FMW presents CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

Oh, God is bigger than the boogie man
And He's watching out for you and me.

God Is Bigger - Veggie Tales



September 1989

Leviticus lie there in his bed, his eyes wide open as he listened to the sound of rain pitter pattering on his bedroom window. His little body shook beneath the sheets and blankets that covered his body as he stared towards his open closet door. His closet door was a funny thing, during the day it was a brightly lit place where he went to go and get his clothes so he could get ready to go to school and when he got home it was where he got his play clothes. Night time though, that was a different story. At night his closet door became a portal to a dark place where monsters lived. They couldn’t come out during the day because the light kept them away, but at night there wasn’t light, only darkness. In the darkness the monsters had the power to come out of the closet and get him, especially on a stormy night like this. So Leviticus did the only thing he knew to do, he lie the watching the closet, just in case a monster came out. The pitter patter against the window grew louder as the storm outside picked up. He continued to watch the door as he pulled the covers up to his chin and bit his lip. That was when it happened. Lightning flashed and he saw it. The shadow of a ghoulish creature appeared on the wall for a brief moment, and then the light went away again. Leviticus lie there shivering, trying to stay still when the thunder rumbled.

Leviticus: DADDY!!!!!!

Down the hall Leviticus could hear his daddy’s door open and footsteps come down the hall. Moments later the door opened and the light turned on. Leviticus’s heart filled with joy at the sight of his daddy standing there in his robe with his eyes still narrowed from sleep.

Anthony: What’s the matter son?

Leviticus pointed towards the wall where the shadow had been.

Leviticus: The boogie man was here.

Anthony reached up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and then shook his head.

Anthony: Is that mean old thing pestering you again?

Leviticus, who was now sitting up in his bed, just nodded.

Anthony: You know son, when I was your age the boogie man used to bother me to.

Leviticus’s eyes widened at the idea of the boogie man bothering his daddy.

Leviticus: What did you do?

Anthony smiled.

Anthony: I remembered that I am a warrior of the light and that God provides everything his warriors need to combat any kind of monster.

Leviticus had stopped shivering as he listened to Anthony talk.

Leviticus: Even the boogie man?

Anthony nodded.

Anthony: Especially the boogie man. When that mean old sucker comes back just remember, he is a creature of darkness and you are a warrior of light, and he can’t hurt you.

Leviticus nodded and Anthony kissed him on the head.

Anthony: Now go back to sleep okay?

Leviticus laid back down on the bed and pulled his covers back up.

Leviticus: Okay. Good night daddy.

Anthony: Good night son.

Leviticus lie there and smiled. He heard Anthony flip the switch right before the lights went out. A moment later he heard the door close and footsteps heading back to Anthony’s room. Suddenly lightning flashed and the shadow appeared again. Leviticus started to shake, but then he remembered what his daddy had told him.

Leviticus: I ain’t scared of you boogie man. I’m a warrior of light and you can’t hurt me.

Leviticus smiled and then rolled over and closed his eyes. A few moments later he was asleep.

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

NOW

The pitter patter of rain was all Leviticus could hear as he drove down the highway. The gym was closed so he had decided to go visit someone very important to him to help him sort out his thoughts after recent events. His eyes were locked on the road as the windshield wipers streaked back and forth doing their best to give him a clear view. Suddenly a jagged flash of lightning ripped across the sky. For the brief moment the brightness assaulted his eyes Leviticus’s mind went elsewhere.

Suddenly he was up in the air, supported only by the massive hand of X around his throat. The only problem was that hand was driving him down. He felt his back hit the table moments before it gave way and exploded in to a hail of splinters. His body continued to travel down until his back and head impacted with the concrete floor.

Thunder rumbled in the distance snapping his mind back to the present. The rain continued to fall as he shook his head to try his best to drive the memory away. Yes, X had hurt him. In fact he had even proven he could beat him. None of that mattered right now though. What mattered was getting his mind right so that when the time came and he was face to face with the monster, his wicked queen, and the lackey that followed them around he would be ready. He reached down and switched on the radio. Music quickly came out to greet him which made Leviticus smile. His smile wouldn’t last long though as he saw his destination directly in front of him. He pulled up close to the entrance and turned off the car. He sat there for a moment and closed his eyes. What he was about to do was never easy, but it always helped in ways nothing else could. He opened his eyes and pulled the hood up on his coat before stepping out of the car. Through the rain he could see them, rows and rows of tombstones. He stood there for a moment looking out at them, trying to brace himself for what he was about to do.

Leviticus: Grant me strength Father.

Leviticus headed in to the cemetery and navigated the rows carefully as to not disturb the resting places he was walking around. After a few minutes he found what he was looking for. The tombstone in front of him had a name all too familiar written on it:

ANTHONY GIBBONS

Leviticus stood there for a minute looking at the tombstone as the rain continued to fall. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes as he began to speak.

Leviticus: Dad, it’s me Levi. I know you’re resting right now but I need you so bad. I’ve been fighting so hard to try to make things right, but it seems like there is always someone right there trying to knock me down. Every time I got knocked down as a kid you were right there to pick me back up and you always had the right words to set me back on the path I needed to be on. That’s what makes this so hard; you aren’t here to pick me up. I know I have to rise to my feet, because that is what helps me grow as a man, but some words would help.

Leviticus stood there listening to nothing but the sound of the rain. He shook his head as the tears continued to fall. Suddenly another strike of lightning lit up the sky just enough for him to see the entirety of his dad’s tombstone. At the very bottom was an inscription:

Ephesians 6:10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.

As the brightness faded Leviticus smiled.

Leviticus: Thank you.

Leviticus kissed his finger tips and placed them to the top of the tombstone as thunder rumbled in the air. He stood there for a moment before turning to head back to the car.

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

Leviticus sat there at his kitchen table with his Bible open in front of him turned to the verse written on his dad’s tombstone. His dad had always taught him that as great as a verse could be reading the rest of it was better, so that was exactly what he was doing.

Eph 6:10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.
Eph 6:11 Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.
Eph 6:12 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
Eph 6:13 Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.
Eph 6:14 Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness;
Eph 6:15 And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace;
Eph 6:16 Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
Eph 6:17 And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:

He stopped at the last verse and pondered what it had to say. He knew that his wrestling was about much more than just in ring action, it was about being an example of what God could do in your life. There was something else there though, he just wasn’t sure what. He stretched and looked towards the clock. When he saw that it was 1:04 in the morning he shook his head and stood up. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help him figure out what he needed to know. He got up out of the chair and headed in to his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and lie down, pulling the covers up to his chest. Then he lie there thinking about the verses and listening to the pitter patter of rain against his window until he fell asleep.

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

Leviticus’s eyes snapped open. He looked in front of him and quickly realized he was not where he fell asleep. He sat up in alarm and looked around where he had been laying. What he saw was that he was in a shack of some sort. He quickly sprang to his feet and began to examine his surroundings. The bed he had been sleeping on was a pile of straw, and the windows around him were covered by a simple white cloth, other than that the room was barren. He rushed out of the room into the next one and found that it was just as odd as the one he had been sleeping in. The focal point of the room was a large stone fireplace that housed a massive iron kettle and the rest seemed to be furnished with simple handmade wooden benches. He placed his hand to his head and closed his eyes as he tried to figure out what was going on. He wouldn’t get to think long though, as his concentration was broken by the sound of a door opening. Leviticus opened his eyes and saw that in the doorway stood a man. The man was dressed in medieval chain mail that was covered by a simple tabard which bore a massive red Cross. The man’s long blonde hair hung over his shoulders and his blue eyes were filled with pleading.

Man: Sir Leviticus, the monster known as X has struck again.

Leviticus felt his body go rigged. He wasn’t sure what was going on but he didn’t like the fact that X was involved. He nodded to the man and began to walk towards him. The man walked hurriedly in to the room and retrieved what appeared to be a coat of chain mail, helmet, shield, and broad sword.

Man: Please Sir. If you are going to confront him take your armaments.

Leviticus stared at the man.

Leviticus: What are you talking about?

The pleading in the man’s eyes intensified.

Man: The monster X is a savage monster who has destroyed a great many who have dared to stand against him. If you try to face him unprepared he will kill you.

The man held out the armor in front of him. Leviticus took a deep breath and took the armor. After several awkward minutes Leviticus finally put all the armor on. The man looked at him and offered a small smile before rushing out the door. Leviticus stood there holding the sword and the shield as he shook his head.

Leviticus: What is going on here?

Leviticus took another deep breath and rushed out the door after the man. It didn’t take long to catch up to him. The man joined a grouping of other knights, who were locked in quiet conversation, outside of a small house. Leviticus walked up to the group as quietly as he could.

Leviticus: What is going on here?

One of the knights turned towards him.

Knight: X is in there right now feasting on the remains of a family.

Leviticus felt his stomach turn as his mind tried it’s best to form an image of what he had just been told. As he tried to gather himself he heard the knights discussing the best plan of attack. The sound of a door opening silenced them all. Leviticus snapped his head towards the door he had just heard open and saw a small figured had just stepped outside. The knights raised their swords as the figure stood there. Leviticus tried his best to get closer to the figure. As soon as he was close enough to see the figure clearly his eyes went wide with shock. It was the covered form of Lady.

Leviticus: Get back!

Leviticus’s warning feel on deaf ears. As the knights focused on Lady the wall of the house exploded into wooden shrapnel. Before the knights had time to react X burst forth from the opening and began tearing in to the knights. Leviticus could hardly look as gore flew from where the knights had just been. As he stood there frozen he saw Lady walk up to him.

Lady: Isn’t he beautiful?

Leviticus stood there unable to find the words to voice his objection. After several bloody moments all that was left of the knights was a pile of ripped apart flesh, mangled bones, and blood. Leviticus could feel his knees start to shake as he saw the twisted smirk that was on X’s face.

X: Now that was fun.

Leviticus closed his eyes and silently wished that this would all go away.

St. Michael Dreamkiller: And you’re next.

Leviticus opened his eyes to see that X’s other lackey had joined them. He turned away from the two. When he turned though he saw that X was now standing in front of him. X smiled with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.

X: I’m going to have fun with you.

Before Leviticus could move X had wrapped his massive hand around his throat. He gasped for air as he felt his body come off the ground. Leviticus knew what was coming, all he could do was close his eyes and wait.

His eyes snapped open as he slammed back first in to the ground. He lie there for a moment trying to catch his breath as he heard the still taunting voice of X.

X: You. You’re supposed to be some kind of a champion to them. All you are is just another plaything to be broken. I’ve done this time and time again. At least this time I’ll get a shiny little bauble for my lady friend.

Leviticus lie there frozen. Then the sky rumbled with thunder and rain began to fall. As the rain feel it stung Leviticus’s eyes. Suddenly it occurred to him.

Leviticus: Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.

Leviticus climbed slowly to his knees and glared at the approaching monster.

Leviticus: I hate to disappoint, but you’ll find I don’t break so easily.

X stopped in his tracks and smiled.

X: Good, that will make it so much more entertaining for me.

As Leviticus rose to his feet X began to come closer again. Leviticus held out his sword and lifted his shield. X stopped and began to laugh.

X: And just what are you going to do with that little boy?

Leviticus let out a primal scream as he rushed towards X. Caught by surprise X wasn’t ready when Leviticus plunged the tip of his sword in to his ribs. The piece of metal easily cracked the bones and began to push it’s way into the softer tissues beneath.

Leviticus: You will not defeat me monster!

Lady and St. Michael Dreamkiller stood there in shocked silence as the blood poured from X’s side. X looked down at the wound and his face twisted in to an expression of rage. He raised his fist up and brought it rocketing towards Leviticus’s face. Without even thinking Leviticus head butted the fist. The sound of iron meeting bone was heard by all within earshot. X let out a groan of pain. Leviticus put his foot in to X’s midsection and pushed him off the sword. X’s body hit the ground with a thud. Leviticus turned and pointed his sword towards the other two.

Leviticus: Do you want some too?

The two stood there, eyes wide, in silence. Leviticus turned back towards X who was slowly coming to his feet.

X: I won’t be defeated so easily, boy.

Leviticus raised his sword in the air as he narrowed his eyes at the monster.

Leviticus: Then so be it. I shall strike down upon the with furious vengeance!

Suddenly the blade of Leviticus’s sword burst in to flames. The three stood there in awe of the show of Holy might.

Leviticus: Leave this place now and never return monster.

Behind him Leviticus could hear the sound of Lady and St. Michael Dreamkiller fleeing. He smirked as he pointed the flaming sword towards X.

Leviticus: And you?

X took a step backwards.

X: Don’t think that this is the end between us. I will be back.

Leviticus’s smirk became a smile.

Leviticus: And I’ll be ready.

X just scoffed before turning and fleeing towards the woods. The sword’s flame slowly died out as Leviticus watched X flee. He stood there enjoying his victory when he suddenly heard the sound of ringing.

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

Leviticus sat up in his bed. The ringing had been the sound of his phone. As he rose he shook his head at the odd dream he had just had. There had been a lesson there and he was glad he had learned it before it was too late. He walked across the room and picked up the receiver out of its cradle.

Leviticus: Hello?

Leviticus smiled as he heard the voice on the other end of the phone.

Leviticus: I was wondering how long it would take you to call me back.

He laughed as the voice spoke to him.

Leviticus: Yeah, yeah I know. “I should be honored to receive a phone call from you.”

The voice on the other end voiced it’s displeasure at being mocked which caused Leviticus to chuckle a bit. Upon hearing the chuckle the voice quickly changed the subject which made Leviticus’s face go from jovial to serious.

Leviticus: I don’t know what was up with Ro. Don’t you worry though, all of that is going to get sorted out sooner rather then later. I promise you that. Right now though I have bigger things to deal with, like the creature feature of Lady, X, and Dreamkiller.

The voice on the other end voiced it’s opinion to the names.

Leviticus: I’ve got this. I mean yeah, X might be big and brutal, and Dreamkiller may be annoying, but I’m not facing them. I’m facing Lady. If the other two want to get involved I’ll be ready. After all I am strong in the Lord and no matter how hard they try they won’t ever penetrate the armor he has given me.

The voice responded with a question.

Leviticus: What that means is once they filled me with doubt and fear, but my faith is greater than all of that.

The voice questioned once more.

Leviticus: Not only do I think I’m going to win I know. I tell you what, how about you quit worrying. Because all that worrying is going to do is spoil your appetite when I buy you lunch. Don’t even ask me where, that’s your call.

The voice spoke it’s choice which made Leviticus smile.

Leviticus: Good, I love that place. See you there in about forty five minutes.

Leviticus hung up the phone and smiled.

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

Lady, you are supposed to be my opponent tonight, but something tells me I won’t be facing you alone. That’s okay though. I lived on the streets so this won’t be the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of some gang style tactics. There is a difference now though. Now I’m not armed with a Gloc 9. Now I am armed with the Word of God and wear the fullness of his armor. The funny thing about that is this, as a warrior of light I have the ability to overcome any monster. So even though X may be some kind of boogie man, I am not afraid of him. So if you want a one on one match I will be happy to grant you one. If your boys get involved though…… well let’s just say I’ve got a surprise for them that I like to call Tribute. So bring everything you’ve got and everything you have, I will. And when it’s all said and done and the smoke clears that voice you’ll hear won’t be the ones in your head. That’ll be Buster Cherry announcing me as your winner….. and still FMW Light Heavyweight Champion.

"Sometimes good things happen ..."

(A photo of Christian G. Smitten appears on screen. Underneath reads a short caption.)

CHRISTIAN G. SMITTEN. He won the first Gold Card Gauntlet match at Ultimatium on November 7th 2007. He cashed in his opportunity against Jon 'Doc' Derrick at Circus Maximus 2008 to become FMW Champion.


"And sometimes bad things happen."

(The picture of Smitten fades and is replaced by one of Janus Flare.)

JANUS FLARE. He won the second Gold Card Gauntlet match at Ultimatium III on July 24th, 2009. He had to relinquish his opportunity due to injury.

(The picture fades out and is replaced now by Abel Steele.)

ABEL STEELE. He won the third Gold Card Gauntlet match at Death Row III on January 5th, 2010. He was stripped of his opportunity by Commissioner Smitten due to injury.


"Could good fortunes shine again?"

(A video package of Christian Moore inside his local gym training begins to play. It flicks between clips of him weight training, swimming, jogging, stamina training and wrestling with various local guys from the gym. No matter what he's doing, Christian is wearing the same look of utter determination.)

Dominic: He's the most focused I've ever seen him. It's like he's out to really prove himself to everyone in FMW.


"Could a change in attitude be what he needs to succeed?"

(Christian is pottering around his home, doing generally tidying up. He's also in deep conversation with his brother, Dominic.)

Dominic: Why are you obsessing so much?

Christian: I'm not obsessing. I'm just tidying up.

Dominic: I didn't mean with the cleaning.

Christian: Okay.

Dominic: Let me rephrase the question … Why were you so obsessed with getting the match against Slegna before?

Christian: Because I wanted another shot at getting in the Gold Card match.

Dominic: Even though you flunked out of the first shot?

(Christian puts down the plates he was carrying on the kitchen table.)

Christian: I didn't "flunk out". Butters helped Slegna win that fucking match, and you know it! They came up with some bullshit plan and screwed me over! I had that match in the bag!

Dominic: Sounds to me like you're just making up excuses for why ya lost.

Christian: Well it sounds to me like you're just trying to pick holes in everything I do because you're jealous of the fact I went back out there at 11.3, and beat Slegna to get my Gold Card shot, while you can't even beat me for control of our damn body!

Dominic: I can take control any time I want!

Christian: Prove it!

(Christian's head twitches from side to side but his features don't change.)

Christian: See? You can't fucking do it!

Dominic: Course I can. I just wasn't really trying.

Christian: Bullshit! Come on Dom! Do it! Take control! DO IT!

(Again Christian's head twitches from side to side but with the same result … He stays himself.)

Dominic: FUCK!

Christian: Hahahahaha! I told ya so! Ya can't do it!

Dominic: But how? I've always been able to take control whenever I wanted to.

Christian: Well not any more Dom. I'm the one in charge now! You can only have control when I ALLOW IT!

(We catch sight of Dominic in the reflection of the fridge and he actually looks proud of Christian.)

Dominic: But how are you keeping me from taking over? I don't get it.

Christian: Simple. I'm slowly but surely taking over your personality and strengths. Once I take complete control of your instincts and thoughts I won't need you any more and you'll become nothing more than a faded memory.

Dominic: WHAT?! NO! You can't do that!

Christian: I can and I will!

Dominic: You need me! You'll never be able to manage without me! You couldn't when you took those pills and you won't be able to again!

Christian: Once I take full control of you Dom I won't need you. Everything you are will be mine!

Dominic: NO! I won't let you!

Christian: You don't have a choice in the matter!

(We see the reflection of Dominic again. Gone is the look of pride. In it's place, a look of absolute terror.)


"Or maybe an understanding of those he has to face is all he needs."

(Christian's sat in front of his laptop staring at an emailed interview he's been sent by an old friend from a local wrestling fan group in the UK. Christian quickly types his answers to the first few questions with ease, they're just the general crap people always ask in interviews. Once he's finished with those he looks down to see that they want his opinions on the 5 guys he'll be facing off against at Catalyst. Christian smiles and begins to type.)

Christian: Kaoru ... A pretty big guy … Let's see he's 6ft 3ins and about 320lbs. Shit! He's gonna be hard to keep down with all that weight behind him. He'll be a lot slower than the rest of us though which could be helpful, but I'm gonna have to keep away from his suplexes and his fists. He could be an issue out there.

Haha! Slegna. OK, he's smaller than me and weighs just slightly more, nothing too worrying. He's very technical and methodical in his actions in the ring and can be pretty quick when he wants to be. But I've been out there against him a few times now. I know his weaknesses. He shouldn't be too much of an issue for me this time.

MASS Caesar? Hmm, what to say about this guy except from pointing out the fact he believes he's a Roman solider, or whatever the hell he thinks he is? He's a pretty small guy, the smallest in the match I believe, so that may give him a little advantage over the rest of us, but his speed and want to fly around the ring might let him down. It only takes for one of us to catch him and that'll be it … Game over for the nut job.

Apathy. OK, I'll admit it, I'm a little concerned about this guy. He's huge! He'll have no problems caving in someone head I think. He's powerful and extremely aggressive. I think we'll all have to work together to get rid of him. Target a body part each and then we'll be able to move on without having to worry about him getting in our way.

And lastly, David GS. How in the hell did he get into this match? Did he pay someone off? He may still be on his undefeated roll, but there are 5 of us in the match at Catalyst who will quite happily end that for him. We've all studied him and to be honest he's pretty predictable out there. He uses moves that are easy for everyone to counter. He won't be a threat to anyone in the match.

(Christian scrolls down the email and reads the last question out loud.)

Christian: "What makes you think you have a chance of actually winning the Gold Card Gauntlet match, and if you do what will you do with your shot?"

(Christian thinks for a few seconds before typing one simple sentence.)

WATCH THE PPV AND FIND OUT!

(Christian hits send and shuts the computer before walking away.)

Fade in. Austin sits in his clean room, surfing the web. Austin’s breathing is very labored, as he struggles to remain comfortable, given his injuries at 11.3. Now with no sheets on his bed (he burned his only set because of the that thing that happened) he begins to long for home. One should question exactly why this icily calculating lone wolf of sorts would miss home, given his recent attitude changes. You have to realize that Austin never wanted this life. He grew up wanting to be his own man: heroic, family, self-sufficient and it didn’t work. What bugs him about this is that the life which brings him most success is a life spent alone, villainous and as a co-dependent. Speaking of alone...

RCA: Yet another day, fucking holed up in this room. I’ve got to get out, do something. That bitch can’t own me…where’s Alex?

Stupid question, Austin. He’s always drinking. If he was my dad I’d be worried…Fuck, I should’ve been there.

Despite the fact that Alex lost the fall for the Wayward Sons, Austin shares in the blame as he should. He still feels that he could’ve done something to stop it. All of his scouting, preparation was useless. He spent every waking moment trying to get better and it didn’t work. He doesn’t focus on things such as presentation, flashiness and popular opinion as he once did and it makes him alone. The feeling unsettles him and Austin stops what he is doing, then leaves.


O’Rion: Can’t wait to see Jess later on.

It’s almost closing time at the Peddler’s Pub. Alex O’Rion is the only one there and he finds himself not indulging in a beer surprisingly. But O’Rion turns away, scanning his wall of more sophisticated liquors and his door opens.

O’Rion: Sorry b'ye, last call was about 45 minutes ago.

???: I want a beer.

Ze hell?

O’Rion turns, a bit surprised to hear the voice of Chris Austin. O’Rion smirks.

O’Rion: Fuck me sideways, you are capable of leaving your room.

RCA: Just get me a beer, Hamburglar.

O’Rion: I know you’re not much of a drinker, b'ye.

RCA: Get me a beer, last time I’ll ask.

O’Rion: Fine…you’d think for once you could just loosen up.

O’Rion retrieves a beer and slides towards Austin as he gingerly sits, staring straight ahead as his increasingly ratty hair shrouds his healing face. A quick twist later and Austin chugs it in about eight seconds as O’Rion looks on, mildly impressed at Austin’s efficient disposal of brew. Austin’s face twists up as a stab of torso pain coupled with dislike of poisoning his body overwhelms him, but he's been looking to fill a void inside of him for several weeks given that incident and brushing up on FMW coupled with internet porn isn’t doing the trick anymore. Not that it ever really did.

O’Rion: So what brings you out? Bad night? Let me guess, DVD player not working? Internet down?

Why isn’t this working…Dammit, Alex, just drink and stop asking questions.

Austin merely signals for another beer. O’Rion obliges and Austin downs it even quicker than the first.

O’Rion: I know you’re still mad about what happened at 11.3, but you need to…

RCA: I should’ve been there to help. I should’ve been able to take more punishment. I could’ve done something. I guess I hadn’t adapted my preparation to you as well as I thought. Now, I’m finally having a drink with you so don’t ruin it by being an incessantly callous asshole.

Is this bummed out asshat saying I can’t handle the blame?

O’Rion: Come again?

RCA: Don’t ruin it by being you; just get me another beer before I peel off.

Peel off? He’s not going anywhere. I’ll be damned if you take your hidden frustrations out on some woman because you’re too much of a pussy to talk them out.

O’Rion: You’re something else you know that? I can’t believe you have the audacity to try and take blame for this in order to mindfuck me into feeling guilty. Fuck that and fuck you.

RCA: Forget the beer. I’m going home.

O’Rion: No you’re not. We’re going to hammer this out now.

RCA: I don’t feel like going back and forth about this.

Austin slowly rises from his seat and goes to leave before a confused O’Rion runs to stop him. O’Rion snatches Austin around, who refuses to look O’Rion in the eye.

O’Rion: You need to listen…

RCA: For what, more about how I lost at 11.3 and got my ass handed to me after? I wasn’t prepared enough; all that time studying and I let you down. Clearly I need to modify a few things in my approach so I can avoid this happening again at Catalyst.

B'ye’s heaping too much pressure on himself. Fucker needs to know that I’m here for support…he’s not in this alone.

O’Rion: Oh I see, so just because I’m the witty, roughhousing, devilishly handsome one of the team, I can’t do anything such as prepare, train for a match or help you get through your shyte?

RCA: You have your own things to deal with and all of those attributes should help you cope.

O’Rion: You’re moodier than a pregnant lass. I’m tired of your fuckin’ emo moping around and beating yourself up over shyte you had no control over.

RCA: Close up. Jessica’s waiting for you.

Austin snatches his arm away from O’Rion and tries to walk away.

O’Rion: You’re not going anywhere, not alone. All you’re doing is holding it in and you won’t be unleashing the beast on some poor soul, not without a fight.

RCA: I’m sure Adrian would be a formidable opponent, but I am not looking for a woman of any sort.

O’Rion: How did you know about Adrian?

RCA: I know you.

O’Rion: You know me? Well I’m sure that absolving me of fault given that I’m trying to right the wrongs in my life is something that a bye would do if they knew me.

RCA: Now’s not the time…

O’Rion: Then when is the time? Stop running and face the music. Face the truth.

Austin seethes. He just wants to hold his infant flesh and blood is all. He just wants to go home, maybe get some of San Jose’s finest local cuisine. O’Rion is making this a bit difficult, but sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for…

O’Rion: Out with it, b'ye. What’s knee deep in your ass?

RCA: I’m tired of waking up with a new cut, bruise, or scar because of you. I’m tired of waking up in a panic, I’m tired of waking up to the sound of jungle love that I hear everywhere EXCEPT your sound proof bedroom. I’m tired of the fact that these new aches and pains have nothing to do with the ring. I’m this close to believing that I get beat down in my sleep.

Ah, fun times…wait. The b'ye’s being serious, time to play understanding Alex. It’s fucked up but you do what you have to keep wannabe rapists in line.

RCA: Meanwhile, you’ve rebuilt your pub, reclaimed a part of your reputation, met a nice girl and won the tag belt. While you live life devil may care, will all the friends and chances in the world, I pore over footage until my eyes bleed then train until I can’t move so I can ‘keep up’ with you and ultimately gain some sick idea of acceptance but I still come up short. I hate coming up short to people who don’t work as hard as I do but what kills me is that you are the standard I hold myself to.

The eerie calm of Austin’s rant piques O’Rion’s interest and contempt. O’Rion rubs his hands through his hair before replying.

O’Rion: That may be the biggest bitch fit I’ve ever heard in my life. God save me it truly was. It’s bad enough that you shyte on my work ethic, which is damn fine by the way, but stop looking to people and be your own man. I’m no one’s role model you asshat, I just know what you’re going through and I want to help. So do me a favor; make your balls drop and get out of your own way. I don’t make you fort up in your room; get out, meet some people. Go to a bar, let a drunken lass touch your dirty pot of gold. Don’t look up to me, Austin. I’m not a shining example of a success and virtue.

RCA: You have no idea how lucky you are, Alex.

O’Rion: You sound jealous. I don't see why you would be but are you?

RCA: Yes.

O’Rion is speechless. Austin uses these precious seconds to take his leave, being sure to leave his cell phone in the pub. O’Rion sighs heavily as we fade out.


We fade into California. A gorgeous sunlit sky hovers over the glistening midnight blue sea as Austin stares outward towards the infantile sunset. He sits on the beach, recounting his day.

Good to see James. He’s getting big. Dad’s doing well too. Not that I really care, but Jaime seems fine. We’ve started to put things behind us. I still feel unfulfilled though.

Austin stands up and begins to traverse the sandy coast with his eyes not out in front of him. He looks up and sees two people sitting on the beach as he once did. As Austin passes in front of him, he glances to the side, seeing a woman kissing a man on the cheek then resting her head on a man’s shoulder as they converse. Austin turns away and keeps walking, but something stops Austin in his tracks. He double takes and sees…

bitch…

Unsurprisingly, his eyes pierce into the woman. She looks up, breaking her trance of sorts. She quickly raises her head up, a sly smile on her face. Austin’s face becomes one of slight apprehension but when the woman’s companion takes a look up, Austin’s expression changes unexpectedly. He looks crushed. Kylie sees this and her happiness melts away. Austin studies the man’s face extensively as the man, confused, speaks up.

Man: Problem, brah?

Austin hurriedly walks away.

Man: Kylie, did you know that guy?

Kylie: No.

Chris…I…I didn’t mean it…

Kylie then grabs the man’s arm tightly as they continue to stare outward to the ocean, presumably on a date. Some time later, the unnamed man and Kylie departs. Eventually, they reach Kylie’s residence. As he walks her to the door, our view increasingly grows crimson as they hug and kiss.

How could she… why do I care… Make her suffer…Warn him. Why should anyone else…NO ONE HELPED ME.

The man leaves, a pep in his step. Clearly he sees a future for the two. He gets into his car; his head falls back on the headrest in slight excitement. He cranks up and leaves…unknowingly being trailed. As he pulls into his driveway, he gets out of the car and slowly walks to his door. He then mutters profanity having left his keys behind. As he goes back to his car our view turns to look over his shoulder while facing him. Ominously, a shadowy figure raises a object above his head and swings as we quickly cut to black.


Fade into the O’Rion-slash-occasional Austin residence. Austin sits in the living room, deathly silent. With empty bottles sprawled about, the gentle hum of a shower offsets the tension in the room. Austin’s eyes are slanted a bit, he’s staring at something and whatever it may be is caked with some kind of dark color substance. He stares on and slouches backward, sighing heavily as he downs what looks to be his tenth beer.

I have got to get out of this house. I can’t stay here and listen to these two fuck like monkeys; the farther I move the louder they get.

O’Rion: EXACTLY, B'YE!

Austin refuses to muse about how he heard his thoughts or moreover why O’Rion had any sort of Austin-centric thought in his head given he’s with a beautiful woman right now. Austin merely stands up, grabs his keys then goes to leave, mumbling to himself in slurred speech. Shuffling to the door and in no shape to drive, he opens the door and standing in the doorway is a rather tall, for her gender, youthful woman who was just about to knock.

???: Hey! Good timing. Pretty sure we spoke over the phone earlier; I said I was staying here for a bit. Is Alex here?

RCA: Kuh… Karma?

Karma: Precisely, Chris. So where’s Uncle Alex? I haven’t seen him in forever.

RCA: He’s taking a shower.

Karma: Well I’ll wait inside. He’s going to be so surprised!

Karma muscles her way past the non-resisting Austin. As Karma takes in her surroundings, Austin pays attention to her attire: A snug-fitting Hollister shirt and some similar fitting jeans. She goes to place her things off to the corner and Austin, bless his heart only thinks one thing.

She’s got a fat… this woman can’t be only 16.

Karma: How are things?

RCA: Not that well. I was jus… leaving, Alex’ll be right out.

Karma: Weird.

RCA: What’s weird?

Karma: Based on what I’ve seen from you on Ammunition, you’re very talkative. I guess it’s the opposite of that in your personal time. Given your gimmick I would surmise that it’d be rather idiotic that I’m left alone with you, correct?

RCA: Later, Karma.

Karma: Why so hasty to leave? I am trying to establish is also known as ‘small talk’. I’d rather not be cooped up inside this house waiting for Uncle Alex and I can sense something’s bothering you. We aren’t that well acquainted but you seem troubled, and I don’t like to see people as such.

Austin sighs and tries to leave. Karma picks up on his discomfort.

Karma: Not that adept at dealings with the opposite sex, hmm? Dude, this isn’t a date. So unless you’re a bitch, it can’t do any harm to just talk.

Who the fuck does she think she is?

Knowing that Alex and Jessica are in the house, as well as her paternally inherited trait of scathing honesty, Austin tries to ignore Karma as the desire to strike her grows. Austin glares towards that voluptuous Amazon of a teenager, who merely stands with her thumbs in her pockets and a slightly concerned look of callousness on her face. Austin invades her personal space, eyeing her entire body as he nears.

RCA: I don’t want talk to you. Like I said, Alex’ll be right out. Make yourself at home.

Karma: Eyes up, Christopher. I’m not going to bite. As I said, I just want to converse, point blank. If you’re too much of a pussy to partake then that’s on you but I will say that suppressing your problems only to whine about them in solitude is completely illogical, self-destructive and asinine.

RCA: How you feel about anything I do is inconsequential.

Karma: Regardless, it’s childishly stupid.

RCA: Much like your popping off at the mouth.

Karma: (teasingly) Am I hurting your feelings, Chris? Do you want to do something about it?

Alex better bring his ass out here posthaste.

Austin’s right hand tightens into a fist as he bites his bottom lip.

RCA: You have no idea how lucky your hard-headed ass is.

Karma: Stubborn and honesty runs in my family. I call it how I see it and if you don’t like it, then tough.

As Austin’s nostrils flare, Alex and Jessica emerge from their rendezvous, grinning like Cheshire cats albeit clothed. Alex’s smile widens as he sees Karma. After reassuring Jessica that Karma is pretty much his niece, Alex calls out to her, changing Karma’s intense gaze into a look of glee.

O’Rion: Hey, Karma! It’s great to see you, sweetie!

Karma: Uncle Alex!

The two embrace as Jessica is seemingly touched by Alex’s soft side. As Alex eyes Austin, he sees a look on his face; a look that could mean anything, but rarely something good. Austin’s head rotates like a snake as his eyes show ill intent. Austin just stares at both of them and backpedals away with Alex looking on, his hug tightening around Karma. Austin’s head twitches ever so as he takes one glance at Jessica before leaving.

Goddammit… you want to play with family, well let’s play.


Fade in. We hear nothing but the gentle ‘swoosh’ of shuffling steps across a floor. As a door’s haunting creak signals the closing of a tomb of sorts, managing to rip through the eerie serenity. All of a sudden, a click here and there, and the room is brightened to an extent. The electricity hums gently as the lights flicker periodically. Our view then takes in what looks to be a classroom, rather unkempt. The desks are arranged to face the front, and then…that infamous article of clothing comes into view.

RCA: Good evening class. Tonight’s subject is Catalyst. For those not in the know, Catalyst is a pay-per-view of Full Metal Wrestling and the first event had the honor of being headed by yours truly as per my reward for winning the 2008 Hayabusa Cup. Of course, we all know how that fateful February ninth of 2009 ended. On a night I chose to give back to the fans and the company that gave me a new lease on a happy life, they left me to die. All because their jealousy of what I was becoming could no longer be hidden. I never forgot that. I never forgot the worst professional night of my life and the similar instances that followed it.

I figured things would be different given all of the people I saved, but no. The hero that was Chris Austin died for nothing. Before me Nick Bryson was nothing more than a mid-carder toiling along as his ‘wonderful’ program with Jaro and his big wins got him nowhere. I gave Drew Michaels the chance to be the “best pure wrestler”. Leon Caprice’s coming out party was my doing. I tried to give Skyler Striker a chance at the world title and he never neared the World title again until now, and just like at Catalyst, he hasn’t earned the right. On that one night, I was the Catalyst to many of your finest achievements, because I thought they it was the right thing to do. Of course, I found that your jealousy was why Catalyst went the way it did for me. But I’m concerned with something else. The question is who will win War Games.

Austin reaches into his pockets, pulling out erasers, his currently compact baton and a box of chalk. He pushes in a chalkboard from the side of a room and takes a piece of chalk into his hand while retracting his baton, making it a pointer of sorts.

RCA: Pay attention to why Distortion and Corruption will not win. We shall challenge the easier explanation first, so for once in its pathetic lives they’ll actually be thought of first. As we all know, each team is supposed to be made of five people. Well, based on recent research there are currently unproven theories which state that Dunnwood is Matt Dunn. Dunnwood's ‘use’ of Dunn automatically makes them one in the same, so in effect Distortion is down to four and a half and five is greater than said quantity, quickly placing Distortion at a disadvantage.

Austin scribbles on the board for a minute and steps back. The board reads:


RCA: Dunnwood and Dunn on the same team already decreases the output of Dunnwood of those performers by half. Dunn will only work best as one person and if both men are Dunn, then Dunn and Dunnwood could simultaneously perform at half of their potential output given that in some fashion, Dunn makes up two-thirds of Dunnwood’s self. So at best, TWO men will only have the maximum output of ONE AND A HALF men since one person can not be in two places at once unless said person is cut in half, and that is not a recipe for success. This is a recipe for success:


RCA: This leads into someone who seems like one of the more successful members of the long-shots, Leon Caprice. However, the equation to success, upon a closer look shows that Leon experienced most of his success under the tutelage and guidance of Skyler Striker, so:


Austin scribbles on the board, places his chalk down, and forcefully raps his baton against the board.

RCA: So let’s remove the Skyler variable from this equation and see what we are left with.


RCA: There is no such thing as a half a success, as Wins plus Championship equals success. Leon has some wins, but no titles of his own. I personally won the Hayabusa Cup Championship and I have a win rate of two wins for every three matches, as you can and will see, I am a success. On top of that:


RCA: Leon has never won a match that I have ever been involved in. So at this point, team Distortion at best, is composed of two and a half entrants, including their best chance at winning already being mathematically eliminated from the equation. Let’s move on to their so-called star pupils, Hannibal Frost and Seth Omega.

Austin writes on his chalkboard some more, steps back and dusts his hands off.


RCA: Upon winning the Abandoned title from Skyler, Hannibal also forgot that winning titles makes you a marked man. He was quickly attacked and injured much like he was in his C-4 championship reign, though his foolish pride would not let him vacate a title and this coupled with Seth’s underhanded tactics, The loss of the Abandoned title not only hurt Hannibal physically, making him already a less that 100 percent for his team, but emotionally, as his ego took a huge slap in the face. Granted, it is hard to live down a loss to Seth Omega. Anyway…


RCA: However, Frost has some variables associated with him as his injury and emotions cannot be valued concretely. Meaning…


RCA: Still, Frost stands a chance at being successful and a contributing part of the team. But if you take his intangibles into account, you will see that even if Hannibal is a full one-fifth of the team, which he isn’t but for the sake of argument he will be, he will likely seek out another one-fifth of team Distortion to target and eventually eliminate. So…


RCA: Ultimately, Hannibal will prove to be nothing. Speaking of nothing…Seth Omega…

Austin writes on his board some more.


RCA: Ever since Seth stepped foot into FMW, he has found himself in a quagmire of indecision and underhanded attempts to gain relevancy and favor. One day he’s ‘Go Saints’, other days he’s ‘I am the Saints’. One week he’s good, other weeks he’s bad. Now, he has stolen leadership from Team Distortion as well as trust due to bringing about harm to their best competitor in this match. In a fashion that would make various world dictators blush, the execution of his vile tactics, terrible decision making, and consistent trashing of his teammates has almost entirely turned his whole team against him, which was finalized by his post-match promo. So…


RCA: As Seth comes into this match at full strength, he is a clear one-fifth, but with four-fifths not having his back, he is effectively worth a negative three-fifths. So yes, Distortion’s team captain is their weakest link, and you’ve heard the saying where a team is only as strong as their weakest link. And people wonder why they are shat on the way they are. As for Corruption, well, let’s start with Calvin X. Carter.

Austin flips the board to the clean side, grabs another piece of chalk, and begins writing. After some time he steps back and points to the board.

RCA: As we all saw, Team Corruption made an ill-advised decision by replacing Jaro with Calvin X. Carter. While Carter could be as good as he wishes to be. Thus far he has not shown the desired potential to be such. Why Corruption would replace arguably the most consistent and successful variable on its team at the behest of said variable is beyond me. But it’s their loss. Now…when trying to measure Carter’s potential impact on Team Corruption, one need to do nothing but refer back to the Leon Caprice formula, and exchange Caprice’s numbers for Carter. We end with the following:


RCA: Unfortunately, when you take into account Carter’s decision to drop out of the Gold Card Gauntlet, in which a win would have increased his Success factor, you see that he equals zero impact, so Corruption is down to four, a worse start than even Distortion. Now we move on to the lovably inept Celt.

Austin begins to write on his board as dust flies everywhere. Austin remains stoic and focused throughout before using his baton to bring attention to the board.

RCA: The Fighting Irish were seemingly FMW’s most inept tag team, doing little besides play punching bag for HavOc. So…


RCA: As you can see Celt’s success was directly related to and dependent on the Fighting Irish. Looking deeper, Celt’s success depended on PX’s ineptitude, yet PX was long seen as the lesser half of the team. Yet, upon splitting up, PX tasted a championship, much like he did during his time in NEW while the Celt remained stagnant. Not to mention, Celt and PX do not like each other. So…


RCA: Now Celt is worth more than CXC to the team, but Celt’s success equals zero, therefore he will not have an significant impact on this team. Corruption’s down to three. As for PX, well…


RCA: We can’t truly judge PX’s effectiveness after having his ass handed to him on Distortion but with the Celt added to the equation, we can guarantee that PX will be negatively affected. So for the sake of argument, we’ll put PX at 50 percent, and that’s being generous. Corruption is down to two and a half. This brings us to Bryson and Harley.


RCA: Corruption has two-fifths of a great team, no argument there. But as a whole, Corruption has two and one half-fifths. Now, Ammunition. This will be easy.

Austin erases the board and goes into a writing frenzy…upon stopping he stands back to admire what he has done.


RCA: While Crow is not quite a success, he is very motivated to be such. He wishes to build upon a sound foundation; on top of that, he is smart enough to keep his mouth shut, only drawing the ire of those not involved in the match. So his output coupled with these intangibles is one-fifth.


RCA: Romeo is a success, while I do not like him, I will put aside my loathing of him to assist him and the only thing that has been proven is that I am better than him. I am his teammate, and with his strained yet working relationship with Drew…


RCA: So Romeo’s impact will be say, one and three quarter-fifths(1.75/5), this brings us to three and one quarter-fifths. As for me?


RCA: As the 2008 Hayabusa Cup Champion and one half of the Current Tag Team Champions, I am a success. Also, my tag championship partner is in this match so I will garner support from him and serve as two-fifths to start with. But after what went down at the last Catalyst, which should have been my night, I have intangible motivation. I am also smarter and more athletic than anyone in this match so…


RCA: I could go on and even bring up that unlike everyone else, I’ve been in an actual war but let’s get to Alex O:


RCA: Alex O’Rion is my tag championship partner, so he starts at two-fifths due to my support, but as we are proven successes alone, together our success is doubled, so that brings us an extra one-fifth. We each are at two and one half-fifths, not including intangible motivation for redemption or revenge. Now, last but not least:


RCA: Drew Michaels is the most decorated competitor in this match. With support from Alex, and therefore to a lesser extent me, intangible motivation to destroy Nick and to a lesser extent Seth and his ability to come through in pressure situations, well he’s quite the large value. We will assign him three-fifths. So, Ammunition as a whole is…


RCA: Now, for those who slept through class, I’ll summarize so that you don’t have to get the cliff notes and waste money. Dunnwood and Dunn are one and a half entrants at best. That’s one and one half-fifths. Leon is crippled losing his better half, so he’s one half-fifth, bringing Distortion up to two-fifths. We’ve established that Hannibal WITH, and I stress WITH, his variables make him equal to zero, so still at two-fifths. Seth has made himself worth a negative three-fifths. Add that up and you have:


RCA: Distortion is screwed. As for Corruption? Carter equals zero. Celt equals zero. PX is one-half fifth. Bryson and Harley are each one-fifth. So:


RCA: A little better but not that much better. As for Ammunition, I’ve done their math and it equaled:


RCA: So based on my math if everything was equal, Ammunition would have over double the chances to win this match. However, everything is not equal, and therefore there is no argument when I say:


RCA: Any questions? No? Good. These equations have seemingly been 18 months in the making, FMW, and I have to tell you that I haven’t forgotten about Catalyst. So I’ve sat here and broken it down so when I tell you that I WILL EMBARRASS YOU there will be no doubt as to how I, along with Alex O and Team Ammunition will do it. After 18 long months, it’s time for you to show me the jealousy that you’ve poorly hidden from my eyes, which do see the sharpest on account of my own envy of your unearned fortune by my sound mind and honorable actions.

Your assignment for today is for you all to bear witness, bow down and pay tribute to the hand of God known as the Student of the Game. It is due at Catalyst, and the only way to complete the assignment is to get your asses whooped by me and four of Ammunition’s finest. I am not overlooking you, Distortion and Corruption. I gave all of you attention and I fully intend to approach this match with the utmost seriousness but, well we’ve seen that my opponents couldn’t do anything if they tried so when I bring the house you will crumble. It is mathematically impossible for anyone besides Ammunition to win this match. The writing is on the wall. Distortion and Corruption…Prepare to be terminated with extreme prejudice. Class Dismissed.

Austin drops his chalk, grabs his baton and flips the chalkboard as he walks away. As the board slows, the visage settles on the following quote:

A great man once said, "May god have mercy on my enemies, because I sure as hell won't." Indeed, I took General Patton's statement to heart. But these days, my thoughts and feelings have been a bit... distorted. I've seen quite a few minds over the years. I've seen high intellects crumble. I've seen strong hearts break. I've seen formidable minds be destroyed. I'm tired of it. Not that I've seen too much to the point where I'm annoyed or angry about it, but I'm quite literally bored of it. I really would like to break some bones now. It would get me something fresh and new.

I’ve always thought to give myself a challenge. These two men, um... Butters and Wolfe? Perfect challenge. Oh no, it’s not what you think. Beating and breaking them: that’s easy. No, it’s time I gave myself the challenge of making two people tap out and/or go unconscious single-handedly. I need to do so without added limbs, of course. But I’m sure I can figure out this riddle. Hmph.

----------

Norman Riddle: Moronic beings, they are, squirming about in my domain. Indeed, it most likely is torturous to them. I say, the more torture, the better. They will never find their way out. Ever.

A dark place. A place for everlasting torment. Golden walls, black floors, no sky or ceiling visible. Interlocking corridors seem to make for an extremely impressive maze. A man is shown, walking through the halls of this deserted place. Sweat lines his brow and his face is nothing but worry-filled. He seems to wear his wrestling gear, although this certainly is not a place for wrestling. And a voice, clear as day, sounds once more, though it seems the man in the maze cannot hear.

Norman Riddle: Ah, yes, the man known simply as "Butters". Hmph. Stupid name, if you ask me. Hahaha. Are his brains such liquid that he cannot function simply to find his way about my maze? Of course they are. At least, compared to me. Compared to all others, he might as well be a genius. But alas, he isn't.

A chuckle from the taunting voice sounds as the scene changes to a near-identical one. Gold walls and black floors and invisible sky once more. But it is not a worried Butters who walks through the halls. It is a stoic man, different from the last. This one seems to also wear his wrestling attire. He walks through the halls and looks unfazed by the situation, but the master of this place can sense fear.

Norman Riddle: Don't you try to act cool and mysterious, Alistair Wolfe. I know your thoughts, your secrets. I can sense your emotion by how you act, what you say. You are scared. Oh yes, behind that wanna-be vampire, tough guy facade, you are afraid. Afraid you will never see the light of day again. Oh, but wait. Aren't vampires supposed to hate the light and warmth? I'm not afraid of you, your body, your power, or your "vampiric skills".

Another chuckle. Butters and Wolfe are now both shown, split-screen, traveling through their respective mazes. Suddenly, they both come to a halt. They each come to a wall in front of them, shining gold like the sides, but this one: emblazoned with a giant black exclamation point. Both men begin to panic, clawing at the walls in front of them. Suddenly, the walls suck them in. They scream so horribly it sounds as though someone is dying. The master laughs.

Norman Riddle: Don't you two understand? You will never escape me. I will be the winner. Know this. I mean, of course it's true: I said it.

Saying the last three words viciously, Riddle begins to laugh as the pictures of each maze zoom out. The long, malicious laugh continues as the mazes, zoomed out, each form in to a shape. The left: Riddle holds Butters in the Ultimate Riddle submission hold. His face is contorted in agony. The right: Riddle holds Wolfe in the same submission. He is slowly losing consciousness. Riddle's maniacal laugh continues as the screen fades to black.

----------

Rough Voice: Hey, wake up!

Norman Riddle opens his eyes with a smile on his face. He stares at the gray stone bed above him as he lays on one identical. He turns his head to the right, away from the wall, where a man stands. His shaved head, bushy beard, and muscular physique make him look quite menacing, but Riddle smiles at him as though he were his brother. He raises an eyebrow expectantly to the large man.

Rough Man: You were laughing in your sleep, man. Really, really loud. Woke me up.

Riddle continues to smile and gives a small chuckle.

Norman Riddle: And you had to wake me up for that, Bradshaw?

Bradshaw: You're damn right I did! You wake me up, I wake you up. That's how it works.

Norman Riddle: Oh, is it now?

Bradshaw: Shit, man, of course it is. Didn't think so? Come on, any idiot would realize that.

Norman's smile fades to a look of pure anger as quickly as if Bradshaw had insulted his family and then slapped him. He breathes heavily and barres his teeth. Bradshaw looks astonished.

Norman Riddle: Any idiot? ANY IDIOT? Listen here, ignoramus, your mind doesn't even equal an eighth of what mine is. If you know something, I know it. My left eyeball has more intellect than your tiny mass of... a brain. If that's what you call it. Never insult me again. That is, unless you want what brain cells you have squeezed out you.

Bradshaw looks taken aback at this sudden anger, but dismisses it, putting back his tough face and staring down Riddle, who is now standing, exclamation-shaped cane in his right hand. Indeed, even when standing, Bradshaw is slightly larger than Riddle.

Bradshaw: Think you can hurt me, little man? What can you do? You're small. You're thin. Obviously your brains are so small you can't control your emotio-

Riddle cuts him off there. Nailing his straight on the side of the face with his cane, he then kicks the big man in the side of the abdomen, flipping him on his back and knocking the air from him. The master of riddles then climbs on Bradshaw's muscular back. He bends Bradshaw's legs back and puts them under his arms, while grabbing the man's large wrists with both his hands. He places his feet inside the backs of his knees, pulls his hands back and pushes his shoulders down. Bradshaw, the once imposing man, is locked in Norman's Ultimate Riddle, and is screaming for help. Riddle has a look on his face of pure danger and screams in anger. Suddenly, inmates wake up on all bunks, but simply stare at Riddle punishing Bradshaw.

Norman Riddle: Never insult me! NEVER!

Bradshaw does not even register that he heard Riddle, but keeps on screaming in pain.

Norman Riddle: Did you hear me?!

Riddle locks it tighter and Bradshaw screams louder. The inmates, some even larger than the man in the hold, are staring at Riddle with terror in their faces.

Norman Riddle: Fine!

And Riddle, one final time, tightens the hold. Cracks sound like gunshots as multiple bones break in Bradshaw's body. He losses consciousness from the extreme pain. Riddle unlocks the hold and stands up. He sits on his stone bed and his look of anger switches to a smile once more, just as quickly as the first time. He laughs and speaks to himself.

Norman Riddle: Well, that was good practice for my match. I feel... energized. The mens' bones will break like toothpicks and their minds will be scarred forever.

He stands back up and bends over Bradshaw. He rips the gold buckle from his jeans and holds it to his own waist, moving it back and forth.

Norman Riddle: Hmm... yes, gold looks fine around my waist. I must get the opportunity for it first, of course.

Riddle looks up at the other men in the room with a look of dangerous warning and speaks to them.

Norman Riddle: Now riddle me this, gentlemen. Who has the most superior mind?

Men: You.

Norman Riddle: Who has the superior skills?

Men: You.

Norman Riddle: Louder, so my opponents can hear you!

Men: YOU!

The men acquire looks of pure horror and flee to their beds before Riddle can ask another question. The man smiles contently and laughs once more. He speaks one more time.

Norman Riddle: I'm ready to break more bones.

----------

Now I understand. Now I realize how I will defeat both single-handedly with submissions. One will fall unconscious. The other will scream in agony. I will break them. After that, I am coming for a nice bit of gold. My time to display my skill, my strength, and my intellect is here, and no one who stands before me, pretending they will win, is simply foolish. No one will solve the Ultimate Riddle.

OLD FRIENDS

Ripper walked slowly down the muddy path to the asylum’s front gate. Trees on both sides were full of slowly waking birds that cast flitting shadows across his face. Ripper raised his eyes up as he approached the gate so he could read the sign.

WATSON HOME FOR THE MENTALY DISTURBED

Ripper smirked. “It’s subtle, like a slow crescendo in a symphony. It’s a wonder people can even figure out what this place is.” His smiled faded slowly as he observed the rust and vines that were eating away at the huge gate and fences that surrounded the building. He exhaled softly. “How old is this place?” The question obviously wasn’t meant to be answered, but that didn’t mean it would be left alone.

“It was built in ’35 during the depression, so that would make it roughly 75 years old. And I must say . . . it looks like it still has the original paint on the walls.”

“Thank you, Gus. You can go now. I told both of you to stay at the hotel. Destiny would be mad if she knew I had made up new pets. She would want me to stay. Just . . . wait at the hotel.”

“If you insist, Sir.”

“Thank you again, Gus.”

Ripper reached out and pressed the talk button on the panel by the gate. “This is Ripper. I’m here to visit Destiny Waters. I made an appointment, so it should be on file.” He released the button and didn’t have to wait long for the receptionist to reply.

“Oh, Ripper, Honey, it is so good to see you! Come on in. I’ll go tell Destiny you’re here. She has been so sad since you left. This should perk her right up!”

The talk-box went silent, and then the gates squeaked and groaned as they slowly opened. Ripper walked up the driveway to the crumbling building, as a small camera over the doorway followed his approach. The metal door emitted a faint buzz as grew near. “I guess I don’t have to say the password.” Ripper pushed the door lightly and it flew open revealing a long corridor ending with a set of double doors. Ripper knew the visitation room was just beyond them. He walked slowly down the hall. Even after so many months on the outside, he still felt at ease within these halls. The crumbling pile of brick felt like home. The double doors buzzed softly when he neared like the first but opened slowly. These were the doors that were meant to keep people in, not out. Ripper walked through into a brightly lit room filled with plush chairs and wooden tables.

Destiny was sitting stiffly in a chair near the center of the room with her eyes on the floor. Ripper wasn’t surprised she was the only one there. Despite all the attractive looks of the visitation room, very few residents had regular visitors. Ripper smiled softly as he walked over and plopped himself down in an enormous armchair beside her.

“How have you been Dessy? I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Rip.” Her eyes never left the floor. “Nurse Bea told me Smith got a job somewhere else just after you left. She was lying. Do you know anything about that?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but Ripper could tell she was mad. That was just how Destiny talked. “Don’t worry. The sound equipment is still broken. We can talk.”

“I might have given him a gentle push in a downward direction. Let’s just say he will need some serious sun block on his new job.”

“You told me you would behave when you got out.”

“I have been! That was my only slip, I swear!”

Her eyes shot up and locked with Ripper’s for a few seconds then dropped back to the floor.
“No lies. Good Boy.”

Ripper’s smile grew wider. “Have they been treating you okay, Love? No mean interns?”

“I’ve been fine, Rip. They cut my meds back a little. I haven’t had any attacks in weeks. They even let me watch your matches on that FWW thing.”

“FMW, Dessy.”

“Right, that. You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am. They let me use a sledgehammer.”

She let out a small giggle. “A sledgehammer? I’m surprised you didn’t mess yourself when you heard.”

“Yes! I got a laugh! I’m set for today.”

Destiny’s smile slowly faded. “I . . . I need your help, Rip . . . with something kind of big.”

“You know I’m always here for you.”

“Last night I heard someone. They called out for help. Normally I would just push it away, but I saw where you were going next for the FWW thing and I . . . I thought maybe . . .”

“I’ll help. Just tell me where.”

“Chicago, Rip. A small boy, I think his name is Caleb. Somebody is after him . . . I just . . . can’t see who.”

“I’ll find him.” Ripper stood and gently raised her chin with his hand to kiss her forehead. “I promise.”


NEW FRIENDS

Ripper parked his bike at a small bar near the edge of town. He didn’t have a bloody clue where to start looking for Caleb, but he knew he would have to get after it if he was going to get any sleep. He walked down the streets slowly in no particular order, stopping to walk down alleyways and dark corners wherever he found them. Destiny hadn’t told him where to look, but if she had sent him searching then he was going to find the boy eventually. That’s just what happened when Destiny saw things. They happened. The back alleys were definitely entertaining at night though. Ripper was approached in the dark twice by muggers and given the opportunity to relax his nerves with a little skull cracking. He even crossed paths with a crack whore making love to a midget behind a dumpster. He managed to keep walking, only staring as long as they were in his line of sight. It was nearly three A.M. when Ripper finally found what Destiny had sent him for.

A small boy, probably just 13, suddenly ran out of a closed arcade screaming bloody murder. Right behind him followed 3 grown men, one holding a bat. The boy saw Ripper standing on the sidewalk and ran for him, shouting, “You! She showed me you! Help me!”

The men slowed as they neared Ripper then stopped altogether, their jaws going slack in the face of his enormous frame. The one with a bat spoke slowly, “We a . . . we need that kid.”

“What for?” Ripper smiled broadly. “Name your reason. Because I think maybe I got a better reason I should stick my size 15 boot up your scrawny ass.”

“Th-the boss lady said we needed him for . . . for . . .” He let the sentence hang there for a while. “Look, we just need him, okay? We don’t need any trouble.”

“Well you got trouble.” Ripper raised his right arm up in the air across his chest. “Now git, before I cave in your skull. And leave the stick.”

The man dropped the bat and slowly backed away. Soon they were all running at a nice pace down the empty street. Ripper bent and picked up the bat then turned to the boy. “You would be Caleb?”

“Y-yes, Sir . . . thank you for what you did.”

“No problem. You don’t have to explain. At least not tonight anyway, I’m too tired to listen. Do you have a place to stay?”

The boy shook his head slowly. “No, Sir.”

Ripper sighed softly. “Well at least you’re polite. Come on. I guess I can get an extra room at the hotel.”

Ripper began to walk back to the bar where he left his bike. The boy stood for a second, staring at the monster of a man that had saved him, then ran to catch up.

“You know the lady that showed me you? She said you would protect me until . . . until I could . . . until I could do it myself, but I don’t know . . .”

“Settle down, Caleb. Destiny doesn’t always make sense at first, but she’s always right. You’ll figure it out. Just be patient.”

The boy stared in awe at Ripper as he jogged to match his stride. “The lady . . . Destiny . . . who is she?”

“She is like me and . . . I’m guessing from how we met . . . you. She is someone the world just doesn’t get yet, someone that got sent away.”

“Oh . . .” They walked in silence back to the bar where Ripper had left his bike.


VISIONS

Caleb woke around noon to the sound of Ripper cursing violently in the next room.

"Dammit, Trissha, I said no! . . . Fine! I'll get Gus so you have someone to talk to! I think I left him with the bike."

He sat still and listened as best he could, but all he could catch was Ripper’s footsteps as he left the room and stormed off down the hall. They boy sat up in silence and surveyed the small hotel room. The bat that the man had been chasing him with was on the dresser across from his bed. Ripper had left it there saying something about a sledgehammer he would feel guilty about cheating on. Caleb stood and walked over to it, then placed one hand on its side. He needed to see if they were still after him, and if this Ripper could really protect him.

Caleb picked up the bat and walked to the sink by the bathroom where there was a large mirror. His knuckles grew white as he gripped the bat and stared into his own eyes in the mirror. Then the mirror began to glow faintly as he opened a window into Ripper’s mind.

Caleb saw a monkey and a cat and lots of someone called Damien. More flashes and he saw a man named Smith with his face caved in. Then there were men all around beating each other and pinning each other down. A man flew through the air and Ripper’s mind laughed. Caleb closed the link. He still didn’t know who this Ripper was, but he knew he was safe as long as he stayed with him.

Caleb looked up into his eyes again and concentrated harder. He needed to see if the bad ones had found him yet. The window opened again, this time into the other man’s mind. Caleb saw another young boy holding a map and chanting as his eyes rolled back in his head. The chanting continued for several minutes, and then the boy shook his head and cried as hands reached out to slap him. The vision faded. The bad ones hadn’t found him yet.

“Well I guess now we know why you need protecting.”

Caleb swung around to see Ripper standing in the doorway.

“I . . . it’s hard to explain . . .”

“That’s alright, Kid. You can explain later. I need to get going right now. Tell me, do you like wrestling . . .”

Sometime after 11.3....

Impressive win Sir....What are you going to do now?

Our fearless hero is seen pouring himself yet another celebratory shot and snickering with a squirming Indigo on his lap

I'm going to fucking Disney World!!! Whoo!!! Well after I "celebrate" a lil more with Miss Indigo here of course....

Axel smiles that trademark wolfish grin ear to ear as Indigo playfully slaps his chest kissing him roughly, wrestling the bottle out of his hand....

We have a lot of so called celebrating to catch up on Logan so it may be awhile, right hun?

They don't call me The Hour of Power for nothing, right Logan??

I thought your last "conquest" called you the Min...

Hey now Logan that's cool man...What brings you by the arena???

Well Sir .... I recieved an email from Mr. Smitten and it looks as though you are in a Celebrity tag team brand vs brand vs brand match and your celebrity partner is Ax...

el Foley....Sweet I love his laugh....(does his best Eddie Murphy laugh)...and that cat can handle himself in a fight!! Give him a ring we can set up a meeting and get stra....

Sir your partner is not the FICTIONAL cop from Beverly Hills Cop I II and the horrible third edition it is Axe....

The Axe Men!!! I am definitely down with that team up those dudes are fucking huge right now .... Get em on the horn...

*exasperated* No Sir its not a TEAM of loggers....Its Axl GODDAMN Rose!!!

Fuck no its not .... I hate that son of a bitch.... ever since Steel Dragon opened for Guns and that ass no showed in MY HOMETOWN....I have wanted to kill him....That fucker was one of my best friends but NO ONE no shows on Axel Van MUTHA FUCKING Osbourne....I am so done with his ass....Tell Smitten to get me Foley and then it's a deal but no way in all that is Holy will I team with that washed up bastard....Did you hear Chinese Democracy?? Utter Shit .... My unborn children could have written better material....Yes I said my load is more musically talented than that fat sack of shit.....

Sir you are Sething again....and its not pretty....

Sething? What the flying fuck is Sething??

Ranting untelligiably about something you have no control over until you sound more retarded than when you began....

Oh Damn that shit is funny as hell....Did you get that from the boys in the locker room or did you make that one up all by your lonesome??

It's actually all over the internet....almost as popular as Showstopping used to be....

Well hell that is too funny ..... Get Smitten on the horn I have to find me another partner stat....

Sir evidently Mr. Smitten saw your rant on the closed circuit feed and he on the "horn' as you so eloquintly put and he says and I quote...."Tell your washed up sack of crap boss that my decision on PPV martches are final and Mr. Rose will be there and there are no backsies"....

Well tell him he can expect me there with fucking bells on....No Backsies....who in the hell says that anymore that isn't like an 8 year old girl??

Axel shakes his head pinching his nose between two fingers in an expression of pure disgust as our screen fades to black.....

Shortly Thereafter.....

We pick up with our fearless hero on his cell phone in very animated conversation, Through the magic of promo writing we will be privy to both sides of the heated conversation....

Bill you ass, you no showed on me fifteen years ago goddamn it and you have been doing the shit ever since....Hell I just read your tweet saying your were cancelling out of fucking Leeds of all things....Fucking Diva....

Osbourne, you unoriginal fuck, I decided to play Leeds if you would have read the tweet five minutes after....By the way there is no E in Axl douche....

Thats what makes me different from you Bill and its not even your fucking name....You are William FUCKING Rose no Axl anywhere at all....

Goddamn man its a STAGE NAME just like yours BRIAN!!! You haven't changed one iota since we got in that fist fight over Stephanie Seymour and ended up throwing my baby grand in the pool....So who do we fight in this thing??

Don't you dare bring up that night....You know I was an 8 ball in and Steph had the most amazing legs....they went up to hea....

Bri....come back down man who are we wrestling at this shindig??

Who in the hell says shindig anymore except for fat balding washed up 80s metal gods?? I mean seriously....Couldn't you have said like show or event or something??

What the fuck ever and who you calling washed up ..... What's Steel Dragon been up to lately?? Focus man....Whose ass are we kicking in?

Ouch that was fucking cold Bill....We are wrestling Team Ford which is Matt Ford and Harrison Ford and Team Cage which is Mike Cage and Nic Cage...Easy win in my opinion, but I also thought shooting up a whole 8 ball and playing November Rain 8 ft under water was a good idea, so what do I know??

Nic Cage and Harrison Fucking Ford.....That Cage fucker has done nothing EVER....His Johnny Blaze was about as intresting as a retarded monkey and Harrisin Ford hasn't dome anything since fucking Indiana Jones....

Finally we are on the same fucking page.... I said the same thing when Logan told me who I had to wrestle....

Logan is still propping you up ever night huh?? I thought he would have left after that incident in Saigon with the transvestite hooker....

Bill you said you would never ever mention that....EVER!! And anyways she was post op, so that has to count for something right??

Count for something?? Are you fucking mental....It used to have a dick!!!

Like you never did any thing you regret .... Do I need to remind you of the sweat lodge incident with Nikki Sixx and CC Deville??

I still think that never happened and you are fucking with me.....So I will be there I swear.....

Says the ginger with the dreads.....You better be there man you pull a Cincinnati on me and I will come find you and rip your spleen out through your nose!!!

GENERIC ANNOUNCER VOICE:Will Axl Rose actually show up at a scheduled event?? Will Team AXEL reign supreme at the Preshow?? Will The Axl's celebrate with underage asain prostitutes....These answers and more next time on .... FMW CATALYST.....

YET ANOTHER GENERIC ANNOUNCER VOICE: Its actually the Catalyst PRESHOW numbnuts....

1st ANNOUNCER: Hey man I am just reading whaft they put in front of me....

2nd ANNOUNCER: You worthless fuck....

1st ANNOUNCER: Who you calling wortless you insignificant dou....

The screen mercifully fades to black.....

A subtle layer of conversation carried itself across the restaurant, whispers of secrets and first dates intertwining with the sweet smell of Chinese food. Waiters and waitresses alike snaked their way through the rows of tables, tending to patrons eager to satisfy their appetites.

Hannibal Frost, hat and shades perched at the edge of his table, wielded a pair of chop sticks with graceful precision. Another roll of sushi found the wasabi, and then the taste buds on his tongue. Chewing happily, he stole a glance at his company for the evening: Gwen Richards. She smiled back before flicking her gaze to the sushi left on the plate.

"I've never seen food make a man so happy," She said.

Swallowing the sushi, Frost took a sip of his saki to wash it down. "Clears my head."

"You do seem like you've got quite a bit on your mind."

Frost watched as Gwen tucked a strand of dirty blond hair behind her ear. Bluish green eyes peered back at him, their depths promising mystery. Her fair skin, as flawless as silk, beckoned his touch. But, that would come later. Frost had commanded himself to take this one slow. This one... was special.

"So, how's this wrestling business coming along?" Gwen asked.

"It keeps me from drinking myself to death. "

"I really don't understand why you keep doing it. Denisoff and I would like to have you full time," She replied, a smirk forming at the edge of her lips.

Frost caught the subtle, sexual undertone and smiled back. "I was a wrestler first, crusader second. Besides, I was told I'd be a champion some day. In a prophecy, no less."

Gwen nodded. "I've heard of this... prophecy. Mind telling me who bestowed upon you this information?"

"Anubis."

"The first vampire and an Egyptian god. I'd say that's a pretty reliable source."

Downing the rest of his saki, Frost nodded in agreement. The vague memory of Frost's encounter with Anubis played across his mind's eye for a moment. The man had said that Frost would be the world's champion one day, according to the prophecy. That bit of information could've been translated into anything, but Frost still held hope that it was FMW related.

After signaling for another round of saki, Frost brought his attention to Gwen. "Entertaining people has always been my niche in life. I have a gift for it and I'm not about to let it go to waste."

Gwen smiled, her eyes alight with appreciation. "I completely understand. Although, I do believe in using gifts in a... broader sense."

"For fifteen to twenty minutes a show, I get to take people from their reality and make them happy. All they have to concentrate on is their hope that good can triumph over evil. They only see the spectacle before their eyes. Not the problems they have back home."

Gwen arched an eyebrow. "Well, since you put it that way, I've just found you a lot more attractive."

"I honestly didn't think that was possible."

A beautiful, hearty laugh escaped Gwen's lips that had Frost smiling. She wagged a finger at him. "We're certainly going to have to work on that ego."

Frost began to reply, but a commotion at the front doors caught his attention. He'd booked a table in the back of the restaurant and made sure to sit facing the entrance, just incase a situation like this were to come along.

Two men, each in matching black suits, were talking with the hostess. Their mouths moved at argumentative speeds until, finally, her gaze flicked to where Frost and Gwen were sitting.

"I put in a request for a night off didn't I?" Frost asked, his hand moving to the chest holster under his duster.

Gwen noticed the action and immediately slipped her hand below the table. "You did. Why?"

Frost slipped on his cowboy hat and reflective lens Ray Bans before nodding to the front of the restaurant. "Trouble."

Gwen took a quick glance over her shoulder. Returning her gaze to Frost, she pulled a small 9mm pistol from her purse and slipped it under a napkin on the table. "Gotta' plan?"

Frost thought for a second, his eyes never leaving the two men hassling the hostess. Suddenly, they broke away from her and began heading his way. "They won't draw any undue attention. We leave through the front door."

Gwen cocked an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Frost furrowed his brow in thought. "Eighty percent sure."

The two men pulled matching pistols out from under their matching suits.

"Forty percent."

Then they took aim, the sound of slides being pulled back echoing in the new silence.

"Ten percent."

Gwen's eyed went wide with surprise. "What?"

"Duck."

Gwen disappeared under the table as Frost pulled his fifty caliber Desert Eagle out into the open. He squeezed the trigger twice, dropping one of the men instantly. The other quickly returned fire, pushing Frost to grab Gwen and head for the kitchen. He stole one last glance before hitting the double doors and saw the wounded suit get to his feet like nothing had happened. Stifling a shudder, Frost escaped through the double doors with Gwen in tow.

A quick jaunt through the kitchen had Frost and Gwen hitting the back alley behind the restaurant. Mice, only trying to feed themselves on wasted food, scurried back into the shadows as the pair sprinted for the street.

"Who in the hell was that?" Gwen asked, her tone abandoning all subtlety.

"The Agency. And don't ask who they are. All I've got is the name," Frost replied, rounding the corner and finally leaving the alley. A street light, emitting a soft yellow glow, advertised the parking spot of Frost's 69' Chevy Camaro. Taking one last look around, Frost pulled Gwen to the car.

Tires spun against asphalt. Then, in catching traction, the Camaro launched into traffic. Dodging and weaving, it was only a matter of moments before a considerable distance had been put between the restaurant and the fleeing vehicle.

"Do you at least know what they want?" Gwen asked, her tone becoming irritated.

"Our heads on a pike?"

Gwen was now watching the side mirror, her pistol planted firmly in her right palm. "Drop the sarcasm for one second. Please."

"I'm pretty sure they want me dead. For what reasons is beyond me," Frost replied, taking a final right turn before slowing down to the posted speed limit. He watched as the street lights bounced off the hood of his car, the effect growing more mesmerizing by the second.

A sudden slap to the shoulder pulled Frost out of his daze.

"Are you drunk?" Gwen asked.

"I can hold my alcohol, lady. I..." Frost couldn't find the will to finish his sentence. His strength was fading fast. Everything was becoming a blur. Every sound, every color had begun to dull.

"Shit. It's your head, isn't it?" Gwen asked, but the words sounded too deep to be coming from her pretty face. It was like every syllable was drowning.

"Damn... Omega..." Frost managed to spill out. Finally, Frost's grip loosened just enough, and his hands slipped from the steering wheel. Darkness began to encroach on his vision. Then there was a scream. A screeching mass of noises blending together until everything popped out of existence.

The darkness had taken him.


For I Don't Really Wanna' Die, I'm A Noble Rabbit


The scent of antibacterial cleaner and smelling salts brought Hannibal Frost forth from a nightmarish slumber. Whispers of his past clung to his thoughts, as notions concerning his future stung the whites of his eyes. A blurred perspective of the world met his gaze, tossing him into confusion.

"What the hell's going on?" Frost asked, the words stumbling to make it past his lips.

The outline of a sterile, white lab coat filled his peripheral vision. Stringy black hair capped off a slender frame. The man's hands expertly glided across a steel table, tinkering with things Frost couldn't quite see.

"My name is Dr. Sanchez. Please, do not be afraid."

The man's accent bit like he'd only just learned the English language. Frost spat thick saliva. "Pissed off is more like it. Where am I?"

The doctor spun around, a syringe held tightly in his right hand. "You are on a ship just off the coast of Isla Muerte."

Frost could feel it now. The slight rocking of the ship, constantly keeping his equilibrium off balance. Blinking a few times, Frost finally cleared his vision. He glanced around the room, finding nothing but scientific equipment he knew nothing about.

The doctor slid a cap on the syringe before extending it to Frost. "You will need this soon."

Frost waved it away, slightly distrusting of the red liquid inside. "What's going on?"

"Unfortunately, señor, I cannot tell you. The others are outside."

Frost stood up on weak legs, the weight of his duster trying to pull him back to the floor. With a hand to his head, Frost tried his best to calm everything around him. "The others?"

"Sí."

Frost shook his head, trying to clear away the effects of the drugs. In doing so, one thought permeated the fog enveloping his mind: Gwen.

Frost whipped around, almost falling over in the process, and grabbed a handful of the doctor's lab coat. "Where is she?"

"Quién?"

Frost growled, jerking the doctor up against the wall. "Stop with the fucking chicken scratch and answer me. Gwen Richards. Where is she?"

"The Archaeologist. We brought her as well. But, she did not make it."

Frost felt his heart sink and his knees fall slack. The doctor fell from his grip. "You killed her?"

The doctor, breathing heavily, waved his hands at what must have been a miscommunication. "No, she was kidnapped. A scientist aboard the ship took her hostage."

Frost ground his teeth, trying to make sense out of all this. His mind kept drawing blanks, though. The last thing he remembered was being behind the wheel of his Camaro. Now, he'd been shipped off to the middle of fucking nowhere and Gwen was gone.

The doctor pointed to a steel locker in the corner of the room. "You're equipment is in there. Grab it and go. Believe me señor, I am on your side."

Frost turned to the locker and pulled it open. Inside, Frost found a stash of useful items: his hat and shades; a Beretta M92F; two extra clips; and a canister of spray-on Neosporin. Collecting them all, he closed the locker and turned back to Sanchez. "That it?"

The doctor once again extended the syringe. "You will need this."

Cautiously, Frost took the syringe and pocketed it. "What for?"

"I cannot say."

Frost rolled his eyes and headed for the door. Upon opening it, he found himself in the middle of a group of highly armed individuals. Each one was wearing combat gear with M16's slung over their shoulders. Frost glanced down at his pistol, shook his head, and slid it into his chest holster.

A glance past the group told Frost he was on the main deck of the ship. The moon provided the only light, which in turn, casted an eerie glow over the island in the distance.

At the front of the ship, one man stood to face the rest. Military cut blond hair crowned a hardened face. Muscles bulged under his bullet proof vest and utility straps. He spoke, quickly and efficiently, as the group listened with bated breath.

"This island, once used to house a research facility, recently became the sight of an excavation. A team of archaeologists were searching for an artifact when all communications went south. The neighboring research facility, we believe, may have been affected."

Frost clung to the bit of information regarding the artifact. The chance that it was the Trinus Oculus had to have been a million to one, but that was just his luck. Still, you could never rule out a crazy demon chick casting off to some strange island in order to hide one of the most valuable artifacts in history.

Finally, Frost shook his head clear of his thoughts and listened on.

"The company funding the research facility have hired, and/or abducted, a team to piece together what exactly happened. That team... is you."

Frost huffed in agreement with the abduction angle. No way was he actually going to cooperate with this. He had to find Gwen and get the hell out of this mess as soon as possible.

"Now, our ETA is seven minutes. The drop zone is located on the south side of the island; our destination is two miles north of that. Be ready. Be vigilant. The big money fucks backing this operation have assured me to expect the worst. I advise all of you to do the same."


Doctor's Orders


Bright, fluorescent lights hit Dr. Sanchez's wire rimmed glasses at just the right angle to momentarily blind the gentleman standing across from him. Pushing a strand of greasy black hair from his eye line, the doctor continued on with his work, trying his best to look oblivious.

"You nerd types never did sit well with me."

Sanchez clinched the muscles in his jaw, trying to maintain a decent amount of composure. The last researcher who'd pissed off the boss was strung up outside the tent; a warning to all.

Closing his left eye, Sanchez ducked down to the microscope on the table before him. With one last thorough check, he was positively sure the virus had been perfected.

"How long until you're finished?"

Sanchez grumbled under his breath, the boss's aristocratic, holier than thou attitude seeping into his pores. The virus, already sealed in a vile on his left, pulsated within its glass home. The red liquid within sloshed around as if it had a life of his own.

Glancing up, Sanchez made momentary eye contact with the boss. "The virus ready to go."

The boss nodded, a seemingly endless amount of thought and calculations going on behind his eyes. Finally, he cracked his black leather knuckles and stepped to the other side of the room.

"What exactly will it do to him?"

Sanchez studied the vile carefully. The virus inside was truly a work of art. If only it wasn't being used for such... cruel measures of warfare. Then, with one solemn shake of his head, Sanchez answered the boss. "Exactly what you need it to, señor."


The Island of Death


The boat slid ashore amidst shifting sands and wading tides. The island itself appeared desolate and deserted; the only sound that of the wildlife indigenous to it. Shadows, cast by the moon, played off the tree line. Two ATV trails, each looking freshly traversed, branched off into two separate directions on the island.

Frost, at the back of the queue, climbed down the rope ladder on the edge of the boat and came to rest on the beach of the island. The five men in front of him jogged up towards the edge of the forest beyond, forcing Frost to play catch up. He wasn't exactly frightened by much anymore, but hell... the island was spooky.

At the mouth to the forest, the blond headed boss man turned to address the group once again.

"I need three men to take each trail. Satellite images confirm that one leads to the excavation site, and the other to the research facility."

Frost flicked his gaze to the trail on the right. Every bone in his body was shouting that Gwen was up there somewhere. So, without any concern over the mission at hand, he branched off towards the trail.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Frost heard the blond headed one speak up behind him. In turning, Frost slipped his pistol from his chest holster and pulled back the slide. The metallic sound echoed in the silent night, bringing about tension from those unclear of his intentions.

Frost glanced around the group before delivering his ultimatum. "Before I was kidnapped, I was dining with an intelligent, beautiful, and headstrong young woman. I have reason to believe she's here... and she's that way," Frost explained, nodding to the trail behind him. "So I'll be leading the team that's heading to the research facility. If you disagree, too fucking bad."

Tensions elevated once again as Frost flicked his gaze to every member of the group in front of him. Finally, the boss man stepped forward, and extended his hand. "My name is John Westfield, and I think you'll be needing this."

Frost glanced down to find a matte black walkie talkie sitting in John's palm. The barest of smiles crept over his lips as he took the device and clipped it onto his belt. "So, where's my team?"

Two people immediately stepped forward from the crowd. One was a bit smaller than Frost, a black face mask hiding his features. The glint of a silver cross, hanging about his neck, cast a refreshing light against the backdrop of shadows and the unknown.

The other man, barrel chested and stocky, immediately cast an intimidating aura. Frost found that just by staring at the man, he felt protected and vulnerable at the same time. Like the knife he could protect you with would first have to be dug from your back.

John, standing to the side, caught everyone's attention for a final briefing. "We meet back here in one hour. Report in if you find yourself in a hostile environment. Other than that, this is a simple intel operation. Good luck. To everyone."

With that, John took his team into the woods, quickly disappearing from sight. The obvious veterans, they couldn't even be heard slithering into the treeline.

Frost turned back, took one look at his team, and then fell into step. Hopefully in the right direction.


The Moans Of The Dead


Sweat trickled down the brow of one Hannibal Frost, his palms sporting the same slick bodily excretion. His pistol felt like dead weight in his hands, providing no feelings of safety or protection. The forest surrounded him on both sides, shadows playing like children in a sandbox.

Frost's smaller, religious comrade kept his M-16's flashlight trained on the darkness ahead of them. The other man, the biggest of the three, held up the rear.

Frost was about to whisper something, a gut feeling trying to issue a command, when a rotting stench curled about his noise. Following on its heels, the mournful sound of moaning dashed in and out of the wooded silence. The three men readied their weapons as slow, dragging footsteps encased them from all sides.

Suddenly, a man burst through the trees to their right. A bright light found his face, and illuminated everything that was wrong with it. Wounds were dug deep in his flesh, where the surrounding skin was rotten and laden with puss. His mouth was caked in blood; some old, some fresh. Then, his eyes... were devoid of any life. Yet, the man was moving.

Seconds passed and the corpse of a man steadily closed in. The religious man, now dubbed Cross, didn't fire. So, with only a second to realize he'd have to break his rule, Frost aimed down the sights of his pistol and put a bullet in the attacker before him. Thudding to the ground, the man didn't make another move.

"What... was that?" Cross asked, his voice betraying how shaken he was.

Frost kept an ear out for the encroaching footsteps of the thing's friends. "Hell if I know, but his little buddies are going to be here any second."

As if on cue, dozens more erupted from the trees around them. Frost shouted for everyone to run, but his voice was lost in the madness. So, heart thumping against his chest, Frost grabbed Cross and jerked him into a sprint. Automatic fire illuminated the darkness behind them as their third team member laid to waste anything and everything.

After what seemed like hours, Frost finally emerged from the forest and into a lit clearing. He collapsed against the dirt and jerked to the side when Cross did the same. Quickly bringing his head up, Frost waited for the third team member to come crashing through the forest as well, but nothing happened. No footsteps. No gunfire. No sign of life.

Gathering himself, Cross pointed his M-16 towards the woods beyond, but not even the illumination could slice through enough darkness to yield any results.

"Shit..." Frost breathed. He had a growing feeling that the two men never would've bonded, but that didn't mean he wished death upon the guy.

Next to Frost, Cross tore off his mask in an attempt to cool down after their sprint for safety. Familiar features washed over Frost, almost knocking him out cold. The man next to him... was no other than Leon Caprice.

Rolling to his feet, Frost brought his pistol up to chest level, but found that Leon had done the same. Semi Automatic pee shooter versus military grade spray and pray hardware. The odds were already stacked. Still, Frost wore a mask of distrust and smug anger as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Why in the hell are you here?" Frost asked, venom dripping from every syllable.

"I was kidnapped too. I-"

Frost cut him off. "Bullshit. You're here to finish what that bastard Omega started."

"Just listen to me-"

Frost took a step closer, prompting Leon to cut himself short. "Fine. Do it, you little shit. Smite me."

Hysteria, uncharacteristic hysteria, was clamping down on Frost's common sense and logic. Every pore was being flooded by feelings Frost had been taught to ignore. In realizing this, he concentrated on the situation and fought to bring himself back to the surface.

"Hannibal, listen..." Leon's sensible voice permeated the maelstrom that had become Frost's mind. Using it as his anchor, Frost brought himself back to reality.

"We need to go," Frost said, his gaze flicking over to the lone building in the clearing. Leon nodded, and together they sprinted for the small building only a dozen feet from them.

Leon reached the door first and tugged at the handle. "Locked."

Frost peered over the rusted, barely on its hinges piece of work. "What do we do?"

Leon shrugged. "We'll need a key."

Frost's eyes went wide as the sound of death shambled into the clearing behind him. A quick peek back revealed a dozen of those walking corpses closing in on them. "Fuck the key."

Stepping back a few feet, Frost pushed forward and knocked the door off its hinges with a shoulder tackle. Leon quickly filed in behind him and together they blocked the doorway with a book case conveniently positioned beside it.

Safe for the moment, Frost peered around the room. Supplies of every nature, all but the lethal kind, littered the medium sized room. A single fluorescent light tube, dangling from the ceiling, illuminated the space just enough to see.

"A storage shed..." Leon remarked, his voice telling of dashed hopes.

Frost, feeling safe, quickly changed the subject. "Why the hell are you here?"

Leon, caught off guard, arched an eyebrow in Frost's direction. "Why is that important?"

Frost rolled his eyes. "My apologies. You're right. The fact that a fellow employee of Full Metal Wrestling is here, happens to be dressed like a mercenary, and is wielding an M-16 with experience does sound logical."

Leon shook his head, seemingly distressed with the question. "They threatened the life of my child."

Frost immediately felt bad for asking like he did. It would seem that his fellow Distortion comrade was in the exact same boat Frost now found himself in. He began to, for once, actually apologize when Leon's eyes went wide with surprise.

Frost whipped around, pistol in hand, but found nothing out of the ordinary. "Please tell me there isn't another way in."

Leon smiled, before jogging over to the other side of the room. "A way out, actually."

Frost jogged over to Leon and found him standing over a manhole cover. With a good bit of force, both men managed to remove it and slide it out of the way. Looking down, Frost found nothing but darkness.

"Not sure this is such a good idea anymore," Frost said, the possibilities beyond the dark seemingly endless.

Leon snatched up his M-16 and pointed it down into the darkness. Illuminated, the space below now resembled a maintenance tunnel. "See, nothing to worry about."

Wincing as Leon uttered those famous last words, he was no less surprised when his comrade was jerked into the abyss by something fierce and unseen. Cursing under his breath, Frost steeled himself before leaping down into the darkness after him.


Trust Me, I'm A Doctor


Slowly removing the syringe from his patient, Dr. Sanchez breathed a sigh of relief as the man's vitals kept within a safe range. Brushing a stand of black hair behind an ear, he quickly disposed of the empty vessel.

"How does he look, Doctor?"

Sanchez closed his eyes as the Boss's voice drifted eerily about the sterilized room. He was afraid of the man. Afraid, and annoyed. "No reactions. No abnormalities. The C-Virus has been administered successfully."

A subtle moan of satisfaction was the Boss's only reply.

Sanchez swiveled back to his work desk, hoping to busy himself with another task. Maybe, just maybe, the Boss would find a reason to leave soon. But, the man still sat there, almost motionless, observing the patient.

"The Corrupter Virus. It's quite brilliant, doctor."

Sanchez replied with a subtle nod.

"I'm quite displeased with the fact that I didn't acquire your services sooner."

Sanchez cursed under his breath. This madman didn't deserve to acquire anything other than hot lead in his temple. The atrocities that Sanchez had committed could never be forgiven; even if he'd been forced to at gun point.

Hopefully, his plan would fall into place; like the cogs in a machine. Because he, and everyone else trapped under this lunatic, needed a hero.


Hive Mind


The maintenance tunnel, whilst providing no light whatsoever, found a way to chill Hannibal Frost to the bone. By listening to the echo of his footsteps, Frost figured the tunnel to be at least sixty yards long. Couple that with over six feet of headroom, and you got a cavernous abyss of silence and shadow.

9mm in hand, Frost stepped lightly towards what he assumed to be the end of the tunnel. It unnerved him that Leon hadn't made a sound since being jerked into this place. Either he was dead, or a fate far worse had claimed him. Going on what Frost had already encountered on this island, that fate could've included a number of things.

Speaking of the island, and Caprice, the darkness had finally taken its toll on Frost's thought process. He just couldn't keep how weird all this was out of his mind. It would've just been another day at the office had Leon not come out of nowhere. His presence here didn't make any sense. Like a salt water shark in a fresh water pond. Like...

A noise at the end of the tunnel. The disturbance immediately tore Frost from the recesses of his mind and into the now. The clattering of nails against concrete forced him to grip his pistol tighter, to strain his eyes against the darkness. He had to lighten this place up, and now.

A literal shot in the dark illuminated the tunnel like the flash from a camera. In the distance, Frost spotted two things: Leon's gun on the concrete floor, and dozens of vicious looking bumps in the night. Sprinting, Frost slid to a stop beside the M-16 on the floor and jerked it into his grasp. A flick of the mounted light cast an eerie glow over a wall of teeth and claws.

On instinct, Frost's index finger found the trigger to the M-16. A continuous stream of automatic fire ripped into the insect like creatures clattering towards him. High pitched wails of agony filled the tunnel as Frost emptied the magazine at everything that moved. But, somehow, the beasts kept advancing.

Until, suddenly, a blast sterile light spilled into tunnel from the far end. Behind the wall of death, Frost could see Leon being dragged up into the light as another man dropped to take his place. Then, as if the M-16 wasn't enough, a blast of liquid flame attacked the wall of insects. The inferno rose up to take their petty little lives in nothing more than an instant.

With nothing left but charred remains, Frost jumped to his feet and jogged the rest of the way down the tunnel. His shadowed savior was waving him in, and Frost had never been happier to see a complete stranger.


The Man With Many Faces


Frost glanced around the new room he now found himself in. Scientific equipment, way too expensive and technical for Frost to comprehend, filled every corner of the stark white room. Although, the most dominating puzzle piece, resided against the far wall. A large pod, filled with some type of liquid, housed a beast that was too painful to look at. It was at least seven feet tall with muscles so bulky that the skin had to stretch to fit over the fibers. The right hand was adorned with a single massive talon. And the face... was so much more. Multiple faces covered the contorted expanse of flesh and bone. It's eyes, all six of them, watched everything that happened within the room.

"He's quite the success if I do say so myself."

Frost immediately gripped the M-16 in his hands so tight it hurt. So what if it was empty. The bastard behind him didn't know.

Without turning around, Frost called out Leon's name.

"I know, Hannibal."

With that, Frost whipped around to find Matthew P. Dunn staring back at him. Black hair framed a smirking face. A lab coat covered what could have been a terrifying haven of hidden weapons.

Still, with a barrel just inches from his forehead, Dunn just rolled his eyes. "I'll never understand you, Frost. Pointing an empty gun at your savior? I can't decide whether to feel threatened, hurt, or insulted."

Frost growled, whipped the gun around, and prepared himself to strike with the butt of it. "I should've known you'd be behind this."

Dunn laughed. "I'm flattered, but no."

Frost watched as Leon circled behind Dunn, like a viper poised to strike. Eyes back on Dunn, Frost sniffed a retort. "Then why the fuck are you here?"

"You know the answer to that. Although, I suspect you won't realize it until the climax of this little adventure of yours," Dunn replied, his voice calm and even. "Still, I'll indulge you."

Frost watched as Dunn stepped over to the beast encased against the far wall. Then, with a sigh, Dunn continued. "I've been toiling away here for months. Designing, creating, and ultimately bringing to life creations that fit my given mood. You've already met my guard dogs. They were only the tip of the iceberg though. I was marked to design and flourish hundreds of biological weapons for the government..."

"But, the island was suddenly invaded. An 'excavation team' took up residence on the other half of the island. It was only a few hours before they were found, and had to reveal their true nature. The Corrupter virus was then taken from me and let loose on the island."

Frost, word by word, lowered his empty rifle. Eventually, he tossed it to the side with the believe that Dunn wasn't about to become a threat. Still, Frost felt comforted by the weight of his pistol saddled against his beating heart.

With a nod, Frost motioned for Dunn to continue.

"Most of my staff, along with others on the island, were transformed into the walking dead. Fortunately, I was left to die by the men who took the island. And thus, I was given the opportunity to retreat back here... and finish my grandest creation."

Frost motioned for Leon to ease down before finally asking the first of his questions. "Who took the island?"

"The Archangel. Or, at least, that's what his followers called him."

With this new information, Frost unclipped the walkie talkie from his belt and punched the transmit button with his thumb. "John, come in."

Frost released it, and almost immediately got a reply. "John here."

"I'm down a team member, but I've found some answers. Where are you?"

Static began to filter in along with John's masculine voice. "We're at the excavation sight. We- Hold on, we've got company..."

Frost scrunched his brow in concern. He wasn't emotionally attached to anyone on the other end of this transmission, but that didn't mean he was heartless. These men were just doing what they were blackmailed to do. "Is it hostile?"

"Holy shit. It's that missing team member of yours. He-"

The sound of semi automatic gunfire cut John off just moments before the transmission went dead. Frost shook with anger before tossing the walkie talkie across the floor. It shattered into pieces before scattering to different parts of the room.

Dunn cleared his throat, trying to garner Frost's attention. "You seem a might heartbroken over the loss of a complete stranger."

Frost shot him a look that could kill. "The bastard they ran into... I knew he was trouble. And now, with them down, my chances of finding her have been shot to hell.

Dunn arched an eyebrow. "Chances of finding whom?"

Frost felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of Gwen. An aching pain, purely emotional, expanded within his chest. "A girl. She was kidnapped. Pretty much the only reason why I'm on this godforsaken island."

"Blond hair? Petite figure? A sailor's mouth?"

Even Leon perked up at Dunn's slew of questions. "You've seen her?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do have a conscience. When I refused to administer the C-Virus on her, they left with her in tow."

Frost crossed the space between them in a single stride. He tried his best to remain calm, but emotion was clouding his judgment once again. "Where'd they go?"

Dunn furrowed his brow in thought. "My best guess would be the center of the island. Every now and then, when I dare to peek outside, I see commotion just a few miles away. Lights, loud machinery... you name it."

Frost immediately flicked his gaze to Leon, who nodded back to him in return. Then, in a rare display of affection, Frost laid a hand on Dunn's shoulder. "How do I get there without turning into a sack lunch for the locals?"

Dunn motioned to the door. "There's an ATV outside. Should easily fit two. But, time is not on your side."

Frost peered at Dunn through squinted, suspicious eyes. "How so?"

Dunn smiled, his eyes lazily shifting over to the beast on the wall. "Twenty minutes from now I'll be releasing my creation onto this island."

Frost cursed aloud. "You're insane."

"Why am I insane? Because I seek revenge on those who killed my staff, my friends?"

Frost looked away. He couldn't argue with that logic as he, himself, always fell prey to the trappings of revenge.

Dunn now moved closer to the beast behind the glass. "My finest creation, which I have dubbed Dunnwood, will judge those who have done this."

Frost's eyes went wide with surprise. That thing behind the glass was Jack Eastwood. A complete, unending emphasis on was. "You're sick, Dunn."

"As you once were, Mr. Frost."

Frost shook his head, loathing the fact that Dunn had to bring up his past. He'd wanted so bad to leave it dying behind him, where it belonged. Still, the here and now was where his head needed to be. So, Frost cleared his mind of what once was, and focused on what could be.

Leon, finally moving out from behind Dunn, came to rest next Frost. He slipped a 9mm pistol from his waistline and pulled the slide back on it. "Time to finish this, Hannibal."

Frost laughed, but it was not a joyous sound. "I doubt we make it out alive."

"God will see us through this."

Frost gave a solemn nod to Leon, and for once, didn't argue. To make it through this, they'd need all the help they could get.


Deception


Dr. Sanchez scrambled backwards as the Boss stamped towards him. A pistol, glinting in the spotlights within the tent, flashed as the Boss's jacket swayed from side to side. His face was red with anger, and a tinge of embarrassment.

"What did you do?" He asked, or rather, demanded.

Sanchez glanced over to the patient he'd been treating this entire time. The solemn look on his face, the two day growth of stubble, and the clenched fists he'd been sporting since the first injection.

The man was no other than Hannibal Frost, and Sanchez had to protect him.

"I did nothing. I swear."

This seemed to enrage the Boss even further. One impossibly strong arm overturned the only table in the tent, destroying scientific equipment and weeks of lab analysis. "You're a liar, and a dead man."

Sanchez yelped at the promise of impeding death before falling to the ground. With one hand shielding his face, he closed his eyes as the sound of a hammer clicked in the small space.

Finally, the cold steel of a pistol settled against his temple.

"What did you do?" The Boss demanded once more.

It took all of Sanchez's courage to answer, knowing he'd be dead either way. "The Corrupter Virus... isn't perfect. It gives the host a choice."

The pistol dug deeper against Sanchez's temple.

"What kind of choice?"

Sanchez gulped down his fear as sweat began to trickle down his forehead. "Nothing man can create will ever surpass free will. So, the virus forces the host into a dream state. The events that take place within the dream continually wear down the host, until finally, the virus can take hold."

"But, there's a catch. If the host is strong enough, in heart and soul, the virus can never claim the body. Still, the chances of success by the host is a slim one. The host must realize that what he's experiencing isn't real and defy it. The shock will rupture the dream state, wake the host, and force the virus out of the body."

The boss screamed, a primal roar that couldn't believe anything that had just been said. "Why go against me? Why do this when your life is at the end of this barrel?"

Sanchez steeled his resolve, and met the Boss's gaze. "Because you can't take away my free will."


Across the River Styx And Into The Mouth Of Hell


The ATV lurched across the wooded path at dangerous speeds. Frost, with Leon saddled in behind him, jerked the machine to and fro with instincts he didn't even know he had. Trees, and the shadows beyond, whipped past them in a blur.

Finally, beyond the nearest tree line, the Archangel's home base could be seen. Dozens of men moved about in the clearing, constructing things that Frost couldn't quite see. A helicopter sat perched at the edge of the clearing, twin silver cylinders attached under each branching wing. A few men, dressed differently from the others, were huddled around the cylinders.

Frost quickly brought the ATV to a stop behind the cover a fallen tree. Both men abandoned the ATV and took cover behind the expanse of dead wood before a booming voice could be heard calling out to the masses.

"My legion. Our day... is finally at hand."

Frost stole a quick glance at the clearing and found everyone cheering for who must have been the Archangel. The man himself was standing atop a makeshift platform, covered head to toe in a blue robe.

"With the Corrupter Virus, we shall realize our dream. The weak will finally be purged from this begotten planet and only the strong shall flourish. Our Lord will rain down on us His love and thanks for the things that we will have done."

Another cheer from the crowd echoed throughout the clearing.

"In just an hour's time, the Virus will be ready for the world. And then, a new one shall be born with us... at its helm."

Frost turned away as the crowd cheered once more. Leon looked ashen, his features distorted in pain and anger. Frost assumed that he looked the same way. This was... just a little too much to take. How it was at all possible seemed beyond him. Like it could've been just a bad dream.

But no, or else Frost's entire life had all just been a bad dream. The things he'd seen, had done, fit right in with something like this. It was only a matter of time before those he knew at Full Metal Wrestling became intertwined with a life that he wished had never happened.

A tap on the shoulder brought Frost back to reality. Leon caught his gaze and then nodded towards the clearing. "It's time."

Frost smiled, knowing that for the last time, he'd actually go out in a blaze of glory. "Hell yeah it is."


Salvation Be Damned


"If he succeeds, you're dead."

Sanchez heard the words, tried to refuse them, but knew it was futile. No good deed ever goes unpunished.

"Hannibal Frost was going to be my grandest scheme come to life. I'd studied him during his brief stint as a madman, and found a need to harness that power. The Corrupter Virus was going to do just as the name implies, and bring about that side of him again."

Sanchez couldn't help but to ask, even if to just stall for time. "Why?"

"In my travels, I came across a prophecy. It detailed the rise of a hero, a champion, who would one day bring humanity back from the brink of chaos. Now, the champion wouldn't do so himself. His rise would only cause a ripple in the waves of time, setting in motion unstoppable events, that would one day bring about humanity's salvation."

Sanchez shook his head in disbelief. "And you want to stop this?"

"Of course I do. How else could I be an effective antagonist? But, more to the point, Hannibal's corruption would ensure damnation. Then, and only then, could I take my rightful place at the head of humanity after it's left to rot by its creator."

Sanchez couldn't believe what he was hearing, but then again... he didn't have to. All that mattered was that the Boss believed. And that, was the most terrifying thing of all.


Humanity's Only Hope


The ATV, throttle rigged to go, rocketed into the clearing all on its own. It clipped the unsuspecting, trampling over the too slow, in making its way to the Archangel's platform. The sound of twisted metal echoed throughout the clearing as it collided with its target, sending the Archangel crashing to the ground below.

In the frenzy, Frost and Leon sprinted into the clearing with their pistols drawn. Frost, taking the offensive, cracked the butt of his pistol against the skull of the nearest lackey. Leon took point, dropkicking two others right to the ground. Then, in rolling to his feet, Leon fell into step beside Frost.

In the distance, the Archangel was motioning for his men to start with a counter attack. Dozens of men filed in to surround their leader. Each one was brandishing a weapon of some sort: guns, knifes, pipes, you name it. The looks on their face, though, weren't of anger or purpose. Their eyes were blank, devoid of life and drive.

Still, Frost pushed it aside, and continued forward. Leon hit the group first, fists flying and pistol rounds tearing through the air. Frost descended on them next, his attack strategy a mirror image. That is, until, he came across the Wayward Sons.

"Austin..." Frost remarked, unable to believe it. Leon stopped in his tracks as well.

Chris Austin and Alex O'Rion stepped forward, muscles rippling beneath their skin. The pair had changed, and it would seem, had become ten times more lethal.

"We've been given a new life, Hannibal. A prime spot at the top of humanity," Austin said, his eyes devoid of all life. "Join us."

"Yes, join us, bye," O'Rion repeated, his eyes the mirror image of Austin's.

Frost shook his head, cursed under his breath, and then raised his gun. "Sorry guys..."

Two rounds erupted from the pistol one after another. The first caught O'Rion right above the brow, dropping him instantly. The second hit nothing but air, as Austin dodged it with impossible speed. Rushing forward, the former Ammunition superstar jumped at Frost. All in the same motion, his left knee connected with Frost's stomach as his right elbow smashed across his jaw. Frost hit the ground hard as Leon took up the fight.

Fists and kicks flew as both men attacked with all they had. But, finally, Leon got the upper hand. A well placed elbow to the spine sent Austin to his knees where Leon put a bullet in the back of his head.

Catching the opportunity, Frost launched himself through the rest of the crowd and threw himself at the Archangel.

"Call them off!" Frost yelled, whipping the pistol around to settle against the leader's temple.

The Archangel quickly complied. "Stand down, my brethren!"

With the tension eased, Frost let out a sigh of relief. Leon, blood dotting his clothes, finally pushed through the crowd to join him. Both men were now at the head of the situation. Frost smiled, actually believing that they might make it out of this.

"You know I've gotta' kill you, right?" Frost asked in a nonchalant voice.

The Archangel laughed, before removing his draping hood.

"Drew Michaels..." Frost remarked, dropping back a step. His knees had suddenly gone slack, the realization too much to handle.

Michaels stood, a smug smile crossing his lips, and glanced over to Leon. "Quite the situation we're in, isn't it?"

Leon aimed his pistol at Michaels, a look of hatred passing over his eyes. "You? Why?"

"Because our Lord and Savior has commanded it to be."

Leon pushed forward. "Don't you dare use Him as a scapegoat for this!"

Michaels laughed once again. "Don't be jealous because he's spoken to me, and not to you."

Leon rushed forward, but Michaels was ready. A quick wrist lock and a knee to the stomach stopped the young man's advance. Frost hadn't had the time to blink before the tables were completely turned. Michaels was now poised over Leon with a pistol in hand.

"Better put your gun down, Hannibal."

Frost let the gun slip from his fingers, but not because he had been commanded to. All the strength was leaving his body, all the will to continue on. This was all too much. He knew that, eventually, FMW and his nightlife would cross paths. But in such a fashion? How? How the fuck was it possible?

"And so the battle within begins," Michaels said, taking his attention off of Leon.

Frost fell to his knees, unable to argue.

"It all seems so strange, doesn't it? So... unreal," Michaels said. "But, alas, here we are. You've lost the will to continue on, and my plan is about to come to fruition."

Frost, broken down, focused behind Michaels... where Leon was poising himself to strike. The young man charged forward, conviction in his eyes, and fell just short of his target as a gunshot rang out through the clearing.

This, above all else, brought Frost back from the dead. "Leon!"

Then, stepping from the crowd with Gwen Richards in tow, came Seth Omega. The literal smoking gun was perched in his right hand, with Gwen tucked under his left. A smug grin was slowly spreading from ear to ear.

Frost clenched his fists in anger. "You fat sonuva bitch."

Seth just simply laughed, a mocking sound that grated at Frost's ears. "Don't look so surprised, Frosty. It was going to come down to this eventually."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"When I heard about Drew's plan, I had to jump at it. I mean, I am a Saint, and I'm definitely not an idiot. I'd much rather be on the winning side."

Frost pounded the dirt at his feet. "And killing all these innocent people is justified?"

"You don't understand, Frosty. I must stay relevant."

And after that last word fell from Seth's lips, an inhuman cry echoed throughout the entire forest. A beastly cry that couldn't have come from neither man or animal. And Frost... knew exactly what it was.

Dunnwood crashed through the tree line at the edge of the clearing, his monstrous form rambling towards the crowd of people. He was impossibly fast, and thus, no one had a chance. Limbs and blood played across the dirt as the beast hacked its way through the crowd.

Frost used the opportunity to knock Michaels to ground and then rush for Seth. He tackled the big man, but nothing happened. Frost looked up, disdain playing across his features at seeing Seth unaffected. And with that, Seth aimed his pistol.

"Relevancy... conquers all."

The hammer to the pistol clicked back, and then Seth's head was struck from his shoulders. Blood sprayed the air as the big man's body crumpled to the ground. Frost, silently thanking the beast that had been Jack Eastwood, grabbed Gwen and sprinted for the helicopter at the edge of the clearing.

The crowd was regrouping behind them, the sounds of gunfire proving it, as Frost and Gwen hit helicopter. They climbed inside, but neither one took the seat at the cockpit.

"I can't drive this thing," Frost remarked, glancing wildly about the controls.

Gwen looked at him and smiled. "I wouldn't be a field operative if I couldn't."

Frost grinned, his eyes almost watering at her words. "One of these days I'm gonna' marry the shit outta' you."

Gwen jumped into the cockpit and almost immediately the rotors began powering up. Frost glanced out the side door and watched as Dunnwood, inch by inch, was taken down. Unfortunately, Drew Michaels was the only one missing from the proceedings.

Then, with a jolt, the helicopter began its ascent. Moments later they were high above the clearing and, finally, leaving the island. Frost turned and poked his head into the cockpit.

"Can we make it anywhere useful?" Frost asked.

Gwen turned to look at him. "It has to be fueled enough to make it to the nearest city. We- Look Out!

Frost had no time to react as a sharp pain blistered in his side. He brought his hand down to the wounded area and found the hilt of a knife. Then, with darkness encroaching on his vision, he collapsed against the edge of the helicopter.

None other than Drew Michaels appeared over him. "I will not be stopped. Especially not by some cowboy with a hero complex."

Frost tried to move, but the pain in his side kept him from it. "Fuck you, alter boy."

Michaels smiled, before removing another knife from his robe. The glint of it in the moonlight almost blinded Frost. "Never in my wildest dreams did I picture myself killing Hannibal Frost."

Dreams...

Frost closed his eyes as the word danced about his mind. His thoughts began to race back to the car wreck, trying to look for answers. The darkness brought nothing to bare, until the faintest shimmer of a memory swirled into view. The image of a hospital bed, of Gwen and Leon.

And with that thought, he had found his anchor.

"Like I said, fuck you," Frost growled, and then pulled Michaels from the helicopter. Both men began to free fall, the wind whipping at their faces. In the distance, Gwen was screaming, but... it wasn't real. Frost then remembered the syringe in his pocket. He pulled it out, and to make sure their wasn't a sequel, punched it straight through Michaels' throat. Then, in what seemed like just a moment's time, water as solid as concrete engulfed them.


Reality


Frost threw his arm out, and caught the leather of an expensive jacket. Then, in opening his eyes, he found Dr. Sanchez curled into a defensive ball and an extremely threatening looking individual in his grasp.

"Hannibal..."

Frost smiled. "Damn straight it is."

Frost whipped himself out of the gurney, elbowed the man in the face, and tore the pistol from his grasp. Then, with no other thought, Frost opened fire and was immediately torn from the world he thought he knew.


Actuality


The darkness swirled, until finally a beacon of light erupted in the distance. Frost swam for it, with everything he had, and finally broke the surface.

Eyes fluttering open, Frost found himself in a true hospital room. Smiling faces greeted him. The smiling faces of Gwen Richards and Leon Caprice.

"You're awake..." Gwen remarked, the relief in her voice all too apparent.

"Are you okay, Hanny?" Leon asked, concern behind his eyes as well.

Frost coughed, trying to ready the vocal cords he hadn't used for a moment, and glanced between both people above his bed. "I had the strangest dream. You were there... and you were there."

Leon laughed. "Well, here in real life, you wrecked the Camaro. Compliments of that head injury Omega gave you."

Frost nodded, knowing as such. Then, in one motion, ripped out his IV and swung his feet around. Gwen began to protest, but Frost waved her off. He stretched his joints and muscles, before getting to his feet. "Welp, who's ready for Catalyst."

Leon smiled. "I heard that."

Frost glanced at the door, the memory of his dream coming back to him. Even though it wasn't real, it was still a tough ordeal. It brought to the surface just how hard this next match would be. It'd quite possibly be the toughest match Frost had ever competed in.

Still, the team he was going in with couldn't be anymore topnotch. A headstrong leader willing to do anything to win, a simple Christian only wanting to live life to the fullest, a man with the intelligence of three, and a psychotic mastermind with one hell of a mean streak.

Then, pulling Frost back to the now, a man stepped past the open door. He was gone in an instant, but Frost still caught the blond hair and expensive leather jacket. Wrinkling his nose at it, Frost turned back to Leon next to him.

"Well don't just stand there, sign some papers and get me the hell out of here."

Leon patted Frost on the back, his eyes sincere. "Glad to have you on the team."

"Glad to be a part of it."

The soft roar of distant engines precedes the blinding headlights as a group of motorcycles rise up over a hill. The party of Harleys, Indians, and one Yamaha, grows increasingly louder as they move casually down the old brick road, slowing down and turning into a garage, a steel sign above it reads TOOL’S.

As the group turn off their bikes and proceed to remove their helmets, Lee Christmas, Yin Yang, Gunnar Jensen, and Hale Caesar all greet each other while entering the parlor of Tool’s tattoo shop. Already in the room are Tool, owner of the shop, and Barney Ross, leader of The Expendables. Ross is currently straddling the motorcycle he commonly gets his tattoos on and Tool adds the finishing touches to the ink, a drawing from a new friend.

Tool: Well, looky looky here. Ain’t this a sorry bunch?

Christmas: Still sore about that knife game, eh Tool? Or was it my poem that hurt your pride the most?

Tool and the rest of the Expendables let out laughs as Tool pats Ross on the side, informing him that hes done. Ross stands up and puts his shirt back on gingerly while everyone takes their seats.

Ross: I think he got you there, Tool.

Tool smirks as he shrugs.

Ross: Now, all of you understand why you’ve been called here today. We’ve got another job, obviously, and you’re the most capable men I know.

Gunnar: Don’t mean to cut you off, Ross, but where’s Toll?

Ross: Toll Road has been put on a hiatus under orders of his therapist. Looks like an early retirement for him. However, I’ve managed to find an old friend of ours to take over demolitions.

The sound of the garage opening can be heard and a motorcycle pulls in and shuts down. A large man donned in a black leather jacket and jeans enters the room. He takes off his motorcycle helmet to reveal himself as Deuce Hoss, demolitions expert.

Caesar: Deuce!

Christmas: Deuce!

Yang: Deucey!

Deuce walks forward, smiling and shaking hands.

Deuce: Now, don’t y’all get aroused or nothing, damn! Been a while!

Ross: Welcome back to the Expendables, Deuce.

Deuce: You know it, baby!

As the group begins to chatter amongst themselves, Lee Christmas cuts into the noise

Christmas: So, Ross, whats this mission?

Ross: Well, that’s another thing. Ive been told our information will be in Los Angeles, so you all will have to suit up and get moving right away.

The group stand up and get ready to go back to their bikes in the garage.

Deuce: Lets go, baby! I did some pushups, I’m feelin strong! Its go time baby, M-V-P Right here!

Caesar: Hoo boy its good to get goin again, I had this itchy trigger finger that-

Once again, Christmas cuts them off

Christmas: Wait, you all? What about you, Ross?

Ross looks at Tool and drops his head. He rubs his eyes for a few minutes as everyone stops and turns to look at him. Tool puts a hand on Ross’ shoulder as Ross looks up again.

Ross: I wont be going with you, fellas. That last run just took too much out of me, and I think its time to retire. Take a much needed vacation.

Christmas: What?

Gunnar: No, Boss, you cant!

Yang: Funny joke, Ross. Come on.

Ross: I’m serious, I’m not going.

Caesar: No you’re not, you’re just-

Ross: Yeah boys, its time.

Ross walks over to Christmas and stares him in the eyes for a few moments. He then reaches out his hand and drops a set of keys into Christmas’ palm.

Ross: Lee will be taking the reigns. He will have the key to the plane and the spare key to Tool’s.

Christmas: So youre serious, huh.

Ross: Never been more serious in my life…

The Expendables stare at their now former leader, the place going silent, unsure of what to think. Ross places his hand on Christmas’ shoulder, looking at him as if to say ‘I know youre the right choice’. Tool clears his throat and Ross looks up at the rest of the crew.

Ross: Oh, right. I understand that this mission will take a full team, so I went out of my way to find someone to take my place.

Gunnar: Nobody can take your place, Boss.

Ross: No, but this guy can damn sure try.

Footsteps can be heard above the crew as heavy boots pound across iron. The Expendables look to the stairwell as a man thunders down them. They see the wings tattooed on his back just before he stretches his shirt over his muscles as he reaches the bottom. The camera zooms in on his face.

Ross: Everyone, meet Jason Raven.

The Expendables look on wary as Raven looks up and smiles.

Raven: ‘Ello boys.

Raven walks over to Ross and shakes his hand.

Gunnar: I ain’t ever heard of you.

Caesar: Yeah, where you come from?

Yang: I don’t kno-

Ross cuts off the team by raising his free hand.

Ross: Raven comes highly recommended and he has a work sheet long enough to vouch for anything. If that’s good enough for me that’s good enough for you, am I right?

The Expendables look on once again in an awkward silence.

Christmas: You’re right, Barney.

Christmas finally stands up and stares into Raven’s eyes. He pats Ross on the arm and turns to his crew.

Christmas: Suit up, boys. We fly at dawn.

The garage clicks open once again as the gang of motorcycles drive out and to the right. All but one of them follows, as Ross turns to the left and down the street. Tool walks out of his garage and looks at the team, then watches Ross as he fades further down the street. With a heavy sigh he steps back in and clicks a button, the door slides somberly down.


The scene cuts into the Expendables logo and pulls back as the airplane engines hum. Raven sits alone in the back, strapped in and cleaning his multiple rifles and other firearms. Hale Caesar stares at Jason Raven before turning back to his teammates Gunnar Jensen and Deuce Hoss.

Caesar: I don’t know if I like this guy… and I like everybody.

Deuce: This is some bad mojo comin outta that mothafucka.

Gunnar: I don’t think this is-

Yang turns from the cockpit, seated next to Christmas

Yang: Quiet! We are a team!

Yang then turns back to face the blue skies in front of him. He closes his eyes for a moment then looks at Christmas

Yang: They’re not going to trust him, are they.

Christmas: Nope.

Yang: That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?

Christmas: Yep.

Christmas pulls forward on the throttle as they begin to descend

Christmas: Strap in ladies, we’re touching down in Los Angeles. Expendable home away from home.

The group lean back and pull tight as the nose of the plane dips and they touch down on land, the men bobbing up and down with the plane. Raven quickly turns the safety on all of his guns

Raven: Don’t want any accidents.

Caesar looks wide eyed at the rest of his team when they hit a large bump.

Deuce: DAMN SUCKA! DID YOU LET ROSS LAND ALL THE TIME OR WHAT!?

Christmas: That’s why we give you seatbelts, Deuce.

Deuce: Yeah, and that’s it. I ain’t get no peanuts or any of that shit!

The camera focuses on the plane as it slows to a crawl and proceed to move into a wide hangar in the middle of an open field. A small crew taxis in the plane into the old hangar and begin to refuel and check for repairs. The Expendables step out of the plane and into a side room where a large screen rests ominously on the wall, overlooking expensive computer equipment. A red button flashes on the console and Gunnar looks to Yang.

Yang: What, just because I’m Asian I’m good with computers? I don’t know what that is!

Gunnar: Well what the hell, Yang!

Christmas: Shut up and sit down, both of you. That’s our message.

Christmas walks forward and pushes the button. Gunnar and Yang both cover their faces but all that happens is the screen clicks and then turns on, revealing some geographical maps, images, and video footage.

Christmas: So, this is our debrief.

Christmas walks over and types on the keys, the geographical map then takes up the screen.

Voice from the Computer: This is a small island in the Pacific called Farallon de Medinilla West. It is currently owned and operated by the United States as a nuclear testing facility and warhead storage. It was built as a way to test nukes and other technologies far away from the main land, while still serving as a site to launch an attack on the asian seaboard from.

The Expendables look on the screen as the geographic map breaks into parts.

Voice: Recently, two guerilla factions from the pacific islands have invaded the island in an attempt to take the scientists hostage and steal the nucular technology. Both planned on demanding ransom from the United States, however, both did not anticipate enacting the same plan at the exact same time, so there is now a ground war between these two factions.

Gunnar: Talk about shitty timing.

The screen now shows the images of 4 men on a file.

Voice: While it is believed that each faction has Five commanders, each only has two field generals. The American Malevolence Movement is helmed by Drew Garner and Romeo Moran. The Distrust In Society Today faction is helmed by Seth Luttrell and Adam Uren. All four men are banished in some form or another from ten different countries and suspected in multiple terrorist attacks. It is best if these targets can be apprehended alive, but use any means necessary to stop the ground war and eliminate the threat before word gets back to the States that a potential nuclear heist is underway.

Gunnar: So these guys want to heist the warheads and shoot them at the States?

Raven: Lucky for us they were stupid enough to have the exact same plan at the exact same time. They probably operate the same too. This should be a walk.

The Expendables stare at Raven as Christmas stands

Christmas: He’s right. If we can move in quick and effectively, this should take only a few hours. Suit up, we ride in an hour.

The rest of the Expendables stand up and chatter as they leave, but Christmas grabs Raven’s arm just before he exits, pulling him back.

Christmas: Lets get one thing clear, Raven. I don’t know who you are, and while I trust Barney’s word, you’re making it very hard for me to do so. This is my team, not yours, and if you want to end up with us without being dead, I suggest you find a place and stick to it, because you will be left behind in the dust at the rate you are going.

The two stare at each other

Raven: I’m good at what I do, Christmas.

Christmas: Do I make myself clear?

Raven pulls Christmas in so they are nose to nose. Raven glares as Christmas follows suit.

Raven: Crystal.

Christmas slowly releases his grip as Raven pulls on his jacket and exit’s the room. The camera focuses on Christmas’ face as it fades.

The rain pours down heavy as the camera pans back from the Expendables brand on the side of a motorcycle. Barney Ross rides on his bike down an empty street, his engine the only noise save for the occasional thunder. The drops of water exploding on his clothes and helmet as he tears through the open air. He approaches an intersection near the only gas station seemingly for miles and he pulls over to get out of the rain. He steps off his bike and removes his helmet running his hands through his hair and looking down the endless road. He takes in a deep breath and sighs as a phone begins to ring. From his pocket, Ross pulls out a cell phone and looks at his caller ID:

Unavailable

Ross sends it to his voicemail, but immediately he gets another call.

Unavailable

A frustrated look on his face, Ross flips open his phone and presses it to his ear.

Ross: Yeah, hello?

Voice: Hello, Barney.

Ross’ has a confused look on his face as he begins to pace slowly

Ross: Yeah, that’s me. Who is this.

Voice: Why, you don’t remember your old friend? Mister Church?

Ross’ eyes open wide at hearing the name of his last contact. He walks out into the rain.

Mr. Church: Barney, you fucked up.

Ross: I gave you the money back, Church. I don’t know what you-

Mr. Church: Barney, Barney, Barney. You know that doesn’t matter. You crossed me and you fucked up, and I told you what would happen if you fucked up and crossed me, didn’t I?

Ross: Look Church, I-

Mr. Church: What did I say would happen if you crossed me and fucked up, Barney?

Ross: You listen here and you listen good, Church. You do not want to mess with me. Do you understand me? YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS WITH ME!

Mr. Church: Oh, but Barney, I think I do.

Suddenly behind Barney his motorcycle EXPLODES, taking the gas station with it in a fiery display of ash and rubble. Barney Ross is flown backwards from the force of it, his phone rocked from his hand. He covers his eyes as he looks on at the wreckage. Then, from down each side of the road, a pair of headlights can be seen, followed by the hum of engines. The camera focuses on Barneys’ phone as it lays on the ground.

Mr. Church: You’re a dead man, Ross.

Mr. Church ends the call as a tire crushes Ross’ phone and parks on the pieces. The camera pans out to reveal two large vans that six men each exit out of. Donned in full operative gear, they encircle Ross as he gets up to his feet and wipes off his hands, observing his assailants.

Now I've told you this once before can't control me
If you try to take me down you're gonna break
I feel your having nothing that you`re doing for me
I'm thinking you`re a fake, you run away

The operatives pull out weapons as they begin their assault on Ross. Just as one man pulls a pistol and charges Ross, his arm is grabbed by the lone hero. With a twist, Barney pulls the man towards him and places his back to Ross’ front. He twists the man’s arm so that the gun is pointed to his head and pulls the trigger, splattering the mans brains on the concrete. Ross then takes the gun and holds the corpse by the neck as he shoots at the oncoming attackers, taking one out at the shoulder and another out at the knee. The gun clicks and Ross tosses the corpse to the side and flips the handgun, nailing an attacker across the bridge of his nose with the butt of the weapon.

I stand alone
Inside I stand alone(I stand alone)

You're always hiding behind your so called goddess
So what, you don't think that we can see your face?
Ressurrected back before the final fallen
I'll never rest until I can make my own way

An operative lunges forward with a punch that Ross dodges. Ross grabs the mans head and smashes it into his knee, immediately drawing blood. Another operative grabs Ross by the back and starts to swing with a club, but Ross quickly leans forward and pulls his body out of his jacket, catching the club and his assailants arm in a tangled mess of jacket, club, and flesh. Ross then pulls back and puts the man in the way of an oncoming bullet from another operative, it goes straight through the mans shoulder and passes right by Barney’s face. Ross pulls the captured man in and pushes him towards the shooter, following closely and grabbing the new handgun.

I'm not afraid of fading
I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading

I stand alone
Inside I stand alone(I stand alone)

Ross grabs the handgun and unloads the clip into the back of the man he just pushed, however he quickly receives a punch in the face from his blindside. Blood begins to trickle down Ross’ lip as another man comes from behind and punches Barney in the small of the back, kicking out Ross’ knees from behind him. A man on the ground pushes a dead operative off him and leaps up, grabbing the club and beating Barney over the head with it.

Now it's my time (now it's my time)
It's my time to dream (It's my time to dream)
Dream of the skies (dream of the skies)
Make me believe that this place isn't plagued by the poison in me
Help me decide if my fire will burn out before you can breathe
Breathe into me

Ross attempts to block his face as he sees a pipe from his motorcycle intact close to the brawl. Barney punches a man in the testicles and rolls forward, grabbing the hot pipe. Barney groans as he uses the pipe to sweep out the legs of his oncoming attackers and immediately drops it, his hand steaming in the cold rain. Barney looks at the downed men for a moment before ducking from behind when another assailant tries to punch him from the blind side. Ross ducks and weaves as he attempts to avoid the attacker, thrusting forward with his own punch.








Just as Ross is able to gain the upper hand on the attacker, another operative comes from the blind side with a vicious kick to the side of Ross’ face. Another attacker lands a kick to his gut, and Barney is doubled over. Another man approaches Ross and clubs him over the back of the neck and Barney is thrust to the concrete.

I stand alone
Inside I stand alone
Inside I stand alone
Inside I stand alone
Inside …

The remaining assailants immediately pounce on Ross and proceed to tie his hands and feet together. Ross attempts to struggle but can only look up as one final punch is delivered to his face. Ross passes out as the operatives lift his body and toss him into the back of one of the vans, along with their dead and wounded, and drive off into the night.


Fading back into the hangar, the men appear ready, dressed in their respective clothing suited to their needs. The group is running one last inspection of their weapons. Rifles, Knives, Grenades, even Hale Caesar’s special bullets. Lee Christmas approaches the group as the various clicks and other noises die down.

Christmas: Ok fellas, this is the big time now. You know how we-

Deuce: Oh, wait, boss, hold up.

Christmas: What?

Deuce: I gotta roll to the bathroom!

As Deuce runs back into the control room, the Expendables look on and laugh as Christmas rubs his forehead.

Christmas: Does anyone else need to stop for a potty break?

The Expendables slowly try to retract their smiles as they all shake their heads.

Christmas: Now then, we know this is going to be dangerous, so-

Christmas is cut off as Deuce peeks out the door of the control room.

Deuce: Boss.

Christmas rolls his eyes as he turns to face Deuce

Christmas: Im not going in with you, Deuce!

Deuce: I think you should see this…

Christmas looks on puzzled as he enters the room. Up on the large screen is a dark image. A quick click and a single light turns on, revealing a man with his head down bound to a chair. Someone forces the mans head up and reveals it to be Barney Ross.

Yang: What!

Gunnar: Whos got Barney!

Voice: I do.

The camera pulls back slowly to reveal Xavier Thomas, adorned in his finest operative gear.

Operative Thomas: I’ve got Barney Ross.

Christmas: Who are you.

Operative Thomas: I’m Operative Thomas, Lee, and I know everything about you Expendables.

Yang: What do you want with Ross!?

Operative Thomas: Its not what I want, its what my employer wants. You see, Barney Ross entered into a contract after he had negotiations with my employer. He told me to tell you he was called Mister Church. Ring a bell?

Christmas glares as the rest of the team look on confused.

Operative Thomas: Ah, I thought so. You see, my employer has very few rules, but very strict rules, and one of those rules is you do not fuck with him. Barney Ross crossed Mister Church, and now he is paying the price. Now, I understand you all have a job to do, but I wanted this to be a warning.

Thomas smiles as the rest of the Expendables grow increasingly angered.

Operative Thomas: I want you to see what happens when you cross people you should not cross. Ross will give his life to be an example to you all, that you do not cross people you should. Not. Cross. Good day, gentlemen.

Thomas reaches forward and pushes a button, cutting off the feed. The Expendables begin arguing amongst themselves as Christmas closes his eyes.

Christmas: Well boys.

He turns and faces the group

Christmas: That signal was long enough to trace where it was coming from.

The rest of the group immediately catch on and exit the room to approach the plane.

Christmas: Looks like our flights been delayed.

The engines sputter then hum gently as the blades spin and the plane is removed from the hangar. They turn down the runway and speed up into the air on their way to save their captured teammate.


Fade in from black. Armed guards walk along the top of a tower and other guards move along a wall and inside a courtyard. A spotlight shines through the darkness of night. The camera closes in on two guards in the tower.

Guard 1: What are you doing?

Guard 2: I thought I heard something in the woods.

Guard 1: You know youre too paranoid. Probably just a deer or-

The guard is cut off as the tower EXPLODES, engulfing the guards in a sea of flames. An alarm sounds as the tower falls to pieces. The men begin to scatter around the compound as the large metal doors begin to glow red then EXPLODE, the Expendables team charging in through the hole left in the wall.

Deuce: RIGHT THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR BABY! THE DEUCE TRAIN IS COMIN AND ITS ALWAYS ON TIME! WOO WOO!

Fear me so deep, it gets the best of me
In the fear, I fall, here it comes face to face with me.
Here I stand, hold back so no one can see,
I feel these wounds, step down, step down, step-
DOWN

Am I breaking-
DOWN(DOWN)

The guards of the compound immediately begin to scramble in an attempt to ward off the oncoming Expendable force, but the element of surprise plays into the team’s favor. Deuce charges forward, flipping a guard over his shoulder and firing a grenade out of a grenade launcher, sending four men flying through the air and exploding a truck bringing in reinforcements. Jason Raven is close behind him, firing off with two pistols at men charging in with their rifles and bayonets, blasting most of them square between the eyes, sending their brain matter flying. Hale Caesar and Yin Yang follow suit and jump right into the fray, Hale using his signature AA-12 Automatic Shotgun to pick off guards atop what is left of the compound walls as Yang runs up the wall and begins fighting guards on Caesar’s blindside. With fluid motions he grabs a rifle from an assailant and impales him with his own bayonet. As the man crumples to the floor Yang uses him as a pole vault over the next attacker and he grabs hold of his neck, twisting it, and shattering his spine. A click is heard and Yang turns behind him, looking right down the barrel of a rifle. The guard smirks just before his body explodes. Yang looks down in shock at Caesar.

Yang: YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!

Caesar: YOURE WELCOME!

Caesar turns to attack more guards

Caesar: Damn, with a thank you like that I’ll aim for him next time.

Can I break away? Push me away, make me fall, just to see, another side of me. Push me away, you can't see what I see, the other side of me.

As Caesar charges forward, Lee Christmas runs past the fight. He ducks under a guards attempt to hit him with the butt of his rifle and pulls out a blade, thrusting it into the base of his attackers skull. Christmas rolls forward and tosses a dagger into the neck of an oncoming assailant and another one down the scope of a man trying to take aim.

Christmas: GUNNAR, KNEEL!

Christmas runs forward as Gunnar fires a shot from his sniper then takes a knee on the ground. Christmas leaps off his teammates back and up onto a balcony he pops over and is immediately overcome by a guard who tries to lunge at him with his bayonet, but is stopped in his tracks when a bullet from Gunnars rifle goes straight through his face.


Christmas: GOOD LOOKIN OUT GUNNAR!

Gunnar: GO FIND ROSS!

Gunnar turns and laughs as he fires another shot and screams are heard. An EXPLOSION erupts part of the courtyard and sends more guards flying. Jason Raven watches as Lee Christmas disappears into the compounds main building and turns to fire at an assailant.






Inside the building, Christmas prowls the halls for the whereabouts of Ross. He kicks in a few wooden doors, but still no sign of his teammate, when he is shot upon by guards at the end of the hall.






Christmas immediately ducks into a room and pulls out a blade and a pistol. He enters the empty room and shoots four bullets into the wall and charges through it. He lifts his pistol through the dust and shoots four more bullets into the next wall and charges through it. As he enters the room he lifts his pistol and fires two bullets directly into the doorway, hitting two guards square in the face. He throws his knife at the next oncoming guard and it hits his enemy in the eye. As the man collapses to his knees, Christmas rolls forward, pulling the knife from his eye, and lunging at his next oncoming attacker, slicing his neck and severing his head partially from his body.






He then rolls forward and slams into the final guard, holding him up against the wall, holding the edge of the blade to the guards neck as it slowly drips crimson.

Christmas: Where are they?

Guard: I’m not telling! Im a dead man anyway!

Christmas: I’ll let you go if you well me where theyre keeping Ross.

The guard looks at Christmas unsure for a moment before Christmas shakes him
Christmas: ANSWER ME!

Guard: They’re in the third block of the basement. The second room, it’s the largest one.

Christmas: Thank you.

Christmas lets the man down and brushes him off, then he immediately stabs him in the stomach

Christmas: You were right though, you are a dead man.

Christmas runs down the stairwell and out of sight. The scene cuts to a bloody Barney Ross bound and blindfolded on a chair. Operative Xavier Thomas walks into the room and removes Ross’ blindfold.

Operative Thomas: Well, Ross, looks like your friends have decided to show up and save you. How unfortunate for them.

The dull thud of a far off explosion shakes the foundation of the room and dust falls from the ceiling.

Operative Thomas: But more importantly, how unfortunate for you. You’re going to die knowing all of your friends died in a futile attempt to save your life. How does it feel to be alone, Ross?

Barney Ross looks up at the Operative, his eyes saying what he can not, staring a big “fuck you” into the heart of his oppressor.

Operative Thomas: Shame really, Im probably going to be in trouble for killing you, Mister Church wanted that treasure, but I think he will understand.

Operative Thomas pulls a handgun from its holster on his side and examines it. He pulls it back to ready it and aims it at Barneys head when the door is flung open and Lee Christmas enters the room, tossing his knife at the Operative. Thomas drops his gun and leans back, catching the knife in midair. He smiles as a few small drops of blood drip from his hand.

Operative Thomas: Look at this toy.

Thomas drops the knife to the ground.

Operative Thomas: How about we grow up a little and play with the big boys, eh, Lee?






Thomas smiles as he pulls out a large saber holstered on his back. He stares at Christmas, who pulls out two more knives, and charges at him.







As Christmas charges in Thomas sidesteps his thrust and swings his blade forward. Christmas is able to block the saber with both of his knives and he kicks into the stomach of Operative Thomas. Thomas staggers back and golf swings the saber but Christmas is able to dodge out of the way and lunge forward at Thomas again, knives pointed forward. Thomas swings overhead and knocks Christmas’ blades from his hands. Seizing the initiative Thomas begins a series of swings and stabs aimed at Christmas’ shoulders, neck, and stomach, each one faster than the last, but each one dodged all the same. With a thrust Thomas cuts into Christmas’ jacket, cutting it open and exposing his stomach. Thomas looks right at Christmas, who lands an elbow to Thomas’ wrist, forcing him to drop the blade. Christmas leaps forward and rolls across the floor, grabbing his two blades as Thomas grabs his.







Thomas looks at Christmas and smirks as he charges towards a still bound Ross. Christmas rushes to aid his friend and sweeps Thomas’ legs out from under him. Thomas flips backwards and lands on his feet, however, and again charges Ross. Christmas then pulls the legs of the chair backwards and Thomas’ blade lands on the chair in between Ross’ legs. Christmas then lands a stiff kick to Thomas’ face, sending him backwards without his blade. Thomas brushes the blood from his lip then looks to his left and sees his pistol in the dust. Quickly he pulls it forward and fires a shot. Christmas ducks backwards, narrowly avoiding the bullet, and Ross uses his legs to push on Christmas’ back, bringing him upright. Christmas tosses both blades at Thomas, who rolls out of the way, then pulls Thomas’ saber from the chair.







Christmas charges Thomas, who fires another bullet at his attacker. Christmas deflects the bullet with the blade of the saber and swings at Thomas, who rolls out of the way. Thomas quickly shoots up and lands two boots to Christmas’ gut in the process. He the grabs Christmas by the wrist and twists, slamming the hilt of his sword into Christmas’ stomach again. Christmas doubles over in pain and receives a knee to the face. Releasing the saber, Christmas rolls out of the way and back to his knives. When he goes to pick them up, however, Thomas is right there and he kicks them away. Christmas goes for another sweep of the legs but Thomas jumps up to avoid it, coming down hard with his saber. Sparks fly as Christmas just moves out of the way and the metal hit’s the rock. Another thrust down misses, but Christmas grabs Thomas by the wrists and flips him over, tossing the operative on his back. Thomas is quick to launch himself back onto his feet and turns to face his opponent. Christmas is able to find one of his blades in the dust and he tosses it, but Thomas now deflects that blade with that of his sabers and charges Christmas again.







Thomas turns his blade downward and thrusts at Christmas, who narrowly escapes by doing the splits. Thomas pulls back and again thrusts downward, but Christmas thrusts himself backward through the dirt and Thomas’ blade gets stuck in a crack in the rock. Christmas quickly kicks the blade of the saber, removing it from its hilt and sending a shock through Operative Thomas. Christmas is slower to get up this time and he receives a boot to the face, shooting blood out of his mouth. The ground shakes again as another explosion is heard off in the distance. Thomas then lands a repeated series of hard kicks to Christmas’ face as he struggles to defend himself. A roundhouse attempt doesn’t work out well for Thomas, however, as Christmas catches his leg and throws him violently to the ground.






After a few seconds to recover, Christmas goes to make his move, when a click stops him in his tracks. Thomas slowly gets up, pistol in his hand, barrel aimed squarely between Christmas’ eyes.

Operative Thomas: Well, this spar has been fun, but it looks like its time for the both of you to end.

Thomas smiles, but seemingly as he is about to pull the trigger, a knife is thrown from his blindside hitting him in the hand. With a scream of pain he drops the handgun and looks at Barney Ross, who has freed himself using Christmas’ knives. He then throws another blade at Thomas, who ducks out of the way in time to avoid impalement, but not the cut along his cheek. Thomas punches at Christmas with the blade that is pierced through his hand, rolls through when Christmas moves, removes the blade and exit’s the room. Christmas immediately tends to his teammate, Ross.

Christmas: You alright.

Ross: I got a lucky toss, I’ve always been terrible with those.

Christmas: Yeah, you could have killed me.

Ross: Youre welcome. Now how do we get outta here?

The two exit the room and look down the hallway.

Ross: This way, this is the way they brought me from!

He runs left.

Christmas: No! Ross! I came from this way! ROSS!

As he goes to reach for his friend an explosion rocks the compound again, collapsing the ceiling in between the two, blocking their paths to each other.

Ross: I’ll be good on my own, Christmas! Go, get out! I’ll meet you outside!

Christmas: Be safe!

As the two speed down opposite hallways, Ross finds himself lost in a maze of rock and rooms. Franticly he kicks through the doors, looking for a way out, while Lee Christmas finds himself taking the same flights of stairs up that he came down from, looking to exit from the balcony.

After kicking in a few more doors, Ross eyes a long hallway with a light at the end. In a hurry to get back with his teammates, he begins to move down the path, until he is blindsided by a kick to the face from Operative Xavier Thomas.

Operative Thomas: You thought it would be that easy, Ross? Come now, surely you are not that stupid.

Ich hab' keine Lust
Ich hab' keine Lust
Ich hab' keine Lust
Ich hab' keine Lust

Thomas lifts an injured Ross and places him up against the wall, landing a series of knee strikes to Ross’ stomach. He pulls back on Ross’ head and throws it into the rock. Ross crumbles to the ground, where Thomas grabs him by the back of the shirt and tosses him up into the ceiling, crushing his body against the rock and letting gravity take him back down to the ground.






Thomas then proceeds to stomp repeatedly onto the ribs and back of Ross, cries of pain shooting out as he gets progressively more aggressive. Thomas lifts Ross to his knee, then thrusts his knee into Ross’ face, forcing blood to flow from his mouth.

Ich hab' keine Lust
Ich hab' keine Lust
Ich hab' keine Lust
Nein ich hab' keine Lust

Ich habe keine Lust etwas zu kauen
Denn ich hab' keine Lust es zu verdauen
Hab' keine Lust mich zu wiegen
Hab' keine Lust im Fett zu liegen

Thomas then lifts Ross again, placing him back up against the wall. Thomas lands a head butt directly to Ross’ nose, busting it open at the bridge. He pulls back and punches Ross in the head, laughing while he inflicts pain on the man. He pulls back and lands another punch. He reels back with his head, to land the final blow, when Ross quickly drops to the ground and Thomas smashes is head against the stone. Bone cracks as Thomas staggers back and Ross charges him, spearing him through a wooden door and taking both men into a small room.






Ross then mounts Thomas and proceeds to land blows directly to the Operatives face. Thomas is able to gain his composure long enough to fling Ross off him, but Ross isn’t letting up. He charges back at Thomas, who kicks him back with both feet, and springs to a standing position. Thomas and Ross then trade blow for blow, Thomas with a left, but Ross is able to block his right. Ross lands a left hook and a kick to the gut, but Thomas grabs Ross’ leg when he tries to land a knee, tripping him and sending Barney back down to the floor.






Thomas leaps forward and rolls in mid air, bringing his leg down around Ross’ neck. He then kneels down to land a punch, but Ross pulls him over his body sending Thomas down on his back Ross picks up a piece of stone from the ground and attempts to use it as a weapon, but Thomas kicks Ross directly in the kneecap. He then kicks the stone from Ross’ hand and knees Ross in the face. As Ross falls, Thomas picks up the rock.





Thomas walks over to a kneeling Ross, both men bloody and bruised.

Operative Thomas: So, you’re the big bad leader of the Expendables? Huh? You’re nothing compared to me. Compared to me, you’re ruler of the toilets.

Thomas smiles as he pulls back his arm, rock in hand, when a voice from off screen is heard.

Voice: Good thing. It will be easier to dispose of your ass when I turn you into shit then.

Operative Thomas’s eyes grow wide as a shotgun is cocked into action. The operative turns and immediately the gun fires, exploding Thomas’s brain matter into a vivid painting on the wall. Barney Ross looks up and at the trigger end of a smoking barrel is Jason Raven. Raven smiles at Ross and extends him his hand as he pulls Ross up from the ground. Very quickly, Yang, Hoss, Caesar, and Christmas enter behind Raven, weapons drawn. When they see the scene, however, they let down their guard and walk over to Ross.

Deuce: You hurt, Bossman!?

Ross: Those explosives youre so keen on did a number to me.

Deuce: HA! Yeah, sorry bossman, you know how the Deuce Train gets a little carried away.

Christmas: You sure youre ok?

Ross: Yeah. If it wasn’t for Raven here, I think that would have been my brain on the ground.

Christmas: Good looking out, Raven.

Ross: Wheres Gunnar.

Christmas: He was dealing with the stragglers last we saw. Im sure hes out there waiting for us.

Ross: Well, lets get to him!

The Expendables rush out of the tunnel and into the courtyard. Tents and vehicles are on fire, bodies, or whats left of them, are strewn about the blood soaked dirt, and the compound is missing bits and pieces. Gunnar stands, his rifle pointed at a kneeling man with his hands behind his head.

Gunnar: Hey! Ross! I knew you’d be ok! Look, I found this guy! His name is Striker Cain! Said so on his little badge. He’s some sort of commanding officer here. I thought that maybe we could ask him some questions, but he ain’t one for talkin.

Ross smiles as the group approaches the Gunnar and Cain, however, the mood is quickly turned as Cain grabs the gun from Gunnar. A shot goes off, but Cain is able to get the advantage. He kicks out Gunnar at the knee and brings the big man down to his level, pointing the rifle at the back of Gunnars head.

Ross: LET HIM GO!

Christmas: You don’t wan’t to do that, Cain!

Ross: I SAID LET HIM GO!

Cain’s eyes dart back and forth between the Expendables. He moves the gun aggressively to the back of Gunnar’s skull

Gunnar: I don’t wanna go out like this, Ross.

Christmas: Put the gun down, Cain!

Raven pulls his rifle forward and clicks the safety off.

Ross: Stand down Raven!

Raven: Ive got the shot, I-

Ross: RAVEN STAND DOWN!

Raven drops his gun and puts his hands up as they look at Cain.

Ross: Ok, Cain what do you want?

Cain: Theres a motorcycle over there. Bring it to me.

Ross motions for Deuce to get the motorcycle. He brings it over to Cain.

Cain: Now, back away. Slowly. You, big fella, you come with me.

Cain instructs Gunnar to move the bike to the gate.

Cain: You’re going to let me go.

Ross: That’s fine, Cain. Now, give us gunnar.

Cain: Very well.

Cain instructs Gunnar to move forward silently. Gunnar has a smile on his face when there is a click and a boom, and a bullet hole appears at the front of Gunnar’s forehead. Cain tosses the gun aside and jumps on the bike, with the Expendables in hot pursuit.

Raven: BASTARD!

Yang: NO!

Caesar: NO!

Raven grabs his gun and takes a knee at the gate, firing bursts at the decreasing outline of Striker Cain. The other Expendables approach Gunnar. They turn his body over, blood pours down his forehead.

Ross: No. Gunnar.

Christmas: Hes gone Ross…

Ross: No… DAMMIT! NO!

The rest of the Expendables encircle the body of their fallen comrade. Lee Christmas places his hand on Barney Ross’ shoulder as the scene cuts to black.


Fade into the Expendables airplane. It’s a somber moment as the crew looks at the empty spot where Gunnar used to sit. The soft hum of the airplane engine is the only noise. Until Christmas breaks the silence.

Christmas: I know this is a bad time, Ross, but we’re short a man for this project and we’re gonna need all the help we can get.

Ross: No, no, you’re right… we need a replacement.

Christmas: I could call Toll and-

Ross: No, I’ve got someone else in mind. Hand me the phone.

Lee Christmas hands a cell phone to Barney Ross. Ross sighs as he dials, looking out into the night sky.

Ross: Hello?

The voice on the other end is recognizable. Its Tool.

Tool: BARNEY! Hey man, whats goin on? Hows that vacation.

Ross: It didn’t go too well, Tool. I got caught up, man…we lost Gunnar.

Tool: Oh, wow. No man that’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Barney.

Ross: Look, Tool. I know this is a long shot, but this job we’ve got we’re short a man and-

Tool: Don’t ask me, Barney.

Ross: Look, we need the man and I know I can trust you. We’re going to fuel in L.A. and-

*CLICK*

Christmas: No luck?

Barney looks back at his team.

Ross: No. I don’t know what we’re going to do.

The scene fades and cuts back into the plane landing on the Los Angeles Expendables runway.

Ross: Alright, boys, refuel and restock, we’re going in.

Deuce: BALLS DEEP BABY! WOO!

The door to the plane opens and the crew steps out. Christmas looks at Ross as the two unbuckle and proceed out of the cockpit into the hangar. When Ross steps off the plane, a familiar voice greets him with a laugh. He looks up, and there is his brother in arms, Tool.

Tool: Damn, man, you have to be the slowest pilot I know of!

Ross, Christmas, and the rest of the Expendables laugh and smile as they all shake Tool’s hand. Ross hugs his friend, a smile on his face for the first time in a while.

Ross: Thanks, Tool.

Tool: No sweat, no sweat. I figured… well, I figured I owed you one.

Ross: Thanks buddy.

Christmas: Well, are we just gonna sit around kissin each other all day or are we going to suit up!

The Expendables let out a cheer as the newly revitalized team prepares to get ready. Caesar grabs various assault weapons, Christmas stocks up on knives, Deuce reloads his grenades, and Tool brings out his bag, tossing it down next to Raven.

Tool: I brought my baby.

Raven looks as Tool pulls out a giant tank. He sets it on the workbench in front of the team and attaches a hose to it. He pulls the nozzle from out of the bag and points it towards Raven.

Tool: This flamin red-head is called Sally. You ever handle one of these?

Raven: Uh, lets just say me and fire don’t get along.

Tool: HA! I don’t blame ya!

Ross whistles and the team enters the plane, suited up and ready to kick some ass. The engines crank, the blades spin, and the plane is out of the hangar, down the runway, and up into the sky.


Ross: Alright boys, I’m hoping we’ll be able to fly in silently and infiltrate both camps. This island isn’t too big so expect to move quick and-

Christmas: Uh, boss.

Ross: What?

Christmas: Look,

Ross looks outside the cockpit of the plane onto the island. His face is illuminated by the large fire encompassing some of the forestry of the area as the two opposing factions are apparently in a ground war. Ross’ eyes open wide as Christmas begins to land the plane.

Ross: Alright boys, new plan. We get in that ground war, help one of the sides, and move forward into a command center with both sets of commanders, got it?

Raven: Hooah, boss.

Deuce: WOO WOO BABY! DEUCE TRAIN IS COMIN!

Yang: Lets do this!

Ross looks at Tool

Tool: You see something you like?

Ross: You gonna be ok?

Tool: Yeah. For Gunnar.

Ross smiles as the plane touches down on water. The door opens and the expendables touch down on the beach under the quiet of night. They approach the battle field over a hill and scout the area.

Ross: One of these groups are blue, the others green.

Caesar: I say we help the green guys.

Yang: But the blue ones are winning.

Caesar: Yeah, but its more of a challenge. Damn, Yang!

Ross: We mix in with the blue team, ok? Lets move, Expendables!







The Expendables charge into the middle of the fray, guns blazing. Caesar is popping off with Deuce as the two lob grenades and bullets into the fighters. Bodies and body parts go flying as some men land under a large burning tree that collapses over them upon impact.






Raven and Yang charge into the opposing line of soldiers, both armed with dual pistols. They fire shot after shot into the enemies, dropping everyone in their path. Raven rolls forward and unsheathes a shotgun from his back. In a fluid motion he cocks it and kneels out of his roll, blasting the guts out of two men in front of him. Yang runs forward and leaps off his back, landing a vicious kick to a soldiers face that removes his jaw completely from his face. Raven the sweeps out a guerilla’s legs as he tries to attack Yang. Raven hoists the man to his knees and Yang executes his signature Guillotine Kick, snapping the mans spine and putting the back of his skull against the back of his back. The two then realize they’ve been encircled though, and stand back to back. As the opposing force gets ready to move in, a click is heard followed by a large flame that engulfs most of the guerillas. Yang and Raven subdue two attackers with blows to the face and simultaneous neck cranks as Tool comes up from behind and shoves the hot nozzle of his flamethrower through the eye of a charging enemy.







Hale Caesar and Deuce Hoss continue their explosive rampage through the enemy guerillas, blowing bits and pieces out of the ground when they are assaulted on the blind side. Hale uses his rifle butt to subdue some enemies, but Deuce’s grenade launcher is tossed to the side. He pulls a grenade and shoves it down the back of a guerillas shirt, pushing the man into the group. They struggle franticly to try and get the grenade out of his shirt, but it explodes, taking all the men with it. Deuce laughs as he is hit in the face with a punch. He turns and approaches the man who punched him.


Deuce: OH YOU JUST SIGNED UP FOR A FIRST CLASS TICKET TO PAINSVILLE ON THE DEUCE TRAIN BABY! ONE WAY!

Deuce grabs the mans arm after the throws a punch and quickly locks him in a front lock. Deuce wraps his legs around the mans head and arm and squeezes tightly. The guerilla screams as his eyes grow red and large before exploding out of their sockets.





Christmas and Ross continue the fight, blowing away oncoming attackers with their rifles when they spot the two field generals Andy Garner and Romeo Moran. The two proceed to get close to the generals as they too take out oncoming groups of enemy guerillas in droves. The two of them wielding large automatic turrets, the enemies fall in bloody heaps at their feet.

Garner: FORWARD!

Christmas and Ross both nod and follow closely behind, firing bullets ahead of them. When Christmas empties out, he proceeds to use his knives, tossing them violently and accurately in between the eyes of the waves of enemies..






Ross and Christmas look for the rest of their team, who prove to be easy to find. A large flame shoots up the hill they are advancing as Tool lights more guerrillas and trees on fire. Explosions rock the island and send men flying as Caesar and Deuce make their way up as well. Raven and Yang are in the front lines, unloading pistol clips, using unorthodox maneuvers to take out their opponents. At the top of the hill the entrance to the camp can be seen. With out saying a word, Ross, Christmas, and the rest of the Expendables follow in behind Garner and Moran, who are the first into the enemy camp. Quickly and without warning, Tool turns and proceeds to shoot flames down the hill, culling the immediate advancing troops and scaring some back. Caesar and Deuce are able to shoot into the crowd easily, sending bodies and parts flying.






Inside the camp, Ross, Christmas, Yang, and Raven assist the two field generals as the last wave of guards assaults them. Garner and Moran both run out of ammo but charge forward anyway, lifting soldiers over their shoulders and flipping them. Drew thrusts forward with a leaping punch that sends a man flying and Romeo is able to toss two knives into the last guards at the gate. With ferocity the Expendables assist the generals in pushing open the gates. Bullets fly out the doors as the other field generals, Adam Uren and Seth Luttrell, instruct guards to open fire. As so as they reload, though, Raven and Ross dive into the room. Ross quickly opens fire with his rifle while Raven gets up close. The shotgun blast is almost rhythmic in time as he quickly cocks the weapon and expends the bullets. The last guards are easily taken care of.

Seizing their opportunity, Garner and Moran leap into action against their two rivals, Luttrell and Uren, and engage in close combat. Garner is able to land a right to Uren, but he is quickly blindsided by Luttrell. Moran lands a roundhouse to the back of Luttrell’s skull, but he seems unaffected as he throws a table onto his assailant. Uren throws a right hook that Garner is able to dodge, grabbing Uren by the wrist and pulling him back, landing a stiff knee to the gut and driving Uren into the ground. Luttrell quickly assists his teammate, but he is cut off as Jason Raven dives shoulder first into the fray, sending Luttrell flying into the wall creating a crater through the plaster. Yang also joins in and blindsides Moran, leaping off the table and kicking him in the face. Garner struggles with Yang, when Uren approaches Garner from behind and places him in a headlock. Garner tries to throw elbows, but Uren lifts and tosses him over, slamming Garner down into the floor. Luttrell is back up and bullrushes Raven, but Raven quickly dodges and Luttrell is instead met with a swift knee to the face from Christmas.







All of the men proceed to get up to continue the fight when four simultaneous clicks stop the generals in their tracks. Ross, Christmas, Yang, and Raven all stand with their guns pointed directly at the field generals, who look cautiously at themselves then place their hands up and behind their heads.

HUH!

The Expendables sit casually in their plane, smirking at a job well done. Tool lights a cigar with the tip of his flamethrower, Sally, as the rest of the Expendables relax.


Tool: You know, Raven, I see you got them wings. We’re gonna have to get you that skull and letters when we get back to the shop.

Tool smiles as Jason Raven looks around at the rest of the Expendables, unsure of their reaction. Ross cuts through the silence.

Ross: You damn right you’re gonna have to, Tool, and it’s on the house too!

Deuce: WOO! Yeah baby, I’m gonna hve to get mine touched up, Tool. You know its been a while.

Tool laughs as he extinguishes the flame.

Tool: Yeah, it has been, but it’ll cost ya.

Deuce: WHAT! You ain’t gon’ charge Raven!

Tool: Yeah, but that’s because I like him better.

Deuce: Aww, HELL!

The laughter of the Expendables ushers in the fade.

Fade in from black. The soft roar of distant engines precedes the blinding headlights as a group of motorcycles rise up over a hill. The party of Harleys, Indians, and one Yamaha, grows increasingly louder as they move casually down the old brick road, slowing down and approaching the garage and parlor known as TOOL’S.

However, when Tool clicks his remote to open the garage, the entire building is consumed in a fiery EXPLOSION. The Expendables shield their eyes as theyre flung back. The group looks up in horror as the building they call home erupts into a bright flame.

Singed pieces of paper begin to fall with the bits of the concrete. Barney Ross reaches out and grabs one from the wind.

Christmas: What does it say, Barney.

Ross examines the paper more and then he turnes.

Ross: It says “I want my Birdie back.”

The rest of the Expendables stare at Jason Raven as Barney Ross looks up. Raven looks around at the people he just finished the mission with, unsure of what will happen to him.

After a few moments of silence, Ross crumples up the paper and lets it fall to the ground. He walks over to Raven and stares him directly in the eyes. It seemed as if it took forever, but in a matter of seconds, Barney Ross extended his hand to Jason Raven, who accepted it bewildered, but relieved. Lee Christmas came over and placed his hand on theirs as well, followed by the rest of the Expendables, who joined in and placed their hands on Ross and Ravens’.


Christmas: Well, Barney. Doesn’t look like you’ll be getting that vacation anytime soon.

Ross: Nope. Looks like we have some more work to do boys.

1

I sit alone on this cold and empty rooftop.

It had been a full week since I had blindsided Hannibal Frost, a full week since I had talked to Drew, a full week since I talked to Mark. I had a feeling one of them might be worrying where I went, sadly I was beginning to feel Mark thought of me more as family than Drew did.

And now here I am. Sitting on this cold and empty rooftop. I had been to the top of this building several times since I had moved into the city, but I never thought anything of it. Of course it was illegal to sit on the press box of Pringles Park, but I knew some guys who worked on the grass so I’d be safe if I was caught.

And as usual, the smell of whiskey was heavy on my breath. Not that I gave a fuck.

Of course I relapsed back into my old pot habits, smoking up and getting high to get through the day. My conscience was eating at me, not because of what I had done to Hannibal, but because of what Drew thought about what I did. It was vengeance...it was revenge...it was war.

Seth drank another sip of whiskey from his Jack Daniels bottle and smoked a bit off his joint as he stared into the city skyline.

Omega:God...you son of a bitch, I don’t know if you are real or not...but if you are you have given me a shitty hand to play cards with.

Nothing but crickets made a sound in the night. Even I-40 was abandoned this time of night.

Omega: Of course you don’t fucking respond, all you do is wait around for someone to cross a weak bridge and you cut the support out from under them. That’s what you did with me, you fucking took her away from me and left me hanging. You expected me to be strong, and you let me fall back into addiction you prick.

Drew appears right behind Seth, almost as if he magically poofed to the place where he was. Without making a sound his voice rang throughout the night.

Drew: You know for someone who does not believe in God you have been talking to him a lot lately.

Seth almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of Drew’s voice. The air is chilly within the night, and tension began to fill the air.

Omega: Funny, I didn’t hear your car pull up. Nor did I see you.

Drew: Not everyone drives by car my cousin. Not that you would know if I was behind you anyways, considering how strung out you are. I should call you Skyler Junior.

Omega: What are you doing here Drew?

Drew: You knew I forgave them, I let God give me strength to forgive them. If I could do it why couldn’t you?

Omega: Drew, what do I have in this life?

Drew: That is besides the point...

Omega: Answer the question Drew.

Drew: Seth you have things you need.

Omega: I can’t keep out of a fucking whiskey bottle, I am back on marijuana, and you think I have everything I need? I just gave up my life and you think I everything I need?

Drew: You have a roof over your head, you have a car to drive, you have a job...

Omega: You have a house, you have several cars, you make more money, you got to keep the person you loved, you have a family.

Drew: Your family is standing right behind you Seth.

Seth stands up and stands toe to toe with Drew. The cold, calculating nature of Omega along with his menacing size is enough to scare the normal man, then again Drew was far from normal.

Omega: You could have fooled me, every last thing that has been Saints related you’ve been too good for.

Drew: That’s not true at all Seth and you fucking know it.

Omega: Oh it isn’t? Name one thing you have been involved in since this group started Drew.

Drew: Your lack of faith is concerning Seth, if you keep this up people will think we have a real strife between us.

Omega: Don’t give me that “people will think” bullshit, you know damn well we have strifing between us. We’ve had it since Supremacy, and it’s all because you’re not the head dog anymore. You’re no longer the only champion in this shit, you’re no longer the only one who is in the Main Event, you’re no longer looked at as a leader because you can’t fucking admit you couldn’t put me away.

Drew: You’re not angry at me.

Omega: You’re right Drew, I love you like a brother...it’s God I am mad at.

Drew: For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Omega: Matthew 7:2.

Drew: You're a long way from the seminary, Seth.

Omega: I accepted that a long time ago.

Drew: God be with you, Seth.

Omega: Sometimes I would like to get my hands on God.

Seth turns around and flips off the sky before spitting a large bit of saliva into it.

Omega: Fuck you God, and fuck everything you’ve ever stood for.

With that Seth feels two hands pushing on his back and sees the baseball field growing ever closer to him. As it draws closer and closer he can feel the wind pushing him towards the ground, and he knew that his time was...


It was only a dream.

Awakened in cold sweat, I had no idea what the dream meant. My head throbbed from the binge drinking the night before, and my body ached from the years of abuse it had taken. At this rate I was going to be dead by forty, not that I gave a fuck anymore. I at one point thought I cared what Drew thought, but I was starting to become more and more apathetic towards his thoughts. Truthfully I felt like it was Mark and I against the world, and even though what I did put a strain on our relationship it felt as if our friendship was one that couldn’t be broken.

I was starting to believe more and more that Mark was the only one who really understood anything I went through. A man who left the armed forces a while back, and a man who recently lost a woman he loved, we are very much similar. Then again, we are also very very different.

It’s time I got out...I could use a visit with Mark right about now. But before I do that, I’ve got another stop to make.


As I am driving along this long paved road I’ve come to the realization of something. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I don’t care about FMW, I don’t care about LPW, I don’t care about winning or losing, I just don’t give a fuck anymore. I’ve spent months trying to fit in, trying to adapt to my new surroundings, and I just miss the days of getting drunk, getting high, and being balls deep in some fucking whore.

I don’t feel the pain in the ring anymore. I’ve become numb to it, I’ve become numb to the childish insults thrown my way by people who say they’ve had a “Seth Omega” moment. Fuck them. They don’t know me, they will never know me, nor do they want to know me. They don’t understand that I’ve won nineteen championships in seven different feds, they don’t understand I am one of three men to hold a LPW and FMW Championship at the same time, they just don’t see anyone but themselves. That’s who they focus on pleasing is themselves, and their select friends.

It’s just like every other place I have ever been, everyone wants to pretend there is a huge war coming, that there is something important coming, that this is the most important war that has ever been fought in the history of everything. They want you to think that the winner will get the spoils, that the losers truly suck, and that everything in between didn’t really happen. Nobody wants to remember the Original Sin Wars. Nobody wants to remember the HavOc Wars. The reason why? Because people got burnt out on those wars. Every time their is a war in FMW we lose casualties, and when we lose casualties we have to scrap the bottom on the indy barrel for new men to fill the shoes of those departed.

The thing they don’t tell you about war is who it really affects. They don’t tell you what really happened, the winner tells the story they want to tell and they become heroes. Did you ever wonder why those veterans have nightmares? Because they remember the families they destroyed, they remember the father they killed in cold blood because they were bored, they remember his wife who they took turns raping to get their rocks off.

Yet they tell you that they shot a suicide bomber, and the wife attacked them with a knife so they had to kill her too. They hide the DNA they left inside the mother of three, they hide the fact that she didn’t understand why they did what they did, she didn’t realize what she was doing was wrong, she grew up in a country that fought in wars and trained them to fight since they were little. In her eyes the Americans were the bad guys.

But were we? Or we depicted as heroes? Should we have gone there, or should we have stayed home with the pot headed hippies?

The world may never know. Not only will they never know, but only the people who were there really know what happened. Did you ever stop to think that you might have been fighting a war and you were really on the wrong side? That maybe you actually were the bad guy and they told you that you were the good guy? That it was justifiable homicide, or even genocide to kill all those people. They killed doing the work of God, is what the churches say. Yet when the Muslims kill for Allah and their country to smite the non-believers they get portrayed as the bad guy.

A lot of people will say they kill innocent people. But how do you know we don’t? How do you know you’re on the right side? You don’t until you die, and your “God” goes over your life and shows you what you really supported. The guy who you swear was a great Sheriff, and a holy man is the same guy who tricked little girls into grabbing his cock by sticking it in a candy bowl for Halloween.

But they never see that, they only see with the naked eye and are afraid to look deeper into things that might throw off everything they heard.

Until you experience both sides of the coin, one cannot truly judge a man's character. Yet everybody seems to be able to assess my character and actions perfectly. Even the most brutal, genocidal dictators have a softer side, one that goes ignored by the masses.

Take the side of your savior, you pitiful sheep. Remain blind to the bigger picture.

I just hope you assholes don't come running back to me when it's all over.

Seth Omega gets out of his car wearing all black, he walks slowly into an alleyway and climbs over a fence that blocks the threw traffic onto the other street. He peeks around the corner and sees a man wearing a black mask is running down the street with a purse. Chasing after him is a masked man who is the one Mark Johansson in real life. As they run down the sidewalk and past the allies Mark starts to lose ground, when he thinks all hope is gone and the man has gotten away he hears a loud gunshot and sees the man fall to the ground.

Johansson: What in the hell?

As Mark looks on he sees the huge Seth Omega standing over the robber whose kneecap was now turned to one side of his leg. The man dropped the purse upon feeling the hot lead seer his skin and immediately dropped.

Omega: You think it’s fucking cute to steal someone’s hard earned money?

Robber: No…no I just needed to feed my kids.

Omega: Oh so you’re telling me you’re too good to get a fucking job now?

Robber: I got laid off, I am unemployed, and I am on food stamps…I was only doing what I felt needed to be done for my kids. I swear to God!

Omega: God won’t save you now you lying prick.

With that Seth drops back and kicks the man right in the face. He feels his steel toe boot smack the cartilage of the man's nose and feels it crack under the force. Even with the mask on Omega can still see the blood flowing freely.

Robber: Please just let me go, look into your heart! Go with God!

Omega: God’s going to sit this one out.

Seth picks up the robber and throws him full force into a windshield, cracking it immediately. By this point Mark is getting his wind back and trying to run to Omega before Seth kills the man where he stands.

Omega: Let me ask you something cowboy.

Robber: *groaning* Ask me anything, just please don’t hurt me anymore!

Omega: If you’re so big into God you can answer this question. What is a bigger sin, stealing a loaf of bread to feed your family, or killing a man in cold blood? If you get it right I will give you the money to feed your family.

Robber: Wh-what if I get it wrong?

Seth cocks the semi-automatic pistol and points it at the man.

Omega: I will kill your ass in cold blood.

The robber begins shaking on the windshield, frozen by fear. Omega stands over him with a cold emotionless look on his face, his finger pressed against the trigger and ready to kill at any moment.

Omega: I’m fucking waiting.

Robber: Th-th-the bigger sin is killing someone in co-co-cold bl-bl-ood.

Omega: Sin is sin no matter what thy sin really is. Every sin brings its punishment with it, unluckily for you I just so happen to be your punishment. Say your prayers motherfucker.

Johansson: No Seth, don’t do it!

With that Mark tackles Seth, setting off the trigger on the gun and hitting the windshield behind the man, in turn breaking it and sending the man into the car he was laying upon. The man, who is still in shock, begins fiddling with the wires under the steering column as Omega and Mark get back to their feet.

Omega: What the hell Mark, I was trying to put this asshole in his place!

Johansson: Is that what you call it Seth? Putting him in his place? Because you almost killed a man over a little sin, he needs help not a fucking bullet between the eyes.

Omega: Sometimes a bullet between the eyes is the only way to help someone, and I had a clean cut shot until you stepped in.

Johansson: Hey, I was originally chasing him down.

Omega: And I was helping you because he was out running you badly.

Johansson: I could have caught him in due time!

Omega: Yeah after I blew out his fucking kneecap.

After that, the car behind them roars to life as the ignition switch gets started. As the headlights come on, both Seth and Mark look back as the tires squeal in the night Upon reaction Seth automatically pushes Mark out of the way and dives into the car hood sideways managing to fly over with minimum damage. As both men lay on the ground Mark looks over at Seth, who by now is breathing hard from the impact.

Johansson: Chalk this one up to lack of focus?

Omega glares and flips Mark off as both men get back to their feet.

Johansson: So what brings you to this edge of town?

Omega: What do I normally come to visit you about?

Johansson: Well we are friends, so I’d hope you’d come visit me for shits and giggles.

Omega: Do you realize how far of a drive it is from Jackson to Philadelphia?

Johansson: Not as long as Philly to Tallahassee.

Omega: Touche Mark. I’ve got the munchies, where is the quickest place to get food?

Johansson: Don’t tell me you started that again...

Omega: Okay I won’t, c’mon let’s go get some munchies. And take off that stupid fucking costume...

Mark sighs heavily as he follows Seth back to the familiar Dodge Charger. Seth fires up the engine and the two speed off down the highway.


At a local diner.

Mark and Seth take a seat at a table at the far end of the diner, upon arrival a waitress come and takes their orders respectively. The waitress brings their drinks to them and goes to fill their order. While she is gone the two men begin talking among themselves.

Johansson: Seth, I think you need to get some help. You’re falling back into your old habits, you’re not the same Seth Corleone I formed a friendship with.

Omega: Old habits die hard my friend. If I don’t relax I’m soon going to kill over from heart failure.

Johansson: You can smell the whiskey off your breath, your eyes are bloodshot, and you have a nastier violent streak with less compassion for everyone else!

Omega: I will be fine, I promise.

Johansson: You said that when she died Seth...

Omega: Don’t bring that up Mark that’s the last thing I need to hear right now and you know it.

Seth begins to faze out and notices a beat up old car pulling up outside the diner window. When the car comes to a stop a small blonde gets out of the door before slamming it and running off to a building next door.

That’s Trinity...I know that fucking cunt when I see her.

Johansson: I really thought I kne...

Omega: MARK GET DOWN!

With that Omega flips a table horizontally to shield the two men as the old car that pulled up outside explodes into flames. The windows implode and broken glass scatters about the diner, flames reach all the way to the far back corner of the diner. Upon the flipping of the table both men immediately covered their heads to protect themselves from fallen debris. After the flames die down and the explosion is over the two men uncover their heads and try to stand. Immediately upon standing they both fall back to the ground.

Jesus fuck.

This ringing.

It’s in my ears.

It’s in my head.

Fucking shit...my vision is blurred, I don’t even know where the fuck I am right now.

I think...I’m blacking...out...

Omega falls unconscious on the ground next to Mark. The diner is absolutely trashed. All the tables have been burned, all the glass is broken, the waitress and cook were impaled, and the people eating were either burnt to a crisp or cut to fucking hell. The only smell in the air was that of searing flesh, the sky was turning black in the morning light, and overall the scene looked like a mass genocide.

Fade to black.


???: He should be dead. That fucking epic ass explosion, and it’s obvious he tried to shield his friend from any harm. He’s cut up from broken glass from head to toe, and even some of his clothing is burnt. His friend is fine, he’s out in the truck trying to get some oxygen into his bloodstream. I don’t know how this guy survived, it’s almost as if he is more human than human Chief Smith.

I could hear them. Just barely, but I could hear them.

I saved Mark’s life apparently, and even I didn’t realize I did it.

I can honestly admit I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.

Not even Drew.

???: Who is the one in the car Lieutenant Jones:

Lt. Jones: It’s one of our former partners, a man by the name of Mark Johansson.

Chief Smith: Then this must be his infamous friend, the one who is named Seth Corleone.

Lt. Jones: I thought it was Seth Omega?

Chief Smith: That’s his wrestling name, his real name is Corleone...he’s been in our jail before don’t you remember? Look I am going to go check on Johansson, you stay here with Corleone and make sure he doesn’t fucking die on us. Hell...to be honest I don’t really care if he dies on us, then we can pin this on him and not have to worry about looking for our culprit.

Lt. Jones begins to get some gauze padding and starts cleaning up some of the cuts on Seth’s face. He picks out bits and pieces of glass here and there, throwing them to the side with the other burnt pieces.


Lt. Jones: You’re fucking lucky to be alive...god damn lucky.

Omega: I could say the same thing about you with the amount of alcohol you’ve been using on my forehead.

Jones flinches back and looks down at Omega who is all wet from the water hose they used to put out the flames.

Lt. Jones: Bu-bu-but you just blew up!

Omega: Sit down you stupid shit before you get some cop asshole over here to asking me questions.

Jones sits back down and keeps cleaning the cuts, shaking a bit from fear.

Omega: God damn boy, the man just told you I was alive...what the fuck did you think I was going to do pop up and say “I’m Chucky, wanna play?”

Lt. Jones: Normally when I see a man surrounded by 20 dead bodies he either did it or should be body number 21.

Omega: That’s sound fucking logic. For a policeman that is.

Seth begins to set up behind the table, he shakes his head to try and clear the cobwebs out and begins to stand up before being held back down by the policeman.

Lt. Jones: Are you fucking crazy? You just survived an explosion and now you want to try to walk out of this diner?

Omega: Listen kid, you have two choices either a) you let me walk out of this fucking diner under my own will or b) I kill you and run off making it look like I was kidnapped and you were murdered. Now pick one.

Lt. Jones: Fine, can you at least use the back door?

Omega: Are you sure there isn’t fucking guts and dead bodies covering it?

Lt. Jones: No promises, but you’ll avoid the cops and your car is still parked out back untouched so that would probably be your best bet.

Omega: How do you know what kind of car I drive?

Lt. Jones: We have a whole file on you out in the truck, that’s what police do.

Omega: Fucking pigs, alright I’m out of here.

Seth stands up and goes to walk out of the back door, which is hidden behind what was at one point the kitchen. H begins to walk off before Lieutenant Jones grabs his arm.

Lt. Jones: Wait...one more thing.

Omega: What?

Lt. Jones: How did you survive such an explosion?

Omega: I’ve been stoned for 18 days straight, add that with a blood alcohol level of .10 and I’m sure I was so relaxed I didn’t feel any pain.

Lt. Jones: You’re going to fuck around and kill yourself one of these days.

Omega: That’s the goal...now if you don’t mind.

Lt. Jones: Of course, carry on about your business.

With that Seth Omega walks out the back door and towards his car.


Meanwhile...

Chief Smith is standing next to Mark Johansson, who is sitting inside of a large black Ford Expedition Truck. Mark has a bit of black soot over his face as well as a couple of rips in his clothing, but other than that he looks relatively unscathed.

Chief Smith: So you’re telling me that the car just blew up with no warning?

Johansson: I’ve said it 15 times, and my story hasn’t changed yet.

Chief Smith: I just want to make sure we have the right story.

Johansson: No, you want to see if you can try to pin this on either one of us. It’s the way you’ve always worked, and it’s the way you always will work.

Chief Smith: Fuck you Johansson, you’re just mad that you weren’t man enough to stick with the force.

Johansson: No, fuck you...you’re just mad that I could have taken your job anytime I wanted it but I didn’t want to deal with the Corruption that en lies within the job!

Chief Smith looks away for a brief moment, he then backs away from the door where Johansson was sitting and walks away to go back into the diner.

Chief Smith: You’re free to go Mark...for now anyways.

Johansson slides out of the passenger seat and stands onto the sidewalk. In the distance he can faintly hear the roaring of an engine, he looks over to the right and the noise gets louder. He begins walking to the edge of the sidewalk only to see Seth Omega’s black Dodge Charger turn the corner and speed off in the distance.

Johansson: That son of a bitch...

As he watches Omega speed off into the distance he hears guns cocked directly behind him.

Chief Smith: Don’t move Johansson, you’re coming with us for questioning.


At the church of Dunnwood.

Inside of the church of Dunnwood the pews are filled with the followers of the church, about 20 or so people all sitting in the front two rows of the ran down abandoned church. The windows are stained, and somewhat cracked. The Church has an older Roman Catholic feel to it, as the walls are a grungy off white, and the pews are a stained cherry wood. Dunnwood walks out from the back and stands at the podium to address his followers.

Dunnwood: My loyal follows, welcome to the Church of Dunnwood...I am your second cumming himself Dunnwood.

The crowd sits in silence in sheer amazement of their leader.

Dunnwood: We have very important matters to discuss, including a very special hoorah to give to one of our followers.

Trinity giggles among the crowd.

Dunnwood: Aye as many of ye’ know this week we join Jason Roy and Celest’ in holy matrimony. Per’formed by nun other than yer’ vury own Dunnwood!

The followers clap at the announcement.

Dunnwood: Now I have a very special honor to announce, Trinity please stand up.

Trinity stands up at the front of the crowd and smiles a huge smile.

Dunnwood: Trinity here ridded me of my arch nemesis, Seth Omega!

The followers cheer loudly for this announcement.

Dunnwood: She blew the unholy hell out of the boy!

Trinity bows to the followers until the clapping is interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice talking through the open window.

Omega: Especially in the bedroom.

Dunnwood: Wut th’ hell?

A loud explosion is heard from up above as the far glass roof over the confessional booth implodes and glass falls all throughout the confessional. As the glass shatters Seth Omega also falls from the roof into the confessional. As he lands into the confessional Dunnwood takes Trinity into the baptism room. Meanwhile the followers reach under their pews and pull out a variety of different weapons, some wielding pistols, other wielding shields and nightsticks, various weapons that had been collected over the years.

Meanwhile in the baptism room.

Dunnwood: How in th’ hell did he survive that? It was all ova’ th’ fuckin’ news!

Trinity begins to breakdown and cry.

Trinity: I don’t know how he survived it! I planted that bomb right where you told me too, now he’s going to fucking kill us all!

Dunnwood: I admit, the boy has snapped...but he wouldn’t kill me this close to War Games!

With that Dunnwood turns on a monitor which shows the worshipping room outside.

Meanwhile in the worshipping room.

Seth Omega pops out of the confessional booth wielding a semi-automatic M4 Colt Commando. The followers with the guns try to take aim at Omega, who is standing in place in front of the confessional.

Omega: C’mon Dunnwood, you don’t think I am that stupid do you?

The followers begin firing shots into the chest of Omega, who keeps walking to them with his gun drawn. Dunnwood gets over the loudspeaker in the room.

Dunnwood: Shoot fer the’ head you nitwits, he’s wearin’ a bullet proof vest!

Before the followers can follow the orders of Dunnwood, Omega pulls back the trigger on his semi-automatic assault gun. Bullets begin to scatter all around the church, some breaking the windows, others hitting the followers and dropping them to the ground upon impact. One man charges at Seth with a knife, before he could get too close Omega extends out the Colt Commando and sticks it right in his chest before pulling the trigger. Automatically 15 shots go through the man’s chest, and in the process spreading his intestines, his liver, and several other parts of his internal organs all over the church.

Omega: You stupid son of a bitch, you don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.

With that Omega picks up the knife and looks around at the last three followers that are left. Out of the three of them only one of them has a pistol, and he is flanked by the other two who are wielding Riot Control Assault shields.

Alright Seth...you’re going to have to plan this carefully.

Ready...

Steady...

GO!

With that Omega throws the knife he just picked up towards the three followers, it sticks firmly in the wall avoiding all three of the men.

Dunnwood: Ha...you missed you stupid fuck!

Omega: Or did I?

A loud crack comes from the ceiling as the chandelier begins to pull down from the ceiling. When Seth threw the knife he cut the two ropes closest to him with it before sticking it in the wall.

Dunnwood: Wut’ do ya’ mean you Wop Bastard?

The chandelier cracks again and breaks free, swinging directly from the ceiling and hitting the three followers point blank. As the chandelier hits the wall a final surge of electricity blasts through the lighting fixture and blows out all the light bulbs.

Omega: If the the mass and acceleration didn’t kill them then the power surge directly after did kill them.

Dunnwood: Ah shit...

With that Seth grabs the knife out of the wall and charges into the baptism room door full speed, knocking it off it’s hinges. As the wood shatters and the door breaks Trinity screams and clings onto Dunnwood. Omega gets right up in Dunnwood’s face and looks him directly in the eyes. Trinity shakes as she holds the arm of Dunnwood, who doesn’t even notice the girl right next to him.

Dunnwood: It’s a shame the cunt didn’t kill ye’, I’d of figured an explosion would kill any’on including a fat Italian prick.

Omega: You’re fucking lucky Dunnwood. If I didn’t need you for War Games I would scatter your face all over this wall and burn this place to the fucking ground.

Dunnwood: What happened to ye’ being the bad guy Sethy?

Omega: Oh...but I am the bad guy.

With that Seth grabs Trinity and runs the large knife over her throat causing blood to splatter all over Dunnwood. He pushes her back first into Dunnwood before he pulls out his pistol and shoves it right into the open hole into her throat. He pushes the gun deepers into her windpipe as the sheer agony spreads over her face. Her eyes of fear lock onto the cold, uncaring eyes of Seth Omega. Dunnwood looks down with a look of sickness as the blood drips from the barrel down Trinity’s body and onto Dunnwood’s shoes.

Dunnwood: For fucks sake Seth have mercy!

Seth pulls the trigger which blows out the back of Trinity’s skull and scatters her brain matter, and a ton of blood all over Dunnwood.

Omega: Death is a mercy.

Dunnwood: Ya’ rly think ya accomplis’ anything? I have several mor’ followers, and Trinity was jus’ a whor’.

Omega: Now she’s a beautiful decoration...don’t push me faggot, I’ll make you into one soon enough.

Seth points his pistol up in the air and shoots out the lightbulb. As Dunnwood scrambles in the dark to reach the worshipping room, Omega takes the back door out and disappears from the church.

Dunnwood: Ah that sonofabitch fuckin’ wrecked my church!

The loud roar of Omega’s car outside fills the church with sound as Dunnwood is left with the sheer carnage.

The well-lit yet humble office of J. Wroland Williams is where we begin. Williams is sitting behind his desk, fiddling with a pen, waiting for a few people to walk through the door in front of him. He’s hoping to hear the news he’s been waiting for. If he does, that means that business in FMW will pick up VERY quickly. He smiles slyly at this thought.

Williams: That would be very nice to see. Only good can come from it, if true…

Williams puts the pen down, and reflects on this past episode of Gold Standard Wrestling’s television show, Slaughter. He doesn’t put much thought into the action that took place; rather, he’s concentrating—happily—on the attendance at the show. Ratings for that episode of Slaughter were up only slightly. However, attendance went up by forty-five percent from the last episode. On top of that, most of the talk between the fans was of Jeff Whitt and FMW.

A knock on the door disrupts Williams’s thoughts. He stands up, straightens his suit out, and takes a deep breath.

Williams: Come in.

The door swings open rather freely, and in walks Oliver Twitch. Williams’s expression sours. Not at all the person he was expecting. Twitch has, as usual, a half-crazed, half smug smile on his face, dark hair unkempt. While Williams can’t guess the specifics of what Twitch is here for, he can assume that it’s about Jeff Whitt and the FMW invasion.

Williams: How nice for you to stop by. How can I help you, Oliver?

Twitch: It’s Twitch, and you know it. Don’t give me that “Oliver” bullshit. Did you watch that Ammunition show of FMW’s?

Williams (sighs): Yes, yes I did.

And he was not entirely impressed by Whitt’s performance on Ammunition. He lost to some no-name rookie. Got cheated, too. Normally, Jeff can avoid that sort of silliness. Not this time, though. In Williams’s mind, it made GSW look bad. Not horrible, but certainly not good.

Twitch: Then you saw your boy lose, right?

Williams: Indeed.

Twitch: And did you see him help out some FMW guys on that show?

Williams: Yes.

Twitch laughs darkly.

Twitch: And that’s the guy you all chose to lead us. Not only can he not beat a rookie—a rookie!—but then he turns around and helps out the opposition! What is this?

Twitch shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. He looks up into Williams’s eyes.

Twitch: I told you I was the one for this mission. I wouldn’t have bothered helping out the men I’m sent to destroy.

Williams: Yes, I know you wouldn’t have. And then you would’ve been kicked swiftly out of the company, and we would’ve failed. Tell me, Oliver, do you know why he helped out the other Ammunition guys take out Calvin Carter?

Twitch: Can’t say I do, or that I care. All that matters is that he’s clearly not got GSW first in his heart.

Williams laughs now. Twitch eyeballs him, puzzled.

Twitch: What was that about, “boss?”

Williams: He does, indeed, have GSW first above everything else. He helped on that attack because I told him to.

The eyes begin to bulge out of Twitch’s head.

Twitch: Are you fucking serious?! You told that little shit to help FMW?! You TOLD him to help those fuckers on Ammunition?!

Williams: First off, curse at me again, and that’ll be two paychecks you don’t get. Secondly, yes, I did. It’s a temporary thing. I couldn’t afford—WE can’t afford—to have him getting kicked out or destroyed within his first week of working there. If he works nicely with his new friends over there for a little bit, they won’t try to kill him, and management won’t fire him. And so far, it seems to have worked.

Twitch: …

Williams: There’s a reason I’m the boss, you know.

Twitch: Mainly because you once had the money.

Williams: Yes, and because I see the problems most of you don’t, and I know how to deal with them. What would’ve happened had Jeff been sent home after his first show?

Twitch: You would’ve sent me.

Williams: Possibly, but it wouldn’t have mattered. They wouldn’t have let you work in FMW. After seeing that one GSW worker tried shamelessly to get everyone there to hate him, anyone else affiliated with GSW wouldn’t have gotten through the door.

Twitch has nothing to say. He sees the logic behind the argument, and thus stays quiet. Williams seems proud to have shut him up; Twitch always has something to say, so to get him to stop talking is a feat unto its own. Williams straightens a stack of papers on his desk, before looking back at Twitch.

Williams: You can be off, now. Not like you should’ve been here in the first place.

Twitch: No, I think I’ll wait for your meeting with Jeff.

Williams scowls. Apart from being rather mouthy towards management, Twitch always had knack for finding things out. This often led to being mouthy at said management. ‘It’s a vicious cycle,’ Williams thinks, before sighing.

Williams: I’m afraid I need you to leave, Oliver. I can’t have you trying to ruin this simple meeting with your own agenda.

Twitch: Ah, c’mon, Jay! All I want to do is tell him how poorly of a job he did at FMW!

Williams (agitated): I know. That’s the issue. Get out, now.

Twitch: You never were much fun. And you’re making a mistake with this kid.

Williams: For the love of Christ, would you shut up and get out!

???: This a bad time?

???: Nah, Jeff, just a bad seed talkin’ to the boss.

Williams and Twitch turn to the door. Jeff Whitt and Crusoe are standing there, both looking slightly amused at Twitch getting yelled at. Both are wearing Gold Standard Wrestling shirts, emblazened with the GSW logo Whitt is wearing a very shiny gold belt around his waist: the Gold Standard Florida Championship. Twitch’s expression turns to one of anger, while Williams tries to calm himself down.

Williams: Finally, the people I wanted to talk to. Like I said, Oliver, you can go now.

Twitch shoots a dirty look at Williams, before begrudgingly heading for the door. Whitt and Crusoe move out of the way, allowing Twitch to exit. Before he does, he whispers a “Fuck you” to the two men, before slamming the door shut and leaving. Williams sighs deeply.

Williams: I thought you two would never turn up.

Whitt: Never understood why you hired that guy.

Crusoe: He’s a draw, plain an’ simple. Might not like ‘im, but he’s good at what he does, an’ he brings in fans.

Williams: Exactly. Although, thanks to your performance at FMW, you did, too.

This is very true. Ratings did not go up by much for GSW’s show Slaughter, shown regularly in the South-and-Central Florida area, but ticket sales were higher than they had been in months. The audience was crazy at the last show, and they only got crazier when Whitt stepped through the curtain, wearing the Florida Championship proudly around his waist.

Whitt: What can I say? These people know what’s up, and they appreciate it.

Crusoe: ‘Fore we get too into this, what the hell was Twitch doin’ here?

Williams: The usual. Moaning about the fact that Jeff shouldn’t be at FMW.

Whitt: Figures. He hates me.

Williams: I know. But you’ll have to learn to work with him. He will be joining you in the near future over at Full Metal Wrestling.

Whitt grumbles a bit over this.

Whitt: If he decides to mess with me over there, I will take him out.

Crusoe: Easy, chief. He ain’t there now, we ain’t got to worry about it until it happens. Keep your cool.

Williams: Speaking of FMW, your showing was, let’s face it, not that great.

Jeff rolls his eyes. He’s been hearing this from some of the other GSW guys, and it’s really getting on his nerves. He’s actually surprised he hasn’t snapped on someone yet for it.

Whitt: The Riddle guy cheated, all right? I had that match won, I dominated that entire bout. Fuck, go ask Chris Austin. He’ll tell you. Had Riddler Lite not grabbed my tights, we wouldn’t be talking about this.

Williams: Nevertheless, you need to do better. We need you to lead this, and if you’re not winning, it makes us look bad. And with our inside guy losing at the show, we really didn’t have a good night at all.

Crusoe: Granted, though, it was his firs’ match at FMW. This Catalyst pay-per-view will go much better.

Whitt: Yeah. I got two no-names—

Williams: You had a no-name rookie at the last show.

Whitt: —true, but this is a pay-per-view. I have to do my best at these types of shows. And I do. You know this, boss.

Williams grins a bit.

Williams: I guess I do. Now, our inside man, have you talked to him yet?

Crusoe: Spoke to him before tha last show, spoke to him on the phone a few days ago. He’s ready. He’s very ready.

Williams: Good! Hopefully, Catalyst goes smoothly. Because, gentlemen…

Williams moves from behind his desk, walking slowly towards the two men. He gets in front of them, and places a hand on each of them, one on Whitt’s shoulder, one on Crusoe’s. Williams almost looks like a sharp-dressed football coach here.

Williams: …Catalyst is where we need to make our mark. Catalyst is the night where GSW truly arrives at Full Metal Wrestling. We need you and our friend to walk away victorious tonight. You being a GSW champ now (Whitt smacks his belt once) need to win. Not just wrestle well, but win.

Whitt: I will. Trust me, boss, I will.

Williams: Good. If everything goes according to plan…FMW will have no choice but to realize the strength that Gold Standard Wrestling has.

Crusoe: We’ll make sure it happens, Mr. Williams.

Williams: I hope so. Jeff, make us proud. Crusoe, make sure he makes us proud. And then everything will fall into place.

The trio shares a sly grin, thinking about what the future holds for GSW.

Williams: That is all. Now, get outta here, go prepare for your match.

Whitt: Yes, sir!

Whitt and Williams shake hands; Crusoe does the same with the boss. The two head for the door, opening it and walking out as the screen fades to black.

He hated this. Patrolling the streets alone is a hallow feeling. When you become so accustomed to having a partner after so many years, it’s simply a different vibe. The loneliness is striking. Sure, he’ll have a new partner soon, but he’ll never fill the gaping hole left from losing a friend. Since Nathaniel’s death, Marcus has felt different emotions. He often wonders if he had been too cold around him, or made him feel bad. There’s a lot he wishes he could say, but never will. Still, Marcus realises that there’s no point in dwelling on the past. He is an officer of the law. These things happen. It is his own prerogative to grit his teeth and bear it. He knows what his primary concern should be; finding and catching the man responsible. Like the rest of his unit, he’s not in doubt of his prime suspect for a moment. Yet on this night, with its blinding darkness and cold breezes, unlike any other, he had a distinct feeling in his gut.

Is it doubt? In the shock of his friends death, is he perhaps taking the easy way out, by blaming their tormentor, when the answer isn’t so straightforward? No. This feeling isn’t doubt, he is positive of that. And yet still some most unusual feeling hangs over him, but he can’t pinpoint what it is. He maintains his rigid posture and pace nonetheless. He refuses to make his discomfort visible, until he hears a noise like a swish between him, and he swivels on the spot, his hand immediately clutching his weapon in its holster. All of a sudden his nerves were showing, and the feeling in his gut became apparent; he feels like he’s being followed. In his current mental state in concurrence with recent events, now is not the time for feeling paranoid.

After another moment of staring at nothing, Marcus continues en route. It’s all in his mind, he tells himself, and loosens the grip on his weapon. But soon after, another swish is heard, and he is sure of it this time. He reaches a conclusion quickly.

“It’s him...”

His hand automatically returns to its original position, with a grip around his weapon. His eyes darted from side to side, more coolly and calculated than last time. He pivots on the spot, looking around the street for some sign of life. He feels a distinct chill as the breeze kicks up a notch, but he refused to let it distract. His focus is unrelenting, and his weapon is now drawn. His senses and awareness have increased a degree, now that his mind is focused. Determination is the overpowering emotion inside of him now.

For the briefest of moments, he feels like he can spot the man he’s looking for behind a bench on the street. He takes a step forward in its direction.

“I KNOW IT’S YOU, FUCKER! JUST COME OUT HERE SO WE CAN SETTLE THIS RIGHT NOW!”

Marcus takes another confident stride forward, but he’s cut short by a peculiar sound from behind him. It sounded almost like a... Giggle: an innocent, childish giggle, ringing in his ears now, tearing apart his confidence levels. Is there someone else here? An accomplice perhaps? How could somebody else pass him undetected? He is unnerved now, and his attention has now turned to this sound.

He hears it again, and much to his ire, it comes from behind him. His heartbeat increases, as endless possibilities all run through his mind at once. He remains vigilant, prevent panic from taking over, but the beads of sweat are forming on his brow. Try as he might, the sound is too difficult to pinpoint. Another swish is heard, followed by something thrown in his direction. An object hits the floor at his feet with a tink.

Whatever it was that landed at his feet, he’ll never know. One second was a sufficient amount of time to distract him. In a heartbeat, his assailant was on him before he could realise. One swift strike to his temple left him reeling, and his feet gave in to the force pulling them from beneath him. His back struck the concrete, and the attacker was mounted on his chest before he was even aware of this. He could feel the blade against the hairs on his neck, gently shaving them almost. Once his body had completed relaying the message to the brain that he’d struck the ground, his eyes opened again, his vision was obscured by the ends of two fiery ponytails, the hair all in his eyes, almost covering his face, her body pressed close to his. One second was all it took. In one instant he’d been transformed from a cool-headed cop to a frightened fool.

Time seemed to double speed in that one instant, and in the next, feels likes it’s dropped to half speed. He lay there, pinned to the floor, able to feel each of her cool breaths against his face. Her heart is racing as fast as his. She draws back her head, and his vision is restored. The blade moves up slowly from his neck to his cheek almost automatically, like her hand was separate from her body. The hand presses the blade against the cheek, and releases just as the skin is pierced. A smile creeps onto her face, almost forcing its way through, like she can’t help enjoy the site of red.

Her second hand moves like the first; as if it were a separate entity. It’s like watching an innocent person with the hands of a killer attached, like they’re simply beyond her control, that they do as they please. This hand reaches behind her, and once it returns, is holding a large weapon in it; a revolver. It’s only now Marcus realises his hands are empty, his own weapon long since abandoned him. He feels completely overpowered, like his body has been completely cut from his body where she sits. He can only gaze on, as the two lethal hands go about their actions as a woman watches on.

The hand points the weapon between his eyes. Her body leans back, as if she is resisting, but it was plain to see escape wasn’t coming. He contemplated putting up more of a struggle; maybe that way she’d end it quicker, but the energy seemed to have drained from him. The colour has drained from his face, and the droplets of blood are much plainer to see on his face.

One second was all it took to remove his freedom, leaving him bound and without escape, and one second more was all it took to end it all. A simple squeeze of the trigger, and the deed was most definitely done. A hole is burrowed through the skull, and the blood spatters in all directions. It strikes her face and blouse. There is a silent chuckle, soon followed by a full blown laugh, as she sits on his chest still. She rolls backwards, laughing all the way, kicking her feet, unable to control herself, as it had felt throughout.

A pair of squeaks from the marker, and a cross is formed. The face of officer Marcus Jacobs is now unidentifiable under the black cross covering it. He joins his former street partner in this respect, blotted out with a black cross. Directly above their photos sit three more, one above that, and one more above that.

“Eric, have I ever told you of the complete contempt I hold for women?”

Eric is seated next to the window, gazing outwards, as he does frequently. His eyes look over, with minimal head movement.

“A lot of my precious time has been wasted by women in my life, and it has always been for nothing. And the last thing I need right now is another one fucking me over yet again. She is an unnecessary distraction, yet is seems I may have deprioritise my entire schedule to deal with nuisance. She has become too involved in my business.”

“Couldn’t she be useful? If she’s picking on your targets, couldn’t that help us out? Save us the work?”

“Copycats are not help, Eric. For one, I do not want her sloppy work to have my name on it. I need things to go perfectly. She will have to be dealt with. And two, where is the fun in that?”

“How do you find her then?

“Well simply put, I can’t. I’m confident, however, she will find me in due time. In the meantime we’ll continue as we are, and chase our next target. I expect her to show up there, and we will intercept accordingly.”

“Who next then?”

“From observation I know that Detective Ray and Officer Matsu won’t be pulling late shifts tonight unless they’ve been told otherwise, and Matsu is a key player in the greater scheme of things, so I need him alive for now. This leaves us with the straightforward choice. I fully expect both women to be dealt with tonight.”

“And what if she doesn’t show up tonight?”

“She will, I can assure you. She seems to draw satisfaction from turning my plans on their heads. She’ll be there. For now, we have to prepare ourselves. I don’t know what to expect...”

Christina refused to let her fears stop her leading a normal life, or affect her routine. The walk home isn’t that far, it’s just a few blocks. Now that’s she out on the streets alone, the lift she’d been offered feels much more tempting. Still, she always walks home, and she is a cop, she can’t let the threat of criminals worry her. She’s capable of defending herself anyway. She is walking at a steady pace, but thoughts of Marcus and his untimely death can’t help but to creep into her mind. She remains vigilant, wary of the street corners and alleys.

Both men are in place. The plan is set, and she has just walked into the sight of PX. In the darkness they are fully concealed. They expect her to be suspicious, but it is nothing they are worried about. One concern they do have is how the variable will play in this. That girl. She may be a real spanner in the works tonight. When a plan relies on a wildcard, it adds to the nerves just a little.

Christina crosses the street. She’s closing in fast on where PX intends her to be. He peers from behind the edge of a building on the street opposite. Shadow conceals him still. As she passes an alleyway, the trap is ready to go. PX kicks an idle trash can in front of him, sending it, and its contents, flying. The noise is startling, especially for Christina, who is vaulted into full alert. Her attention focuses directly on the noises’ origins. The moment was sufficient distraction. Eric emerges from the shadows behind, and hooks an arm around her shoulders and neck, the other arm holding the blade to the face.

“Gotcha”

The surprise lasts inside her for only a moment. She drives her elbow back, connecting with his lower ribs, and Eric wheels backwards, clutching his injury. With a sigh, PX draws his weapon in one snapping motion. He had almost expected his partner’s shortcomings. What he wasn’t expecting however, were his own. He aimed with careful precision, but never got the opportunity to fire, as his weapon is removed from his hand by a flying boot. He yelped and clutched his hand. His weapon is picked out of the hair by the soft hand of the boot’s owner. Here she is, right on time. What PX wasn’t expecting was he himself to be attacked, or indeed, sneaked up on. She hadn’t made a sound. It was like she appeared on the wind. She walks powerfully across the street, weapon raised. Christina is in the process of drawing her own weapon meanwhile, but one calculated shot leaves her quickly dispossessed. She is given no time to react. She is quick and lethal; it takes her no time to square up a shot. One explosion from the barrel later, and the blood is pouring from Christina’s head, spraying Eric in the process.

The Girl squeals with laughter. She is over the moon with her efforts. Eric wipes blood off of himself and tries to regroup, but he’s staring down the barrel of the revolver she wields with deadly precision. The weapon steadies as her laughter eases. She looks to be holding it in, trying to stifle it now as she takes aim at Eric, who has no idea what to do, much like PX across the street. She squeezes the trigger and Eric squeezes his eyes shut. Nothing happens other than the click of the hammer, and the laughter bursts out again. She knew the chamber was empty, as did PX. He had loaded two bullets into it; One for each girl. She tosses the weapon back to PX and approaches the shaking Eric.

Eric is afraid. He is far more frightened now than when he’d first met PX. She is a picture of demonism, with her flaming red hair flowing, her clothes still stained in blood, and her laugh sends chills through his body. She leans forward to Eric as he recoils in terror. She taps his face with a finger, and he stares into her fearsome blue eyes. She plants a peck on his nose, turns and hops across the street to PX as he loads a bullet into his weapon.

She approaches with a keen smile, in contrast to PX’s expression of focus. He allows her to get close. She grinds to a halt just in front of him, all smiles. PX allows the moment of motionless to exist, before swinging an arm at her. He is completely telegraphed, as she dips underneath and strikes him in the gut. She strikes with a force that should be beyond the capabilities of her body, as PX is sent back into the wall behind him. She giggles and takes a little skip over to him, standing over him. He feels her delicate hands stroke the coarseness of his jaw. She draws his face upward, to gaze into his eyes. She looks to lean in to him. PX gets luckier this time, grabbing her and pushing her front first into the wall, placing the weapon against her head. She laughs out again as she’s bested in her brief lapse.

“Who the fuck are you? Tell me now. Why do you insist in getting in my way, destroying my targets and all my god damn fun?”

She laughs again. He spins her on the spot, to stare into her eyes, and place the barrel between them.

“I’m helping.”

“No you’re not. You are in my way. You are a nuisance. I don’t require your help. Stay out of my way, please.”

“But I want to help you...”

“Occupy yourself some other way then. You’re not needed here.”

“But I want to help YOU...”

“Help somebody else then! If I catch you in my affairs again, I won’t hesitate with the bullet. I am giving you this one chance to walk away.”

She gazes with a most unusual look into his eyes. She seems happy to sit and stare all night if it were possible. A shot to his elbow is all it took to break his grip. She slipped from his grasp easily. It seems like she could have broke his grip at any point. She pops up behind him. PX spins around, aims, and pulls the trigger. Too slow. She had redirected his arm before he had even realised. She has a powerful grip on his arm, smiling all along. It’s overpowering almost. She is too quick for him, and her strength is unnatural.

“But I want YOU. I want to be just like YOU. I love you...”

The words struck PX harder than any physical blows were capable of. He is stunned beyond comprehension. He can only stare blankly at her dumb smile. She leans in and kisses him. Overcome with glee, she emits a high falsetto, and unintelligible noise. She giggles, laughs and blushes, emotions pour through her. She releases her grip, and wheels away in jubilation, running into the darkness, out of sight but certainly not out of mind. Once again, a profound mark has been left.

“Fuck my fucking luck.”

Billy: Wut the hell do ya’ mean “She just went crazy”?! Wut happened in there?

Tonight was going to be a long night, Billy McKenzie could feel it. The day had already taken a turn for the worse in the early hours of the morning. The first sign of a troubling day came in the lavatory of the rented hotel room. The session on the toilet began as easy going as could be, Billy McKenzie managing to find the time to sit back and read a magazine whilst he did his business. All was well and good until he realized there was not a single sheet of toilet paper left at his disposal. He remembered taking one good look at the image of some busty bikini clad woman on the page he was reading, before using the uncomfortable surface to wipe the mess he had left on his rear. Whilst undesirable, the worse part came when the toilet became blocked.

Twenty four hours before Catalyst, and TyranT knew the morning was just an early warning of what was to come. Many hours had passed since then, the day slowly coming towards its end.

Clad in a business suit and his old auburn coat, Billy McKenzie walked with significant presence amongst the doctors and nurses of a private hospital as they made their way to their destination. With age beginning to catch up, it wasn’t uncommon for the old veteran to make frequent visits to such locations, but on this day he was here for another purpose. The hour was late, the private ward mostly derelict save for those that marched down the corridor towards the resting place of a former FMW superstar. From where he walked, Billy could hear a hellish racket coming from the room Dr. Steven’s led him towards. The sound of glass breaking, steel crashing against plaster, echoes of destruction. After the accident this morning, it seemed the day had been going smoothly until now.

Less then forty five minutes ago, Billy had been ready to call it a night, driving his custom painted Peterbilt towards his rented hotel room after two casual drinks in a bar, knowing by now the staff would have dealt with the mess he left for them. He had hoped to settle his nerves with what could prove to be his greatest challenge in fighting Skyler Striker and John Derrick, hence a few drinks were needed to calm the storm within McKenzie‘s gullet. The match was only tomorrow, and Billy McKenzie had spent many weeks before this day, trying to work his aged figure into the best shape he could manage. It had been hard work, so much more difficult then it used to be. Though his chest was somewhat chiselled, the rounded stomach remained with him always. TyranT was barely half the man he used to be physically… but mentally he had never been stronger.

The old timer FMW Champion thought he was more then ready for what lay ahead of him, that was until a phone call ago, and all that strengthened mentality for the match up was all but completely drained when his daughter was mentioned by Dr. Stevens on the other side of the phone.

Something had happened with Faith, and as always it was up to her old man to put right what had probably gone wrong. He didn’t need this, not now, not before the most important title defence of his career. Billy had a feeling this moment had been planned, that this would be Faith getting back at him after Deathrow, after beating down on John Derrick, after everything since he managed to gain the FMW championship, pushing Faith aside every step of the way.

Now Billy McKenzie was in a private hospital, the location where Faith had started to cause some problems as the doctors had reluctantly described over the mobile phone. Billy felt his old bones starting to ache with anxiety as he walked along side the staff present for the night in the facility. He really should have seen this coming.

Billy: She done this before? Ah’ thought she came ‘ere all the time!

Stevens: Your daughter has visited this place on a regular basis. She helps fund the treatments of the patient she came to see. Normally she just sits and stares at him for some time and then just leaves… but… today.

Billy: Faith always has to choose the best day to go ape shit don’t she?

McKenzie’s tone was low and weary, his patience and his nerves slowly creeping up to wear him down. The large wrestler watched as Dr. Stevens and his colleagues approached the door where the noise came from. Two nurses, one male and female stood either side of the door as Stevens looked to Billy.

Stevens: You need to calm her down, she has wrecked special equipment, and we expect to see the damage she caused paid for. You are fortunate I decided to contact you instead of the police on this very sensitive situation.

Billy: An’ yer’ lucky yer’ wearin’ glasses PunK, ‘cause Ah’ normally lose mah’ temper when assholes speak to me like that. Do so again an’ Ah’ will smash ya’ damn face in, glasses or not… Understand?

Dr. Stevens to his credit managed to stand his ground, keeping a stern expression as he looked up at the large wrestler. Like all good doctors, he remained smart and dared not to test the TyranT any further. He merely stood aside and allowed for TyranT to pass him by as he approached the door, hearing more glass smash, as the sound of broken shards clattered against the ground in the aftermath. Billy McKenzie took one deep breathe, and pushed on the door.

The door opened with a slight creak, it seemed to bring a silence to whatever carnage was being wrought beyond the door. Billy had view of the room now, his brows turning into a frown as he looked at his daughter. Faith stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide and fierce. Her knuckles were stained red, as well as her jaw. Apart from the blood, the damaged hands and the bent steel pole gripped tightly in her hands, Faith seemed her normal self beyond the glare. Billy was familiar with the look in her eyes however. It was one he had not seen in some years, nor was it a look he desired. Though no sound escaped her, the mute breathed heavily, eyes unblinking, staring right into Billy McKenzie’s core. To say the room had been trashed was an understatement.

The walls shown a considerable amount of damage were items and apparatus had been flung hard against the hard surface. The ground was made up of medical reports and charts, scattered in a mess and littered around. Medical equipment lay smashed and shattered in the corners of the room, the window to the outside shattered with broken shards of glass mixed in amongst the paper on the floor. Whilst there was carnage all around the room, Billy McKenzie took note of the bed on the far side. Unlike the rest of the room, it was unscathed by Faith’s madness. The covers were undisturbed, the medical equipment at the bedside left untouched.

A man lay asleep within the bed, the covers concealing him from the chest down as a drip was attached to his wrist. To say Billy McKenzie knew the man would not be a total lie. Though last he saw the man, he didn’t bear a short shaggy beard, nor was his hair so unkempt. The man had been at least a little more lively then he had been now, at least before Deathrow.

Billy: Ah’ was always wonderin’ why ya’ came here so much. Ah’ didn’t know ya’ held VanGuard in such high regard.

Billy spoke out, looking as VanGuard lay comatose in the hospital bed. Billy was unsure what he said wrong when he turned to look at his daughter, but he could see tears welling up in her eyes. Her bloodied knuckles turned near white when she grasped the steel bar tighter within her hands as her whole body shook with tension and anger. It was all Billy could do to sway to the side when the steel rod clattered hard against the door he stood by. The sudden movement kept him off balance when he managed to evade the projectile, in that time, Faith was already pushing past him into the corridor. Billy forgot just how fast his daughter could move when she wanted to. Even on a good day he would not have been able to stop her getting by.

The Nurses and Doctors alike stood no chance, Dr. Stevens being the first to go down with a heavy shove as Faith went past him. A nurse tried to grasp at her but wrapped his arms around nothing but air before accidentally stumbling into a female nurse. Faith slid low in her dash, bypassing all the medical staff before racing off down the corridor. Dr. Stevens swore out loud as he scrambled up to his feet.

Stevens: Damn it! Get her!

Billy: No… let her go.

[color=white]Billy shouted out, standing within VanGuard’s personal ward. He stood with his arms folded, glaring at the unconscious man before looking to Dr. Stevens.

Billy: Ya’ ain’t gonna’ catch her. She got outta’ an asylum, doubt this place is gonna’ be any trouble for her.

Stevens: Mr McKenzie, you should do something about your daughter, she is clearly in distress! Look at the mess she has made here! If she is still in such a state when she goes outside she could hurt someone… even herself!

Billy: It’s out of mah’ hands. She’ll be found when she wants to be found. What Ah’ wanna’ know right now, is what happened to VanGuard? Ah’ bet this sudden tantrum from Faith might have a lil’ something to do with him… How long has he been like this?

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

[Hours earlier]

VanGuard: And just how in the hell do you expect me to climb up there with my leg the way it is?

Faith could only respond with a shrug, keeping a bland expression as she sat upon a large white wall, at least eight foot off the ground. She let her legs dangle as she supported herself by pressing her hands down against the top of the wall, peering down upon VanGuard who glanced around for a means to ascend it. Luckily the wall was old, and some of the structure had lost its integrity as bricks were chipped away in certain parts, leaving enough room for VanGuard to get a foothold and begin climbing. His progress was slow but steady, his leg clearly giving him some trouble today. Faith didn’t watch, her focus was on the abandoned structure beyond the perimeter of the wall. There was an old psychiatric facility no more then two hundred yards away, a place that held significance to Faith as she looked upon the old building.

Windows had been boarded up as autumn leaves took dominance over the asylum grounds, tangled up in weeds that had long taken over the garden area. Though derelict, the building was still in fair condition. It was only six years ago that it had been closed down, Faith had left the facility long before then when she was young. It was the first location she was taken too when she was still a little girl, when it was apparent that she had some problems. Her memories of the place were interrupted by the grunts and strains of VanGuard as he managed to sit himself down next to Faith. His brow glistened with sweat as the man breathed heavily, clearly having to make all the more effort with his injured leg.

VanGuard: Fuckin’ hell. I have no idea how I’m going to get down from here! I’ll have to call a damn fire truck or something.

Even now he frowned in clear discomfort, favouring the limb with one of his hands as he glanced to Faith before looking upon the same building.

VanGuard: This place mean something to you?

Faith: … Yeah…

VanGuard: You still feelin’ pissed off about Corruption.

Faith: … Could say that.

VanGuard: Guess you found out about TyranT messing up your match with Skyler Striker. For what its worth though Faith, I think you would have taken him down that night, even without the old man’s help. You looked in good form. Striker taught you well enough, but I think you’ve managed to get beyond him now.

Faith: … I was more concerned about John. About what TyranT did to him, what he made watch.

VanGuard: And then there’s what happened afterwards. TyranT is becoming a serious problem. You’re going to have to confront him soon, or this is only going to get worse. He ain’t the same man since he took that belt. You can no longer rely on him anymore, he’s out there for himself. You know what you have to do.

Faith: … I know. I just… I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t fight my father, I don‘t know if its in me to challenge him.

VanGuard: You can do it Faith. You’re capable of doing anything, you always have been.

???: Faith!… Faith! We need to talk!

Faith glanced to her side, noticing a casually dressed blonde approaching. She walked on the pavement alongside the tall wall as she made her way towards were Faith and VanGuard sat on the wall. Faith couldn’t help but frown as she looked upon the woman. Faith knew who she was, and managed a small smile to see Chloe, VanGuard’s girlfriend. It had been a long time since she had seen her. Looking back, Faith realized she hadn’t seen her at all since Deathrow. Her memories of her were fond ones, recalling how much Chloe helped her after she had been badly drugged some days before Deathrow. Though Faith smiled in greetings, Chloe could only return a glare, her lip quivering as Faith noticed streaks down her eyes were Chloe had previously been crying.

Chloe: Wipe that smile off your face and get down here! I need you to listen to me!

Faith could only express bewilderment on the sudden outburst, taken off guard by the hostility from a woman she considered a friend. Faith turned to Vanguard… but he was no longer upon the wall anymore. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. Faith looked behind her, hoping he hadn’t fallen off the wall, but he was not on the ground. Faith wondered where the hell he managed to head off too without her even knowing. Given how much he struggled to climb the wall in the first place, he certainly had moved quickly to get out of sight when Chloe arrived.

Chloe: Get down here now!

Chloe shouted out, gathering Faith’s attention as she looked down, before reluctantly jumping down to ground level. She landed in a low crouch before standing tall, still letting her eyes wander to see where VanGuard was, that was until Chloe fronted her, her posture aggressive.

Chloe: I’ve been looking for you for a long time now! I came here to tell you what I’ve been trying to tell you over the past few months!

Faith frowned now, not appreciating the hostility from Chloe, wondering where this sudden rage was coming from. She let her speak, feeling she owed her that much for the assistance Chloe gave her before Deathrow. Though there was only so much she would take from Chloe if such an attitude continued, whether she was VanGuard’s girlfriend or not.

Chloe: I want you to stay away from VanGuard! Do you hear me?! I don’t want you funding his treatments anymore, I don’t want you coming to visit him! I want you to stay the hell away from him, and I want you to stay the hell away from me! It’s your fault he’s the way he is! I want you out of what little is left of his fucking life!

Chloe’s resolve faltered the more she spoke, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as she sobbed. Faith looked at her confused, even angry that she would bring this up. Faith was investing a heavy amount of her payroll into VanGuard, looking to see him get better again, to see him walk so he might compete again. Faith accepted his injury was her fault, but she was doing something about it. Faith shook her head, she wished she had some way to argue her point with Chloe, but her curse of silence kept her from making any kind of response. Faith looked around to see if VanGuard was around, if this was some kind of prank. He was clearly no longer in the area.

Chloe: Look at me dammit! You stay away from us! We were happy before you came into our life! So just stay the hell away!

Chloe shouted out, going as far as to push Faith. For someone who spent most of their time pushing pens, Chloe had enough strength to send Faith stumbling back. Faith didn’t show any aggression however, she kept her arms lowered, holding up no guard. She could only look at Chloe as the woman broke down into tears, turning and rushing away in the other direction. Faith was left standing alone outside the old asylum… something wasn’t right, something was terribly wrong with what just happened. Faith knew she would have to chase VanGuard down to get some answers from him.

Faith: … What the hell is going on?

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

[Some time later]

Faith spent the next few hours searching for VanGuard. She used her mobile to text him, one of the few ways she had to contact the former FMW star. Despite her attempts, she received no response. Faith even tried to call VanGuard despite being mute, hoping she would at least hear him answer. Faith’s hopes were lifted when a click sounded out, but it wasn’t VanGuard that spoke, much to her disappointment. A voice would respond, informing her that the number wasn’t recognized. The situation was beginning to get to Faith, she needed to speak to VanGuard immediately about Chloe. There was clearly something going on between them, and Faith knew she had to get to the bottom of it. Why would Chloe become so aggressive to her after all this time?

Faith only had one real lead left to follow in her search, and that was to go to any location she might have met VanGuard at. Faith visited the café’s she and VanGuard sometimes frequented, walked into a few bars the two sometimes shared a few drinks within after one of the long FMW shows. Faith even went to certain area’s VanGuard spoke of going to with Chloe. There was nothing. All Faith had left was the private hospital, knowing VanGuard would visit the place to have his leg checked and receive his treatments. She wondered however if he would even be present at such a location in the late hours of the afternoon. His appointments came during midday. Knowing of no other location to go to, Faith made one last desperate effort to find him.

The hour was starting to get a little late, the sun casting an orange glow over the private medical centre when Faith arrived at the hospital. It would be the last place she checked before she would give up her search, Faith was tired of running around after a man who normally could barely walk at the best of times. She was no more then fifty yards away from the facility when she noticed a figure hobble past the front window in the reception area. Though she didn’t see the face, she knew the shape, build and clothing style of the individual.

VanGuard.

Faith picked up her pace, rushing to the front door and brushing past patients in her haste. Faith entered the reception area, managing to catch the same figure going through a door at the far end of a corridor. Faith began to walk, glancing to the reception desk to see a dark haired middle aged woman nod to her.

Woman: You’ve chose a late hour to come by.

Faith didn’t respond, instead she continued on, fresh on the trail of VanGuard, soon passing through the same door. It led into a different wing of the private hospital, and once more Faith just managed to catch a glance of a scruffy man with a terrible limp pressing on before entering one of the rooms that branched off from the corridor. She continued to chase, picking up her pace towards the next location. She stopped dead in her tracks however when the same door VanGuard entered swung open. A familiar blonde walked out of the room, her head down as she wiped her eyes. It was Chloe.

Faith backed herself away, managing to spot an open door to her left. The mute walked into the room just as Chloe turned towards her. Faith kept out of sight, standing in an empty patients room as she listened out for the clop of her footwear against the polished grounds of the corridor. Confident that VanGuard’s girlfriend had passed the room by, Faith spied out to see the back of Chloe walking towards the reception area. Faith then continued back up the corridor, more confused then before. Little time had passed between VanGuard entering the room and Chloe leaving. It made the silent young woman think about what must have gone on between them. For the first time in almost a year, Faith began to feel her nerves getting the better of her. There was something terribly familiar with the location, even though she had never been this far into the private hospital.

Faith approached the door VanGuard had entered, simply watching it for a while. She glanced to the side, looking down the corridor, half expecting to see Chloe walking back up. There was no one there, and with a vending machine near the other end, Faith knew Chloe hadn’t gone to get a drink or a snack, she was not coming back. Delaying herself no longer, Faith pressed her hand against the door, slowly edging it open to peer into the room. It was no different in layout to the one she hid in moments ago, but when she opened the door more, she realized it was occupied, not quite in the way she was expecting.

Though Faith had been silent for the majority of her life, never before had any atmosphere felt so quiet as now. Faith walked into the room, her eyes confused as she looked to the bed in the private hospital room. VanGuard lay upon it, his appearance vastly different to the man she met only hours ago. His face was more gaunt, his nine o’clock shadow was a thin bushy beard whilst his hair was a little overgrown and shaggy. He lay in a blue shirt, his lower body covered with a thin blanket as a drip was attached to his wrist. The former FMW wrestler was unconscious… from what Faith could see, he had been unconscious for some time.

Faith: … What?… No, this… this isn’t right.

Faith could feel her heart thumping against the inside of her chest. The mute shook her head, feeling a great unease in her core as she approached the bed, looking at VanGuard who lay still, untouched. A chart was at the foot of the bed, scheduled times for feeding and changing a man who apparently was in a coma. Faith placed her hand over her mouth, almost feeling as if she could vomit at any time. Something terrible had happened…

VanGuard: Don’t panic. I know this may look and seem terrible, but what you see here really isn’t as bad as it seems.

Faith span around, the voice startling her as she glared at the VanGuard she knew. A man clad in scruffy clothing, half hunched with the bad leg as he used a spare section of the hospital bed to keep himself supported. He looked in pain, but looked more healthy then the man that lay on the bed. Faith froze in place, her eyes wide as VanGuard smiled, glancing at the unconscious man on the bed, looking upon himself.

VanGuard: You’re thinking that you have lost it, that your mind has finally snapped. In a way, yes it has. But you need to look at the bigger picture here, what all of this means, why this all happened in the first place.

Faith: … No. No this isn’t happening. We’ve stuck together since Deathrow.

VanGuard: You already know what happened, you just can’t accept the reality of it, nor could you really accept the responsibility. VanGuard… he never made it out of Deathrow. You walked out on him, when he was at his most venerable, when he was struggling the most, and you weren’t there for him when Syanide came and put the nail in his coffin. Striker didn’t make much of an effort to save him, you didn’t make any. He was left so badly beaten, that he fell into a coma. He’s been like this ever since Deathrow… which brings us to me… or should I say you?

Faith’s eyes were wide, the young mute was both confused and almost terrified as she stared at VanGuard who stood before her, whilst he also lay unconscious on a hospital bed. She took a step back as VanGuard approached, holding his arms up as if to portray that he meant no harm upon his cautious approach. Faith wouldn’t have it, by now she grasped at a section of the spare bed, pulling out a steel bar as she held it up at VanGuard. She could see her arms physically shaking as she grasped the steel, holding it like a weapon.

Faith: … Syanide! You helped drive Syanide away when we were about to fight!… It was the first time I saw you after Deathrow, after what he did to you!

Quote :

10.2
Syanide made a final farewell gesture from over his head in a mocking manner, a laughter escaping from his lips that could be heard all the way down the street. Faith went to press on, not wanting to let him slip away so easily, but VanGuard blocked her path, throwing an arm out like a barricade to stop her in her tracks. It was the first time she managed to look on his face, and immediately Faith could see what Syanide meant by the term corpse given how gaunt and pale VanGuard had become whilst hospitalized.

VanGuard: No you don’t kid. Not unless you wanna’ try and get through me as well.

Faith frowned, agitated by the challenge. But after walking away from VanGuard at death row, having allowed Syanide to beat him down, she dare not challenge him. She owed him that much. The moment Syanide was out of view, VanGuard’s form seemed to slump considerably as he winced, favouring his leg before he hobbled a little.

VanGuard: Syanide… he walked away from the fight because you pulled a knife on him. VanGuard was never there though, that was just me, making sure you didn’t do anything stupid. In a sense, I was born during that situation.

Faith shook her head, she began to understand what was going on. What this version of VanGuard was, but she did not want to accept it, Faith could not accept it.

VanGuard: Didn’t you ever find it strange how it was only the two of us when we spoke together? If Striker or TyranT arrived, I’d always be gone, or somewhere else.

Quote :

11.1
VanGuard: I thought I saw a smile then. I won’t be too long. See if I can’t do anything about this damn brace. Get another hot choc or something if I’m gone longer then I should be.

Faith pulled a face of disgust; she wasn’t exactly enjoying the hot chocolate she had now. Given it took every scrap of cents VanGuard had on him, she endured it so the former wrestler would not be disheartened. She watched as he hobbled away, brushing past others in the busy café to exit through a door which led into the hospital reception area.

Faith frowned when the atmosphere changed again, feeling a sudden silence grow from café itself as once loud voices turned into mere whispers. For a moment, Faith thought she had forgot to take her medication, and this was nothing more than a side effect of her mind turning against her… but it was much worse than that. She felt her hat leave her head, loosening her ponytail in the process as jet black hair fell about her shoulders. Faith looked up sharply as a man sat in front of her were VanGuard was once seated. Her cap was in a gloved hand before being placed in the middle of the table.

TyranT: Ah’ thought Ah’d find yer’ here. Ah’ don’t know wut’ it is with you an’ hospitals.

Faith still shook her head, despite all the evidence of reality in front of her. Though still hobbling, Vanguard walked from his real self upon the bed, leaning against the wall. His leg was getting worse, but despite the pain he managed a smile as he looked to Faith.

VanGuard: Didn’t you ever find it strange how easily I’ve been able to talk to you all this time. How I can almost pick out what is on your mind. You began to know something was wrong then didn’t you… but once more you didn’t want to accept it.

Quote :

11.2
VanGuard: Faith?…

VanGuard called out, as Faith turned to look upon him.

VanGuard: Don’t be afraid of monsters. Alright?

Faith stopped, frowning at VanGuard over such words. She felt a great unease overcome her as she stared at VanGuard for a moment, taken off guard by the words that felt so close to her thoughts and memories. VanGuard merely waved to her, oblivious to any wrong doing. With not another word to be spoken, Faith took her leave, flagging down the first cab she could find before retreating away back to her place… thoughts and memories still fresh on her mind.

Faith: … Shut up… shut up right now!

Faith didn’t want to accept it, she did not want to confess, that the only ally, the only true friend she had this whole time within the FMW, was all just in her own head. She grasped at the sides of her head, each heart beat becoming harder then the last as she began to feel fear and panic within her. VanGuard still remained, a terrible nightmare that wouldn’t go away. Faith was waiting to wake up, to see the man lying in a coma simply vanish from her sight and memory, wishing she was just back up on the wall with VanGuard, looking over old memories. It was only now as she stared at VanGuard favouring his leg that she realized what that meant too. Despite his pain, VanGuard smiled.

VanGuard: Yeah, even this injury has all been a part of it. How the leg feels fine, when you are in good spirits, and how I become in pain the moment you start to get angry or sad.

Medication. Immediately Faith reached for her medication in her pocket. In her haste, she fumbled the small bottle, spilling tablets across the ground as the container popped open upon impact of the ground.

VanGuard: Despite how bad this all feels Faith. Look at what it means! You’ve been alone all this time…

Faith dropped down to her knees, grasping at tablets and pills scattered on the ground, her eyes wide and frantic as she tried to ignore the voice of VanGuard.

VanGuard: Everything I’ve been telling you, it was already in your head. Everything I taught you, in reality you taught yourself. And what is so beautiful about all of this, about this terrible reality, is that you achieved all your success on your own. Skyler Striker never helped you, John Derrick simply wants to use you, and TyranT stopped caring about you… It’s always been you Faith. Faith has always been the one helping Faith. You don’t need anyone else, you never did need anyone else, not TyranT, not Striker not John Derrick, and not VanGuard.

Faith managed to get her hands on as many of the pills as she could in the space of a few seconds. She shoved at least half a dozen of the medication down her throat when she was only suppose to take one a day. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, yet in silence as always. She let a minute or so pass by, before she finally opened her eyes. VanGuard, the one who had been speaking, was gone. All Faith was left with was the real VanGuard, the one she had let down all that time ago at Deathrow. She stood up to her feet, a deadly silence befalling the atmosphere as she approached the bed, taking one good look upon the VanGuard she thought she had befriended, who she thought she knew.

Faith: … This is my fault. I did this to you, I ruined your life and Chloe’s… and then I ruined my own by denying it all this time.

Faith closed her eyes tight, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. All this time, Faith thought she was improving, that she wasn’t crazy like everyone used to say. Faith knew now, she began to accept that she was insane, and that she would be probably for the rest of her days with the medication beginning to fail. She looked at VanGuard again in her sorrow, and before long she felt nothing but rage. Before she knew it, Faith had the steel pipe again, quickly swiping it at some of the medical equipment on a near by table. Next she swung it at the window, shattering half of it as glass spread outwards.

Her grip on the steel tightened, and Faith moved to swing at charts on the walls and through furniture that was meant for the visitors. The young woman couldn’t stop herself as she continued to wreak havoc on the room, taking out her anger on her surroundings, not daring to approach or even look upon the comatose VanGuard. She had been so focused on her anger, that Faith hadn’t even noticed the blood that began to pour down her jaw, nor did she notice the fact that she had been screaming out loud the moment she began to unleash her anger.


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

[Now]

Catalyst, the Pay Per View when the TyranT lost it all. A year ago, TyranT managed to claim one of the greatest prizes the FMW had to offer. The old timer battled tooth and nail to claim the Mt Vesuvius Torch, launching Skyler Striker from the top of the structure to claim the prize uncontested, gaining the greatest prize in his career at the time. It was a ticket to the Main Event of Ultimatum, to fight for a greater prize in the World Championship, one that was unjustifiable stripped from him when he was forced to put it on the line against RAMPAGE! For a career that meant nothing to him in trade. It all happened in Catalyst, an event that near retired the TyranT for good. Now he stood here again, on the top of the ladder, with a greater threat against a greater prize in his possession, the FMW championship. History couldn’t repeat itself again could it?

The locker room had fast become a lonely place as Billy McKenzie finished lacing up his boots, hearing the faint echoes of the crowd as they awaited to see the downfall of the World Champion. His match would be soon, in less then fifteen minutes, TyranT would face off against John Derrick and Skyler Striker. TyranT’s mind wasn’t where it should be, the fight against John Derrick and Striker lingered at the back of his mind. It was Faith who was on his thoughts, how she reacted when he entered the room. The doctors said she came to visit the comatose VanGuard quite often, but something had the mute spooked. In turn, it had Billy McKenzie wondering if his daughter was alright.

For the second time, TyranT glanced at his own reflection within the golden surface of the FMW championship title. A grim face staring right back at him, seeing all the wrongs that he had done to get to where he was now. A loud ring from his mobile phone placed on the bench broke Billy from staring at the TyranT in the reflection of the belt. He noticed he managed to receive a text. He picked it up with a gloved hand, removing his shades with the other as he noticed it was from Faith. He stared at it for a moment, knowing it had been several months since the two had really ever contacted each other. A single push of the button, and soon Billy McKenzie was reading, almost trying to put a voice to the words as he read them.

]-Faith - I’m so sorry dad, but I need your help, I don’t think I’ve ever needed your help more then now. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye over the last few months, but I need someone with me right now. I need my father again. Something terrible has happened to me, I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do. Could you please come to me? I need your help right now. I want you to forget about your match tonight and come and help me. Forget about all the fighting we‘ve had, I just want things to be the way they were. Please. I’m tired of being alone, I’ve always been alone and I don’t want to be anymore.

Billy stared at the message for some time, sitting on his own on the bench. He re-read the message again to comprehend what it was his daughter requested from him. Billy McKenzie couldn’t remember the last time his daughter ever asked for help with such urgency. It seemed she was asking for him to leave the match, simply stand up and drop everything. Leave the World Title, leave Catalyst, leave his TyranT persona and just be a father tonight, as he was suppose to be every night. Billy stared long and hard, before his thoughts were interrupted by a staff member.

S. Member: You fight starts soon TyranT. We need you up there in five.

The slender individual disappeared as quickly as he arrived. Billy was still reading the message another time over, clarifying what he already knew.

TyranT: Yer’ want me to drop everythin’ and come to ya‘? Yer’ want me to just put an end to mah’ conquest so Ah’ can be yer’ father? What ‘bout what Ah’ want Faith? What ‘bout what Ah’ want! Ah’ve spent all mah’ life, building mah’ career ‘round ya’ so Ah’ could look after ya’! Ah’ve been runnin’ ‘round selflessly, lookin’ after ya’, getting’ ya’ outta’ all heaps of trouble, doin’ everythin’ Ah’ could… but it’s never enough is it? Everythin’ always has to be ‘bout you! Tonight… Ah’m done with yer’, tonight Ah’ do what Ah’ want to do! Ah’m finally where Ah’ wanna’ be in mah’ career, Ah’ got the chance of becomin’ the greatest champion this federation has ever seen. Ah’ ain’t throwin’ that away Faith… Ah’ ain’t throwin’ that away for you. Ah’ ain’t gonna’ walk away from somethin’ that has taken me thirty years to build. For once, Ah’m gonna’ fight for me! For the FMW Championship… for the TyranT.

Billy shouted out, casting his phone away. He heard the plastic smash from the impact as the phone shattered. The TyranT breathed heavily, his anger and frustration more then evident as the large man stood to his feet. He was done with always having to look after his daughter, tonight he was fighting for himself. Taking the nightstick in one hand, TyranT pushed his glasses back up over his eyes, before walking from the locker room, making his way towards the chanting echoes with his belt over his shoulder, walking away from his daughters plea for help. Tonight he would see to it that his championship reign would remain in place, for as long as it would take to cement himself as a legend in the federation.

VanGuard: He ain’t the same man since he took that belt. You can no longer rely on him anymore, he’s out there for himself.