Roster Archive (2022-2024).

Originally posted by Mitch.

Character name: Preston Sterling
Height: 5'6
Weight: 195 lbs
Age or D.O.B.: 40
Billed From: Hollywood
Face/heel/tweener: MEGA Heel
Gimmick/Background: Disillusioned former child star who believes he is a major celebrity
Non-FWA accomplishments: Major celebrity obviously
FWA accomplishments: none
FWA win-loss record, if you wish to keep one: none as of yet
Style of wrestling (brawler, high flyer, technical, etc.): Technical high flyer with some brawling
A minimum of TEN perfected moves your character does in a match (feel free to separate your moveset into categories ie basic strikes, signatures etc.):
- dropkick
- basic clothesline
- schoolboy
- spinebuster
- axehandle
- superkick
- DDT
- moonsault
- enziguiri
- hurricanrana (also can be combined with DDT)
A minimum of one finishing move, and a maximum of three:
- Major Star Frog Splash (five-star frog splash)
- Tool Time (sharpshooter)
- Star Stunner (stunner)
Base pic for your character (please include the name of the base pic and refer to our taken base pic thread):
[ATTACH type="full"]31429[/ATTACH]
Theme music:
Hole - Celebrity Skin

Originally posted by AON.

Name: Lucy Lupone
Height: 5ft 3ins
COMBINED WEIGHT: 125lbs
HOMETOWN: The Yukon, Canada
FC: Young Reese Witherspoon
Bio:Some would say just a face to get The Lumberjacks in the trios division, but looks can be deceiving- a college-educated Lumberjack, in order to tempt her back into the family business she was left alone in a forest to rediscover her roots...once there she was exposed to psychedelic flowers, which causes her to hallucinate but besides that she's.....normal...somewhat


Signature Moves
Stepover Toehold Inverted Cravate
-Feint Neckbreaker into a NASTY discus elbow to the back of the head
-Floatover D.D.T.
-Step Up High Knee to the face of the kneeling opponent
The Great and Lovely Descent-Standing double underhook whiplash
Half-Nelson flipping release Regal Plex
-Double leg slams into the turnbuckle
Tree of Woe modified frog slam

Finisher-
Diving Splash

Originally posted by Grim.


Nickname:

Mistress in Blue
青の愛人
Ao no Aijin

Height: 5'4"

Weight: 119 lbs. (54 kg) [8.5 Stone]

Date of Birth: 04/09/1999 [Age: 23]

Billed From: Nara, Nara Prefecture, Japan

Face/Heel/Tweener: Heel

Non-FWA Accomplishments:

N/A

FWA Accomplishments:

N/A

FWA win-loss record, if you wish to keep one:

0/0/0/0

Originally posted by Death Walker.



My secret and special promo for Carnal Contendership 2023:
**the section underlined is what didn't originally get formatted in time and that includes the light hallway, dark hallway and second jungle picture. And yes, the title deliberately appears near the end.




“So right about now, you're asking yourself ‘what the fuck just happened?’.

Or better yet, you might be asking ‘how in the hell did we even get here?’.
Then again, it wouldn't surprise me if you weren't paying attention all this time. I know that I’ve never been one to make things easy to understand. But that's probably because I've enjoyed what came along with the consequences of my actions.”




A man in all white squats down besides another man laid out in white. Upon a closer look, one of the men is middle aged and dons a rugged yet groomed appearance. The other man is much older and weakened as he lays across his floor still able to function. Both men are wearing matching straitjackets and pants each with plenty of buckles and straps attached all over them. And yet there seems to be some difference amongst them: for one, the middle aged man doesn’t have his arms and hands restrained as the old man’s hands are still enclosed in the sewn up sleeves which have a few 4 foot straps on each end. And two, there's a glass barrier separating the two of them where the middle aged man is outside in like a tropical forest and the old man is within this state of the art 10 x 10 square foot, glass cell. The realities in which both men are currently residing sets in for them. The free prisoner stares at the ground in front of his white slip-ons, still squatting and gathering his thoughts. The picture becomes clearer as an aerial view presents more this beautiful and colorful jungle is decorated with an immense amount of lifeless bodies.

“So, how in the hell did we get here? Well let me take you back to how this whole thing started.”

“You see, I was once a respected man, maybe not loved or liked but I was respected nonetheless. In order to gain this respect sometimes, you gotta beat it out of others and press your foot hard on the necks of those who have trouble giving it to you. This is where life eventually catches up to you and when it does, it sets you straight. So when the law came after me with everything it could including several assault charges and much more. Making the insanity plea in my favor was the best option to go with. I stood there in court never uttering a word as my defense team handled the legalities. And then I ended up in a brand new home where I had to be monitored. An asylum.”




The middle aged man who now looks a few years younger than before as well as even more groomed, stands in typical prison attire in between four armed guards. With their guns drawn but not aimed, the four guards are ready to fire at will. Two other armed guards walk up to the man who is posing no threat at this moment especially since his wrists and ankles are cuffed. The two guards proceed to slide a straitjacket and pants with multiple straps onto the new inpatient then tighten the arm straps in the standard “arms across the torso” fashion. For additional security measures, the rest of the guards lay the man on his back and use the pants straps to bind his legs together before loading him into the back of the facility's van. All six guards pack into the van (two in the front seats with the other four riding in back with the inpatient) and then they take off to the mental institution.

“So this is what it feels like to have your freedom snatched away, to become so- so- so helpless. The inability to move or fight back, it's almost like not being able to breathe at all. My mind produces one thought after another and they multiply within an instance. But part of me just doesn't want to fight anymore. I had always believed that I was fighting for survival in any situation that arose and yet now I'm not sure if that was true at all. What the hell is going on with me? I feel tired, fatigued like I spent hours in the gym. Both my body and mind start to go numb. Just leave me the fuck alone until I feel up to deal with anything or anyone. Just leave me be.”

The man wakes up 3 hours later in a much darker space due to the change into nighttime. Just then, the white van comes to a creep as it pulls right up to a large security gate with a keypad for entering and exiting the property grounds. After the driver puts in the passcode, the gate slides open slowly and a few squeaks as it completes rolls wider. The van enters right through with its occupants as it drives further on the paved trails and within 15 minutes, it stops in front of the psychiatric hospital. The back doors of the van pop open and the man has his head lifted up to observe whatever he can while getting ready to be moved. Not uttering a word or sound but deep in thought, the man just focuses on what mental notes he can make.

“I could scream right now, I could even struggle with this damn jacket and pants, I could spit, try to bite, beg for mercy. But who am I kidding? That's not my style. That's not who I am or who I was. I am more in control than most would ever be, at least in the mental capacity. Although one would suggest otherwise given the circumstances I’m currently in. What am I doing? I should do something. DO SOMETHING ALREADY! Don't let them take over. Don't let them win.”

If only the man’s mind could speak, it would be so vocal that it might frighten the guards and orderlies who are removing him from the transportation. But with his last shred of dignity and the feeling of embarrassment, the man prefers not to talk at the moment. His eyes fill up with tears as the six armed guards and now two oversized orderlies carry him into the psychiatric facility like pallbearers bringing a casket. The man fights back the urge to shed a tear with watery eyes and the acknowledgment that he’s entirely defenseless. The men make their way to his padded room and the man’s heart damn near jumps out of his chest as he feels just as bad as being buried alive. They toss his motionless body onto the padded floor of his room and walk out. One of the orderly locks up the room and turns out the lights inside, leaving just the light from the observation window. The man lays on his left side with his back to the door and window, tears still in his eyes. And then they slip out, tracing down his cheeks as he thinks some more.

“I could have done better, been better. There was so much more to me and- and it's like no one ever understood. Maybe I should have wished for death or just- never mind, I’m losing it right now. I don't even know what I’m thinking. I’m just so hurt, angry and somehow lost.”

He was right because he was lost, lost in his bad decisions and sins. He laid there on that cold, cushioned floor until his body drained itself of energy and he safely faded to sleep.



The man flutters his eyelids to open his eyes then takes a deep breath while strapped up in his straitjacket. On an overhead speaker, he hears a voice greet him and the other patients before the lights are turned on in each of their rooms.

“Well hello and good morning our ambitious ambassadors! Let's go ahead and get on up! Rise and shine, warriors! Today, we expect you all to sit up and when you do a staff member will come in with breakfast, feed you then offer you some activities for today. So be good little miracles and we'll be there to make your day.”

“I roll my eyes a little at the thought of being treated like a toddler or pet. Thinking about how I feel today, I have no motivation at all. As a matter of fact, I'm not even moving my mouth or letting out any noises to talk. Just here, talking from my mind. Shit, I am crazy! Why the hell would I be talking to myself or “thinking” to myself!? Wait, that doesn't make any sense. I'm just thinking like every person does and thoughts have voices like my own but sometimes they are different too. Hmmm I'm wondering…”

So the man decides to just lay there and think, and think, and yeah think some more. He just laid there on that padded floor and no one disturbed him because after all he made no attempt to sit up. Eventually, he closed his eyes and went back to a peaceful sleep for some hours. But just when he thought that he was on his own schedule, the institution reminded him that he was theirs to control.

“Good afternoon! And how are you doing right now? Does anybody need anything? Another activity? A shower? A bath? A bathroom break? No, not yet? Okay just a reminder, we will be taking a few of you for a little walk outside. Won’t that be fun? Yeah? You betcha! Enjoy your day!”

The man opens his eyes under irritation since his sleep was interrupted by the new and LOUD announcement. He gets upset but has no way of unleashing that anger. He tugs to untangle his arms but the straitjacket brings him back to his senses. He stops trying to escape the jacket and just huffs as a response. Soon after, the door to his cell is opened and a pair of orderlies enter then lifts him up onto his feet. A female nurse walks in and greets this man as she explains what's about to happen for him.

“Hello sir, I know you feel like ‘what the heck is going on?’ but I can assure you that we're here to be helpful while assisting you with treatments. Can we trust you enough to free those healthy walking legs?”

The man nods very weakly as he can barely keep his eyes fully open.

“Good, good. And we can also get you fed, take you to our bathroom facilities and get you cleaned up if you want. However, we're gonna get you started with some walking around the hospital.”

And the man says his first word since the day he was apprehended.

“Outside?”

“Well yeah, around these hallways- wait, did you think outside meant outside outside like where the grass, air and birds are? Oh no no no. New patients aren't allowed outside our hospital for obvious reasons. But look at this, today is jello day! Let's take you for a walk first.”

The man feels even more defeated than he already was as his face loses all hope at finding his own peace. So he simply nods in agreement to taking this walk. The nurse gives the orderlies a nod and they begin to unstrap the man's legs. Taking time to let him stretch and shake those limbs, the orderlies hold the man by his restrained arms. Once the man can maintain his balance, they all walk along the hallways of the asylum.

“There we go, nice and easy. In this hallway here, are your fellow residents. All kinds of interesting people from those who prefer to be here to those who are too far gone to survive in society. Lost in their ways and-”

“Lost? What do you mean by lost?”

“They have completely given up or rather given into their own realities. They're unresponsive to what is happening here, don't understand that they're in a psychiatric facility. They live through the guidance and assistance of our help.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as they need but that usually ends up until their demise.”

"Demise?"

“Yes, until the day they expire. The day that their soul can no longer accept life and they die.”

The man stops in his tracks and turns his head to the right as he watches another man quite older struggling to live here. He peers into the window of the older man's better looking and realistic room. No padded walls, no padded ceiling or floor, clean, well furnished, a nice bed, couch, table, 2 windows (no doubt, reinforced and soundproof glass just like the ones on each door), bookshelf with books and a couple of artificial plants. But what has most of the middle aged man's attention is that he sees this old man apparently screaming and having a fit with 3 orderlies trying to calm him down. He continues to become more irate with the staff as they offer him to sit or lay down. The old man in ordinary tan scrubs violently throws a book and hits the table repeatedly before the orderlies forcefully lays him down and one goes to inject him with a type of sedative. The nurse breaks the man's concentration to go back to their relaxing walk.

“Don't worry, we're here to help you all and hopefully rehabilitate as many of you as possible. But you have to be willing to do the treatments and follow our instructions.”

The man has his head down with tears forming up as he fights to hold them back. He takes a deep gulp as he's swallowing his pride to not succumb to such fate as others. He nods again to let the nurse know that he is alright and then they continue to walk with the orderlies following along.

“So if you don't mind turning here to your right then you will see that we have a cafeteria and dining area for our patients who are ready to comply and listen. We even have TVs and sofas for those who can enjoy some entertainment while behaving themselves. On good days, we allow the good patients to go outside in our wide open back area where we play safe games, activities and exercises. We sometimes even get them to sing and dance.”

And as they had turned and walked down this new hallway to share the other places inside this big hospital, the man spoke up again.

“What is this? Is this supposed to be funny or something? What is this crap? All peace and hand holding? All smiles and kisses and hugs? What the fuck is this shit huh?”

“Sir, I would refrain from causing a scene.”

“Refrain? Refrain from causing a scene or having the freedom to speak my mind? I don't know whether you’re deliberately trying to fuck with me or if you're just this naive of dumb bitch to give me a delightful little tour around this fucking shithole! Hey! HEY! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME! GET THE FUCK OFF ME! YOU BITCH! YOU FUCKING DUMB BITCH!”

The man is hoisted up and carried back to his room by the two orderlies. Kicking and tussling around, they hold him down to his padded floor as another orderly serves a sedative injection directly on his right hip. Within seconds, the man loses all that pent up rage at least from a physical standpoint. All the orderlies leave right after they have calmed the patient. The man murmurs a few incoherent rhetorics, fading from being alert and restless into a motionless slumber.



Finally able to get his bearings, the man wakes up to a dark room with the moonlight shining through some of the patient's door windows. He wiggles his legs to sit himself up against the wall then proceeds to use them to aid in getting all the way up. Pressing his back against the wall and digging his heels into one of the crevices between the cushions on the floor, the man scoots his way upward.

“Sir? Sir, please. Please relax.”

“Oh you can see me? That's what we're doing eh?”

“Sir, it is our duty to monitor each of our patients for safety precautions and take care of their needs as required.”

The man strains a little as he keeps making his way to a vertical base.

“Ohhh okay, to take care of my needs as required huh? Alright, I need to get out of here. I need to leave this asinine pathetic excuse for a prison hospital and I need to leave immediately. How about that? How about you just open this nice door and let me out?”

“Sir, we cannot just open your room door so you can escape the facility. In fact, you have quite the sentence given how the law has altered for the mentally ill. So that means that you will not only be in here until we deem you a competent and responsible citizen to society. But it also means you are ordered to stay here for a minimum of 3 years or 1,095 days. Either way based on your recent behavior, it's going to take some time before you can be out in the world again.”

“I don't deserve to be here! I've done nothing-”

“Nothing wrong, sir? We beg to differ seeing as you have severely injured over 250 people in the last 2 years. That's not even including the others throughout your lifelong rampage. So I urge you to stop trying to find your way out and please accept the treatment we provide. You cannot and will not escape us, we are very the best in mental healthcare and our security is top tier across the board.”

The man stands up and looks up at wherever the speaker has been installed. He mumbles a few words under his breath in an attempt to express himself openly.

“Stupid motherfuckers. We’ll see who can't escape this hellhole.”

The man paces the room, thinking of his options to be free. He then tries charging with full force at the door shoulder first and he gets a rude awakening. As he slams into the padded door and slides off like a wet lump of toilet paper, he keeps brainstorming and planning. This and the pain that he has inflicted by throwing his body into the reinforced steel cushioned door numerous times, puts the man back to sleep.

*Day 2*

The man sleeps heavily from all the energy spent on being a wrecking ball as well as the several thoughts running around his head. Different voices and all talking at the same time until another voice breaks through louder than the rest.

“Well hello and good morning our ambitious ambassadors! Let's go ahead and get on up! Rise and shine, warriors! Today, we expect you all to sit up and when you do a staff member will come in with breakfast, feed you then offer you some activities for today. So be good little miracles and we'll be there to make your day.”

Once again, annoyed by the announcement and now the voice that he had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the other day. The man tries to go back to sleep as he still has his eyes closed from the bright lights. However that's when his door is unlocked and his eyes click open from that glorious sound that he has been expecting. He patiently waits as he plays sleep a while longer for the aides to enter. They open the door and- and- and do nothing? The man becomes puzzled and turns over to look at the unguarded ajar door. He gets to his feet, hesitant to leave the room as he senses a trap about to be sprung. He tiptoes closer and closer to the door then decides to carefully step out. When a large satchel is dumped over his head, he tries kicking his way free since the only things that are free at the moment are his legs and feet. He kicks at the air before getting tased about 5 or 6 times then shoved back into his room where his legs are strapped back together tightly. The man rests in pain both physically and emotionally as he feels the electric currents tingle throughout his body.

Once again, the man is greeted by the jovial voice of the head nurse while laying there.

“Good afternoon! And how are you doing right now? Does anybody need anything? Another activity? A shower? A bath? A bathroom break? No, not yet? Okay just a reminder, we will be taking a few of you for a little walk outside. Won’t that be fun? Yeah? You betcha! Enjoy your day!”

He had heard all this before word for word as if it was a recording which it probably was. Or was it some kind of deja vu? Nope, those taser shocks were like nothing he had felt in decades. He paced himself before trying to put another plan in action. It wasn't long before the orderlies came in and snatched him up. And with his legs bound, they dragged the man out and took him to their bathrooms. The defenseless man is warned that if he doesn't comply or chooses to make things difficult that the orderlies will zap him again and again. The man accepts the situation that he is in and complies as they unstrap his pants then jacket so he can relieve his bladder and bowels like a grown adult. Removing the soiled pants and underwear while taking a hearty crap on the toilet, the orderlies and the man get the strong aroma that comes from the soiled clothes and body of the man. Although the obnoxious stench fills the room, the orderlies professionally bag and discard the soiled clothes while the man “drops some files off at the office”. Afterwards, the man flushes and washes his hands while naked before being escorted right over to the showers. The man goes on to take a long hot shower, it had been more than 48 hours since he had washed his body. The orderlies stand guard next to the showers, prepared for any other tricks to escape from this patient.

“You know you don't have to watch me shower! This is highly uncomfortable for me!”

“Sir, we have to be sure that you not only try to escape but that you don't harm yourself or plan any ways to harm others. So yes we have to stand here as you shower and since you’ve already tried to escape earlier. So yes, we have to be watchful of your every action until further notice.”

The orderlies do however turn their backs enough so they're not staring directly at the man’s body parts for all 3 of their sanity. Still keeping an eye from their peripheral vision though. The man goes into deep thought as he washes up.

“Shit, I might have a chance to take off now. But running around naked? That isn't exactly the best suitable option to pick. I might traumatize some people including myself. But I did notice that they are somewhat off guard while I'm in here, so I’ll remember that.”

“Uh buddy, mind hurrying up? I'm sure we got a line forming out the door of other patients with their nurses or orderlies.”

“Alright, I'm finishing up. Older men like myself take some time to properly clean our bodies. You’ll learn when you get to my age.”

The man turns the water off and grabs a nearby clean towel. He dries his body then grabs the fresh pair of patient garments, underwear and shoes set next to the towels. Once the man gets fully dressed again, the orderlies help the man back in the strap pants and straitjacket. Tightening the arm restraints like the armed guards did, they secure two of this patient's deadliest weapons. Then the orderlies guide the man out the bathroom as they run into a crowd of other patients and orderlies. The crowd berates the man as he's escorted back to his room. The man continues to comply with the staff as he is fed lunch and later some dinner.

*Day 8*

The man is awakened as usual by the morning announcement and he is becoming quite the role model. He listens as much as possible, he cooperates with the staff and he even wears a smile (whether it's with good intentions or not is left to one’s imagination). The orderlies have eased up on being overly restrictive as the man is looking to make great strides.

“Okay today, we're going to have you speak with someone special. Do you mind if we have you do that?”

“Why not at all, not at all! I'm really enjoying the hospitality and leisure here. I can't remember the last time that I’ve felt- felt so liberated and relaxed. It's as if I’m living my healthiest and best life. Well minus, the money, cars and h- ladies, am I right? Huh, am I right? Come on, smile with me.”

The nurse and orderlies all have smiles as they understand when patients get like this. They communicate using their eyes before leading the man into an office. As the man enters the office, another well dressed man spins around in a desk chair.

“Hello, why don't you have a seat?”

“Hi, um, do I know you?”

The man goes to take a seat on the couch that's in this office. The nurse makes the orderlies and herself stay out of the office as she closes the door behind them.

“Now that's much better, isn't it? I'm the onsite psychologist and my name is-”

“Look, I don't give a fuck what your name is. I'm not speaking to some shrink. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and pour out all my feelings and mistakes? To try and figure out the man that I know I am? To explain to you why I did what I did? Uh uh, no thank you.”

The man hops up to his feet and begins to pace carefully as he gets his train of thought going.

“What mistakes?”

“Huh?”

“What mistakes? You said sit here and pour out all my feelings and mistakes. What mistakes are you referring to?”

“I mean maybe I shouldn't have been so angry that inflicted my pain onto others like- Oh fuck, you sly bastard. You almost got it out of me, you almost got it. But not today, you don't.”

“It’s okay to talk to someone about this.”

“Yeah well, the last person or thing I talked to couldn't stick around long enough to help me overcome how I feel. Just got up and disappeared forever.”

“And I am so sorry that happened.”

The man can't take any more of this therapy consultation and chooses to walk out of the office. He is quickly stopped by the orderlies who advise him to return.

“I’m not going back in there so fuck it and fuck you.”

“Sir, what seems to be the issue?”

The nurse came from around the other hallway as she overheard the commotion.

"I don't want to do this!"

“But sir, this is a part of the treatment here. You're only going to make your time here worse. Please return to the therapist.”

“NO FUCKING WAY! FUCK YOU TOO!”

The man unravels just like he did a week ago and in the same manner, the orderlies snatch up the irate patient but not until they tase him a couple of times. Again, the orderlies hold down the man and give him a sedative to calm him down. After the sedative kicks in, they slip on his favorite jacket and extra pants. They wrap him up like a mummy and go on with their business.

*Day 36*

“Well hello and good morning our ambitious ambassadors! Let's go ahead and get on up! Rise and shine, warriors! Today, we expect you all to sit up and when you do a staff member will come in with breakfast, feed you then offer you some activities for today. So be good little miracles and we'll be there to make your day.”

The same exact message played day in and day out as the man just laid there. Hopeless, just like the night that he was brought into this asylum. The man looks to be in a shabby condition with redness in his eyes, his facial hair and head hair grew as well as became more unkempt. The man was starting to look unrecognizable and nobody cared to groom him. Today, the staff was going to make sure he took a walk since it had been about 2 weeks since his last walk. The orderlies unstrapped his legs and grabbed him by the arms to assist in him using his legs. It wasn't a long walk as the man barely made any effort to put pep in his stroll. Then he was carried off to get washed up. So of course, they had a few female nurses give him a bath due to his complete meltdown shutting off his ambitious nature. Afterwards, he was dressed in fresh clothes and sent back to his room where he would just lay and sometimes blink his eyes. It would be several days and months until the man would be back to his usual charming self.

*Day 185*



Back with a chipper attitude, a few grays in his hairline and a shaggy beard, the man sat at a table playing solitaire in the activity room. All alone, not like he was even going to notice any other patients anyways. He just sat there, slowly placing cards in order and never raising his head for a second. That was before the old man was wheelchaired in by an orderly and set in front of the TV close to the window on this nice sunny afternoon. The orderly turns on the news for the old man and exits the room. The middle aged man raises his head and looks over towards the old man. He makes the effort to have a brief conversation with him.

“Sure is fascinating the wild stuff you see on there. That news will rot your brain, old man.”

The man thought some light humor would help break the ice, so to speak. The old man doesn't respond at first, he just glares at the television screen while sitting in his wheelchair.

“Tell me about it, I have told that asshole on many occasions that I would love to watch some porn. I guess this is all this modern state of the art facility can afford.”

Both men smirk at the audacious humor that they share as they seem to enjoy each other's company. The old man, still focused on what's on the TV screen, inquires about his new friend.

“So do you mind telling me what brought you here? Did you sign up on the ridiculously long waitlist?”

“Not this time. I guess you could say I hurt a lot of people over the course of a decade. And I got old and more reckless these past years. I was bound to wind up in a place like this or the morgue.”

“Sucks for you, I heard that you get the best sleep at the other place and no one bothers you as you lay there.”

“Yeah, you got a point.”

"What made you hurt people?"

"It was kind of my career until it was time to move on."

“Oh so, like a fighter or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah well, don't let this place fool you. It can seem great but it has its wickedness too. The best thing to do is to figure out what's real and what isn't then use that to your advantage.”

“I feel like I've tried that many of times in the past and I still ended up in here. Locked up, monitored, chastised and reprimanded. I just want to be me, do my own thing. Why is that so hard to understand? I just want that feeling of true freedom like whenever fought in a ring. You get what I mean?”

“Yes. And I'm free within, but inside of here, in this place we all are trapped to their ways of how they want us to live. I suppose that's just the way it goes but I can see that you’re special, my boy. And I mean that with no insult or disrespect, you just seem very enthusiastic. Unlike me though, you're trapped inside yourself and out there to all of the ways that society expects you to conform. But at least, you were able to use certain freedoms when you were in those rings.”

“Yeah and what good has that gotten me?”

“I mean whoever said you couldn't find a way to feel free in any place? Who said you had to stop fighting until your satisfaction is achieved?”

The old man suddenly coughs into his hand and waves at the viewing window for the orderly to return him to his room.

“Just think about it, the fight doesn't have to stop because you had some setbacks. Just continue to be you and fight with everything you got inside.”

Orderlies enter the activity room and one of them wheels the old man back to his room.

“But-”

It was too late to get any final word but an orderly came over to the man.

“Ok sir, would you like to have a chat with our onsite therapist today?”

“I- I'm not sure.”

“Well it'll really be helpful, might even explain some things you never took the time to focus on.”

The man takes a second to think but the wise words from the old man replays in his head.

“Sir?”

“Okay, lead the way.”

The man gets up from the table, setting the handful of cards down next to the solitaire columns. He follows right behind the orderly who's leading him to the therapist office. The orderly opens the door once they make it there.

“Right in here.”

“Thanks.”

The man enters the room and the psychologist is keeping eyes on him as he gets a sense of this patient.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought this time around we would just have a short session, nothing too heavy. I just want to see where you're at since our last encounter.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

“First, how are you doing?”

“I can't complain but I'm still not too comfortable.”

“Is it the padded floor that you sleep on?”

“YES! Amongst other things.”

They both have a light chuckle and the therapist goes on with the consultation.

“Other things? Like what?”

“Well the food, some of the smells, the fact that I feel like no one understands.”

“Understand what exactly?”

“How I feel, how this all feels very boxed in. Like I literally feel that everything here is to anger me more.”

“Mm hmmm.”

The doctor jots down a few notes as he maintains the conversation.

“Well it is designed to make a person reflect while blocking out all outside distractions that the world constantly throws at us. So when having it accept change, it can be frustrating for the time being. However if you find a balance then that can put that angry feeling away.”

“But that's the thing, I don't want it to go away. Ever.”

“And why is that?”

“The anger, it- it fuels me with overwhelming joy. It makes me feel alive when I become destructive, especially to others who I feel deserve it.”

“And how do you determine who deserves it?”

“Just those who get on my bad side.”

“And how does one get on your bad side?”

“You see! I knew this was some bullshit!”

“Relax, deep breath. Deep breath. Talk to me like you were when you entered. There's no need to use anger with me, I'm here to be helpful.”

The man listens to the psychologist and takes a couple of breaths before continuing their conversation.

“I mean maybe I just don't feel like I'm understood or respected.”

More notes are written as the conversation keeps going.

“Well let me ask you, are you giving respect first or expecting it?”

“Shit, I- pardon me, I do TRY to show respect but.”

“But what?”

The doctor is looking straight at the man as he pauses to think.

“But it feels like no one cares. No one cares about what I've been through and who I am now. What am I supposed to do? Cower and kiss ass? Fuck no. Excuse me.”

“Can I be frank for a minute?”

“Yes, for the love of God almighty. Yes, please.”

“Who cares if they don't care? You're who you are because you chose to be who you are. Am I right?”

“Well.”

“Yes or no? Are you the person that you wanted to be and happy about it?”

“You're damn right I am.”

“So the issue doesn't seem to be that you're more blunt than most but you violently attack whether verbally or physically.”

“Hmmmm.”

“One of the first steps to self improvement is defining and understanding the root of your issue or issues.”

“Which is?”

“You are going to tell me. Tell me when was the first time you felt anger to the point of taking it out on someone else.”

“I guess right before my parents died.”

“And how did they die?”

“An unexpected safety hazard.”

“Oh so you weren't there?”

“Actually, I was. Which still kind of confuses me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because somehow I survived and they didn't!”

The doctor looks up from his notepad after writing down some key points.

“And you loved them, didn't you?”

“I- I did. Very much, I loved them.”

The man hangs his head down as he feels weak for being this vulnerable with anyone. The therapist gives him a brief moment but continues with his questions.

“And they loved you. Right?”

The man says nothing but nods his head while staring at his shoes, eyes flooding with tears and emotion.

“Were you responsible for their death?”

“No, I-”

“I will ask you again. Did you kill your parents? Were you the reason for that accident?”

And as the man tries to respond back, he feels like the air is taken out of him. Then his words and sounds, he trembles a bit as he can't seem to breathe and unwillingly stammers while attempting to get words out of his mouth.

“I- I- I- I don't know! I didn't mean to! I DON’T KNOW!”

“Ok just take another moment and breathe. Forget the questions, forget about your parents for now. Just breathe slowly under my instructions. 1, 2, 3, breathe. And 1, 2, 3, breathe. And one more time. 1. 2. 3. Breathe.”

The man does just as the therapist asked and it relieves his stress instantly.

“What happened to me?”

“Strangely enough, your conscience is fighting with your heart. Something happened and it looks like you're not ready to acknowledge what all happened. Have you been around death before?”

“No, I don't think th-”

The man falls into a trance again as his mind runs at a million miles per hour. Freezing up in midsentence, the doctor makes more notes but tries to get the man back on track.

“Sir? Sir? Let’s move on as we wrap up. Besides your parents, when's the last time you felt loved?”

“Oh, um, well there was that one time- no. No. But then this girl I dated- no. Hmmm. I don't know.”

“Alright. Let me finish writing my personal notes and I'll give you my honest diagnosis. Okay?”

“Oh, okay?”

The man has an eyebrow up as he waits for the final verdict of this short session. The psychologist looks over at his patient and gives him feedback.

“Based on the little time we just spent, I can tell that-”

“That what? I'm fucking crazy? I'm out of my mind?”

“Sir. Please.”

“...”

“I can tell that you're stuck between your actions and your feelings. Dead in the center. One side, you want to be loved. You desire it, need it. On the other side, you love to attack anything that feels phony. Too real to be true as the saying goes. So you’ve made a protective barrier on being volatile as a way of expressing your intolerable side with anyone or anything that doesn't come across as genuine as you do, whether they are or not. You've become your worst enemy. A vigilante. A judge, jury and executioner all in one. And there's no rationalization to be had, you're on a one track mind. One way, your way and no in between.”

“...”

The man sits there silently on the doctor's couch, nodding his head at the full extent of what he was told.

“You see, I knew your ass was full of fucking shit. I know who the fuck I am! I'm the one who gets provoked first and THEN I retaliate. That's who the fuck I am. I'm not some sick son of bitch out here, just hurting people just because. I hurt as a lesson, I hurt as a reminder.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah!”

The patient jumps up to his feet with rage and madness swirling in his death-like stare.

“Well answer me this then. When are you going to change for the better, not the worst? When are you going to forgive yourself? When are you going to seek the gold at the end of the rainbow?”

“Oh there’s gold, alright and I've seen it but the thing is, there is no more rainbow or sunshine. There’s just a dark corrupted world full of lies and sins. And you know what? I want in! I'm not changing today or tomorrow and whoever gets HURT along the way, then it must have been their day of reckoning for I will slaughter them and collect their souls.”


The Answers Are Never Easy To Find





The man takes off out of the room like a pissed off employee who had been fired. Storming down some new forbidden hallways, the man finds some other patients in less than pleasant cells. No padding, hard steel and concrete prison cells. Almost identical to the “rooms” that he and the other patients who that he saw on a regular basis, were used to.




“What the fuck? This doesn't look that healthy at all. Did I stumble into a vortex?”

The man explores further, following the echoed screams of torture. Carefully sneaking down a stairwell to a basement level that he never knew existed.

“Now this is more to my liking.”

He states as he drops down into utter darkness and he goes to search for a light switch or something to help him find his way around. When all of a sudden, a flame from a lighter is lit and it reveals the faces of some angry orderlies up close. That's when he's struck in the back of the head with the butt of a rifle. The man collapses onto the pavement, ice cold knocked out.

*Day 337*

It had been countless months upon countless months. Or had it? That's the thing about losing track of time and being concussed, it turns your sense of everything upside down. As the man wakes up to his new living quarters (a dim lit, non-padded cell with a steel bed attached to its wall), he attempts to recall what he last remembers. He starts looking around when he sees that he's on a gurney with a feeding tube down his throat and IV in his arm. He goes to grab the IV and the nurse enters his cell.

“Oh wow, our little troublemaker is finally awake. You took a nasty hit to the back of your head. But don't worry, we patched you up real nice and kept you all cozy in your new spot. How do you like it huh? Isn’t it exquisite?”

The man quickly looks all around the room seeing unfamiliar yet familiar features.

“This is what happens when you’ve been a bad boy. This is what happens when you’ve fucked up.”

With each of those sentences, the nurse snatches the IV and feeding tube out. This sends an extreme wave of pain through the man but not too much that he can't handle. So the result isn't crying or screaming but a small grunt.

“Hmm, a tough guy I see and here I believed you would be screaming your bloody freakin’ head off. I want you to know that you made us do this. You made us turn this and you into something more sinister and vile than it needed to be. We were all okay with having you here as our patient over on the other side. You had started to become another prime example of how great our services and treatments are. But then, then you had to go and fuck it up being NOSEY! And if there’s one thing that we don't take kindly to, are nosey, belligerent, combative patients. We have some special ways to deal with patients of your type. And soon, you will experience every last thing that we intend on doing to you and others. Like the old man who you made a friendship with.”

“Look, spare me the spooky shit! I’ve dealt with scarier shit that would make you live your life in constant fear and uncontrollably peeing your pants.”

“Well, too bad we won't find out because you won't be a problem too much longer. Perhaps a good old fashioned lobotomy should straighten you up, yes? Okay. BRING UP THE SURGEON!”

“Okay wait, let's talk-”

“Talk? No, I'm sorry. The time for talking is now over. It's time to dish out some agonizing, excruciating, mind numbing PAIN! But where the fuck is that brain surgeon? Stay here, I'll be right back.”

The nurse skips out of the room like she's doing her best Harley Quinn impression. Meanwhile, the man goes to sit up or moves his limbs but he is strapped down from his ankles to his shoulders. Plus the atrophy that has set in over time is weighing him down. But that doesn't stop him from trying to break free as wiggles around like a dancing worm. The man manages to get one of his feet loose from then the other. With some more vigorous squirming helps him get his wrists free where he can undo the rest of the restraints. He goes to get up off the gurney and flops face down onto the hard floor.

“UUGGHHHHH! Now that hurts.”

Working to get blood flow back in his limbs, the man struggles to get up. However, he eventually gets his arms and legs to help him get off the floor. He reaches the door and pushes it open, that's when he is transported to the most beautiful multicolored jungle he could ever imagine. He also notices that the color of his patient scrubs changed from tan brown to all white. Slightly confused and in awe, he still concentrates on the objective to save the old man and take down anybody that gets in his way. The man is aware that what he is seeing can't be real but he knows that he can still survive through this anyways.


Being ever so vigilant as the man navigates through bushes, vines and trees, he looks for the hill that could possibly take him to the old man. Just as he explored through this jungle listening for danger, he heard something. There were male voices getting closer to his location as he peeked his head to see who it was. He gets a glimpse of hunters searching for animals with their weapons drawn. The man gets low and crawls using elbows and feet to move out of their range. But soon a barrel of a rifle pokes him in the head and he can tell that he is caught.

“There you are, a catch worthy of a great bounty. Roll over for me.”

The man slowly rolls but yanks the rifle and strikes the face of the hunter. He tussles with the hunter as he goes to take him out without alerting the others. The man gets a hold of the rifle and uses it to cut this hunter's air supply by pressing it against his throat. Unable to make any loud noises, the man cracks him in the nose with a hard headbutt then clunks the hunter on the side of his head to knock him out. The man carefully maneuvers through large bushes and around trees with a rifle in hands. Seeing that he’s unable to get around the hunters, he aims the rifle and shoots one of them in the ass. The hunter hollers before the tranquilizer dart knocks him out. The other hunters rush over to see what happened and find the hunter taken down by the dart. This puts the rest of them on edge as the man hides behind a tree. The man listens for the footsteps and the rustling of the leaves, the snapping of twigs. When he hears one of them secluded and within his range, he strangles them from behind using the rifle. He goes back to moving low amongst the others after that hunter passes out. Timing a perfect moment to attack, he aims the rifle at a hunter. And as they get closer to crossing one another, he takes a shot at the shoulder which causes the hunter to involuntarily shoot the other and they both are down for the count.

The man stands up all the way, takes a look around before heading out. He can hear certain animals making noises in the distance. He prays that they don't come for him as he approaches the cliff to the hill. Carefully leaning back and creeping down the hill, the man looks for any signs of the old man. He can spot something bright, big and glowing in the near distance. But before he can make his full descent down the hill, he's being shot at by multiple shooters.

“THERE HE IS! GET HIM!”

“I’VE GOT AN IDEA, RELEASE THE ANIMALS!”

As the man was dodging the darts and rocks being thrown, one of the hunters released the caged animals. The gunfire stops while the animals seek out the man’s scent.

“Call for backup! Call all the reinforcements to meet us over here, he’s not getting to the old man.”

The man tries to climb back up the hill but slips and goes sliding down to the bottom. As he’s about to panic, he calms himself for the sake of his life and nature's beasts. He looks around for somewhere to hide, there's a river and a hollowed out log as his options. But he's too large to fit in the log and he would rather not dive in the river of unknown creatures and filth. He instead pulls down one of the hanging vines and uses it to climb his way up a tree. And just in time as a tiger swiped at him and he was dangling from the vine. Unable to keep a grip of the vine and rifle at the same, the man fumbles the rifle and it drops to the ground below. This actually causes it to trigger and it pops off a dart at a rhino. However the rhino goes charging at the tree as it fights through the drug. A lion creeps out of the bushes and gets into a fight with the rhino and the tiger sees this and joins in. A chimpanzee climbs up another tree as the man is getting up to the strong branch that the vine was attached to. As the man pulls himself up and sits on the branch, the chimp hops onto his face and pulls his hair. Blinded right now and trying to keep balance, the man pulls at the body of the chimp but she won't release. The man continues to fight with the chimp, he pulls on one of her legs bend it back while the chimp bites at his skull.

“AAARRGGGH, YOU STUPID FUCK!”

The man punches the monkey on her back a few times then pokes both her eyes and flips it off by yanking the back of her head. The chimpanzee drops down below, barely hurting herself as she scurries off when she falls on the ground. The man turns to a group of rifle barrels at his face as hunters are standing close to the edge of a cliff. Some of them grab the man by the arms as he contemplates falling down below but he isn't sure of what animals survived the melee. They pull the man over to them, immediately pin him down and shove a straitjacket and strapped pants onto him. Then they escort him to the enormous high tech cell that's in the middle of the jungle. Inside the cell is a bookshelf, a twin bed, a chair and a small table with no other than the old man. The lead hunter makes her way around the large gathering of other hunters.

“Did you really think it would be that easy to save the old man or escape the habitat? You know, to be such a threat to other people, you really are dumb as hell.”

“At least I tried, right?”

“Yeah you did but like I told you when you first got here, you cannot and will not escape us. Now for the butcher, come and give our misbehaved mongrel a change in attitude. Lay him down, boys!”

The man struggles as a last attempt to fight off these hunters. The butcher comes over with a huge cleaver and chef’s knife in his hands.

“Hold still, buddy. I promise to make this quick and easy.”

Just as the butcher was about to slice into the man’s scalp, the chimp returned by hopping on the man’s back. Which somehow she loosened the straps of his straitjacket as he shakes the monkey off. And now this provides the man with one last chance to overcome the odds. He extends his arms and uses the straps at the end of his arms as whip-like weapons. The man wraps both straps around the fat throat of the butcher. The butcher’s face turns color as he can't breathe but he swings the cleaver and knife. And the man takes advantage of the blade, raising his legs so that the butcher cuts the straps loose. The hunters try to get a clear shot without accidentally shooting the butcher. But the man pulls the butcher closer for a shield and the lead hunter gives the order to take the man down for good.

“What are you waiting for? SHOOT HIM! I WANT HIM FINISHED ONCE AND FOR ALL!”

The man pushes the overweight butcher backwards into a side of hunters as he flips up on his two feet. Now able to at least fight the horde of hunters that surround him, the man is overjoyed to demolish each one. The lead hunter walks through the others as the big fight takes place. The man unwraps the straps from the butcher's neck as he catches his breath. Hunters charge at the man one after another and are met with kicks, punches, hard smacks from the straps, choked out and tossed around. The fight goes on for around 40 minutes until the 50 hunters are all subdued. And the man, roughed up and beaten, goes over to the large cell as his friend lays inside. The middle aged man squats down beside the old man, not looking over at the old man. Because he feared that just like other people in his life, he would be gone. Which in the condition of the old man, he was about to die.

“So this is it? You die after I fight to save your life?”

“Dying… is but a part of life. But… not living… is the worst way to leave the world. I lived free all of my life… no matter this cell. No one could ever… lock away my life. So if this is the… end, then I had a good run. It's your turn now, remember to… live free. Don't ever give up… or give in to what they design for you. Fight back!”

“Try fighting this!”

The lead hunter shouts from a far enough distance and pulls the trigger to her sniper rifle aimed at the head of the middle aged man.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Everything goes black and zooming out the side of a certain masked individual. He jumps as if spooked or awakened abruptly.

“So you had a vision, did you?”

The masked man nods a little and the hooded one speaks some more.

“You went from a deathmatch tournament and made it to the semifinals. Although it took two men to take you down and halt your continued terror, we're not done yet. They want to stack 29 other men and women against their dark fate in this Carnal Contendership? A match where the main rule is toss the other wrestlers over the 3 ropes?Okay, we’ll keep pushing our way through. I know for a fact that you can knock or push any of the other competitors over those ropes while preventing them from tossing you over. Don't forget the golden rule to this, which is if you do not go over the top rope then you are not eliminated, alright? We're getting closer and closer to hitting big, I can feel it. Our reign of darkness is on its way and our Terrors of Darkness are building in numbers all over the world. And they have never been more proud of you, My Lord. We are still just beginning, as someone once told me… live free… and fight back!”

The scene slides down like an elevator as another is on top and it stops as it fits into the frame. There's a long table in a room of darkness, one big beam of light shines from above and across the table to right in front of the end of it. 6 pairs of hands are presented and clutched together in front of each available space on both sides of the long table. The seventh and most important sets of hands are set palm down on the table within the spotlight from the sun. These hands wear black and gold medieval gauntlets and from the end of the table, a voice speaks.

“Present The Messenger!”

Someone brings The Messenger and lays him on the huge table as he's barely breathing from the torment that he took. The people at this table witness the work of their new problem in Los Angeles. A piece of bloodied paper hangs from the white, rugged and battered young man.

“What is that?”

The gauntlets snatch the paper out of the pocket of The Messenger. He takes a minute to look over what has been written on the back of one of their letters. Then he reads it aloud to the others in attendance.

“To the CCC or California Criminal Council… your dear Freak… Show is no longer in charge of this western chapter as a result of negligence and ignorance when respecting a man of my unlimited reach and power. I do not regret any action that was made upon such a failure in leadership. Please take this miserable excuse for an appropriate messenger and those medical bills as my compensation to you. There's no reason to honor or thank me for my handiwork. You can rest assured that this section as well as the rest of LA is under great management now. So you do NOT have to see me in person as when the time comes, I will be the one to come to you. Do not bother sending me a message again as it will be either ignored or sent with another unpleasant message from myself. Yours truly. ~The King of Los Angeles~

Fellas… our problem is bigger than we thought.”

Fade to black.

Originally posted by CBK.




[/HR][/CENTER]


[/HR]
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.

---

[/HR]
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.”

---

[/HR]
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."[/TD]
[/TR]
[/TABLE]

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.

---

[/HR]

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.

---

[/HR]

[HEADING=1]WANG-CHUNG BLUES[/HEADING]
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.



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.

---

[/HR]
[HEADING=1]I’LL NEVER GET OUT OF THIS WORLD ALIVE[/HEADING]

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.

Originally posted by OldJay.

Originally posted by dijo.



Birth Name: (formerly )Jonathan Snow, Zachary Kazadi | (currently) Michelle von Horrowitz.
Ring Name: weaselperson (for the record, any pronouns work)
Born: September 5th, 1995 // Montreal, Quebec, Canada (as Jonathan Snow) | May 30th, 1992 // Quebec City, Quebec, Canada (as Zachary Kazadi) | January 1st, 1990 // Rotterdam, the Netherlands (as Michelle von Horrowitz)
Height: 6ft (as Jonathan Snow) | 6ft (as Zachary Kazadi) | 5ft7in (as Michelle von Horrowitz)
Weight: 180lbs (as Jonathan Snow) | 210 lbs (as Zachary Kazadi) | 119 lbs (as Michelle von Horrowitz)
Billed From: The Meadows
Alignment: Tweener w/ heelish tendencies.
Gimmick: Alleged anthropomorphic weasel and revenge demon.
Non-FWA accomplishments: Several Guinness world records for body hair (as Jonathan Snow), various CWA accomplishments (as Michelle von Horrowitz)
FWA accomplishments: N/A (as weaselperson)
FWA Record: 3-4-0 (as weaselperson)

v. Logan Darwin at Fallout 027 (Victory) [JS]
v. Trixie Bordeaux at King of the Deathmatch (Defeat) [JS]
v. 29 others at Carnal Contendership (Defeat) [ZK]
v. Cyrus Truth at Meltdown XXVIII (Victory) [ZK]
v. Danny Toner at Fallout 029 (Defeat) [ZK]
v. Chris Peacock at Fallout 031 (Victory) [ZK]
v. Alyster Black at Back in Business XVII (Defeat) [ZK]

Style of Wrestling: Technical Brawler.

In the ring, wp utilises a large number of strikes, usually in combination. Mule kicks, stomps, forearms, chops (knife-edge, Mongolian, overhand), and European uppercuts are employed, but very rarely straight hands of any variety. Against lighter opponents, wp likes to use a vast array of suplexes, but this part of her arsenal will be taken away from her against any combatants weighing much more than 80kg (176lbs). Against larger foes, wp will seek to use their weight and momentum against them, with strikes becoming a much larger part of her focus, along with the use of her environment. wp likes to use the turnbuckles and the ring ropes, and will freely take things to the outside to use whatever she can find around the ring as a weapon. Steel ring steps and posts, barricades, the ring apron, and announce tables are brought into the fray frequently and without remorse. wp tends to get a little more leniency from the officials in this regard due to the well-known FWA bias towards her. Against opponents who far out-weigh her, wp will focus her attention on the knees and legs, grounding them for large portions of the match before honing in on the head or neck towards the finish.

wp will stretch any rule she can at any point regardless of what alignment she's currently assigned by the audience. Rope breaks will rarely be adhered to until the four-count, and her matches will often be punctuated by lengthy periods on the outside. Ref bumps are common in her matches and routinely followed up by uses of weapons (steel chairs, the ring bell, or a championship belt if one is at ringside, hers or otherwise - if both her and her opponent have a belt to hand, she'd rather use her opponent's). She can be vindictive in the ring and in the build-up to matches, and will take any opportunity to hurt her opponent and doesn't really limit this against most of the roster.

1. Finishing moves:
- Psycho Driver #2 (pump-handle version) - against smaller opponents (90kg/200lbs and less).
- 450 splash.
- Weasel Me This (Paradise Lock) - carried over from original weaselperson
- Burning hammer (protected and rare last ditch finisher - ask me before using, please).
2. Signature moves:
- Busaiku Knee Kick.
- Brainbuster (avalanche brainbuster in the El Generico style in big matches only).
- Tiger Driver '98 (double underhook piledriver).
- Stretch Muffler (with stomps).
- The Weaseler (Double Foot Curbstomp) - carried over from original weaselperson
3. Suplex variants (utilised only against smaller opponents, 90kg/200lbs or less):
- Northern lights suplex.
- Tiger suplex.
- Dragon suplex.
- Belly to belly suplex.
- Belly to belly overhead release suplex (sometimes top rope).
- Sleeper suplex.
- German suplex (sometimes top rope).
- Regal-plex.
- Saito suplex.
4. Submission moves:
- Cattle Mutilation.
- Cross-face chicken wing.
- Ankle lock (grapevined).
- Bow and arrow.
- Camel clutch.
- Sleeper hold.
- Abdominal stretch (only to smaller opponents, usually female).
5. Power/grapple moves:
- Death Valley Driver.
- Running Liger Bomb (only to smaller opponents).
- Double underhook DDT.
- Drop-toe hold (sometimes into second turnbuckle, which she will often expose, or a folded out chair).
- Russian leg sweep (sometimes into second turnbuckle, which she will often expose, or a folded out chair).
- Swinging neckbreaker.
- Hurricanrana.
- Poisonrana.
- Dragon screw leg whip.
- Reverse DDT (sometimes onto a folded out chair).
6. Aerial and dive moves:
- Frog splash.
- Springboard crossbody.
- Lionsault.
- Moonsault (from the top rope to the floor in big matches).
- Elbow drop (from the top rope to the announce table in big matches).
- Suicide dive (through first/second or second/third ropes).
- Springboard cross-body.
- Springboard shooting star press from inside to out (big matches only).
- Swanton bomb (often from ladders, scaffolding, stages, etc).
7. Baseball slides:
- Baseball slide.

Attire: Black trunks.

Base Pic:
Sean Gunn as Weasel in Suicide Squad 2
Carey Mulligan (beneath weaselperson skin suit)

Theme:
“Authentic Pyrhhic Remission” by of Montreal - click!

Introduction:

"What's their name?" Russnow asks. He stares at me with morbid curiosity.
"You can call them weaselperson. No caps." Wanda says.
"No... caps. Okay, it looks like they might have automatically added a capital W at the start."
"That shouldn't be there," she says.
"Okay." He scratches something on the paper and writes himself a note. "No caps. Got it. So, got any experience?" Russnow scans the information in front of him.
"No, but that doesn't really matter does it? I've watched your shows, you seem to hire a lot of amateurs."
"We try just as hard to get rid of them. Not sure how they keep sneaking in, really. Usually they get better before we can scheme out a way to fire them. Or one of the shareholders stops us."
"weaselperson is a quick-learner. You don't have to worry about that. They have a distinct look. They stand out. They'll have a lot of value for the FWA."
"Do they talk?"
She looks at me. That's the signal.
"Bark," I respond.
"Bark?" Russnow asks.
"Bark," I repeat.
"Are they a dog?"
"No. Dogs don't say bark. That's just the word we use to describe the sound dogs make. weaselperson is not very bright though. Otherwise we might have found something that requires a bit more intelligence."
Russnow thinks to read between the lines. "I'm not going to have any legal issues with this guy, am I? Is guy, alright, by the way?"
"It's fine. No, you can have your lawyers look into weaselperson. We'll be happy to provide any information you need. You'll find nothing that would put you or the FWA in any sort of legal quagmire."
"Good." He doesn't seem impressed with me. I don't blame him. "I'll have our people see if we've got room for... weaselperson. We might be able to get them on nGw, or maybe even Ground Zero."
"I don't know what those are, Russnow. My client wants an FWA contract. If that doesn't happen, we'll have to look into other options. Seeing what sort of talent is on offer here, I can't imagine you have a monopoly on the industry."
"Alright, you don't have to get testy."
"Testy?" she asks, quite testily.
"I said I'll see what I can do. We got a 30 minute Ratin and Steve match on Fallout, me seeing what I can do basically means yes."
"Ratin and Steve?" she asks, making no illusion as to her knowledge or interest in professional wrestling.
"Nevermind," Russnow says, dismissively.