Meltdown XLVI & Fallout 046 || Promo Thread.

{Spoiler}James Grimshaw

In

THE FALLEN STAR


James Grimshaw sighed.

It was another late night. The sound of the rain beat against the window by his desk. For many, the sound of rain could be soothing. But not for James. What soothed him was his work. While most had worked their normal nine to five and settled in with their loved ones for the night, for James the day was just beginning. He sat down a now empty glass next to a half-empty bottle of bourbon which itself was nestled up against an ashtray that contained a slowly burning cigarette.

He had been staring at the same case files for hours now, but the answers he needed weren’t going to be found on paper. They were out there… somewhere in this God forsaken city.

Through the cluttered mess of yellowed papers, faded photographs, and empty coffee cups sat unsolved cases. Most prolific of those was that of his own brother, Dominic. A case that continues to haunt him after nearly a decade. His brother’s photo was pinned to the wall by his desk as a reminder. A reminder of why he’s doing this.

Beside Dominic’s photo was a “Wanted” poster featuring a man that James only knew by his one alias - The Uncle. That enigmatic smile continued to taunt Grimshaw as a unicorn that he could never track down. Did The Uncle really exist? A hefty reward for his capture kept James invested in the case but he had wasted so much time to only find dead ends that he wondered if the money was even worth the time anymore.

But neither of those two cases were top of mind for James tonight.

There was a new case.

Ricky Raine.

You’re probably familiar with Raine. He’s a relatively well-known popstar.

Or, well he was a relatively well-known pop star.

A month ago, Ricky met his tragic end.

The police had ruled it an accident. Drug related. But the tabloids were whispering that there could be more to this story.

Now, obviously you can’t always trust the tabloids. In fact, in most cases you probably shouldn’t. They have a bad habit of stretching the truth until it snapped. But in this case, there was a reason to think that there could be something to these rumors. Because in this instance, the rumors were coming from an interesting source.

The pop star's girlfriend.

She had come knocking on his office door with tears in her eyes and a story in her mouth. She had come to James knowing that he had a way of finding answers. Tracking down the truth. She begged him to dig deeper. She didn’t believe Raine’s death was an accident at all.

No, she was convinced that Ricky’s death was the final act of a twisted love triangle.

The other man? The person she thinks is the one who sent Ricky to his tragic end?

None other than her ex-boyfriend. Some disgraced former television actors with a history of being a bit of a loose cannon.

Now, James Grimshaw has never cared about the comings and goings of celebrities, including their love lives. Much less D-List celebrities like this guy. But a wrongful death was not something he could ignore. Someone had gotten away with Dominic’s murder and if he could bring another killer to justice, perhaps James would be able to get some actual sleep at night instead of the endless nights spent in his office.

He slid a crumpled photo across the desk with the tip of his finger. It was a publicity shot of the ex-boyfriend. His hair all slicked back with a crooked, cocky smile. He was the kind of guy who had once been on every billboard in town but now couldn’t book a soap commercial.

The ex would be a logical first place to start, right? Track him down. Question him of his whereabouts on that fateful night? Dig into the relationship with Raine’s girlfriend.

But it’d just be a deadend. He’d deny it. He’d lawyer up.

It’d be a waste of time to start there.

James had another idea. There was someone better to start with.

There was a man. A man hovering in the background of recent paparazzi photos. Someone that most people would barely give a second glance. James had identified the man’s name as Aaron. Seemingly a friend of this guy’s. He was always around. Always on the periphery of things.

Aaron had the kind of face he’d seen a hundred times. Modestly handsome in a nondescript kind of way. The kind of person you’d forget five minutes after meeting them. The type of person you see in a room and think… yeah, I feel like I recognize him from somewhere, but can’t quite put my finger on where.

The phone rang.

“This is Grimshaw,” he answered.

A familiar voice crackled through the static on the other end. "Grimshaw, it's Bobby," came the reply, his most reliable informant from the underbelly of the city. Bobby had been a petty thief once upon a time, but now he made a better living trading secrets for crumpled twenties and cheap booze.
"I found your guy," Bobby said, his voice hushed like he was afraid the rain might hear him. "Aaron, right? The one in the photos. He just walked into Jasper's, that dive bar down on the south side. The one by Velvet Heaven, the strip club."
James leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he listened. Jasper’s. The kind of place where broken dreams and bad decisions came together in an unholy union. “Good work, Bobby,” he replied as he reached for his keys buried under the mound of papers. “Is he alone?”

“Far as I could tell,” Bobby said. “Just walked in, keeping his head low. He’s not drawing any attention, but he never does, does he?”

James nodded, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. That was Aaron’s whole thing. A guy who blended into the background like smoke in a rainstorm. The perfect accomplice. The perfect nobody.

James checked his watch. It was five minutes past eleven. He would need to work fast. Nothing good in this town happens after midnight.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, snapping the phone shut before Bobby could respond. He slid the cigarette from the ashtray and took one last, long drag before grinding it out against the cracked ceramic.

He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. It was tan but worn as it had certainly seen better days, but it got the job done in this weather. He pulled it over his shoulders as he pulled open the top drawer of his desk to retrieve his revolver. He tucked it into the holster beneath his coat.

Just in case.

He wasn’t expecting trouble. But trouble had a way of finding him. Especially in a place like Jasper’s.

With one last look at Dominic’s photo on the wall, reminding himself of the promise that he’d one day solve his brother’s case, he stepped out into the night, heading to Jasper’s.



Jasper’s was certainly the definition of a dive bar. It sat at the end of the street and had that smell of stale beer and garbage. James parked a few blocks away, walking through the shadows of the alley to not necessarily announce his arrival. This wasn’t the place to make a grand entrance.

He walked briskly, the rain soaking into the collar of his coat as he approached the door that sat beneath a flickering neon light. He could hear the sounds of the jukebox from inside, playing a tune that no one seemed to care about. He pulled the door open, stepping inside.

The bar was dimly lit with a haze of cigarette smoke filling the air like a fog. A handful of patrons sat hunched over their drinks, losing themselves and their sorrows to the poison before them. Some other locals preferred to nurse their beers at the end of the bar.

But the man he was looking for sat alone in the booth in the back corner. He had a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him as he stared into it as if it was going to have the answers he was looking for. His face was blank as ever.

James kept his gaze steady and moved towards the bar, leaning against the worn counter as the bartender, a grizzled man with a scar over one eye, approached.

“Whiskey… neat,” James said, sliding a crumpled bill across the counter. He didn’t look at Aaron, not yet. He just needed to see if the man would notice him. Aaron didn’t. His focus was still on the drink. Good.

The bartender poured him a drink and passed it over. James took it without a word and quickly downed it in one gulp. He placed the now empty glass down on the bar and turned to Aaron. With a deliberate calm, he moved toward the booth.

“You alone?” James asked as he slid into the booth across from him, resting his arms down on the noticeably sticky table.

Aaron’s eyes snapped up, surprise flickering across his face for the briefest of moments before it was replaced by an easy, almost rehearsed smile. “Do I know you?” he asked, his voice polite but distant, the kind of tone you use with a stranger asking for directions.

“The name is Grimshaw,” James responded with a disingenuous smile of his own. “I’m a detective and I have a few questions for you, if that’s alright.”

Aaron’s eyes darted to the bar, to the door, then back to James. He was calculating, thinking about his next move. James leaned forward, his gaze turning cold. “Don’t bother. You’re not going anywhere until we talk.”

Aaron’s smile tightened, but he didn’t move. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about Ricky Raine,” James said, keeping his voice low. He watched as Aaron’s face remained carefully neutral, but his fingers twitched, just for a second, on the edge of his glass. “Heard you might know something about what happened to him.”

“The singer?” Aaron responded, the surprise almost sounding genuine. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, my man.”

“Hmmm,” James rubbed his chin. “I think you do though. After all, your friend… the actor… he’s connected to him, is he not?”

Aaron’s finger quickly stopped twitching. “Look,” he said as he leaned back and crossed his arms defensively, “I don’t know what you think you know or what you think you’re doing, but I’m not involved in any of this. Whatever happened to Raine, it has nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe not… I never said you did. But I think you know something is all I’m saying.”

“So you think it’s my friend? You think he killed him?”

“He was dating the love of his life, wasn’t he? The one that got away. The one he could never quite get over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man. That’s some heavy accusations.”

“I’m just looking for information. There’s a dead body out there and someone who cared about him has questions.”

“There is no case! The cops already called it an accident! There? I solved it for you, boss. Now hit the bricks.”

“You sure are defensive… trying to protect your friend?”

“I don’t have to protect him. He’s a good dude. Sure, he’s passionate…”

“And he still loved her, didn’t he?”

“I mean… yeah…”

“He wanted her back and he couldn’t stand seeing them together?”

“Look…”

“And didn’t they get into a fight just a couple weeks before this happened?”

For a moment, Aaron just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you even care? What’s in it for you, huh? Why are you really doing this?”

“It’s my job. I’m seeking justice. For the ones who loved him.”

“Justice? Is that what this is about?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“There’s no case here, Mr. Grimshaw. Nothing. You’re running around trying to solve a case that doesn’t even exist. All for what? So you can be the hero?”

James stared at Aaron, the words echoing in his head.

Wait, why was he doing this? Was this really about Ricky Raine?

Was it about Dominic?

He never thought of himself as a hero.

James took a deep breath, sitting back in the sticky vinyl booth. His eyes never left Aaron's. There was a calmness to Aaron's expression now, almost like he'd won. Like he'd pierced through some armor that James didn't even realize he was wearing.
But was it true?
Was he really trying to be a hero?
“Only one way to find out,” Aaron responded to a question James had not spoken out loud.

“Wait.. wha…”




James Grimshaw
In
VENGADOR: THE MASK OF JUSTICE

“GRIMSHAW! WHERE’S THAT STORY?”

James sighed as he sat hunched over his desk in the corner of The Daily Chronicle. He felt like he was drowning in his paperwork as his editor, J.J. Jaymison, barked at him about deadlines. “I’m working on it, sir.”

“YOU BETTER BE! NOW WHERE’S PETER? I NEED MORE PHOTOS OF THAT MASKED LUNATIC?”

Whew, the target was off his back, for at least a moment.

But still, it was only a matter of time before his impatient boss would be back again, demanding he have his finished story on his desk. So he went back to work, his fingers tapping frantically on the keys. His article? The latest on the mayor’s latest and greatest but ultimately futile anti-crime initiative.

The words on the screen all blurred together as his mind kept drifting to the same thoughts that have haunted him since he was a child.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at the cracked photograph beside his laptop. It was the only photograph he had left of his family. His parents had both been murdered when he was only eight years old. His older brother, Dominic, was later gunned down in the streets trying to protect him. It was their deaths that driven him down the roads in his life that have gotten him to this point. It is what lead him into the world of investigative reporting.

But James Grimshaw had more than one life.

That’s right, James Grimshaw was also The Vengador. The masked vigilante that prowled Fantasy City’s shadowy alleys, hunting those who thrived off the city's history of violence and corruption.

Some called him a hero.

Some called him a menace.

But to James, the mask was a way to balance the scales of justice.

A chance to do what he couldn’t as a child. Protect the helpless. Punish the guilty.

He was jolted from his thoughts by the buzzing of his cell phone. Not his personal phone though. It was the secret phone that he kept tucked away in his back pocket. He discreetly grabbed it, and took a look at the screen.

Warehouse on 12th Street. Shipment coming in this afternoon. One of the workers. He knows what happened to your brother.

He felt his blood run cold.

It had been years since he had any type of lead on Dominic’s killer. He knew he was still out there in this city somewhere. With every crime boss and villain that he’s taken out and had locked up (though most ended up back out on the streets pretty quickly due to the city’s questionable legal system), he had never stopped searching for the people responsible for his death.

The article could wait.

J.J. Jaymison could wait.

He grabbed his coat, rushing from his desk.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“Uhh… big lead… from the mayor’s office… be back soon!”

“DEADLINE GRIMSHAW! DEADLINE!”

But James wasn’t listening anymore. He was already sprinting up the fire escape to the Chronicle’s roof, where a small, concealed locked trunk lay under a tarp. He retrieved the key from his jacket, unlocking the trunk and pulling out his purple gear. His armored suit. His gloves. And his purple skeleton mask.

Within minutes… he was no longer James Grimshaw, mild-mannered reporter.

He was…

The Vengador.

Vengador knew the backstreets of Fantasy City like the back of his hand. Every alley. Every crumbling building. It was a city that had been rotting away for years due to the overwhelming corruption and crime. But he had spent his entire life training to fight back. Devoting his life to the idea of justice. Not just for his family. But for the city.

The old warehouse on 12th Street loomed in the distance. Much like the rest of the city it was worn down. Broken. Dilapidated.

It looks like he wasn’t the only one at the warehouse this afternoon. He scaled the side of the building, undetected, up to the rooftop, making his way to the fire escape that allowed him to overlook the exterior below. He spotted some familiar faces. The East Side Gang had gathered outside the warehouse and were chatting with a group of construction workers in faded orange vests.

The gang leader, a broad-shouldered man in a leather jacket with a scar running down his cheek, approached the foreman. “Is it here?”

“Y..Y..Yes,” the foreman stammered. “The shipment arrived about an hour ago. It’s inside. Secure. Just like you asked.”

“Good, take me to it.”

The workers lead the way into the interior of the warehouse while Vengador followed quietly from above,crawling into the warehouse himself through one of the broken windows. He crouched in the rafters as they made their way toward a storage unit.

“Are you sure about this, boss?” one of the other works asked of the foreman, nervously.

“Shut up, Aaron,” the foreman ordered with a harsh whisper. “You know how much these guys are payin’ us. This city pays us a shit pay to do shit work for their shitty buildings… we got mouths to feed at home.”

Vengador could feel his ears perk up. Aaron? Something about that name rang familiar. Something about his face seemed somewhat familiar as well. But he just couldn’t quite figure out why.

Following the instructions of his foreman, Aaron’s hands shook as he unlocked the padlock to lift up the door of the storage unit revealing several crates stacked inside. Vengador leaned forward, straining to see the contents, but the gang along with his own angle obscured the view.

“You’re gonna make the boss really happy, boys,” the leader of the gang said with a grin as he slapped the foreman across the back. “Pretty brilliant idea, won’t it? You municipal folk are real salt of the Earth, ya know. Nobody expectin’ you guys to be workin with the East Side.”
Aaron looked like he might be sick, but he forced a nod. Vengador’s eyes narrowed. Something about the worker’s face gnawed at him, but he pushed the thought aside. He needed to stop whatever was going down. He wasn’t quite sure how any of this connected to his brother like the message stated, but he knew whatever was in those crates was bad news. He couldn’t let the East Side Gang get their hands on them.

No time for subtlety now, he thought. “Hey! What you guys got there?”

Clearly this drew the attention of both the workers and the gang. One of the gang members raised his gun. “It’s the vigilante!”

Vengador leaped down from the rafters, his boots slamming into the ground as he delivered a brutal kick to the gunman’s wrist, sending the pistol skidding across the floor. The East Side Gang surged at him. It was a barrage of fists and knives coming at the masked man. With his agility, he managed to duck the wild swings and struck one of the members of the gang with a swift elbow strike to the jaw. He grabbed another thug by the collar and hurled him through a stack of wooden pallets that shattered on impact.

The leader of the gang backed up, flanked by the final three standing members of his group. “Stop messin’ around! SHOOT HIM!”

The three pulled out their guns, but Vengador grabbed a smoke bomb from his utility belt, tossing it to the ground as they began to fire. A thick smoke filled the air as bullets flied blindly. Vengador moved safely through the mist, sneaking up behind one of the thugs, reaching around and disarming him with a twist of the wrist before clocking him across the head with his own gun. He then rolled to the ground, sweeping the leg of another one of the thugs, bringing him to the ground before kicking him hard in the face, the sound of his nose breaking replaced the sound of the bullets.

The job wasn’t done yet as bullets continue to whiz by. As he hit the deck again, he finally caught a glimpse through the smoke of the labels on the crates.

His stomach dropped.

Explosive Materials.

This was worse than he thought.
“Everybody, get out! NOW!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the old, decrepit warehouse.
The construction workers hesitated for a split second, fear and confusion flashing across their faces. But then the warning registered, and they scrambled in all directions, sprinting for the exits. Aaron was the last to move, his eyes meeting Vengador’s for a brief, haunting second before he turned and ran.
As if on cue, a stray bullet hit one of the crates dead-on. Vengador’s instincts kicked in as he dove to the ground just as a thunderous explosion rocked the entire building. The shockwave sent him tumbling backward. Wooden beams and shattered metal rained down around him, and the air was choked with dust and smoke.

Disoriented, Vengador forced himself to his feet, ears ringing and lungs burning. The structure was giving way, creaking and groaning, on the verge of total collapse. He bolted for the nearest exit, leaping over debris as the floor buckled beneath him. He could see his exit in front of him…

“HELP!”

It was the construction worker… Aaron. His leg was trapped by one piece of debris as more fell around him. Vengador rushed back to him, lifting the debris off his leg and clutching him just as a massive chunk of roof tore free and fell directly toward both of them.

Vengador clutched Aaron, and with a desperate burst of energy, dove forward carrying the worker as the debris slammed to the ground behind them with an earth-shaking crash.

He lifted Aaron back up, carrying him out. He was scraped and bruised. But he was alive.

They stumbled out into the sunlight as Vengador placed Aaron gently down to the ground. They both gasped for air as the rest of the warehouse collapsed behind them. A cloud of dust and smoke billowed out as the once-standing building crumbled into a heap of rubble and twisted metal. He was grateful that he was able to get the construction workers out safely… but then he noticed something. His relief ended up being short-lived.

Because he noticed just near the rubble… a lifeless body. A bystander. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

There they lied. Blood pooled around their unmoving form.

“No…” Vengador whispered, horror and guilt clawing at him. His mission to stop the East Side Gang had spiraled out of control.

Aaron stepped forward, removing his hard hat. “This is all your fault.”

“What? No… I saved you. I saved all of you…”

“But what about him? You are careless. And it cost this person their life.”

“But… all those explosives… in the wrong hands… would’ve ended more lives.”

“Oh, so that’s your answer to the trolly question then? Kill one innocent person to save a hundred?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That person had a family. People that loved them.”

“I’m sure they did… I don’t feel good about this. But… this isn’t my fault. It’s the East Side Gang’s fault. They were the ones who shot the explosives.”

“BECAUSE OF YOU!”

“Whatever. I don’t have time for this. A simple thank you for saving your life would’ve been enough.” Vengador turned to leave.

“I knew it.”

Vengador stopped in his tracks, turning back. “What are you talking about now?”

“I knew you were no hero. You act like you’re a savior. Bringing justice. But I knew better. That’s why I brought you here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The text. I knew the mention of your brother would get you here fastest. A little white lie but hey, I didn’t kill anyone today.”

His anger growing, Vengador now approached Aaron, grabbing him by his orange vest. “What do you know about my brother?!”

“I know that your need for justice is the real reason you’re doing this. You’re not some hero. You’re selfish. You don’t care about the collateral damage of your mission. You cost that person their life. Not to mention the amount of money the city spends fixing the messes you cause like this. You’re not a hero, Vengador. You’re just as broken and corrupt as the criminals you hunt. You’re just a thug in a mask….”

Vengador's grip on Aaron’s vest tightened, his knuckles going white, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. His mind was racing as he thought about punching Aaron right in his generically handsome face. Make him pay for manipulating him. For lying about his brother. For the words he just said to him.

But then his gaze drafted to the lifeless body in the rubble. The pavement now blood-soaked as the sun began to set.

Vengador released Aaron. He could not find the words to say.

But Aaron could.
“You’re the villain of the story.”



James Grimshaw

In

SLAIN


James stood in the shadows.

Fantasy Grove had a problem.

A psycho killer was on the loose. Something that you never think would happen where you live. Especially in a small town like Fantasy Grove. This was something straight out of the slasher movies like the infamous Stab franchise.

Speaking of Stab, James just happened to be just outside one of the stars of the latest movie in the franchise. A franchise that somehow keeps going despite its increasingly ridiculous plot twists. And “star” is used pretty loosely here as Brooklyn Steiner had about five minutes of screen time before being killed off.

But he stood just outside Brooklyn’s house, hidden by the tick line of trees that edged the property. He could see his own breath fogging in front of him with each exhale as he gazed at the home. The sounds of muffled laughter and conversation spilled out from inside the house.

James inched closer and closer until he could manage to see inside.

There they all were. The whole group. James watched through the front window as Brooklyn threw himself down on the couch, a big grin plastered across his face as he held up a DVD case, waving it around like a trophy. James could see the Stab logo plastered across the front of the case. Joining them were his friends Reagan, Patty, and Aaron.

“I don’t know,” Reagan said with some concern as he took the DVD case. “Should we really be watching this right now? We literally have a real killer here in Fantasy Grove.”

“How often can you watch your friend in a movie?” Brooklyn insisted.

“Yeah Reag,” Aaron agreed, “don’t be such a sourpuss.”

Yes, they were right. While getting together to watch movies was a tradition for this group of friends, this time things were different. This time, there was a real killer out there. Someone in town had been picking off victims. One by one for a few weeks now. The police were stumped. The town was scared. Yet here they were, acting like it was any other night. Passing beers. Cracking jokes.

They didn’t have a clue what was coming.

James' hand tightened around the handle of the knife strapped to his belt.

“Is James coming?” Reagan asked, glancing toward the empty chair by the window.
“Nah, he said he couldn’t make it,” Aaron replied with a shrug. “Something about a family emergency. Sounded pretty rough, actually.”
“Yeah, he’s been acting weird lately,” Brooklyn added, fiddling with the remote as he queued up the movie. “Said he needed to take care of some things. Guess the whole town going nuts doesn’t help.”
“Poor guy,” Patty muttered, taking a long swig from his beer. “Probably better he’s not here, honestly. Can you imagine? All this talk of killers... He’s not exactly the kind of guy who’d handle it well.”
“Maybe he’d finally get to play the hero,” Aaron said with a smirk. “Lord knows he could use a win.”
They all laughed, and James felt a pain in his chest. They didn’t know. They had no idea what he’d been through. What had driven him to this point. But then, he barely understood it himself.
He moved closer to the house, his footsteps silent on the damp grass, until he was just outside the living room window. He crouched low, watching as they settled in, beers and snacks within reach, ready to enjoy a night of screams and gore while the real danger lay just outside.
“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Brooklyn announced, hitting play. “Time to watch me die!”
There were cheers and fake groans as the movie started. James’s fingers tapped against the hilt of the knife. He should leave. He should walk away, disappear into the night, and let them have their fun. But he couldn’t move. He was frozen in place, eyes glued to the scene unfolding just beyond the glass.
Half an hour in, the movie was already halfway through its first set of victims, and Aaron was in full commentary mode, lecturing about the classic “rules” of surviving a horror movie.
“Rule number one,” Aaron said, holding up a finger like a professor giving a lecture. “You don’t make fun of the killer. That’s just asking to be next.”
Patty snorted. “Oh, come on. That’s just stupid movie logic.”
“No, I’m serious!” Aaron shot back. “Look, the real-life psycho who’s running around town right now? He’s got a pattern. All his kills… they follow a logic. It’s like he’s playing by a set of rules, just like the movies.”
“Yeah? And what’s his pattern, Sherlock?” Reagan asked, grinning over the rim of his beer.
“Who knows?” Aaron said, shrugging. “But he’s not just a random psycho. He’s doing this for a reason. It’s almost like he’s making a statement, y’know?”
James’s breath quickened. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears, and he knew… he knew Aaron was talking about him. He ducked lower as Patty shifted on the couch, his face inches from the window, but the room remained focused on Aaron’s theatrics.
The power went out, plunging the house into sudden darkness. There were groans and curses from inside, followed by the flare of phone flashlights.
“God, Brooklyn, fix your stupid house,” Reagan muttered.
“I think the breaker’s in the basement,” Brooklyn said, standing up and reaching for a flashlight. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, wait…” Aaron’s voice was urgent, almost pleading after he delivered those damning words, but Brooklyn was already moving, the flashlight beam from his phone bouncing down the hallway.
James could feel his heart racing as he slid on his mask. The mask of the killer terrorizing the town. The mask… of Vengador.

Time to play.

He snuck in through the back door, following Brooklyn’s light toward the door that lead down to the basement. Brooklyn slowly made his way down the stairs, his hand using the railing for support. He made his way toward the breaker box, opening it up.

“Yep, just a fuse,” he said confidently as he reached to switch it back on.

His cell phone dropped to the ground, the flashlight quickly turning off on the impact as Brooklyn felt the knife plunging through his back. The scream that followed was loud and sharp, echoing from the depths of the house. James felt a sick thrill in his stomach as he let the actor’s lifeless body drop to the ground.

Patty rolled his eyes as the scream echoed up from the basement. “Oh, come on, Brooklyn! We get it, you’re a great actor,” he called out, chuckling. “Trying to give us the full horror movie experience, huh?” He shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “What a drama queen.”

“No, no, wait.” Aaron's voice was tense, his eyes wide. “Rule number two,” he said, holding up two fingers with a shaky hand. “You never assume the kill is fake. If you doubt it, that’s when you end up dead.”

Patty looked at him incredulously. “Oh, for God’s sake, Aaron, this isn’t a movie…”

But Reagan wasn’t listening to either of them. He was already panicking, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead. “Something’s wrong,” he stammered. “That scream… it sounded real. I’m getting out of here!” He bolted toward the front door.

He didn’t make it.

The door flung open just as Reagan reached for the handle, and he ran straight into Vengador’s waiting blade. The knife drove deep into his stomach, and his breath hitched, eyes going wide with shock and pain. Vengador twisted the knife before yanking it free, and Reagan crumpled to the floor with a wet, gurgling gasp.

“No!” Aaron’s scream filled the room as blood pooled beneath Reagan’s twitching body. “No, no, no! This can’t be happening!”

Patty stumbled backward, tripping over the edge of the coffee table and falling into the couch. His face was ghostly pale as there was no denying the truth now. This was no prank. This was all very, very real.

“....Oh…my…God…” Patty’s voice struggled to find the words but realized both he and Aaron were in trouble. He searched frantically for something… for anything… to protect himself with, ultimately grabbing a half-empty beer bottle and held it up like a baseball bat.

Vengador stepped into the room, the mask’s hollow eyes reflecting the dim light from their phones. He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the fear that he could feel from his victims. Reagan’s blood dripped from his knife, staining the wooden floor below. Aaron began to back away, his hands up in a feeble attempt to reason with the mask menace. “Wait… whoever you are… you don’t have to do this. Please..”

“Run!” Patty suddenly yelled, shoving Aaron toward the hallway. “Go!”

The two of them scrambled for the back door, stumbling over each other in their panic. They made it to the door, but it was jammed. “The stairs!” Patty pointed. Aaron nodded and headed up the stairs, but as Patty attempted to follow behind, his foot slipped from one stair down to the other, his ankle twisting violently causing him to tumble back down to the bottom of the stairs.

“Patty, are you okay?” Aaron called down with concern.

“G..go….I’m coming” he instructured.

Not having to be told twice, Aaron rushed down the hallway upstairs. Patty grabbed the curtains of the window by the stairs, pulling himself up.

But Vengador approached.

Patty never had a chance.

Vengador’s knife moved with deadly precision, and with one swift motion, he drove the blade up under Patty’s ribcage. Patty’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just blood. He fell to his knees, staring up at Vengador, who pulled the knife free. Patty collapsed, his body twitching before going still.

Back upstairs, Aaron pushed the door open to Brooklyn’s room, heading for the window. He opened up the window, climbing out onto the ledge. He looked behind him to make sure the coast was still clear. No sign of the masked killer. He then looked to the yard below… It was empty. Carefully, Aaron used the storm drain to carefully climb down the side out of the house, dropping his feet into the safety of the green grass.

For a second, Aaron thought he’d made it. He thought he might have a chance. Then he saw the glint of steel in the moonlight. Vengador was already waiting for him by the tree line.

Aaron stumbled backward, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as Vengador stepped close. Each step the masked killer took seemed deliberate, almost predatory.
Aaron’s hands trembled as he held them up, palms out, a feeble shield against the inevitability of what was coming.
“Wait!” Aaron shouted, he pleaded desperately. “Just… just wait a second!”
Vengador paused, his head tilting slightly to the side, the motion eerily curious. The momentary hesitation gave Aaron enough time to keep talking.

“Why…” Aaron tried to catch his breath. “Why are you doing this?”

Vengador remained quiet.

“So much anger. So much hate. Is that what this is about? Making people pay for crimes they had nothing to do with? Is this about revenge? Or are you just lost?”

Vengador stopped in his tracks, feeling the grip on his blade loosening. Something about Aaron’s words cut deeper than any of the wounds on his victims.

“You’re a monster. At least… that’s what you want to be, isn’t it? Or that’s what you want us to think you are? What started as justice became about revenge. But I thought you were past all that. No… no matter how much you want to be…”

“You’re really not the villain either, are you?”

“So if you’re not the hero. You’re not the villain… what are you, huh?”

“What even is this all about?”

Vengador stepped closer, his knife dropping to the ground as he no longer knew what to think.

“Did you really think any of this was your story?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, like a flickering bulb, images began to flash in Vengador’s mind.

A noir-drenched cityscape. Rain pounding against the pavement. A seedy bar. Aaron was there. In the booth.

An explosion. The rubbels of a warehouse. The innocent victim. Aaron had been there.

And now here he was again. The sole survivor of Vengador’s onslaught.

“You,” he whispered. “You’ve been there. Every time.”

“Vengy, my dear, Vengy! Can’t you see? THIS IS A MOVIE! I’M ALWAYS THERE! You’re in my world now! I’m the star here and you can’t defeat me. You can’t kill me.”

We’ll see about that… James thought as he picked the knife up off the ground.

He lunged forward…






VENGADOR
In
THE DELETED SCENE

Vengador opened his eyes.

He was no longer in the blood-soaked yard where Aaron’s taunts had rung out. Instead, he was seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair, surrounded by bright lights and the smell of stale coffee. His hand instinctively reached for his knife, but it wasn’t there.

He glanced around to figure out his where-abouts. He was in a lobby of some sort. He spotted a logo.

Scott Legacy Studios.

Harrows.

Vengador stood up and walked directly to the receptionist desks, the thud of his boots echoing through the mostly empty lobby. He noticed a door in the back marked “Writers’ Room.” He could hear some commotion going on and was certain he recognized Aaron’s voice behind the door. He was ready to confront the man tormenting him with these alternate realities.

“Excuse me,” Vengador was stopped in tracks by the receptionist. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting with Aaron Harrows.”

“Hmmm,” the receptionist adjusted her glasses and looked closely at her computer screen. “It seems like Mr. Harrows is busy right now in another meeting. I could pencil you in for next Tuesday.”

Vengador simply huffed and ignored the receptionist, walking past her desk, ignoring her plea for him to stop. He was not going to be stopped.

Inside the writer’s room Vengador found walls covered in storyboards and character sketches with stacks of unfinished scripts cluttering the room. Across the room, Brooklyn Steiner sat casually on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he thumbed through a draft. “Look, I’m just sayin… do I really have to die again?

On the other side of the table, the Director, Patty, began to flip through the notes. “Brooklyn, look, I dunno what to tell ya. It’s what the fans expect from your characters. Besides, it builds sympathy for Aaron.”

“And we want the audience to root for him,” Aaron said from the head of the table, leaning back in his chair like a king surveying his kingdom. He held a pen in one hand and a marked-up script in the other. “This time, I’m writing a classic underdog story. The unlikely hero, Aaron Harrows, overcomes impossible odds to win the Fallout Eliminator Tournament.”

Before Aaron could retort, the sound of a low, deliberate throat clearing cut through the room. Vengador stood in the doorway and gave an insincere wave. Brooklyn sat up straight while Aaron’s jaw seemingly dropped to the table as his pen froze mid-scribble. “What… what the hell is this?!”

Vengador stepped further in the room, continuing to observe and remaining quiet as he walked to the table, picking up one of the copies of the scripts the team was going over.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Aaron snapped, slamming his script on the table. “This isn’t in the story! This is NOT in the script. Who let you in?”

One again, Vengador remained quiet as he thumbed through the script, his gloved fingers turning the pages with a quiet deliberation. This caused Aaron’s fury to only grow with each second of silence. “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Interesting,” Vengador muttered to himself. “Very well written.”

The writing team seemed proud of themselves as Aaron slammed his hands down onto the table again. “Don’t patronize him!”

“Aaron Harrows winning the Fallout Eliminator Tournament? That’s a great work of fiction, for sure.”

“Fiction?! So what? You think you can win? HA! What have you won? A trios match where your partners did most of the work? A pre-show match where a rookie took you to the limit? Like I wrote down… you’re not the hero of this story, Vengy! No one wants to see you winning! That’s not what the audience wants. That script would never get greenlit!”

Vengador paused on a page, tilting his head as if reading something amusing. Then, in one swift motion, he ripped the script in half. “Enough! I’m not following your script. No one is.”

Aaron’s confidence faltered, but he held his ground. “You can’t do this! I created you! This is my story!”
Vengador stepped closer, the shredded script falling to the ground in tiny pieces. “Your story? I may have not been in this world very long… but before Back in Business… I did my research. I watched your movies. Just like your movies… you’re nothing but a background character. A mostly forgettable presence that you could remove from existence and no one would realize anything was missing. You can attempt to change that narrative… but you can’t do it this way. But you won’t do it now. Not against me. You got lucky… much like in your horror script… you survived our last encounters… because we never actually had to face one another in the ring. You got lucky with the X4 matchups. But the gods did not favor you the same for this Eliminator.” Vengador leaned forward, whispering into Aaron’s ear. “Your luck… has run out.”

Aaron stumbled back, bumping into the table as he became paralyzed with fear at the words from Vengador. The writing team, once smug and confident, now sat in stunned silence, daring not to breathe too loudly.

Vengador turned his back to Aaron and began to walk away from the room. “I’m not the hero… or the villain… and this isn’t about my brother… or anyone else… it’s about me. Me beating you. The Eliminator is my story now. Not yours.”
With that, Vengador pushed open the door walking into a bright light the engulfed the entire writer’s room.




“VENGY! EARTH TO VENGY!”

Vengador slowly opened up his eyes once again. The dull fluorescent lights brought him back to reality. He was back where he belonged. Inside Bobby Joel’s gym.

“You okay there, big fella? Looked like you had zoned out there for a minute.” Bobby Joel sat down a tub of protein powder down onto the table, pouring some into the shaker bottle.

Vengador shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Maybe you need a lil’ break. How about a movie night, huh? Maybe an action movie? Oh, how about a slasher flick?”

To even his own surprise, Vengador let out a rare chuckle. Joel blinked in astonishment. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s a fit!”

Vengador’s laughter faded, but a faint smirk lingered beneath his mask. “Don’t get used to it.”

Joel snapped his fingers as an idea struck him. “Wait, wait, hear me out, now hear me out… maybe I should talk to some people in Hollywood! Get you a gig. That’s the thing for wrestlers these days, right? Movies, TV shows. You’d be a hit!”

Under the mask, his smirk quickly faded. He quickly let out a very sharp and definite, “No.” His response was very harsh and very serious.

Joel raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! No Hollywood. Got it. Just stick to punching people in the face.”

Vengador grabbed his gloves, lacing them up as he headed toward the ring. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve got a tournament to win.”