Cap presents…
Xavien Marshall in “A Circus of Similarities”
The camera shot displays and smoothly navigates through the vibrant atmosphere of a jam-packed carnival, sprawling across a large, open field. The scene brims with life and color; festive banners flutter in the breeze, and the sweet melodies of a carousel blend with the delighted shrieks of children. Families wander back and forth between booths, their faces beaming with excitement as they try their luck at games of skill and chance, winning stuffed toys and other whimsical prizes, oblivious to the fixed nature of every single game.
The air is thick with the enticing aromas of classic carnival fare – popcorn, hot dogs, and especially cotton candy, its sugary scent weaving through the crowd, tickling the noses of children and adults alike. The children, faces painted with bright designs, giggle and scamper about, clutching balloons that bob in the air like colorful specters. Parents follow with indulgent smiles, capturing memories on their phones.
As the camera continues its journey, the sounds of laughter and chatter gradually give way to a sense of anticipation. The field opens up to reveal a grand stage at its far end, its presence commanding attention. The stage, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, is adorned with bold, red and white striped curtains. A large crowd has formed facing it, eagerly awaiting the next show.
At this moment, the Ringmaster makes his grand entrance. He steps onto a raised circular lift, a centerpiece at the forefront of the stage, drawing all eyes to him. His attire is spectacular – a long, flowing red coat that glistens in the light, paired with a classic top hat that adds to his theatrical allure. His presence is magnetic, exuding a mix of mystery and charisma that is the hallmark of every great showman.
With a dignified grace, he walks with the aid of an ornate cane, each step deliberate and full of purpose. The Ringmaster's face, lined with experience, breaks into a broad, welcoming smile, and his eyes sparkle with promise. He reaches out with a gloved hand and picks up an old-school style microphone, its vintage design a nod to the timeless tradition of the circus.
As the Ringmaster brings the microphone to his lips, the crowd hushes in anticipation. His voice, rich and resonant, begins to fill the air…
"Come one, come all, ladies and gentleman, adults and children of all ages and get ready to witness the incomprehensible tale of a man who will embark on a battle with his own inner workings in an attempt to salvage the fractured shards of his personal fortune.
Get ready to be enthralled by a story of struggle, resilience, and transformation. Step right up, and see the saga of a man fighting to reclaim the reins of his own destiny. A man whose demons come to life before his very eyes in the form of Shadows that lurk in the night, speaking to him, leading him to evil.
This is not just any story; this is the story behind Xavien Marshall's road to a life not controlled only by himself. A once promising athlete derailed by the way of life on the bad side of the tracks, now thrust into an entirely new life after eight excruciating years behind bars.
The curtain is rising, the lights are dimming, and the show is about to begin. Hold onto your seats, for you're in for a ride that will captivate your heart and stir your soul!"
Chapter 1 - Vulnerable
Xavien Marshall strode cautiously along the fractured pavement of an East Cleveland sidewalk, his steps measured and slow. The turmoil in his mind was almost palpable, a maelstrom of thoughts and memories swirling ceaselessly. A common trend of late. The biting chill of the Northeast Ohio winter, reintroduced with vengeance after eight years away, enveloped him - The frigidity of Cleveland winters being one of the few things as unforgiving as prison. Dressed in a maroon Cavaliers Basketball sweatshirt, borrowed from his brother’s closet, and layered under a timeworn black wool jacket, his appearance spoke of a rugged, lived-in quality. His outfit was rounded off with tattered dark blue jeans, a frequent choice in recent times, and yellow Timberland boots that hung loosely around his feet. The boots' heavy steps punctuated the silence, setting a lone cadence to his stride.
As a car crept past, suspicion faintly flickered in Xavien's wary eyes. He felt the omnipresence of the Shadows, an ever-watchful, ever-menacing presence. They hovered, both protectors and predators, their potential for sudden emergence a constant threat. This menace had forced Xavien into a life of perpetual surveillance.
Ambivalence churned within Xavien Marshall as he contemplated his recent triumph of the FWA Tag Team Championships. A fierce competitor at heart, he reveled in the accomplishment, the taste of victory sweetening a career that had never known such heights in his football days. His mind, ever a whirlpool of memories and dreams, drifted back to his last taste of championship glory. It was in eighth grade. As a dual-threat on the field, playing both running back and linebacker, he had seized the Most Valuable Player award. Back then, Xavien had envisioned a future of lighting up scoreboards with electric touchdown runs comparable to Adrian Peterson and Jamal Lewis, but fate had other plans. High school had introduced him to a new reality, one where a newcomer eclipsed his prowess on the field. It was a harsh lesson in adaptability, teaching him that his greatest contribution to the team lay not in the spotlight of offense, but in the resilience of defense. And so, he had adapted, putting the team above personal glory.
And what did that accomplish? Nothing. They never won a meaningful game. Fuck the team.
Xavien’s amble came to a halt in front of a similarly ragged structure to the parole office. Adjacent to the walkway, a decrepit sign languished, its features more eroded by the relentless Ohio winters than the faces of those who passed it daily. Emblazoned upon it, in stark scarlet letters set against a backdrop that once boasted pristine whiteness, were the words “Ohio Re-Entry Center.” This haven offered a lifeline to those emerging from the shadows of incarceration, aiding in their precarious journey back into the folds of society. Within its walls, a dedicated staff endeavored to bridge the chasm for ex-inmates, guiding them towards employment, education, and essential emotional support, providing a hand up rather than a handout, something Xavien’s pride despised.
Against his instincts, Xavien had conceded to the idea of consulting with a counselor, to untangle the knot of emotions that both life and prison life had tightened within him. Officer Martin had been adamant about its potential benefits. He had nudged Xavien towards a semblance of trust in Jay Kenny, though the effort had borne no fruit. Yet now, the circumstances had changed; trust was no longer a choice. He and Jay Kenny, bound by the title of FWA Tag Team Champions, faced a new arena – not merely as allies but as adversaries in an impending conflict. They were partners in triumph... but now, this week, they must go to war.
Xavien advanced towards the front door, harboring a noticeable unease after secluded life for so long about engaging in social interactions and executing simple tasks, like announcing his arrival.
His apprehensions were swiftly alleviated, however, when the receptionist at the front desk, upon noticing him, loudly announced, "Sarah! Xavien Marshall is here!" The receptionist, a woman with auburn hair and a plump figure, was clad in attire far more casual than anything Xavien had ever encountered at the parole office. She offered him a warm smile and said, "Congratulations on your championship."
Xavien was momentarily taken aback, then it dawned on him that the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance was broadcast on television. The receptionist must be a fan, he realized – a first for him. A faint smile crept onto his face as he expressed his thanks and proceeded to take a seat in the lobby.
Chapter 2 - A Pleasant Surprise
As Xavien's patience began to fray at the edges, the door beside the receptionist's desk swung open. A woman with lustrous brown hair and an aura of quiet confidence stepped through. She was impeccably dressed in a crisp pantsuit, which, despite its professional cut, couldn't overshadow the warmth of her long brown hair and her inviting smile.
"You ready, Xavien? Sorry about the wait," she said with a tone that was both professional and genuinely apologetic.
"It’s all good," Xavien replied, his voice carrying a youthful, East Cleveland-accented lilt. He sprang up from his seat, following her into an office tucked away at the rear of the building. The room, bathed in the soft light filtering through a large window, offered a serene view of Lake Erie. She motioned towards a plush leather chair, then settled into a rolling chair across the room, closing the distance between them with a smooth glide.
"So, I’ve heard a lot about you from Officer Martin and Kathy, our receptionist. She’s a huge wrestling fan and couldn’t stop talking about you. Tell me, are you really such a tough villain, or is that just who you play on TV?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"I mean, have you seen my rap sheet?" Xavien quipped, a playful edge to his tone, mingling with an undercurrent of defensiveness.
"Xavien, the actions of a seventeen-year-old don’t reflect the man I see before me. The streets ensnare many, but that doesn’t mark them forever. You have a promising future, especially in Professional Wrestling," she said, her voice imbued with a mix of professional assurance and personal conviction.
Xavien paused, absorbing her words. "You're right, Mrs... Uh, I didn’t catch your last name?"
"Just call me Sarah, but it's Edwards," she responded, her smile softening.
"Ight, Mrs. Edwards. Thanks for not judging for real. But leaving that life, shaking those demons... it's not easy," Xavien confided, his voice tinged with the weight of his past.
"The first step is wanting to change. Do you?" she probed, her gaze steady and encouraging.
"Would I be here if I didn’t, Mrs. Edwards?" Xavien replied, a sly smile briefly lighting up his face.
"You’re here to stay on Officer Martin’s good side and keep your freedom. He also helped you land a pretty impressive gig," she pointed out with a knowing look.
Xavien fell silent, contemplating her insights. "You’re right. But I want to change. I'm tired of the paranoia, I’m tired of not trusting anyone. I want to win this match against my tag partner and then leave that behind us and be great tag team champions."
"Word is, you’ve been playing mind games with your partner," she noted, her eyes not missing a beat.
"Maybe a lil’ bit." Xavien admitted, his smirk betraying a hint of mischief.
"And how do you expect to build trust that way, Xavien?"
"Just a one-off strategy. Jay Kenny's good, I need an edge. I still have my eyes on that Gunfight One ring," Xavien explained, his determination clear.
"Don't play me, X. You enjoy the games, don’t you? Just be honest here," she challenged, her voice firm yet open.
Xavien paused, the gravity of her words sinking in. "Is this how this works? I speak, and you see right through me?"
"No, Xavien, you talk, and I offer my perspective to help you stop stumbling over your own life. It won’t be easy, but if you're open and willing, I can help," she reassured, her tone sincere.
"You got it, Mrs. Edwards. I need the help."
"Take me back to the start. Tell me about the football coach, your arrest, everything. I'm all ears," she said, leaning in, her attention fully focused on him.
Xavien leaned back into the leather chair, closed his eyes briefly, inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath before beginning to unravel a tightly woven web of a life gone awry.
The screen at the carnival flickers and dims to black, signaling the end of one act and the promise of more to come. The vibrant curtains, with their bold stripes, draw together, cloaking the stage in mystery and anticipation. In this moment of quiet suspense, the Ringmaster reappears, his figure emerging confidently against the now-darkened backdrop. His presence reignites the excitement in the air, as the audience eagerly awaits the next chapter of the tale. All eyes are fixated on the Ringmaster.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests of tonight’s grand circus, brace yourselves for the continuation of a tale so gripping, so profound, it will leave you on the edge of your seats! We've only just begun to scratch the surface of the extraordinary journey of Xavien Marshall. From the frostbitten sidewalks of East Cleveland to the battle for glory in the wrestling ring, his story is a tapestry of struggle, resilience, and the indomitable human spirit.
As we delve deeper, get ready to be swept away by a narrative rich in emotion and transformation. This is a story of a man not just fighting against the odds, but rewriting his destiny with every step. Xavien's journey is a testament to the power of will, the strength of heart, and the unyielding courage to face one's demons.
So, my dear audience, I implore you to remain with us! The next act promises to be even more riveting, more captivating, as we witness Xavien navigate the complexities of his newfound fame and confront the shadows of his past. The twists and turns of his life are more intricate than the most elaborate circus performance, and the revelations are as astounding as our most breathtaking feats!
Stay with us, for this is not just any story – it is a story of transformation, a story that embodies the very essence of hope and redemption. The curtain is set to rise again, and what lies beyond is a chapter so thrilling, so inspiring, it will ignite the very core of your being. Prepare yourselves for an experience like no other, as we continue the mesmerizing saga of Xavien Marshall!"
The curtains open again…
Chapter 3 - Opening Up
Xavien delved deeply into his interactions with Coach Jacobs, narrating each twist and turn with a raw honesty. He recounted moments of misunderstanding, conflict, and the emotional tumult that ensued, leaving no stone unturned in his detailed account. Whether his views were justified or misplaced, he laid them bare, his voice sometimes catching with the intensity of the memories.
Throughout his narrative, Sarah listened with unwavering attention, her expression a study in empathy and understanding. Her silence wasn't one of judgment or interruption, but rather, it was the silence of someone providing a safe space for unfiltered expression. She offered no interjections, no suggestions that his feelings were misplaced or his perspective skewed. This wasn't her way; she was there to listen, to understand, not to guide him any one way or another to impact his feelings.
As the story wound its way to that fateful night, the night of Xavien's arrest, there was a visible shift in his demeanor. The memories seemed to hang heavier in the air, each word weighted with the gravity of that life-altering event. Xavien's voice grew more solemn, his pace slower, as if each detail he recalled was being carefully extracted from a deep well of memory. Sarah remained a silent pillar of support, her presence a comforting constant as he approached this crucial juncture of his tale.
“It was pretty late and Lucky Jay, uhh, Jay’Nathan Crawford. He was a great friend, man. He had money. Helped me out a lot. Obviously, he was selling drugs for it. Just weed, nothing crazy. He’s a little dude, probably 5 foot 5 and 130 pounds max. Full of life, funny as hell, you know? Well he told me he’d been selling to a bigger dude over on St. Clair Avenue outside of a bar. He asked me if I’d come back him up in case the dude needed fucked up. I told him I had a life I didn’t want to get twisted into the game, and he said his other option was to bring a gun. He said he wasn’t ready to take somebody’s life over this shit. I went, and I just hoped it wouldn’t escalate…”
Xavien paused, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. Delving into the events of that night was like peeling back layers of a long-sealed facade, exposing insecurities he seldom allowed others to see. The reality was, beneath the exterior of the hardened individual the world often saw, he was still just a kid at heart on that night. A kid who had grown up with his eyes fixated on the bright lights above Euclid High School on a Friday Night, dreaming of the roar of the crowd and the promise of a future.
Yet, that same kid was molded by a code of loyalty, a trait that ran deep in his veins. His best friend, a constant in his life, had called for help, and Xavien couldn't turn his back. That night, fear had been his silent companion – a stark, unfamiliar emotion that gripped his heart with icy fingers. It was a fear he had only confessed to a few souls, a vulnerable admission that contradicted the tough persona he often projected.
In that moment, sharing with Sarah, he allowed himself to confront that fear again, acknowledging the scared teenager he had been, caught in a whirlwind of loyalty and a desire to protect. It was a rare glimpse into the inner workings of his psyche, a truth he had battled with and kept hidden beneath layers of time and experience.
“Then what happened, X?” Sarah quizzed softly, encouraging him to continue to tap into the roots of his mistrust.
“Jay handed him two bags, $20, that’s all. The dude was older, probably 30 or something. I was bigger than him, but he was bigger than Jay by a lot. I stood behind him and Jay said he owed him $200 on top of the $20 worth he just collected. I have no clue why he was letting him run a debt up, but Jay said he’d paid him back well at first. Eventually, Jay told him he would have to handle it if it wasn’t paid in 3 days. That’s when the dude said what the fuck are you two punks going to do about it and walked off. I blacked out, Sarah. I’ve always had problems controlling it when I’m mad. I decked him as hard as I could in the back of the head. He hit the ground and reached down towards his pants. I thought he had a gun. I thought football was over, my life was over. I stomped the back of his head and I remember the sound of his head hitting the pavement. I kicked him in the head… then I heard footsteps. When I turned, there were cops everywhere. One minute, I thought I was dead. The next minute my life was over.” Xavien finished, unusually emotional.
“I can imagine that was hard. You were just trying to protect Jay’nathan, and that’s honorable. You were trapped. I don’t blame you for being mad, upset, hurt, and any other feeling you are.”
Xavien lapsed into a contemplative silence, his mind churning through the murky depths of his greatest regret. It was a cloud that trailed him, a dark specter from his past that he couldn’t quite shake off. He had often told himself, perhaps as a way to mitigate the sting of his choices, that his involvement in that fateful night was inevitable, an unavoidable detour in his life's journey. This self-assurance, however, did little to dull the sharp edge of his loss – the loss of everything he had tirelessly worked towards.
Breaking the silence, his voice carried a mix of raw emotion and bitter reflection. “I feel a lot of things. Now I’m always fucking mad. I want to be left alone because everybody will fuck me over eventually.” The words spilled out, tinted with the cynicism born from betrayal and hurt. His issues with Coach Jacobs, once a simmering undercurrent, had escalated into an outright conflict. “I already had my beef with Coach Jacobs, but then he abandoned me when I needed him the most. When I couldn’t make tackles or interceptions anymore,” he confessed, his voice laced with a mix of anger and sorrow.
In that moment, Xavien’s struggle was obvious, a turmoil of emotions that had been bottled up for too long. His admission was not just an expression of anger, but a revelation of his deep-seated sense of betrayal and abandonment, a feeling that had festered in the absence of the sport that had once been his life's purpose and passion.
“And how did it impact you when Lucky Jay agreed to testify against you in court?”
Suddenly and with total lack of control, any trace of emotion that had been playing across Xavien's face vanished in a flash, replaced by a stoic mask. It was as though the innocent question posed by the counselor had flipped an imaginary switch inside his mind. However, beneath that calm exterior, a storm was brewing. A familiar surge of rage began to simmer within him, a hot, swirling tumult that threatened to overflow. His face flushed with a mix of anger and betrayal, a heat that seemed to radiate from his very core.
He took a moment, drawing upon a reservoir of self-control, and asked for clarification, his voice barely containing the turmoil within. “What did you say?”
“How did it impa— wait, did you not know about this?” she said, realizing by his reaction something was amiss.
“Nah, I didn’t actually,” he admitted, the revelation hitting him harder than any physical blow from an opponent ever had. Abruptly, he rose from his chair, his movements sharp and swift. He yanked his black jacket over his shoulders.
“I gotta go,” he announced, his voice a mix of anger and urgency.
The counselor, recognizing the signs of escalating tension, quickly interjected, “Xavien, don’t do anything rash. Officer Martin mentioned it as a root of your trust issues. I wanted to explore that with you.”
Xavien, however, became almost turtle-like, already retreating into his shell, the shock of the revelation demanding space and time to process. “I just need to process that, for real. I’ll be back next week. Thanks for your time, ma’am,” he said, his voice strained yet polite.
With that, he exited, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving the counselor alone in a room now thick with tension and unspoken concerns. She reached for her phone, a reflexive move to perhaps seek advice or report the development, but then paused, deciding against it and trusting Xavien at his word that he just needed to cool down.
Dusk has begun to fall as we again see the vibrant carnival occurring in an unidentified field. The lights of the different vendors and rides illuminates the evening as the only source of light aside from a bright third quarter moon. The children’s laughter that previously rang through the air is replaced by the chatter of their parents who find themselves tangled in the web of the Xavien Marshall story. For the first time today, the sight of the Ringmaster appearing is unwelcome. The crowd is ready for Act 3.
“Children and adults of the night, have you not learned that good things come to those who wait? Patience is key!” the Ringmaster exclaims, his voice commanding the restless crowd's attention. “A compelling tale, such as Xavien’s, unfolds in layers. His journey, rooted in his youth in Ohio, is more profound than you can imagine. Each of you holds trust in someone dear; you can name a best friend without a second thought. Xavien was once like you in this regard.
Yet, I invite you to view the world through Xavien's lens – a lens dirtied by deceit, scratched by the harsh realities of life. Despite this, he remains a man on a path to redemption, a man striving for betterment. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a story of resurgence, and that story resumes now…”
The crowd chatters to themselves once more as the curtain rolls open.
Chapter 4 - Seeing Red
Xavien's yellow Timberland boots pressed firmly against the weathered concrete of the sidewalk, each step resonating with the weight of his thoughts as he began the journey towards his home. The boots, scuffed and marked by time, mirrored the path he had walked in life - tough and enduring. However, after a mere ten paces, a torrent of doubts and unanswered questions caused him to halt abruptly. He spun on his heels, a whirlwind of emotions guiding his change in direction.
For years, he had harbored nagging uncertainties about Lucky Jay's fate following the incident. The questions had lingered like shadows in the back of his mind, never fully addressed. His family, always vague, had offered no concrete answers, only mentioning they hadn't seen Jay'nathan. This lack of closure had left a void, a space filled with speculation and unrest.
As he turned back, Xavien's stride transformed, driven by a newfound urgency. His anger, a smoldering fire within, was channeled through his steps, each footfall pounding against the sidewalk with enough force to fracture the concrete. His thoughts, once again, raced like a tempest, sweeping away the brief moment of calm he had experienced.
In the counselor's office, speaking with Sarah Edwards, he had felt an unexpected comfort. For the first time in a long while, Xavien had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to peel back the layers of his guarded persona. He had been candid and forthright, baring his soul in the hope of exorcizing the demons that had haunted him. For a fleeting moment, he had been on the path to leaving his tormented past behind, and it felt…good.
But with a single sentence from the counselor, those demons were summoned back with renewed ferocity. She had inadvertently shattered the fragile trust he had begun to build, upending the reality he had known for the last eight years. The revelation that Jay'nathan Crawford, his best friend, had agreed to testify against him in a bid to save himself was a betrayal too profound to process immediately. This crucial piece of information had remained hidden from Xavien, especially since he had never gone to trial, opting instead for a plea deal.
Armed with this knowledge, a mix of betrayal, hurt, and the need for confrontation surged through him. Xavien couldn't let this revelation go unaddressed. It demanded a confrontation with a chapter in the darkest section of the story of his life.
Chapter 5 - A Grave Mistake
Seething with an uncontrollable fury, Xavien burst into the East Cleveland Probation and Parole Office, his every step resonating with the intensity of his anger. The receptionist, perched behind the front desk, barely had time to look up before Xavien unleashed his demand in a voice that was both forceful and desperate.
“I need to fucking see Officer Martin right god damn now, bro,” he declared, his words slicing through the air like a blade.
The receptionist, taken aback by the urgency and aggression in his tone, managed a composed response. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said, attempting to maintain a semblance of protocol.
Unwilling to wait, Xavien retorted sharply, “Nah, pop that god damn door. I know where his fucking office is. I need to talk to him now.”
There was a moment of tense silence as the receptionist weighed her options. Eventually, with a resigned nod, she instructed Xavien to pass through the metal detector. Reluctantly, she buzzed the door open. Xavien, not pausing for a second to be cleared, charged through the metal detector and down the hallway. His heavy boots thudded against the floor, each step echoing his state of mind.
He soon arrived at a door marked distinctly with “Officer Martin” in bold, authoritative letters. Here, Xavien paused, the gravity of his actions catching up with him. He knew that losing control in this place could cost him dearly, potentially sending him back to the Ohio State Prison for the remainder of his fifteen-year sentence. Seven more years of confinement loomed over him like a dark cloud.
In this crucial moment, Xavien drew in a deep breath, attempting to quell the storm raging inside him. Then, with a sudden and reckless disregard for the consequences, he lifted his right foot and, fueled by despair, kicked the door open with a force that reverberated through the corridor.
The moment Xavien's foot made contact with the door, Officer Martin leapt up from his chair, his face contorted in a mixture of concern and anger. He didn't give Xavien a chance to utter a word.
“Son, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but if you kick my door one more time, you’ll find yourself on the express route back to Columbus. Am I fucking clear?” he thundered, his voice a sharp rebuke echoing through the room and the hallway beyond it.
Xavien, undeterred by the warning, shot back, “You’re hiding shit from me mother fucker!”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Xavien. There will be no discussion until you regain your composure,” Martin retorted, his voice firm and unyielding.
“Nah br-” Xavien began, only to be cut off mid-sentence.
“Sit down, NOW!” Martin’s command boomed, filling the room with its resonance. Despite Xavien's simmering anger, Martin’s authority was unmistakable. “Sit, and breathe. Sixty seconds. Either that or leave my office now, and expect a warrant by tomorrow morning. Let’s think this through logically.”
Xavien's initial impulse was to rebel against the threat to his freedom, to embrace the chaos and return to prison. But a sliver of rationality prevailed, and he forced himself to feign calmness, sinking reluctantly into the chair. Martin, too, sank back into his seat, and an intense gaze-off ensued. Xavien began to silently count, each number accompanied by a controlled breath, struggling to keep his emotions in check.
“Now, Xavien, there’s a constructive way to handle this,” Martin began, his tone slightly softer. “If I’ve done something that upset you, we can discuss it, but you need to approach this calmly. Understand?”
Xavien, biting back a storm of words, managed a terse “Yeah.”
“Good. So, what’s troubling you? And please, explain it without the theatrics,” Martin added.
Gathering his composure, Xavien addressed the issue at hand. “Officer Martin, why didn’t you tell me the truth about Jay?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.
At the mention of Jay, a visible discomfort washed over Martin. He turned away, rummaging through a desk drawer. Pulling out a file, he placed it on the desk and clasped his hands under his chin, his fingers forming a steeple. The air in the room grew tense, charged with unspoken revelations and uneasy anticipation.
“I hope you can understand that I was looking out for you. I thought the information would lead to you self-destructing, which based on this encounter, I assume I was correct in that belief. How did your time with the counselor go?” Martin asked.
The tension in the room escalated as Xavien, leaning forward with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, challenged Officer Martin. "Man, cut the bullshit. Why wouldn’t you just be honest with me?” he demanded, his voice ripe with frustration.
Martin, sensing the potential catastrophe of the moment, leaned back in his chair and drew a deep, deliberate breath. The air slowly escaped his lips as he leaned forward.
“Allow me to explain in full, please. Don’t speak until I am finished” Martin requested, his tone hinting at the complexity of what was to come.
“Go ‘head,” Xavien replied, his words laced with a hint of snark. He threw himself back into the chair, his body relaxing from its previously tense posture, yet his mind remained alert.
Martin began to unfold the tale. “Okay. Jay Kenny was a kickboxing prodigy in England, before he got involved with various gangs and street life in Birmingham. England, not Alabama. He was selling drugs to help pay fees for kickboxing events.”
Xavien's immediately felt confused, but resisted the urge to cut him off. This narrative about Jay Kenny seemed irrelevant at first, yet something in Martin's tone suggested there was more to this than met the eye. He wasn’t even asking about Jay Kenny…
“After turning twenty, Kenny narrowly escaped a prison sentence for drug offenses. The consensus is that his youth played a role in the leniency,” Martin continued, his voice steady. “However, the gang he was mixed up with suspected he traded information for freedom.”
Xavien's mind raced as Martin detailed Kenny's connection to the United States through his uncle, Thomas Princeton, a former FWA figure. Martin's cautious approach to revealing this information hinted at its potential volatility.
Xavien's expression almost broke into a smirk. This was a twist he hadn't expected. Misled about Jay'nathan Crawford and now Jay Kenny – the irony was almost too rich. The parallels between the two Jays in his life suddenly seemed starkly apparent.
“See how easy that was?” Xavien quipped, his words belying the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. “Obviously just a misunderstanding, right?”
“Right, but I know the codes of the street can twist perceptions,” Martin acknowledged, aware of the different lenses through which such information could be viewed.
“One hundred percent. I’ll get out of your hair,” Xavien conceded, a hint of mocking in his voice, his earlier anger subsiding into a contemplative calm. “Sorry about the outburst. Thought I was being played.” Standing up, he moved towards the door, his steps slow and light. Pausing briefly, he glanced back at Martin. “Thanks for the full story.” he said, a trace of a smile lingering around his lips.
“No problem, Xavien. Take care, have a good day.” Martin responded, unaware of the mistake he had just made. As Xavien exited the room, Martin remained oblivious to the significance of this encounter, not realizing it was indeed going to be a very good day.
Chapter 6 - Brotherly Love
Xavien, with measured steps, made his way to the street, turning in the direction of his home. Initially, he had been tempted to immediately address the situation that had unfolded at the counselor's office, but he had instead chosen to seek answers from Officer Martin. This decision had turned out to be insightful, shedding light on the murky circumstances surrounding his current tag team partner.
As he walked, Xavien mulled over the revelations about Jay Kenny. The truth had unraveled, validating the distrust he had harbored. The Shadows had proven accurate in their silent warnings. With each step, Xavien's mind processed the newfound information, piecing together past interactions.
Upon reaching his house, Xavien entered, the transition from the frantic street to the quiet of his home marked by a subtle change in ambiance. Inside, he was greeted by the sight of Zander, who stood nonchalantly at the kitchen counter. The familiar company of his brother juxtaposed sharply with the experiences he’d felt throughout the day. He still had questions.
“Dawg, where the fuck have you been?”
“I’ve been busy. My bad.” Zander replied casually, his tone nonchalant.
“I didn’t see you all of last week.” Xavien said, sitting down onto the couch in the living room.
“I had to work.” Zander responded.
“You work overnight bro, I ain’t see you.”
“Listen, work’s been scarce so I picked up some side work. My bad, been going over to Youngstown.” Zander explained as he returned to the living room beside Xavien.
“... Zander you not fucking with no bullshit are you?” Xavien said, alluding to using shady means to supplement his income.
“Some things are better left with you not knowing. It’s just temporary, I’m not about this life anymore. Just trying to keep a roof over our heads.”
“Cut that shit. Right now, bro. I’ll get a big bonus for winning the Tag Team Championships last week. I’ll take care of it until you’re on your feet. I live here too, it’s the least I can do.” Xavien said.
“It’s my responsibility. You just got out. I know you got a good job, but I gotta step up for my family. You know how it is, bro.” Zander answered back.
“Not like that. This life has fucked your family before.” Xavien retorted. “I got some shit to handle in relation, anyways.” he continued before getting up. He walked into the kitchen and pulled something from a drawer. Zander turned to the kitchen and could see him in his peripheral vision.
“Aye bro, the fuck you talking about, what you ‘bout to do?” Zander asked.
“Did you know about Jay’nathan?” Xavien queried, his back to Zander.
“Nah, what about him?” Zander responded, his curiosity piqued.
“Snitch.” he said, pulling the knife he had just retrieved out of his pocket and flicking it open. “You know how we feel about snitches, too.” Zander looked at him with a hint of disbelief. “I need to borrow the car.”
Zander looked at his brother with a concerning look, but he wasn’t going to try to dissuade him. Zander felt just as betrayed as Xavien, remembering Lucky Jay hanging around the house in their youth. He reached for the keys in his pocket and spoke.
“I’ll drive.”
The guests of the carnival are stunned by the latest development of Xavien pulling the knife. They have now gone silent, many of them masking their children’s eyes as the scene cuts to black. The onlookers immediately begin to jeer in disgust.
The Ringmaster doesn’t bother to appear this time.
Just as quickly as the curtains pull shut, several members of the crowd opt to move towards the exit. Before they can settle in their steps, the curtain opens quickly back up and the film continues.
Those who intend to leave turn back to the screen, unable to look away.
Chapter 7 - Madness
We now see a scene unfolding over the bustling streets of downtown Cleveland, cloaked in the tempestuous embrace of a thunderstorm. Lightning streaks across the brooding sky, its jagged fingers illuminating the cityscape in brief, eerie flashes. The rumble of thunder rolls over the towering buildings, its resonant booms echoing through the rain-slicked streets, empty save for the occasional hurried pedestrian seeking refuge from the storm.
The rain intensifies, drumming against the concrete and glass, a relentless symphony that underscores the voice's mysterious message. Thunderclaps punctuate its phrases, as if the very elements are responding to its call. The camera continues to sweep across the city, capturing the dance of lightning in the sky, the relentless downpour, and the occasional flash of life within the urban expanse.
As the camera pans across this dramatic tableau, a disembodied voice, reminiscent of the enigmatic Shadows, weaves through the sounds of the tempest. It's a voice that seems to emerge from the very heart of the storm, ethereal and haunting. Its timbre is deep and resonant, filled with a weight that speaks of ancient wisdom and hidden truths. The voice speaks in cryptic tones, its words floating through the air like leaves in the wind, elusive yet compelling.
“In the labyrinth of human existence, the events of a man's life can be the weaver of his destiny, guiding him through corridors of triumph or leading him down the spirals of despair. For some, the journey is a tale of resilience, a testament to the strength of the human spirit. But for others, the path can twist into dark alleys of the mind, where the consequences of past events loom large, engulfing them in an inescapable maze of turmoil.
Consider the story of a man, once brimming with ambition and hope, his eyes set on a future bright with promise. Life, in its unpredictable nature, throws him into a vortex of unforeseen events - a tragedy that shakes the foundation of his existence, a betrayal that shatters his trust, or a failure that crushes his dreams. Each event, a stroke on the canvas of his life, paints a picture far removed from what he had envisioned. The colors of joy and aspiration slowly give way to the monochromatic shades of despair and disillusionment”
As the scene transitions, the focus of the camera shifts, moving away from the urban landscape of downtown Cleveland. It now captures the stark, imposing image of a prison, its presence a grim contrast to the city's vibrancy. The camera glides smoothly, offering panning shots that reveal the daunting perimeter of the facility - a formidable fence topped with spirals of barbed wire, a potent symbol of confinement.
The camera sweeps along the length of the fence, each segment a cold, metallic barrier standing between freedom and captivity. The relentless rain from the thunderstorm continues to fall, creating a rhythmic patter against the unforgiving surfaces of the fence, transforming each droplet into a shimmering bead that briefly clings before trailing down the iron.
Beyond the fence lies the prison yard, a desolate expanse of concrete and sparse patches of grass, worn and trampled by countless footsteps. The yard, usually a place of exercise and a brief respite from the confines of cell blocks, is now deserted, surrendered to the elements. Puddles form in uneven patches across the ground, reflecting the gray, overcast sky above.
The camera's movement captures the oppressive atmosphere of the prison, the sense of isolation lingering in the air. The thunderstorm, with its dark clouds and chilling winds, seems to cast a gloomy shadow over the facility, its mood mirroring the despair and resignation that often dwell within such walls.
In these panning shots of the prison fence and yard, the camera tells a silent story of the lives contained within, of dreams deferred and freedoms curtailed. It's a poignant reminder of the harsh realities of incarceration, a visual metaphor for the barriers, both physical and metaphorical, that can imprison individuals long before they ever find themselves behind bars. The voice continues to narrate.
“As the days turn to months, and months to years, the accumulation of these events begins to weigh heavily on him. The vibrant man, once full of life and laughter, now walks with a hunched back, burdened by the invisible weights of his experiences. His mind, once a sanctuary of dreams and ideas, now becomes a battleground where ghosts of the past wage a relentless war. Sleep, once a peaceful escape, now becomes a rare commodity, chased away by the nightmares that replay his failures and losses in an unending loop.”
“In this state of perpetual unrest, his perception of reality begins to warp. The lines between the past and present blur, with each day becoming a struggle to distinguish between the two. Paranoia creeps in, whispering sinister tales in his ears, tales of conspiracies and deceptions. His thoughts, once coherent and logical, now meander through mazes of confusion and irrationality.”
“As madness takes hold, the man finds himself standing at the edge of an abyss, staring into the void of his own psyche. The world around him seems alien, a distorted reflection of what it once was. People he once loved now appear as strangers, their intentions suspect, their words hollow. In his isolation, the man battles his demons alone, fighting a war that no one else can see, a war that consumes him from within.”
The camera now cuts to the shadowy confines of a dark Cleveland alleyway, the unfolding scene captures a gritty and unsettling reality. The dim light from a flickering streetlight barely penetrates the gloom, casting an eerie glow over the narrow space. Here, a group of young gang members, clad in distinctive orange and with bandanas masking their faces, exudes a menacing aura.
Their target, a solitary man trapped and vulnerable in their midst, embodies the helplessness of those unfortunate enough to cross their path. The tension is thick, almost suffocating, as the man's body language betrays his fear and desperation. He is surrounded, outnumbered by the young predators who move with a ruthless efficiency learned on the streets.
This scene, playing out in the hidden corners of the city, resonates with echoes of Xavien's own turbulent past. It was in similar alleys that Xavien first learned the hard lessons of street life, embracing the codes of survival and loyalty that dictate the harsh reality of gang culture. The act of robbery is more than mere theft; it's a rite of passage, a demonstration of power and belonging in a world where might often makes right.
As the camera captures the final moments of this tense encounter, the mysterious voice, reminiscent of the Shadows that have long trailed Xavien, weaves its ominous narrative. The voice, eerie and otherworldly, threads through the scene, its words lingering like a cold breath on the neck. It speaks in enigmatic tones, a ghostly commentator adding a layer of chilling foreboding to the scene. The voice persists, a haunting presence in the dark, as the image slowly fades to black, leaving a lingering sense of unease.
“This descent into madness is not just a fall; it is a slow, tortuous unraveling of the mind, a disintegration of the self. It is a journey where the events of life, both big and small, become the architects of a destiny that spirals out of control, leaving behind a shell of a man who once had dreams, now lost in the echoes of his own fractured mind.”
The scene transitions, the distinct sound of television static cuts through the air, abrupt and jarring. The screen, previously a window into the gritty reality of the alleyway, now flickers and glitches erratically, as if struggling to maintain its connection to the narrative. This chaotic dance of pixels and noise creates a disorienting effect, blurring the line between the story and the medium through which it's being told.
For a brief moment, the screen succumbs to the assault of static, plunging into darkness. The sudden absence of visual input leaves a void, filled only by the persistent crackle of the static.
In this darkness, the voice returns, more prominent now in the absence of any visual distraction.
“We are in control now.”
The Ringmaster comes over the loudspeaker as the screen shows colored static… Many in the crowd have left, but those who remain move closer to the stage.
My dear spectators," he begins, his voice a blend of charm and underlying malice, "Have you lost your faith in the spectacle? True mastery, the kind that tiptoes along the fine line of right and wrong, it does not manifest in the blink of an eye. I invite you, no, I dare you to embark on this roller coaster of the macabre. Feel it as it ascends, higher and higher, into realms untold, into the very heavens of thrill and terror..."
His voice lowers to a near whisper, thick with anticipation, "But remember, what ascends must inevitably plummet. Prepare to revel in the descent. Because our next scene… is live. Embrace the ride, my audience!"
With these words, the Ringmaster releases a deep, resonant laugh that echoes throughout the entire carnival. The film continues...
Chapter 8 - Come Out and Play
We see the inside of a car with the FWA logo fixed at the top right of the screen. The atmosphere inside Zander Marshall's Toyota Camry was steeped in a heavy, wordless tension. Xavien, having switched into a black sweatshirt layered beneath a similarly hued hooded jacket, sat immersed in his own turbulent thoughts. Beside him, Zander, clad in a casual beanie, a grey hoodie, and classic blue jeans, gripped the steering wheel with a quiet intensity. The rhythmic patter of raindrops against the windshield provided the only soundtrack as they navigated through the slick streets towards downtown Cleveland.
The revelation of Jay'nathan's betrayal had not just shaken Xavien; it had also resonated deeply with Zander. He had always extended a hand of friendship towards Jay, motivated by the close bond Jay shared with Xavien. There had been times when Jay had stepped in to help - contributing towards Xavien's football gear, pitching in during hard times when the family struggled to put food on the table. Until that fateful night eight years ago, Jay had never seemed to want anything in return.
In the world they came from, the street code was sacrosanct - a code of silence that was adhered to religiously. 'Snitches Get Stitches,' as the saying went, was not just a catchy rhyme but an unspoken law, underscoring the severe consequences of breaking that code. This betrayal was not just a personal affront; it was a violation of the unspoken rules that governed their lives.
As the car moved closer to the illumination of downtown, the resolve between Xavien and Zander, though unspoken, was palpable. They were united in their feelings, a silent agreement hanging in the air like the storm clouds above. What they would do upon finding Jay'nathan was left unarticulated, but the understanding was clear – tonight was going to be a dark one. The rain continued to fall, each droplet mirroring the cascade of emotions within the car, as they journeyed forward into the uncertain night.
Zander spoke up.
“I’m here to protect you, too, Xavien. From yourself.” he explained. Xavien remained focused on the road ahead gazing deeply into the cityscape that lies ahead of him.
“I’m not the one who needs it.” Xavien responds, and the scene fades to black once more.
Xavien strides through the pelting rain, while Zander, a steadfast shadow, follows at a measured distance, his eyes fixed on his brother's back. Amidst the downpour, a two-story A-frame house emerges to their left, with scattered lights piercing the gloom. Without a moment's pause, Xavien approaches the house, his steps purposeful.
Reaching the front door, he pauses briefly to survey the interior through the mosaic of colors created by a stained glass design. His hand then raps on the door, knocking hard and rapid, echoing through the night. With a swift, practiced movement, Xavien steps aside, positioning himself where he cannot be easily seen from inside. Zander, meanwhile, remains a silent observer, standing off the porch, his gaze intent on the unfolding scenario.
Inside, Jay'nathan Crawford, startled by the sudden intrusion of sound in the quiet of his home, moves cautiously towards the door. His eyes scan through the glass, searching for the source of the disturbance. The street outside offers no clues, the usual calm of the neighborhood heightening his wariness. In this part of town, pranks like Ding, Dong, Ditch are unheard of, piquing his curiosity and concern. Unable to quell his need to know, Jay'nathan reaches for the door handle, his movements tinged with hesitation.
As the door swings open, Xavien's right hand, clenched and forceful, shoots through the opening, connecting squarely with Jay'nathan's nose. The impact sends Lucky Jay staggering backward, reeling from the sudden assault. In a desperate bid for defense, he fumbles towards his pocket. Xavien's yellow Timberland boot crashes through the threshold, landing with brutal precision on Jay'nathan's arm, sending his radius and ulna in a different direction than his upper arm. The sound of snapping bone is nearly drowned out by Jay'nathan's screams of agony.
Xavien attempts to push the door shut behind him, but Zander is entering the home. He scurries through and closes it behind him. Xavien reaches down under Jay’s waistband and removes his Glock 45 pistol. Without much thought, he places the barrel to the weapon just between his former friend’s eyes. Jay’nathan, still reeling and screaming from the sudden onslaught, tries to squirm away, unable to muster any words.
“Been a while, Lucky Jay. Where ya been?” Xavien asks in a low tone, keeping the gun fixed on Jay's forehead.
“I’ve been here.” Jay stammers, fear evident in his voice. Jay’nathan has been staying in an old house in Shaker Heights for the last ten years, he wasn’t hard for Xavien to find.
“Oh yeah, you been here, huh? Livin’ it up, hustling the East side like nothing ever happened. Or did you get a desk job down at the police department? This the Department issue gun?” Xavien muses, pulling the gun away to look at it.
“They use 9 millimeters down there.” Jay snaps back, but his defiance is cut short as Xavien hits him across the face with the gun butt, smashing his cheekbone. His head whips back, hitting the hardwood floor hard.
“You would know, wouldn’t you, you fucking rat?” Xavien sneers. Jay cries out, his left eye instantly swollen and bloodshot.
“He’s got the message, X.” Zander interjects frantically.
“Shut the fuck up, Zander.” Xavien rattles back. He places the gun back between Jay’nathan’s eyes. He looks deeply into them, realizing he hasn’t laid eyes on what was once his closest friend in eight years.
“You were my best friend, man. I went that night to protect you. Then I went too far. None of this shit ever happens if I don’t go too far… but you agreed to tell on me? You agreed to say that I tried to kill that cop, but only if they dropped the charges on you and you said you had nothing to do with that part? What kind of friend is that, Jay?” Xavien asks, anger giving way to hurt in his voice.
“They gave me no choice.” Jay responds, still shaking with his own mortality hanging by the weight of only the air between Xavien Marshall’s finger and the trigger of his gun.
Xavien pulls the gun to the left side of Jay’s head and fires into the flooring of the old home, directly beside his ear.
“FUCK!” Jay’nathan screams out.
“You had a god damn choice, Jay. You made your god damn choice, Jay. You thought you could fuckin’ run because I never went to trial, huh? Do you hear me?” Xavien screams into his face, making sure he is clear.
“I think I’m fucking deaf!” Jay’nathan cries, squirming to not move too much in fear of the next bullet piercing through his skull.
“Let me make sure you hear me, motherfucker.” Xavien responds before putting the pistol to the right side of his temple. Jay’nathan’s head turns over, his right ear facing up and his left cheek pinned against the bullet hole on the floor.
“Debt’s due, Lucky Jay. Time to pay up. You thought you could run. You can’t run, bro.”
“Xavien, think about this man.” Zander pleads.
“You can’t kill me, X.” Jay finally says. Xavien fights the urge to prove him wrong instantly, and pulls the gun back away in disbelief at the courage of Jay’nathan to even challenge him.
“Do you want me to prove that I can?” Xavien finally says, pushing the gun back to his right temple and pressing the barrel hard against his skin.
“They’ll know you did it. You’ll never come home.” Jay explains. Xavien thinks deeply about this.
“He gets the message, X, let’s get out of here.” Zander pleads once more.
Xavien pauses to think. Jay’nathan lies in front of him with a bloodied nose, swollen eye, and snapped arm. Perhaps the message has been sent. Loud and clear. He pulls the gun back from Lucky Jay’s head and tosses it across the room.
“I got one more message to send,” he says. Xavien grabs Jay’nathan by the hair and leads him to the kitchen. He throws him into a chair and punches him once more in the chest, doubling Jay over. Xavien grabs his hair and pulls his head back before flicking open the knife from his pocket.
“Jay, I hope you’re listening. I’m not talking to you, Lucky Jay. I’m talking to you Jay Kenny. My tag team partner. The first person I had thought about trusting in eight god damn years. Wouldn’t you know, you’re just like this fucking guy. You may have thought shit was rough in England. You were wrong. Life has gotten you twisted up with one sick motherfucker, Jay. I think my former best friend here would agree, wouldn’t you Lucky Jay?” he asks, pointing the sharp end of the knife against Jay’nathan’s head. He nods and mumbles in agreement.
“I don’t have a god damn rich uncle. I couldn’t flee and ask for help. I did my fucking time. I sharpened the ends of god damn toothbrushes to keep motherfuckers from stabbing me over a lunch tray. But you did exactly what this bitch made motherfucker right here did. You sang. You talked. You gave up somebody else’s freedom for your own, and then you ran here to America to join the FWA.” Xavien continued.
“You’re a rat, Jay Kenny. You’re a rat just like Lucky Jay is. Let me show you what we do to rats in the street. Let me show you what we do to rats in Cleveland. Let me show you what we do to rats in fucking prison.” he punctuated the sentence by grabbing hold of Jay’nathan’s dread locks and whipping his head backwards. Xavien puts the blade of the knife against the corners of Jay’nathan’s mouth and slashes them, sending blood shooting across the room as Jay’nathan falls to the floor. Xavien looks down at him and smiles, before swinging his boot back as a pendulum and connecting a vicious kick directly into the already bleeding mouth of Jay’nathan Crawford. Lucky Jay cups his hands to his lips and pulls out multiple broken teeth swimming in blood.
“He won’t talk now, will he? I’m the nice guy here. I’m letting him live. My message is sent. And Jay Kenny, I’m going to send you yours at Meltdown. The only difference is… I’m letting this Jay walk away. This is only partly about the Gunfight One Ring now, Jay Kenny, this is about paying for your own mistakes. Debt’s due, partner. See you soon, bruv.” Xavien concludes with a sinister chuckle. He gives a farewell nod to the man who betrayed him, leaving him lying in a bloodied mess on the floor of his own kitchen. He walks towards the door.
“How are you going to explain thi-” Zander begins to say.
Xavien stops in his tracks, and turns back to his brother with a smile. “It’s all a part of tonight’s entertainment.” Xavien says with a wicked laugh, and the screen fades to black.
We see the circus once more. The clouds have become thick and black, rumbling as they begin to release rain. Those in the crowd’s faces remain blank, staring onward, unsure about what they’ve just seen. The Ringmaster appears once more, his appearance changed from every previous one before it. His jacket still shines bright under the carnival lights, but his face is painted completely white.
From each temple to the opposite side of his chin, a bright red line forms an X that meets on the bridge of his nose.
“They must pay for their mistakes, citizens. They must pay for what they’ve done to Xavien Marshall…
And they must pay… in blood.”
The Ringmaster leans his head back, and blood begins to pour from his eyes, washed down his face by the torrent of rain from the sky. The crowd begins to chant in unison.
“KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!”
The Ringmaster lets out another hearty laugh, this one more sinister than all before it, and we continue to hear the crowd chant while he allows the rain to wash the tears from his face.
As he leans forward, the Ringmaster glances down to his feet. A rodent runs across the stage in front of him, catching his eye.
In one swoop, he steps from his platform and onto the rat, crushing it instantly. He smirks and bends to pick it up, then raises it in front of his eyes. Blood pours from its lifeless carcass.
He holds it up for the viewing pleasure of the patrons surrounding him to see and tilts his head back once more. The dead rat rests in his hand as the rain continues to wash the bloody tears from his demented face.
The crowd continues chanting as the screen fades to black.
