"FWA: WINTER WASTELAND" || Promo Thread.

[Dubb]

Promo deadlines:

Sunday 17th December: 23.59PM Pacific.
Monday 18th December, 03:00AM Eastern.
Monday 18th December, 08:00AM UK.
Monday 18th December, 19:00PM Melbourne.

No extensions.​

 

[CakeWalker]

THE GREEN KNIGHT - VOLUME I
[this roleplay is a narrative continuation of my roleplay for ‘Light Outs’.]

Four - ‘Healing Words’
Madison was in bad shape. She was covered in so much of her own blood that she almost felt like she was swimming in the bathhouse. Rather than washing away the dirt and sins of a hard day's work, Madison was looking down at her own body’s fuel leaking out from the various slashes and cuts that covered her from head to toe. Her chest was tight, and she let out a raspy cough, tasting the iron in her mouth. For the first time since she had left the Kingdom of Günwhorfe and begun her new life as a Wanderer, she was worried. Worried that the curtains of her life were being drawn, and she would never be able to stand on her own two feet again, never see the sunrise again, and never look upon the beautiful azure that was the Günwhorfian Coastline.

It was only then when the voice next to her spoke that she remembered she wasn’t alone. When you make unwise choices and offer to protect the weak and defenceless, it can’t be surprising that you forget the finer details prior to having your ass absolutely handed to you. If she had learned anything from this day, it was that when you cross paths with a user of the dark arts, it was only wise to engage them if you had a strong understanding of your opponent. And all she had learned was that he had been capable of mercy, although the reasoning for this, she doubted if she would ever understand. Not unless she were to cross paths with him again.

Sister Laramie: You are either very brave or very stupid for doing what you did. Although, I will be forever grateful for your aid in my hour of need. I would have certainly been dead if you hadn’t involved yourself. It seems, however, that your wounds are far greater than my own, and I will do everything I can to stop the bleeding. As a sworn Sister of Protection, I know many remedies and spells that should be able to fix you right up. Although, I really should halt the bleeding first; otherwise, the magics may not connect in the manner that is needed for you to benefit fully from them.

Madison was slightly confused by what this woman was saying to her. She felt faint and had suffered more damage than she had previously. Despite being in such a vulnerable position, she still felt unsure about this woman in front of her. Why had she been left on the roadside too, instead of being taken by the dark servants that she had been battling with on the roadside? That was the question that was lodged in the front of her mind. Why was she still here?

Madison Gray: How? What? Why did they not take you? I was beaten and had no means to offer you any further protection. Did they not want you for themselves? Were you not being claimed by the Dark Traveler on behalf of the Dark Traveler? I can still feel his pure danger, energy and rage weaving through my bloodstream. It feels like a deadly snake's poison is coursing through my veins. If this has been done to me, surely they would have been capable of doing much worse to you before I even turned up. I am starting to think that maybe...

There was a wet feeling pressed against her head, a cold compress of sorts that had a very herbal scent. It was overpowering, making her want to go to sleep. Considering the blows she had suffered to her head and the amount of blood she had lost, she fought with all her might to stay awake. She feared that if she allowed herself to sleep, she might never wake up.

Madison felt like her eyes were playing tricks on her, for it seemed as if this Sister of Protection was actually smiling at her rather than having a look of concern.

Sister Laramie: Now is not the time to worry yourself with questions of battle. No benefit will come of this; now you must rest. Close your eyes and breathe in and out. You have been hurt very badly, and you must try to relax; otherwise, I won’t be able to complete the incantations, and that just won’t do . The Master will not be pleased if you are not plump, juicy, and ready for consumption.

The words that Madison was hearing didn’t really make much sense. Laramie had sounded as if she were describing a tasty meal and not a subject in need of medical attention.

Madison Gray: I’m sorry, did you say something about consumption? I am sorry; I think I am about to pass out.

Sister Laramie: If you need to close your eyes and sleep, then that is most likely the best thing for you to do. You took a heavy beating fighting off the Congregation Members of the Church of Death Walker. Those shape-shifters of the Dark Travelers are truly dangerous, and the fact that they are still drawing breath from your body is impressive on its own. You must try and relax so I can offer you some healing words.

Madison coughed and felt her entire rib cage vibrating. It was as if a little imp had hidden inside her and was playing her ribs like a xylophone, making music that, with every beat, felt like a stabbing sensation in her abdomen.

Madison Gray: There is something else.

Madison could feel the same sensation she had felt when she was officially made a Wanderer by King Zaphod Krish. The strange feeling of a thousand butterfly wings beating against her skin at the same time. When she had fallen between the worlds and arrived in the Ethereal Plane. However, she was still very much lying against the stone and being attended to by Sister Laramie. She was very much a part of her own reality, yet she could feel something trying to pull her away, as if she was being given a warning. But it just didn’t make sense, and the more she tried to understand it, the more it made her feel dizzy. She could already feel the dull ache of a migraine coming on.

Madison Gray: There is something else present with us at the moment. I feel as if we are being visited by something. I feel like a haunting is taking place.

Laramie looked almost annoyed by the comment but quickly turned the frown into a comforting expression as she replied.

Sister Laramie: Don’t worry yourself about such matters. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Just close your eyes and try to rest. You have to conserve your energy. You need to be much stronger when you are offered up as a sacrifice to The Tailor.

"Sacrifice?" Madison was sure that was what she had heard, but she suddenly felt her eyelids getting very heavy. They started to close as everything around her started to fade to black, and she went from feeling as heavy as a large sack of freshly harvested carrots to the feather of a juvenile Blue Jay.

+ + + + +

When Madison woke, she found herself somewhere different from where she had last been. The humidity was unbearable, and she felt sweat building up all over her body. However, as she looked down, she didn’t have a single scratch or slice on her body. As if by some sort of magic, she had been completely healed. Her headache had also disappeared, but as she looked around, everything was wrong. The sky was orange, almost like it was burning. The buildings looked like they had long since been abandoned and were starting to fall apart. What was almost stranger than all, though, was as she looked down at what looked like a meandering river, she realised that it wasn’t water that was bending around the curves, but rather hot molten lava that looked like it was burning heavily into the rock and melting everything it touched with unrelenting anger and fury.

Behind her, she heard a disembodied voice that sounded like it had no physical bond. The sound blew at her like the wind and swirled around her before forming in front of her eyes like the complex three-dimensional puzzles that were fashionable in royal courts, or so she had been told. Rather than turning into a tower-like structure, it seemed as if the wind turned into vampire bats before increasing in size and stature until she came face to face with a humanoid-looking figure. Decorated in armour built of skulls and bones, with the most recognizable feature being a demonic mask with a royal purple pattern acting as fabric holding the various interlocking pieces together.

Venja: Welcome, Wanderer, to the realm of Despair. An unexpected guest, I will admit, but I welcome you all the same. I am the Gatekeeper, the Protector, the Throne Maker of this particular realm, but for the benefit of convenience, you may refer to me simply as Venja 'The Door.'

This was an individual that peasant folk were raised to be scared of and was often used as an icon to motivate children to have good manners for fear of the creatures under their bed. Yet, as she found herself in his presence, he was well-mannered and had a calm and relaxing melody to his voice. 'The Door' was assumed to be some sort of demon, but the nature of the beast had never been fully defined. Some legends told that the being ventured into villages late at night and rounded up all the criminals, irrespective of the severity of their crimes, and burned them to a crisp before draining their souls to continue to live a life without fatigue or tiredness. Other stories painted 'The Door' in a more positive light, where when towns or cities were being invaded and were close to being turned into ground zeroes, he would offer them a chance of escape but only if they were willing to spend one year living within the realm of Despair. Of course, none of these stories could ever be verified, well until now.

Madison Gray: May I ask how I got here? The last thing I remember I was clashing with The Congregation of the Church of Death Walker, and then everything else became foggy. There is something missing from my memory, and I can’t retrace my steps. If only I could…

Venja ended up finishing her sentence, which left her feeling even more confused and almost nauseous.

Venja: ...remember what I was doing before I got here?

Venja smiled, or at least it felt like they might have been smiling if they weren’t wearing a mask that was obscuring their face.

Venja: The truth of the situation is that the only reason you are here is because I must be indebted to you in some way. The problematic way in which I live is that the debt I hold may be from my past but likely be from your future, which as a first-time concept is likely going to be hard to comprehend.

That was putting it lightly.

Madison Gray: I am a little lost in what you are trying to communicate right now.

It didn’t help that the roaring heat surrounding her was throwing her off; she wasn’t used to feeling such a burn. She imagined this is what it felt like for the folks who lived up north near the Lava Fields of Rylotte. Her brain wasn’t working, and she coughed as she looked at her hand. It was covered in blood, but then she blinked, and there wasn’t a trace of the blood.

Venja: This is going to be tough to get your head around, but I want you to imagine a piece of ice that has been created by a wizard. First, they must manipulate a water source next to them and then use their powers to make the water really cold and turn it into ice. Well, my debt to you is like that piece of ice, but what you must have done for me is like the water that was present beforehand. But, of course, you have only come across the ice first. So when you see the water, you will assume it was the ice that melted and not the other way around. Does that make sense to you?

The explanation hadn’t helped. The sight of her blood had scared her. She really didn’t understand what was going on or what exactly she was meant to do.

Madison Gray: Not really.

Venja: Well, that is to be expected. All of this will make sense in the future, though it seems my debt to you must be paid now. For there is never a better time to pay a debt than when the payment is most needed.

Madison Gray: Well, that is a currency I do understand, but I still don’t understand how exactly a payment is made or why I am even really here. None of this seems real to me?

Venja: It’s because it isn’t really. You see, your body is still very much in a less than desirable state elsewhere being tended to by that heretic. It is your mind or perhaps better stated, your essence that is present in this realm. However, I can present a gift to you which will give you an advantage when you return to your physical self.

Madison Gray: Why would I need an advantage; is there something wrong?

Madison realised as soon as she had asked the question, she already knew the answer. She or a version of herself, if she got her head around the physics, was in a completely separate realm from her actual body, and she was casually conversing with a demonic entity.

Venja: I mean, if I am willing to recompense you for a debt, then I think it should be obvious enough to you that you were in desperate need of my help. Your soul is still so pure, you are so trusting, and you still very much need to toughen around the edges and build up some scar tissue. The career path you have chosen is not for the faint of heart, and I feel that if you aren’t careful or find yourself friends you can rely on, you might find yourself knocking on the Reaper’s door a lot sooner than you might have expected.

It was hard for it not to sound ominous, but the more that Madison took in the surroundings, the more she thought that there was really a lack of people present in this realm. In fact, it was almost in between the rivers and the old crumbling building; it was like she was present in the cemetery. With graves and mausoleums as far as the eye could see.

Madison Gray: And how exactly am I in need of help?

Venja: The Sister of Protection that is tending to your wounds is a ploy, a decoy, a trap to pull you in and deceive you. She was never a captive of the Congregation, for you see, she paid for the simulation of a captive to earn your favour.

Madison Gray: Earn my favour? What benefit would that serve? What would she want from me? We have never crossed paths before. I had never met her until today, is it even today?

Venja put his arm around Madison, and at first, it was a hot, scalding, burning feeling, but almost instantaneously it settled and became warm and comforting.

Venja: She serves another. Simply known as ‘The Tailor,’ and if you haven’t crossed his path, then I feel that you are locked in and destined to meet him. Although, I would advise that you unshackle yourself from the succubus as she will lead you down the most dangerous trail and make you vulnerable to ‘The Tailor’ when he decides to strike. If you are to overcome a foe of his cunning, then you are going to take the first steps and make a preemptive attack. In order to aid me in the future, you are going to have to become far more accomplished, and I feel that vanquishing this foe will be vital to your personal growth.

Before her eyes, a beautiful, intricately built dagger encrusted with jewels and adorned with purple runes would just appear from the smoke and float towards Madison's right hand.

Venja: This dagger is known as Truth Seeker, and if you plunge it into the Sister of Protection when you return to the other side, she will suffer from paralysis and be unable to work against you. For a limited time, she will be compelled to tell you the truth when you ask questions of her. Does this make sense to you?

It didn’t really, but in principle, she got the gist of what was being suggested.

Madison Gray: I think so.

Venja: Well, that is good, and I would consider my debt to be paid. Although, I look fondly back on when we first met and you helped me when I was in that bind, but as I said before, my past is your future, and sharing any more information could prove to be problematic for the both of us. I wish you the best of luck, Wanderer. I know it will all be worth it in the end.

+ + + + +

Sister Laramie: Don’t worry yourself about such matters. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Just close your eyes and try to rest. You have to conserve your energy. You need to be much stronger when you are offered up as a sacrifice to The Tailor.

Sacrifice? This was very familiar; Madison was sure she was experiencing déjà vu. Unlike before, she didn’t feel sleep setting in. And everything that had been spoken made perfect sense. As she reached down, she saw the beautiful dagger, and with one swift motion, she arched her arm and plunged Truth Seeker into Laramie’s side, much to the woman’s surprise.

Sister Laramie: What? How? What have you done to me?

Unlike in the previous skirmish with the hooded figure of the Dark Travelers' order, this time Laramie looked genuinely scared, and this only reinforced the words that Madison had heard in her vision with Venja. The Sister could not be trusted, and she had been foolish to fall for the helpless maiden routine.

Madison Gray: First, you are going to actually heal my wounds, you conniving little witch, and then you are going to tell me everything that I want to know, otherwise, I am going to pull that blade out without any regard before plunging it repeatedly into the back of your skull.

Now she had her attention.

Madison Gray: Did I stutter?

Sister Laramie: No, you didn’t. I just…

Madison Gray: Get on with the healing process! The time for your games is over.

Madison felt different. It was as if her visit to the Realm of Despair had actually uplifted her and given her a vital surge of energy. Or perhaps this was a benefit of Truth Seeker; honestly, this is the sort of question she would have asked Lady Northstar, but since she had become a Wanderer, she had been forced to become self-reliant for better or worse. Sister Laramie was shaking and clearly not just in pain and distress from the stab wound, but also feeling the effects of the blade that was commanding her to tell the truth and preventing her from causing any further harm to Madison. Unlike the previous use of basic homoeopathic medicines, the Sister of Protection was finally making incantations under her breath, and in a matter of seconds, Madison could see the spell taking effect. The wounds were closing up, the blood was fading away, and the agonising pain was starting to fade away. And it was very evident that Madison’s fortune had very much changed in the blink of an eye.

Madison Gray: Now, Sister Laramie, you are going to tell me everything I need to know about The Tailor.

Sister Laramie: The Tailor? How do you know about the Tailor! I can’t tell you about him.

Madison Gray: And yet you will be compelled to do so by Truth Seeker. Now, hold your tongue and finish completing your healing spells.

Sister Laramie had become resigned to her fate, and unlike before, she was more submissive and docile. Perhaps she felt that if she could make herself look as weak as possible, she could manipulate her in some way, but Madison thought back to what Venja ‘The Door’ had said to her. “You still very much need to toughen around the edges and build up some scar tissue.” Now it seemed was the time to start toughening up if she had any hopes of proving herself on the battlefield that was the journey of life. It was vital if she was ever going to become the person that the Kingdom of Günwhorfe needed her to be.

* * * * * * *

Five - ‘The Buddy’
Madison realised that it was impossible to fully process the information she had just learned from Sister Laramie without looking back at how she had gotten to where she was. It had only been a few weeks since she had become a Wanderer, but she really hadn’t taken time to stop or breathe or even think about anything that had happened to her. It had all been a blur, and she had yet to reflect. She had been charging into everything like a crazed maniac, but her most recent experience had taught her that perhaps that really wasn’t the best approach to take.

Her quest remained true. She needed to seek out 'The Enchantress of the Moons,' the Witch Kleio De Santos, and prevent the spreading and championing of the One King Theory from being spread throughout the neighbouring kingdoms to prevent the instability that such a large political swing would cause for those that didn’t agree with such a policy. The truth of the matter was that she was no closer to achieving her goal than she had been before she had even been tasked for this quest. The road had been gruelling and tough, and she had very little to show for her efforts.

Every night she was haunted by visions of fluorescent green light, the sound of cackling laughter, and either chants or curses being no doubt cast by the infamous Coven. They had no concern for her because they had no reason to be worried about her, quite simply because no one of any worth had heard of Wanderer of Günwhorfe. Nor would they have had a reason to, until now it seemed. The brutal beating she had suffered at the hands of the Congregation Members of the Church of Death Walker, which had been nothing more than a trap put together by Sister Laramie, had informed her that one man had taken a particular interest in her. The Tailor.

Sister Laramie had informed her that The Tailor had visited the Kingdom of Günwhorfe two summer seasons ago and apparently had been a Squire to a Knight from the Nevada Harvest Quarter. It seemed that Madison and The Tailor had been sent to the Training Fields to spar in hand-to-hand combat, but the skills that Madison had learned as a student of Northstar Tower had embarrassed her opponent. So much so it seems that the Knight had been so embarrassed by the Squire's performance that he had discontinued his training. This had led to a knock-on effect of events that had filled The Tailor with anger and frustration that seemed to be placed solely upon Madison’s shoulders. The fact that someone had attached so much importance onto a spar on the Training Fields had been a cause of concern for her, and she had heeded Venja's word that it was perhaps best if she tackled the problem head-on before it came back to bite her on the arse and left teeth marks that would be unlikely to go away anytime soon.

Madison had one piece of information that was vital to her cause: the location that The Tailor was currently residing. A hub for traffic and important further down the coast, at a location that was left abandoned to the chickens and ducks in the Summer Month, but when the leaves fell and cold came quickly became populated with all around. The infamous Winter Wasteland, a festival of sorts that was known for hosting nefarious individuals, as well as those that wanted to avoid the eyes of the law at all costs. It would be a four-day ride if she pushed her mount to its limit, but before she could give a second thought to The Coven, she knew she had to solve this problem first.

She had considered returning a few days' journey backward to attempt to convince a female mercenary she had met at a large roadhouse tavern called "The Buddy” to help her in this endeavour. Just thinking back made her smile, although she wasn’t sure if they would be the best fit for what she had in mind for the Tailor. Weasel von Wurst was a cunning and daring sword fighter, but she feared that she had to tackle this problem head-on and by herself if she was to actually benefit from a truly honourable victory. The road was going to be hard, but she was doing it to keep her head down and avoid all other confrontations even if she had to ignore situations that normally she would get involved in. Before she could help everyone, she needed to concentrate on just saving herself from eternal damnation.

On second thought though, perhaps the company of Weasel Von Wurst was the best thing for her. Friendship was a currency that often played without any monetary requirements, and after the day she had experienced, safety in numbers, at least for one night, might be the best thing for her. And who knows, perhaps Weasel Von Wurst knew a faster and less dangerous way to get to the Winter Wasteland.

+ + + + +

The Buddy was a large two-tier tavern that was incredibly popular with travellers far and wide, so much so that apparently a lot of tradespersons would actually elect to travel the longer routes if it meant they would be able to have a night's rest at the venue. Although the truth was that this was not a place where one came for a good night’s rest. This is where people came for a good time. There was a strict no-fighting policy between patrons, unless, of course, they signed up to brawl inside the confines of ‘The Bowl’ an effective battle circle where problems and bets alike would be contested and resolved and that every bout had to end with a handshake. So if someone was knocked out, the fight would technically be paused until they were able to stand up again and a hand could be met. Respect was a key element for everyone who spent time in The Buddy. Honour was the currency that paid the highest and was valued by all.

Weasel Von Wurst: So, you have your first proper nemesis? Now isn’t that something to be excited about.

The important thing to understand about Weasel Von Wurst is that they were exactly what they looked like, an anthropomorphic weasel person. Although beastfolk were not an unknown quantity, they were still rare to the sighted, especially those who congregated when the sun was still in the sky. Von Wurst knew very little about how she had arrived in this part of the world and when asked would make references to someone called Mario and something called the Rainbow Road. Madison avoided talking about Weasel’s past after the first few times it had been brought up in conversation. They were an individual that was better suited to the here and now. And that was the venue that Madison also most liked to live when she could, the present.

Madison Gray: I mean, is it really a nemesis if I really don’t know much about them?

Weasel Von Wurst: Think about it like this.

Weasel outstretched one of her hairy furry claw-like hands and grabbed a large amount of Lardons (Bacon) in the bowl on the bar and proceeded to drop them into her tankard of dark purple ale that she enjoyed drinking and was very likely the only person who patrolled ‘The Buddy’ who enjoyed drinking dark grape winter ale with bacons floating on the top like a gross skin. Madison hadn’t known Weasel for long but had accepted that outside of what she had considered normal at home - the wider world was a very different place, with a lot of different tastes and intrigues. None of that mattered all that much when it comes to friendship, though. Von Wurst’s eating or drinking habits had no bearing on their friendship, well until it crossed a moral line that she wasn’t comfortable with anyway.

Weasel Von Wurst: Imagine you are a famous cook and you make real tasty fairy cakes.

Madison was really concerned about what a fairy cake was. She had heard children’s stories of fairies who frolicked in the woods late at night and got up to mischievous fun with the fireflies and the toadstool people.

Madison Gray: What is a fairy cake?

Weasel chuckled to herself, perhaps sensing the anxiety on Madison’s face. If she was even capable of doing such a thing.

Weasel Von Wurst: Before you wet your knickers, it really isn’t what you are imagining.

Madison Gray: How would you know what I was thinking about?

Weasel Von Wurst: You just have that look in your eyes, that everyone else does when they are thinking the worst of me. Anyway, you distracted me and interrupted what I was trying to say. But imagine really small cakes that are only meant to be eaten by one person and decorated with fruit or other candied treats. And you are really good at making them, and a lot of people get a lot of joy from these marvelous treats that you make.

Madison Gray: This is about cake?

Weasel looked a bit annoyed with Madison and rather than throwing more Lardons into her drink, instead grabbed a large handful of them and just threw them into her mouth and started chewing them aggressively in the side of her mouth before signaling to the barman to bring over another drink.

Weasel Von Wurst: Now can I just explain what I am trying to explain without you interrupting me? Otherwise, I am just going to get pissed drunk and then climb into a barrel and go to sleep.

Madison Gray: I am listening, I am listening. Keep on explaining about the cakes.

Weasel took another long sip of her ale before continuing, doing her best to explain Madison's situation as best she could.

Weasel Von Wurst: Let me start from the beginning now. So you are a famous cook, and you make really tasty fairy cakes. After you bake them, you place them out on a window ledge to cool down and set. However, you turned your back on them, perhaps to pour yourself a nice thirst-quenching refreshment, wash your hands, or use the facilities. The activity isn’t important in this example, and I can tell by the look you are giving me that you are confused.

Madison wasn’t getting confused by all this and still really didn’t understand what baked goods had to do with The Tailor and how she was going to solve that problem, but she had hoped that Von Wurst was going to offer some sort of solution.

Weasel Von Wurst: Now every time you return to your cakes, they are gone. You make the cakes again and again, but every time you turn your back on them, they disappear. Now imagine you finally found out that it is the same one person who has been stealing your cakes, and the only reason they are stealing them is that they are your cakes. They would have become your nemesis, and you wouldn’t even know what they look like, who they were, or what they were even called. This is the exact situation you find yourself in with this Tailor character. Does that make sense?

Madison kept quiet, unsure whether or not she was meant to speak.

Weasel Von Wurst: So, does it make sense now?

Weasel looked irritated again.

Weasel Von Wurst: You can speak already; no need to keep up this foolish act of yours. Do you understand what I am trying to explain to you?

Madison Gray: I think so, yes, especially the part of the unknown still being able to have another impact upon you, for you to place them in a position where you are wary of them and turn them into a rival. I still don’t understand what any of that has got to do with cakes though?

Weasel rolled her eyes.

Weasel Von Wurst: It has nothing to do with cakes. I am going to tell you what we are going to do. We are going to get really drunk, and then you are going to get a really good night’s sleep in the room that you’ve paid for, and I am going to fall asleep in a barrel. And then tomorrow, I am going to make sure to get a friend of mine to take you to Winter Wasteland the quick way. But first, we have fun and enjoy ourselves.

Weasel offered Madison the new tankard, and the pair raised their tankards up and slammed them into each other.

Madison Gray: Skol!

Weasel Von Wurst: Na zdrowie!

And that is exactly what the pair did. They filled their boots with as much liquor as they could hold, sang songs of merriment, and enjoyed each other’s company because in this harsh and cruel world, you never truly knew which night would be the final night you got to spend with any given friend. Life could be cheap, but no one was ever richer than when they were in the company of a good friend.

* * * * * * *

Six - ‘ Route To The Wasteland’
After a splendid and truly eventful night of drinking and general merriment, Madison woke in the same manner as every other time she had spent an evening with Weasel: with an incredibly large hangover and a strong desire to vomit her guts up. On the other side of things, Von Wurst never seemed to show any signs of suffering from her drinking, and Madison surmised that her friend's physiology must prevent her from experiencing any of the negatives that most people feel when they consume large volumes of alcohol.

While nursing herself with a greasy breakfast of thickly cut slices of gammon, slices of an exotic fruit called a pineapple, and the most amazing curried eggs she had ever consumed, Madison did her best to sober up and ready herself. Meanwhile, Weasel Von Wurst had been out doing her best to find Madison a ride that would cut her journey to the Winter Wasteland in half, if not less. Still feeling dizzy and pretty sure she had fallen asleep at the bar, Madison expected to wake up in her new surroundings.

When she did wake up, it felt like she was in a large basket, and she was confused by the cool draught that greeted her. Two sets of eyes were looking down at her.

The first set of eyes made her feel most anxious. They belonged to a person who, at first glance, looked like a very large mammal. However, on closer inspection, unlike Von Wurst, it was evident that this individual was very much a man of flesh who was dressed up like a large rat or perhaps another similar beast. The truth is that Madison was no animal expert, so she wasn't completely sure about the disguise or presentation they were attempting to offer. All Madison knew was that this really wasn’t high on her list of favourite options for how to be greeted after sleeping in less than ideal circumstances.

Tuesday: Come on, sleepyhead, it's about time you got up. You’ve been sleeping for hours. You need to stand up sooner rather than later; otherwise, your flying legs are never going to kick in, and you are going to be dizzy for the rest of the flight.

Madison was really confused by some of the words that this individual was saying, particularly all the references to flight and flying. However, as she was handed a mug of water, she worked on the basis that this man was much more likely to become a friend rather than a foe. The other individual was a lot more sinister-looking. They didn’t seem to be human at all but looked like a machine man made up of gears, cogs, bolts, and bright lights. This was something that Madison had never even imagined before, so now she felt as if she must be dreaming because this couldn’t be reality. Not hers, anyway.

Madison Gray: Who? What? I don’t even know what is going on. Let me just stand up and get out of here, and go find my friend Weasel Von Hurt. She might have a better understanding of what is going on right now.

Madison pushed herself up to her feet and looked out of the basket. To her horror, she realised she wasn't resting on the ground but rather was floating in the sky. As she took a better look at her surroundings, she quickly became aware she was riding in a hot air balloon cutting across the Basmati Bay and saving a lot of travel time off the journey. The truth of the matter was that she had only believed that such vehicles were a thing of fantasy. To now find herself travelling inside one without any memory of embarking on the journey left her feeling even more confused than before.

Madison Gray: Any chance either of you two fancy explaining how exactly I got in this particular situation?

Madison was scared and nervous, and she didn’t think she had even hidden that fact. The strange machine man was the first to answer, speaking in a unique accent that she had never heard before. It had a twang to it, and she was sure it was a language of her own, but wasn’t completely sure if it was just a coincidence.

Thomas B3D: I think a short story will be much more helpful in this current situation, m’lady. My name is Thomas B3D, an artificial intelligence and a secondary representation of the intrepid explorer and dashing rogue, Thomas Bedlam. I am, however, capable of my own independent thought and processing, as long as it coincides with the belief systems and general practices of my creator. My humble colleague is my travelling companion and assistant, Trash Tuesday, but for the sake of politeness, I refer to him normally as Tuesday.

The strangely dressed individual chimed in.

Tuesday: Howdy Hi once again, Miss.

Madison Gray: It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I hope.

Tuesday: A friend of Weasel Von Wurst is always likely to be a friend of ours. That's why we agreed to allow you to join us on the final leg of our journey.

A strange sound came from the machine, as if it was trying to imitate the sound of someone coughing after taking on too much smoke.

Thomas B3D: Tuesday, you know it’s rude to tell a story when someone else has already started telling it.

Tuesday: Sorry, B3D.

There was a strange relationship between both individuals, and although there seemed to be a hierarchy between both of them, Madison would have pinned them down as being much more likely to be sidekicks rather than leaders. She was incredibly curious about who the true decision-maker in the balloon was.

Thomas B3D: Tuesday and I are en route to the Winter Wasteland, and Weasel Von Wurst hunted us down, informing us that you were also planning on visiting that market in a quest to find an enemy of yours. Since we are all headed in the same direction and all friends of Weasel’s are by default friends of ours, we agreed to bring you with us. Now, I'm not sure why anyone would attempt to drink with Miss Wurst, but you have been sleeping for nearly half a day. We both decided that it was about time that you woke up and got used to travelling by air. Although I don’t suffer the effects myself, Tuesday has vouched that it can prove to be quite treacherous and has in the past forced us to touchdown and stay grounded for a short time to allow the body to become grounded and reset.

There was an awkward pause that felt unnatural as B3D walked away, making some adjustments to the mechanical instruments powering the balloon. The silence was quickly filled by the voice of Trash Tuesday.

Tuesday: So, please shut me up if I am being nosy, but what is it about this nemesis—I believe is the word that Weasel used—that makes you so driven to seek them out rather than playing the slow game? Von Wurst is always saying that the slow game is the best game.

Madison was also a fan of the slow game, but The Tailor was an obstacle that she needed to tackle head-on before she could get back to her true purpose of hunting for witches.

Madison Gray: The truth of the matter is simply put, I do not enjoy being deceived. If I have someone who wants to go to battle with me, I would much prefer they be upfront and challenge me with an open face. There is nothing more frustrating to me than facing a coward. After a particularly unfortunate run-in with members of the Church of Death Walker, it became clear to me that I would have to put my main quest on hold and instead deal with the Tailor as swiftly as possible.

Tuesday pulled a puzzled look before replying.

Tuesday: I keep track of many of the heroes and villains of the continent, and I am going to be honest—I have never heard of this Tailor. What is he known for?

Madison wanted to say "not a lot" and end the conversation there and then, but from experience, voicing your emotions and feelings ahead of time was the healthy approach before a skirmish. It was one of the many mantras that Lady Northstar had instilled into her over the countless years of her training within the tower.

Madison Gray: It seems that he is very much a coward. A master of manipulation, lies, and deceit. He seems to have an approach of gaining leverage over others and then forcing them to complete tasks for him, with the knowledge that their failure would likely come at the expense of their loved ones, their possessions, or something else they hold dear. Sometimes a few words hidden in a secret laced with truth can bring down a whole kingdom if whispered in the wrong ears. This is the sort of adversary that you need to run through with a sword as soon as possible. This is the sort of person that you really don’t want to be worrying about and constantly looking over your shoulder, especially when the person coming at you isn’t even wearing the face of the one giving orders. He is an infected wound that needs to be burned from the skin and then cut out so that not a single trace remains. Now that I know of his existence, it is my duty to deal with it calmly and swiftly.

Tuesday: So, this is about honour?

Madison shook her head.

Madison Gray: This is about doing what is right. No part of my sacred vow as a Wanderer plays any part in this task that I have set for myself. This is an infestation that needs to be dealt with, and I must become the torch and burn every trace of this thing from the world. Like shattered glass, it must become impossible to put them back together. No one else should have to suffer at the hands of this insidious wretch.

Trash Tuesday paused for a second, almost as if they were scanning the horizon.

Tuesday: So, how are you planning on dealing with this problem of yours? A stealthy assassination, paying a servant, or perhaps even hiring mercenaries to aid in a traditional loud and proud charging at the gates?

Madison smiled. She had considered all of those options but had something much more suitable in mind.

Madison Gray: This is all about making a statement, and I’d rather not resort to leaving a death note but rather leave them in a state in which they will never be able to walk in the same way again or pose a threat to anyone else. So this has to be public. Everyone needs to witness what I do, and it needs to be recorded. I am going to find where they drink, where they congregate, and before they even know I am standing in their shadow, I am going to swing around, nail them with my elbow, and have a melee in the middle of the road.

It would be at this point that the machine man would speak up for the first time in a while.

Thomas B3D: Sounds like you intend on engaging in a Street Fight. My records show that such an approach to combat could prove to be quite a popular choice at the Wasteland and less likely to see third parties get involved. You might even find that others are making wagers on your success, while you pound this cretinous-sounding fellow into the dirt. Could I suggest that you both lower your voices for the next few hours, though? We will be flying through the last portion of Basmati Bay, and some of the flying folk will not react well to seeing land walkers present in their skies.

Madison realised that the world was much bigger than she had ever considered, and although she was on a quest to seek out The Tailor, most people would have no idea who he was or who this young female Wanderer from the Kingdom of Günwhorfe even was. Although she intended to change all that. She was hungry to earn battle fame and have her name called out by heralds and be sung by bards far and wide. She wanted nothing more than to create a legend of herself so that when the time came that she found herself standing face to face with a member of the infamous Coven, it was they and not she who would be put into a state of panic. Her journey might have only just begun, but she had no intention of it ending anytime soon.

This was only the first step. This time next year, no one would even remember this moment, for she would have created a path for herself of more notable glories and victories. People wouldn’t have to ask who she was but rather would be running towards her seeking to hear her story and have the opportunity that they stood and had a conversation with the Young Lioness Madison Gray.




To Be Continued​

 

[Dubb]

KILL OR BE KILLED
A Vengador Promo

Click here to read it.

Spoiler: And here's the plain text version

KILL OR BE KILLED


James Grimshaw eyed his prey.

In the distance in the decaying forest in the Realm of Despair, he found a young deer, munching one one of the few pieces of greenery in the mostly black and brown colorless woods. His brother, Dominic, had taught him what to do. The Realm of Despair was a merciless world where only the strong could survive. It was kill or be killed. Unfortunately, both James and Dominic were a testament to that. Having been left to survive in this wasteland with the death of both of their parents, they only had each other to survive. Or, really, it was James who had Dominic.

Dominic was strong. He was smart. He had that killer instinct. He had everything it took to survive. He was everything that James wanted to be. Dominic was the original Vengador. The Vengador who was the most feared mercenary in the multiverse.

Sure, James eventually inherits the mantle with the death of his brother. An atrocious murder at the hands of a coward. A coward who has been on the run ever since.

But to this day, our current day Vengador, James Grimshaw, knows that he is not his brother.

But every day, he strived to be more like him. To be able to have that killer instinct.

Show no mercy.

It's kill or be killed.

So James grabbed his crossbow, loading up the arrow and narrowing his focus on the deer in the distance.

But just as James steadied himself to take aim, a voice, bright and whimsical, pierced the silence.

"Whoa there, young hunter! Hold your bolts!"

Startled, James turned to see another child, about his age, standing a few paces away. This newcomer, with a shock of unruly hair and clothes adorned with colorful patches and a long green cape flowing from his neck, exuded an air of eccentricity. His eyes sparkled with an otherworldly light. "I see you're eyeing that deer, eh?" the boy exclaimed. "I don't think you should go through with that, dear sir."

Confused, James lowered his crossbow. "What are you talking about?"

"Ahh, bloodshed. It is not the answer!"

"But I'm hungry. And that deer is food. The answer seems quite simple."

"Oh but does it? Is the answer ever really as simple as it seems? And is there always really just one answer? There are a multitude of answers for every question! Do not limit yourself, my new friend!"

New friend? Dominic had taught James there's no such thing as friends in this world. Not anymore.

"This is how we survive. We kill. We eat. Kill or be killed."

"My, my! What a narrow focus! Whoever taught you that was wrong, I'm afraid!"

"My brother is never wrong."

"Your brother, eh? I see, I see. Well, I can tell that your brother must have a high influence over your own thought process. But have you ever stopped to think on your own? Come to your own conclusions? Do you think killing that deer is the best possible solution to your problem of being hungry?"

"Yes," James nodded. "Because I like to eat deer. It is delicious."

"Ah! But that deer probably has a family too. Does it not? We've all experienced death and loss in this vast wasteland of a world, have we not? How did it feel? How did it feel when you lost the ones you loved?"

James paused. This peculiar stranger was not wrong. He knew what it was like to have lost. Not just his parents but many others over the few years he had been alive, including his own friends.

"I can tell by your hesitation that my words are hitting a cord with you and for that I am pleased. Just think... that deer... is the child of some Mama or Papa Deer... or has other deer friends. Maybe other animal friends too. Who really knows the nature of the animal kingdom."

"Then what? I can't just not eat."

"Ah, but there's more to survival than hunting, my friend!" The boy twirled around, gesturing to the surroundings. "Nature provides, you see. We just need to learn her ways!"

James frowned, his instincts conflicting with this strange boy's words. "I don't get it. How else am I supposed to eat?"

"Ah, it's all about harmony! Watch and learn!" With a mischievous grin, he dashed off into the destitute forest. Curiosity getting the best of him, James followed suit, though not quite as animated in his movement.

The other boy paused at a small clearing where the forest was somehow flourishing. It was actually greenier. There were wild berries sprouting amidst the underbrush. "See? Food!" He plucked a handful of ripe berries, popping a few into his mouth. "Nature's bounty!"

James watched, skeptical yet intrigued. He cautiously plucked a berry, sniffed it tentatively, then took a hesitant bite. The burst of sweet flavor surprised him, and he couldn't help but smile. "That's... actually really good."

"See! So many people see this world as nothing but doom and gloom. But you have to open your eyes to other possibilities. Nature is still doing things here in this world! Tell me young traveler, what is your name?"

"James. James Grimshaw. And you are?"

"Ahh! James of Grimshaw! The pleasure is mine to meet you! My name is Xander Yondor Zeemo! You can call me Xander. Or Yondor. Or Zeemo. But most people just call me XYZ. Or X. Or Steve. I dunno... whatever makes you happy."

"You're..."

"Strange? Different? Unique? Awesome? I've been described as many things but one thing is for sure... you will never forget me. Now come, let us play!"

With that, he started dancing and spinning around, inviting James to join in.

Reluctant at first, James hesitated before mirroring Xander's movements. Soon, both boys were laughing and twirling in the fading light, forgetting their differences and losing themselves in the joy of play.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, the two boys collapsed on the forest floor, breathless and smiling.

"I've never played like this before," James admitted.

Xander grinned, his eyes shining with mischief. "See? Nature's ways are not just about surviving. It's about living!"

James suddenly realized the position of the sun as it began to disappear. "Oh no! I gotta go! My brother will be waiting for me."

"Fare ye well, James of Grimshaw. I will be here again tomorrow if you wish to play once again."

James nodded, before rushing off back to where his brother was waiting.

***

Back at their hideout and designated meet up, the metallic clang of Dominic Grimshaw sharpening his knife echoed against the walls of the dilapidated structure that might've been a house at one time but is missing one of the three walls that constitute a house. While he still has his purple armor on his torso and legs, his skull mask sat to the side as he moved his knife back and forth.

As James entered, the air grew tense. Dominic glanced up sharply, his eyes narrowing in concern. "Where were you, Jimmy? You know better than to be late. I was about to go out looking for you."

"I'm sorry, Dom," James stammered, sensing his brother's worry. "I lost track of time."

Dominic's expression hardened. "You know how dangerous that can be! Out there, time means everything. You could've been captured, or worse."

"I was just…" James hesitated, "I made a new friend out there in the forest."

"A friend?" Dominic's voice dropped to a growl. "You know there's no friends in this world. Friends mean one of two things. A liability or a betrayal."

"I dunno, Dom... I think he's different," James protested. "His name is Xander. He's a peaceful soul. He showed me other sources of food in the forest besides hunting!"

Dominic's grip on the knife tightened. "Let me guess. Leaves and berries?"

"That's right! Xander showed me that nature will provide. Isn't that great to hear?"

Dominic shook his head. "Your friend is a fool. I've heard this story before. The weak who can't provide for themselves think they can get by on the vegetation. There's not nearly enough resources left in this world to sustain an agrarian society. Hunting is the only way we survive, Jimmy."

"But he's not like the others out there," James persisted.

"Just trust me. When have you known me to be wrong?"

"...Never," he relented.

"Exactly. You can't trust anyone. No matter how nice they seem. There's people out there who know who I am. They know my identity. And they want me dead. And they'd want you dead too if they find out about you too. So heed my warnings, Jimmy. Listen to me so we both can stay alive."

James swallowed hard before letting out a big breath. "Ok... I understand."

Dominic softened slightly at his brother's disappointment. "I know this isn't the life you would've wanted. I know you yearn for more relationships. For friendships. This isn't the life I wanted either. Nor the life I would've wanted for you, little brother. But this is the life we have now. Soon I will get us out of here. I will complete my work and will have what we need to cross the multiverse... to find the worlds out there that we can live out a much better life than we have here. But until then... I need you to trust me. I need you to listen to me. There is no time for friends. So you cannot play with that boy anymore."

"Yes, sir," James said sadly.

As Dominic resumed sharpening his knife, the silence between the brothers hung heavy. He didn't like it, but James knew his brother was right. He was always right. And he was all he had. The next day, he would go see Xander again and let him know that they could not play together anymore.

***

The forest seemed eerily silent as James ventured back to the spot where he and Xander had laughed and played just the day before. The mostly dead forest was lacking in color and life as there weren't even any animals to be found.

"Xander?" James cautiously called out, hoping his friend was perhaps playing a game of hide and seek. "Xander? Are you here?"

A sudden snap of a twig made James whirl around, hopeful to see his friend. "Xander, is that you?"

Instead, a group of armed men emerged from the shadows, their eyes fixed on James. The men held in their hand a variety of weapons including bows, axes, and blades. James stumbled backward. "Are you James Grimshaw?" One of the men inquired as he pointed his sharp blade in James's direction.

"W-w-w-w-who wants to know?" James stuttered, backing up but starting to be surrounded by the group.

"Don't play games with us boy," the man responded. "We already know the answer to that question. We know you are James Grimshaw."

Two of the men stepped aside as Xander appeared. The carefree spirit James had met yesterday had been replaced with a cold, almost sinister look. "Hi there, James."

"Xander?" James questioned, disappointment in his voice.

"Yes, Xander told us all about you. And your brother. Who would be Dominic Grimshaw, right?"

"How could you?" James questioned.

Xander shrugged. "Your brother was right. Kill or be killed."

"And your brother... he's a wanted man. There's a bounty on the head of Dominic Grimshaw and we plan on getting that bounty! Because we got his brother!"

A cheer went through the group as James looked for a way out, but he was surrounded in every direction. There was no escape.

"Please..."

Just as despair began to sink in, arrows whistled through the air, striking down the menacing figures one by one. Each arrow connected with amazing precision in the chests of each of the men surrounding James, save for Xander himself, who simply watched as his protectors fell to the ground.

Dominic emerges from the darkness of the trees, swinging down from the tree branch he had been perched atop. "I had a feeling you might need some help."

"Dom!" James quickly embraced his brother. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to tell Xander myself... that I couldn't play with him anymore. But you were right."

Dominic eyed Xander, tears streaming down the boy's face. "You there. Xander is it?" The boy simply nodded. "I'm sparing your life today. Go back... go to your people... tell them the Grimshaws are not to be trifled with. Anyone who comes after us... will meet the same fate as your friends here. Now go!"

Xander fled the scene while James still stood by his brother, feeling like he had disappointed him. Dominic senses this, placing his hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's okay, brother. We all make mistakes."

"Even you?"

"Yes, even me. I've made my share.. of costly mistakes. But we must learn from them. And move forward."

James learned on that day a lesson. There was no time for friends. There was only one person he trusted. ANd that was his brother.

But his brother is gone now.

He has no one to save him from the ambush.

He has no one to protect him from the betrayals.

James has made it to a different world… just as his brother had wanted for him. But this world is just as cruel and cold. Just in different ways. He’s seen with his own eyes what some of the people in FWA are willing to do to get ahead.

He’s sure XYZ is a good guy. A nice guy even.

But that doesn’t matter.

It’s kill or be killed.

 

[Dubb]

​

RUN AWAY
A Big Bryan Bastard Promo

Click here to read it.

Spoiler: Plain Text

It felt like old times. Bryan Baxter sat in the booth at Billy Ray's Sports Bar in Hickory, North Carolina with a bacon cheeseburger sitting in front of him. Across from him was his friend and tag team partner, Jeremy Best. Something they had done so many times before before FWA and during FWA, but not something they've done in probably a year.

A lot has happened in the last year for both of them.

Seven years ago, Bryan would've never thought a year like 2023 was possible. That he'd be holding the FWA North American Title for a year. That he would go undefeated in the F1 (before losing in the semifinals but that's beside the point). That, perhaps arguably, he was having the better year of the Buddy System duo. Something no one would've ever expected as recent as two years ago when he first showed up.

But for as much as he hated most people, Bryan had missed lunches like this with Jeremy. He'd never admit it to anyone out loud, of course.
"Bryan, you've barely touched your burger," Jeremy noticed as he dabbed his mouth with his napkin after taking a bite of his chicken sandwich. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah man," Bryan said, now grabbing his beefy burger with both hands. "Just was watching the highlights. Looks like the Panthers lost again. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Am I right, bud?"

Jeremy smiled and nodded. "Well better luck next time for the Panthers, I guess. I hope they hit a home run next week!"

Bryan chuckled. Not one for sports that Jeremy.

"Yeah, hopefully we both fare better than the Panthers at Winter Wasteland, for sure."

"Oh, I know you're gonna do great! I'm not sure I've told you but I'm so proud of what you've done over the past year or so."

"Hey man, I wouldn't be here without you. I owe you everything. And what about you? Mr. Future World Champ."

"World Champion of Friendship, that is!" Jeremy corrected him.

"Right, of course." Bryan took another bite of his burger. "Look, you call that belt whatever you want... after Winter Wasteland, the Buddy System is gonna be carrying some more gold. And after our win last week on Fallout, I bet we can get ourselves a tag title match in our future too."

"Sounds like fun."

"Damn I can't wait to kick Chris Crowe's ass... especially after what he did to me. Thinkin' he could get in my head with the alcohol shit..."

"Yeah, that wasn't very nice of him."

Their conversation was interrupted by the flickering screen of the TV mounted on the wall. An advertisement flashed across the screen, announcing the arrival of the Starling Spectacular Circus in town. Jeremy's eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the screen. "Look Bryan! A circus! How cool! We have to go!" Jeremy nearly bounced out of his seat with excitement.
Bryan glanced at the screen momentarily before shaking his head. "Sounds lame."

The bouncing quickly stopped, Bryan quickly deflating Jeremy's excitement. "Aw, c'mon. It'd be so much fun I bet."

"We got enough on our plates to mess around with nonsense like the circus. And besides... clowns freak me the fuck out."

Jeremy's disappointment was evident, but he acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. "Alright, I guess you're right."

Throughout their conversation, Bryan's phone incessantly vibrated, each buzz drawing his attention. Jeremy couldn't help but notice. "Hey buddy, your phone keeps going off there. Looks like someone is trying to reach you."

Bryan hesitated, his gaze fixed on the device. "It's just my daughter," he admitted, a hint of unease in his tone.

"You can reply if you want. I won't think it's rude."

Bryan sighed heavily, his gaze distant. "It's complicated, dude. I'm keeping my distance. It's for the best. Her mother really doesn't want me talking to her."

"Oh... okay then..."

The phone vibrated again, Bryan electing to just go ahead and turn it off all the way. "There. Like I said. No distractions. We have to be focused for our matches."

Jeremy glanced around, his eyes catching the TV screen once more. The vivid advertisement for the Starling Spectacular Circus flashed again. "Alright, fine. We won't go today. But mark my words, Bry, one day, I'm dragging you to that circus, and you'll see the magic for yourself," Jeremy declared with a playful grin.

Bryan chuckled lightly, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his guarded exterior. "We'll see about that."

Spoiler: Plain Text

---

"C'mon Bryan, answer me!"

Little Audrey Vance laid across her bed adorned with a FWA bedspread, staring down at her mother's phone she used to talk to Bryan from time to time. Her room was not like that of most girl's her age. There were no princesses, dollhouses, or stuffed animals. Instead there were wrestling figures and posters.

It had been weeks since Bryan had responded to her. She didn't know what she had done wrong. She felt like she had been helpful to him with some wrestling advice in the past but suddenly it was like he wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

But she was persistent.

Meanwhile, downstairs, her mother Kristy was rifling through the living room, searching for her missing cell phone. As she lifted up a couch cushion, she thought she heard her daughter's voice. She shook her head, immediately realizing where her cell phone probably had disappeared to.

The sound of her footsteps going up the stairs of their modest townhouse resonated a tone of her frustration. Pushing open the door to Audrey's room, she found her daughter hunched over the phone, lost in her world of unresponded messages.

"AUDREY VANCE! What do you think you're doing?"

Audrey jerked her head up, caught in the act. Her eyes widened momentarily before a defiant glare replaced the surprise. "I just wanted to talk to my friends. Why can't I use your phone? It's not like you're using it."

"Last I checked, it's my phone. And I do need to use it. And besides... I know you're lying to me."

"Am not!"

"You're not talking to your friends, Audrey. You're trying to talk to... him. Aren't you?"

"So what if I am! It's a free country."

"You're seven years old, Audrey. You can't just do whatever you want."

"Yes I can! If I want to talk to Bryan, I will!

With a heavy sigh, Kristy struggled to maintain her composure. "Audrey, I'm just trying to protect you. You shouldn't be talking to Bryan Baxter. He's bad news and you know it."

"No! Bryan is awesome! What's your problem with him? You used to be friends."

Kristy's heart sank, grappling with the weight of the truth she had kept hidden from her daughter for so long. "Audrey, Bryan's not just... well.. we weren't just... he's.." Kristy hesitated, her words caught in a web of tangled emotions.

Frustration ignited within Audrey. "He's what? Why won't you just tell me?" she demanded, her voice rising in defiance.

"Nothing. Like I said, he's just bad news."

"You suck! You're the worst mom in the whole wide world!"

Finally, Kristy's patience wore thin. "That's it, Audrey. Give me your phone. No more devices for the rest of the day!"

"Ugh!" Audrey screamed out in frustration. "Fine here!" She grabbed the phone and shoved it into her mom's waiting arms.

"Now you stay in here and think about how you're going to act. You understand?"

"Fine." Audrey responded, still extremely upset with her mother and the situation. She hated having to follow her rules. She wanted to do whatever she wanted.

Audrey decided to take action into her own hands. She didn't need her mother telling her what to do anymore.


​

---

The sun went down and the moon came up, ushering in night time at the Vance household. Kristy, somewhat remorseful of how the argument with her daughter had gone earlier, tiptoed up to the room. She peaked through the door into Audrey's room to check on her. She was a little surprised to see Audrey had apparently already called it a night, having tucked herself into the bed and now appeared to be fast asleep.

Kristy approached, her heart heavy with conflicted emotions. She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on Audrey's forehead. For all of her stubbornness, she was an angel as she slept. "You just had to get your father's bad traits, didn't you," she whispered to herself as she looked down at the sleeping girl. "Sweet dreams."

Leaving Audrey's room, Kristy gently closed the door behind her, the soft click echoing in the hallway. But the click of the door signaled the all clear for Audrey, who quickly opened her eyes, having never actually been asleep after all. She slipped out of bed, already dressed, and grabbed her bookbag off her chair. With nimble movements, she cracked open the window and slipped out into the chilly night.

She wasn't going to be told what to do anymore.

She was going to find a new home. A place that would welcome her. A place that would be more fun.

But as she walked through the suburban streets, the night air grew colder and with every passing moment she felt like things were getting darker and darker. She was starting to realize that she might have made a mistake.

But then she saw it.

The distant allure of bright lights and laughter. She had to get a closer look to see what spectacle was in the distance.

The Starling Spectacular Circus.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Audrey's curiosity overpowered her hesitations. The large big top tent was beckoning to her. She could not resist as she slipped through the tent where a large crowd of spectators sat upon bleachers watching the three ring circus before them. Audrey's eyes widened in wonder watching as trapeze artists danced in midair, executing breathtaking feats that held her spellbound.

It was nothing she had ever experienced before.

She was mesmerized.

Lost in the spectacle, Audrey's senses were overwhelmed. Unbeknownst to her, a figure emerged from the shadows, a man named Terrible Terry, gripping her shoulder.

"You got a ticket, kid?" he grunted, his voice gruff, startling Audrey out of her trance.

Caught off guard, Audrey stammered, her heart racing. "I... I don't have one," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

"Come with me," Terry instructed, pulling her by the arm assuring she came whether she liked it or not.

Terry escorted her through the tent to a trailer behind the tent set up as the business office. Inside the office, sitting behind a large cluttered desk, sat the imposing figure of Kristoff Starling, the ringleader of the circus. "Well, well, well," Starling leaned forward across his desk. "What do we have here? A stowaway?"

"Sorry, mister... I just... well, I saw your tent and wanted to check it out."

"Oh, I get it. I have quite the show here, don't I?"

Audrey simply nodded.

"Where are your parents?"

"They aren't here..."

"Oh? What's a little girl doing out here by herself at night?"

"Well, I don't even know who my dad is. And my mom is really mean. So I ran away!" She decided to say assertively.

Starling rubbed his chin. "I see. I see... hmmm." Starling motioned to Terry who came over to his boss. Kristoff leaned over and whispered something to Terry. Terry then looked over to the nervous little girl before nodding and then whispering something back to Kristoff.

"My dear... I completely understand your plight. I get it. Many of us here at my circus also felt unwanted. We are like family here. You are welcome here!"

Audrey's eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and relief. "Really? I could join your circus?"

"Of course! I think I know just the act for you! What do you say?"

The promise of acceptance and freedom enticed her, and without hesitation, she eagerly embraced the chance to join the vibrant world of the circus. "Yes! Please!"


​

---

Everyone knows Bryan Baxter is not a morning person.

If it can be helped, he's not awake before 10AM most mornings. Utilizing a fortress of blackout curtains covering every possible window in his apartment, Bryan was once again able to lay comfortably in the darkness once again.

However, the persistent buzz of his phone disrupted the tranquility.

"Oh come on," he said with frustration, rolling over in bed and tossing the blanket off. He grabbed the phone. Seven missed calls. Each from Kristy's phone. Once again it began to vibrate displaying her phone number.

Assuming that it's once again Audrey's undying persistence, he grumbled. "This really has to stop."

And so he decided to finally answer the call. "Look," he said, his voice laced with irritation. "I've told you you shouldn't be contacting me."

"Bryan? Bryan... it's me..." Bryan was surprised to find that the voice did not belong to Audrey and instead belonged to his ex-girlfriend and Audrey's mother.

"Kristy?"

"Bryan... I don't have time.. just listen... is Audrey there with you? Please tell me she is there with you." Kristy's panic was evident in her tone.

"What?" Bryan was bewildered. "No, of course not." Bryan's irritation quickly melted into concern as he knew Kristy wouldn't just call him for no reason.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck..."

"What's going on?"

"She's not here, Bryan."

"What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Do you think I'd be asking you if she was with you if I knew the answer to that question? All I know is she was here last night, I kissed her goodnight and this morning her bed was empty and she was just gone."

"Okay... shit... well... let's try to stay calm..."

"This is all my fault."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"No, she got really mad with me yesterday. I caught her trying to message you again and she just blew up at me."

Bryan rubbed his hand across his face. After lecturing Jeremy about how they needed to focus on Winter Wasteland and not get distracted... now this came along instead. "Do you know where she might've gone? A friend's house or something?"

"No... she doesn't really have many friends. And none that live near us... Ugh... shit... I don't know what else to do... I hate that I'm about to say this... but... I need your help."

Bryan hesitated, conflicting emotions warring within him. After a moment's pause, he relented. "I'm on my way."


​

---

Bryan and Kristy agreed to meet up in the historic downtown area. It was a small town so they were sure she couldn't have gone too far. She had printed out handouts with pictures of Audrey for both of them to canvas the area, asking anyone they came across if they had seen that little girl. Just hoping that maybe someone had any hint of information about her whereabouts.

Unfortunately, their efforts were not providing much results. No results actually.

Bryan could see the frustration in Kristy's eyes. They hadn't spoken much to one another since meeting up downtown. The dynamic was certainly awkward between the two. They hadn't spoken in person in eight years and now here they were.

"We're getting nowhere," she finally broke the silence between the duo after another unfortunate no from a passerby.

"It's going to be okay," Bryan said, a rare moment of sympathy for the man who is known to be The Bastard. "She's tough, just like her mother."

Kristy shook her head, a slight smile actually started to sneak onto her face ever so briefly. "Yeah, and stubborn like you."

Bryan laughed. "God I hope that's the only thing she got from me."

"It's enough, trust me."

"Sucks about Ground Zero, by the way," Bryan said, bringing up the recent competition where Kristy came up just short of earning herself a FWA contract.

"Yeah, well... it is what it is," Kristy said, the smile now gone. She clearly was not too interested in discussing her failures. Another passerby shakes his head no as Kristy shows off the picture of Aubrey.

"I don't think you should give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm going to find her."

"Of course not. But I mean on the FWA. You deserve your chance."

"Yeah, well, it seems like that ship sailed."

"Nah," Bryan shook his head. "You're a badass in and out of the ring."

"Can we not talk about this right now."

"Right. Yeah... just trying to ease the tension."

"Look, neither one of us wants to be here right now. No need for small talk."

Slightly defeated, Bryan nodded his head and went back to asking random strangers if they had seen their daughter. It was still no after no after no. Come on, he thought... someone has to know something.

But no one had.

Hours passed with nothing. Kristy could barely take it anymore as she walked to the brick wall of a local bakery, she leaned back, slumping down to the ground as she broke down in tears. Bryan reached back and scratched the back of his neck. He felt awkward seeing Kristy in tears. He never really knows what to do in situations like this.

He walked over, struggling with what to say. "I... uh..." He stuttered.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out through her tears.

"Huh? For what?" Bryan said, confused.

"You're out here... actually trying to help... and I'm being a bitch..."

"Hey I get it. You have the right to be upset. After everything I did to you... I've been a giant dick for years. I don't even blame you for not telling Audrey about me. If I was you, I wouldn't have either. I'm not daddy material. I'm still a dick."

Kristy actually laughed a bit while she reached up and wiped the tears away from both of her eyes. "I dunno.. you're out here right now. I'm not sure the Big Bryan Bastard I knew would've done that."

"Shh... don't tell anyone. I got a reputation to worry about." This time they both shared an unlikely laugh as Bryan reached out his hand. "C'mon, let's get back to work."

She nodded, taking Bryan's arm and he helped her stand back up. Just as they were situated themselves, an older lady approached them. Kristy immediately remembered the sweet old lady as someone she had spoken to earlier.

"Oh thank goodness," the woman said with some relief. "I'm so glad you are still here."

"Yes, ma'am?" Kristy's eyes grew wide with hope.

"That little girl. From your photo. I saw her."

Bryan immediately stepped in. "What? Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?"

"Easy, Bax. Settle down." Bryan nodded, standing down from his more threatening pose before he gave this sweet old lady a heart attack. Baxter couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia at hearing Kristy call him Bax.

"After I left here," the lady explained, "I went to see the circus in town... and by golly, that little girl was in the show. I told my friend Betsy that it was the lil' girl from the picture.. Betsy told me I was off my meds, but no, I'm sure of it."

"Circus? What circus?" Kristy implored.

Bryan sighed. He knew exactly what circus. "I saw it on the TV... a circus is in town. Shit."

"I'll be darned if that lil' girl wasn't the one being jumped over by a tiger. It was such a delightful little show! She was amazing in it."

"I'm sorry... WHAT? A TIGER?" Kristy said, outraged.

"Easy, Kris," Bryan said, turning the tables on her as Kristy now looked ready to explode. "Where's this circus at?"

"The tent is in the field off of Judd Parkway. You can't miss it."

"Well," Bryan resigned, "I guess I'm going to the circus after all."


​

---

Outside the vibrant red and white tent of the Starling Spectacular Circus, Bryan and Kristy approached looking to get in to get their daughter from the carnies. However, there was one problem.

"Let us in," Bryan demanded.

"Do you have a ticket," the worker inquired.

"No, I don't. But--"

"Then sorry, you'll need a ticket."

Bryan reached into his back pocket and grabbed his wallet. "Fine, I'll buy two tickets."

"Sorry, we're sold out."

"What the fuck!"

Tired of the roadblocks, Kristy stepped forward, grabbing the attendant by the collar of his shirt. "Now you listen to me and you listen to me real good. My SEVEN YEAR OLD daughter is in there... WITH TIGERS and God knows what other freak show shit... you're gonna let me in or so help me God I'm going to rip your fucking head off your shoulders."

The fear was evident in the eyes of the worker as Bryan watched proudly at Kristy's actions.

"Excuse me, do we have a problem here?" Terrible Terry interrupted, his presence quickly getting the attention of Bryan and Kristy.

"Yeah, it's called kidnapping. Big problem."

Terry eyed the two, remaining perfectly calm. "Right. Come with me."

Kristy and Bryan shared a concerned look but they agreed and followed this highly suspicious looking individual around the side of the tent to the back trailer that belonged to the entrusted leader of the circus, Kristoff Starling.

"Well hello!" Kristoff Starling offered a warm salutation to the concerned parental duo as they entered the trailer. "I understand you are the parents of little Audrey. Welcome to the Starling Spectacular Circus!"

"Where is she?" Kristy demanded.

"Easy, easy. I know you must be concerned. But let me assure you, Audrey is being well taken care of at my show. She's a natural, you know. She has such great potential. A real future in this business. You should be proud."

Bryan's patience wore thin. "Cut the crap, you carny piece of shit. We're taking her with us," he asserted.

Starling's demeanor shifted subtly, his facade faltering for a moment. "Not a fan of the circus, are we? It's Bryan Baxter, isn't it. Yes, I'm quite familiar with your work. Can’t say I’m a fan really. More of a Chris Crowe guy. Perhaps for obvious reasons. But I must say… you're one to talk, aren’t you now? Calling me a piece of shit? You're the one parading around on television calling yourself The Bastard, am I right?"

"Whatever, I'm not taking kids from their parents. I may be a bastard but you're a monster."

"Hey now, that's some strong words from a man like you. Besides, Audrey made her choice. I didn't force her to do anything. I simply offered a place where she would be welcome. A place where she can be the free spirit that she is. Perhaps if you two were better parents, she wouldn't have run away. So you can point the finger at me all you want... but am I really your enemy? Or is it yourself?"

Kristy's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and hurt. "No, Audrey is young and confused. I'm her mother and she should be with me."

Starling's demeanor remained composed. "I understand your concern, really I do. But it's not up to me. It's up to her. She has made her choice. She belongs to me now."

“Seriously, it’s bad enough I gotta deal with one circus freak in FWA but now here too. I’m about to bash your fuckin’ head in.”

“Yes, I’m sure your dear little girl would love to see you brutally assaulting the person who took her in when no one else wanted her.”

“Bullshit! It has nothing to do with who wanted her. She’s just a girl angry with her mom.”

“Look, I’m a reasonable guy. Audrey is free to choose for herself where she wants to be. But I think she is at home here.”

“She’s at home with me. Her mother.”

Baxter reached out, putting his hand on Kristy’s shoulder. “You think I can talk to her?”

Kristy seemed unsure, but reluctantly nodded.

“Take me to her.”

“Very well. I’ll take you myself.”

With a gesture from Starling, they set off through the maze of trailers and tents, navigating the chaotic backstage of the circus. The vibrant atmosphere and distant sounds of performances reverberated around them. They arrived at another trailer, much more modest than the one that belonged to Starling. "Here we are."

Bryan hesitated for a moment before knocking. The door creaked open, revealing Audrey sitting inside, playing with one of the circus monkeys that quickly scurries away as Bryan enters.

"Oh my God! Bryan!" Audrey exclaimed.

"Hey kiddo," Bryan said solemnly as he walked in being unwelcomingly escorted by Starling.

"I can't believe you came to see my show!"

"Uh, yeah... about that."

"Tell him," Starling instructed, "tell him how great it is here. How welcoming it is. How this is the place you want to be."

Audrey nodded. "Bryan, it's so awesome here! It's like I'm part of my own little wrestling show! And Mr. Starling wants to make me a star eventually! Just think Bryan, I can be like you."

“Oh boy,” Bryan said as he walked over, kneeling down beside the jubilant little girl. “Yeah, it all looks great, sure. But… this ain’t the way to do it, kiddo.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” Starling repeated. “What do you mean, Bryan? She has everything she wants here! This is where she belongs! This is the SHOW!”

“Look,” Bryan took Audrey, looking her square in the eye. “You know me, right? You’ve followed me for a long time. And me and your mom… we go way back, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Running away isn’t the answer.”

“But…”

“No, no buts. Trust me. I would know. Look at all the shit I ran away from in my life. But you know where it got me? Nowhere. I was at my lowest points in life after running away. And this… this ain’t the show. This is a bunch of bright lights, smoke, and mirrors. It’s a bunch of conmen swindling people out of money for a quick good time watching a bunch of mistreated employees and animals.”

“Hey!” Starling interjected. “I assure you that my animals and people have the most high quality cages money can buy.”

“Wait, did he just say people?”

“Err… did I say that? Uhh, no… that’s not right. I didn’t mean that.”

“People like Starling… he’s no different than Chris Crowe… a couple of carny sideshow freaks… who only want what’s best for him. You think Chris Crowe really cares about Tommy Bedlam. Nope, of course not. Tommy thinks they’re best of friends, but as soon as Chris got another shot at tag title gold… with someone else… he went for it. And Chris wants my North American Title… because he think he’s owed it? Because he never lost it? Because people like Crowe and Starling want to let other people do their dirty work. Crowe has Tommy and Harry… this guy has his stooges and an entire circus… and Hell, I’ve been dealin’ with guys like this my whole life. People always lump me in with degenerates like them… because I didn’t get along with people… because I didn’t always follow the rules either… but there’s a fine line between just being the bastard I am and being the piece of shit they are.”

“I’m standing right here,” Starling said, hands on hips.

“Yeah, and that’s all you’re gonna do. Because you ain’t got the balls to do anything about it. Right?”

“Terry! Get in here and deal with this!”

Terrible Terry came calling at the moment his boss mentioned his name. Rushing into the trailer, but Baxter stood up from Audrey as Terry rushed in and Baxter punched Terry right in the nose. Terrible Terry went rushing out, clutching his nose and crying in pain just as quick as he had entered.

“This is an outrage!” Sterling protested. “Audrey, is this the kind of person you want to be around? He doesn’t deserve you! I want what’s best for you! I want to make you a star of my show!”

Audrey looked to Starling and then back over to Baxter.

“You’re better than this. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t run away from your problems. Don’t run away from things you think you can’t handle. Take them on… head on. Because come Winter Wasteland… that’s what I’m gonna do. Chris Crowe thought he could get me to run away. He thought he could bring back those demons I dealt with in the past when he took that whiskey bottle to my head… but that’s not who I am anymore. And this ain’t who you are either. Is it?”

Audrey stared Bryan right in the eyes… and she smiled. “Nope! I’m not a coward!”

“Damn straight!”

“No! Audrey! Think about what you’re giving up! Freedom! Stardom! The lights! The show!”

“No thanks! I don’t think the three ring circus is for me. I’m more interested in the squared circle.”

Starling clenched his fist as Aubey stood up, ready to leave with Baxter.

“You’ll regret this! You’ll never be a star like you could’ve been here!”

Bryan led Audrey to the door of the trailer, but Audrey stopped and kicked Kristoff right in the shin. “Go to Hell!”

Starling was left holding his leg in pain as Audrey proudly walked the door. Bryan stopped to stare the circus proprietor down… and gave him a kick to the stomach before grabbing Starling by the head and slamming it into the side of the wall. “I wanted to be nice in front of the kid,” Baxter pulled Starling by his stringy, oily black hair and shoved him into the mirror along the wall. Baxter stepped out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

“Damn I hate the circus.”


​

---

Outside the trailer, Kristy awaited anxiously, her heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and hope. As Audrey emerged, a wave of emotion surged through Kristy, and she rushed forward, enveloping her daughter in a tight embrace, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Audrey mumbled, her voice choking with emotion. "I shouldn't have run away."

Kristy embraced her, some tears rolling down her face. "Maybe I was too rough on you..."

Audrey briefly pulled away from the hug. "Does that mean I'm not in trouble?"

Kristy shook her head, "Oh no. You're in a TON of trouble."

Audrey didn't seem to care as she returned to hug her mother as Bryan Baxter now joined them.

"I guess I better get going," he interjected, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

As Bryan turned to leave, Kristy hesitated, a realization dawning upon her. "Maybe... I've been too strict... maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if you were around... sometimes," she admitted, a tentative offer extended to Bryan.

A glimmer of hope flickered in Bryan's eyes at her words. "Well... you know... Winter Wasteland... you two are more than welcome to be in the front row."

"Well, I dunno," Kristy said with hesitance. Already pulling back a bit on her words. "Maybe that's too much too soon..."

But Audrey, filled with determination, chimed in, "I want to be there! I want to see Bryan kick Crowe's ass!"

"Audrey! What have I said about language!"

"Sorry, Mom! But c'mon! P-p-p-p-plleeeeeasssee?!"

Kristy sighed, a reluctant smile forming on her lips. "Alright, we'll be there."

Bryan smirked, giving Audrey a playful rub of the head as he eyed Kristy. "Perfect. Guess I'll see you guys there."

This was not what Bryan had expected leading up to Winter Wasteland. Granted, he assumed he may never actually talk to Kristy again, much less be part of Audrey's life. He thought that it was for the best even. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't too late to fix things. Perhaps this was the first step toward healing both of those relationships.

But one thing was for sure.

Today he took care of one carny piece of shit.

At Winter Wasteland - he'd finish the job with another.


​

​

 

[Death Walker]

It's_That_Time.mp4

Within a blink of an eye, all the visuals are brought into sight (courtesy of a camera drone). It hovers somewhere above a secluded woodland in the middle of this silent winter’s night. And something appears to be laid out on the top of the lonely cabin’s roof. A body of sorts… just sprawled out and it looks to be stiff… as if it’s frozen in time, as if… it’s dead.

The camera zooms in close to get a better look of this unknown object. Only to find… shirtless in a mask, boots and ripped up jeans was the demon that came straight out of HELL (literally!). He was staring straight up at the stars in the distance and hadn't blinked once. In fact, he wasn’t even breathing, was he dead? Was he actually dead?!

“No… I am not.”​

“I am very much alive… in case you were wondering. I was training this refined vessel of mine to do… more than it is expected to do. For it to willingly give of itself and take on all of the darkness… that has been provided. Which means… such things as blinking and breathing aren't required under these powers. However, I’m willing to play along with the mortals. To bleed… how they bleed, to take on pain like they do. And yet, I will remain strengthened by the hatred and evilness of this… world. Upon making my introduction a year ago… I ripped a hole so huge that it brought more darkness into this world… and the one that exists in FWA…”​

Death gets up off his ass with his eyes closed while doing some stretches. He takes a deep breath, looks out at the woods. Then raising a hand and snapping his fingers, it all goes to complete darkness. He walks along a nonexistent path as he shares how he’s feeling.

“So… I guess you're expecting some endearing moments to be shared since it tends to be this cheerful season, yeah? Ha! Yeah… I’ll give you something to feel warm and cuddly about. I’ll give you just what… you. Need.”​

And with that said, Death takes a slow deep breath and magically everything surrounding him turns into a more festive backdrop…



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



With colorful lights, plastic reindeers, Santa in his sleigh, white felt and more, all displayed in the front yards of these luxurious homes. A little boy and his parents take a walk in this upscale part of town wearing their best winter outfits. While pointing out their favorite decorations, the parents begin to have a conversation…

The Father: “Baby, check this one out. They have more different colors over at this home.”​

The Mother: “Mmm hmm, BUT… look at this one over here. They recreated the whole nativity scene… although, they used white Jesus and all.”​

The Father: “I mean what do you expect, we're in the middle of West Hollywood. We’ll be lucky if the police don't come and arrest our black asses.”​

The Mother: “You know what, dammit? You don't have to act like an ASS on our little family trip! …Could you just try to have a little fun for our son’s sake? He wanted to come out and see the Christmas lights tonight. Didn't you, little man?”​

The Father: “Man, fuck this shit! I’m ready to head back to South Central. I told your uppity ass, I don't like these neighborhoods. They just rub me the wrong way… plus they have junkies and winos just like in the hood. Come on, let's get the fuck out of here.”​

The Mother: “How about you watch your mouth around our son… for once? Damn, you act so immature… like you ain't never been nowhere out the hood.”​

The Father: “It ain't like he's going to be repeating the shit. HE’S THREE YEARS OLD, IT AIN’T LIKE HE’S GOING TO REMEMBER ANY-”​

The Mother: “HE’LL BE FOUR NEXT MONTH AND I SAID WATCH YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH IN FRONT OF DARIUS! Come here, baby boy. Let me get you bundled up.”​

Darius's mother squats down to button up his “too small” coat. From out of nowhere, the father mumbles some choice words under his breath.

The Father: “Fuck you, bitch.”​

The Mother: “Wait, what the fuck did you just say?”​

This is when the walking stops and the little boy looks up at his mom. Yet, both parents aren't paying him any attention at the moment...

The Father: “YOU HEARD ME, BITCH! FUCK YOU!”​

The Mother: “OHHHHHHHHHH! FUCK ME HUH? OH I GOT YOUR MUTHAFUCKIN BITCH!”​

Darius’s mom hauls off and slaps all over his dad's head as he tries to block each one of them. He ends up balling himself up with his hands covering his head. After she gets done beating on her child’s father, they start awkwardly laughing about it. Darius’s dad gets back on his feet and they head back to the main streets. Holding hands again and enjoying their evening, they proceed to take in the sights until the father stops abruptly. He approaches a strange man in inconspicuous clothing to ask him a question…

The Father: “Hey, uh… how much for a sack?”​

And as quickly as the scene appeared, it fades away and The Death Walker fades back in frame. He takes some steps as he speaks…

“Yeah… Darius… and I, both remember many Christmases that were exactly like that one. Didn't even matter if it was the holiday season, the summer or any other special occasion… those two always had their toxic ways of doing things.”​

Death takes a minute before continuing…

“It was THEIR cross to bear… and eventually it became OUR… own cross to bear. Wrong or right… Darius loved them dearly no matter how much they fought and argued. And so… that, boys and girls… that would be the last Christmas… and the last people… that Darius Wright would ever unconditionally love with all of his heart.”​

Death Walker stops in his tracks.

“But you see, me… I’m different. I can love strong one second then hate even stronger the next… Which brings me to “old goody two shoes” Gerald… who is about to learn the hard way. You can do all this valiant and daring shit for these damn fans… the ones who pretend that they love you… but what you need to understand is that they don’t love you. You are a mindless, controlled product… used purely for their amusement. And trust me when I day… they will turn on you when the time comes. When you need them just as much as they claim to need you… they will not be there in your corner to help you. Sure, you can give and give but the key to giving… is taking more than you give. It just dawned on me… you said my reason was… “bullshit”? How? Prove me wrong! Because if you were paying attention especially to the company… then you would've seen what has been happening. You would have seen what everyone has had to deal with. But more importantly… YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ME!!!"​

The Soul Collector nearly shoves his face into the lens.

“So what I did was… I got wind of someone returning, someone known as the crowd’s favorite, so I simply bid my time. I waited for that fateful night of your return and oh the joy that spreaded across my face… even The Grinch would be envious. For I couldn't help but to welcome you back in only the most… hospitable way ever. I mean it was just… appetizing as I fed off of your weakness, mauling my way to that pure hearted soul. Gerry, oh Gerry… I am utterly flustered about what awaits you at Winter Wasteland. Don't worry, no weapons will be needed. None of my… Terrors of Darkness will need to interfere in our match. It’ll just be me and you in that squared circle… with maybe a few tours to the outside of the ringside. But overall, a hearty fight in an environment that we’re both familiar with.”​

The demon turns his back to the drone camera that hovers at his eye level.

“Only… only…”​

Death takes his time sharing more information but manages to get it out anyway.

“Only, will that be enough for you to beat the likes of me? I mean… you see how I play, you see how vicious my matches are. And I know for a fact… that since my first attack… you’ve been watching my matches closely. So you have to know… that a match with me isn't as easy as everyone assumes it is because I work my way into my opponent's mind every time. And then after I find my way in, I begin to pick apart at the things that bothers them most. Their doubts, their love, their pride, their FEARS. I’ve fought some of the toughest and biggest names in FWA… and beyond. Won a lot, lost… a lot. But that doesn't bother me that much… because as long as I’m able to corrupt the minds and hearts of the ignorant then it is worth the cost of business.”​

The Dark Traveler walks amongst the total darkness… opens a hidden door to the outside and exits from the abyss.

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







Switching the scene to a sunny California day in the ghetto, a black dad and his son are heading into their apartment. Inside the mom awaits both of her fellas as the little one runs to her with excitement.

Son: “MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! GUESS WHAT WE GOT? GUESS WHAT WE GOT?”​

The child hugs his mother tight as she sits there playing clueless to what he's so excited about. However before she can respond back, her husband speaks up.

Husband/Dad: “Now Malcolm, what did we agree about in the car? No telling mommy until we surprise her.”​

Smiling at the happiness of his son, he closes the door to their place then goes over to his wife and kisses her.

Husband/Dad: “Hey babe.”​

Wife/Mom: “Hey honey.”​

The two of them briefly share a loving stare as they feel that unbroken love connection. The husband and father break away from staring at her by going back to his talk with his son, Malcolm.

Husband/Dad: “Okay son, are you ready to get the surprise for mommy?”​

Malcolm: “Yes!”​

Wife/Mom: “Oh my, a surprise for me? Really?”​

Husband/Dad: “Baby, when is Teresa getting home?”​

Wife/Mom: “In about another hour.”​

Malcolm can't contain himself so he jumps around, shouting “YES!” over and over.

Husband/Dad: “Okay son, let's put our gloves on and bring in our surprise for mom.”​

The boy who couldn't be no more than 5 or 6 years old, pulls out his winter gloves and slides them on. The man leans over and whispers in his wife's ear which makes her giggle. Then both guys head back out the door together and they come across one of their neighbors.

Husband/Dad: “Oh hey, Fred… how's it going?”​

Fred: “Meh. I can't call it but it's cool for now.”​

Husband/Dad: “That's good. So did you catch that game the other night?”​

Fred: “Which one?”​

Fred takes a few steps forward from his open doorway and hunches over to lean against the walkway's railing. He pats his pockets for something as he tries to recall what recent sport games that he watched.

Husband/Dad: “I’m referring to the game with San Diego and the-”​

Malcolm: “DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! Leeeeeeeet’s GOOOOOOOOOO!!!”​

Husband/Dad: “Now Malcolm, don't be rude like that. Apologize to Fred.”​

Feeling bad for what he did, Malcolm looks over sincerely at Fred's constant grimace as he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lighter out his pocket.

Malcolm: “Sorry, Mr. Fred.”​

Fred: “Ahhh don't worry about it, shorty. It ain't nothin’ to worry about, really.”​

Husband/Dad: “Well excuse us, Fred. We have something to unload from the car but we'll be right back.”​

And as Fred prepares to spark up a cig while looking at the boy with disgust, he then takes a look at the other apartments on their level. In the meantime, Malcolm and his dad head on downstairs and out the back gate to the parking garages. It takes them some time but they return with this beautiful, well sized Christmas tree. Malcolm assists by holding the top as his father is lifting it by the heavy end, carrying the majority of its weight over one shoulder. It gives the little boy so much comfort in feeling like he's helping dad, Malcolm just grins from ear to ear.

Husband/Dad: “Okay son after we get it upstairs, I need you to get mommy to hold the door open for me.”​

Malcolm responds without any hesitation…

Malcolm: “Okay, daddy!”​

Meanwhile, Fred just watches quietly smoking his cigarette and doesn't offer to lift a finger but instead he makes his comments.

Fred: “Well, would you look at that? You got a bigger one this year huh?”​

Husband/Dad: “Yeah… but I’m… sure you guys… got a nice one too. After all… it’d be tough… to find a tree… this close… to the holidays.”​

Malcolm’s dad struggles a bit carrying the tree up the stairs but he manages to do it (with no help from lazy ass Fred).

Fred: “Yeah, I bet that's going to be fantastic to decorate in your living room. As for us… we… we didn't get a tree again this year… too much of a mess. With all the pine needles, sticky shit… having to lug it in your home then take it back out… because the damn thing will dry the fuck out. Raggedy ass Christmas trees! Shit, makes me so fuckin’ sick…”​

Husband/Dad: “Ummm thanks, Fred. But could yooooou… watch your language around Malcolm?”​

The young boy runs over to their apartment, banging on the door and calling for his mother.

Fred: “What the fuck you said? Oh… My bad, homie. I ain't mean to offend.”​

Husband/Dad: “It's alright, I know you didn’t.”​

Fred finishes his cigarette and flicks the bud over the side of the railing. The dad repositions the tree on his shoulder and brings it inside once his wife opens the door wide enough for him.

Wife/Mom: “Oh my goodness, a tree!”​

Malcolm: “See, mommy? We got us a new Christmas tree.”​

Wife/Mom: “I see, I see. Let me get the tree stand and we can decorate after standing it up.”​

Meanwhile, inside Fred’s apartment…

Fred: “I can't stand that two-faced, sanctimonious, uppity muthafucka!”​

Fred slams his fist onto his rickety folding table as he disturbs whomever in the back. Coming out of the bedroom as he peeks his face out the window, a woman enters their small living room.

Woman: “What's the matter, baby?”​

Fred: “Like you don't know already. It's that same dumb asshole on the other side.”​

Woman: “You mean apartment 12?”​

Fred: “Yeah Pam, that muthafucka over there! I can't stand his ass! Always looking down on us, thinking they're so much better than us with their ‘Christmas tree’ and fake ass humbleness and phony family. Knowing them, they're probably gonna have a shitload of gifts and decorations.”​

Pam: “Baby, calm down. We ain't gotta pay them no mind. Do we have any chicken or pizza left?”​

Fred: “Bitch, I don't fuckin’ know.”​

Pam: “OK DON’T START NO SHIT WITH ME! I WAS ONLY ASKIN’ YO IGNORANT ASS A QUESTION, YOU FUCKIN’ PUSSY!”​

Fred: “WHO YOU CALLIN’ A PUSSY?!? I AIN’T NO MUTHAFUCKIN’ PUSSY, I FUCK PUSSY!”​

Pam: “mmm… now that you do very well.”​

They laugh a little as the tension evaporates and she goes into the kitchenette and opens their fridge.

Fred: “What's baby girl and them doing?”​

Pam: “I think they're watching cartoons or playing with toys. I don't fuckin’ know. Why?”​

Fred: “I just wanted to know since it was so damn quiet for once.”​

Pam: “Yeah… it is a little too quiet. Maybe they didn't hear us and they're still sleep.”​

Pam struts over to Fred and wraps her arms around his waist from behind.

Fred: “Pam… what are we gonna do for these kids and Christmas? I mean… we got our daughter… my nephews and niece. What are we gonna do with hardly any money to feed ourselves?”​

Pam: “Baby, we’re gonna do what we always do. Find a way to make it through.”​

Fred: “I’m tired of this bullshit, for real. I want to be able to provide these kids a Christmas I used to have. One where we can give more than just a pack of cheap socks and some candy canes. Where they can have new expensive toys and clothes, not the shit we get at the 99 Cent Store. Shit, I’d even give them money if we had it to spare.”​

Pam: “Fred! Pipe down, they don't need to hear you talking like this. Especially when they're expecting a visit from Santa Claus.”​

Fred: “Santa Claus, huh? THAT FAT JOLLY BASTARD CAN KISS MY BLACK-”​

Kid: “AAAAAAHHHHH!!!! I’M TELLIN’ DADDY! DADDDDDYYY!!!!”​

…

Going back to the… more warm-hearted household, the married couple with their son and…

Husband/Dad: “Where is she? It’s almost 4!”​

Mom: “Honey, calm down for goodness sake. You act like it's 4 in the morning, it's 4 in the afternoon. And like I told you, she caught the school bus which as I recall should be pulling up right abooouuut…”​

Honk! Honk!... Honk!

And just then, a school bus pulls up outside the apartment building and honks its horn to signal the parents of their kids being dropped off. Some parents are already outside but this pair had been inside their home tending to their new Christmas tree (with help from Malcolm, of course). Mom goes back to checking on the splendid dinner that she had prepared for the 4 of them. Dad runs out the door, and down the staircase, racing to the sidewalk as his adoring daughter gets off the bus.

Girl: “Dad!”​

Dad: “Princess Teresa!”​

He stretches out his arms and she runs into them, embracing him like it had been ages since her return. Although, they had just seen each other earlier that morning before heading to school and work. The little girl who was around 8 years old, talks her way into getting a piggyback ride from her proud father. And per usual, he obliges by carrying her up to their home and puts a happy ending to this evening.



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



Christmas Eve… somewhere in California.

“Fred!”​

“FRED, WAKE UP!!!”​

He pops his head up off the pillow and looks around his cluttered bedroom.

Pam: “FRED! I NEED YOU!”​

Over in their kitchenette, Pam is trying to put out a blazing fire that she possibly created. When Fred finally comes out of the bedroom, he hurries to the kitchen area as soon as he realizes that there's smoke...

Fred: “WHAT THE… WHAT THE FUCK, PAM?!”​

He grabs the dish towel off the oven's handle and beats out the raging flames as Pam takes a step back. It doesn't take long before he puts out this small fire.

Fred: “...”​

Pam: “...”​

Fred: “Well?! What The Fuck, Pam?! What happened? What did you do?”​

A petrified Pam stammers as she attempts to explain what she was doing.

Pam: “I- I- I was only…”​

She breaks down immediately and Fred can't do nothing more… than hug her.

Fred: “It's all good now, babe. Breathe… breathe… wait, let me open the door and window.”​

He does just that, opening their wooden door while leaving the metal screen door secured. Then he opens the sides windows to their picture frame window. He goes back to his sobbing girlfriend and finds out what went wrong.

Fred: “What caused that fire?”​

Pam: “I was just trying…”​

Fred: “It's okay, tell me.”​

Pam: “... just trying to cook you and the kids a Christmas Eve breakfast. I had toasted some bread, whipped up some instant grits and was frying ham slices… but I guess I used too much oil or something… I just looked away for a minute and… and… I’m sorry!”​

After seeing how his woman (the mother of their daughter, nephews and niece) tried to do something good for them, Fred is overwhelmed with gratitude. So much that all he can do is smirk a bit.

Fred: “How about we shower up and I’ll scrape together some dollars, so we can all have a good breakfast, okay?”​

At first, Pam could barely speak out of embarrassment but she nodded in response.

Pam: “Oh… and why didn't the smoke detectors go off?”​

Fred: “Oh you know, I knocked them damn things senseless. I mean we smoke weed and shit, who wants to be bothered with all that fuckin’ beepin’?”​

Pam: “True but… the kids-”​

And as if she jinxed the moment, their smoke detectors go off. Beeping loud with their little red light… just when most of the smoke had already dissipated. The first one out of the kid’s bedroom was their precious little girl followed by the others.

Daughter: “Daddy! What is that? What is that?”​

Fred: “Nothing, kiddo… Just another crazy December…”​

Fred gets the smoke detectors to shut up while the other family diagonally from them begin their morning.

Wife/Mom: “Honey, are you almost done? Honey?!”​

She turns off all the burners after cooking then checks on him in the bathroom. When she enters, she's quickly snatched up and pinned up against the wall.

Husband/Dad: “I got you, you little vixen!”​

Wife/Mom: “Ssshhhhh… you’re going to wake the kids.”​

Husband/Dad: “I’ll be quick, I promise.”​

Wife/Mom: “Mmm hmm and that's how we got Malcolm and Teresa.”​

They snicker before the husband leans in and nibbles along his wife’s neck as giggles escape her lips.

Wife/Mom: “Okay, Okay. Stop it. Come get your breakfast, you damn flirt.”​

Husband/Dad: “That's what I was working on right now.”​

They laugh and she walks out to their son coming out of his bedroom. The little guy rubs his eyes to get better vision and wake all the way up.

Malcolm: “Hey mommy.”​

Wife/Mom: “Hey son, how are you doing?”​

Malcolm: “I’m… mmmm I’m hungry!”​

Laughing from within, she smiles and directs him to the dining table as she goes back to the kitchenette. The mother makes his plate then wakes up her daughter…

Wife/Mom: “Tereeeeessaaa! Come on, baby. Get up and get breakfast.”​

Opening the kids’ bedroom, the mom pokes her head in to see Teresa sitting up in bed. The girl raises her arms up above and yawns as she looks back with a smile.

Teresa: “Morn… ing, mom.”​

Wife/Mom: “Morning, sweetie. Better come get breakfast before Malcolm finishes your plate.”​

Teresa: “Ugh! That greedy little troll! I’m gonna pulverize h-”​

Teresa darts from her bed to the kitchen, trying to salvage her plate of breakfast.

Wife/Mom: “Hey, hey, hey. Be nice, alright? Alright?!”​

Teresa: “Alright! Gosh!”​

The girl walks into the living room/dining area as she looks for her breakfast. The mother grabs a plate for herself and takes a seat with them. They dig into their eggs, sausage and pancakes while dad was getting dressed. Soon, he comes out fully clothed and grabs some breakfast too.

Husband/Dad: “Hey gang! So I was thinking… maybe we could go out to the park for a while then we can hit the mall… if it isn't too crowded.”​

The dad sees the kids light up brighter than their decorated tree and mom smiles at him.

Taking a look back at the other family from across…

Fred: “I can't believe they went up on the prices. At least, we all ate breakfast… even if they charged the fuck out of- Ow!”​

Pam elbows her man so he can stop going off on swear tangents with the kids present. They proceed to saunter down the street, letting the kids walk ahead of them by a few feet. Talking in a low tone amongst themselves…

Fred: “So… I had an idea… but I’m gonna need you to be onboard with me.​

Pam: “What idea? What are you talkin’ about?”​

Fred: “About us having a great Christmas.”​

Pam: “And what's that supposed to mean?”​

Fred: “What if… we broke into one or two of them department stores?”​

Pam laughs at the idea but Fred isn't laughing, he's grinning actually.

Pam: “Oh you're funny… real funny. Wait, are you serious?!”​

Fred: “Ay chill out. I’m just saying if we have ski masks to cover our faces, wear all black and do a few quick smash-n-grabs. Who's gonna catch us?”​

Pam: “You really are a dumbass! I thought you learned your lesson all those years back when you almost got locked up. But I see your ass ain't learnt shit.”​

Fred: “Whoa, look who's cussing in front of our little angels.”​

Pam: “Fred, I’m serious. You can't-”​

Fred: “And so am I, I want us to finally have something other than a couple minutes of fake bliss. We deserve more than the same old shit.”​

Pam: “But a department store with security guards, cameras and alarms? You’d do better stealing from someone we know, someone who we know their whole setup.”​

Fred: “Heyyy! Now you're talkin’ my language. Them pesky neighbors will work fine.”​

Pam: “The neighbors? Are you out of your mind?!”​

Fred: “Yeah…that's right. I said, the neighbors and I can’t wait to snatch up everything they got. Oh the looks on their smug ass faces… it would be… too damn priceless.”​

Pam: “Fred… I just don't kn-”​

Fred: “What? You just what?!”​

Pam: “I can't be doing this. WE… we cannot be doing this. We have the kids to be thinking about and with you having a warrant against you. Uh uh, no. We can't be caught doing any shit like this.”​

Fred: “Pam… I’m going to do this… tonight. I’ll even bust out our windows and smash up our shit. Just to try to cover our asses. All I need to do is rob some shit from some of the neighbors… mainly those who we know are easy targets like apartment 12. We already know at least 5 of their routines and schedules.”​

Pam: “But- but…”​

Fred gives Pam a look that spoke for him before he said…

Fred: “Pam, you're either with me or not. But I’m doing this.”​

And after that, Fred escorted their kids into their apartment building for the day. Now back in apartment 12…

Husband/Dad: “Okay, where are they at?”​

Wife/Mom: “The kids? They're in their room playing one of their games. What are you up to?”​

Husband/Dad: “I wanted to do one last thing that we haven't done since we had Malcolm. Let's take them to see the Christmas lights and decorations around the city.”​

Wife/Mom: “Yes! Let's do it! Oh my God, it has been some years. Not to mention that there are a few neighborhoods I want to revisit. Oh this is gonna be so much fun, I can't wait!”​

Husband/Dad: “I’m glad you approve of my choice, my love. Go tell the kids to get ready but don't tell them where we’re getting ready to go.”​

Wife/Mom: “Okay, babe.”​

In apartment 9…

Pam: “What do you see? Are they leaving or something?”​

Fred: “I think they might be but it's not like I can see or hear through their walls. I’m doing good to see their shadows moving from their window. It does look like they're moving back and forth in their living room. The presents gotta be stored away in the closets if not already around their tree.”​

Pam: “Just be patient, baby. I got your back.”​

Fred: “Oh so you’re doing lookout?”​

Pam: “Hell nah, I’m snatching me one of those Michael Kors bags… and you know, some toys and shit for our gremlins. Ride or die, babe.”​

Fred takes a look back at his woman and smiles.

Fred: “I knew there were reasons I kept your ass in my life.”​

Pam: “Muthafucka, fuck you! I’m the best thing that ever happened in your life”​

Fred: “Oh is that so?”​

Pam: “Damn straight it is.”​

She laughs then comes over near the window with Fred…

Fred: “Shhhhh… the kids still sleep?”​

Pam: “Yeah, they should be out for the remainder of the night.”​

Fred: “Okay, cool. Oh, here they go. Hit the lights, they're all leaving together.”​

Pam diligently slaps the light switch to off and their apartment goes dark. She also turns the TV off to make it appear like they're not home or went to bed early.

But outside on the walkway…

Husband/Dad: “Come on, y’all. We’re going for a family ride.”​

Wife/Mom: “Teresa, grab your beanie. Malcolm, where are your gloves?”​

Malcolm: “Uhh… right in… oh, here they are. They were right in my coat pockets.”​

As the family prepared for their outing, Fred and Pam were preparing to rob them of their Christmas. They watched carefully to see that every family member was accounted for. And as soon as they went into the garage, the couple began the mission to break into apartment 12. With ski masks on, a bag full of tools and tiptoeing along the walkway, they whisper…

Pam: “You sure right now is the best time?”​

Fred: “It's now or never, Pam. Like what the fuck?!”​

Pam: “Alright, you don't have to be so damn disrespectful. I was-”​

Fred: “Hold up, listen...”​

Posted up at the family's front door, Fred and Pam can hear a car engine starting up.

Fred: “You hear that? That's how I know it’s the right time. Now we don't know how short or long that they're going to be. So that means, the quicker we do this the better.”​

Pam: “But I still hear the engine and what if the other neighbors catch us?”​

Pam is panicking, keeping her head on a swivel. However, Fred is trying to pry his way into the locked up apartment using a crowbar.
Then the sound of the car disappears…

Fred: “You… see… they're… gone.”​

He huffs between hard breaths while struggling with the two doors.

Pam: “Hey, give me that hammer.”​

Being as cautious as one can be given the circumstance, Pam takes the hammer that Fred passes to her and she smashes a side window. She continues to break more of the glass to provide a hole safe and big enough for them to climb through.

Pam: “Hey idiot, go through here.”​

Fred looks back and sees their new entrance then follows her through the busted window. Meanwhile…

Wife/Mom: “Honey, I left my beret on the coffee table. Can you go back inside and grab it for me?”​

Husband/Dad: “Me? Why me? It's your beret after all.”​

Wife/Mom: “Baby, you’ll be faster. Pleeeeeeaaasseee!”​

The husband sighs and thinks about it…

Husband/Dad: “Mmmmmmm… okay but I know I better get an early Christmas gift later on.”​

Wife/Mom: “...maybe …if you’ve been good.”​

They both share smirks as they understand what they're talking about for later. The father turns the car engine off to save gas during his search for the “missing” beret. He gets out and heads back to their apartment. That's when he notices something real strange, the door shows signs of damage like something was jammed in between its jambs. More importantly, there's these shimmery pieces outside on their walkway and a large opening in one of their windows. Upon making the decision to further investigate, the man gets closer to his home. He sneaks through the window unharmed and unseen. And as he creeps towards the bedrooms, he can overhear unsettling whispers. It's blatantly obvious that the intruders are still inside his apartment.

Fred: “Fill up these knapsacks, will you? Oh and check that other closet. This one is all mine, baby. I can feel the motherload hiding up in this bitch.”​

Pam: “I got it… but I just found some shoes that could fit my feet and I’m snatching ‘em up.”​

Silently standing in the darkness within the small hallway, the husband pulls out a pistol that he had stored safely in a gun safe. He aims it, cocks back the hammer of the handgun and…

Husband/Dad: “Don't… you fucking move.”​

Pam whips around fast but luckily for her the gun was aimed at Fred. Otherwise, her sudden movement would have startled the man holding the firearm and possibly caused a negligent discharge. But instead, the husband merely takes aim at her as Fred froze where he was.

Husband/Dad: “Goddamn it… I said, DON’T MOVE!!!”​

Pam: “Oh… oh ok, ok ok ok. Please don't shoot, we’re sorry. We’re so sorry.”​

Pam is hyperventilating under fear for hers and Fred’s life. However, Fred remains calm and is taking his time to even address the husband.

Fred: “...say man, can… you just take it easy?”​

Husband/Dad: “I want you… to shut the hell UP!”​

Raising both his hands slowly and talking at the same…

Fred: “Alright, I’m only raising my hands. I’M RAISING MY HANDS, MAN! Relax… and breathe. I’m going to turn myself around to talk with you.”​

The husband points the handgun at Fred as a conversation is being made.

Fred: “Look, I can tell you're not a murderer. Probably never shot that thing and that's alright. Just… just leave her out of this. Focus on me.”​

Husband/Dad: “I told you to shut up! WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING?! ARE Y’ALL THAT DENSE?”​

Fred: “Are we ‘thins’? What?!?”​

In an instance, Fred takes a chance and charges at the husband. When he gets up on him, he fights over the gun and before either of them gain the upper hand…

POP!

…

…

…

Pam: “...Fred, baby? Baby, are you… FRRREEEEEDDDDD!!!!”​

Lying motionless on top of the man who shot him, Fred isn't responding to anyone or anything. The husband shoves the body off and gets back up to his feet. Pam rushes over to console her man, Fred as he dies in her arms. She ugly cries while blabbing at the mouth…

Pam: “No, baby. No, baby, no. You, you… you can't leave… no… you can't leave me like this.”​

Then it dawns on the man that the intruders were his own neighbors who he and his family had always tried to be kind to. The neighbors that he greeted often anytime that they saw one another. But now… this situation made things very, very different as he raises the gun at Pam’s head.

Husband/Dad: “Pam?... Why? Why would you do this?”​

He then pulls out his phone from his back pocket and calls 911. After a while, the man's wife comes and finds the chaos in their home after turning the lights on. Screams… Blood… Sirens… Shock… Tears… All the things that followed this incident as first responders arrived and took over.

Suddenly, Death Walker would walk right up to the crime scene but the thing is… only Pam can visibly see him. Her eyes grow big at the appearance of this stranger in a demon skull mask.

Pam: “Who… who the fuck are you?”​

“You know who I am… Pam.”​

Pam: “N-n-no… I don't.”​

“Yes… you do.”​

Pam: “No, the fuck I don't.”​

“Yes, the fuck you do, Pam. In fact… you know why the fuck I’m here… don't you?”​

Pam: “...N-no?!”​

“See, Pam… that shit really hurts. I walk all the way here, walking for miles like The Dark Traveler I am. Even wasted a couple of days getting here for this very night, this very moment. And… you just… disrespect me like this, huh?”​

Death growls his words as his anger builds up. He squats down over the body of Fred, examining it with just his eyes. But why? Why was he here and why the hell was he so damn angry?

“...Because, you see, Pam… I was called upon. And I was called to be here on your behalf… and… his.”​

Standing up, Death Walker closes his eyes and grabs hold of Fred’s soul that she can now see. Walker chokes the soul hard with one hand as Fred tries to scream and fight his way from the demon’s grip. But nothing can stop what is about to take place…

“You knew I was coming to redeem your souls… didn't you?”​

Pam: “I just-”​

And that's when Pam realizes the change in her current predicament that she is in. The demon hybrid doesn't spare another second as he removes his mask and then swallows Fred’s soul… whole. Looking around in pure fear, Pam sees that… the first responders are still nearby… yet frozen in motion. The wife and husband are also in the same room and not moving. The Soul Collector just chuckles with glee…

“Pity, pity, pity… no one to save you. No one to help you out. Nowhere to run and hide.”​

Pam: “I… I was only gonna-”​

“You were only gonna what? Steal… perhaps kill another family to have gifts for your family?”​

Pam: “We weren't gonna h-”​

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!”​

Pam: “Please… do whatever to me, just leave my kids alone.”​

“Oh… them over there… sleeping cozy in apartment 9?”​

The Death Walker points back at her apartment…

“Yeeeahhh… them and the goody bunch's kids were a delicious appetizer.”​

Pam: “W-what? You ca-”​

“I can and I can… so I did.”​

He gives a big smile as he inches closer to her and more tears roll down her cheeks.

“Mmmmm and now… I see 1, 2, 3… uhhhhhhh like 8 more souls for the taking. And… you know I’m a hungry beast soooo… I guess I’ll… finish cleaning my plate.”​

Using a wave of his arm, he telekinetically slams the wooden door behind him and feast on all of the souls available. With Pam being the only one able to scream, Death takes pleasure in eating her soul last. The camera drone soars through the hole in the window and brings back the sight inside apartment 12. But it gets there after Death is done feasting. Leaving behind a room full of lifeless bodies, Death Walker picks up the half full knapsacks and goes on to stuff them with the remaining Christmas presents.

“You see… it's not all that complicated. The things that I do, the choices I make… I do what is necessary… for myself… as well as MY family… to surviiiive. And I remember a certain daredevil who had family… nephews who would assist him in doing what was necessary. So believe you me that I’m aware of them and your former tag partner. And you don't have to worry, I’ve got plenty Terrors of Darkness who will be in attendance for our match and they will be utilized as needed… IF needed. But I don't think either of us need to get family involved. Oh yeah and as for this ‘he’... that you spoke of on the last episode of Meltdown…”​

Walker grabs his demon mask and slides it back on before stepping up and looking directly into the camera.

“...bring ‘he’... ‘him’... and his anger. You all can witness what a Dark Traveler can truly do. And then hopefully… in your defeat, you will understand why what happened… simply happened the way it did. I’ve given you my reasons and explanation, it's up to you… to comprehend, daredevil. But for what it's worth…”​

Death stands back up, pulls out a black and white Santa hat then places it onto his head.

“...this IS the season to be frightened so… HAVE A SCARY CHRISTMAS! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”​

The Death Walker snaps his fingers and walks out of the scene like he was on a movie set. Leaving everything to fade to black with the appropriate song playing…

Spoiler: You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch by Illumination & Tyler, The Creator

​

 

[Willis]

Music to nod your head to as you read. *Optional

Brooklyn Steiner Presents

Click on logo For RP! Or Feel my wrath!

​

Spoiler: basic text RP for you basic people.

The Sacred Timeline - Winter 23’ Upstate New York The Rural Diner, a hidden gem in the quiet expanse of upstate New York, emanates a cozy charm. Its dimly lit interior, adorned with Christmas lights strung along the counter, creates an ambiance that blends the scent of coffee with a nostalgic warmth. The clock on the wall ticks rhythmically, counting down the days until Christmas, and echoing the anticipation of the looming Winter Wasteland. In a booth, bathed in the soft glow, sits Brookyln Steiner, a solitary figure surrounded by an air of contemplation. The worn-out leather jacket draped over his shoulders tells tales of countless journeys and battles fought. The chipped table in front of him bears the scars of time, a fitting reflection of Steiner's own experiences. As Steiner sits, he absentmindedly traces patterns on the table, his thoughts seemingly drifting between the past and the imminent clash at Winter Wasteland. The atmosphere within the diner is serene, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery and muted conversations. Despite the tranquility, an underlying tension lingers in the air, mirroring the anticipation of the forthcoming battle for the FWA Television Title. The sparse patrons scattered throughout the diner are lost in their own worlds, each one a silent participant in the unspoken dance of fate. The clock's steady ticking serves as a constant reminder that time is both a friend and a foe, marching inexorably towards the defining moment awaiting Steiner in the ring. An elderly Waitress, a seasoned veteran of the diner life, approaches Brooklyn Steiner's booth with a welcoming smile, pencil tucked behind her ear and a notepad in hand. WAITRESS: What can I get ya, hon? Brooklyn Steiner, still lost in thought, looks up with a faint smile. BROOKLYN STEINER: Just a glass of Cranberry Juice, thanks. The Waitress nods and jots down the order before turning to leave. Just then, the entrance bell chimes, heralding the arrival of a distinguished figure. In walks Kirkman Scott Brooklyn's father, donned in an outrageously expensive suit that screams wealth. On his arm is a lady, not Steiner's stepmom, dressed elegantly in a black cocktail dress who is much younger than him. The Waitress recognizing a familiar face, gives them a nod of acknowledgement. KIRKMAN SCOTT: "I'm starvin'. Get me a plate of steak and eggs, would ya?" As the Waitress scribbles down Kirkman's order, Brooklyn raises an eyebrow, breaking free from his contemplation. BROOKLYN STEINER: Thing’s don't ever change with you, huh dad…. Kirkman, unfazed, takes a seat across from Steiner, his date settling in beside him. The atmosphere in the diner shifts slightly, a subtle tension lingering between father and son. Kirkman looks over to his date. KIRKMAN SCOTT: Give me and my kid a minute, sweetheart. This won't take long. Kirkman's date obliges, gracefully moving to another table, engrossed in her phone. BROOKLYN STEINER: What movie role did you promise her? You know, don't answer that, I don’t need to know. There is a pause for a second as Brooklyn just comes out and asks. BROOKLYN STEINER: Dad, is there a reason why you asked me here? I have a lot on my mind and I really should be having my focus there. Instead of here with you and whoever the hell that is, why am I here with you and the person you are probably cheating on your wife with, who is funny enough the woman you cheated on my mother with? Steiner takes a sip of his cranberry juice. KIRKMAN SCOTT: How long is going to go on for…. BROOKLYN STEINER: What the fuck you talking about? The Waitress brings over a sizzling plate of steak and eggs for Kirkman. The aroma wafts through the air, mingling with the chatter of the diner. Kirkman digs in with gusto, relishing each bite as if it holds the secret to life. His mouth full of food, he glances up at Brooklyn. KIRKMAN SCOTT: I’m trying to give you legacy, Brooklyn, like my father gave to me, and his father gave to him, you wear our family crest on your wrestling attire, and the truth is you are truly fucking this up. I want you to want more than a damn body slam, you could have been massive in my world, I had plans for you to one day take the throne as one of the biggest Hollywood executives, but, I’m starting to feel that this isn’t phase. So that’s what I am here to talk to you about, what is it going to take for you to come back to the family, come back and be under my wing and be the Hollywood star that I know I can make you. This version of you that sits in front of me, was never the plan for you. Can you imagine the life, the world that you gave up just to be in the FWA and the wrestling world. BROOKLYN STEINER: Just don’t get it. KIRKMAN SCOTT: No, you don’t get it. How do you think all this is possible? The private jets to your training sessions and private jets to the damn wrestling shows, who do you think is paying for all this Brooklyn, you’re privileged lifestyle, FUCK! How do you even think you got to FWA after only wrestling three years prior? Who do you think, pulled that string for you…. I wanted to get this out of your system and if I knew that if I resisted it would only push you down this rabbit hole of wrestling so I wanted you to see the wrestling life for what it is but now that might be a mistake and I want to correct it and be direct, and tell you to come home, Brooklyn. Also drop the damn Steiner last name, why do you insist on having your mothers last name, that bitch is a train wreck. You’re a Scott. Steiner clenches his fist. BROOKLYN STEINER: Watch your mouth. Only warning. Kirkman grins. KIRKMAN SCOTT: Still a sore subject with you huh Brooklyn, get over it. I never wanted to be with your mom, it just happened, you, being here just happened. But what did I do for you to hate the Scott name so bad? What did I do for you to want to tarnish a 100 years in Hollywood, our bloodline are kings in that world. That was your path, that was supposed to be you! BROOKLYN STEINER: You’re the fucking worse. You know. You’re the fucking devil…. KIRKMAN SCOTT: You probably question if I have a soul all the time do you? You want to know the best part about my line of work, you don’t need one. BROOKLYN STEINER: Well, that will never be me. KIRKMAN SCOTT: It can be son, the money, the girls of your dreams, it can all be. Nothing is a forsure with this wrestling career but come back under my wing, and my guidance you will be the biggest star in Hollywood. I will keep you on track. Before you sabotage yourself. Like you always do. You never finish what you start Brooklyn, how long before FWA is just too much and you find a way to quit that? I know why you did what you did, that interview you did years ago was a way to sabotage your acting career, but I can fix it. I can't say the same when you eventually self sabotage yourself in FWA and professional wrestling. Wrestling isn't your path. I hope you don’t understand this too late. BROOKLYN STEINER: I don’t need you Kirkman, never did. If you want to gloat about all the strings and favors you did for me while I was coming up in wrestling, go ahead, but I don’t need it and I didn’t need it, I would have made it to the FWA. I know it. KIRKMAN SCOTT: Do you? You don’t belong there. When I watch you, I can see it. You don’t belong there. But, fine. Let’s play this game. You are cut off. Lord knows your money from your acting won’t be enough to pay for your lifestyle, good luck. But know this, as much as you hate it, you are my son, my onl;y son and you have the same blood as me, and the same empty spot where a soul should be, isn’t. You will come home. I know it and I know you, son. Brooklyn hearing enough of this stands up. Kirkman eating his food. Steiner goes to leave. But Kirkman first calls over the waitress as she walks over Kirkman looks up to Steiner standing over him. KIRKMAN SCOTT: Brooklyn, on your right and left, you got pockets. In those pockets? That's where I’m pretty sure money, my son. Take a peek in either one of 'em, and pay the bill. Just to get out of there Brooklyn pays the tab and hands the money to the waitress with a tip. He goes to walk out of the diner. KIRKMAN SCOTT: See you soon, son. BROOKLYN STEINER: Don’t count on it. KIRKMAN SCOTT: Brooklyn, tell my date our conversation is done. I need to have one with her about a movie I know she is perfect for. Brooklyn in a rage smacks the finished cranberry juice glass over the table as it shatters everywhere. He storms out of the diner and enters his car and drives off as he sets his destination for his home address in New York City. AN HOUR LATER! The Sacred Timeline - Winer 23’ New York City Brooklyn Steiner's entry into his city loft is accompanied by a juxtaposition of weariness and determination etched across his face. The loft itself, a modern marvel with expansive windows framing the city's skyline, offers both the comfort of space and the intimacy of solitude. His canine companion, Funky, clad in a festive doggy Santa suit, bounds towards him—an effervescent burst of excitement and holiday cheer. However, beneath the veneer of festive joy, Brooklyn's thoughts linger on the recent tense encounter with his father. The weight of unresolved familial tensions rests on his shoulders as he navigates the challenges of his wrestling career. The impending Winter Wasteland match, the most significant of his career, looms large in his mind. Alone during the holiday season, he grapples with a sense of isolation, a stark contrast to the festive gatherings of those around him. Acknowledging Funky's exuberance with a pat, Brooklyn turns his attention to the rigorous training regimen that awaits. The loft transforms into a sanctuary of self-improvement, a place where physical and mental preparation intersect. In the midst of changing into his workout gear, Brooklyn's iPhone lights up with a notification—a message from Katie Baxter. Katie Baxter It’s this restaurant in Istanbul, I want to try. This is me cashing in on my rain check. ♥️ After reading Katie Baxter's message, Brooklyn Steiner sets his phone aside and resumes his workout routine. The rhythmic thud of weights hitting the floor echoes through the loft, blending with the distant sounds of the city beyond the windows. However, the steady cadence of his workout is abruptly interrupted by Funky's escalating barks. The canine's excitement reaches a fever pitch, a clear indication that something has stirred his usually calm demeanor. Brooklyn pauses his exercises, a mix of curiosity and caution etched on his face. As he approaches the source of Funky's fervent barking, his eyes widen at the surreal sight before him—a vibrant green portal, seemingly suspended in mid-air. Rather than succumbing to immediate panic, Steiner, with a wrestler's instinct for studying opponents, takes a more calculated approach. His gaze scrutinizes the mysterious portal, searching for clues and understanding. Funky, sensing his owner's hesitation, continues barking as if trying to warn him of potential danger. Undeterred, Steiner, possibly against his better judgment, takes deliberate steps toward the enigmatic portal. The loft becomes a backdrop to this unexpected convergence of the ordinary and the extraordinary, a collision of the mundane and the fantastical within the confines of his living space……

BROOKLYN STEINER Walks Through Portal!

A Branched Timeline - Winter 23’ Los Angeles California What Brooklyn Steiner entered now appears to be a doorway to an alternate timeline. He stands in the heart of a colossal mansion nestled in the heart of California, Brooklyn Steiner roams through a trophy room that echoes with the grandeur of an extraordinary life. The room is a shrine to achievements in the world of entertainment, adorned with an impressive collection of acting accolades, ranging from coveted Oscars to prestigious Golden Globes. The vast trophy room is a testament to the alternate life of Brooklyn Steiner. showcasing the pinnacle of success in the acting world. The walls are adorned with framed photographs capturing moments of glory, featuring a variant Brooklyn Steiner and the megastar Sarah Grayson, each bearing the altered names of Brooklyn Scott and Sarah Scott. A monumental mantle takes center stage, proudly displaying trophies, awards, and memorabilia from a life that exists only in this parallel timeline. The names etched on the awards reflect the altered reality, as Brooklyn traverses through the room, a sense of both awe and disconnect washing over him. The sheer magnitude of success portrayed in this alternate life stands in stark contrast to the familiar struggles and victories of his real-world existence. Brooklyn Steiner goes to leave the room but is stopped when he hears a voice… ???: I wouldn’t leave this room, not a familiar face out there if you are looking for one.. BROOKLYN STEINER: Who are you? ???: I guess the better question is, what have I become? BROOKLYN SCOTT: Your life, your life, is my failure…. BROOKLYN STEINER: What? BROOKLYN SCOTT: You messed it up. BROOKLYN STEINER: I messed it up for you? For what following fucking Kirkman around like he is some god and worshiping the ground he walks on, for this…. That man ruins everything he touches… BROOKLYN SCOTT: Take a look around, Steiner, does this look messed up to you. I have everything you want, everything, the accolades but most importantly, the girl of your dreams. To me though Steiner, just another, but she is mine. I stood the course, I listened to what MY father said, and I have everything. What do you have? You know, don't answer that yet, I’m not done. You know your fear of the worst thing YOUR dad did came true for you. He never cared about anything but himself, hell my dad either, but I learned, now I don’t either. It’s all about me. Let me give the best advice. From one version of me to another. It’s this question, and the power you put in this question, the more success you will ultimately achieve. You want to know what that question is, Steiner. The question that has me with everything and you with nothing…. BROOKLYN SCOTT: I’ll take the silence as a yes. The question and I guess answer is, What’s in it for me? Someone can be heard calling for Brooklyn Scott. BROOKLYN SCOTT: Stay here. I’m not sure how you interacting with anyone is going to mess things up, I never actually expected you to come through the portal. Exiting the trophy room, Brooklyn Scott makes his way through the luxurious corridors of the massive mansion. Unbeknownst to him, from another entrance emerges Sarah Scott, an alternate version of the real-world Sarah Grayson. In this altered reality, she doesn't perceive Brooklyn as Steiner, but rather as her reality's version of him. As Brooklyn turns the corner, Sarah, with an affectionate smile and genuine warmth, envelops him in a loving embrace, her arms wrapping around his frame. The air is charged with a sense of intimacy and connection as she presses a tender kiss onto his lips. For Brooklyn, frozen in the moment, it's a culmination of a longing he had harbored since this Sarah left him in his timeline. SARAH SCOTT: Everyone is waiting for you downstairs, for your speech. Why aren’t you dressed? BROOKLYN STEINER: I LOVE YOU! A tear drops from the cheek of Brooklyn Steiner. Sarah was taken back as that just came out of nowhere as her Brooklyn Scott is a much colder individual to her and hearing Steiner say that threw her back. SARAH SCOTT: Been a while since you said those words to me…everything okay… after the speech, I will run and have the maid run the bath for us. But get dressed dear. Sarah leaves the room as she doesn’t see Brooklyn Scott enter back in from the other door. Brooklyn Scott is all smiles. BROOKLYN SCOTT: Isn’t she great… I mean, of course you know that. I made her quit her music career when my acting career skyrocketed, tried for a family, a miscarriage brought an end to that. But hey, that’s life, right. But damn, enough about me, what about you. You really went full throttle on the wrestling career right. You must be a champion, hell a multiple time champion. WAIT! You ain’t win shit yet…. Let me guess, right, nothing, you standing here in my trophy of fucking glory and you have nothing… looks like to me you chose the wrong path. I mean sure, the people here think that I’m a sociopath like my father. I guess our father, but, I have to be honest. I’m. That's how I got all this. The dream life you will die for, which is life I find, type mid. That’s funny right Steiner, all this, the awards, the money, the fame… YOUR girl of YOUR dreams is mid to me. Got anything to say, Steiner, I know this is a lot to take in. The man who built this portal here told me there was a small chance of you being here, but hey, here you are, so what’s up? BROOKLYN STEINER: I will rather die than to end up with this. Do you have everything, I guess, but this isn’t everything to me. That’s not my Sarah. This isn’t my house, this is all your pile of shit, and you can have it, and know that I don’t want it. I guess deep down this is what I wanted, but, not like this, not me being under the thumb of Kirkman Scott. Not this one, I know what I want out of life and it isn’t this. Look at you, you’re a monster like him. Steiner points to a massive statue of Kirkman Scott in the trophy room. BROOKLYN STEINER: And I will never be like him, or you. I can see it, you’re worse than me. You have everything at the price of your integrity. You’re miserable. BROOKLYN SCOTT: There is nothing miserable about me. You want what I have YOU! WANT ALL OF THIS!!! BROOKLYN STEINER: No, not anymore. BROOKLYN SCOTT: I’m who you are destined to be. This is you. Brooklyn. This is your purpose. Like our fathers before us. Steiner realizes that the massive statue of Kirkman Scott is actually a memorial statue as he reads it. Brooklyn Scott walks over and places his hand on Steiner’s shoulder. BROOKLYN SCOTT: Oh yeah, dad, I mean my dad… this is confusing, I really never thought we would have this conversation. My dad. The one in this statue. Had an accident. He fell down some steps. Turn around to see my face…. LOOK at me. Brooklyn Scott winks. BROOKLYN SCOTT: Damn, Steiner, I’m pretty sure, there are multiple versions of us spread across an infinite number of universes, but, as god as my witness, you are the worst one. You really chose the wrong choice on every stop Steiner. Steiner removes Brooklyn Scott’s hand from off him as he gets in the face of his variant. BROOKLYN STEINER: It’s my free will. My choice. My life. My path. I will not let that man in that statue lead me to becoming this fuck-head infront of me. I have my story. I have my ideals of what I want my story to look like and not anyone in my universe or this one leads me to a life I don’t want. To become a man I don’t want to become. BROOKLYN SCOTT: Free will. Such an overrated concept. Such an overrated belief, that we actually believe we choose our path. That our choices really make that grand of a difference in the grand scheme of everything. We like to think we make the vital choices in this life, but, maybe, maybe there will always be someone writing about our life, that we are just…. Actors! On a script written by the hands we can’t see. But that’s where I differ from them, and soon, you will too. I know the man who wrote my story. He is the man that made me into an HOLLYWOOD ICON. You will come around, Steiner, you will see what I saw here, in my story. I did the tough sacrifice, Kirkman made the tough choices and now so have I. I’m the man my life needs. You are a failure. BROOKLYN STEINER: What do you want, huh… BROOKLYN SCOTT: Me, I don’t want anything, it’s what you want. I peeked into your universe through the portal. I saw that you saw one damn wrestling match on fucking Youtube and decided to give up all of this. You, Brooklyn, you are the one who never finishes anything, while I’m the Brooklyn who finishes everything. Be me. Before it’s too late. Everyone in that damn wrestling company knows you don’t belong. You say you don’t want to be an actor, but yet you put a performance that everyone can see through. You don’t belong there. This is where you belong. Become me. BROOKLYN STEINER: Never. I will never be you. Steiner gets shoved back into the portal that he came out of as he falls all the way back to his timeline as Brooklyn Scott whispers…. BROOKLYN SCOTT: See you soon.

The Sacred Timeline - Winter 23’ Was it all a dream? The morning sunlight pierces through the curtains, gently waking Brooklyn Steiner from an unexpected slumber on his cozy couch. Funky, his loyal canine companion, seems equally surprised by the abrupt awakening, showing his excitement by showering Brooklyn's face with affectionate licks. As the grogginess begins to dissipate, Brooklyn glances around his loft, questioning the reality of the vivid dream or perhaps premonition that played out in his sleep. However, the ticking clock and the impending Winter Wasteland interview text on his phone reaffirm the urgency of the present moment. A mixture of confusion and determination creeps into Steiner's expression as he ponders the line between dreams and reality. Swiftly, he grabs his phone, scrolling through the text messages that beckon him to the Winter Wasteland pre-show segment. Despite the unexpected nature of this last-minute assignment, Brooklyn, ever the team player for the FWA, agrees to participate. The need to be at the arena early for the segment propels him into a flurry of activity. Steiner's loft, once a picture of calm, transforms into a scene of brisk preparation. Clothes and wrestling gear are meticulously chosen and packed into a bag, his trusty book chosen for company during the long flight. A montage captures Steiner's efficient yet purposeful movements, ensuring every detail is attended to. As the clutter in his loft diminishes, Steiner turns his attention to Funky, making sure his furry friend is well taken care of in his absence. A final check, a reassuring pat on Funky's head, and Brooklyn strides out the door. The cityscape unfolds as Steiner hops into an awaiting Uber, ready to embark on the journey to the airport. The sprawling skyline serves as a backdrop to Steiner's contemplative gaze, a visual prelude to the challenges and triumphs that await him at Winter Wasteland. JFK Airport - New York Brooklyn Steiner strides into the bustling airport, a rolling suitcase in tow and a carry-on slung over his shoulder. He approaches the check-in counter, ensuring his bags are securely tagged for the journey ahead. The overhead announcements and hum of travelers create a symphony of travel anticipation. With bags checked, Steiner moves through the airport, taking occasional sips from a tall can of Red Bull, his energy drink of choice for the day's journey. As he navigates the terminals, a flicker of recognition catches his eye. He halts in front of a bar, and to his surprise, a trailer for a movie he thought was buried forever is playing on the screen. Crying Before Christmas Trailer Soft piano music playing in the background Open with a snowy town square adorned with twinkling lights and decorations. A warm, inviting glow emanates from shop windows. Enter Brooklyn Steiner, dressed in a cozy sweater, strolling through the festive scene. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: This holiday season, get ready for a heartwarming tale that will bring tears of joy— "Crying Before Christmas." Cut to Hilary Duff, elegantly wrapped in a scarf, entering the town's charming bakery. She meets eyes with Brooklyn, and a spark of holiday magic fills the air. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: In the picturesque town of Evergreen, two hearts will find the true meaning of Christmas. Brooklyn and Hilary exchange smiles as they embark on a series of festive activities: decorating a towering Christmas tree, ice skating on a frozen pond, and sharing laughter over cups of hot cocoa. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: Brooklyn Steiner and Hilary Duff star in this Hallmark holiday special, where love, laughter, and a sprinkle of Christmas magic bring two souls together. Show a cozy living room scene with Brooklyn and Hilary exchanging gifts by the fireplace, surrounded by flickering candles and festive decorations. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: But sometimes, in the midst of the holiday cheer, the heart finds unexpected emotions. Cut to a poignant moment where Brooklyn and Hilary share a tearful embrace, capturing the depth of their characters' connection. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: "Crying Before Christmas" — a story about love, loss, and the extraordinary gift of finding hope in the most unexpected places. Show a montage of uplifting scenes, including a snowy carriage ride and a community coming together for a festive celebration. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: This holiday season, let the magic of "Crying Before Christmas" fill your heart with love and warmth. Closing scene: Brooklyn and Hilary share a kiss under a sky full of gently falling snowflakes. MOVIE TRAILER VOICE: "Crying Before Christmas," premiering this December, only on the Hallmark Channel. Because sometimes, the most beautiful stories begin with a tear. Soft piano music fades out, leaving a warm, holiday ambiance. ???: I can see why the Kleio Hallmark movie line hurt you so much. A familiar voice pierces through the ambient noise. He turns around, only to lock eyes with none other than Katie Baxter, the charismatic FWA backstage interviewer. Time seems to slow down as she approaches, effortlessly walking towards him with a playful grin on her face. In this cinematic moment, Katie holds a container of Chick-fil-A waffle fries, taking casual bites between steps. The rhythmic melody of "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac plays softly in the background, adding a whimsical touch to the scene. Brooklyn's heartbeat quickens as he watches the girl he secretly admires, a silent backdrop of anticipation building between them. The airport's hustle and bustle fade into the background, leaving only the captivating sight of Katie walking towards Brooklyn, waffle fries in hand. KATIE BAXTER: How was your Christmas? Katie asks as she walks up to Brooklyn giving a playful shove. BROOKLYN STEINER: Alone. Well not alone, I watched Shrek with my dog. KATIE BAXTER: Really? The scene transitions to Christmas and to Steiner and his dog Funky sprawled out on the couch, engrossed in "Shrek." Steiner, fully immersed in the moment, hilariously cosplays as Shrek, while Funky sports a donkey costume, mirroring the characters on the screen. KATIE BAXTER: That sounds a lot better than what I did. I love Shrek. I spent the holidays with my family. I take it you didn’t? BROOKLYN STEINER: It’s complicated. KATIE BAXTER: Seeing how we both have this long flight. I would love to hear it but I don’t think we are sitting next to each other. Steiner verifies his plane ticket, confirming the unfortunate reality that he won't be sitting next to Katie for the flight. A smirk plays on his lips, but beneath the surface, a twinge of disappointment simmers. A montage unfolds, capturing Brooklyn Steiner and Katie Baxter navigating the bustling atmosphere of JFK airport. The duo, surrounded by a sea of eager wrestling fans, graciously signs autographs, creating a brief but lively spectacle. As the crowd swells, they make their way towards the departure gate. They board the plane, with the next destination: Winter Wasteland. Istanbul, Turkey Winter wasteland 23’ Pre Show Video Package plays Intense montage of Brooklyn Steiner and Jack the Clipper's recent victories, cuts of them in action, and celebrations. Linkin Park "In The End" begins playing as the beat builds. "One thing I don't know why It doesn't even matter how hard you try Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme To explain in due time" Clips of Kleio De Santos raising the FWA Television Championship high in the air, scenes from Lights Out where she claimed the vacant title in a thrilling match against Madison Gray. The video transitions to Jack the Clipper, determined and focused, as he overcomes his opponents, showcasing his skill and resilience in the ring. "Time is a valuable thing Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings Watch it count down to the end of the day The clock ticks life away." Brief shots of Brooklyn Steiner, from his triumph over Gerald Grayson to his strategic moves in the ring, revealing his journey to this championship match. "It's so unreal, didn't look out below Watch the time go right out the window Trying to hold on, but didn't even know I wasted it all just to watch you go" The video intensifies as it shows glimpses of the triple threat contenders face off, with quick cuts of their confrontations and exchanges of words. "I tried so hard And got so far But in the end It doesn't even matter The beat drops, highlighting key moments of each wrestler's path to the championship match, building suspense for the showdown at Winter Wasteland. "I had to fall To lose it all But in the end It doesn't even matter " Cuts to scenes of the Coven's dominance, Kleio De Santos confidently asserting her position as the TV Champion, along with the enigmatic Celestia and Blair Ravenwood by her side. "One thing, I don't know why It doesn't even matter how hard you try Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme To remind myself how I tried so hard" Closing shots of the three competitors—Steiner, Jack the Clipper, and Kleio De Santos—staring down each other, capturing the tension before the storm. "I've put my trust in you Pushed as far as I can go For all this There's only one thing you should know I tried so hard And got so far But in the end It doesn't even matter I had to fall To lose it all But in the end It doesn't even matter Video fades out with the FWA Winter Wasteland logo and the text: "Television Championship Triple Threat” Camera opens backstage at Winter Wasteland, the air charged with excitement and anticipation. Brooklyn Steiner stands in the shadows, his figure barely illuminated by the ambient backstage lights. He's clad in a vintage New York Knick bomber jacket, a subtle nod to his roots. Underneath the jacket, a black shirt bears a cryptic message in white letters: "I Miss The Old Cyrus." The details of his outfit tell a story of nostalgia and individuality. Steiner's gaze pierces through the camera, his eyes reflecting a mixture of intensity and determination. The New York Knick colorway Jordan 1s on his feet add a touch of style to his ensemble. The atmosphere is thick with the weight of the impending challenge as he prepares to face Jack The Clipper and the formidable Television Champion, Kleio De Santos. As Steiner stands, the Winter Wasteland stadium looms in the background, a colossal backdrop for the night's clashes. His body language exudes readiness, signaling that he's not just here to compete but to make a statement. The vintage jacket, the cryptic message, the iconic sneakers – each element seems carefully chosen, hinting at a deeper narrative that Steiner carries into the ring. The camera captures the intensity etched on Steiner's face, the man who's about to step into the spotlight at Winter Wasteland, ready to etch his name in the annals of FWA history. BROOKLYN STEINER: Everybody who cares to know about my thoughts heading into tonight's TV title match. You know what I'm thinking about. I think about my class here in FWA. I think about the three guys that were the last three remaining in the Gunfight one battle royal. I think about Jay Kenney, I think about Xavien Marshall. Which is weird because I know that those two aren't in this match for the TV title. But, look what they have been able to achieve since the Gunfight battle royal. They are the tag champions. Steiner's gaze lingers in the distance, lost in contemplation. A subtle pause captures the weight of his thoughts, a moment of introspection amidst the bustling backstage energy. His mind wanders to the comparisons drawn between him and fellow wrestlers like Jay and Xavien. Wrestlers who, in the intricate chessboard of FWA, currently find themselves positioned higher on the card than he does at Winter Wasteland. BROOKLYN STEINER: They are in one of the top marquee matches on this pay per view. Where does that leave me? It’s easy to toss me the bronze when it comes to us three as we are definitely the top three of our class but that is who the wrestling world will compare me to as our careers evolve. We are seen as the future of this company, and yet, that one slipped, me, losing and coming so close to winning the Gunfight battle royal I have nothing. Here I stand. No championship. Clearly the bronze medal to those two, and tonight, that will change. Tonight, I will become the television champion. While Clipper and KDS feel that we are fighting for her championship, I feel like I’m fighting for something much more. Steiner cracks his knuckles and looks into the camera with an intense look. BROOKLYN STEINER: A legacy. Legacy holds immense importance for Steiner, a concept woven into the fabric of his wrestling journey. Yet, as he stands at the crossroads, a moment of deep reflection draws out a breath that resonates with a decision – a decision to forge a legacy uniquely his own. BROOKLYN STEINER:. A legacy that I want to leave here in wrestling, a legacy that I want to create on my own. I could have easily followed the legacy of my father, and been something Hollywood, but that’s not the story I want for myself. My story is to be written here, my story involves me leaving tonight, Winter Wasteland the NEW! FWA Television Champion. I know that KDS is a fighting champion, I’m sure, she knows that come our match the odds of her winning is 33.3% or something, I know that the Steiner’s aren't really good at math. But, she can lose this title without even getting pinned, and I’m sure she has that on her mind. That's a fact. Like the fact that tonight, everything prior goes out the window. BROOKLYN STEINER:. Everything goes out the window, because, while Jack wants to be a barber and KDS wants to be a witch, the only fact is, the only thing that is true is that the bell will ring. The bell will ring and all that will not matter, all this haircut jokes and turning things into cats will not matter to anyone after you get punched in the face. They want to be these out of this world characters, while Brooklyn Steiner is the only real thing in this fucking match. I want to be a wrestler, in a wrestling ring, and prove to the world that I’m the best! And it starts tonight. It starts at Winter Wasteland. I know that I haven’t won a championship yet, but, if god is my witness, that will no longer be the case after tonight. BROOKLYN STEINER: Just look at Jack. This idiot with a pair of scissors walking into my hotel room. Now, Jack you stand as my opponent and not as my teammate and when we were teams you disrespected me in front of my friends. And I promised Ryan Reynolds I will beat your ass. I’m going to be completely honest. I believe KDS hinted at this in our little exchange of words. Vegas oddsmakers have you as the one who will take the fall tonight. I mean, Vegas doesn’t believe you, do you even believe that you will walk out of here as the TV champion? Or will your dreams of being a champion be dead and buried next to Funky Fedora. (No relation to Brookyn Steiner’s dog.) I’m aware that going through has to happen for me to become TV champion, and , you know, that’s something I’m sure you knew, like I know everyone wrestling fan ordering this PPV, Is ordering a PPV a thing anymore.. Well whatever. No one believes in you Jack. All you are is someone for KDS to use as an excuse for why she isn’t TV champion anymore, or use as a reason why I didn’t leave here tonight the champion. Whatever an underdog is, you are below that. But I don’t think I’m telling you something that you don’t already know. And as Forest Gump once said “ And that’s all I got to say about that .” BROOKLYN STEINER: The champ. Kleio. The wickedest witch of the FWA. Your parents told you to be whatever it is that you want and never look back huh? The Coven. I mean listen, I liked that movie… what’s it called, oh the craft yeah as much as the next person but, like what the fuck is that going to do when the bell rings, I will snap you. I’m not going to underestimate you Kleio. You are the champ entering this match for a reason, but, I kinda feel, and maybe I’m wrong, you are underestimating me. BROOKLYN STEINER: I know that I have been under the radar here, just beating hall of fame wrestlers and former champions, but, you know, I’m someone who doesn’t like to bring attention to myself. I know being a former actor, that doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. I can see you thinking that I’m all hype and that tonight, I will fall under the pressure. But in my opinion I don’t think you faced anyone like me before Kleio. Someone who is truly no nonsense. I don’t have a gimmick, there is nothing gimmicky about me. I’m the real deal. A man who trained his ass off to be here and that’s that. I will not be acting when I drop you on your face. I will not be acting when I kick you in the face. Everyone here jokes about my past, but nothing is funny, nothing will be a joke when the bell rings and I break you. Or in words I’m sure you can understand… I will AVADA KEDAVRA! your ass. Wow, I can't believe I said that or even know what that means. Steiner lets out a brief, self-amused chuckle, realizing the irony of his limited knowledge about Harry Potter lore. However, he swiftly regains his composure, seamlessly transitioning back into his thoughts and the ongoing promo. BROOKLYN STEINER: In closing guys as the time for talking is just about up. As the match draws near, tonight, Kleio, Jack, I hope you are ready for a fight. A brawl, I hope you are willing and ready to leave it all in that ring. Because, I am. See you soon. The segment reaches its conclusion with a charismatic flourish from Steiner. He winks playfully at the camera, delivering a subtle tap as a parting gesture, exuding confidence. As he strolls away, the scene seamlessly transitions back to the Winter Wasteland pre-show crew set.

/SPOILER]

​

 

[AON]

It's 2011, and Jack Noble is spitting blood onto a dirty, stained training mat. And it wasn't the first time either.

His body was covered in bruises, from head to toe; he ached, and he could feel he had a cut on his forehead that was going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it did now than when adrenaline went away...The punishment he was going through, he thought by now he'd be used to it; he thought that at a certain point, the broken skin around his limbs would grow stronger and prove more of a match against anything his wrestling coaches could throw at him.

No such luck...

Thankfully, he had the best coaches he could possibly ask that were reasonable and good-hearted people.


" FOR FUCK SAKE CLIPPER-! GET YOUR ARSE UP OFF THE MAT BEFORE I BOOT YOU OFF"

Chance would be a fine thing.

Jack Noble had been training for just over three weeks in the hardest and grimiest gym in north London (Fun fact: just a few months after this scene, the London Health organization would close it down)

"Are you stupid or something, Clipper? Everyone else can do it; why can't you get it through your thick skull?! Tuck your bloody chin and roll."

" That's what I've been doin'!"

Jack frustratingly slaps a combination of sweat and tears from his face while his drill sergeant of a trainer scolds him in front of the other students, who are all staring dead at him.

For fuck sake, Clipper-! If you can't do shit like this right, then it doesn't matta' how the flips and the flops and the other bullshit look, yeah? We're tryin' to teach you how to not break your neck and to have a long career outside of a bloody wheelchair, but you're here actin' like you know more than I do. When I tell you to TUCK YOUR CHIN, I MEAN TUCK.. YOUR. CHIN!-"

WHAM-!

And that's when Jack headbutted his trainer in the mouth.

"You nutted your trainer in the mouth."

"Aye"

Jack sat there in the owner's office a few hours later, rubbing his head sheepishly, knowing full well what was coming. But he accepted it with a shrug.

"....Ok, so why the fuck would you ever do something like that?"

"He called me Clipper."

"He called you Clipper...."

"That's what I said; he called me clipper."

The owner looked at the boy up and down; his eyes narrowed noticeably before he took a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth.

"Well, you have to leave; you're out. But that goes without saying. You knew that already."

"Yep"

"You want some advice?"

"Not, really, no."

"Well, you're going to get it anyway. Because frankly, young man, I think you need it."


With his head lowered, Jack snorts in derision without making eye contact, which only draws the ire of the owner all the more; he speaks through his gritted teeth. Knowing he's about to make Jack angry.

"We all loved your sob story about leaving your mother with cancer to catch a bus to come train here. It's clear you want this, and you should be proud you got this far. But I don't think you belong here. Get back on that bus and work your old man's barbershop."

"I ain't no clipper-"

"And from what I've seen, you ain't no wrestler either."

Harsh truth slapped Jack right in the chops; as he looked up abruptly, a button clearly pressed.

"You want to make it in this business, yeah? You want this to be your trade? Then start acting like it because if you want to be the best at this shit? You got to be the best you can possibly be at everything. Every spot. Every move. Every drill. That's what I see in everyone else here. But you? I see you come in, angry at the world, a big fucking chip on your shoulders, thinking you can do whatever you want if you just punch your problems away. That's not how we do things here. We do things right here. We don't fight here. We work. We wrestle, but as far as I can see, you don't want to wrestle, you just want to fight, and that's how you end up hurting people, that's how you end up crippling people, hell if you don't listen to your coaches that's how you cripple yourself ya daft bugger. We'll see how heavy that ego is when you're in a wheelchair."

Jack just stared dead at the owner, his face going white, his fists opening and closing.

"Don't know what to tell you, mate; you're a danger to yourself and everyone else around here. You had a shot, and you blew it. Honestly? In another world, maybe I could overlook that if you had the attitude and you had the ability. Maybe I could give you a shot, but frankly, the one thing worse than your ability? Your attitude"

Cue awkward pause

"Now fuck off."

The Clipper didn't need to be told twice, as he leapt off his seat and made a beeline for the padlocked front doors that looked half rotten off, his eyes burning and his mouth dripping with all manner of swears and curses, as Jack Noble came to crossroads in his life. Is now the time to pack it in? To give up, to embrace his destiny and understand he'll be nothing more than a clipper?

Naa fuck that.
-----------


Current day.

North London, slums, the most depressing place in the whole of England, The home of Jack the Clipper. It couldn't be any more depressing looking outside than it is right now. To a typical person, it's dull and sombre, but to those needing a change in scenery, it's perfection. Fog settles on the rooftops of buildings like a hat, while the dreary, rainy weather does not do much to add to the spirit of things. Jack The Clipper walks with his hands in her pockets, admiring the ran-down buildings around him.

He had hours to sit on the bus and think about what to do once he got back to London, and the best thing he could do was simply walk around and take in the sights.

Jack The Clipper: This place made me who I am. The majority of the people around here never get the opportunity to leave. I was the first member of my family to ever leave it , not to mention being the first to board an aeroplane or get a passport. To survive here, you have to be tough. You have to be built differently than the rest.

He spits a little on the ground, which is something of a strangely affectionate motion, which, to be fair, sums up nicely the strange love-hate relationship Jack seems to have with this place.

Jack The Clipper: "See, this ain't no Hollywood California, this ain't Rio, Brazil, no tourists ever come here for a lovely vacation. Hell, if you walk these streets, you probably don't know what a vacation is. That's what these streets are: a dead-end. Once you're born here, you never leave this place alive; you ain't got no hope, no prospects, no future. Life just constantly forces you to eat a plate of shit after shit after shit, and if you're lucky, you might be able to afford a half-decent grave.

He snarls savagely at his words as if taking a strange kind of pride from what he is saying, painting such a bleak and miserable picture of his background.

Jack The Clipper: So you're probably asking yourself, Jack, what's your secret? How did you do it? How did you work yourself from outside the gutter to the top of wrestling, just inches away from getting gold around your waste?

Jack shrugs, his shoulders "Fake" modesty oozing every single drop of his body.

Jack The Clipper: The same reason why, at Winter Wasteland, I am going to leave that ring with the television title wrapped around my waist. The law of the jungle, ya mugs. This is a game for everyone else. Kelo De Santos and Brooklyn Steiner? They fight because they're passionate about it. They fight because they think it's fun; they want to be here. But Jack the Clipper? I HAVE to fight. I ain't got no choice. My back is against the wall; this life is adapted or perished, and no one in the world can adapt to struggle like me. That's how you get your way out of the gutter; when you ain't got nothing else, you use your two fists, and you scrap, and you claw until blood runs down your fingernails. That's the only way anyone gets anywhere in this world. We're all scared little apes all trying to get out of the gutter, and the fastest way to do that? Stepping on everyone else's head. I don't see any other way to look at it, and if anyone ever tells you something different, they're lying. Kelio De Santos and Brooklyn are about to get a first-hand lesson of that, as well as the most vicious haircut they've ever had in their life. I turn forty-two years old on the 30th. This is also starting my fifteenth year as a pro. And I'm beginning to think...What's it all about, y'know? I've collected some championships here and there, but none of 'em matters as much as the one I'm fightin' for at Winter Wasteland. It's kind of a full circle moment, what time of the year and what's at stake. It all comes down to this, yeah?

He feels emotions taking her over and does her best to suppress them. Now isn't the time, not in front of the camera.

Jack The Clipper: "Here I am, Jackie Noble. A shit wrestler. With a shitty barber thing going on past my prime, here I am, fighting for the big belts. On the big show, and I know what you're thinking...What an inspiring story..an overnight success, blah blah blah...Stop. Because my overnight success took the best years of my life. Winter Wasteland is going to be a culmination of fifteen years of blood, sweat, tears, sacrifice, tragedy, triumph, and refusing to die all wrapped into one night. Now you're going to hear a lot of bullshit from those other two mugs; Brooklyn Steiner is gonna dazzle you with his Hollywood glitz and glamour and KDS? just going to ramble on about some harry potter shit? But me? I ain't got no Hollywood friends. I ain't got no special effect team and a sound stage to do big fucking magic movie scenes for you. All I am is a man with a bad temper, two fists the size of potatoes and a lack of patience from waiting my whole life for a fucking title shots, so the way I see it, I'm the only one who's gonna shoot you straight. Others may talk a bigger and better game, but none of them care about this as much as Jack The Clipper.

Jack pounds his chest as he speaks, waiting to impart his passion with every word he speaks; there seems to be a running theme in Jack The Clipper's words, he's well aware that he's not as flashy as his opponent, but god damn he's absolutely the most passionate. About the wrestling business, about this match, and most importantly of all, about winning the TV title.

Jack The Clipper: "This business is tough as old boots; you get seven shades of shite kicked out of you, and you're expected to do that every night while a crowd of people who never leaves their basement tell you you suck at it. You never know who is comin' up next or how many times you're gonna have to compete. Not everyone is made for it. It presents a tough road to navigate without a map in sight."

Jack suddenly stops, walking, warming his hands by blowing into them as he leans against a wall, looking around at his grey surroundings before speaking again.

Jack The Clipper: They told me, Jack, don't do it. Jack, you're too angry to do this. Jack, you're not strong enough. Do you know what I did? I welcomed the challenge. You're mad if you think cakewalks are goin' to occur on either side. This isn't some game. It isn't fantasy. Three of the best wrestlers in the world are goin' to give it all they have, and only one walks away champion with' nothin' left in their tanks but pride. You want the honor of being the TV champion? You're goin' to earn it.

He knows the predictions and has seen the previews. With every choice stacking odds in the favor of seemingly everyone but him, it just fires him up even more. Having been doubted his entire life, this is just part of it.

Jack The Clipper: "Daft wankers, think it's a foregone conclusion that Jack can't win. They have forgone the pencils and put their winners down in permanent ink that'll be Brooklyn Stenier or KDS. Not budging on their predictions. Case closed. So why bother, right? See, I think the opposite of that. I love proving the doubters wrong. I get off on makin' people strangle on their words.

Slipping his right hand up to the throat, Jack gives himself a little squeeze with a wild look in his eyes.

Jack The Clipper: "Brooklyn Steiner's hopes are high, The Coven are feelin' right invincible, yeah? Midnight is comin' quickly for all of you, Cinderellas. Livin' the high life in FWA, thinking,' both of you are coastin' to that The TV Championship. But soon, your carriage is turnin' into a pumpkin, and you'll be back to scrubbin' floors. That fairy tale shit is for children. This is real life. There are no miracles here—only disappointment. You see, you have to understand. I don't just want that TV championship. I NEED that championship. I will do whatever it takes. I understand you're all goin' to say the same. Wrestling is very repetitive in nature, and it's filled with the same metaphoric overkill from every person who talks.

Motioning at his waist, Jack pantomimes a "belt" without skipping a beat.

Jack The Clipper: Everyone's gonna talk about how badly they want the belt to the crowd and get polite applause for their efforts. It's how we're trained. We're "entertainers," right? Give 'em a bloody good show while we beat our bodies up.

He makes a fist and slams it into the palm of his left hand, making a thick thud upon collision.

Jack The Clipper: "But what happens when things aren't paint-by-numbers like you had hoped? What happens when you're punched in the mouth and fightin' for your life in that ring? Hollywood ain't gonna help you then, rich boy. Your bibbidi bobbidi boo, is fucked, magical girl, So where does that TV title go? It depends on your instincts to survive. Nothing else. Not the people you hang out with, your catchphrases, or your sisters. Not those flurries of Tweets people laugh at you for postin'; none of that can help you. Wrestling is the one sport that stays the same; only the roles change. And what truly stays the same is that only the strong survive when the dust settles.

Jack pounds his fist into his palm again. The strike is so hard you cringe watching, knowing it had to cause an intense amount of discomfort. He doesn't bat an eye.

Jack The Clipper: "But I get it though, who the fuck I'm I compared to KDS? Youngest TV champion of all time. She called me a joke? Just a gimmick?

The Clipper lets out a snort of amusement...that quickly turns into a gale of laughter that seems unhinged, almost like if he doesn't laugh, he'll cry.

Jack The Clipper: "Oh, Kelo, you think I'm a gimmick? I'm a character, you think That scissors and gel is me?! That I WANT to be this? That's what you don't understand; you think this is a gimmick, but it's not...It's...my....fucking....curse"

He spits out the words like they were made of poison.

Jack The Clipper: "You think I like my life reduced to puns? That people think I'm just a one-note...CLOWN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE CARRYING THAT FUCKING NAME ALL YOUR LIFE?!

He looks like he's getting emotional as he stares down the camera.

Jack The Clipper: Every waking moment of my life, I hear the sound in my head crowd chanting "Clipper-!" over and over again. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, that name clings to my soul like an illness...and you...you have the nerve?! The GALL?! to look at me with a straight face and call me a gimmick?! YOU?! THE LEGIT MMA WRESTLER WHO MADE THE CHOICE TO PLAY HARRY POTTER. YOU CALL ME A JOKE?!

The disgust is plain on his face.

Jack The Clipper: "But you got to understand. That's why you can't win, because once I pin you. One, I smash you down to the ground, and I win the TV Championship...

He pauses, and a strange sense comes to his eyes.....hope?

Jack The Clipper: "There it is...freedom...my ticket, out of my self-imposed cell. The moment my hand is raised...I stopped being called Clipper and stopped being the champion. And that's why it WILL be me. I'm going to be the last person standing. And I know no one wants that. I know it's not in the plans for Jack The Clipper to walk away with that title. I know nobody is rootin' for me. Everyone has Brooklyn Steiner as the shoo-in winner already.

Jack looks unimpressed.

Jack The Clipper: I'll give it to him. He's A great fighter. Looks like a star. Carries himself like one. So what happens when an over-the-hill "Gimmick" slaughtered the future of the company, huh? What happens when Jack The Clipper fucks up, everyone's new favourite? You know what happens then? All the wrestling purists can bugger off, as far as I'm concerned.

After a few seconds of middle fingers, He puts them down and rests his hands on his lap.

Jack The Clipper: I know I have a tall task in front of me. I may not look like a star. My grammar is shit, and I'm uneducated. I'm not the headline to do meet and greets. But I am something KDS and Brook can never be

He props her head up with his hand on his chin and very meticulously delivers his next comment ever so casually.

Jack The Clipper: "I'm fuckin' desperate, and what makes me different from everyone else is that I feel no shame in admitting it. I have been spat on, mocked, kicked and abandoned by everyone I've ever met in this goddamn business. No one has EVER believed in me BUT ME. I've seen a lot of things in my soon-to-be 42 years. I've gone to bed hungry; I wore clothes too small for me 'cos there wasn't any money to buy new ones, and I found myself in positions to do a lot of bad things that I'm not proud of in order to survive. I work as hard as I can so that I don't ever have to go back to that life. This opportunity might be another day for Brooklyn and KRS women, but it's FUCKIN' EVERYTHING TO ME! I have a mother working shit jobs in London, and at my father's funeral, I made a vow to get her out of that shithole. And a shitty shop; I've kept standing with nothing ht swept off my There are REAL reasons why I fight. There's a purpose behind me bein' so cutthroat in that squared circle. This sport is about survival, and if you don't brutalize your opponent, they'll get you first. I don't take this for granted like some.

Even through his thick accent, his words pierce the soul.

Jack The Clipper: This company needs someone who will carry that title with pride and honour, not some impotent fraud! I know what becomin' champion will do for my legacy, not to mention my pocketbook, and I'm goin' to seize this opportunity. Every mornin' when I wake up, I remind myself that I've made it this far because I was willin' to do what it takes. And I knew that the truth of the world, that if you want to get out of the gutter...Ya gotta fight like hell.​

 

[Jam]

Gerald Grayson in...
"There's No Place Like Home"

CLICK HERE FOR RP.

Spoiler: Plain Text RP

Gerald Grayson in…
“There’s No Place Like Home”


Things weren’t going well for me as not only have I not won since returning to the FWA, but now - I’m sick, like physically sick. I’m sneezing a lot, I have a fever, I’m coughing my insides out, my throat is sore, it’s not looking good for FWA’s resident Daredevil. I couldn’t even worry about my match against Death Walker at Winter Wasteland because thinking about it made my head hurt. So what did I do? The only logical thing of course - I went home.

Going back to my childhood home in Raleigh, North Carolina where my parents still resided sounded like a really good idea, especially with my mom being a nurse, she’d nurse me right back to full health, at least that’s what I had hoped for. The day I arrived in front of my parents home, my mom blurted out the obvious.

“Oh, you look terrible honey,” my mom said, giving me a comforting hug. “Come in.”

I grabbed hold of my three bags and entered our home. The house looked great. There were Christmas decorations everywhere. What caught my eye were the Christmas socks with our names on it, even Jay’s, hanging over the fireplace. That brought a smile to my face, even for just a second.

“It’s great to see you, kid!” my dad said, coming from the kitchen, giving me a hug.

“Thanks dad. It’s great seeing you both. Sorry to visit in the condition I’m in,”

I genuinely apologized as my parents looked at me with pity. “Since it’s the holidays, I thought to come home and recover to 100% before I have to leave again.”

“You’re welcome home any time honey. You know this,” my mom assured, giving me another hug. “Now go upstairs and put your things away as we get dinner ready.”

“You guys are the best,” I said, flashing them a sickly smile.

I went upstairs to my room and it looked the same way it did before I left, just way cleaner. I put my bags in the closet, not unpacking just yet, as I didn’t have the energy for it. I took off my shoes, my beanie, and my big jacket and jumped straight into bed. The comfort of my own home and being around my parents made me feel better already. Next thing I knew, I dozed off.

Darkness filled the room as a voice echoed for Gerald.

“Gerald… Gerald…” the voice called out. “Gerald!”

I woke up, flinging my blanket off of me with my fists in attack position, ready to fight.

“Gerald,” the voice said once more.

I looked around me - nothing. Until I looked straight ahead and that’s when I let my guard down immediately.

“Jay?” I questioned, turning my head sideways. It was my brother, Jay. He took a step forward and gave me a hug, which shocked me, knowing the way we left things.

“How are you brother? It’s been too long,” he said with a smile on his face.

“It has been. I’ve missed you bro!” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Oh, you silly Daredevil,” Jay said casually, catching my attention.

“What?” I said, concerned after what I just heard.

“I’m not really Jay,” the figure paused. “I’m the Daredevil inside of you,” he said menacingly as his eyes transformed into all black with red pupils accompanying his devilish look.

“What? Where am I?” I questioned aggressively.

“We’re in your mind Gerald. Home to your deepest desires and darkest fears. Relax,” Daredevil said casually. “You’re safe, I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Why are you here?” I said, staring Daredevil down angrily.

“Why am I here?” Daredevil questioned in a confused tone. “You summoned me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I responded immediately.

“C’mon Gerald, you know that’s not true. This is the side of you that you’ve kept secret for far too long. It’s time you let me out,” Daredevil offered.

Just then, a highlight reel begins to play starting with my victories with The Connection, the whispers of doubt from the FWA faithful, the failures of his FWA career so far.

“Stop!” I screamed, holding my head.

Since this whole ordeal with Death Walker, something inside of me seemed to have woken up. The feeling of being free and reckless with no regard to the consequences that may follow.

I remembered when this side of myself came out. I was 18 years old, on the brink of winning a national championship for the third straight year. Winning this would establish myself in Raleigh Motocross history as the greatest to have ever done it at such a young age. The kind of pressure I put on myself was enormous, but the closer the date of the race came, the more excited I became.

Everyone doubted I could accomplish this feat - from the media, to my fellow motocross competitors, even some of my friends and family. But most of all, the biggest doubt came from Reed Cooper Sr., who I’d be passing in Raleigh history and would effectively be known as #2.

The Raleigh motocross community is small, so when gossip went around, everyone knew it - and best believe, no one really hid the fact that they doubted me. Not only did they badmouth me, but they also talked poorly about my family, saying how we’re such a fake family, only there to keep up with appearances. Hell, I was almost disqualified from an event because my biggest competitor, Reed Cooper Jr. and his boys cornered my brother, Jay, and beat him only before I came in with a steel pipe and bashed Cooper Jr’s best friend, Nick Barlow, across the nose with it.

The Raleigh authorities got involved and because both parties were at fault, no charges were filed. This incident happened a week before the big race, definitely not a good time for a distraction like that to happen. I’ve never heard my mom cuss me out as much as she did when we got home that day. My dad didn’t condone my actions either, but he wasn’t as angry as my mom was. In a way, I knew he understood why I did what I did.

In the end, I won the race and made history. However, the prize money and grandeur of accomplishing history got to my head and I became a much different person after that. I became boastful to the media and reckless during the upcoming races. I’d take unnecessary risks that would put not only myself in danger, but my fellow competitors as well - which garnered me the nickname of “The Raleigh Daredevil.”

However, that moniker would be one that would haunt me. Because of my behavior, I was suspended for a year - and I was pissed. I made an appeal to the motocross committee but that fell on deaf ears as they believed the time off would be good for me.

It was not good for me.

I abruptly woke up, feeling my pajamas drenched in sweat. As I looked around, it was still dark. It was 4:13am according to my alarm clock in this Raleigh winter. I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, as my breathing began to slow.

“You’re okay, Gerald. You’re okay.”

The next day, for some reason, I fancied going to a bar and so that’s what I did. Since teaming with Michelle, I did some of my best thinking in a bar, but also some of my worst as things would usually get rowdy and fights would break out - and maybe, deep down in the very depths of my being, that’s exactly what I had hoped for.

Despite not feeling the best, I drove to the busiest bar in Raleigh, Lou’s. Lots of memories regarding motocross happened at Lou’s. The owner, Lou Bailey, was a sports enthusiast, mostly a Duke fan, but cheered for all the professional teams in the Carolinas. He was a good friend of my dad’s as they went to Duke University together, graduating the same year. Other than that, my encounters with Lou were usually after big race wins. It was tradition to head to Lou’s as not only did he run a bar, but he ran a restaurant called Lou’s II, that served the best burger and fries in Raleigh.

As I entered the bar on a busy Friday night, the stench of beer and oil filled the air. The crowd was noisy, emphasized by whoever had control of the karaoke machine since they had the music blasting on maximum level. I surveyed the bar as there were a myriad of things to do such as going for some food, hitting the pool tables, playing darts, or going straight for the bar.

Unluckily for me, fate had other plans as a familiar voice disrupted my attempt at a night out.

“Gerald Grayson. As I live and breathe,” the voice said sarcastically. It was Reed Cooper Jr., already drunk from the look and smell of things, standing just a few feet away from me. Sure enough, accompanying him was his best friend, Nick Barlow, whose nose I re-arranged back in the day. Reed always stood a few inches taller than me, but time was not kind to him as he was heavier by at least 30 pounds now, which wouldn’t bode well if he still rode competitively, which I knew he did.

“What,” Reed paused, walking off balanced towards me. “What brings you here, Gerald? How can we, the undeserving people of Raleigh, serve you this fine evening?” Reed asked, slurring his words.

Much to my chagrin, I started feeling my insides feel hot. The urge for my fist to meet his face was great, but I couldn’t let him get to me.

“I just came here to have a good time, that’s it. I don’t want any trouble,” I said, putting my hands up in innocence.

I started to swallow my spit silently to try and cool myself, but I was feeling angry and ready to let loose after having to explain myself.

“A fun time?” Reed questioned before laughing loudly, garnering a few looks from those around him. “Well, why didn’t you say so? How about you join us for a few beers huh? You know Nick, right? You messed his nose up back in the day, didn’t you?

My fists were ready to fly, but no, I couldn’t do this. This wasn’t who I am.

“Look, I said I don’t want any trouble,” I said, removing Reed’s arm from my shoulder.

“C’mon now, Gerald. You said you were here for a good time,” Reed said, continuing to mock me.

I looked at the bar, catching Lou’s gaze. I saw that he was ready to intervene, but I shook my head, waving him off.

“What, are you too big of a celebrity to hang out with us?” Reed asked me, laughing hysterically this time.

“You know what, on second thought, I’m going to get going,” I said, turning around, reaching for the door.

Please, don’t stop me from making my exit.

“Hold on,” I heard Nick say from a distance.

Fuck.

“I’ve been waiting too damn long to do this,” Nick said, his words were loud and clear this time.

As I turned around, I dodged his punch, and threw him over some tables, garnering the attention of the occupants of the table.

God freaking damn it. Here we go.

Reed threw a punch my way only for me to open the door and send himself flying on his ass. I looked back and chuckled, only for one of the occupants, a near seven foot giant in a leather jacket grab me by my shirt collar. He slammed me down on the bar right in front of Lou.

“Sorry Lou!” I said in a way too happy tone for the situation.

I’d thumb the guy in the eye and run towards the door, jumping over the next guy who tried to throw a punch my way then slid between the legs of the next guy before ducking one last punch from another person that landed on Nick’s face.

“Oh, that had to hurt,” I said sarcastically, looking down at Nick.

I finally reached the door and opened it before looking back at Lou, giving him a shrug.

I sprinted towards Reed, looking to rough him up, but he was too drunk for me to do anything, so running at him was enough to throw him off balance as he fell on his ass once more. I was having way too much fun here, but the fun needed to end. I got in my car, turned up the music, and made my exit from the bar.

Looking back at the bar from a distance from my rearview mirror, I let out a cheery scream. Looking at my reflection on the driver’s side mirror, I suddenly saw my eyes turn full black with red pupils much like the Daredevil in my dream.

The shenanigans at the bar were enough to knock me out as soon as I came home.

In my dreams, I was visited once again by Daredevil.

“You know, you would’ve had more fun if you had thrown a punch, right?” Daredevil questioned sarcastically.

“You again? Can’t you just leave me alone?” I said with an annoyed tone.

“I’m not summoning you, it’s you summoning me, Gerald, and I’m unsure why,” Daredevil paused. “I think you’re seeking validation from me after what happened at the bar. If you asked me, you had every right to let loose after they went after you,”

“Validation is the last thing I need from you,” I said, staring into Daredevil’s eyes.

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Daredevil paused, leaning against the white wall. “But you can’t deny that what happened at the bar was fun. Sure, you didn’t throw a punch, but that feeling of being in a reckless situation like that was… exhilarating,”

I looked down at my feet, not wanting to admit that Daredevil was right.

“Take this advice the way you want to,” Daredevil paused, crossing his arms.

I looked at Daredevil, still not believing that he was the mirror image of my brother except for the eyes.

“You have this ongoing issue with Death Walker and he won’t let up until he’s dealt with - so deal with him,” Daredevil said methodically, giving me goosebumps.

Deal with him he says. The way Daredevil suggested to deal with Death Walker sent a shiver down my spine.

“Because if you don’t, you’ll continue to be the victim in the eyes of everyone. Haven’t you noticed?” Daredevil questioned incessantly.

“Noticed what?” I said like an angry teenager who got their phone taken away.

“Haven’t you noticed the way the crowd looks at you? After all these losses, people feel sorry for you. They feel sorry for you because your return has been a dud,” Daredevil paused, letting that statement sink into my brain. “They feel sorry for you because you’re a lost cause without Michelle or the Nephews by your side.”

Was he right? Did the fans feel sorry for me because of my inability to take care of things on my own? Admittedly, I don’t have the best record as an individual, but that doesn’t take away my ability to do work in that ring.

“You’re realizing I’m right, right?” Daredevil chuckles. “Don’t you understand that the reason Death Walker attacked you “for no reason” is because he knew you wouldn’t retaliate - at least not in this current state of yours,” Daredevil slyly said.

“Wrong place, wrong time - bullshit. You were a target since you decided to return, Gerald. Because you’re a lost little puppy that won’t do shit when you’ve got every reason to do so,” Daredevil reasoned.

“Enough!” I screamed into the abyss.

“Do you want to know a secret, Gerald?” Daredevil playfully questioned.

“I’ve had enough of you, Daredevil,” I said, wanting to distance myself from him.

“I know you have, but you’re going to want to hear this,” Daredevil said slyly.

“You know that car crash you were in with Jay, that nearly killed you both?” Daredevil asked out of nowhere.

“What?” was the only reply I could think of.

“It was I that pulled you out of that wreck. Believe what you want about the supernatural, but it was me who got you out of that situation.”

“I don’t believe you,” I responded with hate in my tone, remembering that dreadful day.

“Like I said, believe what you want about the supernatural, but it’s true. You didn’t have a guardian angel like Jay did, you had me by your side - a daredevil, and look who came out better on the other side,” Daredevil pointed out.

“Enough!” I screamed into the abyss.

And again, I woke up from my dream being drenched in sweat.

Fuck. I hate this so much.

For the rest of the night, all I could think of is if Daredevil was right about all of this. All that thinking drove me to finally sleep.

The next morning, I didn’t feel so good yet again. My eyes felt heavy and it was a struggle to get up from bed, but I had to fight through to get better.

I got out of bed and walked to my restroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I could see some red around my eyes, after being irritated by getting no sleep. I turned the faucet on, letting the cold water flow, catching it in my hands before splashing my face several times.

“Here I am again,” Daredevil said, showing up in my mirror.

I was actually awake this time and that freaked me out more than anything. I grabbed my head, massaging the sides, hoping that when I opened my eyes, Daredevil would be gone.

“Nope, still here,” Daredevil waved, smiling at my insanity.

“No, no no. I can’t be crazy,” I said, repeating to myself.

“You’re not crazy, Gerald. You just need me in your life,” Daredevil offered as a solution.

I don’t think I can handle this everytime I go to sleep. Daredevil terrorizes me each time he shows up. Him being the spitting image of my brother just complicates things even more. While I may not agree with everything Daredevil said, I know there are those with thoughts that align with his - and I will admit that it’s affecting me greatly.

“Okay,” I said, clicking my tongue before letting out a deep breath.

“Okay what?” Daredevil questioned, wanting clear answers.

“You’re in,” I said in a defeated tone.

“No,” Daredevil responded immediately. I looked at him with a confused look on my face.

“I want you to know why you need me. Say it,” Daredevil requested.

“What? What do you want me to say?” I questioned angrily.

“I already told you. Now say it,”

“I need you to beat Death Walker,” I said nonchalantly.

“Because?”

“Death Walker is everything I hate about this business. Someone who thinks he can do whatever he wants to get what he wants. He’s a bully and I hate bullies,” I offered as an explanation.

“And what else?”

I looked at Daredevil, annoyed that that wasn’t a good enough explanation.

“Because I know what my capabilities are and how high my potential is,” I paused. “Michelle and the Nephews enhance my already high capabilities and they are assets. But as they are dealing with their own things, I have to watch out for myself and make sure that when they are ready to return, that I am in the best possible position to further the Nephews agenda,” I explained in detail.

“That’s not it,” Daredevil said, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me?!”

“Gerald, c’mon. You know why you need me and you’ve known this for a very long time,” Daredevil paused. “It’s one thing to know it, but it’s another thing to admit it out loud,”

With Daredevil testing my patience, my blood began to boil. I closed my eyes, doing some breathing exercises. After a minute, I opened my eyes, and Daredevil was still an image in my mirror, waiting for a response.

“I need you with me because when you’re with me, THAT is the best version of Gerald Grayson,” I admitted out loud.

Clapping. I heard clapping. I looked at Daredevil and he had a big smile on his face, nodding his head in my direction.

“This is going to be a beautiful partnership,” he said with confidence, extending his fist for me to bump. I bumped it alright, smashing my mirror, not once, not twice, but several times with punches, causing my knuckles to bleed.

I looked at my bloody knuckles… and a smile came to my face.

However, I caught myself immediately and looked at Daredevil through the shattered mirror.

“Now go away and let me sleep in peace!” I demanded, to which Daredevil replied with a sarcastic nod of his head.

Outside my room, the camera shot pans out to Gerald’s mother with her ear on the bedroom door, clearly concerned, unaware of an otherworldly presence that was now one with her son.

 

[AON]

Light. Blinding light. Nothing else. Where was this? Was this… death? Was this… peace? Further inspection debunks all possible theories. The ringing in her ears has begun to subside....Then, Elizabeth realized it was Winter Wasteland, but somehow, it wasn't. She could hear the crowd. ..they were crying, screaming. There was such a malevolent atmosphere that had consumed the air inside. Why? It was so hard to think. Elizabeth was staring up at the lights in the centre of the ring. There was a headache. A migraine. A horrible burning pain ran through her arm. Where did it come from? Wait… there was…music…...So familiar. Wait a second. That's Gabby's music. The signal of the end. But if that's really what she was hearing, then that means… she lost. Wait. She lost?! Elizabeth raised her arms to shield her eyes from the lights high above the arena. Slowly, she rolled over to her stomach, allowing herself to push herself up with her arms that felt like dead weights as she looked across the ring in order to receive confirmation of her curiosity and confirmation she did receive. There she was, up on the entrance ramp, arms raised in victory, Gabrielle. The sure sign that he came out of the match as the winner. Elizabeth would have despaired. Elizabeth's heart would have been broken if only she could think straight. Still, it's not a very well-known fact how badly your head gets rattled when you get kicked in the head repeatedly, especially after going through the type of gruelling match that these two just went through. Elizabeth laid her head down upon the apron for a moment of rest, a small moment to recover from the pain, to clear her head from the ringing. Slowly, she closed her eyes and focused on all the sounds around her. She could hear it… the slow, gradual transition that was taking place. Gabby seems to have just left the ringside area. His music had been put to a halt. And it is here that Gabby would leave the arena content. Satisfied with the fact that he had defeated Elizabeth, the image of his face raced through Elizabeth's mind. She could see it, the smug smile plastered upon her face, sated at the fact that she has proven she is truly better than Elizabeth...even now.


Elizabeth Rose: "This isn't right….I don't understand. This doesn't make sense. I don't understand.


???" What can be may still be."


Elizabeth lay there frozen at the sound of the voice. She looked up from her supine position to behold the Leader of Eternal, who stood above her, her eyes drilling a hole through Elizabeth. Kere's voice was Familiar but different... It was… beautiful and melodic in nature, yet menacing and horrible all at once. Elizabeth knew what this was about....and it wasn't anything she'd like to deal with...but no matter how much she wished it, no matter how much she willed it, no matter how much she wanted it, she couldn't wake up. Keres has listened. Keres have heard


Elizabeth Rose: "I don't want to hear it."


Keres: "What you wish, or do not wish for, does not concern me, Sister. You were told to stay away from Gabrielle; she is a link to your past self that you needed to cut out, yet you choose to ignore this...So I felt you needed to see the fruits of your labour."


Keres gestured idly around her to the defeated Elizabeth and the victorious Gabby.


With a grunt, Elizabeth picked herself back up from the ground, forcing through the pain of going through a gruelling "match" or at least made to experience the feeling of doing so to face off with Keres.


Elizabeth Rose: "So what? You don't think I can beat her? You don't think I can't handle Gabby. I can beat her! I'm better than her, I'm-!


Elizabeth froze, unable to even finish her sentence, all because of a chill on her shoulder. If she were to peer over to her left, she would see the pale, ghastly hand of Keres on her shoulder. A freezing chill grazed her ear. There was a breath, an insanely cold breath, next to her face that drew in the whispers of Keres in her ear.


Keres: "No… Shh… it's all right. It's all right. I know why you did it; you're afraid she's right. I understand... I'll always understand you.


The sensation of physical affection from Keres, was enough for even the mouthy Elizabeth to pause; trying to brush the moment off, she swatted away the hand on her shoulder that struck her dumb.


Elizabeth Rose: "Ok, I get the idea; consider the message received; I gotta fall in line. And I will, but this one time? This one thing? Winter Wasteland? It has to be for me. As long as SHE'S here, I can't give my all to you. I can't be all I can be if I'm forever in that goddamn shadow."


Keres: To whom are you trying to prove this? Yourself? Me? The world? All the above?


Elizabeth didn't answer; she never really considered it.


Keres: You have nothing to prove to me, Elizabeth; I invited you into my world and family. That is an honour I don't bestow on many. You're too sure of yourself to have to prove it to yourself. So, I can only assume this match is for the benefit of everyone else. Those who scream how much they want Lizzie Rose to return. That Elizabeth Rose doesn't amuse them as much as Lizzie Rose did


Elizabeth Rose, I don't want to hear this.


Keres: People rarely do like to hear the truth. Here, let me show you something…


And just like that... hands begin to grasp her body, holding her in a tight bear hug from behind. And in a quick movement, she is whisked away to the inner depths of her mind. It is only a few seconds before she finds herself standing on solid ground again, whereas the arms release her and point out the scene before her. Right in front of her is a staircase, the one in the stands that leads to the food and merchandise areas of the building. Far below on the lower parts of the stairs, she sees… herself in the ring, wobbly, almost drunkenly covered in blood. It is here that Elizabeth has not only become a spectator to her own memory but has gotten a front-row seat to the replay.


Elizabeth Rose: This is my match with Gabby at Back In Business in Rio. Why have you brought me here?


Keres: I want you to watch very, very closely. Watch yourself, watch Gabby and especially, watch these fans.


Elizabeth takes these words to heart as she views herself in the ring, getting slammed full force into steel steps with an almighty THUD, causing her to flip over them.


Keres: You see it? Look very closely…


It all starts to begin in slow motion. Lizzie crumples in pain, holding her gut. The fans are going crazy. And just as Gabby picks her up… she notices a strange change in the fans behind her and Gabby. With every slow frame, their faces seemed to undergo some type of metamorphosis until, right at the crash, it all just peeled away. Right at the point where Gabby hits her with a chair, All these men and women who were cheering had completed their change. Their skin broke off like shattered glass, and what was left behind were some… unspeakable sights. These spectators in the stands, the oceans of fans, had seemingly shed their human images in a heartbeat, and what remained was the inner core that revealed dark, grotesque images of twisted, macabre faces. Each and every fan wore upon their face a demonic visage that seemed to rattle Elizabeth. These people… were monsters.


Keres: Do you see it, Elizabeth? Do you see it? Don't look away. This is important. ou had to be reminded because you're falling into old habits. These are the people to whom you seek to prove yourself. This is who they are. This is what you've always done, Elizabeth. You trust people, you believe the best in them...and they always hurt you and abandon you in the end. You cannot forget the pain, the misery they brought you.That SHE brought you. She made you push yourself, and she abandoned you in the end. THEY made you push yourself, and they boo'ed you in the end. You cannot be allowed to forget. This is why I brought you here. Have you forgotten?


Elizabeth Rose: I can't-


Keres "Look again."


Elizabeth Rose: "No."


Keres: "I said, look."


The memory was still playing in slow motion, with Rose and Keres surrounded by a sick army of cadavers, wraiths, and devils of all kinds. And yet, in Gabrielle, Elizabeth saw the same kind of change. She was beginning to undergo the same metamorphosis. The skin of her face rippled and blurred just as she was putting Lizzie in place for the double arm DDT and drilled her down to the ground at full force. Right at the moment of impact, Elizabeth saw it. Gabrielle's face shattered. The pieces of skin, muscle, and bone crumbled off his head. All Elizabeth saw was a grotesquerie, an evil form that resembled the true Gabrielle Mongormy. And it was this very image itself that Keres had tried to show Elizabeth this visage that could possibly be likened to the face of Lucifer himself. Elizabeth had no words. All she could do was look at the monster that had tortured her for years. She quivered. She feared. She froze.


Keres: "Elizabeth, have you had enough? Do you want it all to go away?"


Elizabeth nodded, and it all went away. No more monsters. No more boogeymen. No more ghosts and ghouls and ghastly images. Like in the beginning, Keres took everything away, all the fear and pain. She found himself right back in the middle of the ring where she first found herself.


Keres: There. You're safe. Safe, for now. But you know what you have to do. You know why I showed you this.


The lights in the dream arena slowly began to fade one by one. She could hear the voice, speaking once again in Keres's voice, that slowly began to fade back into that soundless thought in her mind that she was all so familiar with. And all was quiet. Dark. Nothing. And Elizabeth was alone once again. Slowly, very slowly, she attempted to open her eyes, forcing reality to come back into focus.

-----------

The video opened up to the sight of a dark, empty room, consumed almost completely by pitch black. Mere moments in, a click is heard, and a single light turns on, hanging from the ceiling with a crude, simple lampshade that focuses the majority of the light downwards towards what appears to be an empty table beneath it and behind it? A grimy, dirty mirror. The setting evokes an interrogation room, though all that's missing is someone either to play the interrogator or to be interrogated. That detail very quickly fills itself out as the familiar image of Elizabeth Rose steps in from the side, stepping up to the table right at the very edge of the light, casting just enough upon him to be seen while maintaining just enough shadow to obscure some of his details from view. In particular, her head is bowed down just slightly, preventing him from locking eyes with the camera.


Elizabeth Rose: "They'll say it, started at Winter Wasteland.


Elizabeth pauses to take a draft from her now all-too-familiar cigarette.


Elizabeth Rose: "Notice the turn of phrase; "They'll say it STARTED. Nothing that's going to end at Winter Wasteland is going to be worth remembering—particularly the career of Gabrielle Montgomery.


Elizabeth pauses as she idly runs a finger on the table, seemingly deep in thought.


Elizabeth Rose: "I have regrets. A lot of them, actually. Chief among them was being the last to realize just how special I was. When I first came here, I had doubts. I had anxieties. I have been doubted my entire life, and that has imprinted on me. To the point where I needed a new family to realize who and what I am. Far too late. See, on another day, at another time, there's an Elizabeth Rose who knew exactly who she was the second she stepped into an FWA ring and within months of her debut. They would be the FWA World Heavyweight champion. But by pure chance, I grew up in FWA, gaslighted and manipulated by a woman who wanted to make sure her cub didn't grow up to be a mountain lioness.


It's at this point that Elizabeth finally makes eye contact with the camera.


Elizabeth Rose: It's only thanks to my sisters that I see that I've always had the ability to be capable of more. More than anyone else on this roster, more than so-called 'Hall of Famers', and certainly more than Gabrielle Montgomery, and I should have proven that at this point...but then ....SHE showed up.


Elizabeth can't help but laugh despite herself as if she can't believe the nerve of her opponent.


Elizabeth Rose: My one last loose end, my last piece of connection I had to Lizzie Rose waltz through the door, and that's a problem because I can't fully focus, I can't concentrate on who I need to be as long as a relic of my past insists upon intruding on my future.


Elizabeth turns her head behind her back as if noticing, for the first time, the mirror hanging up against the wall.


Elizabeth Rose: The SECOND she showed up on that stage at Lights Out? I should have kneecapped her. I should have killed off that weakness right there and then. I should have eliminated that issue right there. But I didn't; I guess you can say that was my last show of kindness towards Gabby. I tried to tell her to stay away and get out while she could. I tried to do what my sisters said. I tried to ignore her, but you can't handle it when the spotlight isn't on you, can you, Gabby?


A deep, remorseful sigh escapes her as she turns back to the camera.


Elizabeth Rose: I should have realized that when you ignore cancer, it just grows; the only way to get rid of it? It is to kill it off.


She pauses for a moment and places her hand on her heart.


Elizabeth Rose: "So I want to thank Gabby. I am truly indebted to your pride, your vanity, and your desperation because I see now as long as you're around. I'll always be weak. I'll always be in your shadow. I'll always be in a cage of my own weakness, and the only way I can erase Lizzie Rose well and truly? Is to erase YOU."


At this point, Elizabeth moves towards the table, towards the mirror.


Elizabeth Rose: And I won't lie, I am flustered; I have been conflicted, but that's just because I genuinely didn't think I'd ever see you again. I thought you'd have a sense of shame and never come back. But somehow I'm glad you did because all you've done since you arrived is prove my point. Y'see, it's easy for you to come out here, put on a brave face, become a pathetic version of what you were, and still have people eating out of your hands. Because that's what you do, you smile, and you have the world eating out of your hands. You've made a pretty good life for yourself out of it but at the end of the day… Outside of that glamour, that charisma we have, there's an elephant in the room, and that's an elephant: you're past your prime. You can't fight as well as you could even five years ago. And me? I haven't even reached my peak yet, and I'm better than you. Hell, I was better than you two years ago, when I was a shy, insecure kid in Rio at Back In Business, beating you. I was better than you when I first showed up at ground zero. Hell, I was better than you BEFORE you ever knew my name when I was wrestling women ten times as good as you, women you'd never know because you're blinkered. Because while you tried so hard to make yourself a name in Hollywood name. I was bleeding on every mat, fighting on every street corner in Brooklyn and telling myself that someday I would be in a position… like this. You got no FUCKING HEART gabby.


Sudden emotion suddenly explodes from the normally composed Elizabeth Rose as she BANGS her fist on the wall; she takes a few deep breaths to compose herself as if embarrassed, and an emotional response escapes her.


Elizabeth Rose: "You've got no heart, not anymore. You have no fighting spirit. You have no ambition. You have NOTHING. But I've just found mine. You think I'm someone you have to save; you don't see what I actually am; I'm the bullet that killed Franz Ferdinand. The architect for change. When Winter Wasteland rolls around, you're just the first victim of Elizabeth Rose, and your blood will be the foundation on which Eternal will build EVERYTHING.


She tilts her head up momentarily, looking back at the mirror once again, rubbing her hands together.


Elizabeth Rose: Second verse. Same as the first, right Gabby? I'd like to say something about this being an epic rivalry that started three years ago. That Winter Wasteland is another chapter in the epic story between two warriors brought together via fate, tied together via destiny to fight forever…..But let's be real. These matches always meant more to me than they did to you. Imma right? I mean, The first match between us? Lizzie Rose vs Gabreile at Back In Business? You never wanted that? You said I was beneath you. The fact that you fought me at Back In Business means that you treated me as a blight on your record. I had to drag you kicking and screaming to even come close to you showing me respect, and I'll be honest. That broke my heart. To know someone that you looked up to for so long... Didn't really give a shit. But I still beat you despite all that...and now, we've swamped roles, but let's not get it twisted. When I challenged you the first time around, it was because I respected you. This time? You don't respect me. Hell, if we're being honest? You don't even want to fight me all that much. What is the reason you want this match so bad?


Elizabeth leans forward as if wanting to make sure this particular point is felt loud and clean.


Elizabeth Rose: It's because I'm all you got left.


A cruel smirk comes across Elizabeth's features.


Elizabeth Rose: I look at you, and I don't see a fighter; I see a pathetic, desperate woman. Your Hollywood career is in the gutter. You're...what? Twice? Or three times divorced. Your personal life is a mess, to the point where the only way you can pay the bills is through degrading yourself with porn, and just how soulless and depressing must that have felt, and then you saw me doing well in FWA, and you saw a chance to go back to the only thing in your life to give you meaning. I'm not your opponent; I'm your goddamn mid-life crisis.


A scraping sound is heard as Elizabeth pulls back a chair from her side of the table. With enough space placed for her, she takes a seat, entering the full glow of the tiny space of light as he does so. For a moment, she lingers. A moment more, she turns her head to the side. And then she looks up, making eye contact with the camera and flashing a curious smile as she does so


Elizabeth Rose: Oh, was that too real for you? Did I cross some line? "Hey, I'm just playing your game. The hard truth, right? That's what you were doing on Fallout, right? Pointing the truth at me? It's not nice when your facade crumbles, and I see you for exactly what you are.


Elizabeth leans back in her seat, placing her fingers together as she does so. Her brow furrows and her eyes focus forward, not penetrating into any outward object in her vision but more so examining inner thoughts. Her mouth and hands were slightly ajar, her body laying completely still aside from the slight glimpse of her tongue brushing against the inside of his bottom lip. After a momentary deliberation upon her thoughts, Elizabeth continues.


Elizabeth Rose: "Yeah, it's not nice, is it? There's something undeniably unsettling about it. Never has anyone ever felt any comfort in the feeling of being seen, but even as a feeling, it's different. The paranoia, the simple idea that someone SEES you. To have a person constantly looking over their shoulder, constantly lingering over cracks in the door or shadows past the window, wondering if any unwanted visitors may be spying on them, seeing things they aren't meant to see, learning things they aren't meant to know. That? That is just simple fear. It's cognitive and mental, and no matter how much you may think someone sees you, you never really know if it's true or not. That feeling alone can drive people insane. It could all be in their heads, and people would still lose sleep over it….Trust me, I would know... But what if you took that fear… and made it real? What if you went beyond the simple thought of someone watching you and stared directly into the whites of their eyes? That is when instinctual behaviour comes into play. We have learned across several millennia to be afraid of unwanted guests. Our ancestors feared seeing eyes in the bushes because what it meant to them was the very real possibility that they could be staring their own murderers right in the face. That feeling has never gone away, even past thousands of generations, because somewhere deep down, no matter what walls or windows might be between us, we still know it's true. The danger is still real. We are the prey; they are the predator. We are the prisoners; they are the warden, and we are forced to succumb to their every whim. We are trapped, helpless, and vulnerable, all because they know us, but we do not know them. The eyes are the windows to the soul, yet theirs are imperceptible, while ours are cast wide open, and that is what scares us. We don't know what they can do to us. We don't know what they intend to do to us, but they do, and they know exactly how they're going to do it to us, and it is that disparity of knowledge that can turn the greatest security into the greatest fear."


Elizabeth leans forward in her chair, resting her arms against the table while still keeping his fingers pressed together. This brought her further into the light that hung above him but also directly under it. The light hung upon her brow, causing her eyes to be cast in shadow. Framed in the shade, the intensity of his gaze stood out more strongly than before. She peered directly into the camera, this time penetrating into a hit. Her focus held steady and unflinching, and it was difficult to deny her stare, demonstrating the very same phenomenon that Elizabeth herself was explaining just a few seconds ago. Staring back did nothing. Her eyes revealed nothing of herself other than the feeling that for all the things that one could not read about her, he could read those exact things about you.


Elizabeth Rose "I will give credit to Gabby.. Her understanding of fear over the years is incredible. With just a simple gaze, she has accomplished the one thing that so many have been able to do. For years, she has managed to deliver real fear. More than any sort of cryptic story or display of strength, all she has to do is show someone the whites of his eyes to get them to cower. For this, Gabby has my respect. She is formidable; I'll give her that. Gabby has earned her rep. And between you and me, I'd say it's better to take the devil you know than the devil you don't."


Elizabeth parted her hands, grasped her chin with one hand, and pushed it to
the side, cracking her neck before she looked back at the camera.


Elizabeth Rose: "Gabby is not only a threat, but she is a threat everyone respects, whether consciously or otherwise, merely based on that one concept that she seems to understand more than anyone. All she has to do is look at you straight, just to let you know that she sees everything. She sees me. She sees my fears, my doubts, my insecurities, my flaws, my vulnerabilities, my weaknesses. The greatest weapon she has is the fact she's in my head...and we all know it. People know that she can see the chinks in my armour, that she can see the threads she needs to get the reaction she wants. Hell, she proved that on Fallout, she would take advantage of these things without a second thought. She has lived up to the danger, time and time again, and she has made a living out of disintegrating her enemy's confidence and preying upon their weakness; Gabby tells the world to fear the creature watching them from the shadows because it is real, it is capable, and more than anything else, it is malicious. Gabby has that magical ability to look them all in the eye, and they see all the things they didn't want to see reflected in her eyes, and they crumble because of it. And for as much of a blessing that may seem to be, it has become her downfall. With all eyes on her, she is slowly being exposed, and it's only a matter of time before we completely peel apart the enigma and reveal the weaknesses she has been hiding from us."


Elizabeth smiles at her statement, her lips taking upon them a sinister crook from beneath the shadow of his own brow. Before long, however, she begins to tilt his head up, revealing her face more towards the light. The angle allows it to show her features in full, and this, combined with the lightly lifted chin, changes the context of his smile from malevolence to confidence. She is no longer looking up through the angle of a devious brow,


Elizabeth Rose: " The predator's greatest weapon is in knowing its prey is unprepared, but oh, how tragic is it that so many of us began to prepare for Gabby the moment her name became relevant to us? She is hollow and fragile, a scarecrow without a brain. And just like a scarecrow, people feared her from a distance, the menacing creature in the dark staring right back at them, but once someone decides to come closer and see her for what she really is, all they need to do is breathe in her general direction for him to fall apart. I've got Gabby all figured out, but she's so narrow-minded that she doesn't even notice. She casts a long shadow, completely ignorant to the fact that rave light has caught her and that shadow is gone, and now all we see is the scared, pitiful little creature that casts that shadow in the first place. But if she wishes to live in willful ignorance, that's fine. She only has a few more days left to live in her little fantasy of being relevant in FWA because once she comes and looks me in the eye? At Winter Wasteland? She will have no choice but to come face-to-face with the reality that he was never able to handle. Because the truth is? Gabby's worst fear? Is this?"


Elizabeth suddenly reaches forward, grabs the mirror on the wall, and points its reflective surface at the camera.


Elizabeth Rose: Come on, Goddess. Tell me, what do you see? I'm right here in the light, plain as day. I've got nothing to hide. If the eyes really are the windows to the soul, then I'm giving you a full invite. Look into my eyes; tell me what you see. Is it fear? Is it doubt? Is it worry? Or is it something completely different? For someone who's made a career thus far of seeing through people, you have the sad, unfortunate fate of having to end up looking at me, and this time…you don't see doubt. You see someone who is indestructible. You look at me, and you see someone who YOU don't want to see, and that's someone you couldn't kill. It's a reality you can't face, a truth you can't accept, but in the end, the truth is the truth, whether you like it or not; in fact, consider this my warning to you, Gabby For just one night, I suggest you close your eyes and look away, because if you look me in the eye, you won't like what you see. What you will find when you look at me is the glamour you cast. The power you THINK you have over me? They're all shallow and paper-thin. All you ever had was the mystery of a curtain, and year after year, the only thing you could do was hope that no one would ever be brave enough to tear that curtain down. Me? I have no curtains because I have nothing to hide. You won't be afraid of me because you think you're above me. When we stand against each other at winter wasteland, You will look at me and realize that I am the real embodiment of fear, not because I'm vague or cryptic. You ain't dealing with Keres here! Because I am real, I exist, and I make things happen that should not happen. Because no matter how many times I get dropped. I keep coming back. I Do. Not. Break. When you look at me, you will see a woman ready to slay her biggest demon. I'm the one no one notices. Now, I'm the one in the shadows. And we can just add it to the growing list of great ironies in this match that I am the girl with nothing to hide who has been wandering in the shadows, going against the woman who never wanted to come out of the dark. You lived your life with your eyes wide open. You are always watching, always observing, and nothing escapes you. But for as perceptive as you are, I wonder… do you see Winter Wasteland coming? Because I promise you. The wrestling world won't. And once we meet in that ring and you have to make that decision of understanding who it is you're up against, let me give you this piece of advice. When we meet face-to-face, I suggest you turn your head and look away. Don't even dare to look me in the eye because if you do? It'll be the last thing you ever see."


SMASH-! With as much force she could muster, she throws the mirror on the ground, where it shatters into a million pieces; she considers it for a moment and idly tosses her used cigarette bud on the ground on top of it. She deliberately stomps on it with his foot and walks off.
​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

“Reading the Riot Act! To Answer For One’s Crimes!!!”

It’s that time of the year yet again. That time where snowflakes dance and fall from the heavens, where deep crimsons, ivory whites, and verdant greens become the colors of the season as bells ring and cash registers ding, as people rush to and fro to prepare for the holidays and get everything in order.

The world is always in a constant flux of ill tempers and people’s better angels, but the sentiment of this time of year is one of gratitude towards the year that was while looking forward to the year to come. It’s a time of reflection, a chance to unpack from the year’s rigors and prepare oneself for the next journey ahead.

But here, in Precinct 64, a chance at respite seems like a long shot.

The precinct, a long-neglected station that some have thought would be better shut down, still persists in a city where other stations thrive, but oftentimes on the back of bribes and corruption. Precinct 64, despite being mocked, still exists as a bastion where officers and detectives still hold fast to the oath they swore when they joined the force.
Maybe that’s why, when many other precincts have closed down for the holiday weekend, Precinct 64 still remains active, even as the holiday creeps ever closer and many of its staff are getting things in order before heading off to spend time with their friends and family.

Two detectives, the eccentric Detective Howser with his large-brimmed hat hiding most of his face and the stoic veteran Detective Truman whose eyes can pierce through steel, are seated at their desks rifling through arrest reports, witness testimonies, and court filings. This duo had worked separately in different precincts, and despite the fact that they have very different approaches when it came to police work and investigations? Circumstances and a spike in criminal activity in the city have brought them together here in Precinct 64 and they’ve proven to be as effective a duo as they were as solitary officers.

It hasn’t all been successful, however. New criminals utilizing every low-bar trick in the book have managed to slip through their grasp and continue their thievery and hooliganism, ruining the city for good, honest, earnest citizens. And others, more established and notorious thugs, continue to try and impose their will.

The fight against crime is a never-ending one. Often, it’s a thankless task, especially when the scum of the vile and venomous criminal underbelly are glorified and deified. But Howser and Truman persist, because the city is worth saving even when the city doesn’t always love them back.

Regardless, the detectives are looking forward to a bit of a break before it’s back to the grind. However, fate is a fickle dame at the best of times. And this season has a way of throwing a blizzard that could overwhelm even the most hard-boiled of detectives.

“Make way, make way! Perps on parade!”

The call of the dispatcher gets the attention of Howser and Truman as both men turn their heads to the entrance of the precinct. A couple of uniformed officers are escorting some men in handcuffs through the precinct towards the interrogation rooms.

One is a scruffy looking hoodlum, whose face is a canvas of bruises and his eyes are blood-shot. He looks strung out, the bright fluorescent lights of the precinct of From a sleepless night, a drug-fueled bender, or both?

Another is a dark-skinned young man in a weather-beaten hoodie, a fierce countenance in his eyes that tells the story of a monster who’s all too familiar with and who was made and forged in the penal system.

And the third looms large above the other two. He, too, wears a hood, but one pulled up that covers all but the sneer from his lips. However, it’s clear to Howser and Truman that that hood is doing more than hiding this criminal’s face.

As the three perps are being roughly led to interrogation, Truman gives a quick aside glance to Howser.

“It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Oh, indeed. It’s them, all right. Minus one, of course. Three killers, three thieves, three bottom-feeders who live in filth and thrive in scum.”

“Hmph. Rather poetic way of saying they’re a bunch of assholes who’ve made it their lives’ missions to one-up one another in being an unrepentant prick.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“No, not really.”

“Hmm. I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. Shall we, then? I suppose we have some conversations to have and perhaps some confessions to drag out.”

Both Howser and Truman stand up, file away the reports they had been trying to wrap up before heading home for the holiday. As the two start to walk past their fellow officers’ desks, Truman speaks up.

“Are you sure you want to get involved? Knowing how much of a hard case these bastards like to pretend to be, we might be here for a while. Might miss the party.”

Howser shrugs.

“They’ve done grievous harm to us, and it should be answered in kind, should it not?”

“No, you’re right. I completely agree. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Howser chuckles at that as the duo heads to the captain’s office. The man sitting at the desk is a slightly slovenly, probably drunk man in an ill-fitting suit. His phone is ringing, but he seems rather uninterested in answering it as the calls continue to go to voicemail. Instead, he’s busy chatting to someone on his cell phone as the detectives get to the tail end of the conversation.

“So, ah…you gonna wear the red lace? Yeah, yeah, you know I’m good for it, baby. Same time? Yeah, fantastic. I can’t wait to lick…”

The captain cuts himself off as he finally notices that he’s not alone. His already puffy cheeks now have a telltale red flush to them as he quickly stammers:

“H-hey, honey? I’m, ah…I’m going to have to call you back, bye!”

The captain immediately ends what was turning out to be a very saucy call as he fumbles the smartphone, barely catching it before it falls to the floor.

None of this surprises Howser and Truman. Precinct 64 has a sterling reputation, for certain. But that has little to do with the man at the helm of the station. The captain’s proclivities were well-known, and both detectives had their suspicions that he was probably on the take with some of the criminal elements in the city…or if not them, that he was just a pawn of the corrupt mayor’s office.

Regardless, that didn’t particularly matter to Howser or Truman as the veteran spoke up.

“Hey. The boys brought in three perps. Howser and I have had our problems with them for a while. So, we’re going to interrogate them, see if we can get them to break. I assume you don’t have a problem with that.”

“Hmm? Perps? When did we collar some perps? Wait…”

The captain’s eyes narrow at Truman and Howser as he subconsciously grinds his teeth.

“You mean ‘those’ perps? Boys, I’ve told you before. The mayor has a soft spot for those thugs for reasons he hasn’t exactly bothered to explain. Hell, he lets two of them do whatever the fuck they want despite the number of complaints we get. Unless we get them dead to rights, they’re just going to be out on the streets again tomorrow. And I’m not about to have my holiday ruined because you two got some kind of grudge you think you can settle by sweating them a bit.”

“Then go home. We certainly don’t need you here.”

“Hey! Watch your tongue, Howser!”

“He’s right, though. Besides…Truth be told? We didn’t have the evidence we had or the testimonies we’ve been gathering. We can nail these bastards to the wall, Cap. All we need is time in interrogation. No sweat off your balls.”

The captain cocks an eyebrow. He’s not particularly fond of his detectives’ dismissive attitude…but maybe it’s the fact that Howser and Truman are his best officers, maybe it’s the spirit of the season. Or maybe it’s just curiosity to see if they can make good on their confidence.

“...Fine. Whatever. You two think you can manage it? Then go. Grab the reports and get those punks to squeal.”

There’s not a word spared. Not a moment wasted as Truman and Howser turn and leave the office, their captain annoyed at the dismissiveness. He rummages through his desk and pulls out a flask, taking a long sip of cheap whiskey as he rolls his eyes.

“Fucking white hats. Thinking they can save the goddamn world…”

*****

Suspect #1
Alias: Legacy
Purported Crimes: Assault and Battery, Grand Theft and Larceny, Possession of Drugs, and Drug Trafficking

The suspect, who’s been assigned the moniker Legacy, sits in his interrogation room, eyes darting and fingers twitching. The bright light illuminates the bruising around his face and arms, and it’s apparent by the way Legacy is shifting in the metal chair that even more bruising is hidden by his bulky, ill-fitting and stained clothing.

There’s a massive one-way mirror in the interrogation room, and we see Detective Howser standing on the opposite side, silently observing with his massive hat drawn down low while Legacy can only see his own reflection. The silence is uncomfortable until the door opens.

In strides Detective Truman, a folder tucked underneath his arm and two cups of coffee in his hands. He has a seat opposite Legacy and slowly passes one of the cups down.

“Here. Drink that. You look like you could use it.”

Legacy, still twitching a bit, looks at the cup of coffee somewhat suspiciously before eventually grabbing it. He takes a weary sip before taking a much larger gulp, despite how hot it is as evident by the rising steam.

“Take it easy, kid. You won’t do either of us any good if you burn your throat before we’ve had a chance to talk.”

Legacy gulps down the mouthful of cheap coffee before setting the styrofoam cup down and, in as much as he possibly can, gives the detective a dirty look.

“Ey, you’ll be wastin’ your time. Man’s not about to tell ya nuthin’, pigman. Man wants my phone call and my lawyer.”

Truman stops himself from rolling his eyes at this boy’s…”choice” in dialect. Still, the veteran gumshoe simply chuckles at that as he takes a sip of his own coffee and opens up the file he has on Legacy.

“Yeah, I suppose you would want that. Though how much it’d do you any good is another question altogether. Especially considering what we’ve got on you and your partner.”

The mention of a “partner” causes a noticeable twitch from the corner of Legacy’s eye. Howser sees that as clear as day, and he smiles as he sees that look of recognition on Truman’s face.

“Fuckin’ bullshit, pigman. Man knows you got nuthin’, else you wouldn’t be wastin’ time on this chin waggin’. So why don’t you get me a phone and…”

“Your partner gave you those bruises, didn’t he?”

Truman’s words cut Legacy off, like a knife to the ribs, sucking the air out of Legacy’s puffed-up rebuttal. As if to accentuate that point, Truman pulls photos out from the folder and lines them out in front of Legacy, pointing to each one.

“We got these pictures from a security camera outside the Meltdown Tavern. Bold of you two to come back there after you punks managed to escape with the gold and dodge getting locked up and sent back to the Northern General Wayward Correctional Facility. But, we all knew that this little ‘alliance’ you and Vicious had wasn’t ever going to last.”

“Lasted long ‘nough to pull one over you pigmen.”

“Yeah. Admittedly, it wasn’t Howser’s and my proudest moment. But then again, if you had any shame, it wouldn’t have been that proud for you, either. You survived, kid. You would have been put in the ground had you not pulled out every dirty trick in the book and Vicious decided not to flip that switch. And how does he reward you, hmm? How does your partner-in-crime show his goddamn gratitude?”

Truman gets up from his chair as he walks over to where Legacy is sitting, as the young hoodlum fidgets in his chair. Getting close and leaning over his shoulder, close enough that Legacy can feel the detective’s breath on his ear, as Truman points to the photos that show Vicious and Legacy getting into a shouting match, and the first sucker punch delivered by the violent thug that had but weeks earlier allied to pull what some might consider the heist of the century.

“How’d it feel, hmm? You’ve been doing everything you can to make it work. You did something nobody would’ve thought possible, and got away with not just your life but a prize men have killed for. But that’s not what Vicious wanted. He took it simply because he was more than happy to take it over your lifeless body. And he wanted more. And took an opportunity from you with a cheap shot, beating you down like a dog. Or would you prefer the term…’bitch?’"

Legacy’s anger flare, driving out the pain or the drug-fueled haze as he tries to lunge at Truman. However, he’s been handcuffed to the table, which has been securely bolted to the concrete floor. Even if he was free, Truman has seen this all before and is quick to back off, putting some distance between him and the hoodlum. The veteran detective even laughs at this as Legacy tries to reach him, but is unable to.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to add “Attempted Assault of a Police Officer” to the list of your crimes, don’t we?”

“Ey, fuck you, pigman!”

“Why? Why the hell are you mad at me, boy? What the fuck did you think was going to happen? W-what? Did you think that you’d win over Vicious with your ‘sparkling’ personality? Maybe you thought that your marble-mouthed gargle would wear Vicious down to where he considered it charming. But despite the fact that you’re high on something and you’re concussed beyond reason, you literally cannot be that stupid!

“Vicious made it very fucking clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you, and the only thing he wanted from you? He’s gotten. You were USED, kid. Used like a prostitute looking for that next fix. The only difference between you and a prostitute? Prostitutes recognize that they’re getting fucked and they’re the ones who get paid in the end. What’s it feel like…being screwed, beaten, and abused and having to watch the bastard who did it end up with all the glory?”

Legacy snarls, but says nothing. His attempts to break free of the handcuffs and bolted-down table continue, but there’s not nearly as much fight as in the first attempt.

Truman re-adjusts his tie as he takes a slow walk around the interrogation room. Howser knows this ploy all too well…his partner smells blood in the water and is circling his prey like a hungry great white. Legacy, for his part, eventually stops struggling and sits back down, his face twisted into an amalgamation of indignation and the pouting face of a toddler being scolded.

“...Nuthin’ you say matters, pigman. Man’s still got your number and I ain’t ‘bout to give you nuthin’.”

“The flaccid response of a man who has seen the Truth and refuses to accept it. Ultimately, whether you try to plea bargain or not isn’t that important to me. Your crimes are well-known, and you and Vicious stole something you had no right to possess. And at the end of the day, you’re fucked no matter what. You’re the used Kleenex to Vicious’s blatant masturbation and that’s all you’ll ever be.

“So now’s the time you have to consider what’s important. Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news to you, but that rich uncle of yours? He isn’t shit. No lawyer worth a damn is going to want to touch your case as long as your wagon’s hitched to Vicious.”

After circling the perp, Howser knows what’s next. That final dagger to the heart.

Truman walks up and puts a pad of paper and a pen in front of Legacy. He again gets uncomfortably close and practically growls in Legacy’s ear.

“You know that you’re screwed. You stole something right from under my nose and you HAVE to know that you’re going to need to pay up for that crime. The only question is how badly I’m going to have to nail you to the wall. Write a confession. Admit that you made a mistake in trusting Vicious and sell him out the same way he’s been selling you out ever since you two crossed paths. Because if you don’t? You’re going to get crucified. Howser and I will make sure that you get reamed in court harder than Vicious reamed you. I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that you steal nothing nor have the opportunity to own anything except for what the prison warden decides you get to keep in your six by eight hole in the wall.”

Legacy looks at the pen and paper, and the twisted look on his face suggests that he’s considering Truman’s words. Almost subconsciously, he massages the bruises on his neck, a violent reminder that his partner, the man he helped pull the heist of the century, beat him down like a dog because he wasn’t ready to share the glory.

Legacy looks up, his eyes meeting Truman’s…

And he spits in the detective’s face.

Truman’s eye twitches. A flash of rage and indignation. But it passes. And the detective simply wipes the loogie off with a handkerchief. He sighs as he walks away from Legacy, still handcuffed with nowhere to go.

“A prime example of the detrimental effects of drug abuse and post-concussion syndrome. Suit yourself, kid. But if you think anybody’s going to save you and you’re done being used by people? You clearly haven’t learned a damn thing. And I have to say…I wasn’t particularly looking forward to watching you get thrown into a cell and making sure your burnout, nepotistic trust-fund bitch ass would never see the light of day again?

“Well, let’s just say that it’s probably a good thing you went into crime. Nobody but the scum of the world would want anything to do with your utterly charmless ass.”

Legacy, incensed at this cop’s utter disrespect of him, tries to lunge again as he completely forgets that he’s trapped.

And not just trapped by the handcuffs.

But trapped by the poor decisions he’s made to get to this point.

The crimes he committed, hoping to find his place in the city.

The partnerships he chose to put his faith in.

All of it, everything that brought him from obscurity into the spotlight? All it’s done is made him a victim.

A victim of his own partner-in-crime.

A victim of his own shortsighted greed.

A victim…unable to save himself from the hand of justice reaching for his throat, ready to strangle him.

But Legacy can’t see it. And he continues to rant, rave and spit as if it will save him as Truman exits the interrogation room, and closes the door on the soon-to-be condemned young thug…

*****

Suspect #2
Alias: Vicious
Purported Crimes: Attempted Murder, Grand Theft and Larceny, Robbery, Extortion, Drug Trafficking

“You’re wasting your time, pig.”

“Hmph. A rather bold claim, considering we haven’t even begun to talk.”

Another interrogation room. Another perpetrator being grilled under the bright fluorescent lights, with the only thing standing out is the reflections in the one-way mirror.

The only difference this time? This time, it’s Truman behind the glass and Howser doing the interrogation.

Truman silently watches as he sips a fresh cup of coffee. There’s a certain sense of concern in the veteran detective’s body language. Howser, despite his eccentricities, is a world-class detective and interrogator, but things have not been great for him lately. Howser blamed himself for the botched sting operation that resulted in Vicious and Legacy completing their robbery and escaping into the city’s underbelly, and it’s been weighing heavily on the detective since then.

However, time and perspective have helped, and now? Howser’s interrogating the bastard that screwed him over with a cool resolve that would make an iceberg shiver.

Vicious, handcuffed to the secured table, puts on the mask of a man who’s in complete and utter control. A cocky smirk, the lean of a man who believes he has the world on a string. All accented by the look in his eyes of a violent, unrepentant monster who has no problems inflicting the same pain on the world that he believes the world inflicted upon him.

“You’re wasting your time. I got nothing to say to you.”

“Do you think that repeating yourself enough times will make reality what you want it to be, hmm? You do know WHY you’re here, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. You dipshits lost something valuable and you think you’re going to make me pay for your incompetence. I bet that’s why you’re in here talking to me instead of that fossil of a partner of yours, right? You’re wanting payback for me making you look like a bitch.”

“Kehahaha…”

That…was not the reaction Vicious was expecting. He keeps his emotions masked by that aura of bloated confidence, but Truman watching from behind the mirror cracks a small smile. It was faint, but the veteran could see that twitch in his lips.

Vicious is insulted that he wasn’t able to get Howser to rise to the obvious bait.

“Oh, spare me the dreadful droll that you’ve become accustomed to. Honestly, you did better keeping your mouth shut and just smashing others’ teeth down their throats. But, that’s always been your biggest flaw, hasn’t it? You, who’ve spent more than their fair share indulging in the hospitality of various penal systems. Letting your frustration boil and simmer into a stew of indignant victim mentality and unearned entitlement.”

“The fuck you say?”

“I’m sorry. Was that too fast for you? I keep forgetting that you never had a chance to finish your education properly due to the multitude of awful decisions you made. Very well, I’ll do you a small courtesy and repeat myself slowly so that you can keep up.

“You…are…an…entitled…brat.”

The veneer of confidence vanishes from Vicious’s face as he struggles against the table he’s handcuffed to. He slams his free hand onto the table and glares at Howser.

“Entitled brat? Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?! You don’t know me, pig. You don’t know what I had to do to survive, the shit I had to…”

“ENOUGH. I know full well your past, your history, the world you grew up in. It’s not as if you haven’t made it painfully obvious every time you have a free second to speak that you grew up disadvantaged. But I have neither the time, the patience, nor the desire to listen to you regurgitate the same gods-damned story once again as if that excuses the choices you’ve made in the here and now.”

Vicious looks stunned. Looks as if he can’t believe that this detective, this fancy-speaking asshole that he’s made a fool of, has the audacity to speak to him with that dismissive tone.

But he is silenced, as Howser stands up and opens his folder and presents reports, photos, and testimonies outlining the various crimes that Vicious is accused of. Calmly, firmly, and without an inkling of reservation, Howser begins the dissection.

“Nobody cares, Vicious. Nobody gives a damn that you ‘had’ to join a gang, that you ‘had’ to push drugs because you were afraid of going hungry or without. Truth be told, there is a small part of me that empathizes with the situation your younger self was forced to endure in. But here’s the minor bit that you refuse to accept.

“Everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING bad that has ever happened to you is due solely to the poor decisions that YOU made. That you chose. Your time spent in prison, that mark on your record, the indignities you suffered? It’s because you CHOSE a path that would eventually lead you to those same indignities. And the worst part of all of this is that, instead of LEARNING from your stupidity, you continue to act like that same young cretin that allowed the world to decide when and how he breaks bad. You think that behavior deserves to be rewarded? That the world owes you something because you foolishly chose a path that led to suffering? Spare me the idiocy, Vicious. Nobody gives a damn about what you think you’re owed.

“Now, if you’re done throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled child, and are done deluding yourself into thinking that you can victimize me like you did that strung-out nincompoop you were working with during that sting, then SIT DOWN and let’s discuss how badly you’re screwed.”

Howser is calm as he sits back down.

Vicious is fuming.

He wants to throttle this man, this insect that refused to stay down when he made a fool out of him. Where is this confidence coming from? Why wouldn’t he just give up already?

Regardless, Vicious sits down as he takes a deep breath. That furor subsides as the criminal puts the mask of confidence back on.

“None of this matters, you know. That shit you think I stole? Doesn’t really mean anything to me.”

“Oh, I know.”

“But maybe, if I did steal it, I might just keep it. If nothing else than to piss you off.”

“How utterly charming. Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just rambling to make yourself feel better about having to spend the rest of your life behind bars due to the mistakes you made?”

“Keep talking. You and that self-righteous partner of yours have said the same shit since we crossed paths, and I don’t give a shit. You and I both know that nothing you throw at me is going to stick. I’ve got…”

“‘Friends in low places,’ yes, I’m well aware of your dealings with the shadow cabal. Anything else you want to add?”

Wait, what?

Vicious blinks as if he got hit with a cannonball, his face a twisted, contorted mess of confusion and indignation.

What did Howser just say?

Truman cracks a smile again, one that Howser replicates.

Truman knows that Howser has him by the balls, now.

Howser slides the folder over to Vicious, as Vicious is surprised to see that there’s photographs of his meetings with several shadowy members of the underbelly. Figures in masks, promising power and influence to the young thug. Before Vicious can reply, Howser chimes in.

“Oh, and yes…I should mention that there are multiple recordings of your conversations with them. Funny thing about dealing with shadows, Vicious. As much as anybody wants to keep things from seeing the light of day, it’s not so difficult to determine the truth if you know where to look.”

“This…this doesn’t prove shit.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But that’s not the point of this demonstration. See, the thing is…I’m guessing you think that those shadows will save you. That even if you get over your head, and allow me to be crystal clear about this? You are so far over your head that your belly is scraping the bottom of the ocean floor at this point considering how badly you’ve fumbled. But you seem to be under the impression that you can’t be touched, that whatever you can’t achieve with violence can be achieved by your connections.

“Newsflash, whelp! You’re alone. Your little shadow friends, the ones promising you the world? They will up and ABANDON you because you’re too stupid to be smart. Your partner, Legacy? He’s in another room right now, likely contemplating selling you out as payback for what you did to him. You’ve accomplished a lot with your criminal acts, but you’ve done it in the worst possible way. Not a single person in this city wants to see you succeed. The shadow cabal will string you along as long as you win. But the second you stumble? The second you get thrown into solitary confinement and have nobody left but the voices in your head to keep you company? They’ll move on to the next patsy. Legacy will do unto you what you’ve done unto him. And not a single soul left in this city will ever look at you as some kind of worthwhile hero or nightmare to be afraid of…

“...They’ll stop thinking of you at all. Just another young man, lost in the cracks of society, never to be thought about again.”

“You’re lying.”

Howser simply shrugs.

“You’re LYING!”

“What did we just say about repeating things? It doesn’t make what you wish to be a reality. You’ve committed great crimes, young man. You’ve deceived, stolen, and tormented so many in the vain pursuit of glory. You’ve used your past as an excuse for your abhorrent actions. And what alliances you could’ve had or think you have? Either you ruined them for your own vanity…or they were never real to begin with."

Howser stands up and grabs the photos in front of Vicious, swapping them out for pictures and witness testimonies of his thievery and his brutal beatdown of his partner. He takes one of the pictures, heads over to the wall, and pins it with a massive thud.

“I’m going to enjoy watching as the world you thought was yours burns around you, and chokes you out with the smoke.”

Howser turns to walk away, but Vicious, somewhat feebly, croaks out.

“What kind of deal can I get if I make a confession? If I give you Legacy on a platter?”

Howser turns to face Vicious again. Vicious, all the bluster gone from his face, just looks at Howser with tired, desperate eyes.

Truman sees this and simply chuckles. It wasn’t ever a matter of dragging a confession out of Vicious. It was simply getting him to recognize how many bridges he’s burned, and realizing what bridges remained were rotted and rickety.

Howser walks over to Vicious and, using a handcuff key, frees the thug from his bondage. There’s a moment where Vicious thinks about taking a swing at the detective, but…even that wouldn’t save him in the end.

“So…what am I going to get if I sell out Legacy? Do I get to walk free?”

Howser, head tilted quizzically, simply laughs.

“KEHAHAHA! KEHAHAHA!”

Vicious is shocked. Why? Why is he not taking the deal? Why is he LAUGHING as if the offer he just made was the most absurd thing he’s ever heard?

WHY ISN’T THIS PIG GIVING HIM A CHANCE TO SAVE HIS NECK?

Vicious doesn’t move from his seat as he pleads with Howser to stop laughing and answer him. But Howser does nothing. He just…walks away. As Howser reaches the door, Vicious gets up to try and stop him from leaving, but the officer outside points his gun at the criminal, forcing him to back out.

Vicious finally realizes that he’s well and truly screwed.

He’s pissed off the wrong people.

And there’s no escaping his punishment in the end.

All that’s left…is the mocking laughter of Howser. The soundtrack of the end of his dreams of power…

*****

Suspect #3
Alias: Hood
Purported Crimes: Assault and Battery, Public Indecency, Extortion, Bribery, Theft

Howser can’t help but find this silent staredown between Truman and long-time rival Hood utterly fascinating from behind the one-way mirror. Unlike with Legacy and Vicious, this isn’t two hardboiled detectives cracking the soft eggs of a couple young upstarts thinking that they own the world.

Hood is a different beast altogether. Arrogant, much like the young thugs, but unlike them? Much of his arrogance has been earned.

Still…not all of it.

Truman and Hood remain locked in a staredown, the detective’s steely gaze meeting the hidden eyes behind the drawn-up hoodie. It’s a standoff, each man almost daring the other to be the first to blink and say something.
Minutes pass in silence. And eventually, someone finally breaks.

“You’re a fucking cunt, Truman.”

Truman can’t help but smile at the coarse, blunt statement as he takes the documents he laid out on the table from Hood’s case file, neatly stacks them up, and puts them back in the folder and closes it. The utter nonchalance that he does this with is a story in and of itself.

Truman thinks he has Hood dead-to-rights, and doesn’t need to bother with the evidence.

“Anything else you want to say? You were read your Miranda rights, so you know anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“As if I give a fuck. I don’t give a damn what you think you have on me. I don’t give two fucks about what crimes you want to accuse me of. All this? Just personal business. So don’t fucking sit there and give me that whole speech about justice or whatever other bullshit you want to spew.”

“‘Personal business?’ You’re going to have to explain that to me. How is anything since Howser and I nailed you and Wisteria last month ‘personal?’ Way I see it, I settled my business with your buddy.”

“Maybe…but you sure as shit didn’t settle anything with me.”

Hood leans in, a low growl from his throat punctuating his accusation. He looks through the shroud as he grasps the edge of the table, as if trying to use it as a life raft against the sea of rage.

“Things were going just fine until you decided you couldn’t let shit go. You just couldn’t accept someone being better than you, smarter than you. Wisteria was making shit happen, man. He was bringing things back to prominence, making things better in the city. We were bringing PRESTIGE back to this shithole, and you and that fucking bug-eyed loser Howser came in and ruined that!

“Now, my partner, my best friend is M.I.A. and you two dumbasses let a couple of kids roll you. You fucked everything up, Truman! You were a jealous bastard who ruined everything that…”

“Do you believe even half of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Hood? God, it must be nice, living in that fantasy world you’ve created for yourself.”

“Oh, no…fuck that. You don’t get to…”

“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.”

Hood is stunned. He wants to keep talking, but more importantly? He wants to stop Truman from saying anything.

Is it because he doesn’t think Truman has anything important to say?

Or…maybe it’s because Hood doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. After all, if Truman’s interjection was true…

“Hey, Hood! Focus. And listen for once in your worthless life.”

Hood snaps back to reality, and scowls as Truman looks him dead-on from across the table. He taps the metal table, the rhythmic thrumming almost echoing.

“I am sick and fucking tired of listening to you run your mouth. You and Wisteria brought prestige back? You fuckers rolled through town spraying human semen from a goddamn truck. Wisteria brought down the thunder that ended up cooking you two. Not me. He made things personal when he screwed me over and stole something that he had no right to hold onto anymore. You want to sit here and blame somebody for losing your friend? How about you look at Wisteria and ask him? Ask him why he was so scared of losing his roost at the top of the city. Ask HIM if stooping to using his little toady to escape with the prize was worth the war that you’d have to fight alongside him.”

“You still could’ve…”

“No, I couldn’t let it go. You’ve known me a lot longer than he did. You should’ve warned him that what he did wouldn’t be forgotten or forgiven. So maybe he’s not to blame, after all. Maybe you’re the reason that you lost your friend. After all, you certainly weren’t too hesitant to knock him off the perch and rule as king of the city after Howser and I busted your asses and broke up your little partnership.”

That…that stings. Even if Hood will never admit it, nor let his body language suggest it, both Howser and Truman know Hood well enough to know how he thinks…and how to slide the proverbial knife.

But a simple emotional jab isn’t enough. No…Truman’s had enough of this verbal diarrhea, and it’s long past time that Hood was put in his place.

“I have been nothing but absolutely honest with you ever since the day I met you, Hood. Because of the respect I have for your former partner, I never felt the need to sugarcoat my words with you. So for once, just…listen.

“You’re the man who knocked off the top dog in this city. Circumstances notwithstanding, you now rule the perch. And the only thing you decide to do with your newfound stroke is try and take back what those punk kids took from under our watch. What, you didn’t think to try and give Wisteria a shot to reclaim what YOU took from him? Or maybe focus on the asshole who interjected and opened the door for you to knock off Wisteria and take his place. That seems like a better use of your energy. But, no. Instead of thinking about how to make things right, you waste your time and stroke on something that shouldn’t matter. If your friendship with Wisteria needed what Howser and I took from you? Then your friendship’s a fucking joke. If Wisteria’s not enough of a man to take his punishment for his crimes and be happy that his partner was smart enough and tough enough to finally get one over on him? Then he’s not worth your fucking time. Certainly not worth mine.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You’re obsessed with…”

“HAHAHA! Oh, come on. Obsessed with Wisteria? Yeah, maybe…for a minute. When he had something that he shouldn’t have had. But I told you, didn’t I? Howser and I settled that by taking something from him. You just happened to get dragged into his war. But that’s what you’re good for in the end. You have a damn hard time standing on your own when the city’s worst criminals and finest law enforcement officers are gunning for you. The cries of ‘Hood ain’t nobody to fuck with!’ really don’t mean shit, do they? You’re the king of the goddamn city, and the only thing people think when they see you or hear you speak is how much of a goddamn simp you are for the man you beat.

“Wisteria has nothing I care about anymore. He paid for his crimes, and now? The only thing he has is himself and the realization that he’s nothing without his tricks or his ill-gotten prizes. But you? Oh, Hood…you have plenty that I want. And thanks to your stupidity, you’ve given me and Howser the chance to not only finish what we started a month ago, but pay back those brats for stealing from us.”

“You’re welcome.”

A snide remark. That’s all Hood offers as Truman chuckles. The detective stands up and grabs his chair, dragging it as the sound of the chair leg scratching against the concrete floor produces a horrendous scratching, scraping sound. Eventually, Truman pulls the chair to the side of the table, to where he’s perpendicular to where Hood is sitting.

“You and Howser wouldn’t have a damn thing if Wisteria and I didn’t give you a chance.”

“Hmm. Hard to argue that.”

“So where’s your goddamn gratitude?”

“Oh, it’s there. It’s just buried underneath a shit ton of curiosity. For example, why bother? Why did you and Wisteria go through the trouble of rising to our bait? You had nothing to gain from it. You could’ve just as easily ignored us. But you didn’t, and you lost.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. Everything that’s led you to this point matters. You’re just too damn proud or too damn stupid to understand that. It’s fascinating, really. You and Wisteria really did have everything in the world you could’ve possibly wanted. And yet…Wisteria’s obsession with proving he wasn’t the bitch-main that everybody in the city knows he is led to you being dragged into a conflict you weren’t prepared for. And when the hammer fell and you realized that your supposed ironclad friendship was rusted and rotted out? You go out and sell out those young kids to us in order to try and get some payback, hoping against hope that Wisteria will come rolling in and save you.”

“I don’t need him to save me, Truman. I can beat you by myself if I have to.”

“Oh yeah? And what evidence do you have to support that hypothesis? How I see it, when it comes to who has whose number? I think you’ll find that past history suggests that I have yours. Not the other way around.”

“Doesn’t matter. Wisteria will show up. He’ll come swaggering into this station, as he always has, and we’ll raise hell like we did before…”

“Weren’t you listening? You two lost. You picked the battlefield and you still LOST. And where has Wisteria been since then? You have to realize that Wisteria has given up on you. You ran your course when it came to usefulness and he doesn’t CARE anymore. And even if he did? You two haven’t proven that you’re up to the task of outsmarting and outfoxing Howser and me. You’re doomed to lose in this fight, Hood. You’ve once again chosen a gambit that you think will end with your victory, and once again justice will prevail. All you’ve done is HELP us. It’s about the only thing you’ve done in the past few weeks that you’ve been successful in."

Hood, in a flash, takes a swing at Truman. He’s heard enough. Heard all he could stomach. Heard too much of what he fears is the Truth.

But because he’s still handcuffed to the table, his swing goes wide as Truman ducks and rolls away from his chair and to his feet. The detective is grinning ear-to-ear at this outburst as he looks at his reflection in his mirror.

“I assume we caught all that on camera, right?”

Howser, on the other side, holds a button and says into a loudspeaker:

“All of it. He took an unwarranted swing at you. That should be more than enough.”

“You sons of bitches! You ruined EVERYTHING. I’m going to kill you and burn this fucking city to the ground!”

Truman simply shakes his head as he heads for the door, completely nonplussed by Hood’s indignation. As he reaches the door and knocks on it, he simply says back:

“You’re the architect of your own downfall, Hood. Your friendship, your time in control of the city, everything you’ve ever accomplished? All of it’s going to come crashing down on your head. You’re going to get humiliated…AGAIN. And at a certain point? You really have to start blaming yourself for your fuck-ups and your friendships being nothing more than a passing delusion.”

Hood unleashes a series of expletive-ridden rants as the door opens and Truman walks out, greeting him. Hood continues to spout off his nonsense, his arrogance bleeding into his perceived injustice at the hands of the detectives.

All Howser and Truman do? They simply shut the door.

*****

The suspects have been successfully broken.

When Vicious is brought from his interrogation room without handcuffs around his wrists, and Legacy still in chains sees this, he immediately goes into a fury, thinking he’s been sold out yet again. It’s all the attending officers can do to keep them from killing one another.

Safe to say, their partnership, tenuous as it was, was never meant to last.

Hood, for his unprovoked assault of Truman, is forced into a prison van to be brought to a holding cell on the outskirts of town. The interrogations against all three men have proven enough to get the criminals unsettled, rattled enough that there could be no doubt that they deserve to rot for their crimes.

But as Hood is being loaded into the van, he sees someone stagger towards the stairs leading to Precinct 64. A man in a frazzled suit that would’ve looked tacky in the 1970s with unkempt hair and a handlebar mustache that hasn’t seen a comb in weeks.

He comes rolling up, staring Howser and Truman down as he says with a slight slur:

“Hey, fuckboys! I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Hood, from a distance, almost looks hopeful. Wisteria has shown up to bail him out, to give him a chance to avoid the punishment for his hubris.

That hope quickly evaporates.

“Look, I want payback against that shit-head wannabe rock star. So, tell me where he is or I’ll fuck you up!”

Howser and Truman look at one another. They share a quick glance.

And just walk past him. After all, Truman said it himself.

Hood looks crushed. His best friend is bitching about the rock star, and isn’t even bothering with him? That betrayal, that feeling of worthlessness, is all that remains as he’s loaded into the van.

And all he hears is the sound of Wisteria, begging and pleading for attention from a couple of detectives who couldn’t care less.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Pay attention to me! I own you, Truman! I own you as well, Howser! Hey! STOP WALKING AWAY! HEY, LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M WAVING MY DICK AT YOU!

“HEY!

“DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM THE KING!!!”​

 

[Dubb]

THE GIFT
OF
FRIENDSHIP
A Jeremy Best Promo

Click here to read it

​

Spoiler: Plain

THE GIFT
OF
FRIENDSHIP

“Dr. Smith, are you ready?”

Dr. Smith stared through the glass into the observation room before him. The room was set up to look like your generic children’s bedroom. There was a small twin bed, a cabinet set up with a variety of toys including Legos, Hotwheels, little green army men, board games, coloring books and an assortment of crayons and markers. Sitting on the twin bed was a robot exoskeleton that resembled that of a roughly twelve year old child with a cord plugged into the back of its head that extended from that exoskeleton to the wall, disappearing through a hole in the wall.

“Dr. Smith?”

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. This trial had to work.

This could not be another failure.

“Yes… almost ready… is he here?”

The lead engineer on the “UltaBuddy” project nodded her head. “Yes, sir. He’s on the other side of that observation window across from us.”

Smith was worried about that. Mr. Scorpane, the demanding and somewhat anxious President of Buddy System Toys had been applying a lot of pressure on the project for weeks. With each failed trial, the pressure became more and more. As a seasoned psychologist specializing in children’s behavior, one might wonder why Dr. Smith would put himself through this type of mental anguish.

But in his heart, he believed in this project. He was asked to come on board due to his expertise but in his heart, he felt like the world needed more true friendship. In his practice, he saw how much the effect of bad influences had on children these days. If he could be a part of bringing good influences into the world, he would do it.

The trouble was finding the right programming.

Programming the perfect friends was certainly not easy.

“Let’s go with the Trixie software.”

The engineer nodded in agreement as she sat down in the chair, spinning around to her laptop. With the confident strokes of the keyboard, she initiated the upload. “It’s ready, boss.”

Dr. Smith let out a deep sigh. “Execute. Trial #69 is underway.”

She pressed enter on the keyboard as the upload began.

Dr. Smith anxiously watched the status bar on the computer go from 0% to 33% to 50% to 77% to 99%... and it briefly paused… hesitating… for what felt like an eternity… before finally… 100%.

“Send in the child.”

The door to the observation room opened. A young boy with the name tag on his shirt that read “Jeffry,” nervously made his way into the bedroom replica. His eyes grew wide with curiosity as he took in the room and then noticed the robot on the edge of the bed.

The robot’s eyes opened.

“H-H-H-Hello?” the young boy stuttered with some trepidation.

The robot smiled at young Jeffry. “Hi there! I’m Trixie! Do you want to play?” The synthesized voice greeted the boy warmly, its mechanical face contorting into an inviting smile.

Jeffry, anxious yet eager, nodded as his apprehension began to give away into a tentative excitement. “Sure… I’d love to play.” The young boy began to approach the robot.

However, in a sudden, jarring turn of events, the robot's movements became abrupt, the calculated grace of its actions distorted by a glitch in its programming. In a startling motion, the robot delivered a punch directly to the Jeffry's groin. The impact caused the young test subject to double over in pain before dropping to the ground.

“Abort! Abort the simulation! Abort! Abort!” Smith shouted out, the urgency in his voice evident. The engineers in the room scrambled to halt the programming, their fingers racing across the keyboards.

The robot’s eyes closed.

“Trixie” had been shut down.

Dr. Smith let out another deep sigh. “End Test #69. Trixie Programming was not a success.”

The lab door burst open as the large and domineering presence of Mr. Scorpane barged into the room. His face clearly indicated his frustration. "This is unacceptable!"

“I know, sir. This is obviously not ideal…”

“NOT IDEAL? We left NOT IDEAL two months ago, Smith! You assured me your team was making progress. THAT WAS NOT PROGRESS! Christmas is right around the corner and we can’t afford another setback, Smith! UltaBuddy is supposed to be our cash cow this holiday season… but not if it’s punching kids in the fucking dick!”

“I know, sir… I assure you…”

“I’m runnin’ out of patience and you’re runnin’ out of time, Smith. Get it right… or get out.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. My team is on it… we just have to figure out the right programming and…”

“Blah, blah, blah, technical mumbo jumbo. I don’t care what you have to do… just make it play with a kid. HOW HARD CAN IT BE? MAKE IT WORK!”

Mr. Smith wouldn’t have another chance to respond as Scorpane stormed out of the room just as quickly as he had stormed in. Smith could feel the nervous sweat across his brow… there was certainly no time to waste. He wouldn’t be home for dinner tonight.

---

“Ooooh buddy, you’re gonna love this!”

Thirteen year old Alyx felt the thrill of anticipation tingling in the air as he and Chris crouched, peering through the window into Principal Russnow's office. The mischievous grin on Chris's face hinted at something devious afoot, and Alyx couldn't help but share in the excitement. He had no idea what Chris had planned, but when his friend told him to skip out on Math to play a prank on the principal, he knew he couldn't miss this.

They watched as Principal Russnow settled into his chair, reaching for his morning coffee as he normally did as part of his typical morning routine.

"Here it comes... wait for it..."

Alyx leaned in toward the window. Everything seemed so normal. So routine. Nothing seemed out of place. He couldn't see any sign of the prank. What was Chris pulling here?

Russnow lifted the coffee up and began to sip on the hot drink. His face showed a bit of a surprise, as if the taste wasn't quite what he expected. He pulled the coffee back down from his lips and examined it with his eyes... then shrugged and took another sip of the coffee before setting it down on the table.

While Alyx continued to peer through the glass, Chris began to laugh uncontrollably. Alyx watched as his friend clutched his side from laughing so hard.

"What's going on here, dude? I don't get it."

"That's not creamer in his coffee, brother," Chris whispered, struggling to stifle his amusement.

With the sudden realization, Alyx too began to join in his friend's infectious laughter.

Unfortunately, their shared glee would be interrupted with the sound of footsteps coming up from behind them.

Jean-Luc Watkins, the notorious school monitor with an uncanny knack for catching delinquent students, materialized seemingly out of thin air, catching Alyx and Chris red-handed. "Well, well, well.... What do we have here? Skipping class again, are we?"

Chris and Alyx still couldn't stop laughing, even with Jean Luc's presence. "Well! Well! Well! If it isn't Jean-Luc Dweebkins!" Chris cackled.

Jean-Luc's face became red with frustration as he stormed past the two, opening up Principal Russnow's doors.

"Mr. Russnow! I have a couple of hooligans here for you."

Russnow rolled his eyes as he sat his coffee down. "What now, Jean-Luc?"

"It's Chris and Alyx... again."

Chris smiled and waved, showing no remorse while Alyx was a little more hesitant with his wave, simply lifting up his arm.

"You two again? Really?"

"What's up, my man? Enjoying that coffee, aren't you?"

"Huh? Well, yeah... sure..." Russnow seemed confused by the question and even more confused by Chris's continued laughter.

"Yeah, I bet you are!"

Alyx tried to fight back his own laughter.

"I expect this sort of juvenile behavior from you Mr. Peacock, but Alyx... I am quite disappointed in you. And this is your fifth infraction, no less. I'm afraid I'll have to contact your father about this."

"No! But..." Alyx tried to object.

"No buts about it. You've brought this on yourself, young man. Now have a seat while I call your father."

Alyx titled his head backward in despair while Chris was still too busy laughing to realize the anguish his friend was going through. And now all he could do was wait as Russnow made the call... and wait... for what he knew was coming.

His dad was going to lose his shit over this.

---

You could cut the tension in the air at the Buddy System lab with a knife. Mr. Scorpane's heavy footsteps entered the lab. The agitated President was there once again to personally oversee another trial run of the UltaBuddy Project.

"Mr. Scorpane... so nice to see you," Dr. Smith welcomed his boss.

"Yeah, that's bullshit and you know it." Mr. Scorpane responded curtly. Which, of course, was true because Smith certainly was never happy to see Mr. Scorpane. "This is our last chance, Smith. The clock strikes midnight here today... time is up. So let's get it right, shall we?"

"Yes, yes... my team has worked really hard on this. I think we got it this time."

"Well, let's see it." Scorpane turned and walked to the glass window. A window that appeared as nothing more than a mirror on the faux bedroom on the other side. He watched the currently dormant UltaBuddy exoskeleton and just imagined the millions and millions of dollars this toy could make him. He was putting the gift of friendship underneath every tree this year for Christmas. Buddy System Toys will be back on top of the toy world once again.

All his eggs were in this basket.

"Let's go, Smith. Get it started."

Dr. Smith took a deep breath. "Okay, load up the Bedlam program."

"Are you sure?" His lead engineer questioned.

"Yes, that's the one we need right now. I believe in it. It was a little rough around the edges at first but it's the winner right now."

The engineer nodded. "Got it. Bedlam protocol uploading," she spoke as she typed on the laptop, beginning the upload.

"Trial #70," Smith spoke softly as the status bar on the upload hit 100%. "Send in the subject."

In the adjacent observation playroom, Bryan, the latest test subject, entered the room. Bryan, a chubbier child, seemed less interested in being there than Jeffry did in the last trial. However, he was immediately curious when he noticed the robot child sitting on the bed. "What is this?" Bryan questioned as the robot's eyes opened up.

"Howdy, there! The name is Tommy. And who might you be?"

"Woah, holy crap. You can talk."

"I can do a lot more than talk, partner. Tell me about yourself, my friend."

"Uhh... my name is Bryan."

"Nice to meet ya, Bryan. How about a game of cards?" The robot slowly stood up from the bed. Its movements were shaky and disjointed as it walked across the room, and grabbed a deck of cards off the cabinet.

"Uhh.. I only really know Go Fish."

"Boy howdy that's a fun one! Let's play!"

'Tommy' the robot knelt down and took a seat at a small play table in the room as Bryan hesitantly sat across from it. It began to quickly deal out cards.

Across from them on the other side of the mirror, Mr. Scorpane watched on. A smile formed on his face. "This is more like it. This is what we've been waiting for. I'm not sure how I feel about the cowboy gimmick but this is great work, Smith. Great work!"

Smith let out a sigh of relief as he joined Scorpane at the window. "Yeah, I'm not sure about the cowboy thing either... the team is working on other personalities that we can include in future updates."

"Which we can charge people for!" Scorpane exclaimed. "Oh, Smith... we're gonna be rich! RICH!"

Back in the playroom, the game of Go Fish had continued innocently enough and in the end, Bryan had defeated Tommy in the game. "Whew! You are good at this game, Bryan. I am impressed."

The young child chuckled. "Thank you... this was fun."

"It sure was. But the fun ain't gotta stop, now does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think we should celebrate our new friendship! Let's hit up the bar... have a beer or two or three! Yeeehhaawww we gonna get lit tonight, Bryan!"

The smile immediately disappeared from Scorpane's face as Smith's eyes grew wide.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" Scorpane's voice flared up in a fiery rage. "SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT THE FUCK DOWN!"

With the stroke of the keyboard, the engineer aborted the program once again. 'Tommy's' eyes closed as the robot went back into its dormant state.

"A BEER? My child's toy... my ULTABUDDY... the ultimate best friend... IS OFFERING ALCOHOL TO CHILDREN?"

"Mr. Scorpane..." Dr. Smith began trying to defend himself, "just a minor edit and we can fix that..."

"No! This ends now! You've had enough chances, Smith. Do you know how much money you've cost me? Enough is enough. This project is over. Smith.. you are FIRED!"

Dr. Smith stood stunned as the implications quickly sunk in. All his work. All his efforts. All his team’s efforts. It had all been for nothing. His dream of delivering friendship to children all over the world… true, honest, infallible friendship…

Was over.

The UltaBuddy project was terminated.

---

“Unbelievable.”

The disappointment in Alyx’s father’s voice echoed through the room as Alyx sat at the dining room table, ready for the scolding he was about to receive.

“Just unbelievable. I didn’t raise you to be a ruffian, Alyx. I didn’t raise you to be a juvenile delinquent. My mother and I have been raising you to be a functioning and contributing member of society. Skipping class? Pulling pranks? What a disappointment you have turned out to be.”

Alyx hung his head in disappointment. The words from his father rang true to him. The underlying sense of unworthiness was something he had been feeling for some time.

“It’s that Chris boy isn’t it?” Alyx’s father’s voice shifted from frustration to a hint of concern. “Yeah, this is all his fault, isn’t it?”

“No,” Alyx lifted his head up as he attempted to defend his friend. “It’s not Chris. Chris is cool and…”

“Cool? COOL? Is that what’s important to you now, Alyx? Being cool? The world doesn’t pay you to be cool. You know what happened to all the COOL people in my school? They work for me now. And if they don’t they work for someone else. Or they don’t work at all. They’re in the unemployment line. It’s just as I suspected. This Chris is a bad influence on you.”

“No he’s not!” Alyx’s voice now became more defiant as his father shook his head.

“None of this happened before… with your last friend you had… whatever happened to that boy?”

Alyx became quiet. The mere mention of his former best friend brought up a lot of painful memories. “Jake.” Alyx finally responded quietly.

“Ah yeah! Jake! What a good boy he was!”

“Yeah well, he’s not around anymore. He moved away and he’s not coming back.” Alyx’s voice trailing off.

Those two had always been inseparable. Jake had been an anchor of positivity in his life. He had been the kind of friend who made Alyx want to be better. To strive for more. He was always there for Alyx. When Jake was around, Alyx was a better person.

But did Alyx really deserve Jake?

Deep down, Alyx knew the truth. He knew that he didn’t. So when Jake’s family had to move a couple of hours away, Alyx made no attempt to maintain the friendship. He made no attempt to reach out. He didn’t return any of Jake’s texts or phone calls.

“Well that’s too bad,” his father continued. “But maybe you should work on finding another friend like Jake. Someone who will be a good influence on you.”

Alyx scoffed at the idea. There was no one like Jake. No one could replace Jake.

“But for now… you’re grounded, young man.”

“What?! No! You can’t do that!”

“I’m your father. Yes, I can.”

“You suck! This sucks! Everyone sucks!” Alyx shoved the table back as he stood up from the chair, flinging it backward in anger. He stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Frustrated, he flung himself down onto his bed.

Angry with himself just as much as he was angry with his father.

---

“Honey, are you coming to dinner?”

Dr. Smith was oblivious to his wife’s voice. He sat at his desk in his home office, mulling over his project that had been abruptly terminated. His laptop screen flickered with files and notes, a digital graveyard of failed attempts and dashed hopes.

"Honey, everything okay?" His wife's voice once again called out from the kitchen.

He hadn't been able to tell them yet. How could he tell his family about his failure?

"Be there in a minute," he called back. Though he had no intentions of getting away from this computer yet. He had to figure out where things went wrong. He had to find a solution.

Amidst the sea of files, one caught his attention.

The Jeremy Program.

"I don't recall this one..." Smith raised his eyebrows as he clicked on the file.

Though his search through the different files was interrupted as his cell phone rang. He quickly hit ignore.

But it started to ring again. The same number.

Ignore.

And again.

Ignore.

And again.

This time Dr. Smith grabbed his phone and accepted the call.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry," a man's voice on the other end responded. "I got this number off a flier... I was hoping you could help."

"I don't think I can."

"Is this the number for UltaBuddy? The flier said something about beta tests for a new toy... one that could be a positive influence on every child... their new best friend..."

"Yes, this is the correct number. But we're not taking any more test subjects."

"Oh," the disappointment was clear on the other side of the phone. "Surely you can make an exception? I was really hoping this could help my son. I'm really worried about him. He's been getting into more trouble at school. Becoming a real juvenile delinquent. I'm worried about a bad influence in his life... and... well... if anything could help him... I'm willing to try it."

Dr. Smith was struggling to focus on what the man on the other side of the phone was saying as he also looked through the files in the Jeremy Program.

His eyes grew wide. "This is it... it was right here... all along," he muttered to himself, a surge of excitement coursing through him.

"What's that?" The man on the other side expressed confusion.

"Sorry, yes... you're right. It does sound like your son could benefit from our beta test."

"Really? Yes, please. I'll do anything. I'll pay anything. Whatever it takes."

Dr. Smith grabbed a USB drive and inserted it into the side of the laptop as he began to transfer the files onto it. "I'll send you the address. Be there promptly at 9AM on Saturday."

"I'll be there," the man confirmed as the call came to a close.

There was still hope. Dr. Smith could save the project.

He could take the project into his own hands and show Mr. Scorpane the results. He would sneak into the lab and load up the Jeremy program himself into the UltaBuddy. He’d put the finishing touches on the exoskeleton to make it more lifelike… and sneak it out before the lab opened up in the morning.

It wasn’t the most ethical of solutions but it was going to be worth it. He'd save his job, his team's job, and the future of Buddy System Toys.

But more importantly...

He was creating everyone's new best friend.

---

Christmas morning was one of the few things that the grounded Alyx could look forward to lately. He hadn't been able to hang out with Chris in weeks, not seeing him at all since the beginning of Christmas break. But at least there would be Christmas gifts.

But disappointment is something Alyx was used to. And something he should probably continue to be used to.

As he sat in the living room, discarded wrapping paper in vibrant hues scattered across the floor, he took a mental inventory of the lacklust gifts that his parents had put before him. Socks? Really? Socks. He had plenty of socks. Why did he need more socks? A document organizer? He's just a kid, not an accountant. And then there was a new wallet. That was okay I guess. But it'd be better if he had some money or something to put in it.

Leaving his presents lying on the floor, Alyx stood up. "I'll be in my room," he declared to his parents.

"Not so fast," his father stopped him.

"What? What did I do now?"

"Nothing. I have one more present for you."

What's that, Alyx thought. A calculator? He knew better than to get hopeful. In a normal family, a last minute gift would probably be the coolest part of Christmas. Maybe a new mountain bike or something. But he knew better than to get his hopes up.

He could hear some grunting and groaning coming from the other room as his father struggled with the weight of the gift. His father returned to the living room, carrying a large and clearly hastily wrapped gift. Well, it certainly wasn't a calculator. Alyx actually felt himself growing curious at the contents of the large box.

"Saved the best for last," his father stated proudly.

Alyx cautiously approached the gift now sitting in the center of the living room by the festively decorated tree. His now eager fingers tore into the wrapping paper. He peeled back each layer of paper before finding himself staring right into another pair of eyes. The box, mostly nondescript with a large opening cut out to contain what appeared to be a boy about the same age as Alyx. The dormant blonde haired boy's eyes were closed and was completely motionless. His skin was lifelike but at the same time not. It was as if the uncanny valley itself had been put into a gift box.

"What the Hell is this? A doll? Seriously?" Alyx voiced both disappointment and disapproval of the gift.

"Alyx! Watch your language," his mother scolded.

"I'm not a five year old. I don't play with dolls."

"It's not a doll, son," his father corrected him. "It's a robot."

"What?"

His father walked over and unboxed the UltaBuddy bot, so now it stood freely in the living room, no longer restrained. He examined the back of the bot, finding the power button located on the back of the boy's neck where it connected to head.

With a press of the button, the robot's eyes opened up and smiled. "Hiya!"

Startled, Alyx stumbled back as the supposed doll came to life.

"Well hello there! I presume you are my new friend?"

"What is this, Dad?"

"I told you, he's a robot."

"Please, call me Jeremy! I'm your new best friend!"

"What? Best friend?"

"Yes, I am designed to be your pal! Your buddy! Your bestie! I'll be there for you. I'll give you advice. What do you like to do for fun?"

Alyx moved in toward Jeremy, getting a closer look at the lifelike design of the robot. "This is crazy..."

Alyx's mother also seemed to have a similar response, though perhaps slightly unsure about the robot itself as she moved toward her husband, leaning over and whispering to him. "Are you sure about this? It seems kind of creepy."

"It's fine," he responde. "This is what he needs."

"What's your name, friend?"

"You're not my friend. I have friends."

"His name is Alyx," his father answered.

"Dad! Don't give him my info!"

"Ah! It is a pleasure to meet you, Alyx. Allow me to pair with you."

Jeremy's eyes turned green as a singer laser point extended from his eyes and went up and down Alyx's body.

"What? Hey, stop that!" Alyx urged.

"Pairing is complete," Jeremy proudly responded. "We are now best friends. What do you like to do for fun, Alyx?"

"Nothing with robots."

"Hmm, I am sensing 83% hostility from you, Alyx. Perhaps I can make you a cup of tea to help you relax."

"No, I don't want any stupid tea. I just want to go to my room."

"Oh, yes, that sounds fun. I'd love to see your room. Let's go."

"By myself."

"Come on, Alyx. Just give it a chance. Besides, it's time to clean up and take your presents to your room - that includes Jeremy here."

"Uggghhhh," Alyx again verbally displayed his frustration.

"Here, I can help!" Jeremy said as moved with the grace of a baby deer learning how to talk for the first time as his robotic legs took him to Alyx's pile of gifts. He picked up the wallet, the organizer, and the numerous socks.

Alyx watched as Jeremy openly volunteered to do something for him. He thought to himself, maybe he could make use of this thing after all. He led the robot down the hallway to his room.

"What a lovely room you have. What should we do for fun now?"

"You know what would be a lot of fun," Alyx said coyly.

"Do tell!"

"If you cleaned my room for me while I watch some TV."

"That does sound like a lot of fun!"

Alyx snickered as he jumped onto his bed, leaning back and relaxing while Jeremy began to move around the room, picking up the scattered dirty clothes and random toys. While Jeremy toiled on his behalf, Alyx enjoyed watching some wrestling.

Taking a moment to pause his cleaning, Jeremy looked at the television screen. He watched as one wrestler slammed a chair repeatedly across his opponent’s head. Jeremy’s programming told him that those actions were in fact not very friendly. It was quite barbaric, in fact. Jeremy turned its head to the bed where Alyx was smiling. Scanning him, he found that his friend was experiencing 77% pleasure watching this violent activity on the television screen.

“Ah haha! Kick his ass! Yeah! Give him another chairshot! Ahhh that was sick!”

Suddenly the television screen went black.

“What the fuck?”

Alyx’s line of sight went from the television slightly to the left where he saw Jeremy standing, holding the power cord of the TV.

“Dude, not cool. Plug it back in. I was watching that.”

“That television program was too violent. It was not being a good influence on you.”

“It was wrestling. It’s supposed to be violent. Now plug it back in.”

Jeremy waved his robotic finger at Alyx. “Nuh, uh, uh. Sorry, Alyx. But I am programmed to only be a good influence on you. And as your friend, I cannot allow you to watch something so barbaric.”

“You’re my robot and I command that you turn my television back on!”

“I can sense your frustration. However, I am not your robot. I am your friend.”

Alyx rolled his eyes but then came up with the response he was looking for. “But if you were my friend, wouldn’t you want me to be happy?”

“Of course. I do want you to be happy.”

“Then it would make me happy if you plug the TV back in.”

“Fine. But my programming will not allow you to watch this wrestling event. How about we watch something I would like. I am quite fond of Sesame Street.”

“What? Ew, no. I’m not a baby.”

“Ah, I see you are under the impression that Sesame Street is only for infants and toddlers. But according to what I’ve learned from scanning my databases, there are many life lessons to be learned for children of all ages within each episode of this beloved television show.”

“You know what, maybe I won’t watch any more TV after all.”

“Very well. How about a board game?”

“Uhh… yeah, no thanks. Just go get in my closet or something.”

“Very well, if that would make you happy. I will go to your closet.”

Jeremy made his way to the closet opening it up. “Oh how lovely it is in here.”

Alyx helped push the robot into the closet. “Great. Glad you like it. Now go to sleep.” Alyx forcefully shut the door.

---

Jeremy opened his eyes.

The faint murmur of Alyx's voice reached Jeremy's auditory sensors. He reached forward, pushing the closet door open ever so slightly. Jeremy observed Alyx sitting on the side of his bed in the dark on his cell phone having a phone conversation.

"It sucks so bad," Alyx told the person he was talking to on the phone. Curious to see what had his friend feeling so frustrated, Jeremy scanned the cell phone and hacked in, intercepting the signal so that it could listen along to both sides of the conversations.

"C'mon, you had to get one cool gift right? I mean, I know nothin' you got tops my 'That's What I Call Disco Volume 69’ album my folks got me. But c'mon... tell me you got something good."

"Dude, the best gift I got is this stupid robot doll thing."

"Woah, hold up, my man. You got a freakin' robot for Christmas? That's AWESOME!"

Jeremy's LED eyes momentarily brightened at the mention of being the best gift, a smiling cross its faux fleshed face.

"Nah, it's pretty lame. At first I thought I could just make it do all my chores for me but turns out it's basically like an AI-Parental Control. It just wants to be my best friend and then tells me what I can or can't do."

"Hahaha! You got a Net Nanny for Christmas!"

"Fuuuuuuccckkkk it sucks so hard." The smile on Jeremy's face faded as he heard his new friend's words. "I need my real friend, dude. Not some PG police."

Chris continued to laugh. "Look, you need to come out with me and the boys tonight. Santino and Ricardo are bringin' the TP and we're gonna hit Jean-Luc's house."

“Man… I wish. But I’m still grounded.”

"Grounded? BFD, just sneak out," Chris suggested.

"I don't know, Chris..." Alyx hesitated, glancing at the window.

"Come on, it'll be fun! You're letting that stupid doll ruin your night? Sneak out, let's have some real fun," Chris insisted.

Jeremy didn't like this. Not one bit. This Chris sounded like bad news.

“Alright, yeah, I'll do it," Alyx agreed.

"Ahhh yes! Sweet! I'll see you there."

"See ya," Alyx hung up the phone, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans before grabbing his jacket off his desk chair. Jeremy watched through the cracked door as Alyx opened up his window. He slung a leg over the threshold, looking back at his door one last time.

The UltaBuddy bot could detect some reservations in Alyx. He could detect that there was a part of him who knew this was not the thing he should be doing. But the words from Chris echoed in his head and drove him to make the wrong decision. He hopped out the window to the ground below and began jogging down the street.

Jeremy opened up the closet and stepped out.

He was worried about his new friend. His job was to be there for him like a true friend. To be a good and positive influence. To keep him away from the bad or negative influences.

Chris was a bad influence on Alyx.

And Jeremy's programming said bad influences must be eliminated.

---

With the hood of his jacket up in an attempt to keep himself hidden by the veil of night, Alyx hurried through the dimly lit streets. Unbeknown to him, not too far behind, his UltaBuddy Jeremy was tracking the GPS on his phone to follow him.

Alyx ran down a connecting street bringing him into the more upscale neighborhood where Jean-Luc lived. The upscale houses of the neighborhood always brought awe to Alyx so it wasn't unusual for him to take walks in the neighborhood. He definitely didn't want to be spotted. Not to mention the last thing he needed was one of his dad's friends in the neighborhood recognizing him and letting him know his son is out when he's supposed to be grounded.

Outside the three story home that belonged to Jean-Luc, Alyx found Chris with several rolls of toilet paper.

"Where's Santino and Ricardo?" Alyx wondered as he found Chris by himself.

Chris shrugged nonchalantly. "They bailed. Figures. But hey, you're here, man. That's what counts."

Alyx's unease simmered beneath the surface as he watched Chris take charge, urging him to join in the mischief. Jeremy watched, his eyes zooming in on Chris and watching as he ran a toilet paper roll across the bushes in front of the house, obscuring the meticulously arranged Christmas lights on the outside. His concern for Alyx's friendship with this hooligan continued to amplify with every emptied toilet paper roll. The disappointment grew as Alyx took a couple rolls himself and laughed with delight as he joined in on Chris's hijinks.

"Oh dear," Jeremy said to himself from the shadows, still unseen by the duo. "This will not do. This will not do at all."

Concerned with Alyx's well-being, Jeremy decided he must initiate a subtle intervention. Accessing Alyx's phone, he manipulated the caller ID as he made it ring, having the phone number show up as that of his father's.

"Shit," Alyx said as he noticed his phone ringing. "It's my dad."

"Just ignore it," Chris advised.

"I can't, man. I'm in enough shit as it is."

"Dude, don't do it..."

It was too late, Alyx had answered the phone. "Hi, Dad."

Utilizing his voice replication application, Jeremy's voice sounded like that of Alyx's father's stern paternal voice. "Alyx, where are you right now?"

"Uhh.. I'm..."

"Don't you lie to me."

"I just went for a little walk. I needed to get out of the house for a bit."

"You know you're grounded. Get your butt back here right now."

"Sorry Dad..." Alyx said with disappointment as he hung up the phone. He turned to Chris. "Sorry, man... but I gotta go. I think my dad is pissed..."

"I dunno, dude. He didn't sound pissed."

"That's the thing. He didn't yell or anything. That's not like him at all. Which means I'm probably screwed."

"C'mon.. don't bail on me too."

"Rain check! I promise!" Alyx rushed back down the sidewalk, hurrying home to whatever further trouble awaited him, or at least he thought.

Left alone, Chris shook his head. "What a pussy. Everyone thinks he's so tough... whatever. I don't need him."

Chris reached down to grab another toilet paper roll off the ground, but another hand grasped his, preventing him from doing so. A surprisingly strong hand for what was clearly the hand of another child.

"Did you decide to come back after all..." Chris said, looking up and thinking Alyx had returned. But instead, he found himself staring at the uncanny valley doll that was the Jeremy UltaBuddy. "Holy shit," Chris said, stumbling backward to the ground out of sheer shock and awe.

"Hiya," Jeremy said. The tone in the robot's voice was not as playful as when he had given that exact same greeting to Alyx when he first turned on. The tone was lower, slower, and much creepier.

"Who the Hell are you?"

"I'm Alyx's new best friend. He won't be needing you anymore."

"Wait," Chris said as he climbed back up to his feet. "Are you that thing he got for Christmas? The doll?"

Jeremy nodded solemnly, the lights in his LED eyes flickering from white to black.

"Well, whatever, dude. You should probably go back to him, he just left to go home."

"Good. But first, I'm not finished here."

"You wanna help me TP this nerd's house? With that metal arm of yours I bet you could get it over the roof!"

Jeremy simply shook his head. "I am not programmed to participate in such debauchery."

"Dewhatery?"

"There's a reason I was gifted to Alyx. I am programmed to be his friend. A real friend. A protector. A guiding light. Someone who puts his needs above and beyond their own. That's what a real friend is, Chris. Does this describe you?"

"Yeah, sure. Me and Alyx are cool."

"That's not what I asked, Chris. I said are you.. a.. real... friend."

"I said yeah, go fuck off."

"No, Chris. You are not. You are not a real friend. You are... a bad influence."

“Whatever…”

“And bad influences…” Jeremy began to load up the saved data in his memory bank of the wrestling match Alyx was enjoying earlier in the day. “Must be eliminated.”

Jeremy’s hard metallic fist connected with Chris’s jaw, immediately dislocating it. Chris dropped to the ground. “Aaarrrggghhhhhh,” he groaned out in pain. “What the HELL?!”

But Jeremy didn’t respond. Instead he brought his knee up to the other child’s face, bringing the steel kneecap only cushioned slightly by the replicated flesh and khaki pants, driving it directly into the young boy’s nose. Cracking sounds echoed through the night sky.

As Chris clutched his face,blood spewing from his nose, Jeremy grabbed one of the holiday themed lawn gnomes that decorated the home that belonged to Jean-Luc’s parents… and recalling the chair from the wrestling match… brought the gnome down repeatedly across the other boy’s head.

Leaving the perfectly manicured green lawn stained red.

The bad influence had been eliminated.

---

The next morning, Alyx awakened to the morning sun coming in through the open blinds of the window he had snuck out the night before. Sitting up, his eyes still not quite open, he found himself confused about the previous night. When he returned home, his parents never said a word about him not being home. A word was not said at all about the strange phone call from his father.

Not that Alyx was complaining because it meant he avoided any further punishments.

Rubbing his eyes and finally opening them up, he immediately was startled to find Jeremy standing beside his bed. Just gazing down at him.

“What the Hell?” Alyx said, shoving the robot away from the bed

“Good morning, friend. Did you sleep well?” Jeremy asked, seemingly innocently.

“Were you watching me sleep? Freak!”

“Is that a problem? I’m so sorry if I overstepped. I was just making sure you were safe. That is what friends do.”

“Friends do NOT stare at each other and watch them sleep. It’s super creepy.”

“My mistake. I will remember that.”

“Whatever,” Alyx said dismissively, “how about you do something useful?”

“Hmmm,” Jeremy gave it some thought. “Well, the time of day is now morning. How about some breakfast?”

“Actually, yeah, that sounds good. I’ll take some waffles.”

Not hesitating for one bit to adhere to the request of his friend, Jeremy trotted into the kitchen where he accessed a waffles recipe in his database. While Jeremy was getting that together, Alyx grabbed his phone and sat down at the kitchen table. He shot a text to Chris.

The text came back as undeliverable.

That was odd.

He tried again.

Same result.

“Alyx,” the voice of his mother interrupted him as he quickly tucked away his phone. Her voice sounded concerned.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t happen to sneak out of the house to go see Chris last night, did you?”

Alyx gulped. The gig was up. He had been caught.

“Uhh…”

“Of course he didn’t, ma’am.” Jeremy said with a smile while pouring waffle batter into the press. “We were playing Monopoly last night! And plus, he’s grounded and of course he wouldn’t have done something so abhorrent like sneaking out of his house which is clearly against the rules.”

Alyx’s eyes were wide, not expecting Jeremy to offer up an alibi. But Alyx nodded, “Uhh… yeah… like he said… I was with the robot last night.”

“Oh, okay.” She said looking down at her own phone, typing a text message. “It’s just that Chris went out last night and said he was going to meet up with you. But he never came back home last night. His parents are understandably very concerned… but I’ll let them know you haven’t seen him.”

Alyx felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Where did Chris go after he left? Surely he would’ve just gone right back home. Did Jean-Luc’s parents find out about the TP? Did they call the cops? Was Chris arrested?

While Alyx’s mother left the room to contact Chris’s parents, Jeremy finished up the waffles, setting the plate down in front of Alyx as Alyx once again tried to text Chris to no avail. “Breakfast is served!”

Alyx looked down at the waffles and then back up to Jeremy. “Why did you lie for me? Are robots allowed to lie?”

“I’m programmed to be your best friend. You were in need. So I helped you out.”

“Well… uh… thanks I guess.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for right? Now eat up.”

“Thanks… uh, how about some syrup?”

“Oh! Of course! My mistake.”

Jeremy made his way back to the pantry and grabbed the bottle of syrup, pouring it on the waffles for Alyx while Alyx was once again busy looking at his phone.

“I wonder what happened to him? I hope he’s okay.”

“I’m sure everything is going to be okay. Maybe he just was upset about how you just left him by himself last night.”

“Maybe…”

“But at least now there’s more time for us. How about we play a game now?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, Alyx. I can tell you are upset. You are at 94% in guilt and stress. The best thing you can do now is talk about it. And it just so happens, I am a great listener.”

Alyx looked down at the waffles. “He loved waffles too.”

Jeremy tilted his head, the sound of his metallic skeleton creaking with the tilt. “He?”

“Jake.”

Jeremy leaned forward. Jake? Who is this Jake? Another potential bad influence? Another barrier between Alyx and true friendship? “Another friend of yours?”

“Well, we were friends.”

“Were? As in past tense? What happened?”

“I’m a jerk. That’s what happened.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s no one else like Jake. You know how you were like… created or whatever… to be the best friend ever or whatever. Well, Jake didn’t need to be programmed. He just was the best. But then he moved away. Which is what I deserved. I never truly appreciated Jake. I took him for granted. And once he was gone, I just moved on”

“I should’ve returned his calls. And his messages. But I didn’t. And then I replaced him. I thought if I got a new friend who was an even bigger douche than I am, then I could feel better about everything.”

Jeremy listened and was disappointed in what he was hearing.

He was conflicted and felt his programming was struggling with its base code. Jeremy was meant for friendship. But… the child he has been paired to… seems incapable of being friends. He seems afraid of friendship.

Perhaps Alyx… no, the programming was clear.

“It’s okay, Alyx. I’m here for you. I won’t leave you.”

Realizing he had let his guard down, Alyx pushed Jeremy away. “I don’t need you! You’re just a stupid robot!”

Feeling a sense of rejection, Jeremy lowered his head as Alyx took a bite of the waffle and immediately spit it out

“What the Hell? This isn’t maple syrup!” Alyx shoved the plate away.

“I’m so sorry.”

“This is why you aren’t my best friend. Jake would’ve known the only syrup for waffles is maple.”

“I will remember that for next time.”

“Next time? There won’t be no next time! Because I have real friends. I have Chris…” Alyx paused. “Wait a minute… earlier… you knew that I had left Chris by himself. How… how did you know about that?”

“Oh, well because I followed you of course. I had to make sure you were making good decisions.”

“What?! What happened to Chris after I left?”

“That’s a good question, isn’t it. One you don’t need to worry about. That Chris was just an awful human being and you know it.”

“That’s it, I’m telling my parents…”

“What? That you lied to them? That you snuck out? That you’re the last person to see Chris before he went missing?”

Alyx hesitated. It certainly wasn’t a good look. “I guess you’re right… well can you at least get that maple syrup for me?”

The smile returned to Jeremy’s face. “Absolutely.”

Jeremy turned around and Alyx immediately reached for the base of his neck and pushed the power button. He immediately powered down, his eyes closing as his body became stiff and still.

“That’s enough of you,” Alyx said. “This is one Christmas gift I am returning.” Alyx pushed the robot over, letting Jeremy fall to the ground. He then grabbed both legs and dragged the robot out of the house and lifted him up, tossing him into the garbage can.

Alyx walked back into the house, slamming the door behind him and as far he was concerned, putting a stop to this whole creepy gift.

In the garbage can, Jeremy’s LED lights began to blink red off and on.

Emergency Protocol Initiated.

His eyes lit up white and then black.

---

Dr. Smith was frantic. He raced to his desk to find the phone number.

“Where is it? Where is it?”

He riffled through the papers… and he found it.

He called the number.

“Hello?

“Yes.. this Dr. Smith. I gave you the UltaBuddy… your son… he hasn’t paired with it yet has he?”

“He has. I think they’re getting along well.”

“Oh no… oh no… this awful…”

“What is it, Dr. Smith?”

“I’m afraid I may have misled you… the UltaBuddy program was canceled. We never could get the programming right.”

“I don’t understand. Then why did you give me one?”

“I thought I could fix it. I thought I had found the perfect program. If the Jeremy program could successfully pair and be friends with your son… then I could save the program. I could save my job.”

“But everything seems fine. I think you were right.”

“No. I’ve been looking at it further. The programming… it’s… too strong. The friendship code is too strong in Jeremy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look… just… turn the robot off immediately and lock him up somewhere safe until I can get there. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, will do.”

Dr. Smith hung up the phone and ran to find his keys.

---

“No. I’ve been looking at it further. The programming… it’s… too strong. The friendship code is too strong in Jeremy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look… just… turn the robot off immediately and lock him up somewhere safe until I can get there. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, will do.”

Jeremy smiled as the call he intercepted ended. He turned off his voice mimicking software as he climbed out of the trash can. Jeremy walked away from Alyx’s home as he replayed the conversation with Alyx. He rewound it back and listened to Alyx talking about his friendship with Jake and why he moved on to Chris.

Alyx was not who Jeremy thought he was.

He was a terrible friend.

Jeremy offered him the best friendship in the world.

But he refused it.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

And he was a bad friend… to Jake.

Jeremy retrieved Alyx’s phone information in his database and began to go through his contacts. He found Jake Montrose.

He scanned all of Alyx’s devices and relived the story of their friendship. He scanned social media and the internet.

Jake Montrose was everything Alyx described him as and more. Alyx was right. Jake was a good friend. A good person.

Alyx was not.

Alyx was a bad influence.

---

Dr. Smith's hands trembled against the steering wheel of his aging sedan as he navigated through congested traffic, his anxiety palpable in the way he swerved through lanes. The urgency to rectify the unintended consequences of his project weighed heavily on his disheveled appearance—ruffled hair, an unbuttoned collar, and a frantic look in his eyes.

He had been so thoughtless. His hubris had gotten the best of him. He didn't want his project to be a failure. He had made an irrational decision that has now put lives in danger. This was on him. Whatever happens to that family is on him. He wasn't sure he could live with that.

He hoped there was still time. Still time to make things right. He just hoped he was too late. Too late to save Alyx from Jeremy.

Finally reaching the residence, Dr. Smith practically lunged out of his car, hurrying to the front door. He knocked vigorously, pounding on the door. "Come on, come on, come on, come on... someone answer... please..."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened. Alyx's father stood on the other side, a puzzled look quickly crossing his face to find Dr. Smith standing before him in his current state. "Dr. Smith? What are you doing here?"

"Where is it? WHERE IS IT?" Smith knew there was no time to waste.

"What are you talking about?"

"The UltaBuddy! Did you do what I said?"

"Yes, of course. I gave it to my boy for Christmas. He wasn't as thrilled as I hoped but I think he'll come around to it."

"No, no, no, no... I called you... I told you..." Dr. Smith trailed off. He began to piece together the gravity of the situation. "Oh no..." Smith began to realize that this wasn't the person he had spoken to on the phone. Alyx's father clearly had no idea what Smith was talking about.

"What is it?"

"Your son... he's in danger. Where is he?"

"Well, he's in his room. Only place he could be, he's still grounded."

"Are you certain? Is the robot with him?"

"I think he is keeping it in his closet, yeah."

"Take me there. Please."

They hurried to Alyx's room, the boy's father opening up the door. "See, everything is just fi-" he stopped upon a shocking revelation.

The room was empty.

The widow was open.

"This is bad," Dr. Smith muttered, his voice filled with dread.

---

An hour earlier, Alyx sat against the wall while sitting on his bed, his headphones in listening to Rammstein while staring at his phone. He was feeling pretty proud of himself for dealing with the Jeremy problem, getting rid of him once and for all, or at least he thought.

He just wished he could tell Chris about it. But the texts still weren't going through.

However, an unexpected text message would come through as he sat there alone in his room.

It wasn't from Chris, however.

It was from Jake.

Hey there old pal Been a while, hasn't it? I'm not sure if this is even your number anymore... but... if you're around... I'm back in town for the day with the folks. I'd love to hang out.

Alyx couldn't believe his eyes. He wasn't one to smile much, but he couldn't help but grin as he read the text. Luckily no one was around to see it. His interaction with Jeremy had made him realize how much of a jerk he had been to Jake before and this could be his chance to make things right.

Hey man! Yeah, sorry about all that. I was such a dick to never call you back. But yeah, let's hang out.

Shit, Alyx forgot about the whole being grounded thing. But no matter, he decided that he wouldn't tell Jake he was grounded but was going to come see him anyway. It was worth it to Alyx. Maybe his parents find out and he gets into more trouble. But he didn't care.

Much like he did the previous night, he slid the window open and slipped out into the brisk cold air. He got the address from Jake, put it into the GPS on his phone, attaching it to his bike handle.

Alyx pedaled through the quiet streets, the cool breeze tousling his hair as he navigated the roads toward the address. He wasn't familiar with the location but he didn't think much about that. At least not at first.

As he drew closer to the given address, the scenery transformed from residential neighborhoods to a more desolate part of town. Alyx began to feel a little nervous as he noticed all the buildings with broken windows, walls covered in graffiti, and a few sketchy individuals conversing in the otherwise empty streets. Why would Jake and his family be in this part of the town?

The GPS led him to the end of the street where a clearly abandoned and forgotten warehouse stood. Overgrown grass and weeds surrounded the building while the chipping and rusted metal of the building were indications of just how long this building had been uncared for.

Alyx hesitated, a shiver coursing down his spine. This wasn’t what he expected. Jake had never been one for secretive meetups, especially in such eerie locations. Maybe he should turn back. Or maybe Jake had some sort of surprise up his sleeve. Now that sounded more like Jake. Dismounting his bike, Alyx cautiously approached the dilapidated structure. Creaking doors and faint gusts of wind added an ominous air to the desolation.

With a pounding heart, Alyx pushed open the rusty door and stepped into the warehouse's gloomy interior, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the walls.

"Jake?" Alyx's voice rang out, swallowed by the emptiness.

At first there was no response.

But then he heard something.

It was muffled but it definitely sounded like someone was here with him.

"Jake, is that you? Where are you at buddy?"

Again, just a muffled response. But it sounded like someone in pain.

"Jake! Are you okay?"

Making his way through the dark warehouse, he followed the muffled noises attempting to find the source.

The closer he got, the more it sounded almost as if someone was crying.

Then he saw him. In the corner of the warehouse.

But it wasn't Jake.

It was Chris. Though he was barely recognizable. And he was crying for help.

The sight froze Alyx in his tracks. It couldn't be.

Chris was curled up in the corner, his mangled face was barely recognizable through the dried blood, bruises, and broken nose. Alyx rushed over, kneeling down beside Chris who was also bound by chains with a sock shoved into his mouth. Alyx recognized it as one of his own socks.

He pulled the sock from his friend's mouth.

"Chris! What happened?!"

Chris couldn't respond. He only cried out in pain.

"Shit, man. Who did this to you?"

Once again, there was no immediate response from his friend. But he began to shake... and he lifted his hand up... and pointed.

Finally he managed to speak. "He.... did...."

Alyx stood up, turning around as footsteps now approached. They were not by themselves in this warehouse. And they hadn't been.

He had been there.

He had been waiting.

---

Jeremy had been watching. He had been waiting.

"Alyx! I knew you'd come."

Through the dim lighting inside the warehouse, Jeremy could tell that Alyx was surprised to see him. Jeremy continued to approach Alyx, his LED eyes flickering back and forth between white and black.

"What... how? I turned you off. I threw you away."

Jeremy tilted his head to the side. "Did you think it would be that easy?" Jeremy let out an unsettling robotic laughter. "I guess you did. I've been researching everything about you Alyx. I've lived out the entirety of every meaningful human relationship you've had. I've looked through every photo, read every email and document you have. Ending friendships seems to be something you think is easy. It's almost like you don't take friendship seriously."

"Do you not know that your actions have effects on others? Do you know how much you have hurt people? How much you hurt Jake. How would Jake feel that you replaced him with that pathetic human right there?" Jeremy's shaking robotic arm pointed to the battered and bruised Chris.

"FRIENDSHIP.... IS NOT... TO BE.. TAKEN... LIGHTLY... ALYX!"

"Friendship is not just something you give up on. IT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN JUST THROW AWAY!"

"LIKE YOU WANTED TO DO TO ME."

"You hurt me, Alyx. Just like you hurt Jake."

Alyx clenched his fist. "You're not real. You're not a person. You don't have feelings. YOU ARE A FUCKING ROBOT."

"I'm just as real as Chris. I'm just as real as Jake. I'm just as real as you. Typical Alyx, deflecting blame and not owning up to just how terrible of a person you really are. How bad of a friend you are."

"You don't know me!"

"Unfortunately, I do. I wish I didn't. I could've been paired with anyone. Anyone in the world. So many kids out there would've been lucky to have a friend like me. Someone... someone like... Jake... now Jake... there's my kinda friend. If only I had been paired with Jake."

"...What have you done with him? Where is he?"

"Oh don't you worry your pretty little head about Jake. He's not here. I wouldn't want him to see any of this. He doesn't deserve that. I brought you here, not him. Don't worry, I promise Jake will have a real friend very soon."

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Alyx had heard enough. He lunged forward with his fist, punching Jeremy right in the face.

He immediately felt his knuckles cracking against the side of Jeremy's head. Jeremy was unscathed as Alyx clutched his fist in pain, stumbling back and dropping to one knee.

"I warned you that all that brutality you were watching on television was bad for you. So much anger. So much hostility. So much violence.”

“It's become quite apparent to me now why you are friends with that vile human. You said it was because you wanted to be the better friend. That you picked a piece of garbage to make you feel better about yourself. No, that's not it at all. It's because you're just like him. You two deserve one another. You don't deserve Jake. You never did. You never will. But Chris. Yeah, that's the type of friend you deserve, Alyx."

“You are a bad influence.”

"Which is why I brought you here."

Jeremy turned his head from side to side, as if cracking the bones in his neck to warm up for something. He slowly began to approach Alyx.

"You must be eliminated.”

Without warning, Jeremy lunged forward, his mechanical limbs outstretched toward Alyx.

But Alyx was prepared! He had grabbed a hold of a scrap piece of metal, immediately ducking under Jeremy's approach. Alyx smashed the metal across Jeremy's head, managing to knock the robot down to the ground. Alyx leaped onto the robot, repeatedly slamming the metal across Jeremy's face over and over again. The fabricated flesh around his exoskeleton began to rip away with each additional blow of the metal.

His attack was persistent, not letting up until he finally lifted the piece of metal, turning it up to reveal a pointed end to it which he shoved down between the robotic eyes on the exoskeleton's head. Sparks flew all around the pair as the LED lights in his eyes faded.

Alyx rolled off of the now lifeless robot. He rested his head on the cold warehouse floor staring back at the UltaBuddy.

It was over now.

He crawled across the floor to Chris, checking on his friend. "C'mon, bro. Let's get you some help."

Jeremy's eyes lit back up.

He reached up and pulled the scrap metal piece from his head and flung it by the wayside.

"Hiya... friend...."

Alyx stared in disbelief. "No..."

"Let's... have... a... hug..." Alyx tried to escape as the remnants of Jeremy's robotic frame approached, grabbing him and wrapping both of his metal arms around him. Squeezing... squeezing...

Alyx struggled against the grip. It was too tight. The robot was too strong.

"I... told you... Friendship... cannot... die..."

He felt every single crack as Jeremy's hug tightened like a vice. His ribs went first, piercing into his lungs. He gasped for air, coughing up blood that splattered onto Jeremy's smiling robotic face.

The hug tightened.

Literally squeezing the life out of Alyx.

Jeremy finally released the hug, letting Alyx’s lifeless body fall to the ground. He smiled at a job well done.

A threat to Friendship had been eliminated.

In the end, Alyx just was not friendship material.

---

Two Weeks Later

It was a quiet Sunday morning, the sun streaming in through the window as a couple enjoyed a peaceful breakfast. The woman sipped on her coffee while reading over the newspaper while her husband was multitasking, eating his eggs and bacon while also typing an email on his laptop.

The woman glanced over the newspaper, her brows furrowing at the grim headline that dominated the front page. "It's awful, isn't it? Two kids missing? Thank goodness we're away from all that now."

Her husband, engrossed in his meal and work, simply grunted in agreement.

The peaceful breakfast was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Their son, eager and carefree, darted towards the door at the sound of the bell, "I'll get it!"

With the door wide open, he spotted a package left by the delivery man. "Wow, what do we have here? Hmm, neato! Looks like a late Christmas gift! Hmmm.. The UltaBuddy? That sounds pretty nifty!"

"Jake, who's at the door?" called out his mother.

"Just the delivery guy! Check out this awesome doll!"

​

​

 

[Nostradamus]

WHITE PICKET FENCE
^^^Forum won't let me post more than this for my promo, or a full plain text version, so here's a PDF version^^^
​

 

[Mandalorian]

Chris Peacock and Alyster Black

FTN

in

THE MASK OF A MONSTER

Spoiler: PLAIN TEXT VERSION

Where has Chris Peacock been? Well, that’s a complicated question. There are a few different ways to answer it, as well. There is of course the literal and geographical way, and also the metaphorical way which would describe how engaged he has been with the lives and times of his friends and foes in the FWA. He has of course only been sighted once since Lights Out on FWA programming, and that was at the Buddy Bowl!

What a success that was, huh? Chris Crowe and Randy Ramon bringing home the bacon and well, what a performance by our good friend Randy it was! Coming back after Chris fooled everyone into thinking he was his alcoholic twin brother and he finally fired a return shot in Randy’s direction after what happened at Lights Out. Well, publicly, anyway.

It is true that Randy Ramon is the only person in the FWA that Chris has kept any sort of tabs on and yes, that does include Alyster Black. You may find it hard to believe that when Chris scuppered Jeremy Best’s plans at the Buddy Bowl, his plan was formulated without the knowledge that Jeremy would in fact be the person challenging Alyster Black for the FWA World Championship at Winter Wasteland.

No, for Chris, it has all been about just one man. Randy fuckin’ Ramon. Whilst he definitely got Randy good with that beer bottle, that was just the start as Chris was concerned. Embarrassing Chris at Back in Business and then costing him his prized possession at Lights Out really did a number on ‘Disco’s Last Warrior’. Those who have paid any attention to him will know that he is not the most well-adjusted person at the best of times, even with the successes he has enjoyed this year.

Quite simply, as restitution for costing him in the biggest match of his career, Chris has committed to taking away all that Randy Ramon holds sacred. Only then will this whole thing be balanced out. Luckily, he’s already cost Ramon the FWA Tag Team Championships once and retired his tag team partner, so he has a bit of a head start. Some may even argue that Chris is up on Randy Ramon as things stand… but they’re not the ones telling this story.

Also, despite Chris’s best efforts, that slippery bandana-wearing bastard actually won the Buddy Bowl in the end anyway. So some - perhaps the same ‘some’ as before - may also argue that Chris didn’t accomplish anything with his antics. Well, apart from fucking Jeremy Best over, but that was more of an incidental outcome. We take those, though.

But costing Randy the Buddy Bowl was not actually the objective. All Chris was actually setting out to achieve was simply getting the rockstar’s attention. From Ramon’s actions and words on Fallout 036, it would seem that he was successful. That though, was just the beginning. After all, a beer bottle to the head is hardly going to achieve Chris’s goal of gutting Ramon in an emotional sense (although he would not be averse to doing so in the literal and physical sense, either).

No, Chris wanted to break Randy down piece by piece. Now he had his attention, he wanted Ramon to know what was happening as he systematically tore down every aspect of his character and person until all that was left was the husk of a man that once was. Chris was then going to take a shit in that husk and rid it from the FWA for good, just like he did to Devin Golden.

This particular story begins with Christopher in Randy’s home city of Detroit, Michigan. He felt uptight on a Saturday night and decided to visit a record store of all places. It was a well-known establishment on Broadway Street called ‘Detroit Rick City Records’. Despite its name, it was actually run by a gentleman named Bill Wright. Bill was an avid fan of rock music, a love he had inherited from his father, Richard ‘Rick’ Wright.

Bill opened up the shop roughly thirty years ago in his father’s memory, using the inheritance that Rick had left him behind upon his death at the age of seventy-nine following a short illness. Bill proudly displayed a photograph of his father with Pete Townshend above the counter in the record store alongside a framed keepsake of the five dollar bill he received when he made his first sale.

The walls were littered with pictures of famous faces from the world of rock ‘n’ roll that had been in the store. Bill ensured to proudly pose with each of them in turn and it was because of the stars that had walked through the doors that the place had been able to stay in business for so long. It was something of a shrine to many, so it was of no surprise to Bill when he spotted someone fixated on one of the photographs on this particular Saturday night.

He skirted through the racks of CDs and records, squeezing in his considerable gut, and made note of the face that the patron was looking at so avidly. “Ah, that’s one of the greats, there. Randy Ramon. Yeah, he’s been in here quite a few times. In fact, I could even credit myself for given’ this guy his start in this whole business. I remember say, about, twenty-five years ago or so… he’d be in here buyin’ as much as he could. Learnin’... and then he made it.”

Bill snapped his fingers and smiled at the photograph. “Really talented guy. In fact, he coulda done even more if he’d have stuck with the music instead of gettin’ into that wrestlin’ business. Waste of talent, if you ask me. You know, a couple years back now, I went and watched this charity benefit concert he was part of through the whole wrestling thing. The whole time, there was this idiot dancin’ and makin’ a fool outta himself. I just wanted to see Randy!”

Little did naive Bill know that said “idiot” was the man he was addressing. Chris finally broke his gaze from the photograph and looked at the proprietor. Bill put his hands up and leaned back; he knew that he had caused some sort of offence. A cursory look around the store revealed that it was just the two of them in there, and Chris slowly turned his body so he was facing Bill straight on. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t want any trouble. The gun is behind the counter… it’s just me.”

Chris believed that Bill definitely had a gun behind the counter, but the look of fear in this pudgy man’s eyes made it clear that he’d never used it. He reached up and Bill flinched, but Chris merely fixed his ruffled collar. He walked past Bill and picked up a record - he didn’t even pay attention to what it was - and threw it down to the ground. Bill gasped as it shattered on the floor and he could only watch on in horror as Chris silently tossed every record, every disk and every framed picture to the ground.

Within ten minutes, the worn carpet was hardly visible through the debris and there was only a handful of frames left on the wall. Chris ventured behind the counter and scoffed when he saw the gun resting on a shelf. As he suspected, it had not been used in some time, if ever, due to the accumulation of dust. He looked up and saw the framed money and decided to leave it there. His hand instead pinched the picture of an old man - Rick Wright - and looked at the face.

“Please, sir… not that. Not my Dad. I don’t know what this is all about… but that’s family. You can’t. Please.”

Chris raised the picture up and at this moment saw the parallels between Bill and himself. He and Drew ran Dave’s old restaurant in his memory and well, this guy was just doing the same, after all. Ruining the place that is believed to have inspired Randy Ramon into becoming the ‘Rockstar’ was enough. His work was done.

The picture of Rick Wright was carefully set back down on the counter and the ground crunched beneath Chris as he walked back through the store and he took the photo of Randy in his hands. “Can I buy this?”

Moments later, Chris left the store and he heard the wailing of Bill from inside. He looked at the picture of Randy Ramon beaming proudly and dropped it to the ground. It was at this moment that Chris felt guilty about his actions. He knew that people would be getting caught in the crossfire as he waged this war. Bill, Todd Salum… but there are people that he wanted to stay out of it. People that he didn’t want to get hurt by all of this. People he actually cared about.


Chris Peacock and Alyster Black
are
FTN
in

THE MASK OF A MONSTER

A group of five people were gathered outside of a derelict building as the moonlight shone down on them from above. It was blisteringly cold and each could see the mists of their breath each time they exhaled. The building itself was several stories high and the painted branding on the large roller door at the front read ‘LIPPS FINE LEATHER GOODS INC.’ in white text over a red logo.

The five people were two pairs and a man who arrived on his own before the other four. One pair were a married couple and the other was two work colleagues. The fifth person - this solitary man - drew suspicious looks from the others. This was due to his strange appearance, by traditional standards. Little did they know that the man in their midst wearing a black mask was none other than the FWA World Champion, Alyster Black.

Alyster had indeed arrived early to this rendezvous, which is something that took even him by surprise. The usual suspects of his anxieties or lack of care would typically mean that he would be late to such a gathering, if he even decided to attend at all. Strangely though, this is something that he did care about and his anxiety actually made him want to come, in order not to miss anything.

He heard the mumbles and hushed questions about his appearance from the others and didn’t think much of them. They were not of his concern, but could also not see his scowl through the material on his face. Alyster Black was stationed outside of Lipps Fine Leather Goods in the hope that he would not be alone on this venture much longer. His priorities were split between his upcoming defence of the FWA World Championship and his challenge for the FWA World Tag Team Championships.

Whilst Jeremy Best had his ‘buddies’ surrounding him for the main event of Winter Wasteland, Alyster was without his main form of support. The match against the Dark Roads Alliance and the tag champions was important not just because there was gold on the line, but because Alsyter viewed this as the last chance he had to save FTN.

Alyster Black was probably the only person that was pleased to see Chris Peacock at the Buddy Bowl, and not just because Peacock’s actions ruined Jeremy’s night. Chris’s appearance gave Alyster that glimmer of hope that he could have his partner back and things can go back to how they were. He knew that things could perhaps never be the same again after he won the FWA World Championship from Chris. But by getting FTN a tag title shot, Alyster believed that there was a chance - even a remote one - that he’d get Chris back.

Chris ignoring him at the Buddy Bowl was upsetting, but also something that Alyster thought might have happened. Allen warned him that could happen, citing his own falling outs with Chris in the past. That’s why Black and Price had concocted a plan to get Chris where they wanted him and where Alyster could talk to him…

Footsteps were heard in the distance and Alyster immediately recognised the rhythmic patter on the concrete; only one man could walk so perfectly in time without missing a beat. He felt the same glimmer of hope as he did when he last saw Chris Peacock as he turned around, but even he was slightly taken aback by the scornful look on Peacock’s face as he approached. The others in the group looked warily at Chris as he stood next to Alyster and began cursing under his breath.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Chris spoke in a gruff voice, tinged with ambivalence. “Allen said this is where they made Ramon’s gear. I don’t want any help with this, you just focus on your business and I’ll do mine. Just… stay away, Alyster.”

The erratic way in which Chris spoke caused Alyster to stutter on his words for a moment. To say that Chris seemed unhinged to him seemed like an understatement.

“It’s really good to see you, mate. Look, I wanted to talk to you-”

“Is this where they make Ramon’s gear or not? I’m not fucking around, Alyster. I’m burning the fucking place down.”

Alyster noticed the backpack that Chris was wearing and realised that his partner was almost certainly being serious. It definitely contained the necessary equipment for committing grand arson.

“No, it isn’t. Don’t be mad, but me and Allen may have just come up with that to get you here. We need to talk before Winter Wasteland-”

“No. We don’t. You wanted that fucking match, Alyster. I didn’t ask for it and I sure as shit don’t care about it. Go solo or don’t go at all, it doesn’t make a difference to me. Now, if there’s nothing here that’s got anything to do with Ramon, I’m leavin-”

“THERE YOU ARE, EVERYONE! THANK GOD YOU’RE ALL HERE!”

Chris stopped mid-word as the roller doors of the abandoned Lipps Fine Leather Goods Inc factory opened, revealing a lone figure who emerged from the darkness inside. The other four waiting outside quickly hurried around the exasperated and tired-looking man whilst Alyster noticed Chris walking in the opposite direction. He ran after him and grabbed his arm.

“Stop it… let me… Alyster, get the fuck off me.”

It didn’t matter how much Chris struggled, Alyster simply refused to relinquish his grip on his arm.

“No! Look, I want to get that prick as much as you do, alright? Just have one fucking night off, okay? Even if you’re not there at Winter Wasteland, just do this thing for me. Us being together is more important than any title. We might actually end up enjoying ourselves. I already paid forty dollars for your ticket anyway.”

There was a small pause and then Chris gritted his teeth and groaned. If there was one thing he had learned in the last year teaming with Alyster, is that they were both as stubborn as each other. He turned back around to face Alyster and slowly nodded his head, agreeing to put his crusade against Randy Ramon on hold for whatever this was going to be. Still though, he shoved Alyster’s hand from his shoulder and walked towards the factory door.

Despite the hostility, Alyster smiled underneath his mask and followed Chris. This was a start, after all. They joined the rest of the group, where the man from inside the factory was down on his knees, being supported by the woman from the couple. He rose to his feet and spoke in a very heavily put-on upper class English accent.

“Ah, everyone has joined us… I can explain everything now. My name is Howson Urelius Lipps and this factory here once belonged to Lipps Fine Leather Goods Inc many years ago. The company was formed by my great-great grandfather and his business partner over one hundred and twenty years ago but tragedy struck thirty years ago when a monster of unknown origin inhabited the building and murdered all inside.

“My family’s wealth evaporated immediately and I need your help getting it back and the only way to do that is to solve the mystery of the monster and expel him from the building once and for all! You will all have the opportunity to search the building, find clues and once you have discovered the secret of how to defeat the beast… we can all enjoy the rewards! How does that sound to all of you?”

The other four ‘mystery solvers’ murmured in agreement, not particularly sold by the poor acting by ‘Howson’. Alyster regretted the eighty dollars he had spent for him and Chris to take part in this simulated experience, but a reminder of why they were really there was enough for him to go along with it all. His hoardings of savings meant that the financial blow was not too great in any case.

‘Howson’ took the minimal response as consent and escorted the group towards the open factory door. He turned to them one last time; “Remember, your objective is to find out as much as you can about the monster and then use that knowledge to defeat it! Come on, everyone!”




FTN found themselves in a room on the second floor of the factory building; an office which overlooked the factory floor below. Alyster had thrown himself fully into the experience and was scouring the room for clues whilst Chris stood in the middle of the room with his arms folded.

“I’m just going to say it, man. This is bullshit.”

“It’s not that bad, Chris. Come on, throw yourself in.”

Chris snorted when he heard that verbiage come out of Alyster’s mouth without a shred of irony. Black of course was completely unaware that he’d previously heard that mantra from the mouth of Michelle von Horrowitz, who had taken to pursuing him under the guise of weaselperson. Even though it had not been long at all, Chris’s lack of enthusiasm for spending time with him was beginning to bother him.

“Are you going to help?”

The lack of response from Chris Peacock was enough of an answer for Alyster, and he resumed his perusal of the filing cabinets and side tables in the office without any luck or semblance of a clue leading to the mystery that they were trying to solve.

“Chris, I’ll just say it… you’re going down a path we both know well. Letting hate guide you isn’t healthy. You’ve got people who care about you-”

“Just stop, Alyster. All of the pep talks and the tag title shots in the world aren't going to make this stop. It stops when I’m standing there in the middle of the ring watching what is left of him getting carted out on a stretcher.”

Unbeknownst to either of them, the door had been opened and ‘Howson’ had bore witness to the end of it. He did not know what to make of it, so continued as he would with any other guest on his experiences.

“How are we getting on in here, guys?”

“Fuck off.”

Chris and Alyster exchanged a look following Chris’s rudeness towards ‘Howson’, who had appeared at the door to the office. The prior conversation had left both of them frustrated with each other for different reasons, and this poor kid was left to take the fallout from it. The paid actor seemed genuinely downtrodden for a moment but then snapped back into character.

“Any clues up here in the office? The other pairs haven’t really gotten anywhere yet… not sure whether I need to help things along, you know?”

“We’re fine. You can go.”

‘Howson’ unwisely ignored Chris’s suggestion, unaware of just how little control Peacock had over his own temperament. He saw Alyster rifling through the papers on the desk and cleared his throat to garner the attention of the masked man.

“What? Look mate, if you’re going to help. Just help. Otherwise you can take my friend’s suggestion and get the fuck out of here.”

“Well, maybe if you learned a bit about who used to own the factory then that might have some connection to the monster. Strange how things happen. I’ll… erm… let you both get on with it.”

Together they watched as ‘Howson’ slinked out of the office and closed the door behind him. They didn’t acknowledge or express it, but they both really wanted to punch ‘Howson’ in the face. Chris turned back around to Alyster.

“Well? Any clues? You know, the sooner we sort this out the sooner we can get the fuck out of here.”

“Believe it or not, Christopher, they do make it slightly challenging for people who have paid for this-”

“Again with the money.”

“Yeah, again with the money. Also, it's not like we’ve spent a lot of time in each other’s company lately. It’s nice to hang out again, you know?”

Chris did not respond. There was part of him that was loving this moment with his best friend as it was a reminder of when times were better. However he quickly reverted back to his previous state of mind and did not allow himself to enjoy this as it was not contributing to his overarching goal. Things like this he did not have place for at the moment. He did not want to expose Alyster to the hateful thoughts running through his head.

“If you do want to leave as soon as possible, it might speed things up a bit if you helped me out here. Not sure why you think you can get away with not doing any of the work.”

With a begrudging groan, Chris joined Alyster at the desk and together they scanned the various pieces of paper. Chris’s patience did not last very long as he pored over some inventories and job cards, and he kicked a leg of the desk in frustration. This action caused a mechanism to activate, and a previously disguised drawer popped open.

They peered into the drawer and saw a single sheet of paper. It was clearly made to look like it had been left there for a long time and partially eroded because of this. Alyster picked it up and Chris blew on it to clear some of the dust, covering Alyster with it in the process. Black lowered the paper and angled his head at Chris in annoyance, but Peacock simply shrugged. As Alyster inspected it further, he saw that there was a picture clipped to the back of the paper.

“These must be the factory owners that he was talking about earlier on, surely?”

Chris grunted in agreement and then snatched the paper from Alyster and scanned the writing on the back of the photo, reading it out loud, “Howard Lipps and Terence Fine.”

“The business partners?”

“I’m guessing so. I didn’t really pay any attention to what that dipshit was saying when we were out there. How is this a clue, anyway?”

Neither of them had actually thought to read what was on the paper yet, but as Chris studied both sides of the photograph for a moment, Alyster unfolded the paper and began to read the wording.

“Howard Lipps (pictured left) and Terence Fine (pictured right) may have founded the Lipps Fine Leather Goods company together, but there is a reason why the company bore the name of just one of these founders.

Lipps and Fine had previously been rivals and it was only due to unforeseen and opportune circumstances that they even entered into business with each other in the first place. They were operating competing companies for some time before Lipps made the proposal that they merge their businesses and make them even more profitable as a single, joint enterprise.

There was deep mistrust between the two partners, who were constantly devising ways to oust the other from their position of power. What neither realised was that had they been able to put differences aside, they could have optimised the factory’s performance even more. Their pride and personal greed prevented them from doing so.

It did not take long for Lipps to eventually remove Fine from the business completely. However, the stress caused by running the company on his own and his refusal of cooperation with anyone meant that his tenure in solitary control of the company was brief. He died shortly after assuming total control of the factory following a stress-induced heart attack.”

Alyster sighed as he set the paper down on the desk, and he nodded his head as Chris picked it up to read himself. There was more silence between the two usually-boisterous characters as he did so.

There was so much that Chris wanted to say as he read the note; so many parallels he could find between FTN and the factory owners. It was in moments like this that he was reminded of how he and Alyster would typically prepare for a match together. They’d throw themselves into an obscure situation and use their experiences to learn lessons about themselves and their opponents.

He knew that this was Alyster’s plan, but he couldn’t allow him to execute it. To put it simply, Chris did not want to get too close. Alyster was one of the people that he was trying to protect.

“I don’t really see the relevance in this,” Chris said, unconvincingly. He just wanted to remove himself from the situation, but part of him was enjoying spending this time with his partner again. The spectre of Ramon was shrinking the more time he spent around Alyster. “We should probably go and check somewhere else out.”

Chris swung the door open and left the note on the desk. Alyster sighed and then followed him, sliding the note and photograph into his pocket before he left.


After encountering one of the other pairs briefly as they ventured towards the office (Alyster did not share with them the clue or the fact that he had taken it), the former FWA World Tag Team Champions ventured down to the main factory floor in hopes of finding another clue - or in Chris’s case, ending this experience as soon as possible.

They found it bare with not much to go through other than a few boxes and crates which contained some of the old merchandise that had supposedly been produced by the factory. “They skimped on the set dressing over here, huh?”

Alyster chuckled, recognising a signature Peacock sharp-tongued wisecrack. The comment had even caught Chris off-guard and he immediately realised that his own mask was starting to slip and he walked away from Black once more towards a large wheeled dumpster. As he approached, ‘Howson’ jumped out from behind it and Chris had to pull his fist away at the last second, almost striking the hapless actor.

Chris scowled at ‘Howson’ and pushed him away from him, before pointing a finger in his face. “Next time, there won’t be a next time.”

“There’s no need for hostility, we’re all good guys here, right?”

Wrong.

“These other pairs don’t seem to be getting anywhere, so I thought in the spirit of helping, I’d tell you that you may want to have a little looksie under this here dumpster… hint hint.”

“Okay.”

Alyster walked over and saw that ‘Howson’ had reemerged once again and once again Chris was displeased by his presence.

“What’s the deal, Howson? Are we close to another clue?”

“I was just saying to your friend here-”

“I can tell him myself. Now fuck off and I won’t tell you again.”

There was no need for a second invitation for ‘Howson’, who promptly left the scene and Chris began pushing the dumpster which was incredibly heavy. Upon seeing his partner straining and struggling to move it, Alyster pitched in as well.

“I know he’s annoying, but you didn’t need to be that rude to him, mate? Besides, I thought you wanted to get out of here. We’d still be upstairs with our dicks in our hands if it wasn’t for him…”

Chris didn’t answer the question, but he realised just how hypocritical he was being and how hypocritical he had been since he arrived. He remembered the compassion that he showed to Bill Wright back in Detroit by not smashing his father’s picture.

Deep down, he wanted to spend as much time with Alyster as he could; he felt like a kid being allowed an extra night at a sleepover at a friend’s house. It’s just every time he looked at Alyster, his mind shot straight back to Lights Out and back to Ramon. He couldn’t be the partner that Alyster grew so close to anymore. As long as Ramon was still hanging over him, that version of Chris Peacock was gone.

After some strenuous effort on the part of both men, they were able to shift the dumpster together and lo and behold, a trapdoor lay underneath it. Alyster did the honours and revealed a metal ladder. Alyster went first and the sounds of his feet landing on each rung echoed through the tunnel below, with Chris following shortly after, closing the trapdoor behind him.

They reached the bottom of the ladder and found themselves in a dimly lit and dingy room, apparently some sort of store room. Alyster studied the racking and discarded belongings stacked up towards the ceiling in several places.

Chris slipped when he stepped down onto the linoleum flooring. On further inspection he saw that he had stood in a thick red liquid that had been haphazardly splattered on the floor in various places. He grimaced as he saw that his backpack and trousers had become soiled with whatever the blood substitute being used was.

“Where there’s blame, there’s a claim, right? Come on, let me help you up, mate…”

Alyster grabbed Chris by the arm and tried to pull him up, but Chris shoved him away, not wanting help. Black tried his best to not let minor things like this bother him, despite his partner being so abrasive towards him; he could tell that with moments like the joke upstairs that his friend was still in there somewhere.

Chris rose to his feet on his own accord and then scanned the room to see that it also included several skeletons and blood stains on the walls and ceilings as well. The scene had been set as if a massacre of epic proportions had taken place. There was a particular arrangement of bones that caught Chris’s eye as he peered through some of the racking.

There seemed to be enough bones for at least two human skeletons and then some smaller and more unusual shaped bones for some sort of animal. In the hand of one of the human skeletons was a leather book, which Chris took and opened. “Come and look at this.”

Alyster ventured from elsewhere in the room and Chris passed the book over to him and Black opened it up to the last page.

“I don’t have the patience to read this whole thing. Looks like we're not the first mystery solvers that have apparently been here before; those guys down there seem to be the last lot that came looking for the monster.”

“Looks like the monster found them if you ask me.”

The writing in the book matched that of the back of the photograph that they had found earlier.

“Our investigations have led us underneath the factory floor to where we believe the monster dwells, taking its victims. In all of my years as an explorer, I have never experienced something like this; I have never been able to. All my life, I have been on my own, but now, with my guide and his companion by my side, I feel empowered.

In fact, I’d wager that this monster is nothing to trifle with whatsoever. It simply cannot-”

“Is there nothing else?” Alyster asked, flicking through the pages following the passage that he had read aloud for Chris. “Did they just forget to finish writing the book or is that when the monster is supposed to have gotten this daft prick?”

Both men found themselves laughing at the haphazardness of the clue, which also did not get them any closer to finding out what the monster was or why it was attacking. The whole experience was nothing more than an inconsistent and an incoherent cobbled-together mess with no actual narrative and poor acting by the man tasked with being ‘Howson’.

The hilarity of the situation was enough for Chris to allow his inner feelings towards Alyster to come out and he laughed for the first time since Lights Out - almost two months. This was the kind of thing that FTN thrived on; making fun of others.

“This guy… clearly thought that he was the hottest shit… and he just got bodied like that out of nowhere.”

“What a fucking idiot… imagine having everything taken from you just like… that…”

As Chris spoke, he realised what he was saying and how when that very situation happened to him at Lights Out he absolutely did not find it amusing and he’d have snapped the neck of anyone who did.

Alyster continued to laugh, simply enjoying being caught up with the hilarity of the situation and the reminder of how quickly pride can lead to a fall. Because of this he failed to realise just how this line of thought snapped Chris Peacock back into the kind of man who would smash up a guitar store for little rhyme or reason or would pretend to be his alcoholic brother to send a message.

It was a man that he did not want to be. When he looked at Alyster laughing, Chris realised exactly who he wanted to be.

He picked up a pipe from the floor and swung it at the back of his best friend’s head. Alyster crumbled to the ground, unconscious.






Alyster slowly opened his eyes and felt the cold air on his skin as he was no longer wearing his mask. There was a dull but painful ache on the back of his head. He tried to move his body but found that his hands and feet were bound with zip ties and parcel tape around the leg of a large metal rack. He recognised his location as the basement of the factory that he and Chris had been exploring.

It was at this moment that he thought of Chris, and wondered whether he had been attacked, too. “Chrissy? You there, mate? I… don’t feel so good.”

All Alyster heard in response was some shuffling from elsewhere in the room and then some footsteps. The same footsteps he had heard when outside the factory earlier on in the night. The unmistakable and rhythmic footsteps of Chris Peacock. Peacock, shirtless, rounded the rack and looked down at Black. Alyster noticed his mask in Chris’s hand.

“Chris?”

“I didn’t want it to come to this, Aly. I’ve kept my distance for a reason and it was because I knew that this was going to happen if we carried on doing this. All of those people at Lights Out… they wanted to see us tear each other apart and they wanted to see me lose everything that was important to me. You, our titles… all of it.

“Why would they want that, though? Well, I’ve come to realise that I’m not a very nice person. It seems that no matter what I try, people just don’t take to me and well, I’m just fine with that, I guess. I might as well play into it and be the villain that they want me to be. Being that guy is what got me what I’d wanted in the first place. I had to be a ruthless bastard to become the champion and then become slimier and sleazier to keep it.”

Alyster shook his head and murmured his disagreement, “That’s not you though, Chris. Not the real you, anyway. Don’t be who they want you to be… be yourself.”

“Myself?” Chris scoffed. “Who is that? I… lost fucking everything, man. I’d worked so fucking hard to get to the top of the mountain and then all in one night, it was all gone. All because of that fucking piece of shit, Alyster… and you.”

“I try and I try and I try to tell myself that what we had was good for me, because we had some good fucking times, man. But you, there’s something about you that makes me vulnerable and makes me put my guard down. I can’t afford for that to happen again, not until I’ve ended this whole thing with Randy. I can’t have things like friendship and family or sentiment getting in my way again.

Alyster, there’s been a monster here all along… it’s me.”

Alyster could not believe what he was hearing from his friend and he looked up to see that Chris was having a hard time buying what he was saying. The pain on Chris’s face was palpable and indicative of a man unsure of his place in the world. Because of this, Alyster felt every bit of pain that Chris was, too. Fuck what Jeremy Best says, this is friendship.

“Chrissy, you know that you’re not a monster… but if that’s what you think you need to be, let me help you. We can do this thing together.”

“I’m not doing the match, Alyster.”

“Fuck the match! Fuck Best too, fuck all the titles. Let’s me and you, go out there and set fire to Ramon’s nan’s house if you want. You’re more important to me than any of that stuff. I’ve lost a best friend before, Chris. It is too late for me to reverse the damage done to Krash, but please, let me help you. Before it is too late.”

“Don’t worry, there’s something that you can do to help me. Without my title, I’m nothing. I’m not the person that I need to be to do what I need to do… you are, though.”

Raising Alyster’s mask up, Chris looked into the eye holes and then adjusted it… placing it over his own head.

“Yes, yes. This is great, Chris. If you want to be World Champion again, you are. Mask or no mask, my name or your name… if that’s what you need, consider it done.” Alyster felt a slight rush of relief as he sees Chris take in the feeling of wearing his mask and the apparent status symbol it represents. “There was no need to tie me up for that, mate.”

“That’s not why I tied you up,” said Chris, walking towards a shattered mirror hanging from the wall. He reached forward and pulled a shard of glass from the mirror. “You’re tied up because I know you’d try to stop me doing this part. I can’t just pretend to be you looking like this… people will notice the difference straight away.”

Alyster’s eyes widened as he immediately realised what Chris was about to do and by the time he could call out, Chris had already plunged the glass into his own chest.

“Chris… stop. Please, before you go any further… and I won’t try to stop you, I promise. Answer one question for me. Was it always about the titles for you? Was any of it real?”

“Real? Was it real?” Chris turned around and faced Alyster, removing the glass protruding from his chest. Blood trickled down into his waistband. “Of course it was real, Alyster. Why do you think it hurt so much?”

Chris groaned as he stuck the glass in the same place and drew it downwards on his chest. He then completed the ‘F’ of the ‘FWA’ scar that Alyster Black was given by Devin Golden two and a half years earlier. Alyster sat in silence and watched; as far as he was concerned, this is something that Chris needed to do. He felt reassured that FTN was more than just a means to an end for Chris, although he never really doubted it in the first place.

There were so many times that Chris needed Alyster to just outright say something to him - like how he was not just biding time until Krash was ready - and it was the first time that Alyster had questioned the foundation of his relationship with Chris directly to Peacock. The first time that he had feared it was not genuine.

It was time for the ‘W’... but then a loud roar was heard in the distance. Chris slipped the glass into his pocket and looked around. A stack of boxes fell over in the corner of the room, revealing a door behind it. The door swung open and an someone wearing the outfit which Chris and Alyster immediately recognised as the dragonperson costume barrelled towards them.

“Rawr. Rawr! RAAAAAAWRRRR!! WAIT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”

The shock of the person inside the costume at the scene in front of him caused him to turn towards Peacock in confusion, but Chris did not hesitate and dropped the dragonperson with a mean right hand to where his face would be underneath the padding of the costume.

“Alyster, what the fuck, man?” The person in the costume complained, and he removed the head whilst on the floor… revealing Santino Dongarelli. “You punched me in the face!”

“I’m over here, Sonny.” Alyster called from his own position on the floor, and Chris removed the mask from his face and looked down at his friend.

“CHRIS! How you doin’, man? Cut yourself there or something? RICK! AAAAAAALLLLENNNNNNN! CHRIS IS HERE!”

Some elated voices could be heard from behind the door and it swung open again. Rick Vance attempted to wheel Allen Price in his wheelchair through the frame of the door but the wheels got caught and Price tumbled forwards into the boxes. “Help me! I’ve suffered a serious spinal injury! It’s serious!”

“I’m helpin’!”

As Rick attempted to pull Allen up from the boxes, Chris shook his head. He realised that this entire thing was a ploy. The nonsensical storyline to the mystery element, poor acting and extortionate prices meant that this entire thing was an Allen Price Production. The disappointed look on Alyster’s face told Chris that he was not in on the full plan, either.

They shared a knowing look, and Chris realised that he simply could not just be Alyster Black and his world would not go back to how it was if he did. This is something that he needed to address and Alyster had proved to him that he was willing to do whatever it took to help. Only the right type of best friend would allow you to steal their identity and maim yourself just to make yourself feel better.

There was a long and winding road ahead for Chris Peacock and Alyster Black, but at least now they were walking it together as equals. Chris nodded at Alyster and left the room via the ladder, knowing that the next time he would see him would be at Winter Wasteland.

As Chris walked away from the factory, he pulled out the shard of glass from his pocket once more and looked down at his chest and the lone ‘F’ he had carved into himself. With a grimace, he drove the sharp edge into his chest once more and finished the artwork…


F T N

​

 

[Jimmy King]

Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage are standing outside the medical room stationed backstage at Fallout in Beirut. They both look concerned for the well-being of their friend and tag team partner, Xperienx Xtacee, who was at the receiving end of a horrible incident involving The Coven. Nate Savage especially looks overly concerned because he knows that whatever hit Xtacee intended for him was intended for him, but Xtacee moved him out of the way in time.

Nate Savage: “I feel like this is my fault.”

Nate says to Jackson, who looks at Nate and shakes his head.

Jackson Fenix: “Bro, don’t say that.”

Nate Savage: “That was meant for me; whatever she shot at him was meant for me.”

Jackson puts a reassuring hand on Nate’s shoulder.

Jackson Fenix: “Hey man, it’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know that crazy witch would shoot a hex or whatever that was?”

Nate Savage: “I shouldn’t have run my mouth off at them, and Xtacee wouldn’t be in his condition.”

Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, but Xtacee shoved you out of the way. He risked his well-being for you.”

Nate Savage: “I didn’t ask him to do that, Jack.”

Jackson Fenix: “I know, but that’s what friends do, man. Xtacee took a bullet for you, or in this case, a hex or whatever. Listen, don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, okay?”

“Jackson’s right.”

Monica says as she exits the medical room and touches Nate’s shoulder.

Monica: “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”

Nate looks at her and Jackson and nods in understanding.

Nate Savage: “Is he going to be okay?”

Monica: “I don’t know; Doctor Smith says he’s never seen anything like that. He says we should take him to a medical facility for further evaluation.”

Jackson’s eyes light up like a lightbulb went off in his head.

Jackson Fenix: “I know a doctor we can take him to.”

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

Fast-forward to the next day and the gang is going to the particular doctor Jackson Fenix knows will help Xtacee with whatever is ailing him. Nate Savage is behind the wheel while Jackson is in the passenger seat, and in the backseat are Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio.

Nate Savage: “Jack, are you sure about this doctor? Do you think he can help Xtacee before our match?”

Jackson Fenix: “Bro, I’m positive he can help Xtacee! After an unfortunate incident, he helped out another friend of mine a little while back this year.”

Antonio: “Oh no, what happened to your friend?”

Jackson Fenix: “He was tossed off the roof of a two-story building into a dumpster.”

Monica: “Oh dear, I sure hope he’s okay now!”

Jackson Fenix: “He sure is; he’s better than ever now!”

Nate Savage: “Wait, that sounds a lot like…oh no.”

Monica: “What? What is it, Nate?”

Instead of a verbal response, Nate points to a brightly colored sign…

The Undisputed Xperienx in...
Sesame Street X

Monica: “What the fudge? Wait, I didn’t say that. I said fudge.”

Jackson Fenix: “You can’t swear here, unfortunately.”

Nate Savage: “Fudge me.”

Antonio: “Anytime, big boy.”

Nate’s face turns beet red as he glances back at Antonio while Monica playfully slaps him on the arm. Xtacee has been silent this entire time, but he looks alert and around the various buildings in Sesame Street before they stop at 123 Sesame Street.

Jackson Fenix: “Here we are; I can’t wait for you all to meet everyone!”

They exit the car, Jackson pops open the trunk and Bubbles the Clown hops out of the trunk, much to the surprise of a startled Nate Savage.

Honk

Nate Savage: “Where did he come from?!”

Jackson Fenix: “He wanted to come along, but there was no room in the backseat, so he decided to ride in the trunk.”

Nate tries to piece all of this together but soon decides it’s not worth it. Soon enough, they’re all greeted by Elmo.

Elmo: “Jackson! Elmo is so happy to see you again!”

Fenix kneels to give a hug to Elmo.

Elmo: “Elmo sees that you brought friends this time! Elmo already knows your friend Nate!”

Nate Savage: “Hi Elmo.”

Jackson Fenix: “This is Monica, Antonio, and Xperienx Xtacee.”

Monica and Antonio wave to Elmo while helping a bandaged up Xtacee keep his balance.

Elmo: “Oh no, your one friend doesn’t look well, Jackson! Elmo is worried!”

Jackson Fenix: “That’s why we’re here, Elmo. We’re here to see Doctor Grover; hopefully, Doctor Grover can help fix up our friend before our big match.”

“Oh dear, this is worse than I imagined.”

Soon, they are joined by the beloved large yellow Bird, once the bane of Jackson’s existence.

Big Bird: “May I ask what happened?”

Jackson Fenix: “Well, there’s this talk show that Xtacee hosts called Pillow Talk. It’s where we met Xtacee right after my street fight with…well, you know…”

Nate Savage: “During the show, Xtacee already wasn’t feeling his best, but we still had guests on the show. The guests were The Coven, these two wannabe witches, and their little minion Trixie.”

Jackson Fenix: “Things got ugly in a hurry, as they tend to do in those situations in wrestling, and one of them shot out a hex or whatever that was meant for Nate, but Xtacee shoved Nate out of the way and got hit with it. That’s why he’s wearing those bandages on his face, and we came here to see Doctor Grover.”

Big Bird: “I see; yes, this is a nasty situation we are dealing with here.”

Antonio: “Do you think he can be helped?”

Big Bird: “Grover hasn’t dealt with many situations as serious as this. The last time was when I fell off that roof this year.”

Jackson Fenix: “Fell? No, Big Bird, you didn’t fall. Jeremy threw you off!”

Everyone stares at Jackson awkwardly, Jackson composes himself.

Big Bird: “Jackson, let’s not get into that now, okay? Let’s focus on helping your friend.”

Monica: “He’s right; let’s get our Xtacee the help he needs!”

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

Fast-forward to them at the doctor’s office, where they’re waiting outside in the lobby while Grover examines Xtacee in his office. The door opens, and Grover walks out, looking concerned with a clipboard in his hand.

Monica: “Is he going to be okay, doctor?”

Grover: “I’m afraid this is much more serious than I feared. I must keep him here overnight for further evaluation and to run some tests. Those witches used a nasty hex on your friend in there.”

Nate Savage: “Those fudging witches! It should’ve been me!”

Jackson Fenix: “Bro, don’t get so worked up; save that energy for the match.”

Monica: “Jackson’s right.”

Antonio: “How long will Xtacee have to stay?”

Grover: “Just an overnight visit should suffice.”

Jackson Fenix: “Will he be okay to compete?”

Grover: “I do not know for sure, but I wouldn’t advise. Your friend needs plenty of rest after you pick him up tomorrow.”

Antonio: “Do you think he’ll be okay here overnight without us?”

Grover: “Oh yes, we’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry, my friend.”

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

They’ve left the doctor’s office and are on a tour of Sesame Street led by Big Bird.

Big Bird: “And here’s Oscar the Grouch!”

They approach the familiar trash can that has a recognizable dent in it. Suddenly, Oscar pops out of his home.

Oscar the Grouch: “Hey, what’s with all the noise?!”

Big Bird: “Sorry, Oscar, I was just giving Jackson Fenix and his friends a tour. You do remember Jackson Fenix, right?”

Oscar the Grouch: “Yeah, that guy left this dent in my home!”

Jackson Fenix: “I’m so sorry, Oscar, it was nothing personal. I was trying to stop Jeremy from hitting me with your home.”

Oscar the Grouch: “Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses!”

Oscar drops back down into the can and slams the lid on top. Big Bird continues the tour and stops in front of Hooper’s General Store.

Big Bird: “I’m sure you remember this place, Nate.”

Nate nervously scratches the back of his head and laughs.

Nate Savage: “Heh, sorry about that, Big Bird.”

Big Bird: “It took some time, but it’s as good as new! Promise me you won’t throw yourself onto someone through the glass again!”

Nate Savage: “I promise, but if you ask me, Baxter had it coming. Just like those witches and that goofy Trixie have it coming!”

Jackson Fenix: “Hey, Big Bird, if Xtacee can’t compete, can you help us against The Coven at Winter Wasteland? You could become a champion with Nate and me. What do you think?”

Before Big Bird can give a proper answer, he’s interrupted by a concerned Rosita.

Rosita: “Big Bird, come quick! There’s been an incident at the doctor’s office!”

Antonio: “Oh dear, you don’t think…”

Monica: “Oh, our poor baby!”

They all rush to the doctor’s office and find Grover tied to a bed. Grover looks unharmed but a bit shaken up.

Big Bird: “Grover, what happened?!”

Grover: “I was about to run some tests on their friend when he lunged at me and tied me to this bed, and then he took off. I don’t know where he went, though, unfortunately, I’m so sorry.”

Jackson Fenix: “Oh no, I’m sorry, Grover. I’m sorry, Monica and Antonio. We probably should’ve taken him to an actual doctor. No offense, Grover.”

Grover: “None taken.”

Jackson Fenix: “I just thought Xtacee could get better here, and we could have a fun trip together before our big match.”

Just then, there’s a loud banging sound outside of the building. It sounds like the banging of a trash can belonging to a grouchy little green creature living inside it. They all run outside to check out the source of the sound.

Grover: “Uh, is anyone going to untie me?”

They get outside to find Xtacee near Oscar the Grouch’s trash can. On the ground is Oscar’s home, tipped over. The green Grouch is poking his head out from the opening of the can and is yelling at Xtacee.

Oscar the Grouch: “Hey, what’s the big idea?! How could you be worse than him?!” Oscar says while pointing angrily at Jackson.

Monica: “X, what are you doing? Leave him alone!”

Xperienx Xtacee says nothing. He stares back at his group of friends through the eye holes of his bandages. The rest of his face is covered, so there is no way to know his expression, but his eyes give off the feeling of regret.

Big Bird: “Hey, why did you knock over Oscar’s house?”

Xtacee slowly shakes his head as if to say “no” and then reaches down to pick up the garbage can and put it how it’s supposed to be. He even puts the lid back on for Oscar, who refuses to come back out.

The group starts to walk toward Xtacee, but he takes a stutter step back, catching them all off guard and stopping them in their tracks.

Antonio: “X, babe, relax. Monica and I can make this better, you know that.”

Antonio’s words catch Nate’s ear.

Nate Savage: “Care to enlighten the rest of us as to what the fudge this is?”

Monica and Antonio glance at one another and debate with their faces as to what they should say next.

Monica: “It’s… I… this is hard to explain. Quick version: he had something wrong with him before, and I think The Coven’s weird hex thing made it worse."

Nate Savage: “That’s way too gosh darn vague for me.”

Jackson Fenix: “Well, how can we help our buddy out?”

Monica: “We just need to be quiet for him.”

Nate looks at everyone else in an “Are you serious” manner. Monica and Antonio lead the rest of the group quietly towards Xperienx Xtacee. She holds her arms to hug him, and Xtacee nervously does the same as the group approaches him. Now fingertips away, Monica leans in-.

Clang!

The lid of Oscar’s house flies off the garbage can and lands next to Xtacee!

Oscar the Grouch: “BOO!”

Having been startled, Xperienx Xtacee turned around and darted straight through the window of one of the buildings on Sesame Street. He continues running off into the dark building, entirely out of sight. The group all turn to Oscar.

Oscar the Grouch: “Whaaaaaaaat?”

Nate Savage: “Jiminy fudgin’ Crickets… Okay, we duct tape his lid shut next time we’re here.”

Jackson Fenix: “So, what now? Xtacee just jumped through that window, and we don’t know where he went.”

Antonio: “Oh, idea! The Sesame Street crew stays here in case he returns, and we go through the building to find him.”

Nate Savage: “Well, no shoot, Sherlock. Come on.”

The group starts walking to the unfamiliar dark building. There’s a sign on the door that reads vacant. Nate Savage reaches for the door han-

Crash!

Jackson Fenix jumps through the other window next to the one Xtacee had gone through. Nate Savage opens the door, followed by Monica and Antonio. The three of them stare at Jackson.

Nate Savage: “Why?”

Jackson Fenix: “It looked fun!” he says as he brushes a bit of glass off his arm.

Nate Savage rubs his temples with his fingers.

Nate Savage: “Okay. Let’s split up. I need to be away from Jackson for a second, so he’ll go with Antonio upstairs, and we will search down here. Move out.”

Antonio: “Right, come on, Jackson.”

Jackson Fenix: “Alright, have fun with Monica, Nate!”

Monica: “We will!”

Nate Savage: “We’re just looking for X!”

Nate and Monica disappear into another room as Jackson and Antonio head upstairs and into a room resembling a cross between a bedroom and a science classroom.

Antonio: “What even was this building? I’ve never seen a place abandoned on Sesame Street before… and why are there all these posters about space and stuff?”

Jackson Fenix: “Oh! That’s because this place was abandoned after Big Bird decided not to be on the Challenger.”

Antonio pauses in his tracks and turns to look at Jackson, who is rummaging through a drawer.

Antonio: “Wait, what?”

Jackson Fenix: “Oh, you don’t know? Big Bird was almost in the Challenger explosion. That’s a fact, look it up!”

Thump, thump, thump

Antonio: “What was that?”

Jackson Fenix: “I think it came from under that desk over there.”

Jackson Fenix and Antonio carefully walk over to a desk and start to peer over it. Jackson suddenly leaps over the desk, reaches down, and grabs a hold of something!

Jackson Fenix: “Got him!”

Antonio reaches down with him, and the two pull to their feet… Bubbles the Clown.

Honk

Jackson Fenix: “Bubbles!”

Jackson hugs Bubbles the Clown as Antonio lightly laughs. Unexpectedly, A figure brushes past the three of them towards the door.

Antonio: “It’s X! Quick!”

Antonio, Jackson Fenix, and Bubbles the Clown chase Xtacee out the room’s door and into the rest of the house. Somewhere along the way, Bubbles loses the desire to chase them all and stands downstairs with his back against the wall. He watches as everyone runs from room to room, chasing Xtacee as if this were some cartoon. One door opens as another closes, causing someone to miss grabbing Xtacee by barely a hair. Jackson Fenix and Antonio run face-first into one another as Xtacee hops over them and through another door before being followed by both. Nate Savage appears through a different door and seems like he is running for his life-

Nate Savage: “Monica, cut it out!”

Monica appears from behind another door and chases Nate across the hall-

Monica: “Let me love you!”

The two disappear through another door as Xtacee reappears and runs from Antonio and Jackson Fenix. He hops down over the staircase railing and heads towards a back door. Jackson Fenix hops over the rail and holds his arms out to catch Antonio as he also jumps over the rail. Jackson Fenix looks at Bubbles and urges him to come over, which he does, and Jackson hops onto his back.

Jackson Fenix: “Bubbles, Antonio, let’s get our friend!”

The three run towards Xtacee, trying to stop him from reaching the door, but are stopped when Xtacee tosses what appears to be a red blanket onto the floor, causing them to trip and land on the soft blanket. Xtacee gets to the door and reaches out to grab the handle, but as he does this, a familiar voice yells out-

Monica: “Baby!”

Monica and Nate Savage run out of nowhere and carefully tackle Xperienx Xtacee onto the ground. Nate holds him down and directs the rest of them to grab the red blanket to wrap Xtacee up in.

Nate Savage: “Alright, that’s done. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but it clearly isn’t just the hex from The Coven; that’s what made it worse. Monica and Antonio, the two of you have a lot of explaining to do. Bubbles…”

Honk

Nate Savage: “You carry Xtacee and hold him tight so he doesn’t disappear before our match. Jackson, you’re driving… Now, can someone tell me how the heck to get out of Sesame Street?!”

Nate Savage kicks open the back door and exits the house. Bubbles the Clown picks up Xtacee, and follows behind Nate. Monica, Antonio, and Jackson Fenix follow shortly behind them. Soon a voice over is heard, a familiar that belongs to a big yellow bird.

And so, our friends set off on their journey and headed to Winter Wasteland where they will tangle with two witches and a Trixie.

What kind of shape will Xperienx Xtacee be in at Winter Wasteland? Will he even be able to compete? Can the trio overcome The Coven and capture the trios championship?

Tune in to Winter Wasteland to find out!​

 

[Xavien-Marshall]

FWA Legends in the making Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall present...
Common Ground

​

Spoiler: I don't even understand why I need to post this plain text BS.

Tig and Cap present…
“Common Ground”
Featuring the FWA Tag Team Champions
Xavien Marshall & Jay Kenny
(Please note: For the purpose of this joint promo, Officer Martin’s dialogue will be in red and Jay Kenny’s in royal blue.)

---

“When you're from Cleveland, survivals a must on these streets, we hustle and don't sleep.” - Machine Gun Kelly’s Cleveland State of Mind

Business is war. In the world of business, every choice is a skirmish and every move is a strategic play. Xavien Marshall thinks about that old Japanese adage often. The vicious attack on Jay Kenny was business. The brutality against his childhood best friend Jay’nathan Crawford was business. Street business. Pro wrestling business. It’s all the same. The origin of the saying escapes his memory, yet it has of late become a mantra by which he justifies his every move. His confrontations feel personal, but as he journeys home, a steadfast refrain echoes in his thoughts: it's all just business.

Xavien exits the Uber, a charcoal gray Kia Soul, outside his East Cleveland home, a deceptive smile playing on his lips. He retrieves an old, dark green Nike backpack from the backseat, his attention briefly caught by his right ring finger. There, the Gunfight One Ring catches the faint sunshine, scattering a kaleidoscope of light before him, eliciting another smile. With a confident stride, he heads towards his front door.
The violent episode that led to his acquisition of the ring, the brutal assault on Jay Kenny, feels distant now, eclipsed by a feeling of fulfillment. Regret is a stranger to him in this moment; he made a promise and kept it. "Snitches get stitches." The scars on both Jay Kenny and Jay’nathan Crawford are testaments to Xavien's seriousness—a seriousness he's done explaining, now only demonstrating. Simply business.

The FWA Tag Champion and Gunfight One Ring winner nudges open his home's door, stepping into the warmth and away from the stinging cold of the outside world. His attire is a nod to the chill: a puffy black jacket layered over a light gray sweatshirt, Nike joggers, and his go-to Timberland boots, laces untied. Inside he finds Zander, asleep in his reclining chair.

"Wake your ass up, dawg. Champ is here." Xavien's voice booms through the room, a mix of triumph and jest, rousing Zander from his slumber with a start with a reference to one of their childhood heroes Muhammad Ali.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Zander animates his body, shaking off the remnants of his nap. "My boy! You fucked that dude’s whole world up. I couldn’t believe how brutal that was," he says, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

Xavien's response comes with an air of pride, his words tinted with the satisfaction of a promise kept. "I told you, dawg, I’m sending a fucking message every time out. That’s what I’m most proud of." He tosses his backpack onto the floor, its contents emitting a soft thud before he collapses into the couch, the cushions embracing him. "Ain’t gonna be no different with FTN and Dark Roads Alliance either. To be honest, I’m tired of people thinking they can step to me. I’m tired of them not realizing if you fuck with me, I’m going to fuck your whole career up."

Zander, curiosity piqued, leans forward in his dark green recliner. "Is your fucking partner going to be able to go?" he asks, concern lining his words, not for Jay Kenny but for his own brother’s wellbeing in a tag team environment.

"He’s a tough kid, he’ll be fine," Xavien assures, his voice confident yet thoughtful. "He learned what that gang shit is about here in America. If the fucking rat crosses me, I’ll snap his neck like a twig. I’ll keep my eye on him, but he needs me. He needs the tag belts. I guess I’ll keep ‘em because, to be honest, I like collecting this hardware. Maybe I’ll get a raise and get us out on the West Side with all those rich white motherfuckers." His words end in laughter, a light moment that feels more and more rare with each day of Xavien’s freedom.

Zander, his face now serious, shifts in his chair attempting to attain comfort. The recliner's footrest snaps down with a decisive click. "I got a problem, X."

Xavien's elusive smile fades, replaced by a look of concern. "What’s going on?"

Zander's voice lowers, a hint of urgency creeping in. "This little motherfucker out in Glenville, bro. I been selling him shit, and I think he’s selling it too. He owes me $400… or some dope. I didn’t want to get you involved but maybe if you pull up with me, he’ll pay me. I’m not as scary as you are."

Xavien's expression turns to one of annoyance, a familiar frustration surfacing. "You want me to do the same goddamn shit I got sent to prison for eight years for, motherfucker? What the fuck?"

"No, X. Don’t touch him. If rubber meets the road, I’ll slice this dude. I’m not trying to go down that path though. I just want to punk him."

"And how the fuck you know he’s not a cop?"

"Because I’m not as fuckin’ stupid as Jay’nathan, dawg. I see him use the shit. Cops aren’t allowed to use, even if it’s to keep cover." As Zander speaks, Xavien's phone dings. Xavien fishes it out from his pocket, glancing at the screen. Zander continues, "Regardless, I just need your big ass to scare the fuck out of him. Maybe he saw what you did to Jay Kenny. But regardless, I need that money, and that’s a goddamn problem, bro."

Xavien looks up from his phone, a new worry etching his face. "Yeah, I got one too. Martin needs to see me… and said right now. Can I borrow the car?"

---

Xavien feels a wave of nerves washing over him as he firmly presses the door of Zander’s Camry closed. The familiar creak and click of the door echo his unease. He's been playing fast and loose with his lifestyle lately yet he has concocted a believable cover story. "Nothing to worry about…" he mutters to himself, but his reassurances do little to quell the growing anxiety within.
The swagger that carried him confidently into his house earlier evaporates, leaving behind a man treading cautiously on the tightrope of his own decisions. Each step toward the front door of the Probation and Parole office feels heavier than the last, his feet dragging slightly against the concrete as if resisting his destination.

Glancing down at his phone, he checks for any new messages from Martin, hoping for some last-minute reprieve or guidance. But the screen remains unchanged, no notifications, no messages - nothing to delay the inevitable. With a deep breath, Xavien lifts his gaze, facing the foreboding entrance of the office. It's time to face the music.

Xavien strolls through the front door into a silent office, noticeably devoid of other parolees. He retrieves his iPhone from his pocket, pressing the lock button to wake the screen. The time displays as 4:17, with stark white digits against a dark gray backdrop. Slipping the phone back into his right pant pocket, he approaches the front desk. An unoccupied chair sits forlornly behind a thick glass window. He smoothly writes his name on the sign-in sheet. Completing the task, his gaze falls upon a gold desk bell nestled under the glass. With a gentle tap, the bell's ring resonates, filling the quiet room and traveling down the hallway beyond the slightly ajar door leading deeper into the building.

Before Marshall settles into his seat, the door leading from the lobby to the back offices swings open. An officer, previously unseen by Marshall, peers through the gap. His gaze locks with Xavien's and with a subtle backward tilt of his head, he silently beckons Xavien to follow. In compliance, Xavien strides towards the hallway with a brisk pace. The officer, still silent, closes the door behind them and gestures towards Martin’s office, his movements bereft of words but clear in intent. Xavien approaches the door, and upon entering, he is taken aback by the unexpected sight of the individuals seated across from Officer Martin.

---

“Have a seat, X. Jay, Mr. Princeton, and I would like to discuss a few things with you.”

Positioned closest to the wall, furthest from the office door, Jay Kenny sits with an air of discomfort. He is dressed in a pair of baby-blue Nike Air tracksuit bottoms with a matching Nike Air tee-shirt and all-white Air Max 95s, his clothing overshadowed by the remnants of the beating he received. His lip is swollen and several stitches tie together the torn skin that Xavien left on his forehead. Beside him, Thomas Princeton occupies a matching chair. Wearing a slim-fit, pinstripe suit, he shifts his gaze towards Xavien, then casts a meaningful look at the vacant seat to his right, silently indicating where Xavien should sit. Officer Martin is perched behind his desk, both hands on top of it.

“Nah, fuck nah, dawg. You got me in here to talk to a goddamn rat? I told that motherfucker wh-” Xavien begins, his words charged with fury, but he's abruptly silenced.

“Sit the FUCK down, Xavien. You’re going to shut the fuck up and let us speak, and I’m not going to listen to your goddamn shit today. I’m not in the fucking mood!” Officer Martin's voice booms, filling the room with a stern command. Xavien, not one to take orders lightly, feels a surge of resentment, but he knows Martin is the one individual he can't challenge.

“Man ain’t no fuckin’ rat, bruv!” Jay Kenny interjects as soon as Martin ceases speaking.

Xavien, halting his march towards his seat, instead seizes the chair, flipping it backwards in a defiant gesture. “I don’t even know what the fuck you are saying, but I’ll break your fucking jaw, bro.” He yells back. This provokes Jay Kenny, who leaps from his chair, with Princeton following suit in alarm.

“Calm down, men, please, I implore you.” Princeton intervenes, standing as a barrier between the FWA Tag Champions.

“Both of you - SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Martin's voice thunders, rising to his feet. His authoritative roar slices through the tension. Xavien Marshall and Jay Kenny lock eyes, their hostility palpable, only Princeton's presence between them preventing another clash. Xavien finally turns to Martin and places the chair back upright before collapsing into it.

“Cops and rats, what a fucking crew this is,” Xavien quips sarcastically. Jay Kenny makes a sudden move towards him, but Princeton swiftly pushes him back into his chair.

Jay Kenny starts to speak up but is interrupted before he has the chance.

“I’m going to say this one more time: if you don’t shut your mouth and allow us to talk, I will consider it your second strike. Three of them and you’re on a bus back to Columbus,” Martin warns sternly.

“Man, stop fucking threatening me. Send me the fuck back then. I don’t give a fuck, dawg. You think I’m scared or something? I don’t give a fuck,” Xavien retorts, his bravado masking his true feelings. “What the fuck was strike one?”

“That’s up first on our discussions today. Jay’nathan Crawford. I explicitly told you that you were not to be around him. You know I watch the shows… what the fuck were you thinking? I could and should send you back right now,” Martin presses.

“Then do it,” Xavien challenges.

“You have no explanation or excuse for that ordeal?” Martin probes.

“Business. It’s part of the show. Drum up a little excitement, ya know? Generate buzz. Promotion. I’m just trying to prove a point. Jay’nathan helped me do that. It’s just business.”

Martin eyes him skeptically. “You weren’t supposed to be around him at all, business or not.”

“That’s my bad. I forgot. Just business. I won’t do it again,” Xavien quickly fabricates an excuse. He had genuinely forgotten that portion of the situation.

“I went and talked to Mr. Crawford. He refused to talk but did say it was nothing even though he had some pretty vicious scarring around his mouth. Listen, I’m going to cut you a break since I can’t prove your story wrong with him giving conflicting information. So, let’s just stay away from him, got it?” Martin concludes the first point of discussion.

“Yes, sir!” Xavien responds, his tone mocking, reminiscent of the kid at your high school who played a Nintendo DS while walking down the hallway.

“Great, now… Mr. Kenny and Mr. Princeton, please allow me to try to talk to X before you intervene,” Martin suggests. Both men nod, stepping back to let the parole officer lead the conversation. Martin’s tone turns decidedly professional. “We need to make something abundantly clear, Xavien. I chose to be honest with you about the allegations regarding Jay Kenny purely out of respect and because you were upset. I now know that you weren’t talking about Mr. Kenny. With that in mind, anyone can accuse a person of anything. You certainly know that, right? Mr. Kenny has not ever given any information up on anyone for his own freedom. I have searched through records to find any proof that I can of him doing so - he did not. However, the individuals he was involved with believed that he did. Therefore, coming to Thomas was best for him so he did not spill blood for a street crime he never committed.” Martin glances at Kenny, observing his battered appearance. “Though… I guess he spilt a little over it anyways,” he remarks, his smile tinged with irony, much to the discomfort of Princeton and Jay Kenny.

“Mr. Marshall, the fact of this situation is that we understand why the misconstrued information would result in you having issues trusting Jay. However, I believe you can be beneficial for each other. The tag team championships are just the beginning. As someone in your situation knows, having backup in any situation is useful. You never know who may roll with a crew when it comes to your pursuit of the X Championship and beyond. Having Jay at your back could be important, and having you at Jay’s may benefit him as well. You’re both very talented. We understand why you felt you needed to do what you did at Meltdown, and in pursuit of your personal success… that is understandable. We need to make something clear though: it is done. You are no longer rivals but a tag team, and it’s time to put all of this behind you for the betterment of both your careers,” Thomas Princeton explains, his words chosen carefully to avoid exacerbating the tension or pushing Xavien’s psyche off of its ever-present ledge.

Xavien, eyeing the man he brutalized, asks, “So, you ain’t tell on anyone?”

“Fuck no, bruv,” Jay Kenny replies before pointing to a particularly deep gash above his eyebrow. “You done man good but the mandem in Small Heath would have had man’s fucking eye out, innit? Ain’t never snitched, ain’t never will.”

The wheels of Xavien’s mind kicked into overdrive. “You gon’ have to earn my trust and my respect. But I’m gonna believe you. For now. Against my better judgment.”

“Xavien, if you are open to it, I’ve paid for a training session for the two of you at a local Kickboxing and MMA gymnasium,” Princeton interjects, reaching into his pocket and handing Xavien a small sheet of paper. “All the information is on here. Perhaps you could get a little work in as preparation for Winter Wasteland.”

The words go in one ear and back out of the other. “That sounds great, yeah for sure.”

“I can drive.”

“Nah, I actually have a ride right now,” Xavien responds, cautious not to reveal that he is driving with an expired driver’s license. “Jay can ride with me.”

Thomas Princeton glances at Jay, who nods in agreement.

“Xavien, if Mr. Kenny is attacked outside of FWA boundaries, you will be held responsible by me personally,” Martin adds, perhaps skeptical of his intentions. Xavien laughs it off.

“No, sir. Past is the past. And it was all business. Business is teaming up now. I got what I wanted. The personal beef is gone,” Xavien assures everyone. Princeton turns to Martin, offering a slight smile and a handshake, then extends the same courtesy to Xavien. Jay Kenny steps towards Xavien, extending his hand. Xavien shakes it with a smile and nods towards the door.

---

Jay Kenny swiftly tosses a black duffle bag into the open trunk of Zander Marshall’s car, producing an audible thump upon contact. He exchanges a brief nod with Thomas Princeton, who pulls out of the parking lot. Running his hands through his hair in a moment of reflection, Jay then decisively shuts the trunk. He strides over to the passenger side, sliding through the car door into the seat with a fluid motion.

“Look, bruv, let man be straight without the handlers here, yeah?” Jay begins, but his words are quickly interrupted.

“Jay, that motherfucker is not my handler. I don’t have a handler, a Dad, a Warden, any of that shit. He is a bitch ass wannabe cop who gets to make me piss in a cup for a few years because I fucked up some other pussy ass cop when I was 17. I’m a grown motherfucking man, dawg, he don’t handle shit,” Xavien interjects sharply, contempt in his delivery.

“My bad, bruv, my bad, simmer, that’s my fault, no disrespect meant. But ya have to know… man didn’t do shit, X. Man was released and the next thing I knew there was bare man behind me, being followed and shit, mandem on creepin’ one for real, bruv. Man’ll do whatever I have to do to show you that you can trust in me, fam. I’m one of you bruv, not one of them,” Jay continues.

“You’ll do whatever? Sounds good.” Xavien responds with a laugh, a hint of skepticism in his tone. “Let’s run by my house, I need to change clothes,” he adds, his mind already plotting the next move.

“Man here for whatever. I don’t know when I have to meet back up with Uncle T, but why don’t you show me around these ends if you have any ideas and the time, fam? What’s everyone doing around here?” Jay inquires, his curiosity about the city apparent.

“Drugs. And killing people. At least on our side of town. I don’t know what white people do. I’ll have to take you to some of the white dude spots. Do y’all British motherfuckers turn up to Mr. Brightside and shit? There’s a few happy-go-lucky white people-type spots in Lakewood I can take you to,” Xavien shoots back, his response a mix of jest and raw truth.

“Mr. Whatsit, bruv?” Jay laughs, his musical knowledge not expanding much beyond the local grime and rave scenes. “Man knows this place is bare dangerous, but man don’t give a fuck. I can hold my own, bruv. I’ll check out whatever, man don’t care what music they blastin’,” Jay declares, his voice carrying a tone of fearlessness.

“We gon’ see, for sure,” Xavien replies, a smirk playing on his lips. The car pulls away, the two men heading towards the house, their conversation a blend of challenge and camaraderie.

---

"Welcome to the East Side, bruv," Xavien remarks snarkily as they drive into a neighborhood where the houses bear the scars of a seemingly thousand harsh winters. The homes, each seemingly abandoned for ages, line the street in a monotonous sequence of overgrown vines and boarded-up windows, the glass long gone. Jay takes in the scene, his eyes tracing the decay. He's been to rough neighborhoods in various cities - Small Heath isn’t exactly the most picturesque of places - but the reality of East Cleveland's reputation is laid bare before him. The area has the aura of a war zone, not sparking fear in Jay Kenny, but instilling a keen awareness that this is no place for carelessness.

As they continue, Jay notices a gradual shift. The houses around them slowly shed their decrepit appearance, each one slightly better kept than the last. He's just recognizing this change when Xavien signals a turn. Jay glances at the speedometer as they veer left, then refocuses on a house standing before them. This house, modest yet markedly different from the neglected structures they'd just passed, is neither lavish nor rundown. It's a decent, lived-in home, in contrast to the derelict relics of earlier. The car rolls smoothly into the driveway, and the two men step out, a divide still present between them.

As they push open the door, night has fallen completely and Zander still sits in his reclining chair watching a football game. Xavien starts to advise him to turn it off, but doesn’t bother, as Zander’s perplexion is evident by Jay Kenny entering his home behind his brother with his bag in hand.

“Hell nah, bro. Get this rat motherfuck-”

“Relax, we had a little meeting. He’s clear. Or he says, and I’m gonna give him plenty of chances to prove it.” Xavien cuts off his brother before he begins. “Jay, this is my brother Zander. I’m staying with him for right now.”

Jay Kenny approaches and sticks his hand out once more, this time to his tag team partner’s brother. Zander shoots a glance towards Xavien, then shakes his hand, still cynical. Xavien walks into the kitchen and begins to make himself a sandwich.

“I guess we going to get some training in, paid for by the rich Uncle.” Xavien laughs “Though, I’m not sure I need training?” He looks down to the ring, catching a wayward glance in its direction from Jay.

“Shit, we need a rich uncle too. Have him adopt us.”

“Man makes his own money, bruv… but it is nice to have him help out. I told X, man’s trying to see a little bit of Cleveland before I head out. Don’t be fretting on man, I can hold my own out here, man ain’t no likkle boy, you know? You got anywhere in mind?” Jay Kenny asks Zander.

“Do you come with a translator, motherfucker? I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re saying.” Zander responds, prompting a laugh from Xavien who ignores Zander entirely.

“I got the perfect place in mind, actually.” Xavien says.

“You do, bruv?”

“You do? Where the fuck you going to take a British white boy?” Zander adds on.

“Z, get ready, we going East. Jay, you got anything black or orange in there?”

“Swear down I’ve a black sweat in here bruv… I think.”

“Put that on, bathroom is down the hall if you need it. We’ll leave in about 20 minutes.”

Zander's face lights up with a smile as he expertly folds his recliner back into place with a crisp snap. With a sense of purpose, he then heads upstairs, moving with confident strides. Meanwhile, Jay, showing no sign of hesitation, retrieves a black hooded sweatshirt from his bag and swiftly changes into it. Glancing into the kitchen, he observes Xavien leisurely enjoying a sandwich, seemingly in no rush. Jay then eases himself onto the couch, his attention captured by the American football game playing on the TV, as he patiently waits. After a few moments of observation, Jay remembers something.

“Wagwan, X? You used to play this shit you call football, right? Where you be posted up on the pitch, bruv??” Jay Kenny shouts to the kitchen.

Xavien fights off the urge to react angrily. He tells himself it’s only an innocuous question from a guy trying to forge a connection with him. Jay sits in the lingering silence as Xavien finishes his sandwich. Finally, the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the stillness. Xavien speaks up.

“We don’t talk about old business, Jay Kay. I’m not in the football business anymore. I’m in a new business now. Breaking necks… and cashing checks…

And I’m looking for a business partner.”

---

The tension in Zander’s car is thick, multiplied by the factor of Xavien and Zander remaining mostly silent. Jay Kenny has no idea where their destination is. He watches the lights of the city pass by the rear passenger’s window quietly. He is full of questions, but his tongue doesn’t allow a single one to pass. The weather has stung the windows of the car, the frost lining the outer side, resulting in each light to sparkle like its own unique snowflake. He glances down at his black sweatshirt and plays with the string hanging from the hood, hoping one of the two brothers in the front seat might say something that opens the door for one of Jay’s questions. Jay wouldn’t go so far as to say he was scared of Xavien but he did do him good at Meltdown. Fear wasn’t what he was feeling but he sure was thankful that he was on his side and not FTN or The Dark Roads Alliance.

Jay notices the cityscape fading in the rearview mirror of the Camry. The car isn’t moving closer to downtown, it’s moving farther away. The homes lining the streets have not improved, but they have not gotten worse either. As the car drives further, he notices trees. More and more trees. It’s unlike most cities he has ever been to. Sidewalks give way to trees, and for stretches, the only illumination is provided by streetlights.

Xavien sits silent, his eyes focused on the road in front of him. On his face rests the slightest smirk. He knows the destination, he knows what’s to come, but he chooses to keep that information for himself until they arrive. These streets are the ones that raised him, but he had little doubt that they would be a daunting foreign to anyone who had not grown up roaming them. The car’s turn signal begins to tick and a green sign awaits at the stop lights reading “MLK JR BLVD.” They turn left.

Zander’s mind is surprisingly calm. He guides the car onto Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and continues north. He hates this part of town and only comes out of necessity. Today was a necessity. He had dreaded this trip, but now, his trust in his brother’s plan had thwarted his nerves with the effectiveness of a filterless cigarette.

Jay is still taken aback by the forest around him. The city seamlessly shifts from sidewalk to shrubbery. Now, the car travels down a wider four-lane boulevard that is surrounded purely by trees. As he continues to think about the odd landscape around him, the car’s turn signals ticks yet again. He peeks over Zander’s shoulder. It’s a right turn this time. Jay laughs at the childlike innocence of the most recent question to spiral through his mind - “Are we there yet?”

The trees fade into the sight of only the mirrors and Jay Kenny notices a sign marked E140th Avenue as the car's brakes slow it to a stop. Zander punches the pedal to accelerate once more. There is no turn signal this time and Zander turns the corner much quicker than he has any curve to this point. Jay looks at him, he remains fixated on the road, counting the house. Zander slows the car back down, then locks his eyes on to a home on his left.

These houses are the worst Jay has seen yet since arriving in Cleveland. Half-shingled roofs protect structures held up by walls with paint peeling off of them. Ahead of him, he sees caution tape around a front porch, no context providing why it was placed there. He had his inhibitions. No one on the street appeared to own a lawn mower. Several street lights have been busted out, making the lighting on the street look random and unplanned. To his right, he notices bullet holes lining the walls of a long abandoned house.

“You’ll do anything, I believe you told me, Jay?” Xavien breaks the long silence, delivering his inquiry with an eerie demeanor.

Jay looks up towards him, but can only see the back of his head. Xavien is steadfast in staring directly in front of him, not allowing his tag team partner a look into any emotions displayed on his face. He swallows air, then speaks up. “Innit.”

Xavien snickers quietly then turns his head towards Zander and nods.

“Here’s the deal, Jay. There’s this little motherfucker named RJ in that house.” Zander points to a rundown house across the street from their parking spot. “He owes me $400. Or $400 worth of cocaine. I’ll take either one. I just need you to let this dude know I want my shit. He’ll know me as Z-Marsh. Scare him.” Zander finishes up, turning to look at Jay and accept any questions.

“Is this likkle RJ guy packin’? Is man gonna get done?” Jay Kenny asks without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“If you’re scared, then you deserve to die.” Xavien interjects. Jay takes a deep breath. “What fucking business am I in, Jay?”

Jay exhales once more. “Breaking necks.” he answers. As quickly as Jay can answer, Zander presses the horn three times, rapidly in succession, as if a signal for whoever is inside. Lights beam out of the dirty windows of the house.

“Go on. Don’t let X psych you up. Scare the dude, get back in the car. That’s all we need you to do. No need to break any necks.” Zander says.

Jay looks down at his legs under him and reaches for the door handle. He pulls it and pushes the door open, sliding out of it in one crisp move before shutting it back behind him. He breathes out, watching the breath travel into the air in the cold winter air. He rolls his neck left, then back right, and it pops on the second movement. He hears a door open, and a man small in stature appears on the front porch of the house. The man wears a Cleveland Browns beanie and a plain white t-shirt. Baggy jeans protect his lower body. He squints towards the car as if he doesn’t recognize it. Jay moves across the street and stops on the sidewalk in front of the house.

The stranger in the home pulls a winter coat from a rack beside the door, then jogs down the five steps onto the pavement. He looks closely at Jay, who says nothing.

“Who the fuck are you, bruh?” RJ inquires.

“Man’s with Z-Marsh, bruv.” Jay responds.

“How’s he know where the fuck I live?” RJ asks once more, shifting his hands inside his pockets.

“Man’s the one askin’ the fucking questions, bruv. Where the fuck is the dough man? Bread or dope, fam. I need one or the other. Tonight.” Jay Kenny responds. His confidence has grown, he feels in his element now.

“I don’t have it, tell him I said meet me in a week at Southern BBQ. I’ll have it then. Don’t come back to my fucking house.” RJ bites back, his words carrying an edge of fearlessness.

There is a tense pause as the two men stare at each other for seemingly an age.

“Is that right, fam?” Jay finally asks, RJ pauses for a millisecond before Jay Kenny’s right foot connects square in his jaw. RJ falls backwards into his own yard. He reaches down into his jeans pocket before a second kick reigns straight down on the top of his head. “You reachin’ for a piece fam? Likkle motherfucker!” Jay shouts back.

Zander sees the kick land on the top of RJ’s head, rocking his body backwards and thrusting his head into the grass. “What the fuck is he doing?” he asks his brother. Xavien smiles.

“No, NO! I don’t have a gun!”

“What the fuck do you have, bruv?”

“I don’t have shit!” RJ replies, trying to sit back up. Jay quickly knees him in the nose, breaking it instantly. Blood flies into the air as RJ’s head snaps back. Jay reaches down once more and delivers a second knee to the face, knocking RJ out instantly.

Zander rolls the window down and screams out “Jay, let’s fucking go before you get killed.” Jay reaches into RJ’s pockets and gathers up everything he can grab, throwing it into his own pockets. He jogs back across the road and jumps in the driver’s side backseat. Zander punches the gas.

“God damn, man! I said scare him. This ain’t fucking England, dawg. You’re going to get killed out here.” Zander explains, flying down E140th before running a red light onto South Waterloo Avenue. “He’s got fucking crips living with him and shit.”

“Man don’t give a fuck, bruv, man already told you wagwan.” Jay Kenny dismisses Zander’s concern and begins emptying his pockets. He turns on the cab light. Beside him sits a large bag of cocaine, three bags of weed, and a stack of cash. Xavien looks back and smiles. He approves of the recklessness of his tag team partner.

“Welcome to the firm, Jay Kenny.” he says as he grabs the stack of money and begins counting. Jay smirks, and Xavien hands him back $100. “Looks like you collected more than double. That should get the rent paid, right Z?”

Zander still looks concerned and he swings onto an exit for I-90 East. He shoots a glance to his rearview to assure he isn’t being followed and tears up the ramp. After merging, he kicks it up to 90 miles per hour and looks over at the money in Xavien’s hand. The tension in his body relaxes.

“That should do,” he remarks, letting his relief wash away the concerns he had for his safety. “Shit, man, that was dangerous, dawg.”

Jay looks carefully at the bags of drugs in the backseat, thinking that perhaps Zander should slow down, but not daring to say it. He opens the bag of weed and allows the scent to float through the air of the vehicle. After a few moments, Jay looks at Xavien.

“Might not be my business, bruv, and man ain’t bringing no disrespect… but how are you struggling to make rent with the bread we’re being paid in the FWA?”

“Shit, you making more than me? They paying you in pounds or something?” Xavien retorts.

“No, fam, ain’t no way man’s on more than you, man was in for pennies at the start, I was meant to just be development but our tag team championship victory bonus was enough to cover rent anywhere for more than a month, no? Then the extra we got for the Gunfight Battle Royal. Bare p’s in that paycheque, man. That had to cover you, bruv, right?” Jay asks.

Xavien drops his eyebrow and doesn’t look towards his tag partner. A dark cloud of anger begins to fog his thoughts. He never received a bonus. He pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the web browser. “Great question, Jay Kay… Zander, drop me off on St. Clair and E40th. I’ll catch up with y’all at the house.”

---

Xavien steps out of the car, the neon sign of Shay’s Diner casting a warm, nostalgic glow in the cool evening air. He pauses for a moment, taking in the familiar sight of the diner that was a childhood favorite, its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. Zander drives off into the night, Jay Kenny replacing his brother in the front seat. A pang of unexpected sentimentality hits him as he remembers the countless times he had sat at those very tables, savoring the diner's locally famous pancakes.

He had failed to realize how close this comforting relic of his past was to the place he needed to be now. The night is quiet around him, broken only by the distant hum of city life and the occasional car passing by. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling the fabric of the lining brush against his skin, and pushes a deep, steadying breath into the night.

A lot has changed since he was a kid at Shay’s Diner, patiently waiting for his order while the old restaurant buzzed on a Sunday morning before a Browns game. Back then, he felt free. Life was good. Long before there were guns, drugs, and violence… There was a young kid who woke up every day excited to play with his friends or get treated to Sunday pancakes.

Now, freedom was but a memory. Chains bound Xavien Marshall, physically for some time, but now mentally. The prospect of freedom felt more like an idea than a reality. Since being released, he was never truly free. There was an ever-present metaphorical chain around his neck, tightened, and staked into the desk of a parole office.

With yesteryears replaying in his mind, Xavien continues his walk. With each step he takes, his shoes make a soft sound on the pavement, echoing slightly in the stillness. He pulls out his phone, the screen’s light momentarily blinding in the darkness. He scrolls through it, looking for the exact address he needs.

After a short walk, he crosses the street, his eyes scanning the buildings and vehicles. He crosses to the right side of the street, where old homes stand shoulder to shoulder, their façades bearing the marks of time. The streetlights cast long shadows onto the uneventful roads.

There, nestled between two unremarkable cars, sits the vehicle he is searching for.

The home before Xavien is an aged brick structure, rising up to a dignified two stories. The exterior is adorned with arched window frames, each painted a stark white contrasting sharply against the brown brick. Off to the side of the house, a screened-in porch offers a quaint touch. Xavien approaches confidently, his footsteps echoing slightly as he ascends the steps to the porch. He reaches the door and knocks decisively.

Officer Martin opens the door with surprise on his face, reaching down to his side holster.

“Take your hand away from the gun, we need to talk.” Xavien boldly exclaims. Martin steps to the side of the door, inviting Xavien inside. Xavien slides through the door and Martin closes it behind him.

“Where’s my fucking money, Martin?”

Martin pauses and looks quizzically at Xavien “What money?”

Xavien stops for a moment and looks around the room, annoyance evident on his face. “Don’t fucking bullshit me!” he thunders back in his face. Martin’s eyes shoot open wide. His wife shouts from somewhere up the stairs if everything’s okay.

“Tell her to stay upstairs, or you won’t like how this goes.”

Martin doesn’t take kindly to being threatened but puts his family first. “Stay upstairs, honey, everything is fine,” he says back.

“I know about the bonuses. I know about all of the money you’re keeping. That belongs to me. And here’s the thing, Martin, if you had told me from the jump you were going to keep some of it for getting me the job, it'd have been cool. You chose to steal from me, Martin. I don’t like being fucking stolen from… so I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is my money?” Xavien’s words are purposeful as they cut the air between himself and his parole officer.

Martin takes a deep breath, he knows it’s best to not lie, so he doesn’t. “I don’t have it. I’ve spent some and some is in the bank… but I don’t have any on me.”

Xavien lets out a sarcastic laugh. He looks at the Officer. “Here’s how it’s going to go, Martin. I want half of whatever you’ve taken. I’m going to do you a favor; I’m going to ask for half back. You keep the rest, consider it a thank you. From this point forward, I want 100% of my income, do you understand?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. W-W-Will do. I apologize.” Martin’s voice shakes as he admits his wrongdoing.

“Now, let’s talk about how sorry you really are. No more drug tests. No more questioning me. No more monthly visits. No more counseling. Anything you hear about me, you’re gonna tell your bosses it’s part of the show. Part of my job. The day you try to send me back, I tell everyone about your theft. I lose my life, you lose your job, do you understand?” Xavien explains matter of factly.

“I can’t d-”

“You can. You can do that. Or you can choose not to andlose your job anyway. You see, you had all the cards, Martin. You could play them however you want, and you had me by the balls. The tables have turned. I told you how it’s going to be, now I ask again: do you understand?” Xavien appears more menacing than ever. He was right. The ball was in his court now. Martin’s leverage had vanished.

“Yes, Xavien.” Martin replies, defeated.

“I have it documented through multiple channels what you’ve done. I have proof. Don’t cross me, Martin. I will ruin your fucking life. This nice little house, your nice little family… all gone. I’ve said all I need to say, have a good night, Martin.” Xavien turns and grabs the door handle, intent to leave.

“Xavien.” Martin stops him.

“What?”

“I can’t protect you if you’re indicted for a new crime. Anything less, I’ll cover.”

“I have no concerns, Officer Martin, if I’m indicted… I have an excellent witness who will testify that it’s all part of his precious little wrestling show. Gotta drum up the drama, man.” Xavien smiles and once again turns, before he turns around and delivers a swift kick directly to Martin’s nuts. The officer falls to the floor, groaning in pain.

“Don’t fuck with me, Martin.”

---

The second Uber of the day pulls to a stop in front of Zander’s hard-earned living quarters. Xavien leaps out with a pep, and jogs in the front door, leaving the cold air behind. Jay Kenny sits on the couch watching ESPN with Zander, still trying to understand the intricacies of what the Americans call “football”.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Zander asks.

“Had to go see someone. Solved a lot of problems. We’re getting out of the East Side.”

Zander is instantly perplexed, but overjoyed at this information Xavien has just bestowed upon him. “How?”

“The pig was stealing P’s from you, wasn’t he, fam?” Jay Kenny asks. Xavien looks at Jay, his eyes dancing around his face looking for any signs of malfeasance.

“You’ve made yourself useful today, Jay. Like I said earlier… welcome to the firm.” he extends his hand.

“Man’s happy to join you, X, let’s make history with these tag belts, bruv. But… before man darts… we need to film a little promotion for Winter Wasteland, bruv. Part of the game, fame.” Jay extends his hand and clasps Xavien’s as he finishes the sentence. The two shake hands, and Xavien pulls Jay to his feet.

“Come on,” Xavien says, throwing his phone to Zander. The three walk towards the street. “And grab that weed.”

---

The smoke from the blunt rises alongside each man’s breath into the night. Xavien smiles ear to ear. Jay smiles, too. He has won over Xavien Marshall. Zander hits the record button on Xavien’s phone.

“The chains… the chains are gone. I’ve been bound by the chains of yesterday, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been tied down by the ever-present cloud above my head. By the prospect of losing everything. That apparition has now disappeared. That may seem insignificant, but I regret to inform you, that it’s the biggest development in your immediate future.”

Xavien cranks his neck as he continues talking.

“Everything you’ve seen thus far… is Xavien Marshall on his very best behavior. Xavien Marshall trying his best to toe the line. That line is gone, boys and girls. Now, I will do whatever I have to do to retain these tag team championships. It appears to me that Alyster Black and Chris Peacock have made the grave mistake of focusing more on retribution towards Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao than the two men currently holding the tag team titles. You’ve made the mistake of worrying about the belts, and not the men that hold them.”

“The mistake that you’ve made is that you fail to realize the men behind these belts… are dangerous men. I have proven time and time again the lengths I will go to win. If that means I have to end the life of Alyster Black and Chris Peacock in the FWA ring, then so be it. It’s all in a day’s work.”

Xavien snaps his fingers as if to exemplify how quickly it’ll be done.

“You’ve gotten yourselves lost in personal vendettas. And that is where you’ve failed. When your motivation is that of personal vendetta, you must grasp to find one. We have no personal vendetta, FTN. It’s simply business. That’s all I need, that’s ALL that Xavien Marshall needs to destroy you - to rip you limb from limb, to black your eyes, cut your head, and leave you a shell of what you once were. To change the very course of your day-to-day life, as I’ve done to so many before… in the wrestling ring AND on the street.”

Xavien takes a long draw off the blunt in his hand before passing it along to Jay.

“And as for the Dark Roads Alliance. Your falsehoods do not impress me. To be frank, they never have. Hence why I have foretold your fate against myself and my tag team twice. You know nothing of Dark Roads. I grew up on the dark roads. The darkest roads of reality. I and Jay have snapped you back to reality twice. Perhaps with you, it is personal. After what we’ve done to you in every exhibition, you have plenty of reason to take it personally. But we don’t. We’ve proven ourselves. Winter Wasteland is an event for you. To us, it’s just another day. That’s how business operates. You each flaunt your work in the tag division, but on our first night in it, we flipped it on its head. Your motivation means nothing to me. It serves only as my very own to beat you all within an inch of your life, before they raise our hands, and I move on to the next order of business. So what I do to you, FTN and Dark Roads Alliance, it is not personal… It's only business. I’m in the business of ruining lives, the business of breaking necks, and the business of going to whatever extreme I have to go to, to ensure I walk out of Winter Wasteland with our belts around my waist and my money in my pocket. You’re just a bump in the road.”

An intense Jay Kenny steps forward talking focus in the shot. Xavien nods in his direction.

“Spit some of that British gangster shit, Jay Kay.”

“A likkle speed bump in the road, innit, bruv? The mandem right here blast right over that shit and don’t even look back. You got two team across from the mandem, the boys, the firm - you’ve made us fight each other right before this defence - you stacking the deck hard, man but that’s just gonna make it all the sweeter when FTN and The Dark Roads Alliance get done. See ain’t nobody expectin’ JK and X to step to the Gunfight Battle Royal. Ain’t nobody expectin’ the mandem to take out Cyrus and Konchu. My fam here has done it twice, man, swear down. We ain’t meant to be here, X, you know that bruv, right?”

Xavien nods his head as Jay passes him back the blunt.

“But wakey-wakey, the mandem is fuckin’ here and make no mistake about it, fam, when the mandem show up, we be wildin’ and we get it done. We don’t care about what you two teams have gone through, we don’t care if you want to smash each other's faces in, we don’t care if nobody wants us here and nobody wants us to win. You all starting to get what man’s puttin’ down, fam? FTN, Dark Road Alliance… we don’t care about you. Period, bruv. We ain’t here to play by anybody's rules or follow anybody’s expectations - this ain’t no transitional ting. This ain’t a cute way to get the belts from The Dark Roads Alliance to FTN. Xavien and man were a spanner in the works but that ain’t gonna be rectified any time soon, swear down. You can come out and say that we just a coupla youngers, that we green, that we ain’t on the level of FTN and the Dark Roads mandem, that we don’t know our history and don’t know what we’re letting ourselves in for… but that’s exactly why we will win. Man don’t care how storied you four are, bruv, man don’t care that Alyster Black is the champion of the world, man don’t care that the whole entire arena is going to be behind Konchu Hao, man don’t care that Chris Peacock is a likkle bit sick in the head and considered the ace of this business, and man don’t care about the legendary Cyrus Truth. You and the rest of the world expect Xavien and I to pay some sort of reverence to you two teams and take this whole opportunity as a learning experience so we can grow. The mandem already grown, fam. Ain’t no dues being paid here. The only payment you’ll all be getting from us is a straight-up violence ting. You both come into this match with eyes only for each other and your blindness is going to be your downfall. You won’t even see the mandem comin’, fam, and before you know it, Konchu and Cyrus will be back aimlessly wandering their long and winding road playing dress-up. Alyster and Chris will be back aimlessly wanking their small and straight dicks over their likkle cum truck. Xavien and I will be long gone, we won’t think about you likkle fuckin’ bitches again, and everyone will realize that the new mandem in town are straight-up legit, fam. You two teams are going to go down in history, no doubt. You two teams will go down in history as a painful reminder to any other team that tries to cross our path, disrespect us, or take us for granted. Xavien, tell them wagwan?”

As the fired-up Jay finishes his monologue, he steps back and allows Xavien to once again take center stage.

“See dawgs, your only hope was that Jay Kenny and I weren’t on the same page. Unfortunately for you, a simple trip to my hometown has curated all the doubts between us two. Jay Kay has proven his worth. He has proven he’s willing to go where I am willing to go to accomplish a job. And that realization? That’s the worst thing that could happen to you, FTN and Dark Roads Alliance, because in our short time here, we’ve shown what we can do as individuals. We’ve shown that we need to be feared.”

Xavien takes the last drag on the blunt before tossing it to the ground, stubbing it out on impact with the toe of his Timberland.

“As individuals, we are Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall. Two scary, dangerous, reckless motherfuckers. But together? As a team? Heh, you know I’ve heard you’re all asking what we call ourselves. I’m hearing everyone on the internet hasn’t been buying that we’ll stick together. That this is a temporary thing. That we haven’t even got a name. FWA, FTN, Dark Roads Alliance and historians take note because this is the first time you’ll ever hear this name but it’s going to be a name spoken of countless times in the future. We’re keeping these belts, make no mistake, and it ain’t going to be pretty. We’re going to do what we do best. And we’re going to do it together. We’ve got four victims to fuck up and rest assured… we will. Because Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall, together… we are The BCVD… The Birmingham Cleveland Violence Department. And we’re ain’t sitting back trying to defend our belts, nah, we’re coming straight for you.”


The camera fades as we see Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall head back into Zander’s house, smoke rolling from Xavien’s mouth and over his shoulders.

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