“

I know Hannibal. Nothing more needs to be said. It changes absolutely nothing, between any of us. It’s a job. They want to pit us against each other? To try and break us? To try and tear down the bonds that tie us? I say let them. I’ll stand in the ring with you day in and day out exchanging punches with you until I can’t stand anymore, until I’m dead and it changes nothing.

“I know that, my concern isn’t with you.”

Then you have nothing else to be concerned about. Drew isn’t a factor. Not from a personal standpoint. We’re all intelligent men, we know what is at stake and we know the importance of the match. Animosity doesn’t need to play a part.

Quint paused, taking a second to glance around the second floor warden’s office. Frost certainly had an eclectic taste and had certainly become a well travelled individual.

Have you seen Daniel? I need him to look after Charlie?

The glasses dipped on Frost’s face allowing his eyes to peer over the top, making direct contact with those of Quint.

“You’re serious? I love the guy, but are you sure he’s the right one to be looking after a two year old?”

Nothing bad ever happened to Joseph in his care.

“Until he killed him. Remember?”

Right. I have faith in him, after all, it’s me he wants the chance to kill, not Charlie. Plus, it’ll keep Joseph entertained.

Quint smiled, his index finger tapping against his temple as a smile opened across the face of Hannibal Frost.

“You shouldn’t indulge him.”

It’s harmless.

With a return smile to his soon to be adversary Quint turned back towards the staircase leading to the main floor of The Clubhouse.

By the way, love what you’ve done with the place, you have a flair for interior decor.

As his head past the way creating the staircase Quint caught sight of the laughing Hannibal Frost, his middle finger raised proudly into the air.




Sneaking around was a lot more difficult than it seemed. Every step Quint seemed to take made a ‘clack’ against the marble floor of the meeting hall. It probably didn’t help that he was wearing dress shoes, not exactly made for espionage.

“What was that?”

...Fuck.

Quint muttered under his breath as he ducked into the closest room he could find, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as he deemed humanly possible. The cramped Janitor’s closet offered no protection were someone to open the door.

“I’ll be right back, gotta check on the noise.”

Christ, does every organization have their own army these days?

The door in front of Quint swung open much to his chagrin, revealing a sturdy man clad entirely in black.

Oh. Hi.

With a quick shot the side of Quint’s left fist cracked against the larger man’s Adam’s apple. Instinctively the man brought his hands up to his throat, desperately trying to scratch away the pain.

Sorry.

With only a slight hint of remorse the knee of Quint rose, connecting squarely with the man’s genitals keeling him on to both knees. Stepping as far to the side as the closet allowed Quint brought up his right leg, before slamming his foot against the temple of the fallen man. Through the expensive shoes adorning his feet he felt the man’s head connect with the metal door frame on his opposite side. The thud was sickening, and brought a wave of satisfaction that surged throughout his body.

There were still times when he missed fragments of skulls exploding throughout a room.

That should keep him quite for a little bit I hope.

Shutting the closet door and concealing his first victim Quint made his way slowly down the hall of the meeting chamber. He had found himself talking to no one in particular a lot more frequently in the last few days. The solitude of his extracurricular activities must have been starting to wear him down.

Wrapped up in the thoughts spiralling through his own mind Quint failed to see the man who had taken residence in front of him. In a half squatted walk Quint strolled down the hall, arguing in his own mind, before bumping into the mid chest of the beast of a man in front of him.

With no time for a cleverly placed witty comment Quint was sent careening to the floor, the ham handed fists of his adversary tearing apart the freshly closed wound across the right side of his jaw.

“We’ve been expecting you.”

The foot caught Quint in the ribs. If the fracture wasn’t bad enough, the cracked one was surely broken now. A small trickle of blood stained the bottom row of Quint’s teeth as he smiled back at his attacked.

You wouldn’t be a very good bodyguard if you weren’t.

The second foot came into contact with Quint’s rising shoulders, halting his upward momentum.

“You were an idiot to come. You realize this is a trap right?”

Another foot came crashing to Quint, his fist matching the rising leg to connect against the inside of his aggressor’s risen knee. The quick stumble briefly shifted the momentum allowing Quint the seconds needed to get to his feet.

Of course it’s a trap you lummox.

Quint’s fists crashed down across the collarbone of his opponent. Knuckle after knuckle connecting against the weak bones holding the man’s shoulders in place.

Most people who walk into traps do so wittingly.

A raised eyebrow was the only response Quint received from his opponent before another fist rained down upon his shoulder.

We do it to prove a point. To prove that not for a fucking second will you stand in our way. To stand in my way.

The kick caught Quint off guard, something that had been happening far too frequently lately, and dropped Quint down to his knees, bringing the two men face to face. The smile cracked across Quint’s lips revealing a toothy grin, the pearly whites stained with blood.




Quint’s laugh tore into the eardrums of his assailant, his eyes widening in a well known terror. The first specks of blood trickled into his eyes before the rest of the glob caught against his face.

Sensing his opportunity and his opponent’s now temporary blindness, Quint slowly brought himself back to his feet, pulling his right fist back and preparing his knuckles for impact.

The problem with preparing for a trap is that you begin to psychologically unprepared yourself. You revel in the confidence of knowing someone is about to walk directly into your strategically laid out plans.

The right knuckles cracked down against the left cheekbone of the kneeling man, both knuckle and cheek fracturing against the pressure. Sharply Quint recoiled his hand, waiting to shoot it forward once again.

And that’s the beauty isn’t it? How even our best laid plans fall to pieces when one person chooses to not follow suit. And well...me? I seem to have a going problem with authority, so you can well imagine where I fit in to this little picture.

Quint’s left fist jabbed forward before making way for his right hand to once again strike. Under the pressure of his cracked knuckles Quint felt the soft cartilage of the man’s nose shatter, his vision once again becoming blurred.

It should really be in your henchmen’s manual that you never reveal what is going on to your opponent. Simplest mistake you can make. And well, now that you have confirmed me feelings that this is a trap, I can hope to find Ludlum waiting, both to leave and for me.

Unceremoniously Quint stepped over the writhing man on the floor, simply walking past to enter the room toward the end of the hall.

Well, it’s been fun big guy, truly it has.

The doors at the end of the hall swung open with little pressure and little circumstance revealing nothing more than a man casually leaning against the far wall of the room.

“Ah, Dr. Quint, fancy seeing you around here.”

Mmhmmm. I imagine it’s bucket of surprises isn’t it?

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t give you that much credit my dear Doctor.”

You wouldn’t? Well Ludlum I’m shocked. You went through all this trouble to recruit me and now to lure me and you wouldn’t give me credit, well I’m just hurt. Or is this just how you entertain all of your guests?

“You are easily replaceable Quint, don’t think yourself higher. The Order consists of both the Mercantile and the Holy, amongst these factions there is a plethora of progeny to choose from.”

Right...

Quint pulled the door closed behind him, standing at opposite ends of the room as Ludlum. Standing tall with his hands buried deep within his pockets Quint eyed up his newest adversary, the next man in a long line of those who had wanted him dead.

And that’s what I find so interesting. You turn to a man excommunicated from your Church and far from a corporate powerhouse. You can play coy all you’d like Ludlum, but it seems you’re a little more transparent than you may think yourself to be.

Quint’s first stride forward was met with the subtle tightening of Ludlum’s muscles. His frame, average at best, stayed propped against the wall, but the tightness of his muscle shone through in his clenched jaw.

You’d be amazed at the simplicity of it all. I watch you, I make it perfectly clear that I’m watching you. I allow you to see that I’m watching you. And I walked into your trap.

Quint’s steps strode further and closer to Ludlum who had risen up from against the wall, straightening himself. The strides were deliberate, each focused and measured. The shadows cast about the room obscured Quint’s eyes as his head dipped, his smile highlighted across his face.

But that’s the best part of this whole story. You know think you have me, you think I’ve walked into this delicately and precisely laid out trap, only to find out that it’s you my friend, it’s you. It’s you that has fallen into the trap.

The knuckles on his hands cracked, releasing the stores and pressurised pockets of nitrogen. It may have been the cracks that frightened Ludlum, or perhaps the wall disappearing from behind him, but either way Ludlum tensed his body stepping an inch forward before being met with the fists of Quint.

This has nothing to do with taking you hostage. Nothing to do with bringing about the righteous fury of your merry band of clergy and merchants. This has everything to do with letting you know I am steps ahead of you. I am waiting. I am willing to do whatever is needed to shut you down.

Blood trickled slowly from Ludlum’s nose, it’s hook tilted slightly to the left under the broken cartilage left from Quint’s right cross. His eyes, squinting out the tears caused from the broken nose, fought to focus on the blond haired man who loomed over top him, his gray pea coat blowing gently in the warm summer breeze. Ludlum briefly wondered why the coat was necessary, but knew it was useless to question Quint’s methodology.

Take this fact to heart dear Ludlum. What you think you know, what information you think you have is flawed. As I’ve likened before you’re nothing more than a T-Rex stomping around thinking you can simply crush those in your way or those that oppose you. That’s the beauty of organizations like yourself, you lose sight of the simpler things in life.

A simple step over top of Ludlum brought Quint standing atop his prey, the mighty scavenger. He brought his second foot across, catching Ludlum in the throat with the toe of his shoe.

Heroics is a dangerous thing to measure. Some say the loss of life in a situation brings you across the line from heroism. Others believe it to me a necessary measure. Personally I’d rather not take your life, I really wouldn’t. But Ludlum, oh dear Ludlum, I will break every bone in your body and let nature take it’s course if I need to.

So this is your warning. The one and final warning. Pack up, walk away and leave my City alone. Anything less than that and dear sir, HavOc will reign down upon you.

The warm summer breeze engulfed Quint as he stepped forth into the night air, stepping over debris and tossed stones from what was once a brick wall.

And before I forget. Know this one intricate detail. No matter how much it seems you may have the upper hand. No matter how you perceive the situation, know that you are wrong. Know that I will be waiting.

“I blew my last five on a cheap fifth of vodka , Gonna kill somethin' and nothin's gonna stop us tonight” – Dax Riggs , Acid Bath

The scene opens to Trey Spruance walking out of a liquor store with some vodka under his motorhead shirt.

AVO: I still don’t understand why you try your hardest to never pay for alcohol?

Trey: It’s simple. You see, if you spend money on alcohol, you have less money for weed.

AVO: Ergh. Here we go again.

Trey: I’m not about to pretend I can change over night. Fuck it. Lets drink this shit and throw some stones at cars.

AVO: You know what would be better? If we DIDN’T throw stones at cars. I’m all for drinking the vodka yeah, but fuck killing a driver. You know it’s because your too drunk all the time to drive and it pisses you off.

Trey pauses, drinks some vodka and makes a face.

Trey: You know you’re probably right. ‘k... lets er... fuck, where the fuck is this headed?

AVO: Duno, you’re supposed to be getting yourself over in this promo so you can beat that guy that hasn’t lost yet.

Trey: Oh yeah... what was his name? Bob? Jack? Bill? Erm...

AVO: David... Anyway, who cares. Just hurry up, say why you should win and stop. This is probably going to be shit anyway.

Trey: Yeah, ok. Well... Duno. Why the fuck should I win? Fuck this.

Trey downs more vodka and passes the last drop in the massive bottle back to Axel.

Trey wobbles and looks angry at himself.

Trey: I don’t want to get pissed anymore! GODDAMMIT!

Trey punches through the computer screen, grabs the writer by the throat and...

Hold on.

What THE FUCK?!

ARGH! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!

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

Coming Home


“Wow, Dad is that it? It’s huge! Hogan is in there huh?” The 8 year old yammered at motorboat speed to the 30 something man in the driver’s seat.

“Yes Bri that’s the arena and Hulk Hogan should be there by now, now turn around till we get there.
Brian’s eyes shone with the bright lights of what was then Riverfront Coliseum. This was the night his father had promised to take him to see Hulk Hogan and the other 80s wrestling superstars live and in person; he was so excited he had about put a man made sunroof in his Dad’s sedan.

“Dad, one day I am gonna be a wrestler just like the Hulkster and everyone is going to yell for me and buy all my stuff, just wait it’s gonna be so cool!!” the youngster said smiling ear to ear.

“Brian Glynn Coogan sit right in that seat, I am not telling you again! You know wrestling is fake right? And you are going to have a respectable job, like me. Wrestling is just a big show….Like KISS or that Motley Crue garbage your uncle listens to,” his father yelled just about at the end of his rope looking for a parking spot.

“Wrestling is not fake Dad, they bleed and everything!! I am gonna do it and you and Mom are gonna sit in the front row and hold up big signs with my name on ‘em, just wait” Brian opened the door impatiently waiting for his Dad to take him in the door…….

All this came flooding back to the man we all know and love as Axel Van Osbourne, the once and future king of professional wrestling, as he crossed the bridge from Northern Kentucky into Cincinnati and the bright lights of the riverfront flooded his eyes just like they did so many years ago.

“Dad, you were wrong….I did it and I am famous!! Kids cheer for me just like I did Hogan so many years ago….People do hold up signs with my name on them and I wish you and Mom were still here to see it,” He began to tear up just a bit as he remembered that night with his Dad all over again. His Dad owned his own business and that night was a rare treat just him and his Big Guy.

He wiped his eyes and snickered remembering how crazy he got the closer and closer they got to the arena. He was a hyper kid and still can’t imagine how his parents contained him for eighteen years. He had not been to Cincinnati proper in close to twenty years. As soon as he was old enough to be on his own, he left this town in the dust. It was amazing how even after twenty years not much had changed. Every street was still where it should be, hell, he thought to himself, I bet all the boys still hang out in the same place too. It was Mark Twain who said when he died he wanted to be in Cincinnati because everything happened there twenty years later and boy was he right.

He pulled up into the arena parking lot leaving his gear in the trunk. He was home and just wanted to let Brian breathe the fresh air a little while longer. Logan had called him earlier in the day and said that Bob Castellini himself had called and asked Brian to throw out the first pitch at that night’s Reds Dodgers game. Brian had been a baseball fan almost as long as he had been a wrestling fan so this was a huge treat for him. In the back of his mind he wondered if that ass clown Bryce Thorne had gotten to do anything that cool. He chuckled, probably not; it was reserved for big stars like Nick Lachey, not Cinemax porn stars like Thorne.

This was truly the only place where Brian could be Brian for awhile without anyone hounding him for Axel’s time and likeness. It was almost like he was living another life when he was out of his gear, no one even blinked when Brian Coogan walked past them. He was almost a ghost, a living breathing ghost, finally invisible to the world. He had to laugh because when he was a kid all he wanted was fame and adoring fans and now that he had it there were times where he wanted it all to just go away so he could be that wide eyed eight year old once again. It seemed as if the other guys in FMW lived and breathed their characters, never letting go of the charade for even a minute. If he didn’t get that release every now and then and let his guard down, took those blinders off for just a minute, there was no telling what he could lose. Focus on this life and just this life had cost him almost everything he cared about in his fiancée and his parents. He promised himself he would never let that happen again. Brian covers his face in his hands trying not to let the emotions wash over him again. If it wasn’t for his singular focus on titles in the FWE maybe just maybe his parents and woman would still be here to see his return home. His parents died in a car wreck that could never truly be explained and Becky was lost to him at the hands of Mikado’s thugs.

It broke down like this, well in his mind anyway, when the bright lights shone down and the fans cheered it was time for the Once and Future King of Professional Wrestling to “take over” so to speak. When the house lights went down and the mirrored shades came off Axel was put away like an old coat and Brian was free again. So many folks in this fed have psychological issues where two or three people live inside their head, that was not the case here with Brian and Axel. Axel is simply a persona that Brian uses to connect with the fans and do his work. Brian doesn’t rattle around in the padded cell of Axel’s mind and vice versa. Axel is a means to end, that end being fame and fortune. In his mind that constant pursuit of fame and everything that goes with it is exactly what separates him from others who want the spot light firmly on them twenty four seven. He enjoyed being in front of thousands every week, but if he was told to pack up his gear and take leave, the rambling house on old 72 called his name just as loud as the most crazy fan in the audience could. When he finally chose to pack it all in and ride off into the sunset, he would know that every day since that night was done for him and not anyone else. Every day Axel’s name was yelled from the stands, Brian was needed as well.

Voiceover:When we last left our heroes they had fallen back after a long battle with evil and has finally retreated to their home, The Righteous Hall of Morality and Do-Goodery. It is here we find them again.


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The scene cuts in from the overlook of the building. Drew Michaels stretches and yawns as he walks into the grandest room of the Righteous Hall of Morality and Do-Goodery. Well, the grandest room next to his bedroom at least.

With a lazy shuffle he mosies his way to the table, rubbing the goop from his weary eyelids. He sits down as an elderly mexican woman dressed in a maids outfit approaches him. She sets down a silver plate with bacon, eggs, and toast in front of one of our zeros and then leaves him a tall glass of orange juice. Caustiously she steps back two paces and stares at Drew as he sips the cool beverage. Then, with a look of disgust on his face, he turns and spits the juice onto the maids apron.

Drew: *PHHHHHHFBT* OH MY GOD WOMAN! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? This is FLORIDA orange juice. I CLEARLY asked for CALIFORNIA orange juice. I mean, seriously is that so hard? Do you not comprehend or something!?

As Drew stares at the woman awaiting a response a monsterous thundering can be heard. As she goes to mutter some words, a battle cry is let out as she is blindsided by a giant gray blur.

Gray Blur: BYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

As the woman is crushed by the behemoth, the assailant writhes around on the ground, as if the woman is putting up a fight. After he gives himself a three count, he stands up to reveal himself as Seth Omega, another one of the Broken Saints.

Seth Omega: WOW! What a rush! Drew, Drew, Drew, oh my God Drew, did you see that?

Drew: Yes, I did Seth. A little over the top, but good work... I guess.

Omega: You guess?! THAT WAS A HARD BATTLE! That lady had a good fifty feet to hear me coming and she almost pulled it out from me. Wow, I am so cool right now, right Drew?

Drew: Yeah. I guess. Hey, wheres Mark-

The Voice of Mark Johannson: Im coming, Drew! Don't worr-REEEEEEEEEE!!!

As Marky Mark rushes into the room, he forgot to look for the spilled orange juice in his excitement. Clumisly, he slides across the floor struggling to regain his balance before tripping over the unconscious maid and falling face first onto the floor. Our zero lets out a soft moan before Seth Omega leaps onto him, forcing all the wind from Marks' body

Omega: OH YEAH! IM GONNA PUT YOU IN A BOSTON CRAB! IM GONNA WIN AND BE SO OVER! Drew, you like the Boston Crab right? Its a good move right!?

Drew: Seth thats your partner! Get off man!

Seth lets out a shriek to rival any small girl and hops off Marky Mark. Amidst the confusion enters Apostasy, shortly followed by Romeo. Drew's eyes light up as he opens his arms wide for his two bretheren.

Drew: Romeo! So great to see you, and... is that Apostasy! Wow I feel like its been forever since we talked last.

Apostasy: We had a conversation yesterday...

Drew: You really ought to get set up here in the Hall. We're all a team you know.

Apostasy: I've lived here for almost a year...

Drew: Really? Well we'll have to throw you a party.

Apostasy: The last time you threw me a party it was for bible study.

Drew: I know, I know, that was a mean trick, but Im telling you Jesus is awesome. I mean look at these cool powers I have now.

Drew closes his eyes and magically the glass shakes and lifts from the table. A rumbling can be heard as the rest of the Saints look on. The glass explodes a magical light then gently floats back down to the table, its contents seemingly unchanged. Drew walks over to the glass and sips it, sighing in refreshment.

Drew: Ahh. See? California. So much better.

Romeo: I swear to god when you all least expect it Im going to blow all of your brains out and bathe in the filth that is all of your incompetent, tiny brains.

All of the Saints look at Romeo simultaineously.

Drew: What?

Romeo: What?

Drew: What did you just say?

Romeo: It definately had nothing to do with killing everyone.

Drew: Oh, thats a relief then.

Omega: Yeah, a relief.

Drew: Shut up, Seth. So, Apostasy, interested in a newspaper?

Apostasy: Yeah, I guess. Thats really awfuly nice of you, Drew-

As Apostasy grabs the paper from Drew's hand he collapses to the ground in pain.

Apostasy: OH SKY WIZARD! OH FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER! WHAT THE HELL IS-

In the midst of Apostasy's flailing, a bible flings out from the newspaper.

Apostasy: A BIBLE! MY ONLY WEAKNESS! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Drew: Wow, get over it you baby.

Omega: DID SOMEONE MENTION GETTING OVER!?!?!?

With a flash Omega leaps onto Apostasy and throws the bible from his hands. He lifts the book and clotheslines it to the ground. He leaps onto the book and rolls around on the floor, where the bible 'pins' him, and he kicks out at two. Seth struggles to move away from the bible and tags Marky Mark, who is still sitting at the table rubbing his face.

Omega: PARTNER I NEED YOUR HELP GO WIN IT FOR THE SAINTS!

Marky Mark: Wait... what?

Seth immediately picks up and slaps Mark in the face

Omega: HOT TAG! YEAH! YOUR ASS IS GRASS BOOK!

Immediately he climbs the table and leaps with a standing elbow drop right onto the bible. He covers and pounds out a three count for himself.

Omega: FUCK YEAH! TALK ABOUT A COMEBACK! TAKE THAT, BOOK!

As the rest of the Saints look on, the giant screen blips and bleeps. After a few seconds of static, the Saints gather round as a man in a nice black suit appears on screen.

Drew: EVERYONE SILENCE! GOD IS HERE!

Apostasy: Drew, how many times do we have to go over this. Thats Steve.

Drew: SHHHH!

Steve: No, my name is really Steve.

Drew: What is our quest!?!?!

Steve: Your rival, Captain Skyler, has phoned us using the Confederation of Super Do Gooder Emergency Hotline. We couldnt make out what he was saying, but apparently theres an evil prince with some sort of can weapon. Your mission is to go help save him, Saints.

Drew: Right, so an evil prince has the Holy Grail.

Steven: No, no! Drew. Not a grail. A can.

Drew: Right. Well, thanks God.

Apostasy: Steven.

Drew: WE HAVE OUR HOLY MISSION! BROKEN SAINTS! AWAY!

Drew barrells through the Saints towards a wall. As he rips off his shirt and throws it to the side, a beep is heard and the wall lifts up to reveal five brass poles. With a heroic shout, Drew leaps and grabs onto one, sliding down into the floor.

Omega: AWAY!

Omega follows suit exactly, tossing his shirt off and shouting as he grabs onto the pole. He shouts out in pain, however, as his skin catches on the pole, causing his body to grind and squeak as he inches his way slowly. Romeo casually walks over as Apostasy sensibly jogs. Marky Mark, the last of the group, stops right before the pole, staring at it with a look of fear in his eyes.

Marky Mark: Ok... this time. Dont be afraid. Dont be afraid...

He closes his eyes and jumps forward, completely missing the pole and hitting the wall. He stumbles backwards off the wall, clutching his face, as he falls through the hole where the pole is.

Marky Mark: AAAH! AAAH! AAAH! NO! PLEASE! GOD! AAAH! AAAH!

Mark keeps his eyes closed as he slides, failing to realize he was already comfortable at the bottom.

Drew: Mark...

Marky Mark: AAAH!

Drew: MARK!

Mark ceases screaming

Drew: You're at the bottom...

Mark opens his eyes and looks around at the cave. He sees that he is safe at the bottom and his teammates are standing near the vehicle. With a sigh and a smile, he steps off the platform and trips, catching his balance off the platform.

Omega: COME ON MARK!

Omega throws a helmet at Mark, which nails him in the eye. Mark blindly searches for the helmet and hops into the car with the other four Saints, with Drew at the wheel.

Drew: BROKEN SAINTS! AWAY!

Announcer: As our hero's speed on to bring needed aid to their rival hero, who knows what dangers they're getting into!!!!!

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Announcer: Our heros arrive at the fortress of Captain Skyler, hopefuly with enough time to save their fellow hero!

The five zeros speed down the street and stop at the fortress gates.

Marky Mark: How are we going to get in? Only one man knows how to open the door.

Omega: Shut up, Mark! Drew, how are we going to get in!? Only one man knows how to open the door!

Romeo: Keep it up assholes. Just wait. When all of you are sleeping Im gonna-

Drew: Whats that Romeo?

Romeo: Whats what?

Apostasy: I think you were thinking aloud again.

Romeo: I think you were being stupid outloud again.

Drew: Good point, gents. This is pretty impenetrable... EXCEPT AT THIS POINT!

Drew leaps from the car and carefully inspects the wall.

Drew: Hmm... rock solid.

Omega: LET ME SEE!

Omega jumps forward and runs his hands along the wall.

Omega: Sorry to tell you Drew, this is rock solid.

Drew: Thats fine. We'll ram it here!

Marky Mark: Uh, wait, what?

Drew: Thats it! We'll ram it!

Drew leaps into the car and starts it up. Seth is quick to follow behind him, riding shotgun. Drew ignores Marky Marks pleas to stop and revs the engine, thrusing the car forward and into the brick wall, where the car breaks through the brick wall.

The five Saints find themselves inside a long corridor filled with ice. They can all see their breath as they exit the wreckage of the car. They all proceed cautiously.

Drew: Ok everyone, be careful.

Omega: Right. Everyone be careful.

The five men inch carefully towards the end of the hallway.

Drew: Keep on the lookout guys. It looks like this evil prince's weapon could be an ice based weapon.

Marky Mark: Oh dear... oh dear...

The Saints finally reach the end of the hall. There is a large door in front of them with many icecicles hanging off of the frame and handle.

Drew: Damn, frozen over. Captain Skyler is probably on the other side of this door and we cant get through!

Romeo: Cant you shoot like, lightning from your penis or something?

Drew: Ahh... no, I can only do the orange juice thing.

Romeo: What the hell...

Drew: Apostasy! What powers do you have!?

Apostasy: Are you serious?

Drew: Yeah, do something.

Apostasy: Um, ok?

Apostasy takes place at the front of the group and leans in close to the handle. He takes in a deep breath and begins blowing on the ice.

Drew: WOW! You can turn ice into water!? Hell... thats good.

Omega: Oh yeah, I bet I can do that too if you had asked me I would have so done it.

The group watch as Apostasy continues his painstaking blowfest to get the door open. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Apostasy stands up, red in the face, the handle seemingly thawed.

Drew: Alright gang lets-

Omega: LETS DO THIS!

Apostasy barely jumps out of the way as Omega charges into the door head first. It flings open as shards of ice fly everywhere and Omega slides flat on his face across the ground of Skyler's fortress. The other Saints slowly walk into the room and after the dust settles, they see Skyler on a couch in the center of the room, his eyes closed, blanket over his body.

Drew: We might be too late.

Omega: Yeah, and we might not have made it in time.

The group look on as Skyler lays motionless.

Drew: Well, lets go report this. I-

Suddenly, Skyler coughs. The five Saints spin to face him.

Captain Skyler: *cough* What the... pizza guy?

Drew: CAPTAIN SKYLER! Are you ok!?

Captain Skyler: Yeah, why wouldnt I be, why didnt you bring my pizza?

Skyler stands up, dozens of pills, bottles, and needles falling from behind his blanket.

Drew: Pizza!? YOURE HIGH AGAIN ARENT YOU!?

Captain Skyler: MAYBE I AM! YOURE NOT MY MOM!

Drew: Skyler, The Confederation of Super Do-Gooder Emergency Hotline is not a toy!

Captain Skyler: Yeah, but they bring the pizza faster if I use that phone.

Omega: Yeah! Not a toy! Wait...you can order pizza with that!?

Seth immediately hops on the red phone next to Skylers couch. As he orders a pizza, Drew and Skyler face off nose to nose.

Drew: You're too close to the line, Captain Skyler! You need to reestablish what youre priorities are!

Captain Skyler: And you need to stop being such a wishywashy silly nanny! HEY!

Skyler pushes past Drew

Captain Skyler: YOU GUYS FIXED MY REFIGERATOR! AWESOME!

Drew: Come on Saints, we're leaving!

Omega: Right. The Righteous Hall of Morality and Do Goodery. Yes. Extra Pepperoni and jalepenos. Yes pineapple too. Ok. Thanks. Bye.

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Drew: Well, Saints, another day another life saved.

Romeo: What are you talking about, we didnt do jack.

Drew: What?

Romeo: I said we did good, man.

Drew: Yes, I think we can chalk another one up for the good guys.

Apostasy: If you say so.

Drew: APOSTASY! When did you get here!?

Apostasy sighs as the door bell rings.

Omega: PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Omega leaps from the table and opens the large double doors to the pizza man standing in front of him.

Pizza Man: Ok, thats one large cheese, one large pineapple, and one large extra pepperoni and jalepeno. That will be fourty-two twenty-seve-

The pizza man is cut off as a small metal trash can smashes him across the face. As he falls to the ground Omega lifts one of the pizzas and smashes it into the face of the downed pizza man and shoves jalepeno in his opponents eyes. With a quick movement, and ignoring the screams of pain from his adversary, Omega grabs an umbrella and smashes it across the back of the pizza man until he passes out. He then begins a count.

Omega: SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!

Omega grabs the remaining two pizzas.

Omega: YOUR WINNER OF THE THREE CHEESE EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK DEATHMATCH EXTREME! SETH OMEGAAAAAAAAA!! AAAAAHHHH!

Omega begins scarfing down pizza as he closes the door. The other Saints look on as the scene fades to black.

The motel room, as nasty as it had been before, now smelled of sex and egotism. One long night of champion style debauchery and scantily clad escapades had led to a dreary eyed, glazed over morning. The sun crept in through tarnished shades, spilling out onto the floor to illuminate the trail of clothes scattered about the room. The stench of alcohol had clung to the dust fibers being shifted about by the air conditioning.

Hannibal Frost, cowboy hat perched over his brow and a new pair of Ray Bans shading his eyes, lightly stepped to the door across the room. Palms slick with sweat and aftershave, he silently grasped the doorknob and pulled the door open.

"Where are you going?" A voice asked from the back of the room.

Frost turned to find his good friend and partner, Nick, stepping from the bathroom. Hair wet and a towel about his waist, his brow arched with curiosity. Frost motioned over to the pair of girls sleeping in the one bed that occupied the room, still out cold by way of last night's events. Pointing a finger at Veronica, the slim sex pistol with the body of a goddess, Frost parted his dry lips to answer.

"Somewhere amongst the continental breakfast, there's a box of Fruit Loops just begging to get eaten out of her ass."

Nick sighed, and waved away Frost's chance at fulfilling a taboo fantasy of his. "I hate to ruin breakfast in bed for you, but Denisoff called. We are to meet with him as soon as possible."

Frost choked back both shock and eager surprise at what Nick had said. Denisoff was the lead man behind the organization that Frost worked for, and had limited himself to just a voice since that day at the hospital so many months ago. Frost hadn't seen the man once since his induction into his new way of life. Whatever was about to go down had to be big.

Frost quietly shut the door and turned his full attention to Nick. "What'd he say?"

Nick shook his head, a bit of confusion playing beneath the surface of his eyes. "Just that it concerned Full Metal Wrestling."

Frost felt his heart skip a bit at the mention of his day job. Ever since banishing the demon Sinius from his body, fighting his own battles had become something to cherish. Righting wrongs, mending burnt bridges, and kicking ass the way the real Hannibal Frost knew how to.

Memories of the second House of Havoc match came rushing back so fast Frost couldn't stop them. The things he did to Leon were something he'd never wanted to do to a human being. It couldn't have been helped though. The position that Frost had been put in demanded that necessary evils be committed. Frost's days as champion, and the prophecy, were hanging in the balance that night.

Of course, risking everything was never easy to do.

Morals or not.




Frost, with an honest smile tugging at his lips, pulled his middle finger from the air and went back to sighting his twenty first century Tavor Assault Rifle- or, for short, TAR 21. With his left eye closed, Frost peered into the MARS red dot sight and took aim at his Abandoned Championship now situated in the glass door cabinet across the room. His pride is what had the title hanging up when he wasn't using it. For the next few days, he wanted everyone to see just what he'd accomplished.

A knock at the door had Frost swinging the rifle around towards the open threshold. Nick stood there, frozen, with a couple of overnight bags in his hands.

"Do we really have time to be playing with toys?" Nick asked, a sly grin stretching from ear to ear.

Frost laughed, setting the rifle down in the process, and stood to stretch his legs. He watched as Nick slid the bags across the office and pointed a thumb out the door.

"Was that really The Harlequin?"

Frost nodded. "He's changed a bit, but that's him. Nice guy, actually."

"I don't have a problem with the guy, but Denisoff might. The Harlequin was on our Most Wanted list for years," Nick explained, his voice tightening now that he knew who he was in the building with.

"Well, people deserve the right to change. Surely our fearless leader isn't narrow minded," Frost countered. He hadn't really given it much thought as to whether Denisoff would approve of Havoc's reunion tour or not. In any case, Frost wasn't going to leave the group just because some pencil pusher decided it wasn't a good image.

"I agree, but Denisoff might give you a stern talking to about it."

Frost waved a dismissing hand, deciding to start packing his hardware as opposed to discussing Denisoff's pet peeves. The TAR, a Desert Eagle fifty caliber handgun, and a half dozen clips went into a hefty matte black duffle bag.

Stowing that on the desk, Frost stepped over to his wet bar and went about pouring himself a to go cup of spiced rum and coke. Nick, still behind him, cracked his knuckles one by one.

"You ready to finally see headquarters again?" Nick asked.

"Just as long as I don't get the shitty end of the stick. This business about FMW has me on edge."

Nick grabbed the two overnight bags he had earlier and stood beside Frost as he finished mixing his drink. "It'll be okay."

Frost peered at the man from over the rim of his Ray Bans. "Define okay."


Home Base Is Where The Heart Is


The smell of disinfectant and industrial strength cleaner swirled around the confines of the entrance lobby. Tasteful, ancient decor littered the area, giving it a Victorian era appearance. A few members of the organization scurried about, busy with themselves and the things that had to get done.

Frost and Nick stepped across the cavernous room, each one flicking their gaze to every little nook and cranny the place had to offer. The sounds of their footsteps echoed for seconds on end before finally dissolving into auditory nothingness.

An exit from the lobby and a few right turns later, Frost found himself entering Denisoff's personal office. The man casually placed a book to the side of his desk, revealing a slight film of facial hair and a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"It is a delight to see you both on such short notice," Denisoff said, his warm English accent carrying across the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, bouncing his voice back to surround Frost.

"I hate to be an asshole... sort of, but we really need to get to business. I've got a match in three days," Frost said, his tone nothing short of harsh. This place made him feel defensive for some reason. He wasn't really partial to any sort of authority. Left over feelings from his days as a murderous fiend maybe.

"That's unfortunate, but its just as well, I suppose," Denisoff answered, motioning for the pair to take a seat.

Frost and Nick both took to the plush chairs positioned in front of Denisoff's desk.

"Two gangs have recently made our Most Wanted list," Denisoff said, pulling a manilla folder from his desk and opening it. "Luckily, they're operating just outside of Pittsburgh in a small warehouse complex. Over the years, they've been rivals. Each one killing, and or kidnapping, members of the opposite gang whilst wreaking havoc on the bordering suburbs."

Frost slid his shades down the bridge of his nose just enough to clearly see Denisoff. "Gangs? Like, human gangs?"

"Precisely."

Frost shook his head. "Every case I've worked on for you has had me killing something. I'm not going to kill another human being."

"Well, you have to. These two gangs have recently united in an effort to cleanse the local population of those deemed unworthy."

This time, Frost slammed a fist against the oak desk in front of him, startling his boss. "Fucking forget it. Get the police involved, it's their job. What makes them so important anyway?"

Denisoff sighed, a look of disdain clouding his eyes. "Each gang has taken to following in the footsteps of two of your colleagues in the wrestling business. The Laughing Men have taken after Harley Quint and the Apostles have taken after Drew Michaels."

Frost choked back an unbelieving laugh, but didn't budge on his "no murdering humans" policy. "In any case, the local police force can handle it. A fucking hobo could handle a band of two bit knockoffs like those guys."

"Bloody hell Frost, no they can't!"

Frost was taken aback by Denisoff's sudden outburst. His cheeks were flaring up with crimson color as veins threatened to break the skin.

"Both gangs know more than they should. They know of Michaels' talks with God and of Quint's talks with Lucifer. Now, the Apostles think they can do the same. The Laughing Men, well, they haven't gotten the memo that Quint has changed his ways."

Frost cursed under his breath, all the while casting a glance over to Nick who was shaking his head. "So, they delve in magic? The black arts? What exactly makes them so dangerous?"

"None of that. It's their conviction, Frost. They believe that they're truly doing the work of the above and the below. That, and they've kidnapped one of our employees," Denisoff explained, his mood now a bit more somber. His eyes glazed over with regret, Denisoff looked to Frost. "I sent our resident archaeologist, Gwen Richards, to find the Trinis Oculus. We'd tracked it to Pittsburgh and she's damned good in the field, so I didn't hesitate a second. Still, she managed to get in over her head and now they have her."

"What will they do with her?" Frost asked, his interest peaked at the opportunity of saving a damsel in distress.

"If they believe her to be unworthy, then surely she mentioned the Oculus. Most believe it to be the devil's tool for ascension. So, the Laughing Men are probably questioning her... while the Apostles are readying to sacrifice her."

This time, Frost cursed aloud.

"Shit."


The Lion's Den And The-

"Wait, wait... is she single?"

"Just go, Frost."

"Right. Sorry."


The Lion's Den And The Dragon's Lair


Streetlights bounced off the hood of the Nissan Skyline Frost picked up from the local outpost associated with his organization. The streets immediately surrounding the warehouse district were quiet; the term "ghost town" was actually befitting. Bits of trash being carried about by the breeze provided the only movement in the immediate area.

Taking a sharp left, Frost brought the car to a stop in a back alley, a block or two down the street from where the gangs were supposed to be holed up.

"I've got a bad feeling..." Frost said, flicking his gaze to Nick.

"I'd hate to see you have a good feeling about any of the cases we've been on," Nick replied, slapping a clip into a black, 9mm pistol held firm in his right hand.

"I just don't feel comfortable killing a human being, no matter how corrupt they are," Frost said, having to stifle a chill at the mere thought of it. They'd hunted supernatural beings to the edges of sanity and back, but having to kill a human would bring back too many memories. Hopefully, Frost would find them befitting of their fate.

"We're the only people that can stand in their way. If the police were to get involved, they'd stumble upon secrets that the mortal world isn't ready for," Nick explained, his tone carrying a smooth calm on its back.

"We'll agree to disagree at the moment," Frost said, finally conceding a temporary defeat.

Unlocking the driver's side door, Frost stepped out into the crisp night air and rounded back to the trunk. Pushing the lid up, Frost found his duffle bag full of toys. Nick met him a few moments later, a practiced eye planning strategy as he also looked over the cache.

"So, what's the plan?" Nick asked, his practiced eye obviously drawing a blank.

"We hang back, do a little recon. Then, if the shit hits the fan, we clean house."

Nick nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I thought you might say that."

Sliding a duffle bag over, Nick lifted up a panel where the spare tire would generally be kept. Inside was a device consisting of six pounds of C-4 explosives and a remote detonator. Nick carefully hauled up the bomb and placed it inside an empty duffle bag.

"A new way of disposing evidence?" Frost asked, slightly nervous that the bomb had been bouncing around in the trunk for half an hour.

"Pretty much. Gas leak, anyone?" Nick said, laughing as he shouldered the bag to weigh against his back.

Frost took the hint, and grabbed the biggest gun in the trunk, his TAR 21. Taking hold of the leather strap, Frost positioned the rifle to lay against his back. Next up, Frost grabbed his Desert Eagle fifty cal and a few extra clips of assorted ammunition. He placed the pistol in his chest holster, while stowing the clips in a couple of inside pockets on his leather duster. Frost then peered over to Nick, who was hip holstering two 9mm semi automatic pistols.

Nodding to each other, both men struck off in search of their prey. Each street got a little darker as they drew closer to their destination. Street lights were out in random places, graffiti littered the sides of buildings, and the sound of evil became ever more apparent.

Taking to a fire escape ladder, both Frost and Nick climbed to the roof of an abandoned warehouse adjacent to the only one with any activity. Quietly stepping over to the edge, the two men saddles down to lay prone.

"See anything?" Frost asked, his eyes searching for movement amongst the darkness.

"Hold up. Headlights."

Frost caught the twin yellow headlights approaching just as the words left Nick's lips. Hunching down lower, Frost quickly braced the rifle against the edge of the roof and took aim through the MARS red dot sight. His finger carefully flicked the rifle's function switch to burst mode as a white van came into view.

Four people exited the vehicle from different doors, a pair from each gang. What had to have been the Laughing Men were donned in ratty looking, yet loud clothing, with clumsily applied face paint marring their features. The Apostles were dressed in sacrificial robes, each one billowing in the sudden gust of wind.

"They're pulling someone out of the vehicle," Nick said, motioning to the van.

Frost watched as two of the Laughing Men pulled a girl from the threshold of the sliding door. Their prisoner didn't move, didn't flinch. Either she'd been killed, or she'd been sedated.

"Is that Gwen?" Frost asked, his voice barely above a whisper. On the way here, Nick had gone over her file while Frost had done the driving. He'd called out certain points of interest, but had never shown him a picture. Obviously, Nick had wanted the man's eyes on the road after downing his to go cup from earlier.

"Damn it, yes. Is she alive?"

The reflexive red dot sight on Frost's rifle wasn't set up for magnification, so he really wasn't sure. Of course, if they were bringing the body inside instead of dumping it, then chances were she was breathing.

"We'll see for sure once we get a closer look. Either way, we've gotta' take these guys out," Frost said, emotions now battling under the surface of his soul. On one hand, he didn't even know the girl, but was saddened just the same at losing out on an opportunity for dinner. From this height, she looked like a nice enough girl with luck bad enough to get caught up in this mess. The mess in question, was Frost's other battling emotion.

These men were bad people. Just like the vampires and demons of cases passed. They knew no bounds when it came to hurting the innocent, but... they were only human. Frost had vowed that he'd never kill another human being since his time being possessed, but it looked like that was about to change. The line between good and evil was murky at best. Walking it was a dangerous thing to do.

Still, Frost had a job to do, and in the end... his intentions would still be pure.

"How do you propose we get in undetected?" Nick asked.

Frost watched as the four men carried the girl into the bay door set flush against the warehouse. He then turned to Nick with a sly smile. "Who said anything about undetected?"


Side Door Cafe


As quietly as they could, both Frost and Nick crept around to a side entrance they'd spotted on the way down from the roof. All the commotion was coming from the inside as the surroundings fell back to being eerily silent. Frost didn't have any intention of getting inside undetected, but if they'd been spotted sneaking up to the door... case closed.

Carefully jiggling the handle, Frost found that the door was unlocked. He slowly pushed it open, his eyes springing open at the mass of people inside. At least fifty people were huddled up in the confines of the warehouse. They were all staring up at a stage, where a robed Apostle stood talking to them. Behind them Apostle was Gwen, lying motionless atop a sacrificial alter.

"Door's open, so they aren't worried about anyone storming the castle. Bad news is... Gwen is about to be set ablaze."

Nick cursed under his breath. A moment later, he retrieved a 9mm from one of his hip holsters. "How many are in there?"

"Rounding up, I'd say fifty," Frost answered with a shrug, before pulling his TAR around to face forward. Sweaty palms gripping the rifle, he prepared himself to shove the door open.

"Shouldn't we at least adopt some semblance of a plan?" Nick asked, gripping Frost by the shoulder with a shaking hand.

Frost was about to answer, until a shadow fell over him from behind.

"I'd say you should've thought of one sooner..."

The words hit Frost like a club to the back, but as his awareness began to fade, he realized those words weren't the only things clubbing him in the back.


The Belly Of The Beast


The world before Hannibal Frost was suddenly set ablaze with light and commotion. Dozens of people, cheering and howling, stood just feet away from him. Frost blinked a few times, trying to clear his muddled vision, before finding that his hands were bound behind his back. Flicking his gaze from left to right, Frost saw that he was ass first on the stage, Nick right beside him.

A figure in a robe stepped into Frost's peripheral vision, his hands raised to embrace the crowd. "And the infamous Hannibal Frost has awakened!"

The crowd brought their cheering to an ear splitting level. The head Apostle, who Frost assumed was the man next to him, gestured once more to the crowd. "Who among us thinks that the Lord, and Lucifer alike, will enjoy their new gift?"

The crowd cheered once more, each person in it crying out for blood. But Frost was getting the feeling back in his face, and wouldn't take to being burned alive without a fight.

"I call bullshit," Frost said, just loud enough to catch the head Apostle's attention. The man spun around, his eyes alight with a fire all their own.

"Why would you call such a thing? Surely you don't believe the Lord himself has commanded you to take the creatures from his world?"

"Of course I don't," Frost said. "Who in the hell would need an instruction manual to know just how fucked up most of you people are?"

A flash of anger played across the Apostle's face, but only for a moment. He had already replaced it with a pleased smile by the time his attention was to the crowd. "How sad is it that this man has become so deluded with lies. For we all serve a higher purpose. Why does he get a special pardon in striking us from the earth?"

Another cheer from the crowd brought about a dull ache thumping its way around Frost's forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to will the headache away, but it was no use. Now, sober and hurting, Frost was really pissed off.

"He doesn't! Hannibal Frost is acting on his own, foolish accord. He has killed many, and yet, thinks he can redeem himself. Only the Lord can forgive him. Now, he will get what he has sought for so long. Redemption! At the gates of Heaven!"

The crowd cheered once more. The Apostles, obviously for the God talk. The Laughing Men, just for the sake of havoc.

The head Apostle spun on a heel and bent down to look Frost in the eyes. "Are you ready for redemption?" He asked?

"You think God appreciates all the charred corpses you've been sending him?" Frost asked, his lips curling into a snarl.

"Of course he does. He appreciates the fact that we rid the earth of the weak in his name, and not just to clear our consciences."

Frost turned away, trying to look torn between the Apostle's words, while simultaneously searching for a way out of this mess. He spotted his gear at the edge of the stage: bomb bag, guns, shades, and hat. He'd have to get to them for any chance of survival. That, and he wasn't about to lose another pair of Ray Bans.

"Do you see the truth now?" The Apostle asked, using his forefinger to turn Frost's attention back to him.

"Nope. I'm stubborn that way," Frost replied, before head butting the robed man with all the strength he could muster. "Nick! now!"

Frost felt the ropes binding him fall away as a blade cut through the center. Finding himself free, Frost pushed himself to his feet and sprinted for the gear. Baseball sliding the last few feet, Frost quickly snatched up the TAR 21 and brought it around to face the crowd. Not one person ran, but, instead, brandished a weapon of some sort. Frost saw chains, pipes, magnums, and knifes shining under the fluorescent lights above. But they wouldn't fire. Not until their fearless leader gave the order.

"Kill him!"

Shit.

Frost, having no other option for survival, pulled the trigger on his assault rifle. Three round bursts tore into the crowd as Frost dove for the curtains to his right. Just before collapsing out of sight, he saw Nick on the other side of the stage, doing the same.

Thumps sounded out against the weak, wooden boards of the stage. Frost timed it just right, and then erupted from curtains. A Laughing Man just inches away, Frost jumped. All in one motion, Frost tucked his left foot into the thigh of the clown whilst bringing his right foot to his temple. The momentum of the kick quickly disabled the Laughing Man and left Frost falling to the floor. As soon as he hit, he rolled two equal times before bringing his rifle around to bare. With a flick of the switch, Frost rained down full automatic fire on the dozen gang members on the stage. Each one hit the floor, smoke rising from the holes in their bodies.

Getting to his feet, Frost held the rifle to point at the remaining crowd beyond the stage. Nick jogged over to him, and together, they approached the alter.

"How in the hell did that plan actually work?" Nick asked, his pistols trained on the remaining gang members.

"We're not out of the woods yet. Cut her loose," Frost answered, his eyes never leaving the anxious mass in front of him.

Nick began to cut the ropes keeping Gwen bound to the alter, and in the process, woke her from her sedation. She rubbed at her head, her gaze flicking all around her. "What in the hell's going on?" She asked, her voice shaky.

Frost smiled. Not four words into her first impression and she was already coloring her vocabulary. "We're getting out of here. Just stay close."

"Would somebody hand me a damn gun?" Gwen all but demanded. Nick quickly obliged her, giving Frost time to tame his fiery libido. If there was ever going to be someone for Frost, then she was it.

Finally, the head Apostle brought himself up from his crouching position behind the alter. Anger broiling under the surface of his eyes, he pointed an accusing finger at Frost. "You dare defy our purpose? Unworthy doesn't even begin to describe you."

"I wasn't really looking for your approval," Frost said, bracing the rifle against his shoulder. With the head Apostle square in his sights, Frost curled an index finger around the trigger.

The Apostle raised his hands, a calming motion, and smiled nervously. "Don't be so hasty. You and I... aren't so different."

Frost nodded to Nick, "Get the bomb." Then, flicking his gaze back to the Apostle, asked, "How the hell do you figure?"

"We both are in the business of cleansing the world. If we could just unite our-"

"Unite? Do you have any idea who you're talking too? For that matter, do you have any idea just how insane you sound?"

The Apostle slammed his fist down onto the sacrificial alter. Eyes wild, he gestured to the remaining two dozen people behind him. "We... know what it's like to be cast out by society. To be... misunderstood."

Frost smirked. "You're crazy. I'm a social butterfly."

"You're sarcasm does little to cover your true feelings. I know you, Hannibal."

Frost's grip on the rifle became shaky, the Apostle trudging up memories that should've stayed buried deep. The murdering of a family; an adopted daughter; the woman he loved. The layers of callous sarcasm were just ways of protecting himself. Ways of making sure no one got too close.

Nick, approaching in Frost's peripheral vision, pulled him away from his thoughts. "Got the bomb, Frosty."

Frost flicked his gaze past Nick. "You forgot my hat. And my shades."

"You didn't say anything..."

Frost sighed. "A real heterosexual life mate would've just known. There's a reason my name's Hannibal Frost and not... Han...nibal Solo."

"Sorry," Nick replied, before jogging back over to the edge of the stage.

Frost glanced back to the Apostle, gun held just a bit firmer. But the Apostle wasn't frightened. He was baring a smile.

"See how quickly it happens? You can't even switch it off," The Apostle said, a knowing look in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are you about to do, Frost? Murder... dozens of human beings? Your sarcastic, mental shield is the only thing keeping you from going insane."

Frost began to lower the rifle, his hands now repelling the signals from his brain. "You don't know what you're-"

"Yes, I do. I know everything about you. The dead girlfriend with the general for a father. The realization that said girlfriend was actually alive, only for her to die a slow, horrible death. Then, the demon you summoned to help you... ended up stealing your body instead. It took you a year to build up enough strength to get your body back."

"Shut your fucking-"

"I'm not done. What happened during that year? Innocent people were murdered. Jennifer, your adopted daughter, had her life taken. She hadn't even turned twenty yet. In Full Metal Wrestling, you hurt people. Of course, who knew a four hundred year old demon would turn out to be such a pathetic excuse for a wrestler."

The Apostle laid a hand on Frost's rifle, but the stricken man couldn't find it in him to move. Gwen, behind Frost, aimed her pistol at the robed Apostle before them.

"Step back, or I spray your face all over the crowd behind you," She said, her sultry voice taking on a new level of violence.

The Apostle simply smiled. "Frost doesn't want that. He knows what has to be done." Then, stepping closer, he locked gazes with Frost. "He knows that this alter is his only path to repentance."

That single word echoed throughout Frost's mind, drawing all of his memories into a single focal point. He had a job to do. A woman to save. A town, full of people he didn't even know, to protect.

Finding his grip again, Frost jammed the muzzle of the rifle against the Apostle's chest. Eyes wide with surprise, the Apostle screamed, "What are you doing!?"

Frost answered. "Repenting."

With a flick of the trigger, rounds tore from the TAR 21 and into the Apostle's chest. Blood and gore rained down onto the crowd, causing an uproar. As their leader crumpled onto the stage, the crowd of murderers advanced with threats of malice and death.

"Snappy one liner aside, we need to leave," Gwen said, grabbing Frost by the shoulder.

"Right. Where's Nick?"

On the mark, the bay door at the other end of the warehouse buckled, until finally tearing away, allowing a black Nissan Skyline to enter. Wheels screeching against the floor, the car sped towards the stage, hitting the gang members to slow to get out of the way.

Skidding to a halt before the stage, Frost motioned for Gwen to jump for the car. She did, and as soon as Frost followed suit, they were on their way towards escaping.

"Where's the bomb? And my shades." Frost asked from the passenger side seat.

"Shades are in the glovebox. Bomb is back on the stage. The remote detonator... is in the cupholder."

Frost glanced down, found the device, and snatched it up. "Now?" Frost asked, watching as the main street neared them at an alarming speed.

"Now."

Frost hit the button, and in seconds, an explosion tore all the sound away from the world. The car rocked on its suspension, hot wind from the explosion attacking the rear bumper. Frost glanced back, and behind the warehouses lining the street, saw flames licking at the stars above.

Human beings were fueling that fire, and Frost... was okay with that. He knew there'd be casualties. There always were. And he couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way.

"Brace yourselves!"

Frost heard the shouts right before his world was taken through the spin cycle. Everything was in disarray. And it wasn't until the jarring impact that Frost found stability again. Aches and pains slithered through Frost's ribs as he drug himself from the passenger side window, that was now level with the ground.

Finally out of the car, Frost turned back to check on Gwen and Nick. "Everyone breathing?" He asked. Two weak replies met his query.

But then, a searing pain latched onto Frost's ribs like an attack dog. He doubled over, and in doing so, found a man standing before him. Vision blurry, Frost could only see a suit and tie.

"I didn't think he'd survive..."

Another voice answered, from a body he couldn't see. "You underestimate him."

The voices sounded closer now, but Frost's vision was still blurry. He tried to stand, but failed. Eyes closed, Frost let his body fall slack, one arm inside the shattered window.

"He can't live. He's closer to the prophecy than ever."

"We must find the Oculus."

A familiar weight was suddenly in Frost's palm. He gripped it, and found the wings of an eagle... to be at his disposal. Eyes closed, Frost honed in on the locations of his two assailants. Two feet in front... side by side. Weapons being unholstered. Footsteps. Hammers clicking back.

Frost pulled the Desert Eagle from the car and fired two precision shots at the stars. Moments later, the sounds of bodies hitting asphalt confirmed the kills.

"Thanks for the gun."

"You're welcome."

The voice was feminine. The hands... soft and warm. Frost's vision began to clear just as Gwen cupped his cheeks. Finally, he could see her. "I'm Hannibal Frost. And it's a damn fine pleasure to meet you."

She smiled. "Gwen Richards. And, believe me, the pleasure is mine."

Frost smiled back, but not before another voice chimed in. "Yeah, don't mind me. I'm only bleeding to death over here."

Frost ignored Nick's whining, knowing that if he had the strength to whine in the first place, he was fine. Turning back to Gwen, Frost pulled a cellphone from the ground beside him and handed it to her.

"Put your number in there. After we sort this mess out, I'd like to ask you to dinner."

Gwen took the phone from him. "In the face of danger, Hannibal Frost has time to stop and make dinner plans?"

"I've got about fifteen seconds before I pass out. Otherwise, I might forget."


The Cell Phone Always Lives


"Frost here."

"It's Denisoff. Everything resolved?"

"Bad guys are dead, evidence is toast, and I think I might get the girl."

"Have any trouble?"

"Two suits. We were almost killed."

"I apologize. The Agency is on to us now. We are closer to the Oculus, and the prophecy, now more than ever. Tomorrow night, I need you to win. At this point, all we have is riding on your shoulders."

Sliding the cellphone closed, Frost looked out over the balcony of his recently booked motel room. Cowboy hat shading his face, and Ray Bans perched on the bridge of his nose, Frost watched the stars as they cluttered the night sky with their brilliance.

Now, Frost had a brilliance all his own. He really was some people's last hope.

At redemption.

At life.

At living.

He couldn't afford the luxury of fear. The fear of dying, the fear of losing... the fear of killing. Only those that deserved it would get the full extent of his wrath, but now... no one would stand in his way. Good or evil. This was getting heavy.

But then again... there's nothing like working under pressure.

Hunched over on a long locker room bench, Kaoru watched himself sweat onto a towel covering the shabby floor tiles. His hair drooped over the back of his curling neck like the yarn of a soggy mop. It had grown long enough to cover his whole face when wet. He looked like a man who’s had hair bloomed straight from the neck and grown into a featureless, head-shaped bud. Almost like a thatched scarecrow head attached to a meaty body.

He liked his hair that way. It gave him a private sanctuary exclusively for his face. When he didn’t want to look at the world, he could retreat into the sanctuary’s walls. Sometimes, the hair hung still and peacefully. But now it was wet, pulsing, and alive with the residual energy of earlier labor. He could feel the clamminess dangling all around him. His hair, his hermitage was damp with the stink of failure. Drew Michaels was still the C-4 Champion. And he was champion thanks to Kaoru’s right arm, which made the smell all the more disgusting. “Almost” an aching word. The difference between a fire and a firefly is “almost.” The difference between success and failure is “almost.” And now Kaoru Hanayama was the FMW C-4 champion…

…“almost.”

It would have hurt him less to lose; to have been beaten into a lifeless pulp beyond any shadow of a doubt the arena lights could cast. Then there would have been no questions. No shame. Either you walk away a winner, or die before anyone calls you a loser. That was how the natural world worked, even if it was framed in the grey embroidery of skyscrapers and sidewalks.

A real fight was all in.

But in a professional fight, you were paid to survive. Paid to live in disgrace. Paid to keep appearing on the cards long after the adrenaline of knuckles against your chin becomes the same as a nine-to-five job.

Kaoru couldn’t understand why anyone would do that. Lacing up your boots every day and palling around with contenders long after they had dismissed you as an also-ran wasn’t just disgraceful. It was disgusting.

There was no such thing as a perennial contender. Only a perennial loser.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

*BOOM*

Kaoru did not feel his fingers wrap around the long locker room bench. Nor did he feel his shoulders turn pneumatically, as he threw the long wooden slab against the locker room door. But he had seen that the door was about to open. And he already knew who was going to be standing on the others side, which is why he threw it in the first place. Splinters flew in every direction, as the door frantically closed. Kaoru could hear his own quiet, angry breathing as the crash of the bench was smothered back into silence.

HOhohohohoho!

Having peeped through the crack to make sure the coast was clear, Sonny confidently strode in and slammed the dressing room door behind him. The noise added weight to his laugh, which was as frail and squeaky. He was flanked by two Asian men in suits. Both of them looked like their cheekbones had been sharpened against dull rocks.

That was quite the effort there, butterball! Maybe you could have hit yourself with a lariat too! Just for good measure!

Kaoru’s fat body glistened with sweat, his face impassive. The jolt of fury that ran through his body had now settled. His hair, which had flown upward suddenly, now settled back around his face like a crown of leaves after a gust of wind. Sonny was not intimidated, and chuckled so hard that he nearly wheezed.

But seriously, seriously…how did you decide which faggot you were going to help out? The faggot with the tattoos, or the faggot with the makeup on his face? Was there some sort of quotient for which one looked less like a bum? BWAhahaha!

The old man rocked up and down on the balls of his feet. If it weren’t for the wrinkles and liver spots, he would have looked just like a little boy. Hanayama’s eyes gazed down at the tiny man convulsing in laughter, then to the two bodyguards before settling back on Sonny. He was wearing his banana-yellow sweat-suit again.

Kaoru let out a brief, but audible snort before sitting back down. His hairdo hung back over his eyes, shutting Sonny out from view.

What’s this? Nothing to say? Suddenly, tubby is all out of threats? No snappy comebacks? No “boogadey-boo, I’m going to kill you?” Heeheehee! This is a first! Well now, as long as you’re sitting there all nice and quiet, I have an email from back home. The boss sa—

Kaoru cut him off, his voice slightly muffled by his bangs.

–that he won’t be tolerating any losses, and that I am expected to win in order to make him money. It’s not my fault that a third party was involved. Drew Michaels can’t beat me one-on-one and he kno—

Whoa, there! Pump the brakes, butterball. The email is to congratulate you.

Kaoru did not answer. Instead he cocked his head ever so slightly, one eye protruding out through the veil of hair. Sonny sucked the silence in gleefully through his teeth.

That’s right tons-of-fun, to congratulate you! Surely you knew, didn’t you? I mean, you take so much pride in planning all the little doodads and pretending to be smarter than everyone else. But have you forgotten the whole reason why you’re here?

It was a rhetorical question. Kaoru chose not to answer.

To keep a low profile, you fat lummox! The shenanigans you pulled off back in Tokyo made you too risky to have around. So boss had to send you across the entire goddamn Pacific ocean to keep down your exposure. Now you tell me, mister criminal mastermind…mister assassin…mister “I’m too good for my own good,”…would you consider winning ad internationally recognized wrestling title to be keeping a low profile?!

Another rhetorical question. Sonny felt bold enough to scream it. No one else in the room gave any hint of reaction.

Heeheehee…aww! Is tubby sad? Tubby going to cry tears of butter? Did you honestly think we wanted you to win titles and draw in that kind of publicity? Nope. Your job here is twofold: First and foremost, you are to wait until the consequences of your Tokyo bloodbath boil over. Second, you are to channel all of your little “impulses” into productive areas for the family. As far as wrestling goes, you will win all matches necessary to remain a profitable bet for our bookies. But titles? HAH! Explicit orders are for you to throw the title match every time. And that means EVERY time. Said so in the email. You can read it if you don’t believe me. Your job is to be a perennial contender…

Kaoru winced behind the cloak of his hair.

…and nothing more. Hmph!

Sonny’s right foot gave a childish little stomp as he turned on it to face the door, and began to marc out self-importantly. He tried to do something of a goose step for dramatic effect, but his feet were too short to reach any meaningful height. Instead he looked more like a toy soldier in a fruit-colored uniform who had just been wound up.

As he passed the suited men, they also turned and followed in his wake.

The door closed unassumingly. Kaoru briefly looked around before finding a folded metal chair resting against the far corner. Lumbering over, he picked it up and set it before the biggest pile of splinters from the wooden bench, directly before the door.

It all made sense to him, of course. Winning titles might put a target on his back for the Keishich, the LAPD, or even international police. He could stay in Los Angeles for one…maybe two years. Until the heat in Tokyo died down. And all the while he would compete in FMW, winning every match that had nothing to do with a title and making sure to lose those that did. It was part of the punishment, Kaoru supposed, to stand there on national television and endure insult after insult knowing that you would have to lay down for the little worm in advance. It all made sense. It all fit together very, very nicely.

He could do that…

No…

…but he wouldn’t.

To kill was one thing. Killing brought him pleasure. Feeling the grip of another man collapse between the weight of his own brought him the satisfaction that big game hunters dreamed of. To break and bend and deform a man’s physical self in your own image…it was as close to playing god as man would ever be. And it was his right. It was his basic human right by being bigger. Stronger. Faster.

To make a mockery of that by forcing him to lay down before the biggest kill? It was unacceptable. Food without sustenance. Sex without orgasm. Life without living.

He would win any match he chose. He would break any man he wanted. And if the organization had any problems, then he would say his apologies after the fact.

Hey, by the way!

Kaoru looked up, having been caught off guard by the old man’s characteristically noiseless steps. Sonny, apparently having forgot something, had snuck back to the door and opened it just far enough to make his voice audible.

Maybe if you hadn’t wasted all of your goddamn time obsessing over that dead slut and her nasty stripper dollars, you could have trained a little more and won that match! HEEHEEHEE! WHOOO I’m wild!

*SLAM*

..and Kaoru was alone again.

Geezer always has to get in the last word…

Reaching down into the pile of splinters, Kaoru picked up the biggest one and twirled it between his sausage fingers.

It was clearer now, than it was when he had first gotten into the codger’s car. If things went wrong in Los Angeles, the old man would be the first to go. And as for the money and the hooker, he would get to the bottom of it. Even if the coot was unwilling to see the connection, he would get to the bottom of it.

Kaoru snapped the splinter twixt his fingers like a pencil, and watched it crumble to the floor.

There are no such things as perennial contenders. Only perennial losers.


The digital clock on his nightstand read 2:00 AM.

Kaoru could still hear music downstairs. Little Nakasu on a Friday night was generally chock full of FOBs; fresh-off-the boat immigrants. None of them could hack it an American night club, so whenever they wanted to get themselves drunk and lose some money, Little Nakasu was the place to do it.

Mahjong tables, pachinko…anything that a nostalgic Asian could want for a good time, Nakasu had it. The Yamaguchi-gumi had other clubs, of course. Bigger places for the younger people, who spiked their hair, bought overpriced jeans and button-up shirts, and felt like grinding. Those were the real cash cows. But with Nakasu doubling as an armory and a casual whorehouse, that wasn’t the right kind of crowd to bring. Those were the “young Romans”...the kids who considered themselves American and wanted to be investment bankers out of college because they were under the illusion that it would garner them some respect in the US.

But there was a party downstairs nonetheless. And even if it wasn’t the sort of fashionable party Los Angeles could revel in, it still annoyed Kaoru.

As he sat at his desk, the full array of goods was spread out before him like a map. On the top left were all of the newspaper clippings he could find. So far, none of the major papers had managed to trace the burning of the church back to organized crime. Bullets had been extracted from the back of the deacons’ necks, but nothing had come of it.

Father Kaguro had hidden his dirty laundry well. Or maybe the Inogawa-kai had done it for him.

Next were the pictures of the dead whore. Someone had left her in bad shape. Very bad shape. When Kaoru had given the order to get her out of the garbage, some of the younger foot-soldiers refused. In the end, he was the one who had to get his clothes bloody.

Both nipples had been sliced off; a blatant sign of yakuza execution. They physicians had declared that to be the primary cause of death. She had bled out from her chest. On top of that, her nose was broken in three places. After she had been cleaned off, the doctors said they had found rounded burn marks all over her body, most likely from cigars.

None of that interested Kaoru. He had seen and caused enough dead prostitutes to not be particularly sensitive about it. What interested him much more were the autopsy results. The black market quacks were apparently paid enough for the whole post-mortem package, including autopsy. In her stomach, they found a small plastic pouch. It was almost like a sandwich bag. Inside the pouch, were several hundred dollar bills folded neatly into each other.

They felt crisp and clean, almost like new. Why would a prostitute have eaten, or been force fed, brand new hundred dollar bills?

Hanayama remembered asking that question when he was on the line with Tokyo. But when he called for the money to undergo some sort of testing, he was flat out refused at every turn. Every Oyabun, Saiko-komon, Waka-gashira, Shatei-gashira, over-boss, underboss, lieutenant…every single one had told him that the matter was closed. That even if the money was tested, it would likely lead to nothing.

Kaoru had even gone so far as to go over everyone’s heads and call Uncle himself. Uncle had indeed listened to his concerns with a seemingly interested tone. But nothing had come of it.

I do not understand. Why is the lead not being followed? Why is the mo—

Nephew, you’re overreacting. There is no need to press the issue further. She is dead. You failed to save her and she is dead. We cannot help that anymore. Whether or not she divulged any information will be known within the next few months, based on the Inogawa-kai’s actions. Until then, there is nothing to worry about.

But---

Listen! Was I not the one who arranged this mission in the first place? I know the information she had. And that information had nothing to do with hundred dollar bills. I do not want to hear of this again!

What is the harm in being cautious? If the dollars are unimportant then they are unimportant. She had them in her stomach, Uncle.

Hmph…fine, fine! If it will douse your fear, then I will make sure one of our currency experts in Los Angeles gets in touch with you. You can give him the money, and I’m sure he will gladly tell you whatever you want to know.

Thank you. You are honorable and wise.

I know, nephew. I know.

That conversation had been a week ago. Even so, it was obvious that Uncle was lying. For such a simple piece of evidence to be overlooked was far too strange. They autopsy crew had merely wanted to dispose of the money, until Kaoru personally interjected and took the bag up to his room.

He made sure to keep it on his person at all times. Nobody was brave enough to come get it from him. Besides, an explicit command for him to relinquish the money at gunpoint would have done nothing but confirm a cover-up.

Instead, Uncle had played it tactfully and allowed Kaoru to give the money to the “currency” expert,” who would no doubt find “nothing wrong” with the money and conveniently dispose of it after he had finished with his “tests.”

The stack of hundreds, neatly folded, was the last thing on his table.

Kaoru looked back at the digital clock. 2:05 AM. It was time. Scooting back in the chair noisily, he rose from his table and began the walk downstairs. Even on the second floor, signs of a party was visible. Hanayama could hear the faint sounds of fucking coming through the flimsy doors. Farther down, a couple of kitten-faced girls were leading men by the hand to their rooms. A few others, the drug-whores who usually took a fraction of their pay in smack, were sitting on the floor against the wall content with enjoying their fix before looking for more customers. Kaoru had to step over several of these, knocking them over like dreamy potted plants. It was a narrow hallway, and he was a wide man.

Kaoru came down the stairs as silently as he could, bumping shoulders with a drunken man in a loose tie heading the other way. Peeking over the rail, he could see Sonny was sitting at the bar. He was drinking a cosmopolitan and cackling about something the bartender had told him. Sonny always insisted on ordering a cosmopolitan, even when he found out it was a woman’s drink. It didn’t much matter, so long as he was distracted.

With a sudden burst of speed, Kaoru bowled down the stairs and into the thick cigarette smoke of the party, making a beeline for the kitchen. His size made it difficult to be inconspicuous, so he needed to move fast. Walking on the balls of his feet, Kaoru waded through the cigarette smoke and mahjong tables, slipping through gaps whenever he could before finally disappearing behind the kitchen door.

A quick glance through the port-hole style window confirmed that Sonny hadn’t seen him.

Keeping pace, Kaoru briskly walked toward through the kitchen area. The meat-hooks he had hung the Korean from still dangled from the ceiling. They were silent witnesses; the best kind of witnesses.

Hanayama opened the back door of the kitchen and stepped out into the side alley of Little Nakasu, immediately hearing the sounds of someone puking in the dark. The place smelled like a urine-and-fertilizer cocktail, but this was where they had agreed to meet. Using the front door wasn’t exactly stealthy.

Psst!

Squinting, Kaoru scanned the darkness of the alley.

Psst! Over here!

He came from behind the dumpster, wearing what looked like a cowboy duster. Apprehensive at first, he darted from one side of the alley to the next, then back again, approaching Kaoru in an erratic zig-zag pattern before darting right up to the bigger man’s torso.

You uhh—err---you---umm---you –mmm you--the one?

You’re “Dollar” Yano?

Yeah-yeah…that’s…that’s me…”Dollar” Yano…or just “Dollar”…or just Yano…but yeah..I’m—I’m “Dollar” Yano…yeah…

Even with the cowboy duster on, he seemed to be shivering. His neck pinged left and right like he was being slapped in the face by invisible hands.

Why are you shaking like that?

What? Oh—uhh—I shake. I just—I just shake. Just---just looking---looking around---looking around…around…They called me Twitchy in high school---yeah---Twitchy. Twitches? Twitchy? Twitches? I think it was Twitchy…almost definitely Twitchy…

He shook like his heart pumped coffee, and his voice had a fearful quality to it. Even beneath the enormous coat, you could see the vibrations. His head was almost entirely swallowed by the collar of the duster, with his hummingbird eyes and bowl-haircut sticking out. He looked like a nervous mushroom cap.

Why are your coat pockets full of newspaper and garbage from the alley?

“Dollar” Yano looked down at his pockets and back up at Kaoru in record time.

Oh that? Err—uhh—hmm---that’s…

You’re a kleptomaniac, aren’t you?

NO!-I mean..no…no…not a maniac…not a KLEPTOmaniac…That stuff is just…mine. Because I-uh…I found it. So it’s mine… I mean I didn’t just find it here, it’s always been mine. I brought it here…it’s…it’s my stuff---

Whatever. Piss yourself.

“Dollar” Yano tilted his head questioningly, without ceasing to twitch.

Wh—why—piss---why do I—piss myself? I don’t want to piss myself, I don’t think I wan—

It’s suspicious if someone comes out through the kitchen in a giant trenchcoat. So piss yourself like you’ve just finished pissing in the alley. Then go through the door and straight upstairs like you’re visiting a whore. I’m in room 231. I’ll come in five minutes after you so the old man doesn’t notice.

It wasn’t difficult for “Dollar” Yano to urinate on himself. Watching him from a distance, Kaoru wondered how he avoided it at all. Throughout the whole process, Yano just kept trembling anxiously.

When he was finished, he obediently scooted into Nakasu and out of the kitchen door, mumbling something under his breath. His steps were quick and staccato, almost like a little child whose feet were too short to keep up with his parent. That may well have been the case, since Yano only stood at five-foot-three or so. His face was dead level with Kaoru’s gut.

Hanayama waited the full five minutes, checking his watch meticulously before finally exiting the kitchen himself and going back upstairs. The party was still in full swing. He tried to make it seem like he wasn’t in a hurry.

Hey now! Just where did YOU go, tubby?

Sonny’s voice whined across the room just when Kaoru reached the foot of the stairs.

Cigarette.

Kaoru said that word without ever stopping. Sonny shrugged dismissively and went back to drinking his Cosmo.

As he re-ascended the stairs and walked down the second floor, Hanayama found “Dollar” Yano again. He was standing outside of Room 231, poking the doorknob with his index finger and withdrawing it as though it was scalded.

What are you doing?

HUH?—Wha-ohhh…umm…it’s…the doorknob is dirty and so…hmm…like the whole hall…whole hall is dirty and --*clears throat*….yes…umm…

Kaoru sighed and swung the door open, pushing “Dollar” Yano inside and walking in and locking the door behind him. Yano immediately shuffled over to the table, where his flittering eyes caught hold of the hundred dollar bills on the table.

He stood there for a minute, nodding his head. Kaoru could have sworn he heard something like slurping coming form inside the cowboy duster.

This—uh…this is it?

Kaoru nodded. Yano didn’t look over in the direction of the nod, but seemed to assume that some affirmation was given because the next thing he did was snatch the folded hundreds and hold them very close to his face. His fingers rubbed against each other and the money obsessively. All other parts of his body stopped moving. It was as if his nervous twitching had all suddenly migrated up his body and into the palms of his hands. He handled the money like a squirrel would handle an acorn, or the way a fly would rub its front two legs compulsively if you looked close enough.

Tucking the money closer, “Dollar” Yano took several deep whiffs of the cash. Then, lowering the duster a bit to reveal a small feminine mouth, Yano ran his tongue along the surface of each individual hundred. When he would finish with a bill, he would smack his lips together with all the introspection of a wine connoisseur.

Kaoru watched him, all the while not blinking.


The digital clock on the table read 2:45 AM, when “Dollar” Yano finally put the slobbery hundreds back on the table.

Kaoru had taken a seat thirty minutes ago, making sure not to take his eyes off the kleptomaniac, whose pockets were still stuffed with trash from the alley.

AHA! Yes…mmm…yes…aha…

Kaoru looked up in exasperation, his head tilting onto his own shoulder.

Have you found out anything?

Yano let out an insect-like chuckle, before reaching into the cowboy duster and pulling out a napkin for his drool-covered hands.

Somehow, his next sentences were crystal clear. He didn’t stutter once.

All of the beginners stuff checked out straight away. There are security strips on the left side of all the bills, which tasted authentic. They also have the watermark of Ben Franklin on the right-hand side. Didn’t taste like the ink was laced with anything…cocaine, explosive primer, stuff like that. Moreover, the paper they are printed on contains no starch and doesn't reflect ultraviolet light…

Yano’s temporary attack of sanity paused.

…but…

Kaoru stood up from his chair and walked over to the table, looking over Yano’s shoulder like a smothering shadow.

But what?

“Dollar” Yano blinked each eye separately, before shoving a hand into one of his many pockets and pulling out a small metallic box with a black handle. It had an LCD screen embedded in the top, and looked almost like a miniature minesweeper.

What’s that?

Yano continued in his calm way, suddenly very articulate.

This is the d500. See, U.S. paper money is printed with magnetic ink. But that's also used for many fraudulent bills. On real bills, the ink is distributed in a consistent pattern whose magnetic resonance can be mapped. The magnetic map is stored in the D500, as well as three other maps containing ultraviolet, infrared and other measurements taken from legitimate bills.

How did you get tha—

…and in an instant, Yano’s composure broke.

–IT’S MINE, WHO CARES HOW I GOT IT? I FOUND IT. YOU CAN’T HAVE IT!

Kaoru held his hands up, silently urging “Dollar” to remain calm before returning to his seat. After several nervous pants, Yano recovered from the panic attack and began to feed the dollars into the tiny machine. Each time, the machine would emit several beeps and boops before spitting the money back out. He did this for all five of the hundreds. The same beep came out each time.

When he was finished, Yano folded the dollars back into their original position and put the machine into one of his anonymous pockets.

They’re uhh…they’re fakes.

Kaoru sprang out from his chair again and lumbered to the table, nearly shoving Yano aside.

Are you certain?

Y-y-yep. And uh…they’re damn good ones too. Yep. Damn good. If uh…if I hadn’t sto—if I hadn’t “found” the d500 fair and square, there would have been no way to tell. On the street erm…uhh….yeah…*clears throat*… on the street that stuff is as good as the real thing. But uh---definitely fake. Yeah. There’s always…hmph…always a way to tell the fake from the real, because the real erm…yeah….mmm…the real keeps changing. Getting uh…getting more real. Getting better. More holograms, more codes, different paper and uh…tracking chips. What masquerades as real today is fake tomorrow.

Kaoru picked up the money, getting Yano’s spittle all over his hands in the process. His mind raced furiously through all imaginable scenarios. A hooker with a plastic bag full of dupes in her stomach. And not just any dupes. High quality ones.

Was the money hers?

Was it the Inogawa-kai’s?

Did she eat it voluntarily?

Was she force-fed it?

It didn’t add up.

Hanayama was now completely eclipsing the desk, while Yano shuffled nervously behind him. After a few minutes of staring, “Dollar” was about to take the first step towards the door.

Dollar.

Y-y-y-yes?

Tell me one more thing. How exactly does one make something like this?

Dollar scratched his head so quickly and so rough that it sounded like someone had struck a match.

Erm…hmm…you’d uh…you’d need a press. An expensive press. C—uh…could be Swiss…maybe…possibly…

Kaoru reached into the drawer of his table, where his silenced H&K P30 lay.

Hey Dollar?

Y-Y-Yeah?

Piss yourself.


Even through the walls, you could hear the FMW crowd roaring. Kaoru sat once again on his long wooden bench. His still-fresh towel was draped over the back of his neck, standing between him and the world.

…I’m glad we had this little talk, butterball

Sonny was in the locker room. He was in his banana suit. He was with his honor guard. He had a foot-long hot dog in his hand.

After your little outburst in the last show, boss just wanted me to remind you one last time; this is your cover. You are not here to be a “real” wrestler. Just a really good fake. You’re just here to blow of steam, stay out of the limelight, and make money in the meantime.

He let out his crotchety boy-giggle while chewing a mouth-full of hot dog.

You know…you could take some lessons from that big Irish monkey you’re facing! Heeheehee! He thinks he’s a big shot. He thinks he’s the “man to beat” in FMW, while all these pissants make fun of him behind his back. Every time he gets within a hair’s breath of something, he loses. And that’s what you’re going to do. That’s what you’re going to BE. Win often enough to stay high on the card. Hell, win the Gold Card if you can! But when it comes to the title, you lose. No matter what, you lose! You got that?

Swallowing the oversized bite, Sonny grinned from ear to ear as crumbs fell from his toothless mouth. Kaoru stayed buried beneath the mantle and crust of towel and hair, merely nodding. Knowing that he would not get a better response, Sonny took another bite of hot dog and opened the door to leave.

By the way…boss told me to ask. Did you ever give that money you were so worried about to the specialist?

Kaoru nodded again, knowing full well that he had given the “specialist” five hundred-dollar bills from his own pocket and not the dupes.

Good. Knock ‘em dead, champ!

*SLAM*

Sonny was gone, leaving Kaoru once again to drift in the world of his hair. His sanctuary. His hermitage. It was true. He was not a real wrestler.

But he was a real fighter. He was real. He WAS real. A real contender. A real champion

And he would not lose to the fake.

There are no such things as perennial contenders. Only perennial losers.

…To Be Continued.

Leah: Would you like any garlic bread?

Skyler: You didn’t invite me here to make small talk – or to eat, for that matter. Order whatever you want.

This three star restaurant pains me. Not because I expect five star dining, but because of who’s sitting opposite me. She stabbed me in the back. Hard. She caused this, all of it, she- calm down. Calm down before you do anything stupid.

Leah: You’re really not fussed?

Skyler: Given that I don’t have a taste tester around to check for poison, I’m going to have to pass on your offer.

Leah: You really believe this whole incident was my fault?

Keep it calm. Calm, damnit. I knew we weren’t going to make it even one minute without her trying to fix everything. Bloody psych.

Skyler: No, it’s entirely my own, Leah. I just decided that your telling the doctor about a minor injury which would force me to vacate my championship belt was, indeed, all my fault. Of course this is your fault!

Leah: Keep it calm, Skyler. We’re in a public place.

Aren’t you lucky about that, too. If I didn’t know that you were carrying some spray can in your pocket I’d already have broken your jaw by now.

Skyler: What do you want from me?

Leah: I want an apology, first off. Then I want you to actually think cohesively and coherently about everything that’s happened since this all started. Finally, I want you to realise that we’re not against you – I’m your wife, Skyler, I love you for crying out loud! Even though you did this to me? Even though you up and left your wife, your daughter, your two baby children? And beyond that, because of my stupid degree, Skyler? I know that it’s not desperation or loneliness. I don’t display the usual symptoms or patterns. I’m actually still in love with you. What do you have to say?

Skyler: What I have to say can’t be said in this place. We need to be alone to talk about this.

Leah: No chance. I remember what happened when you kicked us out of home... if Leon hadn’t been there-

Skyler: See? Leon, Leah, Sarah, Jade, the twins – that’s all it is to you now. You never considered my opinion the first time, so you clearly don’t want it now!

Leah: Fine. Outside. But I’m warning you, I have my-

Skyler: I know what you’ve got.

She goes first. We didn’t even order. One of the waiters looks curiously at Leah and I but he goes back to his work when I look back at him. The annoying doorbell rings as we get outside and we turn left, walking down a scratched grey concrete sidewalk. The cafe strip isn’t great around this place, especially at night. The lights are dim, alleyways are scattered around like polka dots. No-one’s outside. It’s raining – that’ll probably do it.

The perfect opportunity.

Skyler: Left.

Leah: That’s an alley-

Skyler: LEFT.

There’s a sudden flash of movement as she tries to get out her little spray can, but years of reflex training allows me to hold her arm down and spin her backwards into the alley, pressing her back against the wall and my back into her front. I press hard, driving the air from her lungs. From there, it only takes a fraction of a second.

Elbow to the right side of the skull.

Foot driven into her left kneecap.

Switchblade into the stomach – in, up, out.

The blood stains her apple-green dress before it gets washed away by the rain. My footsteps echo only for a moment. Maybe a quick one-liner to send her into oblivion.

Skyler: Don’t talk to me about love.

I shoot up from my pillow, breathing heavily. I wipe my hand across my forehead... it’s covered in sweat. Next to me? Trisha. Check outside the window, what time is it? Early morning, maybe five-ish? No, five thirty, too light to be five. Not that it’s light. Why am I thinking so quickly? Everything feels funny, my head’s still spinning. I just got up. Just woke up, I stand corrected. Look left, no, right, there’s Trisha. Beautiful, dangerous Trisha. I... I slept with her a few months back and now we’re together. Like a couple together? Don’t know. I sexed her, does that make us a couple? Do I love her? Does she love me? Next to her, on the bed... a needle? Of course, I remember, she takes recreational drugs. Do I? Look left, my bedside table, my tablets – just painkillers? No, two bottles, one of painkillers, one to help me sleep. Probably more in the drawers, I can see a bottle or two in the bin, probably finished them off.

Am I addicted? Thinking, thinking like crazy, everything’s too fast. Time for some pills. Rummage through the drawer, quick read of the label, does it really matter which? Don’t even know if I feel the pain any more, where was it – my wrist? Check the left wrist, don’t remember which one was injured. The left is fine, check the right. Right one’s fine, so why am I on painkillers? Of course I’m addicted, can’t deny it, why bother? Drums in my head, beating, they should go away with one more pill. Swallow them down, there, give it a few minutes. Is that something clattering? The mailbox on the door, of course, time to get up and check, don’t wake Trish. Up I get, out I go, find some clothes perhaps, that sounds like a good idea. Any mail waiting? Yeah, two letters. Both from the hospital. One for me – one for Trish? When was she at the hospital? Probably for the addiction, like me. Except she shoots, it’s recreational, why would she go to the hospital?

Did I just dream about killing my wife?

Would I do it?

WHAT? Why am I thinking that? I hate her, I wouldn’t kill her – I wouldn’t kill anyone, they betrayed me, I still wouldn’t kill them, even if I don’t love them, even if I don’t like Caprice, not even Derrick...

Derrick...

Last night. My head, he hit me – it stings. Why would he hit me? I tried to hit him. Why did I do that? He deserved it, that’s why. He deserved to be put down. Who’s he to come and try and control me again? To deprive me of the opportunity to be World Champion? I’ll take him out at Catalyst, though... him and TyranT. Both of them. And I won’t let anything get in my way, not anyone in my path either. I’m still a Champion. I’ll be Champion in singles and tag competition. Not the lower singles competition, though. Just the World Champion. I’m above everything else. Only the best, that’s what I am. The best.

Get back to the here and now, look down, look at the letters... open mine, discard the envelope, unfold it... just a routine check-up that’s been waived thanks to Smitten, of course. Couldn’t have his number one contender be eliminated through drug testing now, could he? Not a future World Champion. Not Skyler Striker-

No, got to think of what’s right here. The dream, my dream, killing Leah... she betrayed me, it’s punishment, you don’t mess with me, you don’t take away from me what was mine. Not what’s mine. If she really cared then she’d have let me fight, but she doesn’t care, Leon doesn’t care, Jade doesn’t care, nobody does. I have to look out for myself, that’s what. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, not when they’re out for themselves, no matter what they say. They don’t want what you do, they don’t understand the pressure, not of being a World Champion. Calm down, you’re not Champion... not yet.

The letter. Trish’s letter. From the hospital, what’s it for? Open it and find out, you’re partners, even if it’s just for sex. What would Leah think? Do I care? Ha, unlikely, did she care? No, so she’ll get nothing back, not from me, she doesn’t deserve that kind of thing from me. Trish’s letter. I shouldn’t open it, it’s her mail. Fling it on the counter, still a little curious, but I can hear her rustling, waking up in the bedroom, there she is.

Trisha: Mmmmm... morning, friend.

Skyler: Hey, Trisha, beautiful Trisha, wonderful Trisha, what’s going on, want some breakfast?

Trisha: Are you alright, Sky? You’re sweating all over, what’s going on? Have you been watching which order and what time you’re taking your pills on?

Skyler: Sweating on my hand, my forehead, taking pills, lots of pills... don’t know which or where or when. Hey, Trisha, beautiful Trisha...

Falling, Losing balance, knees, table, floor tiles, didn’t know they were patterned like that... who painted them blood red? Blinding pain, bleeding pain, my head, my blood... my darkness... goodnight, Trisha, beautiful Trisha, wonderful Trisha...

A judge, dressed in black and with a silhouette for a face, sits over the court surrounding the scene. Wooden benches, national symbols, the whole shebang. The jury at the side look much the same as the judge – dressed in black cloaks, hidden in secrecy. The prosecutor sits behind the bench on the right, with a beaked black mask covering his features, and a black wide brimmed hat atop his head. No-one sits in the audience.

And then, behind the defendant’s bench, there’s me. Dressed in white.

Me: So, is white the new black, or vice versa?

Judge: Silence. You will wait your turn, Mr. Striker.

Me: Sor-ry.

Judge: Will the prosecution call their first witness?

Prosecutor: The prosecution calls Dr. Jason Keane to the stand.

The doctor who prescribed me my first meds, who let me continue wrestling, and who thought that his own demise was my fault. Jason Keane. He walks down to the stand and takes his place like the loyal worker bee he is. He shoots a look at me. Angry. Why wouldn’t he be? I bested him verbally when I caught him drunk at the bar a month or two back. He lost his job for making a tough call. Not my fault.

Prosecutor: Dr. Keane. You were formerly the Head of Medical Services at Full Metal Wrestling Incorporated, were you not?

Keane: I was.

Prosecutor: And were you terminated from your position because you were judged to have made an incorrect decision which partially contributed to the defendant’s current state?

Me: My state? I’m fine – I even told him her turned me into a weapon, I don’t-

Judge: SILENCE! I’ll hold you in contempt of court if you’re not careful, Mr. Striker. Answer the question, Dr. Keane.

Keane: I was fired because I made a bad choice, yes. And I’d say it has contributed to the situation, although full blame can’t rest on my shoulders.

Prosecutor: Did you administer a prescription for pain medication for Mr. Striker, Dr. Keane?

Keane: I did.

Prosecutor: Given the evidence shown on slide A, would you say that it would be possible for Mr. Striker to obtain all of these drugs on the prescription you ordered for him?

A slide flickers onto the wall – the contents of my drawer. Shit.

Keane: It would not be possible, no. Lots of the drugs there aren’t even available by prescription.

Prosecutor: So the jury can clearly see Mr. Striker has gone beyond the boundaries outlined in his prescription. I’d say you’re entirely correct, Mr. Keane – that full blame cannot rest on your shoulders. You may leave, Dr. Keane. The prosecution would like to call Leon Caprice to the stand!

Dr. Keane walks off the stand and Leon takes his place a second later, looking uncertainly at me. Yeah, that’s right. Little fool.

Prosecutor: Mr. Caprice. Are you the co-FMW Tag Team Champion with Mr. Striker?

Caprice: That’s me.

Prosecutor: Would you say there has been a noticeable change in Mr. Striker’s behaviour since he started taking pain medication?

Caprice: Of course there has!

Prosecutor: Would you describe it for the courtroom, please?

Caprice: Skyler used to care for his family. That was all he preached and proclaimed. This was all about making his kids proud. He wanted to do it by being successful, giving them someone to look up to. When he was Abandoned Champion, he was on top of the world. He fought as hard as he could to clamber to the top of the pile. He wanted to be the best because he loved them. But after he took that knock from VanGuard, everything started changing. At the start he was alright – just a little reckless for wanting to compete. But he kept going. Jade and Leah wanted him to stop fighting, to give up the championship so he could get some treatment. But he refused, and he started taking more and more as he grew tolerant. Eventually he started thinking they were against him. Me, too, I had the same opinion as them. He was my tag team partner, I wanted what was best for him, but he made it ‘me vs. them’. We were the enemy. Then he lashed out physically, and finally put actual distance between us. We don’t stay together anymore, never see each other unless it’s to wrestle or I try to sort things out. But I’ll get there.

Prosecutor: So in short, he became more violent and aggressive after he began taking more and more pain medication?

Caprice: Yeah. But he’s a good person, it’s just that it’s hard to get out of the circle once you’re in and-

Prosecutor: That will be all, Mr. Caprice. The prosecution calls Andrew Michaels to the stand.

Drew Michaels walks from nowhere to the witness’ stand, putting his hand on the bible so he can utter the oath. Arrogant bastard. Leon leaves in silence. I can only watch as the proceedings continue.

Prosecutor: There is no need to give the oath here, Mr. Michaels. This court knows the truth when they hear it. Tell me, Mr. Michaels, did Mr. Striker show promise when you first encountered him?

Michaels: Immensely so. He had – and still has – the potential to do great things in and for Full Metal.

Prosecutor: Why, then, does he lack approval in your eyes?

Michaels: Because he is unwilling to listen to counsel. He needs to turn himself around, ask for forgiveness, and learn a considerable amount of lessons from his peers so he can treat those around him far better than he currently does. His skill as a wrestler is more than there, but his direction is wasted as long as he continues on this path.

Prosecutor: You mentioned that he should treat those around him better – who do you consider included in ‘those around him’?

Michaels: His partner, Leon, who has been blinded by Skyler’s false teachings. His daughter, Jade, who I know personally to be a brilliant and exceptionally talented young girl who needs love and affection from a father. His wife, Leah, who despite having rushed into a relationship with Striker seems to genuinely care for him and deserves protection instead of abuse from her husband. And his two youngest children, who cannot care for themselves and need a father to provide for them.

What a self-righteous prick.

Prosecutor: That will be all, Mr. Michaels. The prosecution calls Christopher Austin to the witness’ stand.

Drew leaves with a glare at myself and then Austin as he ascends the stairs, sitting calmly and casually in his chair.

Prosecutor: Mr. Austin. You are one of Mr. Striker’s upcoming opponents, are you not?

Austin: Yep.

Prosecutor: Would you please state your opinions of him for the courtroom?

Austin looks straight at me, then breathes in deeply, smiling with his eyes closed. That smug little prick had better watch it or-

Austin: Your problem, prosecutor, is that Skyler over there is as blind as a bat. He thinks he’s seen clarity. He sees himself as World Champion already, that he’s beyond the level of most of us and has ascended to become some sort of anti-hero. He doesn’t see the pills that have slowly blinded him, although it seems as though once he gets hold of them he’s learned to throw as many into his mouth as he can.

Me: Hey, fuck you, Chris! You don’t know what-

Judge: This is your final warning, Mr. Striker. You’ll have your chance to speak at the end!

Austin: He doesn’t know who the enemy is and who his friends are – although by now, he’s alienated himself so much that the latter list is probably very small. Long story short? He doesn’t see that he’s lost control. Of course, I can fix this whole blindness thing – everyone gets their moment of clarity, prosecutor.

Prosecutor: You can save that for the ring then, Mr. Austin. Thankyou. We have one more witness to call, your honour – the prosecution calls SKYLER STRIKER to the stand!

What? I look behind me and there I am, walking down the aisle – in black, the same as all of them. And here’s me, dressed in white. This is fucked up.

Me: What the hell’s going on? How can I be here and there? This whole thing is insane-

Other Me: You don’t say, Sherlock.

Me: Who are you? I’m over here.

Other Me: And I’m here. Have you applied for the Captain Obvious job yet? I hear it’s vacant.

Judge: Quiet please – both of you! Prosecutor, continue.

Prosecution: Gladly. Mr. Striker, would you please tell us who you are – in detail?

Other Me: My name is Skyler Striker. I’m a professional wrestler, currently working for Full Metal Wrestling as the Abandoned Champion on the Alchemy brand. I was born on the 20th of April, 1980. I have a wife, Leah Striker, and three children – Jade, aged ten, and my twins, April and John, aged two months.

Prosecution: You are, then, Skyler Striker one year ago?

Other Me: Spot on.

Prosecution: Given the evidence that has been heard in court and seen through the example of the current Striker, then, if you could make any changes so you can avoid becoming this, would you?

Other Me: You’re goddamn right I would. To lose everything? Family, friends, respect? I’d start walking the other direction as soon as possible.

Prosecution: What steps would you take to avoid that fate?

Other Me: I’d probably have listened to Leah, Jade and Leon. To not try and play the hero against people like Drew, Doc and Faith. To really consider what’s worth more in the greater scheme of things. Hindsight’s a beautiful gift to have, though a painful one at times. And more than anything, the one thing I’d have done differently above all else is to not have been such a selfish prick who doesn’t know what the hell he’s on about. I’d have treated Leah better. Been a better father. That’s what I’d have done.

Prosecution: The prosecution rests, your honour.

Judge: The defendant may step forwards. Do you have-

Me: You’d better fucking believe I do.

I step forwards, furious. Everyone sits to the side – even people who didn’t testify and weren’t here until just now, other superstars, my family and friends. Jason, Leon, Drew, Doc, Chris, Jade, the locker room, my brother and sister, my mother, the other me in black. But I couldn’t give a damn about who listens as long as it’s my turn to talk.

Me: You’d all better listen to me, right now. I’ve heard a shitload of evidence in front of me without getting a chance to defend myself but you wanna know the inside scoop on why I didn’t object to the bullshit breaking of courtroom laws and practices? It’s because you don’t have a damn clue what’s going on inside my head. I bust my ass day in and day out fighting for what I believe-

Other Me: That’s a load of crap and you know it!

Me: Shut it! It’s my turn to talk, correct? I don’t know exactly what I’m on trial for, but I’m gonna say my piece no matter what! Whether what I believe is right or wrong is only opinion anyway! Who is there to tell me their morality is absolutely correct? Drew can have his biblical code, Leon his moralities, Christopher his theories and Doc his inconsistencies! I don’t want any of it, nothing! What I’ve got is what I’m content with and it’s damn sure what I’m gonna be pursuing! That World Title will be around my waist come hell or high water. I bring ratings to this company. I cause interest to grow! You don’t shoot for the World Title unless there’s some marketability in it for this company, unless there’s a story – and the story of the day is me. Skyler Striker. The drug-addled monster burning through everyone in front of him. Even his teammates.

Caprice: You gonna be the Tag Team Champion on your own?

Me: You’d better believe it, small fry. I did all of the work to get those belts and I’ve done all the work keeping them! I’ve shown before you’re just a weapon to use, and I’ll wield you with perfection to keep these tag belts around our waists because I’m that damn good. I didn’t bitch and moan about the Abandoned Title loss. Not about any of it. Not about this preposterous courtroom experience, and you know why? Any of you? DO YOU KNOW WHY???

Silence.

Me: It’s because I’m above you. Better than, untouchable. The Abandoned Title? A stepping stone. Victory after victory, family and friends? They all formed a path, and now I’m a few steps away from the top of the mountain.

Austin: You’ve had your glory days, Striker. I’ll give you your moment of clarity and you’ll see that all this you’re spewing is total garbage.

Me: Glory days? Please. Don’t insult me; I never had glory days. The best is yet to come.

Other Me hops the bench and stands toe to toe with me, trying to face off. Pathetic.

Other Me: You remember a minute ago, where you said we didn’t understand what’s going on in your head? Truth be told, we don’t need to. We need YOU to see what’s going on in your head. We already know.

Other me smirks, and then the prosecutor removes his beak mask and hat – he’s another me.

Prosecutor: Hey there, champ. Feel like you’ve won the battle?

The judge’s silhouetted black face disappears and then he’s me as well. The jury, too – all twelve of them are me, sitting side by side. This is unreal.

Other Me: We ARE the inside story. And you need to wake up sooner rather than later, or otherwise you’ll eat yourself alive. You’re losing control, Skyler. The fact that you’re here, being tried inside your own mind is proof enough of that.

Me: What are the charges?

Other Me: You’ve been charged with the murder of Leah Striker.

My darkness... goodnight, Leah, beautiful Leah, wonderful Leah...

Losing control? As if. I’ve only just taken the reigns – there’s a long way to go before I hand them over.

If you think it takes teamwork to win a tag team match, you’re wrong. It takes two people, that’s true. But strength doesn’t always flow from two people coming at it with two different minds. You need one mind to control both. That way you have the best angle at which to approach your enemies. Two commanders is one too many. They have different strategies, different methods. They don’t know what the other one’s thinking exactly, and that’s where the weakness lies.

Leon has his own mind. This is true. However, I’ve proven I can wield him as a tool. He’s my weapon of choice. He’s good. Very good. Exceptionally talented – after all, I did train him myself – and has a desire to succeed. But he’s the sword in my hands, the tank behind my steering wheel. And this is a battle I will not lose.

My aim is to be the best. Not to be ‘co-best’ or ‘equal best’ with anybody. I want to be World Champion and World Tag Team Champion. Dominating in the two top divisions on this company. That’s why Leon is a means to an end. That’s why the Abandoned Championship is below me.

I don’t need to name drop my opponents to win. They know who I am, what I’m capable of, where I’ve been, what I’ve done, who I’ve defeated. They’re not afraid, either, which means they might provide a challenge for once. But a challenge is not enough here. Not against me, not in a million years. I haven’t focused on their weaknesses because they don’t have many, but because you don’t need to make your opponent weaker in your mind to beat them.

You just need to be stronger yourself.

So with my Caprice-studded sword in hand, it’s time to slay some barbarians.

Losing control?

As if.

Slegnadamus stepped outside of his suburban Seattle apartment and inhaled deeply. He took in the sights, the other high rises and cars locked in a traffic jam as they all tried to get to their respective jobs. He took in the sounds, the crows squawking noisily on the power lines and the cars' horns constantly beeping, urging their fellow commuters to move. It was oddly therapeutic for Sleg, after what had transpired on Mt. Olympus just a week and a half ago. He had put that all out of his mind for now, which was exactly what he wanted.

Slegna stood there as a younger man with a rolling limp passed by the entrance to the apartment building. The man looked up and just barely made eye contact with Sleg before walking away hurriedly. Something about him seems familiar, Slegnadamus thought. Too familiar. As the man crossed the street, Slegna stepped out from under the blue awning and began to follow him. Sleg walked at a pace in which he could follow from a distance and not blow his cover, but at the same time also gain on him little by little. The man crossed a street, Sleg did so as well. The man turned a corner, Sleg waited for a second to make his approach, then turned the corner. Just when the man was about to be in Slegna's reach, he stopped at a bus stop, a place where if he was approached it would draw attention to himself and Slegna. Slegnadamus walked by coolly, watching out of the corner of his eye to see whether the man would look up.

He did. Bingo. Sleg turned the corner and took the long way home back to his apartment, upon which he would get changed and head to the gym.

The next day, Slegna brought out a thermos of coffee and the Sports section of The Seattle Times outside with him to do his own version of surveillance. After getting through a few pages, the same man walked by again, this time not even bothering to look up. Sleg folded the paper and threw it away before getting up and following the man once again, taking occasional sips of coffee. The man with the limp went straight ahead this time, walking into a Starbucks after only three blocks. Well played, Slegnadamus thought. Since he already had a coffee, it would look odd for him to walk into Starbucks with a thermos of coffee already in hand. So instead he walked across the street into a small bookstore and casually browsed the books in the front of the store, waiting for the man to finally come out of the coffee shop. He saw the man receive his coffee and knew it was time to move. He left, following the man on the parallel sidewalk on the other side of the street.

The man continued to walk uphill at a relatively fast pace for someone with his limp. When Sleg was in the middle of a block with no way to cross, the man turned to him and grinned, before disappearing down an alley way. Sleg knew where he was going, but by the time he got there he wouldn't have a chance at finding him again. Knowing he had been beat yet again, Sleg slowly walked back down the hill towards his place of residence. Tomorrow, this ends.

On the third day, Slegnadamus was prepared. He was starting to enjoy these cat and mouse games, and he was especially relishing his status as the predator. Sleg stepped outside, waiting for his prey. He waited. An hour. Another hour. Finally he gave up. Did I miss him? Is he taking a different route now? What if I missed my chance and he's not doing it anymore? He returned upstairs to his apartment, dejected. He moped around a bit, peering into his sister's now mostly empty room. A thick layer of dust had settled onto the furniture and the few trinkets that were left. He considered smashing something, but it wouldn't do any good. He returned back to the kitchenette to find a note attached to the usually spotless fridge with a little smiley faced magnet.

Quote :

Look down.

He walked over to the window and looked down, not surprisingly seeing the man on the street below. The man had a cell phone out, and dialed a number before putting the phone up to his ear. Phone ringing in 3...2...1... The phone hanging on the wall rang. Slegna considered not picking it up, but curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the phone and could hardly muster a word.

Slegnadamus: So nice to fin-

Man: Gas Works Park, on the Mound, ASAP.

The man hung up. He was quite good at this, obviously. He wanted to meet on his own terms. Sleg made his way to Gas Works, about a 15 minute jog from his apartment. On the small kite flying hill, he saw a familiar body shape sitting on a bench. He nonchalantly ate an apple and looked out over Lake Union. As Slegna approached from behind, he heard the same voice from the phone call earlier:

Man: Hello Andrew, have a seat.

Slegnadamus: Thanks.

Man: Let's get down to the nitty gritty. What do you know so far.

Slegnadamus: Not much. The only thing I know for sure, from the way you walked, is that you are a... well...

Man: Go on.

Slegnadamus: A satyr.

Man: Well, of course. Anything else?

Slegnadamus: No, which is why I followed you. Didn't end up exactly as planned, though.

Man: According to Lady Artemis, I was supposed to let you find me, but I grew tired of our little game.

Slegnadamus' heart skipped a beat when he heard Artemis' name. The second comment pissed him off a little bit though. Thanks, ass.

Man: So I ended it, which led us here.

Slegnadamus: By the way, who are you?

Man: Normally, I wouldn't reveal by true name, but I like you. I'm not scouting an enemy, you just have a concerned aunt, or sister, if you will, looking out for you. My name is Evan. And to get this out of the way, too, I am an elite scout for the Mount Olympus Tactical Army. MOTA for short.

Slegnadamus: So why did you go through all this trouble?

Evan: The Gods are always watching, Andrew.

Slegnadamus: And they aren't watching now?

Evan: I used some ancient and powerful satyr magic over the park so that we may have this chat. We are, for now, off the Gods' radar, but we must be quick.

Slegnadamus: So talk.

Evan: Word on the street is that Apollo wants you back on Mt. Olympus. A win at your next show will surely get you back, but a good performance would also get you back. He does deeply care for you, you know. Speaking of deeply caring, as you might have figured out, Artemis is the one who sent me on this mission. She really wants you back, which is why she's been left out of the Counsel for the past few meetings, otherwise, she starts a riot in the chambers about your lack of presence on Olympus.

Evan chuckled, took a bite of apple, and continued.

Evan: I'm just here to keep you in the loop. Artemis is going behind the rest of the Counsel's back with this, so don't do anything stupid.

Slegna sat dumbstruck, unable to add anything vaguely important.

Evan: Well, I must be going, Andrew, the magic is starting to wear thin. Stay safe, and good luck at Corruption.

Slegnadamus: Uhh...thanks.

Evan got up and walked toward the bushes and trees nearby. He entered them and seemed to disappear within them. No, he did disappear. Sleg was glad that people still cared about him. That people missed him. He knew that his banning was just a motivational tactic but it still unnerved him. Was it necessary? Maybe. Did it work? So far, yes. It was still a betrayal. Maybe he took too hard. The intentions were there, but to kick him off so soon after learning who his real father was and discovering his second home was overkill, in his opinion. But, no matter, he would fight another day.

He would win to prove everybody wrong.