Noah Stocke

[Comeback Kid]

NOAH STOCKE​

DISPOSITION Tweener

WRESTLING STYLE Technical Brawler

Moveset Basic Moves Bridging leg hook belly-to-back suplex Triple rolling double under hook suplex Pendulum backbreaker Sleeperhold Sitout powerbomb Frankensteiner Brainbuster High knee Soccer kick Scissors stomp to a kneeling or bent-over opponent's head Elbow smash Multiple lariat variations Standing headbutt Multiple uppercut variations Divin knee drop Shining wizard Signature Strikes The Bee's Knees Description: Charging double knee strike to the chest of a downed opponent in the corner. Signature Submission Move(s) Ankle Lock Description: Gogoplata Finishing Maneuver(s) Demon's Whisper Description: Dragon Sleeperhold Oni Scream Description: Airraid Crash onto Knee

ENTRANCE THEME Nate Growing Up by Labrinth

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WELCOME TO THE STOCKE MARKET

INTERLUDE​ ================================ “I’m not sure how many more times you can expect me to work miracles”, the doctor remarked as he wrapped his stethoscope around his white coat. Although, there are probably two problems with that sentence alone. One, doctor is a strong word for this man. He knew his way around a scalpel absolutely, but that equally didn’t really make him a surgeon. Turns out, all you need is a few ad-hoc bandaging and six months in medical college to be fully equipped as a doctor here. Here, you see, is pretty much wherever he’s needed most. When you must get attention you need to be sure that it isn’t on the books, where it isn’t going to set off the mother of all red flags that will bring copious amount of law enforcement to your ward before you can tell the bitch trying to administer it that you don’t like needles and don’t need the painkiller. The second part of the sentence that isn’t correct? That coat has definitely seen better ways and you are more than likely clinically blind if you are classing that as white. The grey specks of dust dropping from the dodgy lampshade hovering above, if nothing else, would see to that. Indeed, it is those dust particles floating through the air that cause the ‘doctor’, we will drop the inverted commas going forward to be respectful to him, to raise his fisted hand to his mouth and let out a guttural cough. Any deeper and we might just have to swap out the patient that he is stood beside and get him in that bed. “Do what you can to bring him around, we need to get moving and I can’t leave Sean behind”, the doctor offers an understanding albeit hesitant glance in compliance with the instruction. We can tell by the glance that this is someone that you do not say no to, and you get the distinct impression that this is someone that you do not let die on your operating table either. Probably not relevant at this point to highlight the complexities around classing this as an operating table, you get the picture. The man giving the instructions has already reached the door and pressed upon the horizontal lever that flails it open, the, in desperate need of oil, hinges squeak and reverberate around what appears to be a warehouse. That’s alright though, there’s nobody else here, and that was the point. Just he, the doctor, and Sean. That, in itself, is part of the problem. Where are the rest of them? Reaching into his pocket, he takes out the small rectangular cardboard box that probably hasn’t helped our friend inside with his cough for all his life. Giving it a quick shake, the rattle against the edges of the box mercifully tells him there is at least one puff of heaven to come. As he raises it to his lips, he can’t help but stare out at the city. The city that was once theirs that they once ruled. And no, that isn’t ruled in the way that the Queen rules over the commonwealth. They had much more power than that. Nor is it ruled in the way that a prime minister needs parliament or a President needs Congress to get things done, they had no time for formalities and procedures. They ruled in a way that if you needed things done, they were the go-to. If you crossed them in going about your daily business, they were the ones that you made sure to avoid or you’d end up wishing someone had just Old Yeller’d you as a more peaceful way to go. This was their city, this was where they got shit done or you got done. Not lately though. Lately, there have been far too many situations that have gone pear shaped, and rumors of their fallibility have run rampant across the landscape. You know the phrase that there is no smoke without fire? Well, in this instance, these two managed to put out that fire with a steaming bunch of shit but unfortunately that shit attracted flies. Flies that like to refer to themselves as the Saints, flies that like to refer to themselves as Locos – although word on the street is that they aren’t even of Hispanic descent. Even the Starz, a Gang that had set up a pretty good network flew in and tried to muscle in on the territory with more options, more wealth, and more potential. For years, he and Sean were able to hold off any pretenders to the imaginary throne and were able to swat away any flies that hovered around you- know-what and that is how The Prodigal Sons made a name for themselves. That is how they made a living. That is how they built a reputation. Now? One of them is lying just inside that warehouse after another botched job, one where the Locos somehow managed to undercut them in an operation that neither of them saw coming. You don’t build a reputation like that, you don’t succeed like that. And if you don’t manage to succeed, then just what the f**k are you even doing taking part in the first place. Damian knew this, as he takes another long drag of his last remaining cigarette, and thoughts of the inevitable being to rattle around his brain, plenty of room to move around given that there is nothing else consuming his thoughts right now. His stricken partner? Doc definitely had that one handled either way. As for Mike? Yeah, his thoughts often turned to Mike at times in need. Mike made things tick, kept things on the level, but since he upped and left for another landscape last year in full confidence that Sean and Damian would be able to handle themselves and maintain the status quo, things have unquestionably gone downhill for The Prodigal Sons. “Selfish prick”, Damian mutters to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette in alarmingly close proximity to the first, albeit it now becomes clear why that aforementioned rectangular box was so vacant. A man alone with his thoughts can definitely be a blessing at times, at others not so much, but we don’t really have the time to figure this out as that irritable creaking of the door causes Damian’s head to flick 130 degrees over his right shoulder at a speed that would impress an owl. “He’s awake!”, the doctor proclaimed with an understated tone of relief. Damian smirked, a wry smirk, he knew what he needed to do. Walking back inside the warehouse, he extends his right hand and peels back the tarp that surrounds the ‘medical room’ and is met by Sean’s glare, perched upright by the surprisingly modern bed that had been procured at what you would assume to be short notice for a setting such as this. Battle scars is probably the kind way to describe exactly what Sean was suffering with, all sorts of bandaging and blood stains and a combination of hastily and crookedly applied stitching used to patch up a number of ailments, but conscious and seemingly almost good to go is why the doctor stays alive to do it all again next time. “He’s good?”, Damian curtly remarks to the doctor who again only offers a hesitant nod, still on edge. “You can go now..” he finishes, and there is no need for a pause or any sort of hesitation with that. In fact, by the time Sean turns his glance towards the doctor, the blue tarp is already swinging in the space that the doctor had just vacated. Damian grabs a seat as Sean’s head is turned the other way, and only when he presses his elbow into the side of the bed and causes the mattress to move does he turn back and face his partner. “We can’t keep doing this, Sean. It just isn’t working anymore” Damian said. His remarks in that vein would usually cut Sean deeper than any laceration that he is currently dealing with, but this time, similar to Damian outside, there is a bit of a wry grin, remarkable for someone who was flirting with consciousness minutes beforehand. “It might be the fact that I’m sitting here, and there have been times before where I’d have it in me to come back and give you a reason as to why you’re wrong, Damian. But tonight, I can’t escape the feeling that you might’ve been right all along. No Mike was always going to be a struggle, never mind all the capital that he brought, but we are getting outmaneuvered and shown up by that Locos gang, and giving the Saints and the Starz not only the opportunity to run this place..... I think it’s probably time we take our leave,” Sean trails off towards the end of the sentence, regrettably so. Damian, too, looks a bit broken but a bit less emotional about the whole thing. Slowly, he nods his head north and south, each time a bit more pronounced as he processes and accepts the inevitable in his head. One more at Sean, one further nod of confirmation, and he leverages himself back to his feet and turns and puts one hand on the tarp to peel it back and let himself out. “Sooo, any ideas where we are headed next?” Sean projects from his bed. Ruffling his hands through his hair, Damian turns and is visibly confused, his brow lowered and his nose scrunched. “We??. There is no ‘we’ in this anymore Sean. This...this is done. Not this city. This,” he stubbornly remarks. He knew it was going to be a difficult conversation to have hence why it had been one that he had left to brew for quite some time but this is beyond even the threshold of acceptability that Damian can tolerate from him. “I-but-we-bu....,” stumbles Sean in what is a less than convincing retort. “It’s time we both found something new, Sean,” Damian said as he raised his hand to silence and further pleading from him. It certainly wasn’t a good look to beg. “Angie will be here in an hour to pick you up and take you where you want to go, but wherever that is, it isn’t going to be with me. Repeating the same thing, over and over again and expecting a different result, Sean. That’s insanity. I need to go for me, to find out if I still have what it takes to be what and who I know I can be. If you really look at yourself closely in the mirror Sean...I think you probably know that you do as well. Good luck.” Told you he wasn’t emotional. Before Sean can make any sort of further comment or plea, the creak of the warehouse door sends a shiver down Sean’s spine, before it thuds shut on him both him tonight and seemingly the Prodigal Sons forever.​

PRE-HEIST​ ================================ The footsteps and murmurs of multiple conversations occurring simultaneously act as the background music of our scene as the patrons of the establishment scurry in and out – going about their business. One after the other, the patrons line up at the box office whispering to the teller behind the glass as a means to hide their plans from those next to and behind them. The tellers smile, stroking the ego of the patrons with reassuring words such as “that’s a nice choice” or “I’ve heard good things about that one”. They’ve been trained to say that. Reassuring the patrons was how they kept business coming in and spirits high for those who ultimately were unsuccessful on that day. All eyes are on the clocks as the time for business draws closer to its end and the tellers begin to lower the partition from above their windows. The view shifts to the uninviting gaze of the interior of an alleyway. A large rat pokes it head from an overflowing dumpster before returning to its safe house as the sound of a hand pounding three times on a metal door frame echoes throughout. Three men – dressed as follows. Man One – Black crewneck sweatshirt, blue jeans, and a pair of leather Doc Martin boots. His head and face were covered by a motorcycle helmet. Man Two - Torn faux leather biker jacket, black skinny jeans tucked into a pair of white trainers. He wears a pair of black-rimmed square framed sunglasses even though clouds and smog from the factories not too far away from cover the sun. Man Three – A black track top and black track bottoms. The man is barefoot. Man one and man two stand on either side of man three as a slit is opened in the center of the door. A pair of grey eyes stare through the slit before it closes and the door opens. The three men enter, walking past the bald man with a rather large, scraggly beard, standing at the door dressed in the attire of a waiter. He stops men two and three – handing them black ski masks that they quickly put over their heads, concealing their identities. Man three checks his watch and signals for man one and two to continue walking down a hallway as the doorman exits into the alleyway. The three make a left down the hallway and quickly slip into a bathroom marked “employees only” as the third man continues spectating the hands on his watch. He keeps his focus on his watch while directing the two other men to the toilets as he leans against the door – possibly anticipating the arrival of someone. “He expects us to put our hands in the bloody tank?” the first man says in a muffled tone from under his helmet. The third man snaps his fingers and puts one finger to his lips – his eyes never losing focus of the hands-on his watch. Although his face can’t be seen, it’s obvious the first man grimaces with disgust as they remove the lid on the toilet and reach their hand into the tank. Man one and two quickly recoil their hands from the tank and remove handguns dripping with water. Man three slowly opens the door of the bathroom and examines the area. “All clear,” he signals as the three exit and makes their way down the hallway towards the door labeled box office. The scene focuses closer and closer on the watch of man three who holds his hand up and slowly begins to count down with his fingers. Five...four...three...two... one. POW! “...and they’re off!” screeches the announcer as the jockey-mounted horses break from their stables out onto the track. “Always Dreaming in the middle of the race with Just a Horse close behind and it looks like Down the Escalator is followed by Scandal with Nasty Women running hard a few heads a way with A New Breed of Nightmare coming up from the outside, putting on the pressure."​

HEIST​

The screams of the women in the box office room are muted by the shouts and cheers of the fans in the stands hoping that luck is on their side today. Man one and two switch the target of their guns from one woman to the next as man three empties the boxes of cash into duffle bags. To think, he hopes and dreams of the patrons at the track today could fit neatly in four duffle bags. ~Thirty seconds passed~. “Nasty Women its second wind on the outside followed closely by My Little Pony. And now it’s Dethroned King, Who the Hell Is This Guy and the Enterprise of Death. Go, go, goooooo! A New Breed of Nightmare comes along the outside edge,” yells the announcer as the roar of the track seems to be deafening. Even if the crowd wasn’t rocking, no one would be able to hear the commotion in the box office. Man one and two finish tying the multiple ropes around the women as man one tapes their mouths shut – dollar bills covering the mouth. ~One minute passed~ The three men walk quickly down the hallway towards the door they entered through. In the alleyway, the doorman stands in front of the dumpster – a fire ablaze inside of it. Man two and three remove their masks, tossing them into the fire before beginning a brisk jog down the alleyway as the race draws closer to its conclusion. “And The Man of Truth and Lies is suddenly out front! Out of nowhere! But he’s been there all along and its neck and neck with Fools Gold, I wish I was dreaming, is this a dream or is this a nightmare? Oh, my God! Almost as if through divine intervention, A New Breed of Nightmare just pushed through and is in the lead!” The announcer's voice seems to be going hoarse as the race draws to its exciting conclusion. The four men jog down the alleyway but come to a halt at the exit as the third man looks at his watch – again, paying close attention to the hands as they join together. ~One minute 45 seconds passed.~ “The race is over! And it’s pandemonium down there with the team of A New Breed of Nightmare taking the track in celebration. They’ve just pulled off the heist of the century! This is the sort of thing that keeps us all together, or at least coming back for more. These horse races are the glue that holds us together!” The four men approach the curb leading to the street and look left as the trolley approaches with haste. Six hands reach out from the trolley and grab the arms of three of the four men, pulling them onboard. The doorman watches as the trolley disappears down the street as planned. A smirk appears on his face as he knows that his job is not complete. He rushes down the street and returns to character as he knocks he approaches a parked cop car and begins banging on the window. “HELP! WE NEED HELP! WE’VE BEEN ROBBED! THE RACE TRACK HAS BEEN ROBBED!” “I had never planned to do this alone. I’d reached out to him and asked, no, begged him to join me in this endeavor. I thought that he would at least humor me with a response but all I got back was a message that was undeliverable. The depression hit soon afterward and was quickly followed by jealousy. Jealous of the fact that these other syndicates had risen to ranks higher than we had ever achieved and our name became an afterthought. I became jealous of how easy it was for these new syndicates to form almost at random and create a stir that we could have only dreamed of. I saw a piece of myself in some but viewed most of them as beneath me. I could never, and would never sulley my name by aligning with them. Those men were forgettable and easily betrayed. The ones that I viewed with potential needed work and a place that they could call home with the death of their syndicate. Yes, I could mold them into what he was. I could help them achieve the success that we achieved, if not more. I could help them...and they could help me. But first...they would have to be tested. And if they passed, I would give them the home and direction that they needed. If they passed, I would give them a membership to free trade in the Stocke Market.”​

POST HEIST​

The three men sit in the back of the trolley, the duffle bags of cash resting peacefully at their sides. The three men that had grabbed them onto the trolley - dressed in tailored three-piece suits and spit-shined loafers take their seats towards the front. Their job was done, no need to interact any further. Man two and three lean back in their seats and look around as the siren of a lone cop car whales in the distance. It was going towards the race track, the opposite direction of where they were traveling. The first man, still with the biker helmet covering his head, reaches into his bag and tosses a pair of shoes to the third man. “They’ll be looking for someone barefoot,” he says with a muffled voice through the helmet. The third man nods his head and begins putting on the shoes. "You planning on going somewhere?” the third man asks pointing at the helmet of the first. The second man almost lifts from his seat as he points his finger at the third man. “Damian, stop! Remember the rules...no questions, no names, no screwups,” he forcefully whispers. “Well, we’ve already broken one rule haven’t we Sean,” says the third man as he slaps the finger of Damian away from him. “Looks like we’ve all broken a rule or two from the ‘boss’” the first man says as he laughs to himself. “Me during the heist in the bathroom and then both of you here on the trolley. Nevertheless, I think those rules only applied IF we didn’t make it on the trolley. We’re basically home-free. The cops are too busy dealing with a bunch of pissed-off people that aren’t getting their money while also trying to figure out what the hell happened. I’d call this a successful mission, wouldn’t you, Damian?” “It’s not a success until we deliver the goods to the boss.” The first man swats his hand at Damian in disgust as he tugs on the duffle bags next to him. “Deliver the goods to the boss. Gimmie a fucking break. Why do we have to deliver this money that we risked our asses for to some guy so he can disperse it amongst us like we’re some preschoolers during snack time?” he asks angrily. “Tell me something, when you two were approached about joining this syndicate, did you ever once see or talk to the ‘boss’? Or did you just get your correspondence through a fucking crow?” Sean looks at Damian uneasily before answering. “He contacted us with one of his crowe’s. It’s easier to hide his messages and plans that way,” Sean answers. The first man grips the duffle bags even close to him before leaning in to talk candidly with the two. “How do you know that speaking through crowe’s makes it easier to hide his messages? This is your first time having any contact with the syndicate, right? I mean, this was a glorified suicide mission. He sends his little bird to tell us to come up with a plan to buy our way into the Stocke Market? Why did we need to come up with the plan, huh?” “WE didn’t come up with any plan,” Damian interjects. “You weren’t a part of coming up with this idea. Sean and I came up with the plan. It’s something we wanted to do with the Sons but couldn’t pull off with Mike go...” Sean nudges Damian as if to tell him he’s said too much. The first man looks around - or it appears he’s looking around. It’s hard to tell through that helmet. “What are you looking for?” Damian asks as the first man puts up a finger as if to tell him to be quiet. “Remember the rules, Damian. No questions...Now, if we were using your idea to get the money for us to buy our way into the Stocke Market - what type of fucking name is that? The Stocke Market? A pun for the actual stock market? The biggest gamble of American society. I bet he thought he was really clever when he thought of that, ey?” “You sound like you have a problem with the Stocke Market and how he operates it. Why’d you agree to this mission? Why’d you place a bet on our plan,” Sean asks as the first man loosens his grip on the duffle bags and relaxes a little in his seat. “I could ask YOU two the same question. You all could have taken this plan to the Killswitch Inventiveness syndicate”. “You mean the Death Switch Initiative Syndicate,” Damian asks with a smirk. “REMEMBER THE RULES DAMIAN,” the first man retorts. “We’re not leaving a plan like this in the hands of amateurs,” Damian says with a smirk. “This could have been our last heist together and we couldn’t trust that group of amateurs would be able to help us pull it off. I mean, would you trust a heist of this measure in the hands of a group of guys that made a name for themselves attacking the little high school street gangs around the city but avoiding the bigger names the bigger syndicates like the Saints, the Starz, or hell even Golden Rock?” “You could have chosen the Reagan Administration...” “And, we’d be dead,” Sean answers back. “Who’s a part of the Reagan Administration? A bunch of nobodies clinging and clanging around the city committing petty crimes that aren’t even worth the attention of the cops. No one respects, no one fears their leader either. If we would have teamed up with them, the money would have been stolen and we would be dead. We’re better than that.” “Who’s better than that? The Prodigal Sons? I heard they were no more. Done. Capoot after their last botched assignment,” he says with what one can only assume was a smirk under the helmet. “You two had options and you choose the Stocke Market...a syndicate that has laid low for almost a year. A syndicate that is powerful only in name since the departure of their co-leader, Trevor. What sense does it make for the former leader's of the Prodigal Sons to want to join the Stocke Market?” The three sit for a moment as the trolley continues to glide through the city streets. Sean looks at Damian who quickly looks down and waves his hand as if to say go on. “We figured that this would be a mutually beneficial partnership. We could benefit from the knowledge that the boss...” “You keep saying ‘the boss’, he’s not your boss. He’s not any of our bosses yet. Say his name, who is he,” demands the first man. “Noah..” Damian answers. “We know that we can benefit from the knowledge of the game that Noah has. His years of experience, legacy, and influence is something that we know alone we are lacking. And we know he can benefit from having us on his team. A pair of young, hungry, fresh bodies willing to step out here with him and revitalize his syndicates spirit with fresh ideas and give him a chance to go up against these new syndicates that have popped up and claimed the top spot while he’s been away. It’s a chance for us and the Stocke Market to get a fresh start.” The first man laughs to himself as he rises from his seat. He clenches the duffle bags in his hands as the revving of motorcycle engines in the distance grows closer and closer. The trolley begins to slow in speed as the motorcycles revs get closer and closer to them. Sean and Damian stand up and move closer to him as he draws closer and closer to the side of the trolley almost hanging off of it with his bags. Sean reaches for his gun but as he does the man jumps off the trolley onto a motorbike. The three men in the front of the train draw their guns and point them at Sean and Damian as the motorcycle paces with the trolley. “You two are terrible at following rules. But, we’ll fix that,” the first man says from the motorcycle. He removes the helmet revealing himself to be Noah Stocke as the trolley and the bike begin to pick up speed. “This was a test or an initiation of sorts. And you two passed. I see that I can trust you to an extent and I see that we can both use one another to get what we want. Consider the money on the trolley yours. The money here is your buy-in. Welcome to the Stocke Market!” he says with a maniacal laugh as the motorcycle takes a sharp left turn down a street and the trolley turns right with Damian and Sean staring at the taillights of the bike. In the air, a crowe with a note between it’s talons flys towards the trolley as the scene fades to black.​

Noah Stocke and The New Breed in​ AN EXERCISE IN TRUST​ There are many reasons to visit Louisiana. People speak of the culture, the food, great sports and even the swamps and bayous as the type of selling point that would lead most to want to spend some time here. Most, however, doesn’t equate to all, and it is the gap in between in which the New Breed manage to land. They have business to take care of in Louisiana, namely eliminating a man they became all too familiar with having spent a considerable amount of with Mike Parr, Krash, as well as Cyrus Truth. The fact that they are even in such a position after, to generously put it, their abhorrent form is a miracle. That the miracle seems to have taken the shape and form of Noah Stocke is something which you would assume that Noah himself never actually saw on the horizon. Saying that, Noah himself is looking far from impressed and the more that you look at Damian you can determine that he too isn’t all too keen with his current circumstance. This isn’t great food or exploring anyculture...hell, this doesn’t even look like it is in Louisiana. The car in which Noah and Damian are sat in the back seat of comes screeching to a halt outside of what can best be described as a barn surrounded by a vast area of landscape as Sean, relegated to the front for what you would assume is some peace whilst travelling, excitedly swivels around with a force that would’ve sent his head into an owl like spin had there not been all sorts of decapitation related reasons as to why that doesn’t happen often. His grin, too, is almost comical in relation to the two men in the back seat. Sean: “Biiirddds flyinnn highhhhhh....you know how I feeeeel” Noah shoots Damian a look, one that very much without saying anything very much articulates the thought that ‘he better not be talking to me’. Sean: “Suuuun.....in the skyyyyyyyyyy” His baritone isn’t really all the impressive, but it hasn’t stopped Sean giving it some gusto. Damian, the man with more experience in ‘managing’ Sean for lack of a better term, interjects before this gets out of hand. Damian: “We know how you feel....we get it. Shut up. Sean’s head droops, if you ever asked him he would tell you that a little song here and there helps his soul but that is very much a comment without any significant medical qualification. Nonetheless, he too has learned through his past experiences with Damian how to take the hint and he suitable exhales without any further song at this point. Lynch’s eyebrows are pointedly raised, whereas Noah has remained largely unmoved. Sean: “Since this little experiment has gone so splendidly, I thought a little team building was in order. So I’ve set us up a little tete a tete as they say en francais” Noah: “We aren’t in France.” To the point, but accurate, a nod from Sean acknowledging that very sentiment. Sean: “Ah oui monsieur, but team building isn’t just reserved to the country of France, we can strengthen these ties and builds these bonds in any corner of the country. Who wants to sit and drink and be merry when we can be here, working on.....us.” Palms facing outward, Sean reaches towards both Damian and Noah. Damian closes his eyes, resigned to the fact that it’s happening, as Sean gently places his hand on his heart as he finishes his sentence. Noah, on the other hand, has a fairly different reaction. Sean:“FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCC...” Sean yells as Noah as grabbed his left outstretched arm and contorted it into a fairly uncomfortable position, one which would facilitate a tap out if this were such a contest. Noah: “We are a long way from you being able to lay your hand on me. And by a long way, I mean don’t even f**king thing about it again. Instead of carrying you to the finals, I’ll carry you to the morgue.” He releases Sean, who yelps as he retracts his injured arm back into the front seat, tucking it into his body. Stocke forces open the back seat, lifts one leg out and places it on the concrete below, turning back and through a grimace addresses the car. Noah: “Apologies. I made a mistake.” Damian exhales again, on the face of it, it very much seemed like the New Breed and Noah Stocke were a well-oiled winning machine, but away from the spotlightsof each Meltdown there have certainly been a few cracks. For one, nearly long term injuring one of your supposed partners would probably be high on the list of defining cracks in a relationship. Damian uses his left hand, the furthest from Stocke, to reach through the gap between the car frame and seat to reassuringly pat Sean on the shoulder. Sean turns around and gingerly raiseshis other arm, the uninjured one, acknowledging the apology whilst still somewhat shaking. Noah’s grimaceturns into a smirk, as he pushes the remainder of his torso out of the car, pausing before closing to leave the New Breed with some more food for thought. Noah: “The mistake was saying I’d carry you. I’d throw you in the nearest gutter and not think twice.” With that, he slams the door shut and marches a few feet away and starts to take in his surroundings. Sean turns to Damian, who’s look of indifference upon arrival has turned to one somewhere in the middle of disbelief and concern in the meantime, and speaks in a hushed tone of voice. Sean: “Are you sure this is worth it? He’s a bit....much....isn’t he?” Damian doesn’t answer, but slowly nods. You would only class it as an affirmative nod if you were to look closely,although you would assume the lack of an immediately denial says everything that you need to know about Lynch’s current thoughts. Words left best unsaid never really applied to Sean Hughes though. Sean: “I suppose I can’t question the results so whatever gets us there....think I’m just wondering how am I supposed to win at paintball with this arm?” Hughes shakes his head regrettably as he too, opens the car door with his good hand and exits to the grounds outside. Damian, almost as if the slamming shut of the car down wakens him from whatever deep thoughts and trance he found himself in, suddenly registers his situation. Damian: “Wait, what the f**k are we doing at paintball?” It was a struggle, but Sean had managed to convince both Noah and Damian to commit to the paintballing exercise, and truth be told, it wasn’t the worst idea that he has ever had. It requires teamwork, communication and tactical cunning. The group that arrived this morning quickly splintered off into their friend groups, and Noah and the New Breed have been working the way surgically through the field. Making sly digs as they go, they quickly dispatched of a group of two that Noah called more of a challenge than the Deathswitch Initiative, before laughing with a faux British impression as he fired rounds of his paintball gun to eliminate some guy that you know he saw Reagan Cole in. Now they are down to the final stretch, and the three men find themselves crouched behind a fallen tree in one of the more dimly lit part of the grounds. Peeeeewwwwww. A pellet comes whistling past Noah’s head as he pops up to get a lay of the land, as the paint splats off of the tree adjacent. They are in trouble here, at disadvantage. Noah doesn’t need a second invitation, as he quickly lowers himself back to Damian and Sean. Noah: “One of you...go draw them out. I’ll approach from the southwest then and take them as they are lost on you. I think they only think there is one of us here.” Sean: “There has to be another way to man-“ Noah: “Hold this.” Noah holds his paintball gun out to Sean, who kind of handles it without giving it a second thought. Stocke grabs some dirt from the ground and rubs it on his face and arms to hopefully help camouflage himself into the soil better in the dimming light. He gets flat on his stomach and begins to army crawl his way out from behind the fallen tree. Sean: “Wait...how are you going to get them without your gun?” To no avail, he is already at least 15 meters away. Sean turns back, confused, as Damian shurgs. Damian: “Here goes nothing.” With a surprising about of speed for a big man, he leaps up into a crouched position and begins to take off across the forest in a southeastern direction, jinking his run as shots of paint reign down upon him, but somehow, keep missing. Damian reaches a nearby rock, almost a boulder, as the shots begin to turn the face of the thousands-year-old rock bright pink with paint. Multiple shots, into the tens and maybe twenties. Then nothing. Nothing. Not a scream. Not a deep breath. Not even the rustle of wind through the trees, it’s almost as if someone hit stop or this was an arcade game that just ran out of credits, a point not lost on Sean who was at the southern point where the three men started. Sean: “You good?” Damian throws a signal that indicates he is OK but has no real hope of Sean seeing anything but the faint outline of his silhouette in the distance in the fading light. Clearly, it was enough, as he swivels to his right hand side as he faces southwards now. Sean: “Noah?” There is no answer. No answer before the rustling suddenly picks up, and in the distance ever approaches a bright light, almost a spotlight. And something red. And something flashing. A hint of blue. As the object with the light grows ever clear, you begin to realize what this is. The static crack of when you are about to start a walkie-talkie message fills the air from the craft above. ??: “STAY WHERE YOU ARE. YOU WILL BE RETURNING TO THE RETREAT IMMEDIATELY. THE GAME IS CANCELLED.” Damian: “Just team building you said?” Damian’s face is agitated, and that is most certainly being polite about his frame of mind. He is facing the east wall of the aforementioned barn at which we first arrived, tied to a chair. He is back to back with Sean, who is facing the west corner also tied to the chair. Sean has an anxious look painted, pun intended, across his face. Sean: “I mean, it had great reviews on Trip Advisor, I-I-I j-just don’t get it. It mak-“ His stammering end to his sentence is brought to an abrupt halt as the door to the barn swings open and in walks a gargantuan sized man. He doesn’t even need to get all that close to the two to address them as his voice carries so far, so he addresses them as he approaches. ??: “My name is Dave, and I have one main rule that applies to anyone that walks in here. Have fun. Fun. Fun is not taking a piece of wood and breaking it over some poor girls head. Fun is shooting some damn paint at some people. Where is your partner?” Sean: “Tied up beside me.” Dave: “Not HIM. The other one. There were three of you, no?” Sean: “Ye-“ Damian: “NO.” Damian interjects, as his thoughts pass back to the check in at the entrance. Noah had yet to return from his early escape from the car, and so never officially signed in. Whatever this is, they are a team. Or at least that’s what Sean designed this whole trip to be, so if they are going to be a team at their best moment they sure as hell need to be a team at one of the worst. Dave, however, most definitely caught the dual answer moment. Dave: “Care to get your stories aligned and I’ll ask you again, gentlemen?” Sean looks at Damian, having quickly learned this time that it is probably in his best interest to keep quiet and leave the talking to someone else for once. Damian: “Just us. But we don’t know anything about any girl and any attack. We are ju-“ Sean: “We are just here to have a better chance against Cyrus and Krash.” Dave cocks his head and looks inquisitively at Sean, having already identified that between the two that he is most likely to the one to be a bit more loose with his words. Dave: “What the hell is a Krash?” Damian: “Many of us have wondered that for a while...” Dave: “Someone has been seriously injured, this isn’t a joke.” Sean: “FWA. We are both wrestlers. Krash is a wrestler. Cyrus is a wrestler. It’s a long story, but I personally think that they are both just using each other to massage each others’ egos because they are both not the World Champion. Krash, glorious moustache aside, doesn’t really have a whole lot going for him at this point in time. Never mind Cyrus, he’s been waddling around in the doldrums for quite some time living off of a good few years that he had, well, a good few years ago. Somehow they think that they’re going to heal their collective broken hearts by muscling in on the division that we own. The nerve of them. This tag team division isn’t supposed to be an afterthought, it’s not supposed to be a consolation prize for two men who are looking at themselves and see something inadequate staring back. Screw them. We can here because I wanted to make sure we had the best chance of winning. And the best chance of winning was to make sure that we are a team.Me and the guy behind me, we have been a team for the longest time just the two of us but when you introduce a third element it....” Damian: “SEAN” Hughes is forcibly brought to a halt, you would say just in time but that would pretty much be a lie given that big Dave has already had his interest piqued. Dave: “A third element? A third element that is....here tonight?” Sean: “Errrr.....no?” Answering a question with a question is never that good, especially when that question itself is said with such reservation that you already know that there is something amiss. Dave goes to get closer to Sean and, despite being tied and facing the opposite direction to him, Damian senses that his intervention is required. Damian: “The third element is to do with this thing we are in, Tag Warz. There’s point and there’s teams and it’s all very complicated. But he’s talking about instead of two vs two it can be two vs two vs two. There are somany outcomes it would almost make you head spin. But the long and short of it is that we need to win this week, in Louisiana where we need to get to soon, and we need to win to try and make sure that the possibility of a two vs two vs two vs two or whatever nonsense they dreamed up isn’t a possibility any longer. Weneeded to be at our best, be at our sharpest. So paintball...that’s why he booked us paintball. It gets youradrenaline flowing. It tests your tactics. Communication. All facets to our game that we want sharp as possible as we are going to need it. He might think they are being disrespectful by trying to partake in this tournament but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Both former World Champions. Both know each other well, for a long time, but they’re going to find out that knowing each other for a while isn’t the same as teaming with each other for a while. Especially now..assuming...assuming we can get out of here. That’s our focus, not some girl in the woods or whatever happened.” Dave: “You can go when we find your accomplice. I tend to agree that you two most definitely aren’t capable ofthis cold blooded attack but someone was, and all tracks point to another person who crawled from the part of thecompound in which you were positioned...” Sean and Damian: “THERE IS NO THIRD PERSON.” Finally, unison. And tension, of course. Don’t forget about tension. You could hear any sound within 100 kilometers of here but there is only one sound that penetrates the room...a slow clap, from the other side of the barn. Sean and Damian both point their heads in a northern direction. Sean: “Noah!” Indeed, Noah has entered the barn and is slow clapping his way across towards his two partners. Noah: “Good work Dave.” He nods firmly at Dave, who knowingly glances back, the momentary tranquility soon interrupted by Damian’s ire. Damian: “Stocke, what in the blue f-“ Noah: “Bonding, Damian. Bonding. There is no girl injured. There is no emergency. No giant oaf ready to rip you apart with his bare hands, no offence Dave.” Stocke raises his hand in apology for the second time this evening, although this time it is likely more genuine than before at the car. Sean: “Why would you set us up like that?” Noah: “It’s exactly what you wanted Sean, it was teamwork. It was team chemistry. It was testing your limits. I’m pleased to say, gentlemen, that you both managed to pass. Not with flying colors, but if I’m going to stand next to you in Tag Warz against two men that I’ve known for years, and that I know will cause us a considerable challenge, then I need to know that I can trust you and that I’m not fighting a losing battle. I don’tenter battles that are likely to be losing ones, what’s the point in that? Trust is more than just standing on the apron and making your hand available for a tag. It’s knowing that when you are really really pushed that someone has got your back. That is what Krash doesn’t have with Cyrus and Cyrus doesn’t have with Krash, because when it all boils down to it both of them don’t really trust each other. Last week with Joe and Sulley,the week before the Deathswitch and Reagan and Jason...that was a learning opportunity...” Damian: “I’ve learned something tonight...” Noah: “I’m glad you see it that way, ‘Damo’.” Noah comments with absolutely zero acknowledgement of what Damian intended, although he fully recognized the intention of the comment. He continues. Noah: “It’s a learning opportunity for us all, to see if this arrangement really is one that might work out and I’m pleased to say based on my elaborate little ruse that you have both managed to pass. I’m more than happy to team with you against Krash and Cyrus, Damian, and better yet, I’m happy to say I think we will win. We will win that, and we win the whole damn thing even if we have to rely on you from time to time Sean. Because I win. I win because I don’t take risks and enter myself into any arrangement that I don’t trust and I establishthat I’ve got that trust through any.....means.....” Noah has no reached both Sean and Damian, and clasps his forearm and bicep around each of their heads and pulls their heads back tight to the bottom of his in an impromptu group hug, ruffling their hair. Noah: “Necessary.” As he releases their heads, he gives the notion to Dave to untie both of them and he duly obliges. Noah takes some steps away, yet to turn around and face either of them, until he hears Dave thump his way back to his seat. At which point, he swivels and points towards the exists, a cocky grin flashing across his face. Noah: “To Louisiana we go, gentlemen.” Without a second pause, he marches his way towards the barn exit. Damian has remained unmoved sincerising back to his feet, his fists still tightly clenched, leaving dead air for Sean to fill as Noah reaches the door and exits without pause. Sean: “Remember when I asked if he was a bit much?” Good for Sean, Damian thinks to himself. Even through his ire, he can appreciate the good use of rhetorical question. There was no doubting that it was too much, this experiment that started with the New Breed needing Noah Stocke is ending one of two ways – either glory or he’s going to destroy him. Damian has thoughts circling in his mind – how much is it worth risking for this shot at glory? How much is ‘a bit much’. Sean: “....About that, I think I was wrong, good call big man!" Sean, without a second though, proceeds to follow Noah en route to Louisiana. Damian shakes his head, still wrestling with his own thoughts, but has no choice but to follow. The linoleum of the loft floor bites at Noah’s bare feet with coldness triggering him to draw its retreat before gradually resting them atop. He rests on the edge of a neatly manicured bed – a standard onyx-colored bedframe with a full-size mattress adorned with non-descript white sheets and a perfectly smoothed black comforter, the edges of which are tucked neatly between the mattress and the base. The average person would find it strange that there were no photos of family or friends displayed in the room, but Noah Stocke was no average person. He was calculated and precise with the aspects of his life and his bedroom was no different. The black faux wood bedside table played host to a half-filled glass of water, a coaster neatly placed under it, and three unmarked pills lined up perfectly next to one another. To the right and across from his bed rested a small record player a top a cabinet filled with alphabetized records. To the naked eye one would suppose they had never been touched but upon further inspection it would become apparent that that simply wasn’t the case. They, just like most things that Noah was fond of, were well taken care of. The remaining outer walls of the room are perfectly lined with black bookcases occupied by color coded and alphabetized books read by the leader of the Stocke Market. From a young age the fundamentals and benefits of being properly read and researched was imparted on Noah. Books were his escape from the reality that he could not completely control, and gave him tips and pointers on how to mimic the emotions and actions of those around him.Noah had been traumatized as a child and became incapable of expressing and empathizing with the emotions of others. He studied books and those around him to give him social cues on how to react when he was supposed. Through these books and by people watching he learned how to mimic the behavior of someone who supposed to be sad, happy, scared, or whatever. He had become a master at mimicking these emotions, but that’s all he was doing – mimicking. He did not and could not feel these emotions after what he experienced and what he saw. The only emotion that Noah did not have to learn to mimic was that of anger. Next to the record player sat a chrome “flip clock” that had recently flipped from 8:59 AM to 9AM. It was time for Noah to get up and finish getting ready – they’d be here at any minute. He slowly rises to his feet and approaches the record cabinet. The glass door “clicks” and the hinges of creek as he runs runs his fingers over the album sleeves before stopping and plucking one out. He prudently withdraws the album from its sleeve and houses it onto to the turntable - dropping the pin atop it and making his way towards the open closet as the music commences. “Folsom Prison Blues” by Johnny Cash starts to play drawing an abberant smile from Stocke as he tugs the lightbulb chain to lighten the darkened space. As he enters the closet, he slowly runs his hands across the color coordinated shirts and pants adorned on the hangars. Below the shirts and pants are a variety of shoes carefully aligned by color and type. Noah grabs the shirt, pants, and shoes that wants in multiple trips as he begins to feel the music of Johnny Cash. He gently places them atop his bed stopping only at the sound of shouts and commotion coming from below. He looks at the clock and nods his head – they were right on time. As he begins to get dressed, he hears the distinct rap of three knocks at his door. He doesn’t react as he presses his hands against his clothes to straighten them out. His reflection in the mirror satisfies him as he admires his choice of outfit for the meeting. A pressed button-down white dress shirt with silver cufflinks that were accented with black “S” and “M” monograms. The shirt was tucked into a pair of black slacks, a leather belt carefully strung between the loops; shined and laced derby loafers; topped off with a black waistcoat and wool blend tie around his neck. The strike of six knocks at his door lets him know that the guest waiting for him downstairs were becoming restless. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror before grabbing the wool paperboy styled hat and placing it atop his head followed by his black wool overcoat. He lifts the needle from the record stopping the music before opening the door to his room and being greeted by the concerned but stern gaze of a large burly man. The man was large and built like that of an ox. He sported a large manicured beard and his hair was slicked back and buzzed on the sides. The slicked back portion glistened in the light due to theamount of product used to achieve the look. He was dressed in a white t-shirt, that hugged his body, tucked into a pair of black jeans. The man was already an impressive specimen to behold, and he towered over Noah but the lift that his black boots gave him made him appear even larger and more intimidating. He nods at Noah, who returns the nod and gestures as if to say “lead the way”. The two walk in quietness towards a pad locked door where the shouting and commotion from below seems to grow louder. He turns to Noah and receives a nod before unbolting the locks to the door and opening it. The loud noises begin to disappear as Noah walks through the doorframe and sees clothing, jewelry, and other trinkets strung and thrown abound. The stairs creek as he makes his way down out of the darkness and into the light and cold breeze of the area below. Multiple police officers descend on the base of staircase – some with their guns pointed. The main officer dressed in a suit and overcoat smirks as Noah stretches his arms outward awaiting the chained bracelets that they will soon adorn his wrists with. “Noah Stocke, we’ve been given a warrant to bring you down for questioning regarding the bombing and destruction of the Church of Sullivan compound. The Commissioner and District Attorney (DA) will be waiting for you at the station. Please place your hands behind your back, sir.” The officers turn Noah towards the wall and handcuff his hands behind his back. Members of the Stocke Market look around at one another as Noah turns to the large man who stares back at him with concern and anger. “The pit has become infested. Halt all trades, Eli.” The police lead Noah out of the building and into the back of the squad car. He looks out the window at his team still standing inside of the building. Eli has been given his orders and knows exactly what must be done. He closes the door to the building as Noah and the police drive away. He turns the open sign on the door around to closed and flips a switch turning off illumination behind the letters adjourned to the building that reads “The Stocke Exchange”. Eli signals for four men to come to him. They gather around into a huddle and listen intently as he relays the message to them. They quickly disperse as Eli begins walking towards the back of the destroyed shop front – his boots rattling everything around him with each step. “Halt all trades and deals! I need all brokers on the trading floor immediately for an emergency meeting. The market is crashing. I repeat, the market is crashing!” Sean Hughes and Damian Lynch look at one another with worry as the commotion of men running from their rooms and offices towards the warehouse behind the building. They had been briefed before on the phrase but didn’t expect to hear it used this quickly into their tenure. As they make their way to the “trading floor” they are restrained by multiple men and led in opposite directions. Eli looks on from atop scaffolding as the two are separated and a chair is brought to the middle of the trading floor. Noah sat with his legs crossed on the uncomfortable metal chair and tried to ignore the hum of the flickering light above him as he waited for the arrival of the commissioner and the district attorney. The chains of his handcuffs rattled as he read the provided newspaper – purposely put into the room as a way to rattle his nerves. The entire city was talking about the bombing and destruction of the Church of Sullivan compound. He flipped through the pages as they explained in detail the casualties of the explosion and the downfall of the once- influential patron of the city. A small article printed in the top right corner of the paper makes mention of the robbery of the bank but insists that the police have no leads. Noah couldn’t help but wonder to himself if it was true. Although they found themselves as a threat for a while, the police had to have ruled the Deathswitch Initiative out as possible suspects for the robbery. It was too well thought out of a plan for it to have been committed by the petty criminals part of the Reagan Administration. The von Horowitz Syndicate were likely suspects but the question that any logical person would ask is why? The Syndicate didn’t care about money. They were more interested in running the city and couldn’t risk having a bank robbery come in between them and that goal. It was too big of a risk, especially since the upcoming mayoral race was competitive enough with the Commissioner and DA throwing their hats into the race but working as a tandem until it was just them left. A gentle knock followed by the opening of the door proceeds the arrival of the mustached Commissioner Jake Montrose and DA Truth. Commissioner Montrose’s face resembles that of a man that hasn’t had a good night’s rest in quite some time. His hand clanged to the coffee cup for dear life as he took a seat across from Noah –who has refused to acknowledge their presence. DA Truth was a tougher man to read than Commissioner Montrose. The people had elected him to the position several times over due to his staunch vision of the law being black and white. There was no grey area in his world and he let that be known with his tough stance. His personality was not one that would normally be viewed as endearing to the masses but in a city with so many eccentric personalities, it was a nice change of pace to see someone so even-keeled. In a city filled with children, he was seen as the adult in the room, and people were drawn to that. DA Truth stood although there was a seat next to Commissioner Montrose. Montrose liked people to feel like they were on the same level so they would be more willing to offer information to him but DA Truth did not take the same approach. He was over them and he wanted them to know it. Commissioner Montrose: “It’s been a long time, Mr. Stocke. When I was given this promotion and transferred to this department I did not think that you and I would cross paths again, but here we are (chuckling).” Noah Stocke: “Here we are again, Detective Montrose. I see you’ve abandoned yet another partner on your climb to the top. First officer Black, then detective Parr. How long before you abandon DA Truth over here?” Commissioner Montrose: “Only time will tell (chuckling to himself). Right, Noah? Speaking of partners, I wanted to offer my sincere condolences to you for the loss of Mr. Ocean. We may not have seen eye to eye and had our fair share of battles but I never wanted to see his name in the obituary of the newspapers.” Noah shoots a side-eyed glance at Montrose who sincerely looks sad about the passing of Trevor. Although Noah and Montrose had known each other for years he couldn’t quite figure out if Montrose was genuine or using this as a tactic to get him angry or let his guard down. Noah Stocke: “You two wanted me here for questioning, right? I’m here. Ask your questions, detective.” Commissioner Montrose: “It’s commissioner but, I know, it’ll take some getting used to Mr. Stocke. I’m sure since you’ve read the paper that you know about the Sullivan Compound bombing. 127 people dead, Sullivan’s influence in the city all but destroyed and we have no leads...except, the one attached to you Mr. Stocke. Eyewitnesses have stated that you were seen on the premises alone. They stated that you entered the compound but no one saw you come out.” Noah Stocke: “Is that a crime?” Commissioner Montrose: “No, but it’s suspicious as hell, don’t you agree?” Noah Stocke: “It’s only suspicious if someone was watching me...for their own purposes.” DA Truth: “(interrupting Montrose who was about to speak) Why were you at the compound, Mr. Stocke? You and Saint Sullivan have no known prior interactions with one another and somehow you’re seen entering but not leaving the compound on the same day that it was destroyed.” Noah Stocke: “Is it a crime to seek council from someone of his stature? He was once the most influential and revered man in the city. He was powerful. So powerful that he was even able to beat you and your office in court, Truth. I sought his counsel on a couple of personal matters and he was gracious enough to provide it.” Commissioner Montrose: “There’s nothing wrong with seeking council but the question we’re wondering is why didn’t anyone see you leave?” Noah Stocke: “Why is that of concern?” DA Truth: “Because a bomb went off and killed multiple people and put the lives of many others in danger. You were seen at the compound but never seen leaving and we want to know how the hell that is possible?” Noah Stocke: “How do you know I didn’t leave the compound?” DA Truth closes his eyes and swears under his breath as Commissioner Montrose purses his lips to the side before taking another sip of his coffee. Noah nods his head and smiles to himself. He closes the newspaper and reaches into the breast of his jacket and removes the tin case that holds his cigarettes. He turns the case towards Montrose in a gesture to ask “is this okay”. Montrose nods his head as Noah places the cigarette between his lips, lights, and takes a long drag. Noah Stocke: “You’ve been having me followed, ey? Don’t worry. I’m not mad about it. It’s a smart move from two men who want to dethrone the mayor in the upcoming election. This would be a huge feather in your cap. You two – working together to solve the mystery of who blew up the Church of Sullivan Compound. It would put you neck and neck in the polls against Mayor Golden. You’d actually have a shot at beating him and nocking the other competitors out of the race. But, you’re wasting your time following and interviewing me.” Commissioner Montrose: “This isn’t about the mayoral race, Noah. This is about the sons and daughters who were murdered in that explosion. My men saw you on the premises alone. They saw you enter alone. But they never saw you leave.” Noah Stocke (Plucking the ashes of his cigarette before beginning): “You think you can trust the word of your men, Montrose? Wait, let me ask that same question to you DA. You think you can trust the word of Montrose’s men? You’ve had to have read up on Montrose’s track record. He’s been known to be a charming liar. He’s used each of his partners as stepping stones to get to where he is now. What makes you believe that he wouldn’t use you? What makes you believe that he’s not sending you on a wild goose chase by having me interviewed only to embarrass you when he parades the actual person responsible for the bombing marched in front of the flashing bulbs of the presses cameras? He’ll be hailed as the hero who got the job done while you were further proving your incompetence as of late.” Commissioner Montrose: “Okay, that’s enough, Noah” Noah Stocke: “Why’s it enough Montrose? Did I strike a nerve?” Commissioner Montrose: “No, you’re speaking utter nonsense as usual. DA Truth and I are a team with the same goal.” Noah Stocke: “AND THAT’S THE PROBLEM! You two have the same goal but only one of you can reap the rewards of achieving thegoal. The other will have to stew in the fact that they weren’t able to achieve the goal but they helped their “partner” reach theirs. You’re a snake, Montrose. A venomous one at that. You may be able to bite Truth like you’ve bitten all the rest of your partners in the past, but you’re not going to coil your way around me and take me out. You wanna know how I was able to get out of the compound without being seen by your guys? Ask Damian Lynch or Sean Hughes. They were there with me.” DA Truth: “We already did.” Noah smirks at Truth whose expression remains the same. The door opens and an officer approaches Montrose whispering something in his ear. Commissioner Montrose: “Your lawyer is here and says that you no longer would like to speak to us.” Noah Stocke: “Right on time as always. If you would be so kind as to release me from these handcuffs so that I can be on my way, Montrose?” Commissioner Montrose reluctantly releases the handcuffs from Noah’s wrists as the two stare at one another. Noah Stocke: “Oh, DA Truth. Shawn sends his regards. You remember Shawn, right? Shawn Summers? You and your office had an air-tight case against him and you somehow blew it not once but twice? I’m sure you remember that. Hopefully, you don’t make the same mistake again.” The members of the Stocke Market are restless as they form a human circle on the trading room floor. In the center are two slightly rusted metal chairs bolted to a large piece of plywood. The wood is covered in bloodstains. The members converse with one another about the emergency meeting. It had been a while since they had had a halt to all trading and business dealings and needed an emergency meeting to deal with a possible infestation. The murmurs slowly begin to quiet down as men slowly begin to part. Through the parting of the men, we are greeted again by the imposing figure of Eli. The group comes to a hush as Eli enters the middle of the circle and paces around, looking into the eyes of all in attendance. Elijah Graham: “The market has begun to crash. One stock has caused our market to begin to go into free fall and we have been tasked with performing discovery services to determine if the stock is corrupt or if our intel was wrong. What is our main goal?!” Stocke Brookers (In Unison): To protect the honor, integrity, and value of the Stocke Market! Elijah Graham: “Exactly. That is our goal and main duty. We’ve all bought into the Stocke Market and all have a vested interest in what stocks we allow to be traded within. If a stock is corrupt or untrustworthy, it is our job to expel it from our exchange. Our intelligence has told us that the stock of the former Prodigal Sons is corrupt. Our intelligence has told us that the stock of the former Prodigal Sons is a federal bond in disguise attempting to infiltrate and destroy the Stocke Market from the inside. Our intelligence has told us that Damian Lynch and Sean Hughes are an infestation to the pit and need to be removed before the market crashes. Bring Damian Lynch and Sean Hughes to the trading floor, NOW!” The circle parts again as Damian and Sean are brought onto the trading floor by four men. Burlap sacks adorn the heads of Damian and Sean as they enter – their clothes are tattered and it looks as though they have taken quite the beating in the time since Noah was brought in for questioning and everyone was called to the floor. The four men sit the two on the chair before removing the sacks from over their faces. They look around in confusion and slight terror as Eli continues to circle like a shark in the water. He stops and stares as the two breathe heavily. Damian’s face is agitated, and that is most certainly being polite about his frame of mind. His back is tied to a chair. He is back to back with Sean, who is facing the west corner also tied to the chair. Sean’s face is riddled with anxiety and concern. Elijah Graham: “Noah was taken in for questioning regarding the bombing of Saint Sullivan’s compound. They believe that Noah was responsible for the bombing and was apparently tipped off to them by members of the Stocke Market. Tell me, Damian, Sean...have you two talked to the police lately?” Sean: “Ye-“ Damian: “NO.” Damian interjects as Eli raises an eyebrow to the varied answers from the two. The brokers around the circle murmur to one another as Eli slowly approaches the two. Eli leaned in close to Sean and began. Elijah Graham: “Care to get your stories aligned and I’ll ask you again, gentlemen?” Sean looks at Damian, having quickly learned this time that it is probably in his best interest to keep quiet and leave the talking to someone else for once. Damian: “We haven’t talked to the police, but we did get questioned by some guys from the DA’s office. They just wanted to know if we had heard about the bombing. Eli cocks his head and looks inquisitively at Sean, having already identified that between the two that he is most likely to the one to be a bit looser with his words. Elijah Graham: “What the hell did you tell them? Sean: “We told them that we had heard about it. I mean, how could you not have heard about it. A hundred-plus people died, the entire police and fire department were rushing through the city to get to the scene of the crime. It was madness that night! One of the most influential people in the city was taken down in one night. Someone was able to take down a full-blown Saint. How wouldn’t we have heard about it? It would be suspicious if we didn’t know anything about it so I decided to tell them a little bit...” Damian: “SEAN” Hughes is forcibly brought to a halt, you would say just in time but that would pretty much be a lie given that big Eli has already had his interest piqued. Elijah Graham: “You decided to tell them a little bit? A little bit of what? About what? The bombing?!” Sean: “Errrr.....no?” Answering a question with a question is never that good, especially when that question itself is said with such reservation that you already know that there is something amiss. Elijah goes to get closer to Sean and, despite being tied and facing the opposite direction to him, Damian senses that his intervention is required. Damian: “He told them about how methodical and planned out it had to have been for someone to orchestrate a bombing like that. It piqued their interest so we offered them a little information about who we thought could be behind the whole thing. We slipped them information about the Von Horwitz Syndicate and how their leader was a former expert in explosives. We also gave them information on how the Syndicates leader and Sullivan had had a volatile past so it only seemed logical that she was a suspect. Hell, it only seemedright that we were a suspect considering our past with the Prodigal Sons. Elijah Graham: “And, what information did you give them about Noah?” Sean and Damian: “Nothing!” Finally, in unison. And tension, of course. Don’t forget about tension. You could hear any sound within 100 kilometers of here but there is only one sound that penetrates the room...a slow clap, from the other side of the trading floor. Sean and Damian both point their heads in a northern direction. Sean: “Noah!” Indeed, Noah has entered the trading floor and was slow clapping his way across towards his two partners. Noah Stocke: “Good work, Eli.” He nods firmly at Eli, who knowingly glances back, the momentary tranquility soon interrupted by Damian’s ire. Damian: “Stocke, what in the blue f-“ Noah Stocke: “Bonding, Damian. Bonding. There is no infestation. There is no emergency. No giant oaf ready to rip you apart with his bare hands, no offense Eli.” Sean: “Why would you set us up like that?” Noah Stocke: “Teamwork. It was all about team chemistry. It was about testing your limits. I’m pleased to say, gentlemen, that you both managed to pass. Not with flying colors, but never the less I can say that you have gained my confidence and trust knowing that when your back is against the wall you two would not betray me or my trust.You see, I don’t enter battles that are likely to be losing ones, what’s the point in that? Trust is more than just standing on a street corner and making yourself available whenever you get a call or order from me. It’s knowing that when you are really pushed that someone has got your back. That is what Commissioner Montrose doesn’t have with DA Truth and vice versa. When it all boils down to it both of them don’t really trust each other." Damian: “I’ve learned something tonight...” Noah: “I’m glad you see it that way, ‘Damo’. Noah comments with absolutely zero acknowledgment of what Damian intended, although he fully recognized the intention of the comment.Noah and Eli make their way off of the trading floor as Damian and Sean are untied from the chairs and met with gleeful acknowledgment from their fellow stock brokers. Eli turns around to see the brokers apologizing and embracing the two before turning back to walk with Noah. Noah Stocke: “Things are about to heat up around here, Elijah. We need them. We’re about to go to war with the Syndicate. The DA, the Commissioner, AND the Mayor. We can’t have anyone on our team that isn’t willing to make the ultimate sacrifice."

New Orleans, Louisiana
February 21st, 2022

The Smoothie King Center is still alive with the continual hum of the crowd, electrified following Russnow's announcement for the next Meltdown. As the paying public shuffle their way out of the aisles and file out of the arena, the curtain separating the superstars from their adoring and sometimes not so adoring public parts with such force that it nearly becomes a permanent open gateway for the fans to see backstage. Through that curtain marches Damian Lynch, The Prototype, his hair is stuck to his sweaty torso and still a light shade of red following his exertions in the match. If you were to pick a word to describe his demeanor at present, it would likely land somewhere between pissed and apoplectic. He draws back a clenched fist and lets out a guttural roar before stopping bringing it to a stop moments before what would likely have been a rather devastating impact on the structural integrity of his hand. His opposite hand, clenched in a fist, shakes. Seemingly the rage that has built up inside is looking for a release. He needs some calming influence, a sense of the bigger picture. After all, it isn't like he didn't qualify for the finals despite what happened to him this evening. Still, you get the distinct impression that achieving something that had already been determined before stepping foot in the ring wasn't about to pacify him any time soon. No, what he needed was some words of wisdom and...

Sean: "Don't you worrrrrrryyyyyyy....about a thinnnnnggggggg—"

Damian inhales, ever so deeply, and clenches his eyes closed. Fists still trembling, it's evident that this isn't the time for a singalong with Sean. Hughes, of course, isn't one to pick up on hints and implications very often. Remarkably, he cannot pick up on inferred moods in any social setting for someone who is somewhat technically adept and having to make a living trying to outmaneuver and read people. With that in mind, naturally, he continues.

Sean: “Cause every little thinggggg.....isssssssssss.......gonna be alrighhhhttttttttttt”

In a manner that a young mother might comfort their child, Sean, for some reason, believes it to be appropriate to wrap his arm caringly around Damian's waist (his shoulder is just too high for him to do so comfortably) and give him a gentle squeeze. Damian remains unmoved from moments before, which is pretty positive news for Sean, and for Damian, there is a remarkable amount of self-restraint shown given the circumstances. Heavily inhaling and exhaling to try and calm himself — he knows the outcome tonight isn't Sean's fault deep down somewhere — he manages to push out a sentence at the very least.

Damian: "I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not really alright. Is it, Sean?"

He finally opens his eyes and navigates a step sideways to break the slightly bizarre grasp that Sean had on his waist.

Sean: "Big man...did it go to plan? Heck no. But is it the end of the world? Is there something that will stop your boy Sean from coming out victorious over any of them? Cyrus and Krash had their moment tonight. Michelle and Gerald are the epitome of all fart and no sh*t an—"

Damian can't let that one go.

Damian: "Run that one past me again?"

Sean: "They are all build-up, but nothing when it comes to the result."

Perhaps he should give up on the singing and think of this as another way in which he can alleviate Damian's pain, as he has completed what was moments ago likely unthinkable, and draw a smile and even a chuckle from Lynch. As both men share a moment, Sean reciprocates, one that is shortly after that interrupted by another flutter of the black curtain.

Noah: "Is this a two-man celebration or is there room for a third?"

The grins disappear jas as they arrive. Both men turn their heads towards and face Noah Stocke's confrontation. Noah, physically showing the hallmarks of someone who has just wrestled for twenty minutes with the expression of someone who wasn't able to get a win, isn't about to join in with this moment of light relief. At least, you wouldn't imagine he is.

Noah: "This....this is where you are going wrong. We have a chance to make sure that Cyrus and Krash...two threats to us, two major threats, are eliminated and further clear our path to glory, and you two are back here having a good time reminiscing about it, is it?"

A rhetorical question, if there ever was one, which both Sean and Damian identify.

Noah: "Come on then, I must've missed the memo, where it was OK to laugh and chuckle despite getting our asses handed to us out there? Or maybe, is it the fact that it wasn't any of you two that got pinned because of your incompetence, but it was me? I didn't come back here to take losses, and I damn sure didn't come back here to enjoy them."

Noah turns his back to the New Breed and takes a couple of paces towards the table of refreshments previously behind him. The silence is awkward and palpable. Despite Sean's aforementioned lack of social intelligence, even he knows that this perhaps isn't the moment to interrupt or try to lighten the mood. A few moments later, Noah swivels back and has one water bottle that he is circling in each hand, perhaps a coping mechanism to improve his mood.

Noah (through gritted teeth): "Take these...if we are going to have to beat Krash and Cyrus and Michelle and Gerald, we don't have any time to waste, do we? Drink these, and let's go see how we can recover this."

Noah throws the water bottles, one from each hand, in the direction of Sean and Damian, who catch them as directed. Damian takes a swig. Upon receipt of the bottle, it became apparent that his annoyance had too consumed him about the result to seek out some hydration immediately after. Sean glances at his bottle, eyebrows raised, to Noah, expectantly glaring in his direction.

Sean: "You were the one that wrestled though, shouldn't you ta—"

Noah: "I'm perfectly aware of what I need. Thank you, Sean. Drink it. Leave it. Do what you like. Just know that if we don't end up winning these Warz, then at least I'll have a clear
conscience knowing that I did everything that I needed to do despite being anchored by some...limitations."

Noah casts a telling glance in their direction before taking off and making his way further backstage. Knowing that Damian and Sean are both unmoved behind him, he shouts over his shoulder without stopping.

Noah: "Unless you want me to do all the prep on my own, probably a good idea if you follow me."

It isn't long before he is out of sight, as Damian takes another gulp of water and turns to Sean, both men exchanging a look, one that tells you that something isn't quite right. Of course, naturally, in this situation, the untold look would be enough to run that narrative string, but Sean isn't one for subtlety.

Sean: "He can be a bit of a dick, can't he?"

Hughes takes a massive gulp of water and takes a belated look over his shoulder to ensure that Noah was actually out of sight and didn't catch that comment. While he may be of the feeling that he is indeed a dick, it's not something he's quite ready to confront Noah with at this juncture.

Damian: "Different, Sean. Different doesn't make you a dick necessarily."

The inclusion of necessarily is all but telling there. Damian is more an expert in the art of subtlety than Sean, even if there is nobody around to pull them up on the expression of whatever their true thoughts may be.

Sean: "You can't argue, though, that we probably wouldn't be here without him. It was pretty grim, big man. You know I've got all the love for you in the world, but we were losing pretty bad before we got Noah on board. Osos Locos is one thing, given who they turned out to be, but there was the old guy and the young kid that we lost to that didn't sit right with me. Never mind Mile High. We didn't even really get close to making a mark there. At least now, even after tonight, we have a chance. It was never going to be perfect, you know...."

That was a reasonably sensible sentiment from Hughes, one that belies anyone's general impression of him. Damian acknowledges this without saying a word and nods in the direction Stocke had walked, finishing off his water and discarding the bottle in the nearby garbage with a nonchalant toss over his left shoulder. Sean duly follows as the two men walk and talk.

Damian: "The final is there for the taking, Sean. I don't want to pre-empt anything, but you know you can do it, right? It'll probably be yourself and Noah, and if that is the case, there is no reason in this world why you can't hang with Michelle or Gerald. Do you remember this time last year? Michelle was running scared of us, and her little lapdog wasn't anywhere to be seen. We need to remind everyone exactly WHY Michelle was scared of us. Cyrus and Krash need to remember Mike Parr trained us — someone who has got the better of them both on more than one occasion. Couple that with what Noah brings to the table between the tag team experience and the long-standing knowledge, and well, let me say that it's probably one of your better ideas to bring him on board."

Having reached the locker room, Damian pushes open the door for Sean to enter, and he duly obliges. Lynch follows as the door clicks shut behind them, and they are now face to back with Noah Stocke. Noah is facing the other direction, and from his silhouette, you can tell that his arms are crossed. It is somewhat surprising that he hasn't turned and addressed the two yet.

Sean: "Wait.....one of my better ideas?"

Damian glances at Sean as if to ask him 'what's his problem,' but is taken aback by Sean, whose color has drained from his face.

Damian: "SEAN!"

Lynch exclaims, and rightfully so as shortly after that, Sean drops to one knee. Damian steps towards his struggling partner, but he gets an immediate wave of nausea as he plants his foot and struggles to retain his balance. He attempts to retract his planted foot back to its starting position, but he cannot re-establish a solid footing with the ground beneath him. Damian tries to plant his foot but stumbles backward with the weight of his body, causing him to drag his other planted foot over balance too. He collapses onto the locker room bench behind him, luckily standing close to it; otherwise, he would've landed on the ground. Damian tries to force his eyes open, but his head is spinning as if he had just woken up from the deepest of sleep and was still coming to. In the distance, or what appears to be a distance to him at this moment but in reality, is a few feet away, Sean has dropped to a crawl position. His knees and palms are planted on the floor, and you can see him desperately trying to get some oxygen moving around his body.

Damian: “S-s-se-sea-se”

In what is, at best, a semi-conscious state, Damian's attempts to care for his teammate are touching, albeit very much in vein at the present moment. Finally, Sean plants into the locker room ground face first, seemingly unconscious or even worse.

Damian: "SEANNNNNN!!!"

This time he manages to get the word out, but as he tries to propel himself out of his seated position, he lacks the strength to do so. Although just at that moment, the proverbial lightbulb goes off in his head. There are more than two of them in the room. He turns his head towards Noah, who is still unmoved and not facing them despite the commotion.

Damian: "Noah.....help him."

Lynch is visibly weaving, his head swaying back and forth as if gravity is almost too strong a force for him to maintain a steady position. Noah exhales and slowly turns to face Lynch. He has a nearly stoic look smeared across his face. His jaw is clenched, and you can still identify the underlying detest of his loss earlier tonight. He methodically makes his way towards Damian, bypassing the fallen Hughes en route. He nonchalantly kicks the remnants of Hughes's drink across the room.

Damian's eyes lock with the water bottle, and clearly, even in his weakened state, there is a knowing look that Noah identifies, and thus, he breaks his silence.

Noah: "Do you know how embarrassing that was for me, Damian? I am in there with people I have known for years, competing to try and bring you to a level that you need to be, yet I'm the one taking the pin? And where are you? Why are you not doing whatever you can to get in there and lend even the tiniest bit of assistance on the rare occasion that I need it? Instead...inst—"

His voice is trembling with frustration but at the same time retains that underlying calm, which, coupled together leaves you feeling a deep sense of unease. Noah pauses to try and gather his thoughts as he now finds himself directly standing in front of Damian.

Noah: "Instead...instead you are scared off by somebody keeping guard? What the hell is the point of you, being the size you are, if you can't break through people and make the save? What the hell are we doing here, Damian, if you can't do ANYTHING to help? Why are you not able to do ANYTHING that doesn't result in an embarrassment for me?"

Noah gets nose to nose with Lynch at this point.

Noah: "Tell me, Damian. This part is where you answer."

Damian: "Sometimes things just don't go to plan...."

Noah: "So said everyone who was never successful. Anyone who doesn't mind taking the occasional loss somehow thinks it is expected. It's not a nice feeling, Damian...in fact, it's the worst feeling in the world. It burns in the pit of my stomach, and maybe, maybe because it wasn't you who took the pin, it's somehow OK to lose occasionally. But, for me, that isn't a condition to this partnership that I'm willing to take."

Comparatively, at the height of his powers, Stocke steps forward and presses his forearm against Lynch's neck. Damian's eyes widen as the pressure on his trachea, coupled with whatever else was going on with him, further impacts his ability to gather himself. Noah presses down harder and causes Damian to fall to his side from his seated position to having his back pinned to the bench itself.

Noah: "Count"

Damian splutters through his blurred vision and general confusion with the situation. He isn't sure as to what is happening. Through that haze, he hears Noah's voice once more.

Noah: "You’re going to know how it feels, Damian. Count...”

His voice reverberates around the locker room, echoing twice over in Damian’s befuddled mind. Noah, if anything, intensifies the pressure of his forearm on Lynch’s throat.

Damian: “O-one.....t-t-two........thr-...three”

On the announcement of three, Noah immediately releases his forearm. He raises his arms in the air in a faux celebration of victory. Damian forcibly tries to intake more air but lacks the cognitive ability or the energy to move from his position sprawled on the locker room bench.

Noah: “Thank you, Damian.”

Stocke remarks with a more unnerving sense of cool again after a rather intense sequence.

Noah: “We aren’t quite even, but it’s a start.”

Through his loss of vision and general inability to center himself, Damian hears the locker room door click open and slam closed once more, indicating Noah’s departure. With that, he rests his head back and stops fighting any further....

Sean moves his head and tears a fabric of skin off of his face, the drool seeping from his mouth solidifying and sticking him to the floor of the locker room. Rubbing his eyes, his head still quite foggy, he suddenly jumps up to a seated position. Almost out of instinct, as his recollection of how he quite ended up here or how long he had been here being absent. A glance around tells him that nobody is present. A wave of relief falls over him momentarily before giving way to the uncertainty of his current situation once more. He glances around quickly again, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches a note pinned to the back of the door. Pushing himself upwards, he notices his legs are rather heavy as he limps his way towards the door, cocking his head to the right as he reads.

Sean, It has taken some time for me to fully appreciate the position we had found ourselves in before Noah. I noticed that you were quiet and more withdrawn for weeks, but I didn’t overthink it. Why would I? After all, it wasn’t a good time, and we were both on the end of tough losses. Last night changed everything. Last night it became clear to me that, yes, we were on the back of some losses but what hadn’t become apparent to me until then was that I might’ve been the party mainly responsible for those losses. I see that now. As for Noah, I cannot deny the upturn in form that has resulted from our association with him, but I have to question some of his unconventional methods. The bright lights of glory have blinded me for such a while that I think I might’ve missed the obvious. Now...now what do we do? I need some time. I have some things to take care of over the next couple of days, but let’s meet after that at the place where Mike christened the title. Even as I write this, I am fully aware that to get over the line with this thing, we might need the Stocke Market to go to war. D.​

---

The wind whips across the sky, biting with indifference at those unlucky enough to be without protection from it. Bits of unmeted snow litter the edge of sidewalks and walkways throughout as people go about their business. The living almost equals the dead resting within the grounds of the cemetery.

The feeling of grief and longing for the companionship of another was once a foreign feeling to Noah. These days, it had become almost a permanent characteristic of his. He stands in front of Trevor’s headstone dressed in a cashmere black peacoat over a black polo shirt tucked into a pair of matching chino pants and loafers. He had stood here weekly for the past year replaying the moment that they lost Trevor in his head. He racked his brain tirelessly in an attempt to figure out how he could have saved him, but the solution to this mental puzzle alluded him.

Noah exhales a deep sigh as the humming and beeping of the grounds crews machinery breaks through his train of thought. They worked methodically digging the graves – eight feet long, two and a half feet wide, six feet deep. It rarely took them long to open a plot and these four that they were currently working on would be no different.

Noah turns his attention back to Trevor’s grave and crouches down to a knee – getting closer so that he may rest his hand against the headstone in an attempt to be closer to his former partner. The clip clap of the heel and toe of an oxford dress shoes hitting the pavement in succession interrupts Noah’s moment of grief before stopping beside him. Noah removes his palm from the headstone and rises to his feet with a deep sigh. Commissioner Montrose dramatically exhales in a mocking manner as Noah continues staring at his partners resting place.

Commissioner Montrose – I know I told you at the police station but I feel it bares repeating that I am truly sorry to hear of Trevor’s passing. I felt a deep plunge in my stomach when we got the news that he had been killed. We had our differences but Trevor was truly a good person who got involved with a bad crowd. I remember having you two in lockup and hearing him speak so fondly of his goals and how he wanted to travel and explore other cultures and really get to know himself and the people of the world. Of course, you told him to shut up because you knew we had every cell and room wired with microphones, but he didn’t care. He wanted us to know that eventually the life you created for him would be over and he’d finally get to live the life he wanted. I hope he’s living that life now.

Noah purses his lips to the side and places his hands in his pockets, staring at the sky as if to not cry at the mere words of the commissioner. He knew that the commissioner was trying to throw him off his game and was determined not to allow that to happen. The commissioner was here for a reason and it wasn’t to reminisce about Trevor.

Commissioner Montrose – “You have no idea how close we had came to narrowing in on you and your little gang.”

Noah Stocke– “Ahh, there we go.”

Commissioner Montrose – “Yeah. Here we go, Noah. We were so close to pinning you as the culprit for the Sulivan Compound bombing and massacre.”

Noah mouths the words “massacre” with a smirk before letting out a slight chuckle as Montrose continues.

Commissioner Montrose – “I had the charges all ready to file and District Attorney (DA) Truth was ready to file them. But we had a moment of clarity just at the last second. You know what the moment of clarity was, Noah? Hmmm? It was optics and timing. That’s what saved you...this time. Bad optics and bad timing are what saved you, Noah. I mean, imagine the headlines that would have run if we arrested you and tried to take you to trial. Commissioner and DA were embarrassed in court by the legal team of small business owner and philanthropist. We wouldn’t stand a chance against Mayor Golden in the election.”

Noah laughs to himself again as Montrose reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and removes a cigarette. He places the cigarette between his lips and cups his hand around it as he lights to protect the flame from the wind and breeze.

Commissioner Montrose – “Come the election, either DA Truth or I will unseat Mayor Golden. The city loves us and he’s out of his fucking mind. And, when we unseat him, we’ve come to an agreement, Noah. You know what that agreement is? We’ve agreed to make crashing the Stocke Market a priority of either of our administrations for the good of the city.”

Noah nods his head in understanding as Montrose takes a drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke into the atmosphere. Noah quietly wishes the Commissioner well on his endeavor much to his annoyance.

Commissioner Montrose – “I won’t need luck, Noah, because I have fate on my side. I know your fate and it’s to either end up in a jail cell or in a grave. I’ll let you decide which one it’ll be.”

Noah, again, nods his head in understanding as Montrose pats him on the shoulder and begins to walk away towards the parked sedan waiting at the curb. Noah raises an eyebrow at DA Truth sitting in the passenger seat as Montrose takes one last look at him before entering. The car drives away slowly. Noah stands in the moment taking in the Commissioner’s warning as one of the cemeteries groundcrew members approaches. The crew member’s size is imposing as he approaches, Noah. He leans in towards Noah.

Groundcrew Foreman – “Their car is no longer here.”

Noah Stocke – “Thank you, Eli. Tell them...they can begin.”

Elijah whistles a melody and the patrons and members of the cemetery grounds crew immediately stop mid-conversation and action. They walk towards Noah, being careful not to bump into him as they mark the dimensions of Trevor’s grave with chalk and begin to dig.

Sean Hughes, dressed in groundcrew fatigues stops and stands next to Noah as Trevor’s grave is efficiently dug up. He has an uneasy look on his face as he begins.

Sean Hughes – “This...is...wrong, Noah. We shouldn’t be doing this. How can you do this? This...is your best friend's grave.”

Noah Stocke – “You bought into the Stocke Market, Sean. I made it clear that you would do things that would take you outside of your comfort zone. I also made it clear that every decision made was one that I put careful thought into and analyzed all outcomes of. This may seem wrong but you have to decide if you’re willing to get with it or if you want to get out. The choice is yours, Sean.”

Sean shakes his head in disbelief at Noah’s words. You can see by the look on his face that he wants to tell Noah that he is out but is afraid of the consequences that may follow.

Noah Stocke – “We are about to go to war with the Von Horowitz Syndicate and the cities criminal justice division. Everyone talks about war as if it is about bloodshed and the
advancement of power and ones agenda. But, in reality, it’s not about any of that. War is about winners. Do you know who the winners of wars are, Sean? They’re the ones that come prepared for it.”

The members of the Stocke Market finish digging and begin the process of lifting the casket out of the ground. Damian Lynch stands by Noah’s side and comments on the quickness of the crew to dig up and remove it. Noah smirks and stares as his men use bolt cutters to remove the padlocks on the casket. Sean and Damian exchange confused glances as the locks are cut. Noah nods to Eli, giving him permission to open it. He nods back in affirmation and opens the casket lid revealing it to be packed with guns, pipe bombs, ammunition, explosives, etc.

Sean stands with his mouth slightly agape as Damian approaches the grave and notices what appears to be two more caskets buried atop one another. He turns back to Noah who has the same emotionless expression upon his face.

Damian Lynch – “If this isn’t Trevor’s grave...then where is he at? Where’s Trevor’s body?”

Noah callously shrugs his shoulders much to the bewilderment of Sean and Damian.

Noah Stocke – “No clue. But, I hope he’s happy wherever he is and I hope he is happy with his decision.

For the first time since they had met him, Noah’s words had actually sounded genuine and didn’t cause them to second guess.

Noah Stocke – “I’ve other matters to attend to but I’m trusting that you two can supervise this excavation and get all of this back to the trading room, yeah? Once you’ve done all of that, meet me at the Red Room downtown. Don’t you think we deserve a good night out before we go to war, Damian?”

Noah turns away from Damian and Sean walking towards his car parked near the curb. Elijah walks past the two as he follows behind Noah as the scene fades to black.

---

WANG-CHUNG BLUES​

Noah Stocke sits in a semi-circle padded booth in the back of the dimly lit intimately sized Red Room dive bar. Various members of the Stocke Market sit with and around him along with an assorted amount of bar patrons. The women seem to flock to Noah and the members of the Stocke Market – feigning interest in their various stories, laughing at their tired jokes, and drinking the drinks that seem to be ever flowing. The wooden stairs leading into the establishment creek and bend as Damian Lynch and Sean Hughes make their entrance. Damian looks around the bar and catches the cold stare of Eli staring at him from the booth. Eli taps Noah and points to Damian and Sean producing a dry smile from their leader. It was weird for Sean and Damian to see Noah in a mood other than calm. He was smiling, laughing, carrying on in conversation with others, and flirting with the women. Noah waves them over and directs a couple of the Stocke Market members to make room for them. They take a seat at the bar and Sean can be seen taking in the environment.

Noah Stocke – “Drinks. These two need drinks. Someone hand them a menu. Eli?”

Eli grabs a menu and hands it to Damian as Noah raises his glass to him to say “thank you” as Sean leans in close to Damian to review it. They struggle to make out any of the words on the menu as it is all written in Russian.

Noah Stocke – “What’s the matter, boys? Can’t read Russian?”

The booth's inhabitants roar with laughter as Damian and Sean nervously reciprocates the laughter before closing the menu. Noah motions for the cocktail waitress to approach and places an order of Vodka – the house special. Sean continues looking around the bar in amazement as the drinks arrive and he takes a sip. He coughs as the drink bites and burns going down. He moves it away and leans in closer to Noah.

Sean Hughes – “This is a pretty cool bar, Noah. How’d you find a place like this? I would have never thought to come in here if I was walking by.”

Noah Stocke – “Oh. This bar is owned by the Von Horowitz Syndicate”

Noah says as he takes a sip from his glass and Sean chokes on the drink that he had just taken. He looks around frantically for signs of the other members of the Syndicate. Eli uncharacteristically laughs as Noah leans back in the booth and begins.

Noah Stocke – “Relax, Sean. We’re okay. They’re not going to do anything. She’s way to smart of a business woman than to do that. We’re her best customers tonight – hell, we’re the best customers she’s had all year. As long as our money is green and we don’t cause any problems, nothing will happen.

Damian Lynch – “But why here?”

Noah Stocke – “Why not? Should I have hesitated from coming into this bar? Should we have been afraid to come into a bar owned by the syndicate? I want her to know that those emotions are foreign to me. To us. I want her to know that we have no problem showing up on her turf when necessary. This is as much a message to her as it is a night of leisure before the chaos.”

Noah stares up at the lofted walled off room where the silhouette of a slender woman can be seen through the curtains. The silhouette doesn’t move as Noah raises his glass to it. The silhouette disappears past the curtains as Noah places the drink back down on the table. A young women approaches the table and grabs Sean’s hand. She asks him to dance in broken English to which he politely declines. Damian playfully chides him and begins to pressure him into dancing with her. Soon the other members of the Stocke Market join in with the taunting and pressure until Sean takes a large gulp from his glass and obliges to dancing with the woman much to an applause from the boys.

As the woman brings Shawn in close for a slow dance to the latest power ballad that the DJ decided to play, Noah Stocke stares intently at Damian Lynch. Damian feels Noah staring at him and tries his hardest to not acknowledge it but can’t hold out for too much longer. He makes eye contact with Noah who smirks at him as he takes a sip from his drink.

Noah Stocke – “I want you to know that I’ve chosen Sean to accompany me during the operation tomorrow.”

Damian takes a sip from his drink and nods his head in understanding.

Noah Stocke – “It’s nothing personal, Damian. It’s just that Sean is adept at following orders. He’ll make a fine left hand. Of course, he couldn’t be my right hand because that’s Eli. But, he’ll do a good job as my left hand. That’s a role that you could never play, Damian. No. You’re much more than just someone’s right or left hand. You’re a leader, Damian.

“I knew you were a leader the moment that I saw you. I mean, just look at you. You have that imposing figure. You’re calculated and eager to learn and get better. You could never make it as just the assistant or partner of someone. You’re a leader and for that reason I want for YOU to lead the opposite raid. If you’re up for it.”

Damian goes to answer Noah but is stopped from doing so by Noah’s raised finger. He shakes his head no before beginning.

Noah Stocke – “There’s a catch to this. Should we be successful with these operations it’ll be up to. You to decide Sean’s fate in the Stocke Market. It’ll be up to you to decide if he is worthy to take lead in the final operation we have for this city or if he should remain alongside me...and you.”

Before Damian can respond to Noah Sean and the young woman return from the dance floor.

Sean Hughes – “Those drinks have gone through me! I’mma go take a piss.”

Sean notices the uneasiness on Damian’s face but he can’t be bothered to ask about it as he is close to peeing his pants. He retreats to the bathroom as Damian calls over the cocktail waitress and orders a double vodka soda. Noah whispers something into the ear of Elijah before getting up from the booth and approaching the bathrooms.

Sean stumbles to the urinal and haphazardly rests a palm against the linoleum tiled wall. As he begins to relieve himself he hears a “plop” come from one of the bathroom stalls. He snickers to himself at the thought that someone could be taking a shit right now. He hears three more “plops” coming from the stalls generating even more laughter from him as he finishes. He flushes the urinal and turns around where he comes face to face with Noah. Sean nearly jumps out of his skin before composing himself.

Noah Stocke – “Sean, tomorrows a big day for us and I want you there by my side as everything falls into place. I want you as my right hand throughout all of this. You have potential. It’s the reason why I gave you two a tryout to buy into the market. I believed in your potential. I took a risk on you and it paid off.

It’s funny. Every now and then I see glimmers of Trevor when I speak to you. Your mannerisms, your naivety, the way you somehow manage to find the good in any situation. But the one quality that you have that really reminds me of him is...your loyalty. I admire that. So, I ask...will you stand beside me as a partner or will you stand across from me as equal?”

Sean opens his mouth to answer but is stopped from doing so by Noah’s raised finger. He shakes his head no before beginning.

Noah Stocke – “There’s a catch to this. Should we be successful with these operations it’ll be up to you to decide Damian's fate in the Stocke Market. It’ll be up to you to decide if we should let him go and do his own thing as a subsidiary of the Stocke Market or if we should keep him as an equal partner. It’ll be up to you to decide his future. Take some time to think about it.”

Noah pats Sean on the shoulder as he exits the bathroom with a satisfied smirk on his face. He looks at Damian with the smirk before reaching out and playfully grabbing a women by the waist. He leads her to the dance floor as a slowed reverb version of “Dance Hall Days” begins to play.

​

The lights in the bar alternate in color to the beat of the song but for Damian and Sean it seems as though the red lights seem to be the only ones that illuminate Noah. He buries half of his face in the nape of the women’s neck as they sway back and forth to the slowed beat of the song. Sean makes his way to the table and sits next to Damian.

“We were so in phase
In our dance hall days
We were cool on craze
When I, you and everyone we knew
Could believe, do and share in what was true
I said
Dance hall days, love”​

The two stare at Noah as he raises a finger to his mouth as if to say “shhhhh” with a wink as the scene fades to black.

---

I’LL NEVER GET OUT OF THIS WORLD ALIVE​

Commissioner Montrose fires his revolver over the hood of his car before ducking for cover and raising his radio to his mouth. Gunfire can be heard coming from the opposite side of the car as Montrose closes his eyes and shouts into his radio.

Commissioner Montrose – “This is Commissioner Montrose requesting immediate backup. All available units. I am under attack! I repeat I am under heavy gunfire alongside DA Truth. This is not a drill. All available units on my location now!”

DA Truth crouches beside him and fires his gun at their attackers. He looks over at Montrose who stares down at his radio with deep anxiety as the gunfire grows heavier.

Police Radio – “Backup is unavailable, sir. The mayor has ordered all officers to the crossroads district of the city to deal with the multiple bombings and gunfights between the crime organizations of the city.”

DA Truth – “What the fuck is going on in this city, Montrose. How did they manage to get you and me away from all available officers down here in the West Bottoms? Why the hell is the Syndicate shooting at us?!?!

Commissioner Montrose – Are you seriously asking why the hell the Syndicate is shooting at us? Are you bloody serious, right now?!? Maybe it has something to do with the multiple cases that you brought against their leader in the last three months. She managed to beat the charges but that cold hearted Russian bitch doesn’t forget, Cyrus! Let’s also not forget that before our little alliance you were buddied up with the Kennedy Family. Yeah, the Kennedy’s that the Syndicate fucking hates. The same Kennedy’s that took power from the Syndicate before leaving town on a whim after Mayor Golden took office. For fucks sake. I wonder why they’re attacking us, Truth.

DA Truth – Oh, fuck off, Montrose. I was actually trying to rid this city of the crime instead of trying to befriend them like you do.

Commissioner Montrose – I think my strategy works pretty good. This is the first time I’ve had a whole GANG shooting at me.

DA Truth – That just means I’m doing a good job.

The bickering between the two is interrupted by the click of a grenade pin being pulled and rolled towards them. The two run and take cover behind a metal trash compactor as Commissioner Montrose’s squad car explodes alongside the grenade. Montrose’s radio statics with feedback gaining both men’s attention as gunfire continues to rain down on their location.

Radio – “Montrose...Montrose...”

Commissioner Montrose – “This is Montrose. Go for Montrose!”

Radio – “We’ve had our history, Montrose...I’ve respected the fact that you were just out here doing your job until you made things...personal the other day at the cemetery.”

Montrose utters the word “fuck” as he knows who’s voice it is behind the radio.

Noah Stocke – “You managed to catch me in a moment of grief. A moment when I was at my most vulnerable just to tell me that you plan on putting me in a grave alongside my friend or in a jail cell. What type of person does that? That was yet another example of your hidden cruelty. I’ve said it before but I believe it bears repeating. The whole persona of the good-hearted member of the law enforcement official that you play is a tired role that you’ve been playing for years. You like to call me the bad guy but I’m not the guy that abandoned my partner at the first chance I got at obtaining political power. I’m not the guy gunning people down from behind for no apparent reason. I’m not the person that blamed my partner for my heinous actions as if I were not an adult in charge of my own decisions. I’m not the bad guy. You are, Montrose.

Montrose fires over the compactor at approaching Syndicate members as DA Truth runs across the alleyway to get a better shot at the attackers.

Noah Stocke – “It’s funny that you would align yourself with the district attorney. A man who thinks of himself as holier and mightier than all of us. He thinks he’s of a higher moral plane than the rest of us, but in reality he’s just as power hungry as the rest of you that want to run this town. His tactics have destroyed many lives. He likes to pretend like he didn’t play a role in driving that hooker to insanity with the actions of his office. He’s just as destructive as the people attempting to kill him right now. He’s just as dangerous. I wonder if he thinks about that young black man that he brought under his wing and then accused of being an extremist all to bolster his career? He’s a monster just like you but what’s worse about him is that he is a liar.

Noah crouches down with his radio next to Sean Hughes who sweats profusely as he looks through the scope of the sniper riffle trained on the members of the Syndicate firing at Montrose and DA Truth. Noah mouths the words “relax” to him as he continues.

Noah Stocke – “I can help you both out of this situation, Montrose. You need me and I need you. I have five snipers trained on your location and at my signal they are prepared to take out the members shooting and throwing grenades at you. I just need one thing from you...

Montrose grits his teeth and raises the radio to his mouth as he continues to fire frantically at the closing in Syndicate members.

Commissioner Montrose – What!!! What do you want from me?!?! What do you want from us?!!?

Noah Stocke leans against the windowpane and smirks as he raises the radio to his lips.

Noah Stocke – You and the district attorney will look the other way when I kill Mayor Golden and allow for one of you to assume power.

===================
​

Gunshots can be heard coming from upstairs as the Von Horowitz syndicate leader Misha sits at the bar of the Red Room. The foundation of the bar rocks causing debris to fall as explosions go off outside. She smirks to herself before slapping the bar top to signal to Geraldo, her assistant, that she would like another drink. He pours another drink but stops mid pour as the creeks and bends of the staircase can be heard, alerting them to the arrival of someone. Misha reaches her hand under the bar counter and slowly removes her Baretta Pico.

Damian Lynch – You don’t want to do that, Misha. Put the gun back under the bar counter and have a drink with me. What do you say?

Misha places the gun back under the bar and signals to Geraldo to finish pouring her glass and pour another glass for Damian. Damian cautiously enters the Red Room. He is calm in a way that is akin to the way that Noah carries himself during their operations. He takes a seat next to Misha and nods his head to Geraldo. He takes a large sip from the glass placed in front of him and winces at the burn as it goes down.

Damian Lynch – “This is weird. Us three - sitting here while the town is in complete chaos outside. Your Syndicate fighting the police and the Stocke Market. They’re growing tired. They can’t keep this up for much longer and you know it. It’s why you’ve retreated to your little den, isn’t it?

Misha Von Horowitz – Who says I’ve retreated, Damian?

Damian Lynch –“ I do. This is it for you, Misha. My men have been told to trip the explosives that we planted in the restroom the other night if I don’t walk up those steps in the next ten minutes.

Misha nods her head and takes a small sip from her glass.

Damian Lynch – “When Sean told me about the opportunity to join the Stocke Market I scoffed at the idea. Why would we leave the Prodigal Sons to join up with the Stocke Market? It seemed like a stupid idea, but it turned out to be one of Sean’s better ideas. I didn’t think that we had anything in common with Noah and it wouldn’t work. But I was wrong. We did have something in common.”

Damian points at Misha who smirks and leans back in her chair as he goes on.

Damian Lynch – “We had you in common. You took away something, someone important to both of us in your quest to controlling this city. You took Trevor away from Noah and are actually responsible for the creation of the Stocke Market. You unleashed this sociopathic psycho onto the town. That’s funny. But not too funny because you took something from us on your rise. You took Mike. You...took...Mike from us. He abandoned us after what you did and left us lost and alone in the city while you flourished for those couple of months. I’ll never forgive you for what you did to him mentally. You destroyed him all in your quest to control this city. What’s so special about this city? Hmmm? Was it worth it, Misha? Did you enjoy the brief time that you had at the top? Did you come to realize that the rise was much better than the reign?

What about you Geraldo? Did you get to enjoy her reign at the top or did she cast you to the side once she didn’t need you anymore? You don’t need to answer...we both know that’s what happened. Then, when she needed another way to rise to the top she brought you along for the ride again. Calling you her “partner”. This bitch doesn’t have partners. She has pawns. You’re just too stupid to realize that that’s all you are to her.”

Damian stands from his seat and looks down on Misha who finally finishes her drink. Geraldo goes to grab the glass but is hit with a bullet between the eyes from Damian who now has the gun pointed at Misha. She smiles at him and cradles the gun in her hand as if to tell him to do it.

Damian Lynch – “No...a bullet would be too good for you.”

Damian holsters the gun and grips Misha’s neck with his hands as the scene fades to black.