Meltdown XXX & Fallout 030 || Promo Thread

[Jimmy King]

The promo deadlines for both shows are:

Sunday 4th June, 2023 at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 5th June, 2023 at 03:00(am) Eastern.
Monday 5th June, 2023 at 08:00(am) UK.
Monday 5th June, 2023 at 10:00(am) Turkey.
Monday 5th June, 2023 at 17:00 Melbourne.

There will be no extensions. Good luck!​

Link to backed up PDF promos: here!

 

[Rosie]

The metal springs of the ring shake as two young wrestlers begin to spar. In a gym in Japan, we see a worn wrestling set up with black ropes and the common boxing style turnbuckle pads found in the country. It is in the corner of a room with concrete walls and some blue padding on the walls. Across some parts of the ceiling are banners, mostly branded relating to the group “MAYHEM” with black and neon colours. Against the wall on a table are two matching championship belts. Leaning on the edge of the ring, watching, we see a tall Japanese woman. With her red locks, yep, Ririko. She has a tank top and shorts on with wrestling shoes and knee pads. In the ring, we see her two friends. The silver-haired Cali Hayama is in the ring wearing a t-shirt branded with the Vancouver Canucks colours and branding with shorts, kickpads, and knee pads, and she gets in a collar and elbow tie-up. Her sparring partner, Katsu. With her signature mask on, she has a gray tank top branded with the FWA logo along with her own pair of shorts, knee pads, and kick pads.

“Come on, girls!” Ririko claps, shouting in Japanese.

The two girls, despite this being a training session, seem to be competitive enough to be putting their muster into the lock-up. Katsu slips out of Cali’s grip and transitions into an arm lock. Wrenching the arm, she has a bit of an extra bit of frustration in her eyes. Then again, with her busy schedule on the horizon, she has to be at the top of her game even in training. Cali Hayama, the ever cunning wrestler, cuts a little playful smack talk.

“Someone’s working on her technical game, eh?” She says in English. “Didn’t think you had it in y-”

Katsu slaps the back of Cali’s head with her free hand. Cali immediately transitions into a side-headlock and pulls her down to the canvas.

“Alright, you want to play it that way?” Cali has a smirk.

Katsu rolls to get back to her feet and slowly pushes against Cali. The two sparring partners end up near the ropes and Katsu pushes Cali Hayama off. The Canadian runs to the opposite side ropes and Katsu goes to meet her in the middle of the ring. Katsu leap frogs over Cali who runs back harder. She throws a clothesline, but Katsu ducks by falling backwards and kicking up! The masked Joshi leaps in the air and hits a vertical dropkick, catching Cali in the chin!

“Nice dropkick!” Ririko shouts encouragement.

Cali rolls to the corner, covering her mouth.

“Shit-”

She mutters as Katsu goes in the corner and immediately chops her chest! Ririko winces on the outside as Katsu throws several hard kicks to the chest and stomach. Ririko looks to see what is going on and she notices a bit extra red and shouts.

“Stop! Stop!”

Katsu looks and backs up. Cali wipes her mouth and there is some blood. A part of one of her teeth is missing. A chip. She mutters in Japanese.

“I guess Suzuki was right, maybe we need to hold back a bit in training.”

Katsu looks at Cali and glances towards the middle of the ring where, on the worn ring canvas, a small white speck of a tooth is seen.

“Sorry…” Katsu apologies in Japanese before grabbing the chipped tooth off the ground.

“It’s fine.” Cali mutters, grabbing her tooth back. “Nothing a small trip to the dentist won’t fix. I will take five then we’ll maybe do something… lighter.”

Katsu and Cali roll out of the ring and sit on the ring apron. Ririko grabs a towel for Cali to wipe off the blood from the dropkick gone wrong. Ririko looks and sees Katsu, looking to the side. She knows her friend enough to see something is on her mind.

“You okay, Katsu?” She asks.

“Yes.” Katsu snaps back to reality and nods. “Just feel bad about hurting her by accident.”

“I told you, it’s nothing.” She jokes. “Though Alexis might have a word with you, haha.”

“It is not that.” Ririko clarifies. “Since you have been home, you have had this extra… push.”

“Push?” Katsu asks.

“Well, when we went for dinner at our favourite spot, you cut back.” Ririko explains more. “You stopped drinking your favourite soda. In our matches you appear a bit more on edge. You have been here alone training every day we’re not here.”

“So? I am training hard-” Katsu defends herself.

“-I know…” Cali points to her mouth. “You worried about any matches?”

Cali snickers. “Wait, DON’T tell me you’re worried about Al Blizzard of all people?!”

Katsu shakes her head. “No. I’m not worried about him.”

“Must be one of those other matches after. You know, El Vengedor and that weird cage match.” Ririko corrects Cali. Katsu doesn’t answer, but they know.

“I just don’t want to mess up my opportunities, okay?” Katsu gets a little defensive.

“Still a bit traumatized after F1 then?” Cali teases and Katsu cuts a glare at her. “Kidding.”

“I think it might be a good thing you’re training really hard.” Ririko encourages Katsu. “Takes a lot of work to wrestle as much as you do.”

“But…” Cali puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder, “There’s such a thing as pushing too hard. You don’t want to burn yourself out super fast…”

“Which is why you two seem keen on going to FWA with me for those Trios titles too…” Katsu mutters.

“We can talk more about that after…” Ririko sits on the apron with her friends.

Looking at her friends, Katsu decides to just be honest. “Okay. Maybe the F1 Climaxxx still sits unwell with me. I was introduced to the ceiling of FWA right away and mocked for not breaking through on the first try. So being in the Golden Opportunity after doing well in the Carnal Contendership, I am excited. But part of me fears something like the F1 happening again.”

“Don’t be scared of failure.” Ririko encourages her. “It happens to everyone.”

“God knows your next opponent has had that happen way more often than anything GOOD and he’s still kicking, takes some guts.” Cali sees a chance for a dig and the gamer takes it, muttering it in English.

“Well, ‘geniuses,’ what do you think I should do?”

Cali sighs and looks at Katsu. She thinks and gives an honest answer. “Take things slowly."

Katsu lets those words sit with her. One at a time. Ririko chimes in.

“Yes! How can you try to do everything at once? Take it slow!”

“Like. You got what? El Vengedor creeping over your shoulder like a Skeletor wannabe. You got the Steel Roulette match AFTER Back in Business with a couple guys I’m familiar with, then Alyster ‘I suddenly hate FWA’ Black, the guy you just beat the other week, and a Weasel with an identity crisis. Don’t worry about the Golden Opportunity yet. Don’t overwhelm yourself.”

Cali gives a small smile, even with her busted mouth.

“You said she has another match in FWA before it?” Ririko asks. “Focus on that.”

“Yeah, if we’re looking at the match-up on paper. She doesn’t have too much to worry about. Even if the guy’s a powerhouse.” Cali scoffs.

“You… said you know him, Cali?” Katsu asks her. “What do you know?”

“I wrestled in the same company as him for a couple of months…” She scowls. “Until the world decided to stop because of COVID and that messed with everything. Never been in the ring with him, but I saw him wrestle live, and heard a lot about him from the others there.”

“All I know personally is that he had an injury scare and retired until it was a misdiagnosis. That and he has… brother issues.” Katsu sighs. “Part of me is fortunate that my brother and I always got along. We don’t have animosity and just support each other.”

“Brother issues?” Cali laughs. “You think THAT is his only issue? I’m going to be blunt. Up until a couple of years ago he was a reverse Michelle von Horrowitz. She wins about 80% of her matches? He probably lost around that or worse. He’s wrestled a bit longer than you, but you’ve done more in FWA alone than most places he’s been in. He struggled for a long time. He constantly flip flop, trying new things rather than focusing on fixing himself. Well, I’m not doing well being nice? I’m going to say ‘fuck you’ to the fans. Still doesn’t work? How about I wear a mask.”

Katsu points to her face.

“Now I take offense to that.” She makes a light-hearted comment.

“You think that’s funny? How about his Cowboy phase when he teamed with the ‘Bottleheads.’”

“A British Cowboy?” Ririko asks. “Something about that appears to be a paradox.”

All three of the girls laugh

“I don’t know.” Ririko chimes in. “He seems big, crazy and scary… and hairy.”

“I’m harsh on the guy, but of course an upset can happen.” Cali shrugs her shoulders back. “God knows not everyone expected Katsu here to make it as far as she did in the Carnal Contendership. Some probably didn’t expect us two to be tag champions here. With his power, size… and probably him being a hint off his rocker… He has potential and he’s taken some steps over the years. Whether or not he realizes it, we'll see with time.”

“Time changes us.” Katsu says. “Six months in FWA changed me more than a year here.”

“I think you should pull out his beard!” Ririko gives a suggestion. Katsu snickers, covering her mouth.

“I do not think the official will allow that. But I personally just want to get past him so I can turn my attention towards more pressing things-”

“Well, looks like we have the kids here?”

A familiar voice speaks up as the three ladies turn. Heading into the room we see two of the more veteran members of MAYHEM. First, Miho Watase. Her long brown hair has some blonde streaks in it, likely recently done. She has a perpetually unpleased look on her face. Behind her, perhaps one of the only women who can give Ririko a fight for tallest member, Miss Fuka with her great height.

“You don’t need to tease us.” Ririko sticks up slightly for her friends.

“I see you three here a lot.” Miss Fuka speaks. “Especially Vampyra.”

“Katsu.” She clarifies her new name and judging by the look on her face, the masked wrestler is far from pleased for someone using her old name on purpose.

“Yeah. We got some big matches soon, so we’re training, you know? Before Katsu heads back to North America for-”

“I know.” Miho looks at Katsu. “She’s abandoning us again.”

Through her tone, there is a hint of bitterness in her voice. It isn’t playful. Something is off.

“Excuse me?!” Cali gets up. “You didn’t have issue when I was balancing US commitments with here.”

“You’re Canadian. Makes sense.” Miss Fuka sticks up her nose. “But here she is in our dojo… Wearing… THAT shirt…”

She points to the FWA branded t-shirt she has on.

“It was a clean shirt…” Katsu gets off the apron.

Miho Watase looks at Cali’s mouth. “What happened there?”

“It was an accident!” Ririko raises her voice. “Stop changing the subject. What has gotten over you?”

“You should be asking that to your ‘friend.’” Miss Fuka points to Katsu. “She spends many months away from FWA. Comes back a sad girl, and has this ‘epiphany’ to change her whole look and comes back to the place that made her upset in the first place?”

The three young ladies look at each other. Their blood is beginning to boil. Miho Watase clears her throat.

“As acting leader of MAYHEM with Suzuki’s injury, I am just acting in our best interest. Clearly, one of our members doesn’t seem to have her priorities in the group… and if she does not get her priorities in order, it might be time to make subtractions to the group.”

“WHAT?!” Katsu shouts.

“REMOVE HER!?” Ririko looks shocked.

“That’s horseshit!” Cali shouts in English, but all the people in the room get the message. Then, one more outraged voice is her.

“Subtractions?!” There is a shout from the other side of the room in Japanese.

Walking in the room is the founder and leader of the group. Saori Suzuki. Her short hair is bleached blonde. She limps with a bulky knee brace on her leg, though making progress with her recovery, far from 100%. The younger members immediately perk up out of respect for their mentor. Miho and Miss Fuka both glance at each other.

“First of all…” Saori winces as she walks, getting close to the ladies in her group. “I am still the leader of this group, and as leader, if there is EVER anything in regards to adding or subtracting, I talk to EVERYONE in the group. It is why Ririko’s sister, REO, is not in MAYHEM right now. You two felt she was not ready and did not want nepotism.”

“She is ready!” Ririko defends her sister, but Saori turns to her.

“Not now, Ririko.”

Miss Fuka speaks up, defending Miho Watase. “She would not kick her out unilaterally. We are just concerned where he true interests lie.”

“First,” Miho Watase explains. “She wrestles more for FWA wrestling in America and elsewhere than here. She then gets upset because of comments from this… Seasonal asshole says on Twitter and brings that negative energy here. She is not focused on bettering MAYHEM.”

“And do not get us started on the ‘YOKAI Death Squad thing.” Miss Fuka continues and ALL three girls from the YOKAI Death Squad trio are STEAMING mad right now. Ririko and Cali Hayama step forward.

“I mean, she was the one who boldly declared ‘We three of MAYHEM are part of this YOKAI Death Squad’ thing.”

“And what is wrong with giving their trio a name?” Saori Suzuki asks, defending the young wrestlers.

“They have MERCHANDISE.” Miho Watase stresses. “They wear it more than MAYHEM’s.”

“Excuse me if I’m a Twitch streamer and know the value of plugging your merch…” Cali says somewhat sarcastically.

“Enough… Enough…” Saori Suzuki groans. “I can’t believe I am seeing immaturity from the older members of MAYHEM… But there is nothing wrong with young Katsu wrestling in America too. She has contracts with both companies. They work together so she can honour both commitments. I see no issue with her carrying the MAYHEM name elsewhere…”

“But what about this YOKAI Death Squad thing they created?” Miss Fuka glares at them.

“They can have a name for their team and sell merchandise. So what?”

“I want MAYHEM to thrive!” Miho shouts.

“You know, I am pretty sick of this…” Cali steps forward. She is NOT letting these two besmirch her friend. “You want to talk about loyalty issues? Why have an issue with her just wearing a shirt?! We’re grateful for Saori giving us a home here in Japan. And if you think I am not loyal...” Pulling her shirt, the Sky Devil points to the Vancouver Canucks logo. “I’m still wearing this shirt despite the disastrous season these guys had!”

The last point doesn’t seem to resonate with the senior members of the group. Canadians and their hockey, am I right? Ririko takes her turn to stick up for Katsu.

“I have been in a wrestling ring with her more than anyone else here. Both as an opponent and a tag team partner. She is not just a great wrestler, she is a great friend! I trust her completely!”

Glancing over at the table near-by, Cali sees her tag team title belt. She looks at Miss Fuka and Miho. Katsu, Ririko, and Saori have a glance at her and they know what she’s going to do. She’s going to open her big mouth and say something that might get her in trouble. But there will be no convincing her otherwise.

“And let’s look at your words. You want MAYHEM to THRIVE, right? Let’s look at the past year…”

Katsu's eyes open wide. She shakes Cali’s arm to get her attention, but it is no use.

“What have we done for MAYHEM? At the beginning of June last year we were just concluding our CJW Trios Championship reign. We had a bump, but got back on the horse. Katsu debuted in FWA and despite only having two or three matches in the company, she was put in the F1 Climaxxx tournament with their best of the best after someone went down with an injury. Minimal experiencing wrestling men, let alone people twice her size. Yet she’s fighting former and current champions. That takes GUTS. She also won her first singles championship with their FWA Television Championship and she wasn’t even pinned to lose it. Okay?”

She points to the table.

“And look over there? Those belts familiar? You’ve held those before. The CJW Tag Team Championships! And look who the owners are of those? That’s right, Ririko and myself! We’re getting better and better and making sure, whether here or in America, we, YDS, MAYHEM, all are thriving. So, the point I’m getting at is…”

Cali Hayama steps forward, looking Miho in the eyes.

“We’ve been thriving! While you two have not done shit-”

Tired of Cali’s tirade, Miho pushes Cali Hayama!

She bumps into Katsu and she falls back, her head bumping hard into the edge of the ring! Katsu hears shouting as her bell is rung. There is pushing and shoving from the four ladies near-by, Saori, bless her, with one leg, tries her best to de-escalate the situation as Katsu’s eyes.

Close.

Spoiler: Ambiance

Katsu hears a roaring winter storm and the gentle cracking of a fireplace. Her eyes slowly open to see a wooden log cabin ceiling. The world is unreal to her. Her fingers move and feel soft fleece. Looking down, she sees she’s covered by a soft black blanket on a couch. As her senses begin to come to, she gets a better look around. She is lying on a couch in a cozy looking winter cabin. Lovely wooden log walls with pictures of winter surrounding her. Two familiar faces sit across at a coffee table. Cali and Ririko. Both of them have comfy sweaters on and mugs of hot chocolate in front of them. Groggily, Katsu, still in her mask, sits up and sees she has a mug in front of her.

“Uhhg.” She rubs the back of her head. “How did I get here?” Katsu mutters in Japanese. She glances outside to see snow flying through the sky in the night sky.

“We found you knocked out.” Ririko explains. “We decided to bring you in for the storm.”

“Storm?” She blinks. “Winter storm? But, where am I? Northern Hokkaido? Canada?”

“That’s not important right now.” Cali reaches over and places her hand on her knee. “You’re safe here.”

Looking, she notices an old television set in front of them over the fireplace. It is tuned into the weather station.

“Folks, better hunker down for Blizzard Al coming through. Expect 25 cm of snow and strong winds tonight!”

“Only 25?” Cali chuckles. “Wimps. You should have seen it when I went to Halifax for the East Coast Gaming Convention in 2015.”

“You are used to this?” She asks and Cali nods.

“I’m no stranger to nasty storms. You can’t control it really.”

“But… It is dangerous outside!” Katsu, not used to harsh winters, gets slightly panicked.

“Do not worry.” Ririko holds up her hot chocolate. “We’re prepared!” before taking a sip.

Katsu picks up her hot chocolate, still slightly on edge. The television set catches her attention again.

“Yep, this is just the first of many storms to come. We got a storm from the south, rolling in like vengeance. It should be expected to hit shortly after we’re done cleaning up this mess. But then, a wave of snow rolling in like a steel curtain is expected before winter is up. But it’s like rolling a roulette wheel at times with this as this storm is going to be unpredictable.”

“I’m going to be stuck here forever…” Katsu slouches.

“Don’t say that. You will be fine.” Ririko reassures Katsu. “Even if you are here longer, you will make it out alright.”

“Maybe I can explain.” Cali sips her drink before continuing. “There’s a lot of things we can’t control. The storms we go through are one of them. They are rough and they vary in size. This storm in particular seems big and scary, but isn’t so bad.”

“But what about the next one? Or the one after that… Then-”

“I’m talking. Listen, please.” Cali interrupts Katsu.

“The next one may be worse. But there will be that moment of calm before the next. Because, for all we can’t control in life, there are so many things we can control. Our response. How we prepare. Be ready and be strong so that you may be able to charge head-first into that next storm.”

Katsu looks down, tapping her feet, folding her hands. She’s trying to digest those oddly wise words from her friend.

“What if I fail though?” She asks.

“That may happen. A storm, no matter how much you prepare, may knock you on your ass. But it will still fade. You may get beat up or roughed up from it. But you’ll get back up.” Cali gives a reassuring smile to Katsu.

“If you were not capable, you would not have made it this far in your life.” Ririko shows some support. “Just tackle these things one at a time. Work the problems as they come up.”

Katsu hums, looking at her two friends. She doesn’t know how she got here, or why. But no matter where she is, she knows she’ll have their support. She smiles, giving them a nod.

“Thank you.” She adds. “Always.”

“You’re welcome. Always.” Cali winks. Ririko looks at Katsu…

And her expression becomes blank. She shouts.

“KATSU!”

The masked wrestler blinks.

“What?”

“GET UP!”

She shouts.

“GET UP!!!”

Katsu’s eyes open and she finds herself on the gym floor. Cali Hayama, Ririko, and Saori Suzuki are all standing over her. Miho and Fuka are gone. There is a look of concern on all their faces.

“Are you okay, Katsu?” Cali asks. “You banged your head hard there.”

“Quick, where are you?” Saori asks, checking for any signs of a concussion.

“Uhh, our gym we usually train at…” She mutters a response. "'MAYHEM Dojo' we call it."

“Good start. But please lie down a little longer.”

“I will see if there is a doctor near-by to check on you. Better be safe.” Ririko nods before the powerhouse of the team rushes away.

“How long was I out for?” Katsu asks.

“A minute. Two maybe.” Cali answers.

“It felt longer…” Katsu rubs the back of her head. “Where is Fuka and Watase?”

Saori Suzuki has an uncomfortable look on her face. “They ran off shouting after you fell.”

“-They did?” Katsu lies down. Two girls who are meant to be more senior members of their group, lashing out against her, claiming she isn’t loyal with her travels in FWA, and the creation of YOKAI Death Squad as a sort of sub-group of MAYHEM.

She isn’t asking, but Cali and Saori exchange glances. Guess they need to be honest with her?

“There have been issues since you left for FWA for their European tour.” Saori explains. “Maybe it was because you were away for so long, had a lot of opportunities there, and maybe because of the YDS announcement… But these feelings have existed for some time.”

“And it honestly got worse since you got injured.” Cali clarifies. “Saori always played peacemaker and was the voice of reason-”

“As opposed to your big mouth.” Suzuki chuckles. Cali doesn’t even need to respond. Fair point.

“-So without her around as much, there’s no middle person to talk these things out.”

Katsu sighs. She has an overwhelming feeling of guilt. “-I caused this?”

“Don’t be mad at yourself.” Saori Suzuki tries to play the voice of reason again. “You had an amazing opportunity. You took it. Then you, Cali, and Ririko became close as friends, so you decided to create a trio to celebrate it.”

“You did nothing wrong. I'm sorry we didn't talk to you about it sooner. But we knew you were busy with your Television Championship match and the F1. We didn't want to distract you. But maybe when we cool off we can talk it out?” Cali asks.

Sitting up against the edge of the ring, Katsu, thankfully, doesn’t seem to have any signs of a concussion. She pulls her knees up to her chest.

“I’m going to handle things one at a time,” She mutters to herself. “First Al. Then Vengedor. Then… Then I’ll see.”

Cali leans down and pats her on the shoulder. “Things will work out.” She gives a grin with her busted open mouth.

“Though something tells me BOTH of you should take it easy the rest of the day.” Saori chuckles.

Ririko comes in with a medic and they walk over to Katsu. He goes through the process of testing her for a potential sign of a concussion. She answers the questions and everything seems to be the best news possible.

But really, her mind is not on it.

It’s on everything but this.

The first storm of many is coming.

And she’s bracing it head on.​

 

[Bobby Barrows]

 

[Blizzard Boi]

___________________________________________________

Thursday, August 20th, 1998

Somewhere in London, England

10:11 am
___________________________________________________

“I can’t seem to find it!” Clothes fly everywhere as we see a man rummaging through a set of drawers.

“Jess?” He jolts up and turns toward the doorway to his right.

“Yes, honey?” A quiet voice comes from somewhere not close to the man.

“Where’s my gear?” He asks kindly whilst standing with his hands on his hips.

“Oh, it’s in the wash my darling.”

“Jesus Christ, I told you not to wash it! I have a show in two days and must catch a flight this evening.” He paces toward the doorway and makes his way down the stairs.

“Fine, I’ll take it out.”

“Good.” The man says as he gets to the bottom of the stairs. He turns around the railing to see two children running around what looks like a living room. There are two sofas parallel to each other. One of the children is on top of one of the sofas whilst the other is standing on the ground next to it. The child jumps off the sofa onto the other child, and they laugh and jolt back up.

“What the heck are you two doing?” The man we’ve been observing says to the two children.

“We were pretending to be you, Daddy!” One of the children says in a cautious yet innocent manner.

“You were wrestling?” He asks as he crosses his arms.

“Yes…” They both say simultaneously, acknowledging they’re being told off.

“You were wrestling… without me?” The man says whilst chuckling. He then swiftly runs over and grabs the kids, dumping them into the sofa as they laugh and scream.

“I am the UNSTOPPABLE! UNBEATABLE! FATHERRRRRR” He yells out as the kids break free of his grasp and run around trying to avoid him yet giggling at the same time.

“Well too bad! We are the Cool Two!” One of the kids yells out. They proceed to run at their father and they jump onto him.

“One! Two! Three!!!” The two kids yell out as they jump off him and celebrate their little victory over their Father.

“Not again!!!” The Father says laughing to himself.

“What are you boys doing?!” The mother then enters the room, a little annoyed.

“Ask Dad.” The two boys turn to their father.

“The boys are helping me train.” He chuckles.

The mother shakes her head whilst smirking.

“Alright alright, I’ll let you off this one time.” She smiles as she turns away to go back to the room she came from.

The father sits up straight and beckons the boys to come to him.

“Listen, lads, one day you two will follow in my footsteps. I’ll make sure of it!” The father says proudly.

The two boys smile at him and jump up and down in an excited manner.

“As long as you two behave and listen, then you can be the best two to ever lace up boots. Alex and Jason, the Quinn Legacy.” He says proudly whilst ruffling their hair.

“Now, go clean your rooms please!” he asks them and without hesitation, they charge upstairs still giggling.

___________________________________________________

Saturday, August 22nd, 1998

East Newcastle Wrestling, Newcastle, England

5:36 pm

___________________________________________________

We see a mostly empty locker room. However, we see a man in a suit, leaning against the open doorframe.

“Listen, David, I can’t slot you into the main event. I know I promised you last time but I just have to push these two guys, they’re the future of the business mate.”

“But I don’t understand this. I’m your biggest draw, factually. And you’re choosing these youngsters over me?” We see the father sitting on a bench taping his hands up.

“They know how to put on a show for the fans mate. No offence to you, but you’ve got what, five to ten years left in the tank?” The suited man says cautiously.

“Mate, I’m 34.” The father says, visibly pissed off.

“And most wrestlers in this day and age don’t get past 43 mate.” The suited man stands up from the doorframe, moving closer to the father,

“Just get me in a match yeah?” The father stands up, almost facing off with the suited man.

“Done and dusted mate. You’re out in 15, for the Harcore Title.” The suited man turns from the father and begins to walk out of the room.

“Before you leave Mike.” The father slides a t-shirt onto himself.

The suited gentleman turns to face the father. “Yes?”

“Just remember who carried this company. And who will bury it.” The father says as he walks up to the suited man and pushes past him.

The suited man stands there, bewildered.
​

[15 Minutes Later]​

We see a sea of fans surrounding a barricaded-off ring.

The crowd starts to cheer as we see our familiar family man exit the curtain. He is wearing black, red and white trunks. Black shoes and kneepads. He also has his hands taped up with white tape. He plays up to the crowd whilst making his way down the aisle toward the ring, he slides into the ring and awaits his opponent.

The crowd then start to boo as we see another person exit the curtain. This person is dressed in all black and white. He sports a myriad of tattoos. He has a championship belt around his waist. He removes it and holds onto it whilst he enters the ring.

“This bout is set for one fall and is for the East Newcastle Wrestling Hardcore Championship!”

The crowd cheer.

“Introducing first, he is the challenger. Hailing from London, England! He is the former East Newcastle Wrestling Global Champion. He weighed in today at 16 stone! He stands at 6 foot 2! He is the Pride of ENW! He is… David Quinn!”

The crowd cheer at David being introduced.

“And his opponent. Hailing from Sheffield, England. Weighing in at 14 stone. Standing at 6 feet tall. He is the East Newcastle Wrestling Hardcore Champion! Lucas Grimm!”

The crowd boo as Grimm flaunts off the championship belt.

The bell rings but before either could begin, the lights cut out. Rustling and scrapping can be heard before the lights turn back on and we see a group of 4 hooded men beating up David. They’re all piled on top of him. Grimm tries to get them off but is ultimately outmanned.

We see what looks to be security running down toward the ring. They manage to get these men off of David, but David is already bloody and bruised. They quickly get David out of the ring and help him get backstage to avoid any more harm. However, he passes out before he can say a word.

___________________________________________________

Tuesday, May 30th, 2023

Somewhere in the Outskirts of London, England.

1:32 pm
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We see our familiar friend 'The Perfect Storm' Al Blizzard walking down a stoned pathway toward a door of a house. Al Blizzard holds a phone to his ear as he walks down the path.

“Yes… Yes. Will do. Alright. See you, mum. Love you too.” He puts the phone into his jacket pocket as he then unlocks and opens the front door of the house.

“Soph, I’m home.” He yells out to no response.

“Sophie? Matthew?” He yells again this time with a little more of a panicked tone behind his voice.

He charges into the empty living room. He runs into the kitchen which is also empty. He bolts up the staircase, his feet thudding as he runs up but to no avail he finds no sign of his partner and child.

“Where the fuck…” he enters Matthew’s room and sees a note on the floor that reads 'Hello Alex.' next to a videotape. He picks up the videotape and heads out of the room. He makes his way down his staircase. He enters the living room once again and he inserts the tape into his video player that he somehow still owns.

The TV flickers on and we see a video of Matthew playing in his room. Matthew is playing with some figurines of what looks to be FWA wrestlers.

“Take that!” He slams the Mike Parr figurine into the Bryan Baxter figurine.

“You win Mike!” Matthew chuckles as he picks up two more figurines. One of which is Chris Peacock and the other is Cyrus Truth. He slams them both down onto the floor.

“You both lose!!!” he stands up looking triumphant as if he beat them himself. He then runs over to his bed and grabs three figures one of which is Reagan Cole. However, the two other figures don’t look like FWA figures. One of them is a little figurine of Robert Steel and the other is of Al Blizzard but during his stint in the Perfected Playground.

Matthew props these three figures up and points his thumbs up at them.

“You are all good! You are the winners of the wrestling championships!” He says sort of nonsensical as he most likely doesn’t understand much about wrestling.

However, before he continues the camera in the video gets picked up and we hear a voice, the voice of Jason Quinn.

“How adorable. Ya know Alex. I love the idea of one day having a kid. A bet you love it don’t you? Well, unfortunately for you I’m taking him on a vacation.” Jason laughs.

“Oh and I’m taking your girlfriend too because I can’t exclude her can I?” He laughs harder this time.

“And would you like to know where we’re going?! Well, I thought you’d never ask! We’re going to Texas! And it’s rather funny that we’re going to Texas! Because you’re fighting on Meltdown… IN TEXAS! So guess what? We’re coming to watch you compete!” He laughs maniacally but before he can continue speaking Blizzard shuts off the video player. He sits back down, holding his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry Dad. But I might have to do what you never could. I’ll expel this piece of shit from our family.” Blizzard says as he stands up angrily.

“YOU KNEW WHAT HE WOULD BE LIKE! YOU SAW THE JEALOUSY! BUT YOU LET IT SIT AND BUILD UP AND UP UNTIL ONE DAY IT BLEW THE FUCK UP! I’M GOING TO FINISH THIS DAD. YOU COULDN’T STAND UP FOR OUR FAMILY. SO I WILL.” Blizzard grabs his car keys off of the table and storms out of his house, slamming the door behind him.

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Tuesday, May 30th, 2023

All Out Wrestling, London, England.

4:40 pm

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A wrestling ring mat crashes as we see two young wrestlers grappling inside the squared circle. A man is standing outside of the ring, his hands on the apron. We see the wrestling ring in the centre of a large almost empty small-scale arena. Lots of people in dark clothing run back and forth past the ring

“Guys, the fans are coming in at 6:30. We need to think about wrapping up whatever spot training you have left and getting you into the locker room.” The man outside the ring says to the two. They both nod and acknowledge what he said, they then lock back into a collar and elbow tie-up.

“Having a hard time?” We see Al Blizzard approach the man outside the ring.

“Coordination, you know the drill.” The man says as he stands upright to greet Al. “Alex.”

“Robert. Good to see ya buddy.”

Robert Steel and Al Blizzard firmly shake hands and then hug.

“How ya holding up?” Blizzard cheerfully asks.

“I’m doing good, AOW is doing great business-wise. We’ve made a few waves on Twitter recently.” Robert says proudly, whilst turning his attention back to the wrestlers in the ring.

“Who are these two?” Al asks as he also turns toward the ring to look at the two wrestlers.

“Oi, lads.” Robert requests the two young wrestlers' attention.

One of the guys turns, sprouting a long blonde mullet and red sparkly tights. “Oh uh, I’m Gabriel, Gabriel Luthor.” He smiles gleefully.

“Gabe is from the fresh batch. He’s had a fair few matches in Japan, clearly, he was inspired by their gear.” Robert chuckles as he signals for the other man to introduce himself.

The African American man waves a little at Blizzard and smiles at him. “So my name is Flynn Kavia, but most people call me Zero.”

“Zero... Zero... Dope nickname kid, keep it that way.” Blizzard gives a thumbs-up to Flynn.

"I like to envision these two as the Foundation of the New Era of AOW." Robert says proudly.

Robert and Blizzard turn their attention back to each and continue their conversation.

“So what do you need from me, A job?” Robert asks jokingly.

Blizzard chuckles. “Actually, no for once. So, Jason took Soph and Matthew.” Blizzard says looking toward the ground.

“Shit?! Let’s go get them then!” Robert says, riled up.

“No Rob. They’re coming to Meltdown. They’re coming to watch me.” Blizzard says reluctantly.

“Damn, he’s petty.” Robert places his left hand on Blizzard’s shoulder. “Why won’t you just give him that match?”

“Because it’s more than just a match. It’s a fight against my brother and myself. If he wins, I lose everything.”

“What was his stipulation?”

Blizzard pauses, not wanting to answer, however, he raises his head to look at Robert. “If I win, he’ll never show his face around me or my family again. If he wins, I have to become him. And you know what that means.”

“Become Him. He wants you to become Bl-“

“Don’t even say the name. We all know who he is referring to.” Blizzard shudders.

“Why does he... wait. He’s the only person who knows how to control him. He could make you into his own, personal killing machine.” Robert becomes erratic and seems on edge.

“Yeah I know, that’s what I’m worried about.” Blizzard hangs his head once again.

“Look, just. Face your fears, Blizzard. You can’t run from him forever.” Robert places both of his hands on Al’s shoulders.

“I’ve got a match I’ve got to get through first.”

“We all have obstacles. But you just have to plough through them and work toward the bigger goal. Your goal is to beat the shit out of Jason., but if you have to beat others before him, then that’s how it is.”

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know what to do with Jason. But I just know I’ve got to beat his ass. Like Dad would.” Blizzard says, his spirits lifting.

“I know if your dad was here right now, he’d beat Jason’s fucking ass.” Robert chuckles as he speaks.

“He would. Good old Dad.” Blizzard looks up and smiles.

"You have to remember, you're the Quinn Legacy. You may not carry the name, but you carry the legacy." Robert pats Blizzard on the shoulder.

Blizzard looks back down and shakes Robert’s hand firmly. Blizzard then nods at Robert, releases the handshake and turns around.

“Oh and Blizzard.”

Blizzard turns around to face Robert. “Yes?”

“Jason wants to play rough? Then play rough back.” Robert smirks as he also turns away to direct the two youngsters to the locker room.

Blizzard begins to mutter to himself. “If Jason wants to play rough. I’ll play bloody rough.”

An evil grin grows on Blizzard’s face as he makes his way toward the arena’s exit.

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[Dubble J]

 

[Dubble J]

Tommy Bedlam & Big Bryan Baxter

in
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Spoiler: Plain Text Version

“The Cowboy”

The rain poured down on Fantasy City, drenching the worn-out streets in a watery embrace. The neon signs flickered in the hazy night, casting an eerie glow over the crumbling facades of buildings. This was a city that had seen better days, a city where corruption seeped through every crack and crevice, poisoning the very air its citizens breathed. And in the heart of this crime-infested abyss, Detective Thomas Bedlam can be found prowling in the shadows.

Bedlam was a legend of sorts, a loose cannon with a reputation for getting the job done. Clad in a worn-out trench coat, his hat pulled low over his piercing eyes, he had earned the nickname "The Cowboy" for his reckless, yet effective, approach to crime-fighting. He was a lone wolf, never playing by the rules, and certainly not one to work well with others.

The Fantasy City Police Department was a cesspool of corruption and incompetence, the very embodiment of the city's decay. Laziness, cowardice, and corruption were the traits that defined most of the force, but a handful of honest cops still clung to their ideals, refusing to let the darkness consume them.

Thomas Bedlam was one of those rare honest cops. For the most part. He certainly had done some things he wasn’t proud of but it was always for the right reasons. In the end, he believed that the end always justified the means. His unwavering dedication to justice had made him a pariah among his corrupt colleagues, a thorn in their side that they couldn't remove. And now, he had set his sights on one the biggest fish in the crime-ridden waters of Fantasy City—Shawn Summers.

Summers was more than just a crime boss; he was a man of power and influence. As the CEO of Summers Inc, he held sway over the X District, a wretched hive of scum and villainy, as well as the Theater District. The streets whispered his name in fear, and the wealthy of the city lined his pockets, willing to do whatever it took to protect their own. To most in the public eye, Shawn Summers was a man of the people. He had the polish. He had the looks. He had the charm. Many viewed him as a potential challenger to Mayor Christopher Peacock in the future. But underneath the white-collar image and all his success was something quite dangerous.

But Bedlam was not one to be intimidated. He had spent months gathering evidence, following leads, and building a case against Summers. He knew that taking down a man like him would be no easy task, but Bedlam had never been one to back down from a challenge. He was prepared to face the devil himself if it meant bringing justice to this forsaken city.

The Summers’ file wasn’t an official case in the FCPD. Instead, Sargent Sullivan had assigned Thomas to the case and told him to keep things on a “need to know basis” with the rest of the department. More than once, he had urged Thomas to choose a partner from within the department, and more than once, Thomas had explained that there was no one there whom he trusted enough to work with.

There had been partners in the past, but they were gone now. Thomas looked around the crowded bullpen area of the department, and for just a moment, he wondered if any of those people were up to the challenge.

Some of them had tried to bring down Summers in the past. Alyster, Cyrus, and Kat had all tried to bring him down, and they had all failed. Jon, one of the longest-tenured detectives in the room, had gotten to him once, but Summers bounced back and overcame the legendary officer. There weren’t any options in-house.

When he was sure that no one was looking, Thomas put a large chew of tobacco in his bottom lip and pulled the secret Summers’ file out of his desk drawer. Randi, the cute secretary who Thomas had a thing for, walked by his desk. “You know there’s no tobacco use in here, Detective.”

“That sign says no smoking, not no tobacco,” he said with a smile. She set a large cup of black coffee on his desk and walked away. Damn, he loved watching her walk away.

Thomas’ file on Summers was a thick one. The man had a history of criminal activity and general mischief that rivaled the greatest crime lords in the nation’s history. Now, there were rumors that he was in cahoots with another deviant, a guy named Parr.

Parr had his own impressive history of criminal activity. Once upon a time, Parr ran the North Atlantic District, but he was forced out. Things change quickly in the world of criminal activity, and Parr now found himself essentially starting over. He had gone from the face of the area to a hired gun. Thomas’ intel had informed him that Parr was snooping around, trying to team up with Summers in order to get back on top in his own territory.

Thomas slipped the file out of his desk, slid it inside his trenchcoat, and stood up from his desk. He took a long drink from his coffee cup and put his cowboy hat on. The hat, boots, and trenchcoat certainly made him stand out in a room full of suits. He walked towards the door, holding the secret file close against his chest. As he passed Randi’s desk, she gave him a smile and told him to be careful out there.

“If Sarge asks about where I’m at, let him know I went to play golf.”

“Golf?”

“He’ll know what it means.”

Thomas and Rocco had a unique relationship compared to the relationships that Sullivan had with the other officers in his department. Their system of code words was designed to make sure that no one asked too many questions when Tommy took on a case that the rest of the department didn’t know about.

Thomas climbed into his truck, the only one in the department, and pulled the file out of his jacket. Finally secluded in the privacy of his Toyota Tundra, Thomas could review the file, even though he didn’t really need to. He had read the Summers file 100-plus times over the last few months. He knew everything about the bastard. He knew his likes, his dislikes, his history, and even his plans.

This alleged connection with Parr was new, though. Summers was plenty dangerous by himself, and now, he had aligned with a man who had his own impressive history. Well, impressive among criminals. Thomas hated everything about what they were doing.

Summers had long been in control of the Theater District. It fit his smug, arrogant personality perfectly. The people in the theater district claimed to enjoy the finer things in life, but most of them had more skeletons in their closets than they could ever count.

Recently, Summers had acquired even more territory. Oddly enough, the X District was the complete opposite of the Theater District. While the Theater District was all about the wine and caviar, the X District was about bootleg whiskey and cocaine. Summers had built a reputation for being a white-collar, high-end kind of thug. His takeover of the X District came as a surprise to many, but not to Thomas. Summers was an indiscriminate power whore. The X District, while not his usual stomping ground, was nothing more than another territory for Summers’ reign of terror. If he wasn’t stopped soon, there was no way to know just how far Summers’ power would reach.

Now that Summers’ was in bed with Parr, where would he go next? The North Atlantic District? The Teamster District? The options were seemingly endless.

Suddenly, Thomas’ phone rang. He looked down at the iPhone in his cup holder and the screen was blank. He realized the ringing was coming from his other phone, the one in his pocket. The number was familiar, as Thomas had called it earlier that morning. He put the phone to his ear.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”


***

“The Enemy of My Enemy”

The rain had subsided, leaving behind the stench of wet asphalt and a sense of impending doom. Bryan Baxter sat in his dimly lit office, a haze of smoke swirling around him as he puffed on a cigarette. The room was adorned with dark wood furniture, antique weapons mounted on the walls, and shelves lined with other ancient artifacts - a testament to his power and influence over the North Atlantic District. Baxter was a man who knew how to navigate the treacherous waters of Fantasy City, and his reputation preceded him.

A reputation that has been largely built through fear and intimidation. While someone like Shawn Summers had built his empire through his charisma, Baxter was the exact opposite. He was not a man of the people. But he was an imposing presence. Both in size and demeanor.

Baxter rolled his chair around and enjoyed the view from the window of his office. He could see the restless waters of the Atlantic Ocean washing up onto the shore. He flicked the ashes off his cigarette and took pride in watching some of the destitute emerge from their tents of their makeshift camp along the beach. It wasn’t much but this was all his. He knew he had a target on his back. He knew that there were those who wanted what he himself had taken by force.

Luckily for Baxter, he knew the right strings to pull and the friends he needed to keep. He had developed quite the relationship with those within the FCPD. Willingly providing damning information about his rivals in the Fantasy City underworld in exchange for the police not touching the North Atlantic.

So it certainly wasn't surprising to Baxter when his door swung open with a creak, and Detective Thomas Bedlam sauntered in, his presence filling the room with an air of restlessness. Bedlam's gaze scanned the surroundings, sizing up Baxter and the weight of his influence, before settling on the man himself. The Cowboy's eyes burned with a mix of determination and caution. Baxter leaned back in his chair, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he studied Bedlam.

"Detective Bedlam," Baxter drawled, his voice a low rumble. While the two had never met face to face in the past, both knew of each other by reputation. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Bedlam's jaw clenched as he locked eyes with Baxter. "I think you know what I want," he said, his voice in a gravelly growl. He wasn't wrong. While Bedlam's quest was veiled in secrecy, Baxter had his ways.

"Let me guess... Shawn Summers," Bryan responded confidently. "It would appear your secret mission isn't as much a secret as you thought, huh? But why come to me? I know all about the lore of Detective Bedlam... The Cowboy... what good am I to you?"

Bedlam shook his head as Baxter grinned through his false platitudes. "Because… I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. Look, I'm not proud to be standing here right now... but..."

"Go ahead. Say it. It's okay."

"I need your help."

"Thatta boy," Baxter smirked as he leaned forward in his chair.

"You've done it before, have you not? Helped take him down."

Baxter's lips curled into a sly smile. He knew exactly what Bedlam was referring to—the time he had assisted Detective Jeremiah Best in capturing Summers. That had been a calculated move, a way for Baxter to further his own agenda and tighten his grip on the North Atlantic District.

"I see you've done your homework, Detective," Baxter replied, tapping the ashes from his cigarette into an ornate ashtray. "How is my old pal Jeremiah, anyway? Shouldn't he be on this one?"

The Cowboy was unamused by Baxter's musing. Jeremiah Best was certainly not the man for this case. That shady little man was part of what was wrong with the FCPD. "He's moved on... last I heard he was being lauded for a missing person's case he solved. Ignore the fact that it was probably him that made the person go missing in the first place, but that's beside the point."

Baxter chuckled. "Good ole' Jeremiah."

"And besides, it didn't stick, did it? Summers was immediately back out on the streets and no one thought anything of it."

"Ahhh yes… the power of money, no doubt." No one in Fantasy City quite had the resources of Shawn Summers and with those resources come quite the legal team. Sure, Baxter had given Jeremiah the information he needed to take down Summers that time, but it wasn't enough.

"Look, Detective... I'd love to help, really I would… but... I'm just not sure what's in it for me."

Bedlam leaned against the desk, his eyes fixed on Baxter. "Look, this isn't just about Summers. It's about tearing down the walls of corruption that suffocate this city. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Baxter chuckled, the sound mirthless and cynical. "You're a real idealist, Bedlam. But tell me, why should I trust you? Why should I risk everything I've built to help you?"

The detective's gaze hardened, his voice dripping with resolve. "Because we both know that Summers is a threat to this city but also to you and everything you have here in the North Atlantic. With your knowledge and resources, we can bring him down together."

Baxter stubbed out his cigarette, the smoke curling upwards like a ghostly specter. He looked at Bedlam, searching for a hint of deceit, but all he saw was raw determination etched into the cowboy's weathered face.

"I don't know," Baxter still hesitated. “I’ve managed well enough, I think I’ll be just fine.”

"Maybe this will change your mind," Bedlam reached into his trench coat and retrieved a photo that he tossed onto the desk right in front of Baxter. Bryan leaned forward, grabbing the picture to examine it.

"The fuck is this? This has to be doctored. This can't be real."

Bedlam shook his head. "It's authentic. I took the photo myself."

The photo was taken from a distance but it was undoubtedly Shawn Summers' penthouse office. Inside the office, Summers was shaking hands with a very familiar face in the North Atlantic.

"Parr," Baxter scowled as he crumpled up the photo in his fist.

Bedlam gave a knowing nod. "Summers wants full control of Fantasy City... he's not happy with just the X and Theater Districts... and Parr wants to take back what was once his... what's now yours.

Baxter's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the edge of the desk. The news hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. This certainly changed everything for Baxter. He had a feeling this day would come. Before Bryan Baxter took control of the North Atlantic, this all belonged to Michael Parr. Since being overthrown, Parr had returned to street-level crimes. Baxter knew Parr had been known to serve as a hired gun in the past for some corrupt corporate types as well. But he knew that it was only a matter of time before Parr would come for him.

Summers and Parr joining forces—it was a nightmare scenario, a collision of two dangerous forces that could unravel everything he had fought so hard to build.

The room grew suffocatingly silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside, its heartbeat of crime and desperation. Baxter's mind whirled, calculating the odds, weighing the risks, as he fought to maintain his composure. This was not a game anymore; this was survival.

A spark of fury flared in Baxter's eyes, flickering like a match in the darkness. “Fine. You want to take down Summers. I’ve got to protect the North Atlantic from Parr. I won’t let these bastards destroy everything I've worked for."

Bedlam's gaze softened, a glimmer of understanding in his weathered face. "We're in this together now, Baxter. You have your vendetta, and I have mine. We may be on opposite sides of the law, but the enemy of our enemy is our only hope."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension as the two men locked eyes. Their alliance was forged in the fires of desperation, a fragile thread holding them together in the face of overwhelming darkness. In this noir landscape, where shadows danced and treachery lurked around every corner, trust was a currency that could never be squandered.

In the depths of the night, where the line between hero and villain blurred, they emerged as an unlikely duo—an embodiment of the city's dualities, its light and darkness intertwined. Bedlam, the relentless avenger with a badge stained by the very system he fought, and Baxter, the cunning mastermind whose thirst for power rivaled the very criminals he controlled.

***

“A Dangerous Alliance”

Shawn Summers leaned back in the plush leather chair of his lavish penthouse, a glass of aged whiskey cradled in his hand. The room exuded opulence, with walls adorned with expensive artwork, and the flickering fireplace casting dancing shadows upon the marble floors. Summers was a man who reveled in his power, his arrogance oozing from every pore. He had built an empire upon the bones of his enemies, and the rumors of a police investigation swirling around him only added fuel to his twisted sense of invincibility. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Shawn Summers was a survivor. By any means necessary. Many had come for his head but there he was, still sitting at the top of his penthouse. On top of the world.

“You missed a spot,” Summers cackled as a janitor, one of his many hired help around the campus of the Summers, Inc complex, toiled away for minimal pay. The janitor mumbled under his breath as he moved over and began remopping the area he had already mopped. “What was that? Something about you wanting to go back to the unemployment line? Or was it something about being deported?” Summers snapped in response to his perceived insubordination.

“Perdón, Señor Summers,” the janitor meekly responded.

“Huh? Whatever. Keep working.”

The door swung open, and in walked Michael Parr, his presence a stark contrast to the extravagant surroundings. Parr had a rugged air about him, the scars of his past etched into his battered face. A vengeful fire in his eyes with his desire to once again rule the North Atlantic District.

Summers smirked, swirling his whiskey around the glass, his voice dripping with smug confidence. "Michael Parr, the prodigal son returns," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Parr's gaze hardened, his eyes fixed on Summers like a predator eyeing its prey. "I've come to warn you," he growled, his voice laced with a deadly seriousness.

“Warn me? About what now?”

Parr started to speak but noticed the janitor, now spraying down and cleaning one of Shawn’s many shelves in the office.

“Don’t worry about him, I don’t even think he speaks English.”

The cleaner continued doing his job, paying no mind to either Parr or Summers. Parr shrugged his shoulders. "Word on the street is that the police are building a case against you. They're relentless, and they won't stop until they bring you down."

Summers chuckled, a self-assured laugh that echoed through the room. "The police? Please, Michael, they're like insects buzzing around a flame. I have half of them in my pocket and the other half are useless piles of shit. They think they can touch me? They're in for a rude awakening. I've read this story before and it doesn't end well for them."

Parr's jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. "You underestimate them, Summers. Have you heard of 'The Cowboy'? My sources tell me he's the one building the case... against orders. He's relentless, a force of nature. I've seen him in action, and he won't stop until he tears your empire down."

Summers waved a dismissive hand, his confidence unwavering. "Bedlam? Believe me, I know him well. He's nothing but a nuisance. I've dealt with pests like him before. They always fall in line eventually."

Parr's voice grew urgent, a warning edged with desperation. "Don't be a fool! This is different. Bedlam is dangerous. He could easily ruin our hopes of taking out Baxter and getting the North Atlantic."

Summers smirked, a glint of malice dancing in his eyes. "My dear Michael, you worry too much. Together, you and I will crush Baxter whether or not that cowboy is involved or not. Together we are unstoppable."

Parr shook his head, his frustration evident. "You're blinded by your arrogance, Shawn. This means a lot to me and I don’t want us to lose this war just because of your own hubris. Baxter didn’t get to where he is by being a pushover. Even I can acknowledge that. He will do whatever it takes to protect that district. If we don't take him out first, he'll be the one to bring us down.

"

Summers downed the rest of his whiskey, a sinister smile playing upon his lips. "I appreciate your concern, but I've built an empire on being two steps ahead. I'm not about to let some detective and two-bit Shawn Summers imitation ruin it all. We’ll take down Baxter and if Bedlam or anyone else wants to get in their way, we’ll take them out too. For good."

Parr's gaze hardened, resignation mixed with a lingering glimmer of hope. "Fine, Summers. But mark my words, this alliance is only temporary. Once Baxter is taken care of, our alliance is severed. This deal isn't about me being your pawn in your plan of Fantasy City domination."

Summers chuckled, his voice dripping with a twisted amusement. "Oh, Michael, you always had a flair for the dramatic. Of course. I wouldn't think of it."

Parr knew he couldn't trust Summers. He had no reason to. They had never seen eye to eye and quite frankly, both men hated each other. And he certainly wasn't going to become one of the many manipulated by him. For now, they both needed each other and they had a mutual understanding.

As the two finalized their plans in the shadowy confines of Summers' penthouse, a dangerous web of deceit and ambition tightened around them. In a city where loyalty was scarce and betrayal lurked around every corner, for now, they both had an understanding in this most dangerous alliance.

But little did they know, there was some deceit going on. It just wasn't from where either would've expected.

***

“The Tape”

"Hello there! How many will it be?"

A young waitress, her apron tied neatly around her waist, approached Detective Thomas Bedlam with a friendly smile. Her voice tinging with a touch of youthful enthusiasm. It nearly took Bedlam back because such enthusiasm was rare in Fantasy City. Especially in the North Atlantic District.

Bedlam glanced around the cozy interior, his eyes searching for a familiar face. "Just one for now," he replied, a hint of frustration tugging at the corners of his voice. "But I am supposed to be meeting someone."

The young waitress led him to a booth by the window overlooking the beach. Bedlam looked out the window, thinking back to the glory days of Fantasy City. He was young then. Just a teenager. But he could remember the days when the shoreline was pure and not littered with both actual trash and the homeless. Those days were gone.

Thanks to men like Shawn Summers. Michael Parr. And even the man he had agreed to partner with in this endeavor, Bryan Baxter. Perhaps this was all a mistake.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as Bedlam's impatience grew with each passing second. He cast wary glances at the empty chair opposite him, his frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. Baxter's habitual tardiness was wearing thin, particularly in light of the urgency of their mission.

Bedlam's fingers drummed restlessly on the table, the rhythmic tap echoing his mounting frustration. Baxter had proved to be most unreliable thus far. They were no closer to taking down Summers than when the first meeting they had.

Just as Detective Thomas Bedlam's patience threatened to wane, the café door swung open, releasing a gust of chilly night air into the warm interior. The clatter of the door caught the attention of every patron, including Bedlam himself. Baxter strode into the café brimming with confidence.

Bedlam's gaze locked onto Baxter, a mix of relief and annoyance flickering across his weary eyes. The scuffed wooden floor groaned under Baxter's heavy boots as he approached the table, his hulking presence casting a long shadow over Bedlam's frayed nerves.

"About goddamn time," Bedlam's voice dripped with a blend of annoyance, his words punctuated by a sigh that carried the weight of their shared burden.

Baxter, his face etched with a perpetual scowl, shrugged nonchalantly. "Calm down, Tommy, my boy. Good things come to those who wait!" As Baxter slid into the seat opposite Bedlam, the café's ambiance seemed to dim, casting their booth in a cloak of secrecy. The low hum of conversations around them faded into the background as the weight of their mission took center stage.

Bedlam leaned forward, his gaze locked onto Baxter's rugged features. "We can't afford to waste any more time, Baxter. Summers is growing bolder by the day, and we need to bring him down before he tightens his grip even further."

"Hey man, I thought my original ideas were pretty great. It's not my fault you wanted to do things a different way."

"I'm not gonna apologize for not wantin' to plant evidence or offer some bribes."

"Hey, that's fine. Like I said, those ways are a lot faster and easier. If it was up to me, we'd be done by now. Like I told Jeremiah, sometimes you gotta be the bastard to beat the bastard."

“I am not afraid to get my hands dirty if I need to…” Bedlam hesitated. That was certainly true. His hands definitely weren’t the cleanest. But that’s a different story for a different time. “But I want to make sure this guy goes away for good this time. Don’t need somethin’ that could bite me in the ass and set him free again.”

“Hiya fellas,” the young waitress had returned, “what can I get you boys to start with?”

“I’m good.”

“A coffee is fine,” Baxter ordered as the young girl headed away. “Amazing how cheerful they can be when they’re still young, huh? Actually, pretty surprising to see she hasn’t been completely beaten down by this place.”

“Now you know you have somethin’ to do with that, y’know.”

Baxter shrugged as she returned with the coffee. Baxter gave her a surprisingly polite nod. “What can I say… I like the perks that come with what I do.”

Baxter took a sip of his coffee as the detective glared at his partner. As he brought the mug back down to the table, a busboy pushed his cart by, casually bumping into the table.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Baxter exclaimed in frustration, nearly causing a scene within the small restaurant.

“Hey, go easy on the boy, it was just an accident,” Detective Bedlam came to the defense of the busboy.

“Perdón, Señor Baxter,” the busboy calmly responded with a smile and a nod to Bryan Baxter.



Bryan surprisingly returned the smile as he reached out his hand to the worker. “Apology accepted! Now that’s what this city needs more of! Hard-working young men like you. Put’er there!” Baxter reached out for a handshake, which the worker graciously accepted.

Detective Bedlam cocked his eyebrow. Being the detective that he was, “The Cowboy” definitely felt something was off about that exchange. As the busboy left, Baxter returned to his seat. “Now what was that all about?”

“Huh?” his partner replied coyly. “Oh, that? That was just Oscar.”

“Now wait a damn minute. You knew that boy?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s Oscar. He works for me.”

“Works for you?”

“Yeah, does a lot of different things really but he’s one of my top guys. And would you look at this?” Bryan unfolded his hand to reveal a small tape recorder that Oscar had slipped to him during the handshake.

“He gave you that?”

Baxter nodded affirmatively.

“Well? What the Hell is it?”

“This, my friend, is what you’ve been waiting for. The answer to your prayers. Both of our prayers, I suppose.”

Baxter pressed play on the recorder. The tape began to roll and while the hustle and bustle of the cafe drowned out the voices for everyone else, Bedlam and Baxter knew exactly what they were hearing. The voices on the tape were that of Shawn Summers and Michael Parr. It was Parr warning Summers about the police investigation. It was them both discussing their plans to bring down Baxter and take over the North Atlantic. And of course, their plans to take out anyone who tried to stop them.

“Hot damn! That’s gold!” Bedlam exclaimed. “How did he get this?”

“Summers is arrogant to a fault. He has all this money. All this power. But the guy pays so little attention to the little guys. He has no respect for the people working for him. I may not be a good guy, but I can respect someone who works hard. I used to be one of those guys. I had nothing and look at me now. Shawn Summers never had to work for anything in his life. He never even realized who Oscar was because he wouldn’t know Oscar from any of the other guys who clean his toilets, do his laundry, or cook his food. So I had Oscar spend a couple days bugging his entire penthouse.”

Bedlam's eyes widened. And despite himself, the detective started to have a newfound respect for Baxter stirring within him. Perhaps there was more to this rough-around-the-edges man than met the eye.

"Well, Baxter," Bedlam said, his voice laced with a grudging admiration, "I have to hand it to you. You're certainly full of surprises."

Baxter smirked, a glimmer of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. "What can I say? I get results. And this here," he tapped the small tape recorder with his thick fingers, "is just the beginning."

Without skipping a beat, Baxter pressed another button on the recorder, and a new voice filled the air—the voice of Shawn Summers, engaged in a heated conversation with his Uncle Rupert, a respected figure within the city's power circles.


“Hey, Uncle Ru. Yea, things are fine…What do you mean? I sound fine. Everything is going perfectly.”

Thomas and Baxter could both hear the shakiness in Summers’ voice. The microphone wasn’t strong enough to pick up what Uncle Rupert was saying, but his agitated tone came through loud and clear.

“Uncle Ru, listen. I’m doing everything I can. The X District? Yea, it’s fine. I don’t go out there much, but hell, I haven’t ran it for very long. The Theater District? Still under control.”

More indiscriminate yelling from the other end of the phone just before Summers slammed something on the desk.

“Yes! I’m already fucking aware of the rumors about the cop. I’ve run into him before and I got away, didn’t I? Hell, I’ve picked off most of the other people in his department. Yes, I’m fully aware that he’s different. He colors outside the lines. But listen, I’ve got everything under control.”

The confidence that Summers had exuded in his conversation with Parr had been replaced by anxiousness. Thomas wasn’t sure if his nervousness was because he was after him or Uncle Rupert, but it was there, and it was palpable.

Summers went silent for a long while, and Thomas thought the conversation might be over. He looked across the table at Baxter, waiting for him to press stop.

“There’s more. Just hang on a second.”

“No, Uncle Rupert. Thomas is working alone. Nobody in that department is going to come after me. He has no backup, and I’ve picked up a new…let’s call him an associate. I’ll call if I need anything.”

When Summers hung up the phone, the tape picked up his loud, audible sigh before he started talking, seemingly to himself.

“Of course everything is fine, dear old Uncle Rupert. I’ve got a fucking cowboy cop breathing down my neck, and I know he won’t stop until he takes the Theater District from me to ‘restore order.’ My new business associate is a former executive that used to be excellent, but now he’s basically starting from square one and seems to have his sights set on the guy who replaced him in the North Atlantic District. Everything is just going fucking perfect.”

“He’s cracking. The pressure is getting to him.”

“Damn right he is.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve known people like Summers. I’ve studied them. He puts on his expensive suits, his designer ties, and drives around in a car that’s worth more than most homes in ‘his’ districts, but he’s an insecure little bitch on the inside. Hides behind a wall of lawyers, and can’t stand the thought of somebody taking what he’s taken from others.”

“Hey now. People who take over areas aren’t all bad.”

“Present company excluded. So, there’s still not enough on that tape for me to take Summers down, and now that he’s in bed with Parr, he’s probably more dangerous than before. You know how that type of mind works. What are you thinking?”

Baxter popped open the recorder, removed the cassette tape, and slid it over to Bedlam. “Take this public and our problems should be solved… for now anyway.”

“For now? I thought we were putting him… them… both away. For good this time?”

Baxter sighed, “I know. That’s the plan, right? But you always gotta prepare for the worst, detective. This could be the end of the line for Summers and Parr and I sure as Hell hope it is. But… there’s an even higher chance that this is just the beginning. That this is gonna start a war. And you gotta ask yourself… are you ready to go to war?”

Bedlam picked up the tape off the table, sliding it into the interior pocket of his trench coat. He leaned forward and tipped his hat toward Baxter. “You better believe it. But what about you? You have a lot to lose if this goes south.”

Baxter grinned, “I didn’t get to where I am today by playing it safe. I’m not too worried about Summers. He is clearly really fuckin’ worried about you and he damn sure should be. But Parr… he’s a man on a mission. Unlike myself and Summers… Parr has nothing to lose. And that’s when a man like him is the most dangerous. But I say bring it on. Let’s have some fun.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be saying this to you… but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, detective. Like I said, this is just the beginning.”

“Are you suggesting this partnership isn’t over?”

Baxter grinned and crossed his legs under the table, taking another sip of his coffee before resting it back down on the table. “I’m just sayin’... I know it wasn’t what you wanted… comin’ to me for help, that is. I know in this city it’s hard to find people you trust. But let me tell ya somethin’, cowboy. It doesn’t hurt to have someone like me watchin’ your back. You may not agree with some of the things I’ve done. Hell, you may not agree with things I’m gonna do… but if I have your back, I have your back. Just ask Jeremiah Best. He hasn’t always agreed with my methods but I’ve been there for him. And going into this war… I think you’re gonna want to have someone like me having your back. So just… keep that in mind.”

Bedlam stood up from the table and nodded. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other then.”

“I guess so,” Baxter actually cracked a bit of a smile. The two unlikely partners had certainly discovered some mutual respect between the pair.

As Detective Thomas Bedlam began to walk away while clutching the tape in his pocket, he couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The revelations contained within the recording had the potential to shake Fantasy City to its core. Shawn Summers and Michael Parr were exposed, their plans unveiled for all to see. But with this exposure came the certainty of a war brewing on the horizon.

As Detective Thomas Bedlam stepped out of the café, the wind off the ocean carried with it a sense of anticipation. The tape in his pocket felt like a weighty burden, a key that would unlock the chaos that lay dormant in the city's underbelly.

The war was coming, and Detective Thomas Bedlam was ready to fight.

​

 

[AON]

...And so she ventured into the dark forests of her mind at the behest of her own sanity, on a mission of murder. on a suicide mission-and really, there is no difference there. She sent herself in her own mind to kill what she could feel was growing inside her, what THEY planted in her, and here she was, unprepared and unarmed. The good and the light do not with weapons, but then again, that puts her at a massive disadvantage.


The woods were cold, and the path unsteady. The cleaning, the girl with flaming red hair, and an old Brooklyn Dodger shirt. The rubber ball she threw at the wall, over and over again...


Lizzie paused; she slowly she sits at the girl's side and said;


"It isn't you, is it?"


The girl smiles, as enigmatic as any old-time painting, and shakes her head with an almost wistful expression in her eyes as she adjusts a sunflower in her hair. So Lizzie nods, thanks her younger self and in a matter of hope and a moment of fear, ask if she wants to come with her down to help her strike the final blow. The girl shakes her head, turns away and picks up the ball again.


Lizzie stumbled further down the path, woods closing in on her close enough to scratch her skin, and into another clearing, and this time;


There she is, standing above a nephew in the middle of the ring (Which one? Lizzie forgot, but it didn't really matter; they were all the same in the end) with a dented steel chair in hand, and again, Lizzie could attack or help, or she could take the secret door number three and ask;


"It's not you either?"


"Of course not", her other self answered, not taking her eyes off the chair and who she had just knocked out with it.


Lizzie is not surprised but sighs anyways and does not look at the commotion in the forest. She does not comment on the inconsistencies in her reality. She walks on.


The next clearing is not a memory, and Lizzie is glad for it. She walks from the woods into a room at a long table. She thinks, at first, it is a table of everyone she knows, her mother, her siblings, Gabby, Daphne Shelly, Bryan Baxter, Johnny Johnson. and so many, many seats, many, many faces; there is an empty chair at the head of the table. As she enters the room, the voice at the head of the table speaks.


"Do you recognize us?"


A sick feeling enters her stomach, and she answers, "No"


"I think you do, Elizabeth."


She does not tell him he is not her father, just her mind's projection of him. She knows he knows because he knows he is just a voice of her head. She says instead, "Yes, I do."


"And who are we?" She asked, head tilted, warm smile, a mockery of fatherhood."


"You are everyone I've ever thought hurting, even for a brief moment, even for a second." She answers, never wavering her eyes from his.


"Very good, Elizabeth. Take your seat."


And she wants, she very much wants to. At that moment, her legs are leaded weights screaming out for rest, and her eyes flutter with fatigue, but she shakes her head and tells him,


"Sorry, but I'm looking for someone, and she isn't here."


She does not wait for this facsimile father to answer; she walks on.


The path gets steeper, rockier, and narrower until it is barely a path at all. Her foot catches a rock, and she tumbles head over foot overhead again into the final clearing.


And it is in a stark, plain room divided in half with Class. And behind that glass is another her, another Lizzie, identical down to the last detail, the clothes, the ponytail, the scars, sitting cross-legged on the floor, head down. Identical, except for her hands, bloodied from beating on her prison walls, Lizzie walks to the centre of the room, facing her shadow twin.


"Are you here to kill me?" The girl asked, and Lizzie was startled to hear her own voice from such a perfect recreation.


"If I have to" She replied, stripping of all but honestly now.


"But are you going to?"


"I don't know. I didn't know you even existed until...."


"Until the hug."


".....Until the hug."


"....."


"....."


"....What did they do to me?"


"I don't know; I'm as lost as you, but...I exist now. I'm here...and I think I'm a part of you."


The TORN Lizzie looked up.


"Come here" It was phrased like a demand, asked like a question.


"The glass-"


"-Is nothing to you. It is your own mind; you can pass through any barrier."


And so---she does. She walks through the glass, and it dissolves around her, and she walks right up to her darkest self.


Lizzie expected a hand around her throat, expecting a fist in her face, some sign of violence. What she gets instead?


"Let me make my case."


"Your case for what?"


"The case for my continued existence, the case for my freedom, the case of me being a crucial part of your soul, your self


"Fine. Make your case."


"You're scared. I'm scary. I get that; I understand why you'd feel that way. But I'm not what you think I am. When Keres hugged you, she blessed you. She didn't infect you; she gave you the cure. The key to freeing yourself."


"I swear, to God, if I have to hear that I'm weak one more time..."


"No, Lizzie, you're not weak; you never were; they know that they understand that; they understand you in a way that no one else does. That's why they created me; I wasn't made out of nothing. I was always here; they just gave me a voice, to your desires, to your want. I am every dark little craving you've refused to acknowledge. But I'm here now. Killing me won't kill that Lizzie. Not now. But it will kill your ability to name them, and you'll lose a part of your soul."


"-If that's true, what do I want?"


"Oh, so many things, my beautiful girl. So many wonderful terrible things. Sometimes you want to raze Brooklyn to the ground; sometimes, you want to save every soul you see. Sometimes you want to crush all those people who spit on you and used you into a fine powder. You want to see the look of horror on Gabby's self-satisfied face when you hold the FWA World Heavyweight title. Sometimes, you want to tear yourself limb from limb and remake the whole of your soul from scratch. Sometimes-"


"Alright. Alright. I believe you. I believe you. Why are you here?"


"I'm here because you want me to be here."


"...So why I'm I here?"


"I think you know that."


"....."


"I want to want. I'm too easy to control without it. Without you. and I'm so, so tired of being controlled"


"You want to be me, don't you?"


"....."


"We both know the answer, run from it, it'll chase you, hide and it'll find you, fight, and it will fight back; the only answer is to accept it...So do you accept me? As a part of your soul?"


...and it is here where Lizzie Rose woke up.
--------

Click; oh hey, look at that! It's a handy dandy FWA.Com exclusive, and judging by the minimalist setting, with the lowest production values known to man, it could only be a message from everyone's favourite doofus (That's right, I said it. Come at me, Trixie fans) Lizzie Rose. It's a typical set-up for her; here she sat in a rather comfortable-looking bean bag chair, no interviewer, no special set-up. Just Lizzie Rose and a camera. The only thing that seemed less than typical was Lizzie Rose's darker dyed hair and feminine clothing rather than her typical Brooklyn jersey. Her hair is done up, well-groomed and straightened. Her bright red hair is darker, almost black, with a healthy shine to it. Her face is smooth; foundation applied almost perfectly with some eye shadow that almost twinkles, bringing out the colour of her brown eyes. On her lips is a light shade of pink lipstick. She was wearing a short black dress with some gold trim. Its material is almost pleather-like. It has a belt with "ROSE" written on it in gold. On her legs are long boots matching her dress, going up to her knees. She's been wearing gear like this for the last few weeks, but it still seems bizarre to see the normally humble and causally dressed Lizzie Rose looking like a movie star. We all always knew Lizzie Rose had a strange yet powerful charisma to her, but absolutely no one knew she had any kind of star quality to her.


"....I know what everyone wants to talk about in terms of me; I know things have been..."


Lizzie paused just a little, wondering how to describe the events of the last few months, probably some of the most difficult of her life. And her face twisted just a little trying to come up with the words.


"....Weird with me lately, but I don't want to talk about that. I don't want to talk about magic powers, or princesses, or Eternal...or Steel chairs.....I don't want to give them the time of day...Not a lot of things make sense to me these days..and I'm thinking...that..."


Lizzie trails off, staring into space for quite frankly an uncomfortable amount of time, before she snaps out of it and continues like nothing odd ever happened.


"But I know one thing I've never had doubts about, never have, never will. My head has been confused, but my heart knows if you follow it just right, it will get you to New York city, and I know a lot of you are rolling your eyes when I say that, but I know one person isn't. I don't know if he's watching, probably isn't probably getting drunk at a bar somewhere or beating someone up, hell he's probably looking past me right now, that I'm not worth his time...trust me, it's a state of mind I'm used to, but even someone like Danny Toner knows exactly what I mean...maybe the only person who knows, that if New York City is a question? Brooklyn is the answer.


Lizzie Rose takes a beat and closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Clearly, she was not in a good state of mind, but the thought of her beloved hometown seemed to bring her some sense of peace and embodied her to keep going.


"No one else wants to hear this because...if you're not from new york, the last thing you want to hear is me talking about how great Brooklyn is, but I just want to bring it up because...Danny gets it. Danny understands...that...I mean..."


Lizzie doesn't seem to be able to put her thoughts into coherent terms. Instead, she just gestures frantically from herself to the camera.


"I mean...look at us...just look at us, two outcasts that would be shunned and mocked everywhere else....and just look at how beautiful we are. That's us. You and me, Danny. We don't get a lot in common, we've never met, and I don't think we've ever had a conversation...but you and me? We ARE Brooklyn. We're the beating heart of everything our little corner of the world can and should be. Two people no one thought would ever amount to anything, hitting the big time. That's Brooklyn. The last eight months of my life have been pretty terrible, which is something because I was coming off the biggest moment in my career. In winning, the FWA North American Championship, it was something of an adjustment to go from that to...well, I don't know even what to call what I've been doing for the last little while..."


Lizzie gestures idly around her as if saying, "If anyone can rationalize what the hell I've been through, be my guest" She left it unsaid, of course; she clearly didn't want to talk about that.


"But know what? That's ok. I've been knocked down before, and I'm going to be down again, but I'm never going to stay down... It's kinda my thing, right?"


She offered the camera an almost bashful smile as if embarrassed to admit that.


"Gotta be honest, I guess, I would have preferred for my thing to be....an unstoppable monster ...but I guess being able to take a beating is how my cards ended up panning out. Which is kind of weird, Right? See, people ask me all the time how I'm able to take the shots that I do and just keep going, and I could try and bullshit you and say, because I'm the greatest fighter in the world, or I trade every day, banging my head against the wall for five years, or I have that one thing, that James Bond villain guy had, where he can't feel pain...but that would be lying. Truth is? And I feel like the more I say this, the more people don't believe me- I'm nothing special. It's not like I don't feel pain. When someone three hundred pounds bigger than me punches me full force in the face, when I get dumped on my head, it hurts, when Dan Maskel dislocated my shoulder, and I had to pop it back in...That hurt."


WHAP-! In a very out-of-character moment, out of nowhere, and with no warning whatsoever, Lizzie revved back and slapped herself full force in the face! Her head whips back on impact due to the force behind it; she takes a moment to adjust before she quickly turns her head back to the camera, a strangely unhinged look in her eyes.


"YOU SEE THAT?! YOU THINK I DIDN'T FEEL THAT?! THAT HURT, THAT REALLY HURT. I FEEL EVERYTHING. THERE ARE SOME DAYS I CAN BARELY MOVE BECAUSE OF WHAT I'VE DONE TO MY BODY, AND YOU THINK I DON'T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY?! I'VE BLED AND SUFFERED MORE THAN ANYONE ON THE ROSTER. I'VE THROWN MY LIFE AWAY FOR THIS-!"


...Wow, ok, that took a turn; Lizzie stared at the camera wide-eyed, a look on her face that looked quite frankly odd on the face of the normally all-together loveable Lizzie Rose. That came out of nowhere, and slowly Lizzie starts to realize that, as her usual softness returns to her eyes, she looks more than a little embarrassed and confused, above everyone else seems confused by where the hell that came from


"Ummmm...yeah...no, I'm sorry, I guess I haven't been sleeping well"


She coughs abruptly, shaking her head and readjusting herself in the hopes we can move past that mild freakout without passing attention to....whatever the hell it was. But not before winching slightly, the flash of pain settling in her cheek now that her adrenaline is wearing off somewhat, but as ever, she tries to push past it.


"The point is, I feel pain."


She winched a little again, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek, probing it, clearly demonstrating what she just said.


"But I don't fear it; it's very hard to be afraid of something you're used to. Have you guys ever seen a bat afraid of the dark? But you know what I AM afraid of? Do you want to know what does scare me? Danny Toner"


As is typical with Lizzie Rose, she has an interesting approach to building herself up, telling us she's afraid of stepping in the ring with the former World Heavyweight Champion Danny Toner.


"I guess I shouldn't really say that, but he does. After all, this guy is one of the true blue ACES of FWA. A ring vet, a former World Heavyweight Champion, and one of the most vicious brawlers to step foot in a wrestling ring. So, of course, I'm nervous about being one of his targets; this is someone that prides himself on ending careers; is mine next? Is he going to kick my head off my shoulders and send me on the retirement list? That's what I'm afraid of more than anything else. That someone can take all this away from me. Danny Toner can do that just because he can...and he will if he gets a chance."


Lizzie tilts her head, looking off to the side somewhat as she wrestles with that concept before continuing.


"I think people are going to think less of me by admitting that to you, but I feel like the deal I made with you guys when I started this weird journey is that I would always try to be as honest as I can. And admitting to you now that I'm afraid of Danny Toner, that's a show of weakness. That makes me less than Danny. But...I disagree. I think everyone has it twisted, and society as a whole has this weird habit of confusing a lack of fear with being brave. Those are two VERY different things; the absence of fear is just...I mean, kind of nothing. You walk to a bus; you get on the bus. You get off the bus. Odds are you never had any spike of fear during that unless you have a phobia of buses. Does that make you brave? No. It makes you a guy who just rode the bus. I don't know who needs to hear it, but someone, somewhere, does- Being brave means confronting the things that scare you. Acknowledging that fear, knowing it's ok...and pushing through it. That is courage in its purest sense. That's why I'm going beat Danny Toner because I fear him, but I don't fear the fear; I fear him. No, I have no idea what I just said either...but it SOUNDED profound, right?"


She shrugged and flashed that trademark unsure smile at the camera as if it was unnatural for her to speak so confidently, and it kind of was.


"See, the way I see this match, and this might be me reading too much into this, it's a battle of New York. The big battle of the big apple"


Lizzie cringed, just a little at having just spoken what is most likely the worst pun ever uttered on television and seemed to mutter off-screen, "Can we just pretend I didn't say that?" Before leaning back and resetting, framing an imaginary marquee out with her hands.


"On one hand, we have Danny Toner's New York. This eloquent, self-made millionaire, who drives a fast car, lives fast, and lives off the lap of luxury...and would do anything to make a fast buck. We see that kind of guy every single day where I come from; they infest that place like....like...ants climbing over each other to get at remains of a picnic, ruthlessly doing anything they can to climb over the other guy, and if they make a hundred dollars at the expense of ruining someone else's life? They'd have no issues sleeping at night. But me? My New York? We ain't about that life"


With her other hand, she makes the exact same motion of her hands that she did when she was describing what "Danny Toner's New York" is like


"My New York? The Brooklyn...The Yonkers. The Willisbergs, when they call New York the home of the brave? Those are the places they're talking about. We ain't swimming in money, Our houses are cramped together, and our buildings are slowly rotting, but we understand the value of the important things in life, family, friends, pride, and community. Hard Work. Those are the things that matter in this world. We're not rich, hell I didn't see a hundred dollar bill till I was in my mid-twenties, but if you gave me the choice between Danny Toner's new york? And Lizzie Rose's New York?"


Lizzie waved her arms around as if the suggestion that you could compare the two was laughable.


"I'd pick my sinking, dirty, rotting side of New York City every day of the week. Why? The same reason why I can stare into the camera and tell you, hand on heart, that I can beat Danny Toner. We've all seen it. Danny's great. There's no denying that. He's one of the best there is, but ever since he came back? It's like he's felt he can just waltz around and win just on his name value and his reputation alone, but Me? I know the value of working hard. I know that a hundred-dollar bill might seem like peanuts to a guy like Danny Toner, but I know that's a life-changing amount of money for so many families. I know what Danny Toner had forgotten, how to claw my way to victory, how to scratch and inch and take any opportunity that comes my way. Because that's what this is, an opportunity. A chance to make myself. This match? It's nothing to Danny Toner; his name is made. A victory for him? Means nothing to him? But me? Pinning Danny Toner's shoulders to the mat? That's star-making for Lizzie Rose. That's my chance to take things to the next level, and I got to take it. I need to!"


Lizzie shouts into the camera, jabbing her forefinger into the lens as if doing everything she could to underline that point.


"I can't promise I'll beat Danny Toner, I would never disrespect someone so accomplished by having that kind of ego, but I promise to win or lose? He's going to know he had to FIGHT to beat me......and he's going to go to bed that night knowing what my knuckles feel like against his face....."


Lizzie Rose nods confidently before leaning forward and turning off the camera.
------

"You hear about Jane? I never thought she'd ever make it...Hated that chick."


"You hate everyone."


"I mean kinda, but she was super in your face, y'know? It's like yeah, we get it; you like cowboy stuff; you don't need to Yee-haw and Yippie whippie all the time"


Lizzie Rose nodded quietly as she looked across at the typically bored-looking face of her best friend and indy tag partner, Daphne Shelly; this was their normal coffee shop haunt. The Cafe was in the town square, a marquee overlooking the stone lions. Around the edges were food vendors, giving the middle of the town a sort of market atmosphere. This usually was a weekly hang-out, but this was the first time Lizzie had been invited by Daphne in months.


Well, "Invited" was more like a text that said, "I'm bored, usual place. Swing by before I take up smoking."


Even though Lizzie didn't do much entertaining, she just kind of let Daphne talk, swinging her trade mark favourite pair of scissors idly as Lizzie just stared at her cup of coffee.


"So Danny Toner, Eh? Big scalp for ya, Liz."


"A-ha"


"He was always a big-time douchebag."


"A-ha"


"You got this..."


"A-ha"


"....Anyway, the penguins have become awakened, and they're coming to take over humanity with their advanced penguin technology, and personally, I welcome our new penguin overlords."


"A-Ha"


Daphne rolled her eyes as she leaned forward in place her forearms on the table as she pushed aside Lizzie's cup of joe.


"Ok, what the fuck's with you?"


"Watta mean?"


"Oh, come on, don't bullshit me; you've been acting weird all week."


"Not really."


"Your mom called me and said you haven't spoken to her for weeks; I thought I was the only one... You're normally annoying social. It's super weird."


"No, it's super weird that my mom called you."


"I know, right? She hates me. That's how worried she is; she had to rope me into your emo bullshit."


"You're calling me emo? You?!"


"If it walks like a duck...Quacks like a duck..."


Awkward pause


"See, normally, you'd get super confused and ask me if there's any ducks around because of your intense phobia of ducks. You used to be fun...in an awkward, annoying kind of way...but now you're all moody"


Lizzie didn't answer; she just sighed to herself and shrugged, clearly not sure what to say.


"I mean, look at you!"


Daphne gestured wildly at the newly made-over Lizzie Rose's outfit.


"Since when do you care about dying your hair? And what's all this shit you're wearing? Are you starting a modelling agency? Since when do you ever wear lady clothes?"


Lizzie again doesn't speak. She thought she looked nice now.


"ETERNAL"


That got Lizzie's attention as her eyes snapped up towards her oldest friend.


"They got into your head, right?"


Lizzie's silence was all Daphne needed; she slammed her hand on the table in annoyance.


"Those psycho bitches. Just say the word, Liz, two on two. We can take the-"


"NO-!"


It was the most animated Liz had been ever since she sat down, the word exploding out of her mouth like it was a deadly poison she had to spit out; Daphne raised her eyebrow.


"You saw what happened to Joe. If they target you...if they hurt you..."


"I'm a big girl Lizzie, bigger than either of them. C'mon, you know I can handle them both."


"....Are you sure that this is just about backing me up?"


"Um, yeah? What else would there be?"


"Your big break. You're using me to get your foot in the door in FWA."


There rarely is ever a lot of emotion playing on the face of Daphne Shelly at the best of times, but at Lizzie's words, even she couldn't hide how stunned she was by the out-of-nowhere accusation and maybe even a little bit hurt.


"It's not my fault FWA wanted me and not you, Daphne. But that doesn't mean you get to use me as a crutch. "Oh yeah, Liz will do all the work for me." Sure, Daphne just climbs on board the Lizzie Rose gravy train; it's a bit crowded, though, because everyone in this goddamn town is on it too."


The only person who seemed more shocked than Daphne? Lizzie herself, like she had no idea any of that was going to spill out. It wasn't long before Daphne's eyes darkened.


"Everyone? What about your dad?"


Oh, snap. Daphne went THERE. She played THAT card. Lizzie looked up, almost stunned, by the question, like she was just asked when's the last time someone told you, you were part octopus? Like the concept was rather bizarre to her.


"You never talk about him."


"Um, why would I? Does it matter? I mean, no one ever asks about Cyrus Truth's dad. Or anyone else. Why would you even begin to care about that kind of thing? Like now, I'm just here to talk about Danny Toner, and if I think I can beat him and blah blah blah wrestling stuff, my dad doesn't really have anything to do with....anything."


"Oh, bullshit, and you know it. Maybe, no wrestler on the planet has let random strangers into their personal life as much as you have; Cyrus Truth doesn't really talk to us about his family because he clearly doesn't give a shit, but over the years, you've made it clear how important where you came from is to you. That you fight for your family and how you feel pressure to do so. You talk about your mom all the time. Your fears. Your vulnerabilities. but when it comes to your dad? Suddenly you're not so open"


Shrugging seemed to be a good muted response to the previous comment, so Lizzie fell back on it once more, shrugging, showing no emotion whatsoever.


"I can talk about my dad."


"When's the last time you even spoke to him?"
-------
​

Lizzie Rose sat at the bar counter, her head down and scribbling down notes on a napkin; if anyone peaked over her shoulder, she'd think she was insane, just names of various limbs...arms......legs.....neck...of course, she was just writing various areas to target for her match against Danny Toner. She was deep in what many would call "The Zone" until-"

"Well, look who it is-" Roberto Rose shouted out, making his way over to Liz and plopping down on the seat next to her. "My eldest fruit of my loins!"

Deep sigh

"Hey, Dad"

Almost reluctantly, she turned to her father, waiting until the bartender filled up his glass, then clinked her glass of Fanta with his bear and took simultaneous sips. Almost like a proper family

"What are you doing down here in the middle of the day?" he asked, squinting at his daughter like he was trying and failing to get her focus. "Don't you have some job to ride off to on your high horse?"

"It's Saturday, Dad; You should know that. Doesn't your girlfriend have her weekly book club or whatever on Fridays?"

"Nah, she gave that up months ago", he replied, waving his hand in the air like the idea was physically bothering him like a fly. "And I'll tell you, I don't blame her, there's no money in that! How is that supposed to support me and my daughter AND my ex-wife?! I told her years ago that there was nothing in books, but does she listen? No! But she's been spending all of my hard-earned cash on the books for her prissy little book club. I ask you, what's left for me? And now here we are knee deep in the thick of it, and for what? So my lead-headed daughter can go into ...pro wrestling?! WRESTLING?! And now here you are in a bar on a Saturday. You see, this is what I'm talking about; the whole system is collapsing. I've said it for years! But does anyone learn their lesson? Does anyone listen to me? No-!"

He wandered up and away during his monologue, shouting his rambling to the entire bar. Lizzie, like most of the regular patrons, was well-versed in ignoring him when he went off on one of his tangents. He went back to heckling the bartender and drinking his beer, at least until he finished his speech and sank back into his seat, rapping his knuckles on the top of the bar so that the bartender would refill his glass. to which he obliged, rolling his eyes.

"You know Rob..." The bartender said while he poured, "You're a month late on the last bar tab. What've you got?"

Grumbling about the establishment again, he pulled out whatever bills he had loose in his pockets and slapped them on the countertop.

"You're still sixty-four dollars short, man," the bartender said, counting the money carefully before throwing it into the register. "Come on, pay up. I can't keep giving you freebies; Kate's gonna have my ass."

Despite herself, Lizzie couldn't help but be drawn into the conversation "...Um, hey, Kev? Aren't you her boss?"

Kevin flipped Lizzie, rolling her eyes. "You try telling that to her", he said, nodding down to the bar where his wife was filling someone's mug and chatting over the counter. When she senses eyes on her, she turns around, seeing Roberto Rose at the bar; her face soured, she filliped him off and returns to her conversation.

"....I don't think she likes you, Dad."

"Shut up, Lizzie", her dad spat back.

"Seriously, Rob, I need that money; we spent most of our squeal fund on diapers and fucking squashed bananas or some shit. If we're late on the bills again, we're gonna have to close the bar."

"Alright, alright "I'll get the money. I just need a day or two."

"No way, man, I can't do it" he pressed his palms heavily into the bar top, anxious and earnest as he leaned over it.

"I need that money by tonight! I swear to God, I'll ban you for a week if you don't pay up."

"Fine! Would you relax? I'll get the cash!"

"You better, I'm serious", he levelled one more meaningful glare at Rob before moving away to attend to something in the back room.

Immediately Rob turned towards Lizzie. "You got money right?"​

"Last week, he rang me up to say good luck against Danny Toner and that he was proud of me."


"Bullshit"


"Like you wanting to help me out?"


Daphne blinked more than a little, bemused by how the normally good-hearted Lizzie Rose was being.


"...Who the fuck are you anymore?"


Lizzie didn't answer. Daphne scanned her face for a moment in the vein before leaning back in her chair.


"Ok, you know what? Fuck this shit; I'm bored. You're boring me, so I'mma bounce."


Daphne signalled a waitress and slammed ten dollars on the table. All the while, Lizzie didn't say a word, the sudden bitterness seemingly leaving her, and now all she felt was shame for the cutting words she spoke; she opened her mouth and hoped something soothing would come out.


"Daphne-"


"You don't have to say sorry to me; you never do."


Daphne goes to leave, but she stops herself, seemingly having a change of heart. Her face softens somewhat, and she leans down to Lizzie's level and speaks in a hushed tone.


"I don't know what's going on with you lately. I don't know why you've been acting like such a bitch...But you need to snap the hell out of it. Because if your head isn't in the game? Danny Toner will end you. Just do what you normally do. Try to remember who you are.....and try to remember your friends are your friends for a reason"


And with that, Daphne Shelly turned on her heel and walked away, Leaving Lizzie alone...and conflicted.​

 

[Jimmy King]

Space Bounty Hunter

Journal entry #1

I don’t know how to start a journal. Uncle suggested I use this to convey my thoughts during my Nephew training. I’ve never been one to write down my thoughts. I don’t like to speak about my thoughts, let alone write about them. The only person I’ll share my thoughts with is Penny. Speaking of which, I asked Penny if she’d want to join me on the Octopi while I’m training, and Uncle said it’s perfectly fine if she does join, but she’s still unsure, and she said she’d give it some thought. It would be nice to have her around. I would have someone to talk to. Technically, I guess I have people to speak to here, like Marcus, Uncle, Harry, SS_10,000, and Quiet. Besides Marcus, I’d say Quiet is my favorite to talk with. That guy has some interesting stories. I told him he should write a book someday.

My first space bounty hunt didn’t go as well as I had hoped. We didn’t catch who we were after and ran into some trouble along the way. Uncle wasn’t upset, though; he understood. Uncle wants me to go on the next hunt solo. I don’t know where or when I’m going, but I know it’s soon. I still have a match with XYZ to prepare for at Fallout in Mexico. I should expect that bastard Death Walker not to be too far away, so it’s best I keep my eyes in the back of my head.

Back in Business is on the horizon, and I still don’t have a match for it. I don’t know what’s happening with management, but at least I’m getting booked nowadays. I had to beg to get a match on the card practically. The things I’ve done for this company and this is the thanks I get. I don’t want to get into that now, though.

===============

Randall wakes up in his sleeping quarters and looks up at the SS_10,000 in his quarters to see that he has a video message from Uncle. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, sits up, and grabs the remote to play the message.

"Good morning, Nephew, or my NIT, because you haven’t quite earned to be called Nephew just yet, I’m afraid. I know your last bounty hunt was unsuccessful and to no fault of your own or the rest of the Nephews. I have good news, though, and it’s another bounty hunt for you, but like I told you before, I want you to go solo on this one. You’re used to working alone when you did jobs for your old bosses, so it should be no problem.”

“Remember that one strange character you encountered on Planet Hemmlock? Unfortunately, he doesn’t go by any specific aliases, so we don’t have a name, but Harry managed to track down his whereabouts on a planet called TGO. I don’t know the significance or meaning behind the name, but I know that’s where he’s hiding. I’ve sent you the coordinates, so you best be on your way soon, NIT!”

===============

Journal entry #2

I’m logging this now after landing on TGO. This planet seems relatively desolate. At one time, it looked like there was activity here, but now there’s no sign of life, at least from what I could see. I remained on the ship for some time until I saw the rambling man or anything else resembling a lifeform on this planet.

This is like those stakeouts I did for Angelo and the family. Angelo and the guys had to relocate again after the cops started sniffing around, so I haven’t had as much contact with them as of late. I liked those stakeouts because they gave me time to think. I would sit in the silence of my car and think about whatever. Once I had returned to FWA while I was still doing jobs, the quiet stakeouts gave me time to think about my next opponent. I started thinking about XYZ and how this rambling man shared some similarities with him. However, this confused man doesn’t seem as lost as XYZ does. The rambling does seem to be running from something or someone, though. It could be The Light Protector and The Deadly Traveler he’s running from.

Those two remind me a lot of Death Walker and his Dark Guardian. Walker has been a thorn in my side for months now. He’s like a gnat that won’t go away no matter how often I swat at him. That bastard is always up to no good, and now XYZ seems caught in the middle between us. I should try to convince XYZ that it would be better if we tried to work together to eliminate Walker from our lives. I know I usually wouldn’t say I like working alongside someone, especially someone I don’t know if I can trust, but I’d be willing to do so to eradicate Death Walker.

Eventually, I did see some activity outside of the ship. I exited the ship and carefully made my way through the desolate land. It feels like I have been walking for a lifetime, so I am logging this now after a much-needed break. Fortunately, this device that Uncle provided me can lead me back to the ship in case I get lost.

I just heard a noise nearby; I better go check it out.

===============

Randall carefully checks out what made that noise, and soon enough, he locates the rambling man. The man is in a teal suit with a green and black cloth-like cape and no shoes on. He’s sitting by himself, unaware of Randall’s presence, as he’s mumbling to himself.

”Rambling man?”

The man looks up at Randall, and his eyes light up at the sight of The Wildcard. He doesn’t move from his seat, though.

”Weary traveler! We meet again, but this time you come alone.”

"You remember me?”

"Why yes, of course, I do. The real question is, how did you find me?”

"That’s not important. What I want to know is, what are you doing here?”

"Where is this, exactly?”

"Oh, come on now, don’t start with the gibberish and the riddles again.”

"What are you doing here? Have you been following me like those other two?”

"Other two? What other two? Do you mean The Light Protector and The Deadly Traveler?”

"Those two have been causing me trouble for some time now. I don’t know what they want, but they’re not too far behind everywhere I go. All I know is that they’re bad news.”

"Listen to me; if you let me help you, I can get you out of here and in hiding where those two can never find you.”

"How do I know I can trust you? Who is there to trust?”

"You don’t have to trust me but just know that I can help you.”

"Why would you help me? You don’t know them.”

"They cost me that bounty back on that other planet.”

"How do I know you’re not just trying to collect another bounty on me? That’s probably how you tracked me down here. No, I don’t think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

"That makes me look like a pretty lousy bounty hunter if I can’t collect one guy.”

"Well, you won’t be collecting me today, but maybe another time. I don’t know for sure. For all you know, this could be a dream, and dreams can never end. Remember that.”

===============

Journal entry #3

It wasn’t a dream, but I didn’t catch that man. I don’t know why I bother to do this or why I’m bothering training to be a Nephew. Maybe this is part of the training; I don’t know. It may be one of those lessons to help me with my next match. Again, I don’t know. None of this makes sense.

I couldn’t convince that man to come with me, but maybe XYZ still has hope. He’s had his troubles with Death Walker, just like me. We work together, and we can solve our Death Walker problem.

If he doesn’t comply, then Death Walker won’t be the only one he'll have to worry about.​

 

[WelshyBOI]

Bellatrix Bordeaux in...
DEAR DIARY

LINK:

FWA: Bellatrix Bordeaux - FALLOUT 030 Match Promo

docs.google.com

Spoiler: Plain Text Version

Bellatrix Bordeaux in…
Dear Diary


29th May 2023
Baton Rouge
Louisiana
1:43am

It’s a peaceful night in Baton Rouge. Everyone seems to have settled down, creating a sense of tranquility as we watch on, rather creepily I might add, as Trixie lays atop her bed covers with her eyes closed, trying to get some sleep as small desk fan blasts a tornado of air at Trixie’s face and body in an attempt to combat the growing heat of summer.

The golden hue of her desk lamp illuminates the young woman and the room around her, although the room itself is so tiny that the dwindling fire of a matchstick would probably light the place up. Considering the bijou nature of the room, there’s actually an decent amount of stuff crammed inside it. Her single-wide bed alone takes up the entire length of the back wall, and is tall enough that the top of the mattress is almost level with the windowsill. Filling out the rest of the room, a chest of drawers, on which sits a few framed pictures of a happy-looking family with two young children, a boy and a girl, standing between a man and woman who each look to be in their thirties. Another, more recent picture also sits, framed on the cabinet, depicting Trixie and her brother, as they make their way down the entrance ramp at a wrestling show, with Bret looking confident and excited, and Trixie looking like a bag of nerves. Other notable items in the room include a 19” TV situated on the wall above the foot of the bed. A large mirror with a small desk in one of the corners, with makeup and other general clutter scattered atop.

Scattered across each of the pink painted walls are drawings and sketches that look as though they’ve been made my a child, and dominating this sea of “art”, an large area with a banner above it that reads “WALL OF FRIENDSHIP”, with several badly drawn portraits of people that, if not for their names being written above each picture, would look unrecognisable. These names and faces make up a who’s who of Pro Wrestling, and the FWA in particular, and includes; Katsu, Lizzie Rose, XYZ, Tommy Bedlam, Kleio De Santos, Blair and “Celery” Ravenwood, Cali Hayama, Sawyer Xavier, Joe Burr, and our esteemed FWA World Heavyweight Champion…”Moustache Man”.

Wearing a pink Nike sports bra and a pair of pink pajama shorts, Trixie tosses and turns restlessly, trying to find some semblance of comfort with which to finally fall asleep...she doesn’t find it. After about a minute, Trixie rolls onto her back and opens her eyes, sighing in frustration at still being awake. Staring up at the ceiling a moment, Trixie reaches towards the bedside cabinet and retrieves her iPhone, before switching it on and scrolling through Twitter.

Primarily dedicated to the FWA, we see tweets and interactions from the likes of Weaselperson, Princess Nova, Nova Diamond, Katsu etc. As she scrolls through, she comes across a tweet from the FWA TV Champion, Shawn Summers, who reveals a new design for the title belt. Seeing this, Trixie scowls.

“That should be me.” Trixie thinks to herself as she stares longingly at the beautiful new championship. Trixie zones out momentarily as she imagines a universe in which she emerged victorious in the 4-Way Match against Summers, XYZ and Death Walker at Fallout 028, and won the FWA TV Championship in front of her home town fans.

Her dream quickly slips away, however, much in the same way it did in real life, and Trixie’s mind returns to her titleless reality as she scrolls away from Summer’s tweet.

As she scrolls down, she stumbles across a tweet from the official FWA Twitter page, that reads;

A wave of terror suddenly washes over the young woman as she reads through the tweet, her eyes darting back and forth from her opponent Reagan Cole, to the word “DEATHMATCH”. Her breathing becomes heavier and her heartrate increases, as visions of possible futures flood to the surface of her mind.

Trixie winces and flinches as she sees quick flashes of scenes depicting Reagan Cole viciously striking a beaten and bloodied Trixie with steel chairs, kendo sticks, baseball bats and other devastating hand-held weapons.

The look of sheer dread on Trixie face intensifies as scenes of Reagan throwing and slamming the young woman’s battered and bruised body through tables, ladders and chairs, shattering and breaking each object and in the process, shattering and breaking Trixie’s bones.

She begins hyperventilating, with tears forming in her horror-filled eyes as she imagines Reagan Cole strangling her with barbed wire, and dragging her face first through a sea of thumbtacks, all the while hearing her own screams and cries of suffering.

Trixie’s phone drops out of her hands and onto her lap as these horrific scenes flood her over imaginative mind. She begins to take deep, controlled breaths, as she attempts to calm herself down the same way her brother tells her when she gets worked up. Her breaths are shaky as she wipes tears from her eyes.

After a few moments of trying to calm herself, Trixie feels something…not the overwhelming sense of dread trying to fight its way back into a controlling position in Trixie’s mind, no…she feels something tugging at her, trying to get her attention. She looks around, wiping the remaining tears out of her eyes to clear her vision…she sees nothing out of the ordinary, and yet the feeling intensifies as she feels her mind being pulled towards something. Taking a moment to think, Trixie musters up her courage and creeps out of bed. She stands in the middle of her tiny little room, before her eyes are drawn to the top drawer of her cabinet.

Trixie stares anxiously at the cabinet drawer, as though she’s in a western style duel to the death, ready to draw her six-shooter and fill her wooden enemy with bullets…if only she owned a gun.

“That would be so cool!” Trixie thinks to herself as she imagines herself in a cowboy hat, leather vest, assless chaps, and those cowboy boots with the cool metal thingies., before quickly ridding her mind of this side thought, trying to keep focused on the task at hand.

Taking a deep, courage-building breath, Trixie creeps towards the drawer….and after a long and arduous single footstep, Trixie reaches her destination.

Despite her every thought and feeling telling her to turn back, Trixie wills herself on, reaching out with her arm and gripping the drawer tightly, and…

…

…she hesitates.

“C’mon, Trixie…you got this.” She says aloud, trying to psych herself up.

Exhaling slowly, trying to calm her nerves, Trixie manages to open the drawer slightly, but not enough to make out if there’s anything threatening inside. Realising this, Trixie musters all of her mental strength and yanks the drawer open…

…

…inside the drawer, sitting atop an untidy bundle of t-shirts, we see this…

Trixie and the tattered old book square off momentarily, with Trixie apprehensive, given the horrific and traumatising scenes that she was forced to endure the last time she and this book interacted. Despite every ounce of her being telling her to leave it and close the drawer, Trixie once again feels another strong mental yank, as though the book is trying to drag the young woman into it. Unable to resist this pull, Trixie cautiously picks the book up and closes the drawer, before embarking on the two footstep journey back to her bed.

Placing the book on the bed, Trixie plonks herself bum-first onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged with the book directly in front of her. Unwrapping the leather strip that seals the book shut, Trixie collects all of her courage and opens the book to the first page, expecting to see “DER BASTERD” scribbled all across the page, as was the case the only other time her and this book had interacted, but instead…

…there’s nothing. Nothing but a blank, empty page. Curiously, Trixie turns to the next page, only to yet again find a simple, blank page. A few more pages flipped, revealing nothing but empty paper.

“I-...I don’t get it. Where’d the words go?” Trixie thinks to herself, before flipping a few more pages, revealing more of the same.

Trixie stares at a pair of blank pages, hoping that the words will appear at any moment to prove that she isn’t going insane…they don’t. Trixie’s shoulders sink as she sighs, before closing the book and laying back in her bed, until again, she feels some invisible force drawing her towards the book.

“Nope,” Trixie mutters stubbornly, folding her arms. “I don’t care.”

Trixie attempts to ignore the book, trying to think of other things. Almost immediately, her mind returns to her upcoming Deathmatch with Reagan Cole, and her imagination again begins to conjure images and scenes of all the possible ways in which Reagan could, and probably would, beat, batter, mangle, tear, shred and disfigure her until she was nothing more that a collection of body parts scattered all across the arena. Envisioning this, Trixie’s mind willingly grasps the hand of the invisible force drawing her to the book, and in doing so, she sits up and grabs the book again, clutching it as though she’s cuddling a teddy bear.

Despite coddling the book, the pulling sensation only intensifies. Not only that, but the images of her forthcoming demise at the hands of Reagan Cole remain steadfast in her mind, and Trixie’s heartrate and breathing again intensifies, becoming increasingly more agitated with each passing second. After a few moments of silence, an idea sparks in Trixie’s mind.

Placing the book on her bed, Trixie opens the drawer of her bedside cabinet and retrieves a turquoise coloured felt-tip pen, before lying belly down on her bed and opening the tattered old book to the first page. Trixie removes the lid of the pen, and takes a moment to think about what to write, before putting pen to paper.

Spoiler: Plain Text Version

Dear Diary,

Trixie pauses…apparently “Dear Diary” was as far as her thought went. Trixie nibbles the lid of her pen, trying to think of what to say. After a long moment, Trixie removes the pen from her mouth and is about to write, when something extremely peculiar happens…
​

Je préférerais que tu m'appelles Amélie.​

Trixie’s jaw drops as she sees the words appear on the page.

“C-Can you hear me? I-I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Vampire.” She says stutteringly, pausing a moment to give the book time to respond.

…nothing happens.

Once again putting her pen in her mouth, trying to think of what to do, Trixie suddenly sparks an idea…
​

Hello?

Trixie again pauses, giving the strange book time to respond, and after a second or two…
​

Bonjour.​

Trixie looks completely flabbergasted as the writing appears before her…if only she had a clue what it meant. Thinking this, Trixie puts pen to paper.
​

I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to speak Vampire.
Can you speak English?

​

It’s not Vampire, It’s French.
What’s your name, idiote?​

Completely ignoring the insult, or forgiving it as a simple mistake given that English seems to be the book’s second language, Trixie responds, an excited smile forming on her face.
​

My name’s Trixie.
Nice to meet you!

​

Ah, Bellatrix,
I’ve been waiting to hear from you.​

The smile disappears from Trixie’s face as she reads, and is replaced by a baffled expression.

“H-How d-...” Trixie begins to say aloud, before realising…
​

Do you know me?

Our paths have crossed once before.​

Trixie eyes darts from this response, to the the name “Amelie”, and back again, trying to place where she’s heard that name before.

“W-Wait, no…that can’t be right!” Trixie thinks to herself, as she puts pen to paper once more.
​

The only Amelie I know is my Grandmama,
and I never met her. She died a few weeks ago.

​

Yes and no, depending on what you consider to be dead.​

​

She got old and her body stopped working.

“What’s this book talking about!? There’s only one type of dead!” Trixie thinks to herself, her mind perhaps not the ideal battleground for such a deep debate.
​

Well, if that’s dead to you, then yes,
I’m dead.
And yet, here we are.​

Trixie ponders, trying her hardest to not look like a complete idiot in front of her new friend/great-grandmother.
​

So, you’re my Grandmama?

​

Yes, I am Amélie Bordeaux.​

Trixie nods in understanding.
​

And you’re in Heaven?

​

Unfortunately no, I do not reside in Heaven.​

A wave of sadness washes over Trixie upon hearing this news.
​

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.
Are the evil people in Hell being mean to you?

​

I do not reside in Hell either.​

​

But, if you die, you either go to Heaven or Hell.
That’s what Mrs Clarence told me in school.

​

Well, Mrs Clarence can’t possibly be wrong.
So, if I am neither in Heaven nor Hell,
then am I dead?​

Trixie nibbles at her pen once more, trying to come up with the right answer.
​

No?

​

Well done, child of my child’s child.
You may not be as stupid as I initially thought.​

“Yess!” Trixie hisses, pumping her fist in celebration at finding the right answer, and for being called a genius. Almost immediately, Trixie’s curious brain thinks up several hundred more questions. Before she can ask them, however, some more words appear on the page.​

So, how did you fare in your conflict with Summers?
Did you defeat him?​

“H-Howcha you know about that!?” Trixie asks, amazed, before again realising that Amelie can’t here her. As Trixie is about to write her question, she pauses…

She sees flashing images, memories, of Shawn Summers gunning down a man who looks eerily similar to Bret. She remembers how she had tried with every fibre of her being to will her body into strangling “Der Basterd” until the light left his eyes. She remembers how her body would not cooperate with her demands.

These memories flash backwards, to the moment where she had first found this tattered old book. She remembers opening the book and finding the erratic scribblings of “Der Basterd” filling page after page. She remembers a blinding light flashing from the book, which sent her to…that house. The house where Summers’ killed “Bret”. The house…where she’d found this book…they were the same place!

A sudden realisation hits Trixie like with the force of an RPG rocket. A feeling of sheer pity fills Trixie’s being as she puts pen to paper.
​

No.
I lost.

There is a long pause, far longer than usual, before Amelie responds.
​

That is unfortunate.​

There is another long pause, with Trixie not knowing how to respond. She imagines the look on Amelie’s face upon recieving this news. Trixie decides that she has to ask, just to be sure.
​

Summers’ killed your brother, didn’t he?

Trixie winces upon asking this, hoping with every ounce of her being that she’s mistaken.
​

He did.​

Those two words hit Trixie like a dagger to the heart. She remembers how she felt when she witnessed the incident and thought that it was Bret on the other end of the gun.
​

I’m sorry.

Never has Trixie written something so heartfelt in her life, as tears drip from her eyes and lands on the page.
​

It’s okay, young one.
Summers’ day of reckoning will come,
and I will bath in the sound of his screams.​

Reading this, Trixie scowls, feeling every bit the anger that Amelie’s words no doubt contained.
​

For now, though,
I sense that something else weighs heavy on your mind.
What has been troubling you, Bellatrix?​

Seeing Amelie’s question, Trixie wipes the tears from her eyes, trying to collect herself. After a few moments, Trixie reads the question again. Upon considering it, Trixie remembers what she had been so worked up about before her conversation with Amelie began.

Suddenly, the horrific imaginings of the potential slaughter she is due to suffer at the hands of Reagan Cole fills her mind. Trixie composes herself, before putting pen to paper.
​

I have a fight coming up.
I’m

Trixie stops mid sentence, struggling to pen the words.
​

You’re afraid.​

Trixie hangs her head slightly, ashamed.
​

Yes.

​

May I ask, with whom do you fight?​

​

Raygun Cole.

Trixie scowls upon writing his name, as she remembers everything that Reagan and his friends put her through.​

Ah, yes.
I am aware of this man.​

A wave of confusion descends upon Trixie. How could her Great-Grandmother, who lives in a book, possibly know who Reagan Cole is? Thinking this over a moment, Trixie asks…
​

Were you an FWA fan, before,
you know?

​

Oh, of course not.
I am aware of this man,
and his friends,
through our shared connection.​

Trixie’s confusion intensifies.
​

I don’t understand.
What do you mean, shared connection?

​

When you opened my book for the first time,
you were gifted the ability to see through my eyes.
You became a passenger,
a witness to the defining moment of my life.​

Trixie looks on confused,, trying her hardest to understand what any of this has to do with Reagan Cole.
​

And while you were witnessing my life,
though my eyes,
I was able to witness your life,
through your eyes.​

It takes a long moment, but eventually, a nugget of understanding forms in Trixie’s mind.
​

And you watched Raygun Cole beat me up?

​

That, and so much more.​

Amelie’s words fill Trixie with a great deal of discomfort.

“What else did she see?” Trixie wonders to herself, many shameful and embarrassing moments springing to mind that she’d rather nobody knew about.

Deciding that she’d rather not know what else her Great-Grandmother may have seen her do, Trixie attempts to get back on topic.
​

So yeah,
my fight with Raygun Cole.

​

From what I have observed,
you have fought under many different rulesets.​

Trixie’s eyebrows raise, realising that, at the very least, her great-grandmother has witnessed a large portion of her professional wrestling career.​

May I ask,
under which ruleset will this conflict take place?​

Upon reading this question, memories of Trixie’s gruesome war with Jeffry Mason at the King of the Deathmatch Tournament floods her mind’s eye. And not just the match, but also the aftermath of the encounter. Lying on a hospital bed as a nurse pulls several 10s of thumbtacks out of her body, and sowing her various gashes shut.
​

Deathmatch Rules.

​

Ah, yes.
That was a painful experience,
even as a mere passenger.
But you will prevail this time.​

Trixie reads Amelie’s words in shock. She had witnessed, and felt, the beating that Trixie had received at the hands of Jeffry Mason under Deathmatch rules, and yet she thinks that Trixie will win?
​

How do you know that?
You saw what happened last time.

​

I did.​

​

So how could you possibly think that I can win this time?
I’m going to get destroyed!
I’m gonna have to drink my food through a straw!
I’m gonna need a nurse to help me pee!
I’m gonn

​

You’re going to win.​

Trixie looks completely flabbergasted. Not just that her great-grandmother who she’s never really met thinks that she can win, despite seeing what happened last time, but also…she has never been blatantly interrupted mid-sentence by a book before.

The man you fought during your last Deathmatch,
what was his name?
​

Jeffry Mason.

​

Well, this Jeffry Mason,
from what I have seen, and felt, of him,
is a man with no remorse.

He is man who enjoys inflicting pain unto others.

He is an evil man.

Raygun Cole is not the same.​

Trixie shakes her head in disbelief. Her grandmama clearly hasn’t seen everything that Reagan Cole has done to Trixie, for no reason other than…
​

Raygun Cole is a big meanie!

…that.
​

That may be true, but from what I have seen through your eyes,
Raygun Cole does not enjoy hurting you.

He does so because his friends wish it so,
but there are moments where he hesitates.

There are moments where he looks at you, and sees a scared, helpless little girl,
and that gives him pause.

In order to defeat Raygun Cole,
You must play into this pause.​

Trixie’s eyes are wide with shock and awe as the apparent key to survival, and moreover, victory, appears on the pages below.
​

There may come a point where he has you at his mercy,
or, at least, that is what he will think.

In this moment, you will beg him to stop hurting you.
You will plead with him to leave you be.

Make him look at you at see the scared little girl,
and in that moment, he will hesitate.

It is that moment of hesitation, young Bellatrix,
where you will make him pay.

For everything.

Do you understand?​

Envisioning the scenario in her mind as it is presented to her, her eyes widen, and devious smile slowly forms on her pretty little face.
​

I think I do.

And with that, the scene fades, leaving Trixie and her beloved grandmama to continue their conversation in private.


THE END
​

​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Exile Chronicles (Volume 5)
Chapter 22: Blood that Feeds the Growth

Grave Digger

Dulcet, yet foreboding twangs of guitars and an ethereal voice greet us as we see the creaking wooden wheels of a cart being drawn by a swaybacked mule. Our scene is that of a dusty, barren plain as this cart is pulled along a gravel-strewn road.

There’s no one in the cart driving it, but the cart is not empty. Within it is a coffin…well, more of a roughly, hastily constructed pine box than a traditional casket. As we pan around, we see that the mule is being led by someone walking alongside it, wearing a long black coat with a hood drawn up to obscure his face. This mortician keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Time passes. Eventually, the cart reaches a destination: a large hill that stands out like a sore thumb amongst the flat, rolling plains and tall grasses. The mortician leads his weary draft animal and its cargo up the hill, past the various wildflowers and bright green foliage that makes this mound stand out even more in this environment. The stark greenery gives this hill an otherworldly look as a gentle breeze makes the grass and flowers dance.

As we reach the end of the song, our mortician and his cargo reach the top of the hill. There, we see that there’s a massive oak tree that has grown from the hill’s peak. It’s immense, with deep green leaves and dark brown oak. The mortician pulls the cart up next to the tree and ties up the lead using an embedded iron ring. He then lowers his hood and looks up to the tree, the sun peaking through it.

With a sigh, Cyrus Truth rolls his head to loosen his neck and shoulder muscles and turns his attention to the cart. He rummages around the casket inside as he pulls out a simple, well-worn shovel. Without missing a beat, he finds a softer plot of earth a few feet away from the tree and begins to dig.

“Death Walker...seriously? Out of all the sobriquets you could’ve chosen, you decided on…’Death Walker?’ And I’m supposed to take you seriously?”

The sound of steel striking earth is rhythmic, almost melodic as a pile of dirt starts to grow as the hole grows wider and deeper. Cyrus doesn’t seem to struggle, doesn’t even so much as grunt at the work he’s undertaking. The way he’s moving, the way he persists…he’s done this before. Countless times in the past.

“Back in Business is not too far away. The Road there has been…problematic. Still, I soldier on. Because I have to. Because the stakes are far too high to not let up. I’ve already stumbled far too much since winning Carnal Contendership…I can’t afford any other mistakes.

“Though, the same could be said for Chris Peacock. There is a part of me that respects the fact that he’s trying to prove his mettle, facing off against Horrowitz. That being said…I wonder…”

Cyrus stops digging for just a brief moment. He looks out to the plains from the hill’s majestic view. The pensiveness in his eyes betrays his contemplation of his opponent…a man who seeks to prove his might…but there seems to be more to it than that. His brazen act in hopping on commentary for Cyrus’s last match, based on Cyrus’s expression, has apparently not sat too well with The Exile.

Regardless, he shakes that thought out of his head as he resumes digging.

“Regardless, Chris can do whatever he feels he needs to do in order to be ready for Back in Business. If he has any hope of living up to the ideal of being the champion to carry this company into the future, he damn sure better be aware of what’s awaiting him in the main event. As for me…I’ve decided that the only thing I have to prove is that I have the will to press forward, the resolve to smash any obstacle FWA or its wrestlers want to put in my path.

“I failed against that rodent-skin wearing try-hard, Kazadi. The indignity of tapping out, of ALLOWING myself to tap out still stings. But instead of wallowing in self-pity, instead of making excuses…I’ve chosen to use that. Let it heat and forge it into the dagger at my throat, threatening to slit it if I let something like that happen again. So far…I haven’t. Noriko learned that lesson the hard way. Another young prospect looking for validation. One more soul to the call…

“And thus, we come to the supposed man who walks through the valley of the shadow of death. Death Walker…no, screw that. I gave weaselperson the dignity of using his new moniker, but I can’t with Darius. It’s not that I don’t understand exactly what this man is going for. He wouldn’t be the first person in wrestling to go full on macabre to try and unsettle his opponents and get people talking about them. Hell, I did somewhat the same in my early career before I decided to fully devote myself to my own Truth. Fear can be a useful tool when trying to get to the heart of your opponent…but, seriously? Is there anybody in FWA that actually fears this man?”

Steadily, Cyrus continues to dig the grave. Eventually, he has to pause in order to grab a rope ladder from the cart and fasten it to the side in order to continue digging and climb out. However, The Exile continues to speak, almost incredulously at the absurdity of it all.

“I’ve been wrestling for longer than some of these newcomers and aspiring champions have been aware of wrestling’s existence. I’ve fought, beaten, and lost against just about every kind of wrestler that you could imagine. Tell me…do you know how many wrestlers I’ve had to face that professed that they were the embodiment of death? The reapers of souls and collectors of pain and suffering? It’s absurd, because not a single one of those wrestlers ever fully grasped what it means to walk with death and darkness.

“Darius…who am I? When you look at me, what do you see? Do you see the legendary champion whose legacy is laden in gold? The washed-up has-been who’s stumbled into the main event of FWA’s greatest show, like some other masked malcontent who’s not been able to rid himself of that massive chip on his shoulder? Or just another ‘soul’ to collect to help fuel this image you’re committing yourself to?

“Ultimately, you and everybody else in FWA still fail to recognize the Truth behind what and who I am.

“And you are blind to the stack of bodies I’ve had to put in the ground to get to where I am.”

The grave is starting to take shape. Slowly, but surely, Cyrus has dug out enough dirt to hold the casket that he brought up to this vista. As he continues to carefully toss out the last piles of dirt, he wipes the sweat from his brow as a streak of dust and mud crosses his forehead.

“I’ve won and lost matches all over the world. I’ve faced the very best and the very worst that wrestling has to offer. And the name Cyrus Truth has been synonymous with both excellence and forgotten valor, and cursed by those who’ve wanted to see me dead and buried. But they’re not here. I am. The list of those who’ve taken my mettle and gotten the best of me is vastly outnumbered by those who I’ve outlived.

“There’s a phrase used by people outside of wrestling…and a few within who like to troll our audience…that wrestlers bury one another. It’s a sentiment that comes up whenever someone looks at our business and thinks that everything is simply a stage production, that the suffering we endure isn’t real or legitimate. While such scuttlebutt is infuriating, especially for someone like me who’s had to suffer greatly for this sport? It doesn’t change the fact that in wrestling, only a handful of competitors will ever rise to the top as World Champions. Talent exists up and down FWA’s roster, but out of the hundreds have competed? Only a few dozen have laid claim to the greatest prize, and even amongst them? Only a few are considered true legends and standard bearers of the title of World Champion.

“I’ve been a World Champion everywhere I’ve been. I’ve held gold in every promotion that I’ve competed in. I was considered a world-class talent before I ever stepped foot in CWA, let alone when I took FWA by storm. To do that? I’ve had to hurt a lot of people. I’ve had to crush the dreams and aspirations of both legends and upstarts alike. Compared to you, Darius? You’re just a creep in a skull mask pretending to be death facing off against professional wrestling’s Grim Reaper. Can you fathom the amount of bodies I’ve had to bury over the years?”

Cyrus tosses the shovel out of the hole as the sun starts to set in the distance. He climbs out of the hole and walks over to the cart. Using a rope handle that’s been nailed into the side, he drags the casket out of the cart and starts pulling it towards the hole.

“Darius…Death Walker…call yourself whatever you want. But between you and me? Death has always been my constant companion. I don’t take any great pleasure in having to build the mountain that is my legacy off the corpses of those wrestlers I’ve left battered and broken on the side of the Road, but that is the nature of the beast, isn’t it? And I’ve never needed a mask to make people afraid of me. You know, I’m not blind to the fact that you think this is your shot. My “soul” is a prize to be won and mounted on your wall as a testament that you should be feared and respected.

“Problem with that? You’re standing in my way. Stepping into my ring. Blocking me from the path towards the main event of Back in Business. And if you paid attention to anything in wrestling history? You would know that you’re walking into your own execution on Fallout. Because I’m not going to let anything stand between me and the FWA World Championship. I will continue to march towards Back in Business. And I will reclaim my throne over a thousand bodies and broken bones if I have to.

“I’m going to bury you, Darius. Because I can’t afford to let you survive against me.

“But if it’s any consolation?”

Cyrus, having approached the hole, unceremoniously tosses the casket in. The rickety coffin doesn’t break, but as we see the lid for the first time? We see that there’s a placard on it written with the Japanese kanji for “Holy Warrior.”

“You won’t be alone in your grave.”

Cyrus says nothing else.

The Exile, instead, grabs his shovel, pulls up the rope ladder from the grave, and begins to start covering the casket with dirt.

But as he does, our focus zooms into the grave…past it into the depths of the hill below through the soil and earth and rock.

There, we see them.

Hundreds of them.

The coffins of countless fallen warriors. Legends and upstarts alike. Indiscriminate, unmarked, left in the earth to wither, rot, and be forgotten.

And we see the roots of the tree winding through them, feeding on what was left behind in The Exile wake. Victims and opposition laid low when they crossed Cyrus Truth’s warpath on becoming the wrestler he is.

The message is a clear one.

Cyrus Truth’s legacy is one that has been tended with care, but has been nourished by blood.

And Death Walker?

Just more fertilizer…​

 

[Doc Sulliday]

The Neck Romancers

Blair and Celestia Ravenwood sit in a study, once used by King Sully, in a now abandoned and dark castle. Kleio De Santos is out doing who knows what, and their newest infatuation Trixie is probably with her. This leaves Blair and Celestia in the headquarters of The Coven unsupervised. A rare moment for Blair to really cause trouble, but trouble she has no time for as her and her sister are forced to prepare for a three way tag team match. Blair is sitting at the table tapping her black fingernails against the old wood, as Celestia is happily perusing an old potion book of hers not even noticing Blair's anguish.

Finally, Blair sits up and shouts at her sister.

"HEY...aren't you thinking about what we can do to win this match? It's in a few days, and so far...we have nothing" she tells Celestia.

Celestia snaps back at her sister. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm trying to find a potion that we can slip Aka and Keiko. They're our real threats. With those two disposed, we shouldn't have any issues dealing with Makima and...well..." Celestia says as she begins to drift off. Blair cuts her off anyway, knowing exactly where she's going.

"Yes, exactly sister. Say it...the zombie." Blair says coldly.

Celestia is a bit uncomfortable at the mention of it.

"Right...that...um...thing. Why did it have to be a zombie anyway? It could've been anything...like, it could've even been Santa Claus! For some reason that face looks like it'd have made a really good Santa Claus..." but Celestia is cut off again by Blair

"Enough sister. That doesn't matter. What matters is this is now the SECOND time that someone in this company has done what we have dreamed of doing for years! When Jeremy Best did what he did to Krash...I have to say it got my interest, and you know that I wanted to pursue that interest, you know it..."

Celestia responds "Yeah, but you know that you can't." but it only angers Blair.

"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT.....Krash was one thing, but now Zombie Gip? We are the witches of the FWA Celestia. We should be raising the dead. Not these posers. They think they can watch one season of American Horror Story and suddenly can just go around raising the dead? No, Celestia. We are doing it." Blair says.

Celestia seems concerned at the suggestion. "But Blair, Kleio said no. Necromancy is dark magic. She doesn't want us to use it". Blair chuckles at the warning.

"Kleio isn't here, is she? Besides, you heard her the other day. She wants to look into opening up our doors...recruiting new members. She wants it to be Trixie, well I say...why don't we get someone with a little more...experience?" Blair says deviously.

And with that Blair's plan was in motion.​

---

Soon enough the sisters find themselves in a graveyard. The perfect place for practicing necromancy. Both of them are wearing black robes with the hoods up over their heads. With how dark it is they can perfectly sneak around without being seen. Celestia is carrying a small black bag, and Blair herself also has one.

Blair quietly points to a large stone tomb in the middle of the graveyard and gestures her sister toward it. Celestia gulps, not really wanting to explore the creepy tomb, but does so anyway.

The sisters creep inside the small tomb. There's a creepy stained glass Christian image in the background that gives Blair the creeps. But what's giving Celestia the creeps is the large stone coffin that's in the middle of the tomb they're standing in.

"This is it" Blair says.

Celestia gulps again.

"What we need is in that coffin" Blair says.

Celestia has her doubts. "This better not be like that time we tried to find Lillith, and all we found was that necklace that ended up doing NOTHING".

Blair giggles and then pulls something out of her pocket. "Oh you mean this necklace?" she says to her sister as she jiggles the necklace in her face, before putting it around her own neck.

Blair suddenly begins to take out some chalk, and she draws a pentagram on the floor in front of the stone coffin. She then places and lights a black candle around it. Celestia looks nervous as Blair continues setting up for the ritual, spreading a small vial of ashes around in the ring. With a quick snap of her fingers she starts a fire among the ashes in the circle, a fire that's perfectly contained from inside the pentagram. But it's no normal fire, as these flames are a mixture of blue and green. She then puts her hand out towards Celestia, and wiggles her fingers. Celestia responds by going into her bag and giving Celestia one of their spellbooks.

"You have all the other ingredients right?" she says to her sister.

"You mean...the sacrifices of our enemies? Uh...yeah, I got them" Celestia says as she pulls out a paper bag that looks like a fourth grader's bagged lunch.

"Now we can begin" Blair says as she opens up her spellbook.

"Mortuos cujus tempora transierunt da ei unum ultimum depraehendo hoc obiectum i largiri cum animo tuo Novit iter tuum et auxilio Dei ad hoc volo ut fiat mihi!

Spirit world...we awaken thee. For we request the presence of one of your own. And in return we give you the sacrifices of our enemies. First we offer you the blood of a victim. An innocent who is controlled and manipulated by someone she trusts. Her blood is ripe because it's blood that will go along with whatever needs you desire, and in return no resistance...

...Celestia, toss in Aka's blood."

With that, Celestia takes a vial out and hands it to Blair, who throws it into the fire. How Blair managed to get Aka's blood is unknown, but she has it never the less. It disappears among the flames.

"Next, we offer you the saliva of a manipulator. One who uses her tongue and quick with to charm others to working for them, to being loyal to them. Traits that would be handy to whatever services you may need.

Celestia, give me the salivia of Keiko".

And with that, Celestia hands over another vial to Blair who then tosses the vial into the flames just as she did the blood. It soon disappears also as the fire grows bigger.

"Now we offer you the hair of a virgin. A virgin to combat that is, one with little experience in our territory. It's a reminder of those who come in with naive hearts and empty-minded eyes. A power that surely will help you with fresh souls to your underworld".

Celestia gives Blair Makima's hair, and it too disappears into the large flames.

"And lastly, we offer you the flesh of one of your own. May you leave him where he stands or return him to your world at any time. The option is yours".

This time Celestia herself throws in a small piece of ripped of skin from Zombie Gip, barely touching it as she throws it into the fire...nearly gagging all while doing it.

The fire grows even bigger now as just one more thing remains.

"Now spirits...we request one of you. A woman wise among her years who deserves to fight along side us. A woman who knows evil like no other".

With that, Blair opens up the locket around her neck, and takes out a small black ring. She tosses that ring into the fire, and immediately the fire disappears. The candles all extinguish and the room goes dark. Celestia lights another candle, and suddenly the coffin in the room begins to rumble. Celestia looks alarmed as Blair looks excited, as the coffin begins to move. The lid slowly comes off as Blair cannot contain her excitement.

She rushes over to the coffin as it opens up.

And inside is...

Is...

A man. Who's fully alive.

"What the? Who the hell are you?" Blair shouts at him.

"I'm Paul" the man says.

"What? Paul. Who the hell is Paul?" Celestia says.

"I am." Paul says.

"Paul...what are you doing here...inside...a coffin?" Blair says.

"I like to sleep in there" he says.

Blair is so furious, while Celestia is confused.

"So we didn't awake you from the dead?" Celestia asks.

"No, but you girls were really loud. It woke me up." Paul says in return.

"Shut up Paul...just...Shut up." Blair says as she rubs her temples before storming out of the room. Celestia shrugs at Paul before running out to follow her. Paul shrugs back and then goes back into his coffin and closes the lid.

​

---

Back at the castle, Celestia and Blair sit once again at the study table. Disappointed that the Necromancy ritual did not work. Blair isn't even talking. She's got her arms crossed and she's just sitting there pouting.

The rain is now pouring outside.

Celestia has gone back to looking through her potion book and trying to figure out another way to beat the two teams they're up against.

Suddenly, Blair begins to rant again.

"I just...I don't know what went wrong" she says depressingly.

Celestia doesn't respond to her.

"We did everything right. It's just...it's frustrating. Kleio's magic never fails. Everything works for her. I've been practicing this stuff for years, and I still can't figure it out" Blair vents. She rubs Lillith's necklace that's still around her neck, but then slams her head down on the table.

Suddenly from outside in the hallway...a scraping sound can be heard, followed be a loud thumb.

Scraaape.

Thump.

Scraape. Thump.

The noises are getting closer.

Thump.

Scraaaaaaape.

Thump. Thump.

The noises stop right at the door. Both Celestia and Blair stare at the study door. confused by the noises coming from right outside. Suddenly...

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

Before Blair or Celestia can even get up to answer it, the door swings open.

A smile creeps onto Blair's face. A smile that says it did work after all.

Standing in front of them, with an old battered walker, tattered slippers, and a toothless gummy smile....is none other than the formerly deceased...Grandma Ethel.

"You ladies called for Grandma?" the zombie Ethel says...

...now officially as a member of The Coven.

​

 

[The Golden One]

XYZ's mind often wanders. This is par the course for anyone who spends the majority of their day behind the wheel of a school bus, even a magic one. XYZ is driving this yellow lug of lard through galaxy systems for 20 hours a day, turning and gliding this way and that way, either with intent or without aim. Currently, it's the aimless variety, which lends to even more daydreaming.

The latest set involves XYZ holding a championship -- any championship -- high in the air, victoriously. It's a historic moment. The crowd is shouting euphorically. It's pandemonium. It's a story for the ages. And XYZ is a symbol of freedom from the anxieties and nerves that grip the every man and woman. XYZ is a sign of overcoming the despairing thoughts that so often cut short people's dreams.

He has won. He has won something. He has won a thing. And it means others can win a thing in this world as well.

This is XYZ's daydream of choice, but with the intergalactic driving miles stacking up lately -- ever since the rescuing of a man from his ho-hum sales job with a superhero apparel company -- XYZ loses control of the daydream. He slowly fades into an actual dream, half in control and half at the whims of his subconscious.

And instead of the crowd cheering his accomplishment, they are laughing at him.

XYZ stands in the middle of the ring, not with a championship raised above his head, but with a toy figurine of a school bus, a toy he once played with as a young child. It reminds him of his condition, of being diagnosed with childhood schizophrenia, and of his relationship with Big Al. Now he is questioning the very existence of his space travels aboard the Magic School Bus. He won't go any further if he can prevent it, but as he looks at the toy school bus in his hand, looking out to the faceless crowd members laughing at him, he feels out of control entirely.

The laughter then shifts to boos. Relentless boos that make X want to hide in the corner of the ring. He wants to curl up, cover his ears, tuck his head down, and close his eyes. He wants to hope this experience to its conclusion. But everyone continues booing him.

He tries to speak, tries to tell them he is doing this for them. However, they want to hear none of it from him. They don't want whatever he is offering. They don't want him at all.

The boos grow louder and louder until finally, the boos shift to actual words.

"No! Not!"

"Stop!"

"Are you listening?!"

They seem hostile, directed at him, and nearly make him begin to cry, but eventually X snaps out of this intense daydream and realizes he has the Magic School Bus careening towards a meteor the size of a Rally's fast food restaurant building. X swiftly shifts the bus away from the oncoming meteor and towards Uranus, which helps him realize he has returned to the Milky Way galaxy.

Then he recognizes the loud voice that disrupted his fever daydream: Wild Jerry attempting to teach Frank how to play one of many card games, all of which are hand-picked by Wild Jerry in an attempt to win money.

"For the last time, you big black idiota, Ace can go high or low. But if it's high, it's worth fifteen points. Low is worth just five points. So stop counting your score wrong! Aye, you go to American schools and you can't even do simple math. I go to school in Mexico City and spend my childhood working drugs and I'm like a human calculator compared to you, eh?"

​

---

Per usual, the first image we get after the dark nothingness is the Magic School Bus sputtering along in the middle of the black void known as space. The twinkle of stars in the distance offers the only backdrop, but the primary object is the faded yellow bus chugging and churning, black smoke tarnishing from the exhaust pipe.

Then, a familiar voice welcomes us to this much-needed “catch-up” with our resident superhero and his merry band of misfits and outcasts.

“Well, there. Howdy. Glad y’all could stop in ‘n check on ‘ole XYZ and his … ‘Ménage’. Hehe. Well then … what’s the last thing y’all saw from X ‘n the gang? Must’ve been when they rescued that fella’ from the clothing business, eh? Nice, nice. Well, that was weeks ago, but this group has been mostly sittin’ in idle. Like a Nascar driver at a pitstop, just waitin’ for the green flag so they can get back to business, whatever business they may have.”

While the narrator with a country twang did a solid job, let’s put that into plain English.

In the weeks after XYZ and the superhero apparel company had their falling out, two things began to take shape. First, Christian Howard, the former employee of that superhero apparel company, joined The Ménage, making the group a proud seven strong now. Second, XYZ became embroiled in a brouhaha with two people within the FWA: Jason Randall and Death Walker.

“Ah, yes. There’s Jason Randall ‘n his floatin’ self. He floats this way and that way. Sometimes he’s turnin’ a new leaf, ‘n sometimes he’s flippin’ over the old leaf. Can never really nail him down too much, unless I just did. Hehe. And then Death Walker. Ya’ know, this wacko has been a dark, evil presence in XYZ’s quarters for weeks now. Maybe it’s time Jason Randall picked a side ‘n all. Then again, I don’t know if X would even accept the help. He might have enough allies in his bus for now. I mean, they did just add someone.”

Which leads to a zoom-in of the interior of the Magic School Bus, which has XYZ in the driver’s seat. Behind him are, in no order of seating arrangement: PacMan Bert, Frank, Wild Jerry, Sierra, the fast-growing toddler “Liz”, and Christian Howard.

“Nah, that ain’t how you plan rummy, gringo! RUMMY! You have to connect the cards, yo. It’s the numbers in a row, or you get a set of the same numbers.”

Wild Jerry holds a deck of cards in his hand while about 20 cards are on the table in the back of the bus – the area designated for card games.

“Now, Wild Jerry usually holds court here with the cards. It’s never anythin’ of high importance or rich blood. Nothin’ you’d see me get involved in, for instance. Heh. I’d bankrupt this bus in five minutes. But Wild Jerry does good, and he’s keepin’ the camaraderie up in desolate times. So … you gotta give him somethin’. He learned every card game imaginable in Mexico City when he was a kid.”

Wild Jerry sits in one spot, with Frank to his left and Sierra to his right. PacMan Bert is in front playing his handheld PacMan game, per usual, while “Liz” is doodling in her coloring book. The 4-year-old has no time for card games.

“You do understand the idea of a set of three of the same numbered card, right?” Wild Jerry says sarcastically to Frank, who is struggling to grasp the concept.

“Man, why can’t we play spades. That’s the good stuff.”

“‘Cause we don’t have four players, idiot. You need four players for spades! Estupido mucho, aye. Dumbass can’t even count!”

“Whatever, man. I don’t want to play rummy. I don't get it!”

Wild Jerry smashes the 40-something cards in a deck onto the table, causing a loud bang. Then he sighs and shakes his head.

“Shit, amigo. It ain’t hard! Quit being a muda. Just focus.”

“You just cheat. I put a seven, eight, and nine of clubs down and then you do a 10 of clubs. How? It’s not a set.”

“It’s an add-on, estupido! ADD-ON! Sierra, you know, right?”

“Some people play add-ons and some don’t.”

“Some play add-ons and some don’t,” Wild Jerry says, mockingly. “Damn gringos don’t play add-ons and they want to be all middle ground with this. Pick a side, muchaha!”

Suddenly, the trio stop their argument. Christian Howard, a nondescript caucasian male in his upper 30s in age and wearing a light blue collared shirt with khaki pants, walked from the front row of the bus to the card game.

“If you need a fourth for spades, I know how to play.”

Wild Jerry’s voice gets soft and he looks down to the floor. He tenses up as Sierra – shoulders slumping a bit – looks sheepishly at Christian and then at Wild Jerry. Frank looks off into the distance. Even PacMan Bert has lifted his eyes from his game to look off to the side, focusing on the upcoming interaction without making a scene by actually looking at them.

“Nah, gringo. We … we good.”

Christian nods his head and then looks to Frank, who refuses to make eye contact.

“It’s OK. I’ll try to learn Rummy.”

Christian accepts the answer with that and returns to the front of the bus. He can faintly hear Sierra say, “Give him a chance, guys,” but nothing else from the conversation.

Christian sits in the front row on the opposite end from the driver’s seat and leans forward into the aisle. His posture gets the attention of XYZ.

“Christian Howard … the man who chased rabbits for much of his life, and now wishes to be a rabbit with a magic hat. What can I do for you?”

“Can you tell me where we’re going? Or what we’re doing?”

“Well … we don’t always have to be going anywhere, or doing anything. We could just be … coasting through space.”

“I don’t know if I agreed to leave Virginia and my job and all stability I had on earth just to coast through space.”

“You don’t like the view? I mean, look at that view! I think that’s a white dwarf star over there. Do you want to touch it?”

“Not particularly. I’d rather just have … you know … a purpose. It’s why I came with you. It’s why I joined the … the … group.

“The Ménage.”

“Yeah, the group.”

“No, say the name. Say the ‘Ménage.’”

“I don’t particularly want to.”

“Well … I can’t tell you our purpose if you don’t say it.”

“We have a purpose?”

“Do we? Ménage.”

“Fine … the … Ménage.”

XYZ smiles as he takes a random left turn in the middle of space, directing the Magic School Bus from going towards nothing to now going towards nowhere.

“Our purpose is to shine bright amid the darkness of the universe, to be a shelter of solitude for the weakest of the world. We want to be the chain-link fence holding people’s fortitude together. That’s our purpose.”

“And … what about the FWA?”

“The FWA is … part of everything. It is a single thread in the woven fabric of our existence. But it is a sturdy and important thread. It is the vehicle to share our message. It is the invisible hand guiding us towards a brighter future. It is the house we live in and must open up the windows to let more sun shine.”

“Jason Randall? Your next match? Do you not have anything to say about that? Isn't this how it works? Shouldn't you be thinking of this match?”

“I've been thinking of my match with Jason Randall since I knew it was happening. A crafty warrior. A brittle veteran. At times a desperate renegade. A wildcard. An unknown. A middle man who can swing a pendulum. In the long game, he is an important figure. Or, he can be. In the short term, in a singular wrestling contest, he is just a name.

It is just … a situation. In a silo, the situation is mild. But if … Death … Walker shows himself … the situation is spicier. It is boiling water at the top of the pot. But that situation is not interesting because of Jason Randall.

It’s interesting in spite of Jason Randall.”

Christian Howard accepts the answer. He agrees Jason Randall is probably not the highest of importance to XYZ and the Menage. Even among FWA rivals and personnel, Randall is not the most important. There are others Christian could name, and he has only been in this universe for a few weeks. So, he trusts XYZ's nonchalant attitude towards the match with Jason Randall. In the grand scheme, the winner and loser is diluted in importance. The value is in the margins, in the grit of words and spoken intent.

Christian leans forward a bit more as he prepares to bring up the topic at the front of his mind, even more so than the Ménage’s purpose.

“How do I get everyone else to accept me? I’m having problems fitting in. It has been a few weeks now and I’ve mostly just been here on my own, or talking with you. It’s getting lonely. I mean, that’s the main issue for me right now. I don’t feel like I am wanted here.”

“Well, Christian Howard, I want you here. Is that not enough?”

“Well, it’s a start. But there are five others on this bus. Do they want me here?”

“You have to prove yourself to them.”

“Really? So there’s an initiation process? Did everyone else go through it?”

“Not really. You’re sort of the first … new recruit.”

A pause as Christian Howard takes in the newness of the group. There's a youthfulness to it but also a disorganization. There's a lack of foundation or process.

“So … what should I do? How should I prove myself?”

“That opportunity will come. Like the sun rises, and sets, and like the moon glows in full once a month … your moment will come.”

“And then … maybe it’s time for your moment to come, X. I mean … you’ve been sitting and waiting and watching for a while now as everyone else gets and takes their moments. When will yours come?”

There’s a pause as XYZ digests everything the newest member of the Ménage says.

“Do you really want to be toiling with Jason Randall and a guy named ‘Death Walker’? Is that your purpose? Is that our purpose? You took Alyster Black to his absolute limit. I watched that match. Both matches! Where have you gone since?”

Another long pause.

“Sometimes … Christian … you have to appreciate what’s with you … instead of looking behind or way in front of you. Everything serves a purpose, even if you don’t see it in the moment of decision.”

Christian accepts the answer begrudgingly. He then sits back in his seat and looks out into the void of space once again, feeling alone amid a bus full of supposed friends.

“But,” X says under his breath, not loud enough for Christian to hear, “sometimes you have to make your own purpose.

Because the dream ... never dies.”​

 

[Tig]

Get wasted at parties from 9 till 7 in the morning. I live for the music. Rolling blunts, feeling high, getting loaded... or take some pills and go to LaLa Land. Spending all my money on dope and extreme high price tickets, but in the end, it's all worth it. I like to live in my own world, fuck regular life, fuck a 9 to 5 job, I'm told to enjoy every hour, every minute, so that's what I do on Fridays and Saturdays. Why should I take life so seriously? I just wanna do what I like to do - being far from reality 'cause I cant stand society. It my own world... I just wanna hear the music. I think the whole system fucking sucks, everybody's working their fucking ass off during the week, getting totally fucking stressed out. So, what's wrong, and what's right? I live for the weekend, I live for hard styles, I live for hardstyle baby! COME ON! LET'S GO!!!

—————-text version

Freaks on E.
THAT’S WHAT WE FUCK, MAN!

THIS IS WHAT I LOVE,

AND.

CAN’T.

STOP.

LOVIN’!

===The Deal===

“Gee, New York sure is pretty, Danny. This is where you grew up?” “Somethin’ like that.”

“Isn’t it pretty, Owen?”

Owen pulls himself away from looking at a shabby down-and-out on the sidewalk who is in the process of injecting a murky looking substance in between his toes.

“Uh… sure.”

“It was real nice of you to bring us on holiday to New York, Danny.”

“We ain’t on holiday boys, we’re here so I can get ready for my match with Lizzie Rose.”

Danny says nothing further, instead he pulls out his iPhone and hands it to Owen.

“I need ya to ring somebody.”
Owen looks down at the phone in his hand and then up at Danny. “Eh… okay? What’s the number?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Ring her on Facebook or whatever the fuck.” “You have Facebook?”

“Fuck no.”

Owen takes a deep breath, mentally trying to gear himself up for the painful explanation that was sure to follow.

“Coney has. Just ring her from that. Her name is Beatrice Rodriguez.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Danny, you need to-”

“She accepted my friend request.”

Owen and Danny both whip their heads around and look at Coney who is holding his phone up with a happy look on his face. Owen puzzlingly, Danny approvingly.

“So ya can ring her, right?”

Coney nods and presses the call button. He turns it on loudspeaker and hands it to Danny. After a few long beeps a voice answers on the other end.

“Ayo? Who this?”

“What’s happenin’, B-Rod? It’s-”

“Danny!? Fuck outta here, Danny fuckin’ Toner on my line? What is it, ‘05? The fuck is happenin’?”

“Hahahaha, ya remember this silky smooth voice I see.”
“Pfft, more like you the only fool who ever called me B-Rod. Now I know this ain’t no damn booty call, I ain’t heard from you in years, it’s a little late to be callin’ now, hun. Ya want, Danny?”

“Why ya gotta do me like that, pal? I ain’t callin’ for ass, you take me for?”

Coney glances at Owen and bounces his eyebrows, Owen just goes slightly red and shakes his head.

“You ain’t ever fooled me, Danny, you always thought you were so damn slick with it too. If ya ain’t callin’ to get some, you’re callin’ to get some.”

“… Aight, ya got me. Ya still in the game?”

“Bet. Ya lookin’ for?”

“Three.”

“Hunnid? Thou?”

“Just three.”

“…”

After a few seconds of silence, Coney interjects.

“I think your friend might have hung up, Danny!”

A shrill shriek down the phone confirms that Coney was in fact, wrong, in his assertion.

“The fuck is that? The fuck is goin’ on, Toner?”

“That’s just a friend, it ain’t nothin’.”
“You think I’m some stupid ho on the corner? You ring me up cold lookin’ for fuckin’ three after what, 15 years? 20? You been turned out, Danny? This fuckin’ tapped?”

Danny explodes down the phone, his voice raising so much that Owen actually jumps a little.

“The fuck, B-Rod!? You know me, I ain’t no fuckin’ rat!”

“I used to know ya, hun. Shit changes. Half the motherfuckers on the set turned to the Jakes, the other half got deaded or locked up. You want me to buy this ain’t a hot call, you’re gonna have to say it.”

“Oh come on, Beatrice. Don’t do me like that.”

“Aight, hun. Nice to hear from ya, catch ya-”

“Fine, fine, fine! Fuck sake, man.”

Danny turns and looks worryingly at Owen and Traffic Cone #2 before quietly and quickly speaking.

“It’s under the cement out the back of Lucid.”

“What is?”

“… Her body.”

Owen skids to a halt on the pavement and goes white in the face. Danny refuses to look in his direction.

“How ya know that?”

Danny sighs and rubs his temple with his free hand.

“Cause I fuckin’ put it there.”

“Aight then. Three it is. Same spot as always, ten minutes to come through or my boy is outta there. You wearin’?”

“A red tee.”

“Aight, maybe I’ll catch ya around, I didn’t know you were back in the hood. Later, Danny.”

“Later.”

Danny hangs up the phone and turns around to see Owen standing a few feet behind him, staring at him in horror. Coney has stopped and is inspecting a zebra crossing on the road, completely oblivious to what has just gone on. Danny grunts at Owen.

“What are ya lookin’ at?”

Owen gulps nervously and throws his eyes in the direction of Coney before taking a step forward and whispering to Danny.

“A body? You killed somebody?”

Danny exhales sharply through his nose and then grabs Owen by the cuff of his collared shirt, pulling him in close, and speaking through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t fuckin’ kill her. Now shut the fuck up and get that dumb asshole. We’re goin’.”

Danny roughly pushes Owen towards Coney and begins walking away from them. Owen takes a moment to compose himself and then pulls Coney away from his inspection, the two closely following Danny.

The trio walk in silence for nearly ten minutes until Danny, without warning, pivots and darts up an alleyway. A shady looking character leaning against the wall flicks a cigarette on the ground and straightens up. Danny quickly

claps hands with the man, immediately turns back, and lightly jogs back out to the main road.

“Who was your friend, Danny?”
“Just a guy.”

“What did he want?”

“He had a little gift for us.”

Danny grins at the two and holds up a small plastic bag - the kind that you would find sewn on the inside of an expensive shirt or jacket containing the spare button - with three small, yellow tablets on the inside of the bag.

“Didn’t I tell you guys what we’re doing tonight?”

“I thought we were going to help you prepare for your match against Lizzie?”

“You are.”

“What are the pills for?”

Danny smiles widely, his white teeth dazzling in the New York sunshine. “We’re going to a rave, boys.”

===The Come Up===

Showtek - Fuck The System blares through the speaker system rigged up around a packed, sweaty dance-floor. Owen the Intern is standing right beside one of the pulsating speakers, his brains being blown out - metaphorically of course - by the Showtek stomper. He dances frantically on the spot, flailing his arms around wildly, shuffling his feet to the beat of the music. Despite the strange sight, nobody seems to care as everyone in the vicinity is in varying states of dance, undress, and euphoric bliss. Traffic Cone #2 stands just off the dance-floor clutching a bottle of Corona looking

at Owen in awe. Danny pushes his way through the crowd holding another two bottles of the light beer. He hands one to Coney.

"'Sup with you?"

"What's wrong with Owen?"

Danny glances over at the shuffling Owen and curses loudly.

"FUCK! I told him to just take a freakin' half. Tell me ya listened to me, Coney?"

"Oh, that sweet you gave me? Yeah, I took half but I spit out." "Why the fuck did you do that, man?"

"It didn't taste very nice."

Danny shakes his head in disappointment and then fishes around his pocket for the other half of his own pill.

"Look, we'll take it together, aight? Just pop it in your mouth and knock back some beer. Just swallow it man, don't chew - there'll be enough chewin' later anyway."

Hesitantly Coney follows Danny's lead and pops the half in his mouth followed by a quick gulp of beer.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait, bud."

Danny laughs and nods his head towards Owen.

"Let's get our boy some air."

Danny and Coney manage to drag a protesting Owen away from the festivities and out the back to a make-shift smoking area. Danny lights a

joint as Coney tilts his head and looks at Owen. Owen's eyes are nearly bulging out of his head and he stares at the tarmac'd ground that they stand on.

"Ya good?"

Owen nods and continues staring at the ground.

"This is kind of fun, Danny, but aren't we meant to be helping you prepare for Lizzie Rose?"

"Ya are helpin' me. See, this is Lizzie's kind of scene, or at least, it used to be before she got caught up with those fuckin' Eternal freaks. I ain't actually got anythin' against Lizzie Rose - I don't know shit about the girl. She ain't ever done nothin' to me. She ain't ever crossed me. She ain't ever put my name in her mouth. Everyone thinks she's an empty vessel, a chick without two brain cells to rub together, but ya ask me? She's smarter than most. She lets on like she knows her spot but if ya look a little closer... she's been on a come up for a minute now. Or... she was until she got involved with Keres and Nova."

"She hangs around with Nova? We should've asked him to come with us, Danny!"

"Nawh, man, not our Nova. I don't get it, Coney, I really don't. Why would she even give'em the time of the damn day? She's a fighter. An underdog. She's from a rough part of New York City and I know

that girl ain't had it easy. I thought she was like me. I don't know why she's lettin' those two get in her head. Then I realized; I don't know fuckin' anythin' about her damn head. I don't know what shapes her, what makes her tick. So I came here, I wanted to put myself in her shoes and see where the fuck her head was at."

"You sound like you care about her, Danny."

Danny chuckles and then spits on the ground, directly where Owen is still staring.

"Guess I'm comin' up. Don't get it twisted - I'm still gonna have my way with her in that ring on Fallout but... I like to know who I'm fuckin' with."

Owen looks at Danny, an eerie glint in his eyes. Danny ignores him and instead directs his attention to Coney who is clutching his stomach.

"Ya good?"

"I don't know, Danny. I think I need to tinkle. I've got a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy."

Danny bursts out into fits of laughter.

"Sounds like you're comin' up too, bud!"

Coney jigs a little on the spot.

"I really think I need to pee, Danny! Where's the toilet?"

"There ain't no proper toilets in Lucid, bud, just find a quiet corner and freakin' go, man. Ain't goin' out here though, this is where I'm smokin'."

Coney looks a little torn but then nods his head and runs back into the packed dance-floor, hoping to find somewhere appropriate to reveal himself. Finally, Owen speaks, a weird look on his face.

"This is Lucid?"

"What's it to ya, bud?"

Owen stares at the ground once again and begins trembling. "So sh-sh-she's... she's here?"

Danny's mouth opens and closes a few times and he steals a quick look at the same spot Owen has been transfixed by. He struggles to gather his thoughts, the effect of the ecstasy tablet well and truly kicking in. He is about to speak when the sounds of Armand Van Helden’s

I Want Your Soul (Radio Edit) penetrates the smoking area. Coney pops his head out the door, somebody has put glow in the dark paint around his notably larger eyes.

"Guys, guys! Come quick! This song is GREAT!"

Coney doesn't even wait for a response, he's already gone back into the crowd. Danny throws his arm around Owen and whispers to him.

"Get that shit outta your head right freakin' now. Let's fuckin' enjoy ourselves. See if we can get your frigid-ass some."

Whether he wants to or not, Owen finds himself being led back into the dance-floor, a series of unanswered questions and dark thoughts flooding his head.

===The Love Buzz===

After a couple of frantic hours of tile-burning, E-induced, old-school ‘wrecking it’ from Owen, Coney, and Danny, the Lucid DJ shouts over the mic.

“Yo! We got Danny fuckin’ Toner in the building, show our boy some love!”

The gathered crowd go wild and begin whistling and cheering. Danny steps up on a speaker adjacent to the DJ booth.

“Ayo! First things first: shout out to the motherfuckin’ DJ! My man has been droppin’ stomper after stomper all damn night! We appreciate you, man, for real. Secondly, lemme give some love to all you freaks burnin’ a hole in the freakin’ dance-floor! Ya see my boy

Owen right there? They call’em ‘Mr. Four Point Oh” on account of them grades he be gettin’. That dog is real smart with it but lemme tell ya; he damn clever in those sheets too, ladies! Show the boy some love, New York. Look, I’ve been havin’ a real good time tonight. I don’t wanna turn ruin the buzz and turn things all serious and shit, but there’s one thing I gotta say! New York City… I appreciate all of you. No gimmick. No games. No bullshit. This is just straight up Danny fuckin’ Toner to you motherfuckers here in New York, in my fuckin’ ends, my streets! I ain’t apologizing to any-fuckin’-body! I did what I freakin’ did and I’ll continue to do what I freakin’ do, don’t make no mistake ‘bout it. I’m just like the rest of you hopped-up, crazy motherfuckers… a dirty son of a bitch! Whatever it takes, I’ll dig deeper than you ever freakin’ thought possible and I’ll sink lower than you could ever have possibly imagined to prove one thing; that I’m the fuckin’ best wrestler in the world. I’m the uncrowned king, everybody in the company knows it, everyone watchin’ knows it. It’s an undeniable truth, nobody in the locker-room can - actually, scratch that - nobody in the damn world will come out the other side of a fight with me. They might have a good day and they might catch me cold. It’s happened. Jeremy Best did it. I might have been under a mask but technically, Violet Dreyer did it. It can happen. But mark my words; in three, four, five years time I’ll still be the most feared cat on the roster. In the end, I’ll always be the top dog, I’ll always be the one left standing. I’ll always be the one that nobody wants to face. We’re seeing it happen right now, nobody has stepped up to accept my challenge for Back in Business. To tell the truth of the matter… I don’t know what this Back in Business has in store for me. I can guarantee you all one thing though; next year Back in Business is in New York City and I guarantee I’ll be in the main event. That’s a promise.”

The late-night freaks scream in appreciation before Danny continues his monologue.

“Lemme talk about Lizzie Rose for a second - that girl is fuckin’ fire, no mistake about it, she’s gotta hunger in her belly. You’d never think it but… she reminds me of me. Granted, the circumstances are different but it boils down to the same thing: motherfuckers risin’ up

and achieving more than anyone ever thought they could. She’s a defiant, hard motherfucker who ain’t afraid of fuckin’ anything. She steps into that ring knowing most people are writing her off, knowing most people think she’s gonna lose, knowing that there are others who want her to be somethin’ she’s not. But that’s the beauty of all us cats from New York City, ain’t it? We are who we are and we don’t apologize to nobody. I want Lizzie Rose to stick to her guns, stay true to herself, and tell these Eternal assholes exactly where to stick it. I know she ain’t here right now, but if she was, I’d tell her to stick the course and fuck whatever anyone else is tellin’ her she should do. Lizzie, ya say what ya wanna say. Do what ya wanna do. You’re from New York freakin’ City and that means somethin’. If I have to get into that ring and punch your fuckin’ teeth down your throat to get that message across ya know I won’t hesitate. If ya can’t realize who ya are on your own, I’ll make you realize. I like ya Lizzie, truly I do, but I’ve always prided myself on being the realest person in the damn world and if ya can’t stay true to yourself… then I ain’t got no freakin’ respect for ya, and that ain’t gonna end too well for you.”

DANNY!

DANNY!

DANNY FUCKING TONER!

“But I believe. I believe you’ll come to your fuckin’ senses when you look across that ring and see me staring at ya. You’ll realize that the only chance you have to survive is by being Lizzie fuckin’ Rose. The real Lizzie. That resilient bitch with an iron chin that won’t take no for an answer. That crazy fucker who’ll run head first at the biggest person on the roster without flinchin’. If this mind-fucked, sheep of a person you’ve been these last few months shows up… it’s night-night for lil Lizzie. That’s a fuckin’ promise. Keep the eyes, Lizzie Rose, keep the freakin’ eyes. DJ? Let’s turn this bitch up another notch!”

The DJ lets fly another jaw-swinging, brain-melting tune and Danny hops down from his perch, approaching a yipped-out Owen and the new lady friend he finds himself with.

“What’s goin’ on here?”

Owen’s new female companion smiles at Danny and holds up her phone. “Lizzie is in the same e-fed as me!”

“For real? Can you track her location?”

The girl pushes a couple of buttons on her phone and then looks at Owen. “Ummm-”

“Just fuckin’ do it.”

The certainty in Danny’s voice makes the girl double-down on her efforts and after a few moments she hands Danny the phone, an IP address clearly stated on the screen.

“Here.”

Danny looks at it and hands it to Owen.

“Get me there. Now.”

With a reluctant look on his face, Owen narrows his eyes and sets about revealing Lizzie’s location to Danny.

===The Come Down===

Owen, Coney, and Danny are sitting outside an insanely tall building in the middle of New York City. They are sharing a joint and trying to get to grips

with the effects of the ecstasy tablets wearing off. Danny takes a hard pull, passes it to Coney, and then begins talking.

“The thing about this skinny, little bitch is that her head is in the motherfucking clouds. Raving? That’s a form of escapism. One she don’t even do right. She’s as clean cut as they come. People that do this shit, nine times out of ten, it’s to get away from reality. It’s to put themselves in a position where they don’t have to face the music. This bullshit with Eternal… I kinda understand it. She’s runnin’. She’s runnin’ from something but she gotta stop right now before she comes headfirst into somethin’ she can’t stop. Ya gonna push that far that ya end up with me? Starin’ down the baddest motherfucker on the planet? I hope the bitch has more sense.”

Danny snatches the joint back and inhales greedily.

“Rave is an escape, just like hanging with these Eternal cats is. But ya gotta know what’s what, if ya don’t, you’re going to end up in shit creek, it’s just that simple. I don’t know what the fuck you’re running from but coming bang smack into me ain’t the answer. I promise you that.”

Danny gets up and dusts himself down. He nods his head at Coney and attempts to take his leave before Owen interjects.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve somethin’ to do.”

Danny refuses to say another word as he cleans himself up. Owen’s questions fall on deaf ears and eventually, Danny walks away from the duo. He walks for over half an hour until he finds himself outside the building that the IP address pinged to. He lights a joint and waits until Lizzie emerges from the building. He gives it a few seconds until she has progressed fifty or so meters down the road, and then follows in hot pursuit. Danny waits until Lizzie turns to take a shortcut up an alleyway, and then produces a flick-blade. He waits five seconds - just enough time for Lizzie to be far enough in off the road that she wouldn’t draw attention, and then pounds

after her. He is a mere two feet away, blade wielded in a dangerous fashion at his side, when he is tackled to the ground.

“The fuck?”

Danny hits the concrete with some force but looks up to see a familiar face staring him down.

“Owen, ya doing?”

“Stop! You can’t do this!”

Danny struggles to get Owen’s weight off him and then shouts out. “The fuck out of the way.”

“You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”

Danny struggles against Owen’s body weight pinning him down and after a few moments pass, Danny opts to headbutt Owen, causing the young intern to reel backwards clutching his nose.

“Stupid motherfucker.”

Owen wails as Danny kicks him in the ribs.

“The fuck ya do that for? She’s fuckin’ gone now.”

Between clutching his side and coughing blood up, Owen manages to wheeze out a few words.

“She… she doesn’t… she doesn’t deserve it.”

Danny boots Owen full force in the head. This causes Owen to spasm a bit on the ground.

“She doesn’t deserve it? SHE DOESN’T FUCKIN’ DESERVE IT!? This stupid bitch chose to get in the ring with me. It was her decision to

take this match, any motherfucker that accepts that, gets what’ comin’ for them. Lizzie Rose thinks she can waltz up and make somethin’ of herself by fightin’ me?”

Danny spits on the ground.

“Bitch got another thing comin’. I don’t care who she is, what she’s done, where she’s from… this shit starts and ends with me. I’m Danny fuckin’ Toner, the last money-maker in the whole damn business! Lizzie wants to fuck around… then that little two-bit slut is gonna find out. She gonna learn what a real fuckin’ boogie-man looks like. Fuck her North American Championship opponents. Fuck the bigger cats she faced. Fuck every stupid motherfucker tryna make a name for themselves. Fuck Eternal. She wanna know scared? She wanna know hurt? She want her innocence to be brutal fucked to one side and given a harsh lesson… she come to the right place.”

Owen wheezes, gasping for breath. Danny nails him with a hard elbow-strike.

“I’ll fuck that bitch up. I’ll make her wish she was in Queensboro Correctional Facility being turned out because that shits a freakin’ holiday compared to what I’ll do to her. You sit there thinkin’ you might have saved her Owen, but ya’ve only prolonged the misery.

I’mma get my hands on Lizzie Rose and I’mma slap that bitch black and fuckin’ blue. Bet. Cunt is finished.”

Danny takes a few step backs and looks at the downed Owen before chagrin forward and soccer kicking him in the ribs.

“You little fuckin’ pussy. You can’t keep your freakin’ mouth shut. All night I’m gettin’ this shit off you about that damn fuckin’ body. Even when you out of it, it’s still on your mind. So what if I did fuckin’ dead that bitch. I do and take what I want. Ain’t nobody gonna stop me. Certainly not a little fuckin’ bitch like you. Certainly not a little slapper like Lizzie Rose. Guess you and Lizzie have somethin’ in common - you both gonna get dicked by the baddest motherfucker on the planet; D-Tizzle - Danny FUCKIN’ Toner.”

Danny spits on the downed Owen before roaring into oblivion. Lizzie may be a former North American Champuon. Lizzie may be somebody that gets punched square in the face over and over again yet still gets up. Lizzie may be a warrior. Lizzie may be able to roll with the best of them. Lizzie may be New York fucking City. But… Lizzie Rose is somebody that on his nicest days, earns Danny’s respect. Barely. On any other… she’s just a two-bit little trick that’s waiting to be turned out by the only damn fucking thing that matters. In this universe or any poxy other.

Danny.

Fucking.

Toner.

 

[weaselperson]

THE UNCONSPIRATORS. ​

EPISODE TWO.​

ft. Kaiju Repulsion Force​

​

001.​

A solitary woman stood around several tall and narrow monitors, each of which held a shrouded member of the Council of United Organizations. One could argue the expenses paid for the monitors, and the necessity of this particular meeting location for the meeting were both rendered redundant when you could only see the silhouette of each of the on-lookers, but this wasn’t an argument anyone had been willing to bring up. Powerful people often brokered no room for rebellion, no matter how logical or minor.

The woman, who was currently subject to interrogation, was the head of the Kaiju Repulsion Force sub-organization. The topic of this interrogation was the recent death of the Lumberers.

“It’s unfortunate, the Lumberers showed a lot of promise. Their axe-wielding techniques seemed to be the sort of rugged straightforwardness we could have used, but as with the previous couplings that have fallen tragically in the war, they did not get enough time to mature. I implore you once again to reconsider rushing the education of our junior couplings.”

“Then what do you propose as an alternative.”

“Temporary substitutes. If we are going to risk losing the third coupling, then let us look outside the system.”

“It’s risky.”

“We don’t have much of a choice. They’re more expendable than our juniors. Once we’ve given them time to mature, they’ll be more appropriate long-term solutions.”

“Remember, Attica, if this gets out, it’ll be your head. Privacy is of the utmost priority.”

“Of course. I will ensure my people deal with this with the utmost diligence, and review all our security measures beforehand.”

“Very well, you have our permission to proceed.”
​

002. ​

The Kaiju Repulsion Force needed to seek out potential couplings without delay. As such, they had to quickly narrow down the scope of their search by prioritizing certain aspects:​

• Recognizability: This was the easiest way of narrowing down recruitment prospects. They would focus solely on couplings that had some level of popularity, instead of getting bogged down in trying to find ideal candidates.​
• Combat Ability: This would considerably narrow down the possibilities further. Combat ability wasn’t necessarily an absolute, and athletic ability could be considered as well. But it was without a doubt the most helpful trait a pairing could have.​
• Adaptability: This would minimize the time it would take for the recruited to transition into the world of Kaiju Repulsion. Those who had traveled, or faced hardships, or demonstrated experience with the unusual would be worthy candidates for the assignment.​

Considering these various traits needed for potential replacements for the Lumberers, it could not be entirely too surprising that a certain pairing had been sought after. What can be viewed as surprising, is that this pairing had only recently joined together, and this still unstable relationship was undoubtedly the greatest obstacle to their selection.

The agents from the KRF that had been dispatched were dressed in black suits, wearing shades, had their hair finely cut, and were clean-shaven as can be. They were staunchly dedicated to their desire to be viewed solely as straightforward, cold, and professional individuals.

Izaya Snowmantashi, the man in charge of the Unconspirators (his formerly two-member now three-member private investigation agency), was still dressed in his bathrobe and sipping iced chocolate milk when the other two members joined him.

“Boss!”

“Makima, iced coffee, latte, chocolate milk?”

“Yes! Iced coffee with mint chocolate shots for me!”

“Zom Gippy?”

Zom Gippy’s eyes held onto the agents, and as a woman whose existence could very much be the focal point of any governmental or organization’s designs of grotesque science fiction come to life, she felt a bout of nervousness freezing her awareness of anything else.

“Zom Gippy?” Izaya asked again.

“Ahhh, yes?” she said, momentarily startled, then remembering herself.

“Iced coffee?”

“Uh - No- I mean, yes.”

Izaya smiled and nodded, and left.

Makima folded her arms.

“You rejected the boss’s offer for iced coffee?”

“We’re here strictly on official business,” one of the agents said, who seemed to have been designated the leader but could not be considered to be any more unique than the other agents, at least not unless you were willing to uncover the robust events that have brought him to this most significant moment in his life (a meeting with Makima Snowmantashi, to be clear).

“And what business is that?”

“We are part of an undercover secret organization called the Kaiju Repulsion Force.”

“Ah, so one of you foolish idiots has finally realized how powerful I truly am. And this is all you’ve brought?”

“Pardon me?”

“Imbelice. You’re thirty thousand four hundred and ninety-four of you too few to have even a one percent chance of taking me on.”

“That’s not why they’re here, Makima.” Izaya entered the room again, handing over two glasses to his two assistants.

“Thank you,” Zom Gippy said.

“You’re getting better at not stuttering,” Makima said.

“These gentlemen are here to ask you to protect the planet Earth.”

“W-w-w-what?!” The zombie’s glass nearly slipped out of her hands.

“Not as foolish as I thought. You want me to protect the Earth? Well, that is sure to bring with it ample fame and wealth, isn’t it? You don’t have to convince me, I’ll do it.”

“Not just you, the both of you.”

Makima eyed Zom Gippy. “I did make a vow to bring you to glory alongside me, I suppose I can share a portion of the spotlight.”

“And there won’t be any fame and wealth. You forgot the part about this being an undercover organization.”

“I can understand fame, but what does that have to do with wealth?”

“You’d be doing this for the greater good,” an agent said.

“Pfffft! The greater good. Please, let’s be serious for a moment. If there is no fame, and there is no wealth, then you can find someone else to do it. Selflessness is the quality of the forgotten, and I am not one to be forgotten, you understand.”

“But what if the world gets destroyed after all?” Zom Gippy spoke up, having been mostly mum, but at greater ease knowing that she was not the subject (not for the reasons she thought of, at least) of this meeting.

“You want in on this Zom Gippy? Is being my partner, the Platinum to my Twinkle, not enough for you?”

“We can’t win championships if we don’t help.”

“My assistants, please, you haven’t even heard what it is exactly you’ll be doing. Haven’t you considered what would necessitate needing a pairing, to begin with?”

Makima shrugged, and Gippy shook her head.

“Or how exactly you’re meant to repulse kaiju?”

“We feed them Zom Gippy and they’ll be forever disgusted by the idea of eating humans?”

“Please, no.”

“Oh, an interesting idea. Did you all consider that?” Izaya asked the agents.

“Be serious. We’re talking about the fate of the world here.”

“It seemed your current tactics weren’t doing so well, I think my student’s suggestion wasn’t a bad one, and could be more of a permanent solution to these ails these kaiju have given you.”

“Perhaps they do not comprehend the notion of tactics and strategy, boss.”

“Not many do.”

“Enough,” one of the other agents finally spoke up, and given the distraught reactions of his other peers, this wasn’t a common outrage. “Is this the best we can do?”

“It’s not our decision to make. We simply follow orders. Do you understand that? Now, be quiet, and be grateful I won’t report you for insubordination.”
The other agent grunted but said nothing more.

“The KRF is an organization that uses experimental bio-mechs to fend off creatures from another dimension. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s my understanding that these mechs are sent off into gateways, where they stand guard and prevent any monster from coming through. So far, they haven’t failed… or you could say, any failure they’ve had has been efficiently erased, in some manner or another. These bio-mechs of theirs require two pilots, a coupling, to operate them, I won’t bore you with the scientific gibberish as to why they require this…” Everyone in the room knew that this was because he likely did not understand it, though none of the agents blamed him for it because they did not understand it either, and everyone was content with this abstract justification, leave the complexities of science to the scientist. “Simply know, that that is what is needed.”

“You’re more informed than we thought.”

“I’m an observer.”

The agents stepped back, hands almost gliding to their waist.

“No, no. Not that sort of observer. I just mean, I pay attention. To undercover organizations. It’s a hobby of mine.”

“But you’re also aware of them.”

“That goes without being said. I’m a professional wrestler, and one of our emblems happens to have his own connections.”

“Connections,” Makima repeated, sneering.

“What do you say, Makima, I think it could be some good training.”

“And as you always say, the best training is unorthodox.”

“Precisely.”

“We’re speaking of saving the world. This isn’t training,” an agent interrupted.

“And you, Zom Gippy.”

“If Makima says yes, and it’s about the world, then… we don’t have a choice, do we?”

“There’s your answer, gentlemen.”

Makima grinned. “You can all stop being so tense and scared now. Consider the world saved.”

003.

The moment of departure was immediate. Although Makima had ultimately agreed with little convincing, this was the only method by which they would’ve agreed to bring in the pair. Furthermore, if they had refused, their memory would have been wiped of the moment, or at least that would have been the plan, though who is to say if such plans would have gone as intended?

They were escorted in a black SUV, tinted bulletproof windows ensuring no one would be able to see or access anyone within. Izaya had not come along, and smiled dismissively at the threats imposed upon him should he tell anyone about what occurred this day. They assured him that they would be watching, and they would know. They certainly had their means, but Izaya was not an ordinary man.

The SUV escorted them into the middle of nowhere, and though Zom Gippy had been anxiously tracking their location on the journey to the KRF’s headquarters, the tracker and all wireless connections stopped working approximately thirty-two minutes before they finally arrived at a seemingly abandoned shack, though the windows and doors had been boarded so that you could not see anything within. This was a deception, as the door opened remotely. They entered an elevator that descended them countless feet underground.

When they arrived at the core of the headquarters, they were escorted off to another wing, before finally stopping at a closed door.

“What’s this?” Makima asked. “You haven’t given us anything since we left home.”

“Within that room are the two couplings that you will be working with. It would be good if you could get along.”

“Get along, hah. Should I get along with people that have allowed their partners to die over and over again? I think it’ll be best if I make them understand that I won’t abide letting them drag me down.”

The agent frowned. Makima smirked.

“Ah. Uh. Makima?” Zom Gippy said.

“What?”

“You can leave now, we’ll take it from here,” a new voice spoke over Makima's shoulder.

The agents nodded and left, resisting their desire to get another look at Makima's face when she turned to see the woman behind her. Makima turned undaunted by the knowledge that her remarks had been heard by their subjects.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t earth’s mightiest heroes.” She entered the room, walking past the Japanese women that had stood at the entrance. She found another within, and elsewhere in the room, two women who looked similar enough to be assumed sisters. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Last Twinkle in the Sky. Baby Kaiju. The Last Gift of the Second Millenium! Makima Snowmantashi!” She points to the sky, smiling proudly to herself. “And this,” she points to her partner anxiously standing by her, “is the Platinum One, the Decayed Platinum, the Zombie, ZOM. GIPPEEEEEEEHHH!” She does her best impression of Natalie Rosenberg but her audience isn’t all that impressed.

“Nice to meet you! I hope we can work well together,” Zom Gippy said.

“I think these two have been misled.”

“I think you’re right, sister.”

“They think the position is already theirs.”

“They certainly seem the arrogant sort.”

“Should we tell them?”

“Isn’t it funnier if they don’t know?”

Makima watched two sisters talk with increasing frustration. “Tell us what?!”

The Japanese woman who was already in the room grinned. “Tell you that you haven’t been picked yet. You’re just one of the many potential couplings. This is a chance for us to get to know you, to see if we could work well together.”

“You mean they’re testing us?”

“You thought all it would take is a conversation.”

“Of course, I told you who I am, didn’t I? They’re lucky I even accepted! They should have been the ones working to earn my approval, not the other way around. I will not TEST for anyone. Come on, Gippy, we’re leaving.”

The woman who'd opened the door to her laughed. “I could tell from the moment you walked in that you wouldn’t be the sort to put your pride at stake.”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“This is probably for the best, Himeno," the sitting Japanese woman said, we probably wouldn’t have worked well together anyways. There are plenty of others who we got along with better.”

“But having a zombie here would have been fun,” one of the two sisters said.

“She’s not an actual zombie, it’s obviously just a name” Himeno retorted.

“Oh, but she is. I can tell.”

Gippy looked away nervously.

“Don’t be silly. I know the two of you are witches, but a zombie? She’s nothing like one. A bit… pale maybe. And lots of scars, but she’s a wrestler, so it makes sens-”

“Enough about her,” Makima interrupted. “This is about me.”

“It’s about both of you and all of us, really.”

“No. You dare insinuate that I would fail whatever flimsy test you’ve all organized, but that’s absurd. I am the most talented woman on earth, I will pass this test of yours, and save this world, and you’ll be both grateful I decided to make this decision and embarrassed that you did not grovel in my presence the moment you laid your eyes upon me.”

“There is no way we can pick her, Himeno.”

“Don’t worry, Miya, this’ll be fun, I’m sure.”

004.

Makima and Zom Gippy entered the laboratory in matching skintight predominantly white jumpsuits. Makima glared at the many scientists within.

“Anyone who stares at me for more than ten seconds straight must pay me one hundred dollars.” She glanced at one man whose eyes held firm on Zom Gippy. Undoubtedly, they’d never seen a woman built like that before, and they found it hard to look away. “And ANY who stares at Gippy for more than ten seconds straight must pay me fifty dollars, and her, twenty-five dollars. And remember, this is not a one-time fee.”

“Wait, why do you get fifty dollars.”

“No one should be able to disrespect me in such a manner, Gippy. You understand, don’t you?”

“Uhm, well-”

“Welcome to Laboratory 43C, Makima and Zom Gippy. My name is Doctor Attica Rain, I’m in charge of the Kaiju Repulsion Force, and will be your principal evaluator.”

“Thank you for the opportunity!”

“Don’t thank her for the opportunity, she’s the one that should be thanking us for our endurance of this charade.”

Attica glared, but said nothing. “I hope you’re not nervous about this, it’ll be completely harmless and requires nothing on your part but your presence.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“It’s rather simple. We will be evaluating the quality of your synchronicity.”

“What does that mean?”

“It will determine how compatible you two are as partners. We expect a range of 85 to 95, for anyone who is selected.”

“And what about above 95.”

“That is exceedingly rare. A one in a million chance. To get a 98 or 99, a one in a hundred million chance. And to get a 100, a one-in-a-billion chance. Virtually impossible.”

“Let us get on with it then.”

Makima and Zom Gippy were led to a pair of tanks connected by thick cords and wires, filled with translucid liquids. They walked up the ladders leading into both tanks. For Makima, this was largely effortless, for Zom Gippy…

“I’m afraid we’ve never had anyone of your size before. You may have to squeeze a bit, my apologies.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to it. It’s my fault for being so big.”

The tanks closed, and the pair had little to stare up at but the ceiling through the clear window on the face of the tank. There were small lights within it, though neither were all that frightened about the claustrophobic setting. Zom Gippy had actually spent a whole two weeks buried six feet under in a coffin and found the isolation to be weirdly comforting.

“You may feel a slight numbing sensation,” the voice of Attica was clear from the tank’s built-in speakers, “this isn’t anything to worry about. The tank will open up again when the process has been completed.”

The process in itself does not last more than five minutes. However, between reports by the agents that had escorted dayspring / nightfall, comments from Epsilon Coupling and Omega Coupling, and now Attica’s own first impression of Makima, they had intended on leaving them in there for half a day. They received few pleasures of such sort here, and this wasn’t an opportunity to pass up on. Though, they seriously considered sparring Zom Gippy, who had the ill fortune of having to be around Makima long term. Himeno, Miya, Estelle, and Wiccan had all gathered to enjoy a portion of the entertainment.

However, this prank of theirs would never come to pass. Specifically, it was Attica that would cancel these plans herself.

As the synchronicity meter began to go, it stalled at 22%. They had yet to see a measurement that low of anyone they had ever evaluated. The floor had tended to be in the 60%. Himeno could not help but to burst out laughing, and a few of the other scientists could not hold it in either. But the meter then shot up, through 30 - 40 - 50, “must’ve been a glitch,” Miya said, “if they were that capable they were probably good enough for a 60 at least,” 60 - 70 - 80… “doesn’t change she’d be impossible to work with,” Himeno retorted, no longer laughing, 90 - 95 “are we still refusing to consider her?” Estelle asked, 96 - 97, “oh… my…” Wiccan mouthed… 98 - 99……. “Please, no, please, no…” Himeno whispered, …….100. “Fuck!” she shouted.

“There must be a mistake, Attica. Besides, 100 doesn’t make up for how awful she is, does it?”

“Unfortunately, Himeno, it does. We will be thorough in ensuring there has been no glitch in the system, but I’m afraid, that is almost unthinkable, and we are in no position to reject this miracle.”

005.

As far as any of their elite IT team could tell, there was no error in the result of the synchronicity that could be found. There was no way to be certain that there had not been an alteration, but that was only their personal feelings on Makima affecting them, if anything, they should have been ecstatic that they had found the singular two individuals in the world with 100% synchronicity.

They’d hesitated in telling Makima how well she did, but upon her incessant demanding, ultimately decided they had little choice in the matter. They had sent everyone else away, after a temporary waiting period where their memories of their ventures had been erased. They had never seen anyone reach 100% before, and they wanted to waste no time in seeing how they would perform in a simulation.

Makima, and even Zom Gippy re-entered the tanks with utmost confidence after the result of their evaluation… and yet-

“What… the hell… was that?” Attica, who had largely managed to maintain the utmost professionalism in her career, was dismayed at the pathetic sight. Some measure of grace could be extended due to the fact that it was their first time, but the artificial intelligence that connected dayspring / nightfall to the bio-mech was supposed to alleviate the bulk of that. The issue wasn’t their skill, because there was little skill to even be witnessed.

They could not pilot the bio-mech at all, they were completely out of sync. It did not make any sense, this should have been the very part they were supposed to have been doing effortlessly.

The tanks opened for the thirty-third time.

“Wait! Let’s go back in! I think I get it now.”

“No! Enough!”

“Don’t be that way, Miss Scientist, I think me and Zom Gippy finally got over the mental hurdle that’s been hindering us. One more chance!”

“We’ll try again later, for the moment, go and rest. Unfortunately, I can’t reasonably ask you to participate in a mission yet, despite our original plans requiring us to expedite the recruitment so you could be ready on time. Epsilon and Omega will simply have to go on their own. It would be a danger to not only you, but to them as well, to allow you to go on.”

007.

“It’s all your fault! You’re too big, clumsy, nervous, and shy! You’re running away from the spotlight while I’m trying to run after it. We’re going in two opposite directions!”

“I’m sorry, I was trying my best.”

“That was your best?!”

Epsilon composed of Himeno and Miya, as well as Omega, composed of the two sisters Wiccan and Estella, watched dayspring / nightfall argue from a distance with a great sense of pity.

“There must have been something wrong with the reader, how did they get 100?” Himeno asked

“You heard Dr. Attica, there was nothing wrong,” Estella said.

“Maybe, we need to offer them some words of wisdom?” Miya offered.

“Are you kidding me?”

“She’s not wrong,” Wiccan said. “Look, whatever we felt about them earlier, we’re officially a team now. We need them to succeed, and if they really do have 100% synchronicity, then they could be invaluable. Aren’t you all tired of seeing people die? It’s our duty as their seniors to offer them some advice, and steer them in the right direction.”

“Fine, but we get-”

“Dibs on the zombie!” Estelle shouted.

“Shit.”

“All three of you are Japanese, there’s some commonality there," Wiccan said.

“And presumably there’s a commonality between a pair of witches and a zombie?”

“Oh yeah, she is a zombie, isn’t she? What wonders what could do with a living… or unliving specimen like that.”

“We don’t experiment on our partners.”

“Unless they’re open to it,” Himeno said, a sly grin on her face. Miya blushed.

008.

“Twinkle toes.”

Makima was on edge upon seeing the pair of women approaching her, particularly the more abrasive Himeno. “Eat shit and leave me alone, I’m… I’m meditating!”

“Relax, we know you’re feeling pretty embarrassed after how disastrous your practice sessions have been-”

“Did you only come here to remind me? Go let Gippy know about it, she’s the one holding me back.”

“Makima,” Miya said, “if you only observe the flaws in others, you’ll never see where the room exists to improve within yourself.”

“That’s the sort of wisdom you give out to arrogant egomaniacs without any sense of self-awareness, hardly something to be said to me. After all, I am without flaws to improve upon.”

“Ha, are you kidding me?” Himeno chimed in.

“I said eat shit, and leave me alone!”

“Remember when we easily manipulated you into sticking around instead of leaving?”

“I did that of my own volition.”

“Right, sure you did.”

“I did! No one manipulates me!”

“Someone confident no one could manipulate them is precisely the easiest person to manipulate.”

“Makima, we’re only trying to help," Miya said, feeling she needed to wrest control of the tone of this conversation from Himeno's grasp. "We’re all in this together. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but you need to understand we just lost two good friends. We don’t have to be enemies, we’ve already got bigger enemies than any of us can handle. Makima, this is bigger than all of us. Let’s work together to ensure we can all get better and protect the world.”

Himeno had been dubious of the attempt at comforting Makima, but Miya had been insistent, and she’d always had a talent for managing to work with disagreeable people. It was that very same talent that had allowed the two of them to overcome the own strife that had been present at times in their partnership, and now, they were stronger together than ever before.

But even so, even with the world in jeopardy, Himeno despised having to help out Makima. She hadn’t dedicated her life to this like she had. Hadn’t worked as hard. Hadn’t sacrificed. Hadn’t done what needed to be done.

“Himeno,” Miya said, grabbing her wrist. “Remember, this is bigger than the two of us. Remember what you said to me?”

“As long as we’re alive, we can be together.”

“If we have them with us, we’ll survive a long time.”

Himeno smiled and forgot the envy that had been brewing within her. Her own ambition and her affection for Miya were sometimes at odds, and often, in those instances, she doubted which she valued more.

009.

“Zom Gippy, cheer up, it’s not every day you get to pilot a bio-mech and fight monsters, is it?” Estelle said, approaching from afar.

“But… the fate of the world is in our hands, and I’m totally screwing it up.”

“You’re not screwing it up.”

“I’m holding Makima back, and I’m holding you guys back. I put all of you in danger because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Gippy, usually the people chosen to pilot bio-mechs have been raised and educated here since they were kids. You two are an exception among exceptions. They might make you think your performance was out of the ordinary, but that’s only because they had high expectations. The truth is, no one really knew how well you would do. It’s the first time we’ve ever done anything like this.”

“Although, we really did think the 100% synchronicity would be a sight to witness. Between us, are you sure you didn’t cheat… somehow. They might feel confident in their tech nerds, but we both know there’s plenty of other ways to cheat without it being clear.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I’m just a zombie, I don’t know any spells or magic or anything.”

“Oh, we were just curious. But if you say you didn’t do anything, then who are we to doubt you.”

“That’s because we trust you.”

“Trust you, like we trust each other.”

“With our lives.”

“That’s too much to expect from me! I couldn’t even take care of my own life!”

“Zom Gippy. You seem like you’re willing to listen, unlike your partner, so as your senior here, let us give you two words of advice.”

“Trust. Yourself.”

“That’s easier said than done, all I do is make mistakes. I wouldn’t trust myself if I were anyone else. Really, this is for the best. Dr. Attica was right, we would put you in danger if we participated in a mission. You need to find someone else to replace me with Makima. Honestly, she’s so talented, she could probably get 100% with anyone. She doesn’t need me.”

“But she chose you, didn’t she?”

“And I failed her once, already.”

“But she’s kept you around. She doesn’t seem like the sort to keep people around out of pity. And she holds such a high opinion of herself, it’s impossible to think she wouldn’t have pick you if she didn’t have faith in you. What if Makima was right, and the reason you’re struggling is not because you’re not good enough, but because you don’t believe in yourself the way she believes in you.”

“That’s… that’s not fair. Telling me we’re struggling because I don’t believe in myself.”

“All I’m telling you, is to give it a try, and see how it goes. Will you do that for me?”

“I… I’ll give it a try.”

010.

The alert had blared out across the facilities, bathing it in flashing red lights as scientists ran to and fro to prepare. dayspring / nightfall stood in the core, where Dr. Attica oversaw the fight against the kaiju, and where Epsilon and Omega would enter their tanks to be transferred into their bio-mechs.

Makima had overcome her ego momentarily to announce, “Miya, Himeno… witches, I’ll be watching closely, so you better show me properly how it’s done, okay.”

“I think that’s her way of showing support,” Miya whispered.

“Like we need it.”

“Good luck to you all, I hope you have a safe return.”

“You’re putting too much reliance on luck, and hope. You need to believe in their skill, Gippy.”

“Thanks, nonetheless.”

All four women, dressed in their skintight jumpsuits, entered the translucid liquid within their tanks and lay down as the top was covered, and their consciousness was transferred. They entered the gateway where their bio-mechs awaited, one for each pair.

Multiple monitors focused in on the two bio-mechs, both of the massive entities were unique, and it was obvious from the get-go which belonged to who. “The material we use assembles itself based on a particular code, and based on the essence of both members of the coupling. I was curious to see what would become of yours.”

The bio-mechs lumbered forward, the ground across the portal reverberating with each overbearing step.

“Kaijus cited at 6 o’clock.”

“What class?”

“Readings indicate a Class A Kaiju.”

“Class A?!”

“It took all they could muster just to beat the last one. And we lost the Lumberers in the process.”

“We’ll be fine. We’re even better than we were last time,” Himeno said through the comms.

The kaiju that was merely a dot on the radar came into view. The colossal figure was even taller than the two bio-mechs. The creature itself was bizarre, a gaping hold in it’s chest that one could see through, four arms, and three spikes protruding from either side of its body, a forked tail, needle-like teeth, and a many-eyed pyramid-shaped head.

When the kaiju came in sight, Epsilon charged forward. Omega covered, pulling out an oversized assault riffle, and unleashing hundreds of rounds into the creature. The initial aim had been poor owing to an instinctive chest-level barrage, but it was eventually adjusted to aim for the head. The kaiju eventually lost balance and fell to the ground, just in time for Epsilon to arrive, leaping up and diving down with her blade. All eight hands prevented the blade from severing the pyramid head from the rest of its corpse. And then, the spikes attempted to pierce Epsilon while she was on top of them.

They left their sword behind in a desperate retreat but did not see the blade hurling back towards them and piercing clean through armor, into the bio-mechs thigh and through. They heard Himeno and Miya screech in pain.

Omega began running towards the kaiju to provide cover fire. The kaiju stopped and began tracking the Omega bio-mech with its empty-holed chest, which suddenly glowed, before erupting in a ray of light that nearly struck them, if not for the quick-wittedness of Epsilon to launch a spare netting at their feet and trip them up. Omega turned around, horrified at the massive hole that had been left in the cliffside far past them.

“They don’t stand a chance.”

“They’re going to die.”

“What can we do?”

“Dr. Attica, please send us in,” Zom Gippy spoke. Makima was stunned to see her be so assertive.

“You would be obliterated. You understand that if you die there, you will not be coming back to life.”

“No, I’m a zombie. Makima might not though.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t die, so it’s nothing we need to worry about, is it?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“They’re going to die if you don’t send us in, Doctor!”

“Dr. Attica, it looks like they’re trying to regroup. They’re seeking advice.”

“Tell them…” Dr. Attica bit her lips, “tell them we’re sending in back-up.”

011.

“Are you kidding me?”

“They’re not ready yet.”

“But we could use a miracle, couldn’t we. It’s too much for just the four of us to handle.”

“Don’t you have a spell or something you can pull out of your ass.”

“I could… but it’d be just as likely to destroy us as it would destroy it. Would you rather take a chance on that or see if those two have some hidden talent after all?”

“I’ll take the risk with your witchcraft.”

“We have to give them a chance, Himeno.”

“This isn’t going to be a storybook end where they surprise us.”

“And why can’t it be? After all, we’re the stars of the show, aren’t we?”

The bio-mech was unmistakable that of dayspring / nightfall. It was taller than any bio-mech they’d ever had, though that was likely owing to Zom Gippy’s absurd size, which had exceeded any past pairing before. Upon it’s back gleamed a massive star, while it’s platinum-colored body seemed somehow unliving.

“Makima!”

“I’m just kidding, of course. This is Squad Zeta, reporting for rescue duty. We’ll work together to take it down.”

“Can you even move to begin with?”

“Of course. Look at this!”

The Zeta bio-mech leapt up and landed a clean backflip. The ground rattled with the impact.

“Idiot, now it’ll know where we are.”

“I’m trying to be nice, but I don’t like being insulted.”

“Did Dr. Attica send you in here with a plan, at least?”

“Yes! She said she came up with the perfect plan. It’s guaranteed to succeed. But, whichever of us doesn’t react fast enough will die. On the upside, the only thing we need to worry about is taking care of ourselves.”

“Doesn’t this plan put you two at risk the most?”

“That’s fine,” Zom Gippy spoke, “as long as there’s no chance we can drag you down, that’s fine.”

After elaborating on the few intricacies of the simple yet perfect plan, the three bio-mechs sprung into action. They charged at the kaiju in a wedge formation, arriving within reach before it could think to activate the deadly beam from its hole in the chest. They then began running circles around the kaiju, prodding it with light attacks whenever its attention was on one or the other. The kaiju charged up its chest again, glowing, glowing, and erupting!

In that very singular moment, all three of the bio-mechs leaped up in the air, and as the kaiju had still been spinning to keep track of each target, it bisected itself in its attack.

All three bio-mechs landed at the same time. They turned around to face each other, and simultaneously jumped up in the air again, fists to the sky in victory.

“We did it!”

Though, upon landing a second time, the Omega bio-mech fell to the ground.

“Actually, we were a bit slower.” The left leg was missing below the knee.

“Let’s begin the disembarkation process. Well done, all six of you. I’m impressed.”

012.

“RED ALERT - RED ALERT!”

“What do you mean red alert?”

“Abort disembarkation process.”

“At least let Omega return, they’re badly damaged.”

“What class is it? How far?”

“It’s… an… I don’t believe this.”

“Spit it out!”

“It’s a Class SS!!!”

“SS?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“This is the first time we’ve succeeded without a single death in how many invasions, and then this happens. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a coincidence or not, we need to deal with this now.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s - it’s right on top of them!”

The three bio-mechs were half-frozen as the cephalopodic creature stood between them all.

“Wha-”

A tentacle lunged for the one remaining leg of Omega and swung it into Epsilon, sending it tumbling in the air, bouncing off the ground, and crash landing into a mountain. With Omega still in its hand, it raised it high and smacked it down. Omega no longer moved, blood pooling beneath it’s skull.

“Status on Omega?”

“22% and dropping…”

“What about Zeta?”

Zeta had taken advantage of the kaiju’s focus on the other and leapt up in the air, back flipped numerous times, then when it was vertically perpendicular to the ground, it drilled downwards at full speed.

“We’re going to hit it!”

“STAR KAIJU KILLER!”

The kaiju gazed upwards, and then it was gone. Zeta drilled deep into the ground, almost unendingly.

“Wait, Zeta! Reverse course. You’re burrowing into a volcano!”

Zeta managed to catch a handhold before they could fall into the magma-like depths below.

“You need to get out of there now. Omega and Epsilon are in trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, just give us a second.”

As Zeta began climbing up, a tentacle reached down and wrapped itself around its waist and pulled the bio-mech up. It held the limp Omega, and Epsilon in other tentacles.

“Zeta, we only have one way out of this. We’ll give you an opening, just follow our lead, you understand.”

“Ours?”

Omega woke up suddenly, pulling out an energy sword and driving it into the tentacle, right as Epsilon did the same. They held firmly onto the tentacle themselves and ran towards the next set of tentacles, holding them tightly even as they increasingly squirmed for freedom. Zeta was released in the process.

For the second time, it leaped up in the air, and back flipped.

“STAR… KAIJU-”

“Makima, if we do this, we’ll take out both Epsilon and Omega….”

“You don’t think they know that?”

“Don’t hesitate,” Himeno shouted.

“The fate of the world matters more than anything,” Wiccan said.

“KILLLLLLEER!”

The bio-mech thunderclapped as it reversed course downwards. The kaiju was held firmly over the hole from earlier by Omega and Epsilon, but the timing had needed to be perfect to hold the kaiju just long enough for Zeta to spear through it, catching it in the center of his face as he gazed upwards to look into its killer’s eyes. The impact was such that the kaiju blasted away into the volcanic depths, and so would have Omega and Epsilon, had Zeta not held both with one hand each.

“THE KAIJU HAS FALLEN INTO THE LAVA! Life signals fading. 44%. 23%. 7%. CLASS SS KAIJU IS DEAD!”

“And survivors?”

It struggled to pull them both up, straining, and its decaying limbs seeming to tear apart further with the effort but ultimately they both fell onto the surface, breathing heavily.

“No casualties, Dr. Attica!”

“You saved us?” Miya asked, disbelieving.

“To catch us both in the tiny window after you struck the kaiju. The 100% result wasn’t a lie after all,” Estella observed.

013.

That night, Makima found Zom Gippy sitting outside, gazing at the stars. Her eyes were puffy, and it was obvious she had been crying.

“You know we won, right?”

“Yes. It’s just, I’ve never had everything go my way before. Usually, there’s always something that goes wrong. But everything went right this time. I can’t believe it.”

“You still have so much to learn, young Gippy. Of course everything went perfectly, it’s just the way I intended it to be.”

“Even the-”

“Everything, young Gippy. Would you like to know something? For every problem out there with a solution being presented to us, it’s often the ones who’ve created the solution that created the problem to begin with. The plan to begin with was for us to infiltrate the Kaiju Repulsion Force so we could learn how exactly they’re provoking the kaijus to invade us. To do that, we needed to make sure a spot was cleared up. Then, we had to steer them in our direction. Of course, the synchronicity test was always going to be a challenge, given how incredible I am, there was no way anyone in the world could actually have a good score with me-”

“You mean, it wasn’t real? How did you - but - they even tested it.”

“A good magician never reveals her secrets. Of course, I knew that I could easily do perfect on the simulations afterwards but if we did that then Miya, Himeno, Estella, and Wiccan might feel resentful towards us because of how talented we were. It was wiser to get them to feel pity for us for our long term relationship, and to make sure they didn’t feel threatened. It was a bit of a gamble whether or not they’d need us to prematurely enter the mission, but ultimately they struggled without us so we had to join in. Unsurprisingly, we were completely in sync by that point since I was being serious.”

“And you still saved them after all that?”

“That’s a no brainer, Gippy. If they died, then we’d have to do all the work while they went around recruiting new partners for us. You know how tedious that would be. This is volunteer work for us. We’re professional wrestlers. We should let them prioritize saving the world, we have a three-way tag match to get ready for against two Joshis and witch sisters. And have we learned anything from this experience.”

“Teamwork makes the dreamwork?”

“No! Let them do all the work, then come in at the last second and steal the glory. That’s what we’ve learned! Our key to victory!”​

Epilogue.​

Of course, it was not mere chance that the Lumberers had been just one of countless couplings to have died leading up to the Kaiju Repulsion Force’s decision to recruit externally. Mael, the alien conqueror who sent the Kaiju to invade, had made a wager with an acquaintance that he could kill at least one of the couplings per invasion if he truly wanted to. This wager had been made precisely after the death of the first regular couplings. Specifically, this wager had been made precisely after the death of the first regular couplings when the Council of the United Organizations had declined Ms. Attica’s request to recruit externally and bid her to hastily promote one of the developing couplings.

This was not a coincidence.

There were plenty of potential candidates within the world of professional wrestling who might be viewed as appropriate contenders for the role of substitutes. Chief among them was undoubtedly the Connection who stood head and toes above all others owing to the titles they currently held… all others except for the sole pairing that had pushed them to their limit, and forced them into a draw where no others had. This, on it’s own, would not have been the only reason to opt for dayspring/nightfall over the Connection, the other significant reason, was their ties to the Nephews. The United Organizations were well aware of the rogue company known as the Nephews, and had come into conflict with the ‘family’ countless times before, owing to conflicting interests, relying on them was simply not an option. As a result, d/n’s awfully timely success, could be said to have been the most significant factor in their being chosen above any other potential pairing within the wrestling business, even in spite of their recently established partnership.

But to ascribe this timeliness to coincidence, well, that might be wise, if one were ignoring the many other curious coincidences.

The result of the synchronicity test remains quite dubious. It was not, however, as she’d asserted, a magician’s trick, but instead, it could be said to have been a wizard’s trick. A repaid favor after a heinous action. One she need not know about.

The failure in the simulation had been purely an exposure of the fact that Gippy and Makima really had no synchronization. The truth was, Makima had very little synchronization with anyone, even her past tag team partners such as Liyah Monroe or her uncle Izaya Snowmantashi. She was too full of herself and unable to view herself as an equal in a partnership.

But, you may wonder, how does that explain the outstanding performance during the livetest. This is precisely what makes Makima dangerous. She thrives on the moment. And as she infamously was once quoted saying, “practice, I don’t need practice.” When it came time for the real moment, she did what had to be done, in her own particular way. And so, when she was sent to assist Epsilon and Omega alongside Zom Gippy, her need to be at 100% synchronicity with Zom Gippy for these life or death purposes was activated.

One thing that Makima had been truthful about was that she was here to investigate the inner workings of the Kaiju Repulsion Force. And as Dr. Attica watched the two exit the facility, she too, feared that these heaven-sent soldiers may not be as blessed as they wished.​

 

[Comeback Kid]

Le Voyage

Spoiler: Promo text

“Bienvenue au parc des princes, monsieur.”

As his taxi driver departs into the Parisian sun, Mike closes his eyes and takes in as deep a breath as he can muster, back where it started. Or maybe it’s back where it finished, depending on your perspective. The scene of what could’ve been his greatest triumph became the scene of his greatest disappointment. Pacing slowly towards the entrance to the stadium, his right hand tightly clutches a piece of paper as his left hand clenches in trepidation.

Of course he had to request here, of all places. An alliance that’s foundation is as unsteady and on the brink of collapse as any still standing structure could be, of course his first move is to try and shake those foundations even further. Mike knows that he should’ve expected nothing less, he knew what he signed up for.

The stadium’s customized layout for the wrestling ring and Back in Business is clearly no longer set up - the most famous strands of grass in French sport now proudly on display as it recuperates from another draining soccer and rugby season. Every time he closes his eyes, he can hear the

referee’s hand slap the mat for three as he becomes the first person to be eliminated from the triple threat match. He can feel the humidity that was in the air that evening. Shortly thereafter follows the rush of disappointment, the hope and expectation draining from his body and replaced by frustration and self-loathing. And then, as he instinctively raises his left hand to pat the section of his skull that was nearly caved in, he can recall the dull thud of pain that accompanied it. Bearing all of that in mind, probably time that he opened his eyes you would think….

“What an asshole” The comment echoes around the empty stand, being the offseason there is only the sporadic maintenance worker at the stadium today. Mike naturally navigated whilst lost in this thoughts towards the Tribune Borelli stand, which is the approximate location where he was stood perched on technical equipment when Shawn Summers decided to mark his arrival in a fairly abrupt fashion. A dense thud interrupts Mike’s thought process, as his glare diverts to the ground where a baseball bat just rolled up looking for some acknowledgment. Not needing to move a muscle immediately, Mike has the situation sussed.

“I suppose it’s not in your best interest to take that shot this time, is it.”

With that, Mike swivels on his heels 180 degrees and, as expected, comes face to face with his….his…..his something, Shawn Summers.

“I would’ve hoped that you had learned a lesson and not let someone sneak up on you, Michael. Either you’re a slow learner or I hit you harder than I imagined.”

Mike nods appreciatively, a level of shithousery that is to be admired really. Those foundations though, they’re struggling to maintain the load being placed on them at present. Although, the longer that they both dwell and think things through, the most likely it is that they’ll realize that there is no mutual benefit that could be worth tolerating this for.
“I see you got my note.”

Shawn gestures with his eyes towards Mike’s right hand, where the clenched piece of paper still remains. Parr again nods, as he slouches down and uses his left to pick up the baseball bat.

“I also have your bat.”

Mike glances down at the slugger, wondering what exact point of the bat was the one that connected with the base of his skull. Before falling down that rabbit hole, he throws the bat back at Summers who catches it rather nonchalantly given that it was thrown without a forewarning.

“For someone that usually opts for the direct method of communication, I must admit that I found the lack of direction rather unhelpful in your note.”

Mike uncrumples the piece of paper and reads it back to Shawn.

“Back where we first met. June 3rd. Midday. Don’t be late.”

Prodigy puffs his cheeks, shoots a quizzical look at Shawn.

“If your abilities limit you to the point where you couldn’t understand the ask from that note, then I would have zero interest in teaming with you. For all your flaws and faults, Michael, I never took you for unintelligent.”

“Careful, that almost sounds like a compliment.”

“I trust you know what the intention was…..”

For once, Shawn has probably caught Mike out. The slight narrowing of his glare as the cogs begin to turn in his head tells you that he might have thrown Mike a successful curveball with that last comment. The game of mental checkers is one that they both typically thrive off.

“As much as I am enjoying this flirtation with self-destruction, I would’ve assumed that your first question would be why I asked that we meet here.”

“The first question? You are losing your touch a bit, if you thought I was going to waste my first question on something that I can already reasonably assume the answer to. It’s hardly coincidence that we are here at this stadium, now is it?“

“I didn’t have that on my bingo card as the first question.”

“It was rhetorical…”

His tone laced with bitterness having indeed fallen into what he now presumes was a well set trap.

“I assume it’s some reverse psychology physco-babble where you want us to move forward by going back where it started. That type of crap.”

Shawn’s turn to look a bit deflated, as he already had opened his mouth to respond but was indeed stopped by a relatively accurate retort as it relates to why he chose this location to meet. Irritatingly accurate, in fact.

“You would open a present on Christmas Eve, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d wrap it up again so nobody would no any different afterwards.”

“I had you pegged from day one, Michael.”

A rather terse exchange between the two, but with the result not yet ending with the collapse of this precarious alliance, you could call it a successful beginning.

“You were partly right, Michael. I didn’t ask you to come here today so we could hash out our differences, light some candles, and talk about the b-“

“I’m glad because I can stop you right there. I’m not interested. I’m not interested in reliving things; I’m not interested in going back and revisiting things. I’m not even interested in paving a way forward, there is no ‘us’ to move forward. It’s me and you, one time deal, both of us can benefit from this. We aren’t a collective, we aren’t a cohesive, we can never be a collective. Never mind water, there is too much blood under the bridge for that to happen. I have a job to do, you have a job to do, so lets just go and do it.”

Shawn, still quite put off by being interrupted in the first instance, swallows a few times just to occupy himself while he thinks about how he wants to react. He paces slowly back and forth, three paces and swiveling, whilst Mike slowly restores his heart beat to a resting level having got a bit invested during his last outburst.

“Michael, you need to see the bigger picture here. I don’t want to forget the past, I want to embrace it. The only way to move forward is to embrace it. Moving forward doesn’t mean forget about it, but you’ve been on a spiral for nearly two years since you were last here. Part of me, truthfully, wants to take the majority of the credit for that but you had started before I smashed this into your head. Two years takes its toll, and I don’t want to be reliant on someone who has put in one great performance in two years. I need the guy who made you the guy to target. I need the main event of Back in Business guy. I don’t need this wet fart that’s stood in front of me.”

Parr cocks his head at the last comment, confused.

“I told you last week, if you want to find out who is standing in front of you, all you have to do is take a shot and see what happens.”

“Have you always had these anger issues?” Shawn says with a smirk.

“Only when it’s brought out of me by the right person.”

“Look, this is getting us nowhere Michael. If this is going to work, you need to trust me. I know what we need to do to get through this, and both of us will benefit. Bedlam is my focus, Baxter should be yours, but to get this right we need to get ourselves right. If you are serious about wanting to do this then we need to do this…..”
Shawn passes Mike another piece of paper, with what looks like an address on it.

“I’ll be here, and I’ll give you a day to decide. If you want to move forward, meet me here tomorrow. If not…well, I’d say good luck with Baxter at Back in Business, but I wouldn’t want to be insincere.”

Shawn pauses momentarily, allowing the most fleeting of moments for a form of retort which isn’t forthcoming, before sidestepping in between two of the bollards supporting the stadium and walking out of the stadium. Mike places his right hand on his hip, as he holds and stares at the address provided on the piece of paper in his left.
The French countryside was breathtaking to Mike as the car drove past the fields of multicolored flowers and vegetation. He asked the driver if it would be okay for him to let down the window for some fresh air, but the driver didn’t speak much English and he didn’t seem to care what Mike did anyways. The whip of the wind caressed the contours of his face as he leaned out the window admiring all that was to be seen. It was a stark contrast from the loud, crowded, and fast moving streets of Paris. It was a stark contrast to who Shawn Summers. Or, at least who he thought that Shawn was.

In the entire year that he spent looking over his shoulder and playing victim to the mind games of Shawn, Mike couldn’t help but realize that he didn’t know him or anything about him for that matter. He just knew the person that Shawn willingly put forth on television. Maybe the secluded countryside was where he would finally get the manifestation of who Shawn Summers truly was?


He laughed at himself, and shook his head in disbelief at the thought. If there was one thing that you could believe about Shawn Summers it was that what you see is exactly what you get. The trip to Paris? The invitation to the countryside? It was all part of something bigger that Shawn had planned. It had to be. Right?

Mike carefully spit downward as to not have it come flying back into the car as he returned to a seated position. He removed his phone to check the time and was alarmed to see that he had no signal. Is this what he wanted? Being in the countryside with Shawn with no way to contact anyone should something go wrong?

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt the car switch from the paved street to a gravel road that led toward a small home. The exterior was expertly manicured and the bricks on the cottage style home were painted white. Shawn could be seen sitting on a wooden bench in front of the house, his motorcycle was parked nearby. Mike immediately noticed the traces of dark brown showing through the dyed blonde hair that had become a sort of trademark for Summers. Shawn gave a weak wave at Mike and the driver as he stood to his feet and made his way toward the car.

“Michael,” he said with a hint of excitement. “You know, I was really nervous that you weren’t going to take me up on meeting out here.”

“It crossed my mind,” Mike answered sharply as he removed his bag from the car and approached. Shawn looked as if he hadn’t slept since their last meeting. He looked less like the Shawn Summers he had come to know and more like someone who he would pity.

“Yeah, I figured. I imagine the same thought went through your boys mind’s when Noah invited them up to his lake house in Vancouver - but look at all the fun and bonding they had up there,” Shawn says with a smirk as pats Mike on the shoulder before turning toward the house. Mike clenched his fist and turned back to see his driver already back on the road driving towards civilization.

“Aww, shit. I’ve ruined the moment before it even started, didn’t I? The relationship or…well…friendship between Noah and The New Breed is still a touchy subject. Shit, I should’ve realized that that would be something you wouldn’t be too keen on hearing or discussing, just yet. But, don’t worry, you will. Come on, I can hear the kettle getting fussy inside,” he says as he opens the door and the whistle from the kettle engulfs the quietness of the countryside. Mike grips his bag, exhales deeply and follows Shawn inside.

The cottage is all but empty save for a few wooden folding chairs that look as though they’ve been around since the days of Marie Antoinette. A staircase led up towards what one would assume were bedrooms but as Mike attempted to investigate he was stopped by Shawn.

“We don’t really do tea in the States. We kind of stopped with all of that in 1776,” Shawn says with a wink as he attempts to hand Mike a warm cup. “Go on. Take it. It’s not poison or anything. See?” Shawn says as he takes a large sip from the cup before handing it to Mike again. Mike reluctantly takes it and takes a small sip. It was good. Perfect even.

“It’s good. Right? Of course it’s good. I didn’t really mess with tea for a long time until,” he says before pausing to take a rather large gulp from his cup. Mike takes another small sip from his tea before walking around the living room, surveying everything.

“Wow, that’s good and strong,” Shawn says after swallowing. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was talking about how I didn’t really mess with tea for a long time until I met this older man. I would call him an Indian but that’s not ‘PC’ anymore so we call them Native Americans. I had heard from…umm….yeah…sorry, umm…I had heard of him from Trevor. You remember, Trevor, don’t you, Michael?”

“We’d never formally been introduced to one another but I knew of him,” Michael said as he stared at a painting of a white bearded unicorn resting on the field grass within an wooden enclosure. The colors of the painting are so rich and almost seem life like - as if he could reach out and touch them if he wanted to. He shakes his head and returns his attention to Shawn who takes another sip from his tea before beginning again. Michael takes a sip from his tea as well and returns his gaze to the painting.


“Good, good. Well, Trevor had visited the Native man and they drank a tea very similar to this one together. I say similar to this one because while the main ingredients are the same I decided to add a little something extra to boost the feeling and get rid of that bitter taste that it usually has.”

Mike turns his head to refocus on what it is that Shawn had just said but as he turns his head the room spins oner and over until he is back facing the painting of the unicorn. The greenery now protrudes from the painting and the Unicorn blinks at him - a singular blood tear falls from the tear duct onto the ground in front of him and creates a ripple effect on the wooden floors. The effect startles Mike to the point that he drops the cup and the tea begins to mix with the rippled floor. He turns toward Shawn who continues to sip from his cup.

“The LSD is kicking in. Isn’t it, Michael?” Shawn says as he takes a sip from his cup and walks towards him.

“What the fuck did you give me, Shawn?”

“Peyote Tea, Michael. Peyote Tea with a drop of LSD or acid as the kids call it now.”

“You fucking…fugging…drugged me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did, Michael. I knew you wouldn’t go on this trip willingly. You’re too much like me. It’s honestly so fucking crazy how much alike we are. I knew you wouldn’t do this if I asked, because I wouldn’t have normally done it if someone asked. I had to be forced into it just like I’m forcing it onto you! I was forced into taking the tea to understand why Trevor left us and why I could never beat you.”


Mike falls to the ground in a splash and finds himself continuously falling through the floor almost as if he were on a loop. He falls past Shawn and attempts to grab at him each time to no avail.

“Michael, we’re on this trip together. That tea that you drank? I’m drinking the same thing,” Shawn says to him with an echo the seems to be never ending. “The only difference between us is that I’m better prepared for the trip than you are.” Shawn puts his hand up as if to say stop, and in an instant the feeling of Mike continuously falling ends. He reaches for Shawn but Der Bastard is too fast for him in this state.

“Relax, Michael. Relax. We’re in this together. This is going to help me just as much as it’s going to help you. We’re going to figure out why we’re seemingly replaying parts of our lives over and over again. It’s like groundhog day? Ever heard of that movie, Michael? Of course you have. Who am I kidding. You’ve been having a groundhog day moment for the last three years - always close to the world title but never able to grasp it because that North American championship keeps pulling you back. Just like me, wanting to get to the world title but I keep getting pulled back by someone who needs a boost on their profile or a ‘bad guy’ to make them look better - you’re welcome for that by the way.” Shawn says as he finishes his tea and sits down crossed legged in front of Michael.

“This is going to help us figure out how we can move forward. However, in order to move forward we’ve got to resolve what it is that is holding us back. While that includes both Tommy and Baxter that also includes other things that only this tea and acid can help us connect to. So relax and just let the trip…happen,” Shawn says with a smirk as the room goes dark.

The juxtaposition of not being able to see anything but being able to see the room spinning isn’t lost on Mike, even in his current state, as he tries to place his palms on the floor to steady himself, but to little avail.

“Sh-sh-awn you f-ffffff-“ Mike stammers as his f’s tail off into nothingness. Mike manages to someone stumble towards the only chink of light he can see, before desperately grasping around the door to try and find the handle. He finally clasps his hand around the doorknob and twists, his inability to keep his weight centered leaves him falling forward through the door into the hallway. The unexpected and sudden fall forward delayed his reaction somewhat, but only after landing on the carpet with a thump does the light start to penetrate and pierce through blindingly. He lifts one arm to try and protect his eyes from an entire corridor of them, as his other hand enjoys the texture as its grasping at the carpet fiber below.

“Krash was always my favorite” booms a voice from Mike’s left hand side, as he slowly turns and faces the source. Staring back at him is the North American Championship, the ‘champion’ engraving on the face of the belt being replaced by a gap in the shape of a mouth.

“What do you mean he was your favourite? He didn’t appreciate you,” counters Mike.

“You never forget your first, right?” the championship replies. Mike’s eyebrows curl inwards, his glare doesn’t remove itself from the championship. Well, his intended glare. The effect of the concoction Shawn provided has left his ‘straight’ stare being rather inverted and lacking direction. Mike manages to maneuver himself around to some sort of seated position, certainly a position that is more comfortable than being flat on his chest as he fell out of the living room.

“Krash wasn’t your first, he was just the first one to pay you any attention after you got your work done. I appreciated you for what you were before, and you have the nerve to say to me that he was your favorite? Nobody likes Krash, nobody even cares that he is dead. Y-you know what….I don’t even care.”

The last sentence, as his voice tremored suggests otherwise, wasn’t delivered with much conviction. In truth, nothing he is saying right now understandably has been delivered with any convictions but a fair assessment would be that the last comment was even less so. “I’m done with you, we’ve had our time anyways. Why do you keep trying to pull me back in?” Mike asks the championship, who is pensive is their response. “We’re never going to be totally done with each other Mike, and I don’t know why you are so convinced that you should be. We’re inextricably going to be linked until someone better than you comes along, but I don’t think you’re ready for that day quite yet.”

“I need something different in my life” Mike almost pleads with the championship. “You told me that every night we spent together the last time that we were together, I know you want to upgrade to the World but my presence and that eventuality are not mutually exclusive. You don’t need to banish one for the other to exist. You just need to be better. To do better.” The Championship has been around long enough to know what is what, but Mike isn’t in the place right now to properly question any logic. Pushing himself across the carpet, away from the championship, he still retorts “That might be what you think but it’s not what everyone thinks. When they see us together, they think we are both happy with our arrangement. They look around for others to provide an opportunity and it’s like you just serve as a wall, something nobody can see around or over when choosing who’s next. I need to be next.”

“Then you lift me high above your head when they are choosing, so they can see you and they won’t be able to pretend that they can’t, especially with something so beautiful catching their eye.” The reply from the championship has Mike quiet for a second, although that may be in part to his inability to focus on more than two things at once. His push towards the door and his pleasure from the feel of the carpet below are taking precedence over his conversation with the North American Championship at present. Finally, his back plants against the door to what he hopes is the back of the cottage. He reaches above his head with his ass still firmly planted on the carpet, and flails around for the handle to open the door. Finding it, he again turns and falls backwards through the door, his back cracking against the cool tiles of the kitchen area. Mike place his arms to his side, and breathes in deeply whilst closing his eyes and appreciating the ice cool floor work.

“Mikey mate, it’s been a while hasn’t it. Big man, tell him what’s been popping.” The unmistakable tone of Sean Hughes causes Mike to open his eyes and partially sit up. Perched on the kitchen table are Damian Lynch and Sean Hughes, the New Breed. “Enough with the big man stuff Sean, I have feelings too you know. Just call me Damien” Lynch lectures Hughes. “Whatever you like, Damo” responds Sean, totally disregarding the request. “I-I haven’t heard from you guys for so long, soooo loooonnnnnnngggggggg” the latter half of the sentence leaving Mike’s mouth becomes elongated as he experiments and tries to work out whether he enjoyed the feeling of the skin around his face tightening as he puts his mouth into a circular shape. The determination yet to be made.

“So, you want to team with the guy who tried to destroy us, all of us?” Damian asks matter of factly. “Want is a pretty strong word there big man, a pretty strong word. Suppose it all comes down to what do I really want. I want to win things, I want to be successful. I want to be the greatest champion in history. I want to hold the belt.” Mike comments, before remembering a few moments before. “Wait, where did that thing go, it was in there telling me why Krash was its favourite or something. Either of you two seen it?” Sean and Damian look at each other, neither quite sure of an appropriate response to the question. This affords Mike the opportunity to continue. “I’m sorry you guys, I’m really sorry that I let you both down. I should’ve been around to stop him, to stop them. Noah and Shawn they took advantage of you, filled a gap that was created when we were drafted to different shows. I should’ve prepared you both better to be able to identify and cope with people like that. I failed you, and then since Back in Business, I don’t call you, I don’t text. I don’t do it because every time I look at you I see my own failings.” Mike slouches from his seated position and sobs, concurrently intriguing himself every time a tear leaves his eye and hits his hand. Wondering how it just rains warm water from his eyes like that is something.

“Me and the big man, the big man and I, we didn’t appreciate how much you meant to us Mikey. It ain’t your fault, we should’ve known that we weren’t as ready as we thought and hey, we could’ve called, we could’ve zoomed. Some nonsensical contract split didn’t mean that we were not allowed to communicate. The failings, the failings are on us. We aren’t on the level of the North American GOAT” Sean responds with sincerity that you wouldn’t normally associate with him. “Yeah, you’re not accountable for what happened with us Mike, you’re responsible for us being as good as we are. Not our bad choices.” Damian adds.

Mike has subsequently stopped sobbing to himself, and gingerly pushes himself to his feet for the first time. Planting both soles on the tiled floor is one thing, but he then ends up swaying in a circular motion in a way that makes it appear that his head weights more than the rest of his body. He takes some baby steps towards the New Breed. “I’ll never be able to let the guilt about what happened go, but to know that you two are OK is just….” Mike taps his heart with his fist. As his head weaves around, his glare catches the door to exit at the rear of the cabin and through the rectangular window at the north of the door he can see the most amazing scenery. The greenest grass you will ever see, popping with the rays of the sun shining down upon it. In the distance, a small collection of farmyard animals before what appears to be trees and forestry for miles thereafter. It looks….magical. Too magical for Mike to wait another second, post discovery, as he pushes his way across the kitchen and opens the door to the world. A gentle breeze cracks him in the face, as he shakes his head from left to right to give each side of his face equal exposure to the treat.

The crunch of the meter of gravel ahead of the grass beneath his feet is illuminating, as the cadence of the strides Mike is taking deliberately loosely resembles ‘Smooth Criminal.’ The sadness is palpable as Mike lands on the grass, although tempered slightly by the giggle he lets out as he catches sight of one of the animals, a goat. “North American GOAT” Mike snickers under his breath, releasing a goofy smile at the same time.

“That goat is from Switzerland, not North America”, a familiar voice remarks as Mike faces the source of the sound once more and catches himself face to face with Big Bryan Baxter. Finally seeming to get with the program, Mike knows exactly what to address. “You….you f***ed it, you made it personal. At the very least, I’m going to take that championship to spite you, in spite of myself” Mike spews at Bryan. “You’re desperate Parr, desperate to stay relevant. So desperate that you went back and tried to cling onto the last thing that made you in any way relevant, Shawn Summers. It’s over for you” Baxter responds in kind. That particular reply was not one that Mike was anticipating, as he takes a labored step back as he tries to process whether there is any validity in that sentiment. As he thinks, he looks over to the goat and is suddenly reinvigorated once more. “How the hell do you know the goat is from Switzerland?” Mike blurts out. The absence of an answer is damning for Baxter.

“A lie, a lie from a man desperate to be relevant for the first time. It’s all lies, isn’t it? I’m relevant with or without that championship that you hold – you, you an irrelevance. That belt is the most interesting thing about you, the only thing anyone really knows about you. The only thing I need to take to make sure that you’re not even a footnote. Me? I could not hold another championship until the day I die and I’m going to be remember, associated with this thing. I’ve got my legacy with that bitch and it might be time to write another chapter. But….” Mike tails off again, almost as if a dawning realization has hit him. “I can’t start writing a new chapter until I finish the previous………”

Mike turns, and with a bit more pace as the effect of Shawn’s drink has probably passed its peak, makes his ways back across the gravel, through the cool tiled kitchen and through the carpeted hallway. “SHAWN. We must finish this. We must finish our story. SHAWN?” Mike bellows out as he makes his way back to the unicorn painting where this all started.
“Hell, darkness, my old friend,” Shawn says as he slowly opens his eyes and his vision adjusts to his surroundings. He smiles as he returns to the familiar environment that was afforded to him by the tea. He steps forward and the tap of his foot against the ground echoes throughout. Shawn inhales a few times before exhaling and continuing his march forward through the darkness. The sound of screams and panicked shuffling from people trying to escape from something can be heard, but not seen, in the distance. As Shawn moves closer to the sound he feels himself bumped by something - or someone. His shoulder is forced backward as he feels something else bump against him. The feeling of being bumped increases as he moves further into the darkness.

The screams intensify as faceless figures run past Shawn attempting to drag him backward with them. Shawn pushes past the figures as they run and grab back at him until he can see a light from a doorway. As he gets closer to the doorway the faceless figures grasp tighter onto him, attempting to pull him backward but Shawn forces himself forward - he can’t go back.

“Get…the fuck…off of me,” Shawn grunts as he slowly makes his way toward the door. He feels as though he has weights that weigh a ton around his ankles but never the less he persisted. As he took a step into the light he felt the weight of everything holding him back completely drop from him and he stands in shock.

The room, no, the auditorium was breathtaking. The ceilings were carved in white marble and the seats upholstered in red velvet coverings. The carpet of the auditorium was soft to the touch and seemingly melted under the sole of Shawn’s leather penny loafers. He examined his clothing and realized it wasn’t the same as what he had been wearing. He was dressed in a navy, tailored suit with a white button downed undershirt. His tie was perfectly tied around his neck and held close to his chest by the tie-clip.

His suit jacket was damp, but he didn’t need to touch it to know what it was. At the front of the auditorium was an elevated stage where a figure sat on the edge presumably waiting on Shawn.

“It’s been a while, Shawn,” the voice called out to him. “You look well.” Shawn opened his mouth to respond but the large lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. He swallowed and composed himself before approaching the individual. As he got closer, Shawn couldn’t help but notice that the upper left part of the mans head was impaled - his left eye was completely missing. The right side of his chest had a bullet sized hole in it that allowed you to see straight through to the curtains behind him.

“I’ve looked better, though. I must say,” the individual said with a chuckle. Shawn covers his face and falls to his knees. He shakes his head and continues to mutter - why is this happening? Why this? Much to the displeasure of the man.

“Dammit, Shawn. A Summers man should never be on his knees unless his pleasuring a woman and even then he’s not on his knees for long. Get up. NOW!,” the man demands. The order from the man sent a shocking surge through Shawn’s body that jolted him to his feet.

“I’m so…I’m sorry, Dad.” Shawn manages to say as he chokes back tears. He had tried to erase this moment from his memory for so long but he remembered it as if it had happened yesterday. The feeling of his fathers limp body falling onto him as the blood drained from his head onto his shoulder. The sound of the rifle firing not once, but twice directly at his father. The ensuing chaos. It was all as vivid today as it was the moment that it happened.

“I hear you’re still doing the whole ‘wrestling thing’. You gotten any better at it?” Fitzgerald Summers questions as he taps the area next to him indicating for Shawn to join him. Shawn composes himself and walks confidently towards his fathers side.

“No, sir,” Shawn says as he takes his seat unfazed by the gruesome sight of his father.

“Ahh, come on, now, Shawn. I think you’ve gotten somewhat better. When I last talked to you, you were fighting for championships that we both knew you couldn’t win. Now look at you! The most hated man in all of wrestling but also a respected man holding not one but two championships. You’ve done good for yourself, Shawn.”

“Have I?”

“I’d say so.”

“I don’t feel like I have. I feel like I’m stuck.”

“You probably are. Stuck is a word I’ve become used to, Shawn. While everyone was able to run out of here I’ve remained stuck, right where you last left me. Right here, Shawn” he’s says pointing down at the stage. “You see, Shawn…you’ve got a major problem with confronting your past and that’s what’s keeping you from going forward, son. It’s been almost five years since my death and you pretended like it didn’t happen. You couldn’t even attend my funeral because you didn’t want to believe that it happened. You couldn’t confront your past…until now.”

Shawn and Fitzgerald sit in silence as the words sink in. He was right. Shawn had a problem confronting the past and anything that was bad. It was why he hated the thought of being alone. He would have to face the things that he’s tried to run from - failed relationships, the death of his father, the fact that he was adopted, the fact that he couldn’t win the world championship each time he’s tried, the jealousy he had of seeing Tommy with someone who loved him despite everything he’s done. Shawn couldn’t handle confronting any of that.

“I hate you,” Shawn said quietly as his father nods his head as if he already knew that.

“I hate that you’re the reason that I am who I am today. I hate everything that you’ve instilled in me - insecurity, doubt, fear, worthlessness. I hate all of it. I hate that the only thing that has kept me going for so many years in this business is so that I could finally prove that I wasn’t worthless like you thought I was. I hate that I won all those titles and gained notoriety in the business just so you would be proud of me.”

The warmth of the tears rolling down the side of Shawn’s face was annoying to him. He couldn’t believe that he was crying, again, over someone who didn’t give a fuck about him. It was as if he was reliving yet another one of his nightmares again.

“You’re crying,” Fitzgerald says. “You’re always crying.”

“Fuck off,” Shawn quips as he wipes the tears from his face. “I’ve been trying to run from everything you’ve wanted me to be for years. I should’ve confronted you/ I should’ve beat the shit out of you just like you did to me. You brought me into your family just to ruin me. You never saw me as your son. I was just a burden.

“That’s not true, Shawn.”

“It’s true to me. You wanted to mold me into the man that you are and when I didn’t fit that mold you tried to destroy me. Everything I am is because of you!” Shawn screams, the echo of which reverberates around the room.

“You’re a better man the me, Shawn. Hell, you’re a better man than most. You’re not afraid to live in your truth. You recognize that you’re views may not be the preferred ones but you stand by it. I was ready to get on this stage and lie and say whatever the people needed to hear to get them to elect me to be the next Senator for California. That’s not something you’d do, no. You stand by your convictions and like Jesus Christ himself they crucify you for it but you don’t back down. You are a better man than me, Shawn.

That’s what you need to realize is that you are better than what I wanted out of you and who I saw you as. If it were up to me I would’ve told you to tell the world about that boy, Tommy, killing that other fellow. But you didn’t…you buried that secret for that boy. You buried that secret for him when you could’ve easily came out and said, with facts to back you up, that he is a murderer and should be brought to justice. You let those fans boo you and call you every name under the sun simply because you’re the better man.


When you left me here with all the paramedics and security all those years ago you left a piece of yourself here and it’s been holding you back from growing and becoming the man that you are supposed to be. You are better than facing some redneck and his ‘baby mama’. You are better than facing some fat loser from bumfuck nowhere. You’re better than all of them and it’s time that you finally showed everyone why that isn’t just a statement, it’s a fact. You hate me? Good. But I’m dead and in the past. Move forward Shawn.”

As Fitzgerald tells him to move forward he slowly melts into the wood planks of the stage. Shawn smirks as the wood slowly turns into grass and flowers. He feels his back against someone else’s but doesn’t have to look behind him as he already knows who it is.


“Have you seen the unicorn, Michael? Although it’s stuck in this wooden pen it’s happy now. He gets to live in a beautiful garden within a protective barrier. That unicorn reminds me a lot us,” Shawn says.

“I didn’t get it earlier but I think I get it now. The protective barrier that the unicorn is in is kind of like the past for you and I. Nothing can hurt us within the barrier of the past because we already know how it ends. We know how it ends with me and Baxter - I win the North American Championship and then I go on to lose it again. Then I get involved in something that keeps me away from the world title long enough for me to go back after the North American Championship again.”


“And I get involved with something that is only supposed to be temporary but then I get fixated and dragged into something that ends up taking up all of my time and bringing me further and further away from the World Championship. Once I’m finished with the ‘side story’ I end up in yet another one wasting away my chances at winning the big one on people who shouldn’t even be in the same ring as me - no offense.”

“You can’t offend me, Shawn. I beat your ass at Back in Business. But, I get what you’re saying. You fucking drugged me…but you helped open my eyes. We don’t have to be happy in the safety of captivity - reliving the same shit day after day. We can be happy outside of the gates of the past experiencing what it is that the future holds.”

“Bingo” Shawn says as the room slowly starts to come back to normal and the painting returns to its place on the wall.