The scene opens, rejoining the backwoods church service being held by Titan and his female accomplice. The woman stands at the podium in front of the crowd of misfits, each holding a Crackerful and a paper Dixie cup full of tequila. The woman raises the snack to the crowd, causing them to each raise their own as well.

“And this is the body of Jayzus! Consume the body of your peanut butter filled Jayzus, and you thank him for feeding you this day!”

With that the crowd begins to devour their crackers. The woman looks back at Titan, seated in his chair, who simply tosses the cracker over his shoulder. The woman shrugs and looks back to the crowd, holding the bottle of tequila above her head.

“And this is the blood of Jayzus! Drink, and feel the warmth spread through you.”

The woman takes a large guzzle of tequila and promptly spits it out, drenching a young, wheelchair bound boy positioned directly in front of the stage.

“Jayzus, this shit is nasty. It’ll clear you right out. Hey Lazarus! If you ever need to wash the taste of Eli and Feder’s spunk out of your mouth after a night of playing the Congregation’s suck puppet, try this shit. Probably won’t work for that Foghorn Leghorn sounding you guys have tagging along though. What does that dick taste like? I can only imagine there’s some not-so-subtle hints of wintergreen chewing tobaccy, underage anus and…”

She lowers her tone, and begins to speak in an almost robotic voice:

“French fried potaters. Mm-hmm.”

The woman cackles briefly and clears her throat.

“‘I say boy, I say Lazarus get that cute little tushy back inside the barrel and stick it right up against the hole. Big poppa Amos has something for ya’s.’ Sound familiar to you? I’ve been working on my Anus James impersonation for days! Here’s a question for you: Have you always been that inept at speaking? Or is that just the result of Eli James releasing Hell on the back of your throat? Poor little gimp. One day, I’ll buy you a dictionary and you and Anus can sit down together and I’ll teach you how to enunciate and form proper words. How does that sound? Would you like to learn how to speak like a real boy, little fella? Maybe with a little proper instruction you’ll finally be able to tell Sid Feder to keep his tongue away from your no-no zones! A little education can go a long way, little Lazzy, there’s a whole world outside of getting coffee, giving foot massages and being a semen receptacle. And we’ll get you there one day, just you wait. Until that time, could you do me a favor and shut that foul, unintelligible mouth of yours? My sweet Jayzus, every time I hear that voice I want to squat down, take a big ol’ steamy shit, break it in half and shove half into each ear. Jayzus, you even took the great game of chess and turned that into a barely coherent ramble. You could fuck up a wet dream, boy. But you want to talk about chess? I’m sure Big Red here will be more than happy to teach you a thing or two. Get him Red.”

Titan peers at the woman, unimpressed. She coughs and urges him to step up the podium, to which he only shifts in his chair, leaning back even further.

“Okay, okay, you’re the boss I get it. But quit making me look like an idiot up here! Back me up, man!”

Titan chuckles to himself and steps up the podium, shoving the woman away.

“Chess. A gentleman’s game. A game of strategy and whit. A game that requires equal parts deception and skill. A game, that a cretin such as Lazarus surely would not excel at. This oaf wants to believe that the main event match at Shove It is comparable to a chess match? Laughable. Tell us, child, what happens when the pawn does not have his allies at his side and back? He becomes the most vulnerable, forgettable piece on the board. Do you really believe that a singular pawn can dispatch of a king? Impossible. No pawn, rook, bishop, knight or queen can take a king on it’s own. And that’s where your comparison falls short, Lazarus. Come Saturday night, you will have no allies. No backup. Just another insignificant pawn, bouncing pointlessly around the board until it’s eventual capture. There will be no sensational headlines for you to bask in. If you are lucky enough to be remembered the next day, the headlines will read nothing more than “Unmemorable pawn falls. Exactly as expected. Unlike you, Lazarus, we will be playing a much more suiting game: Othello. No help. No headlines. Simply darkness, slowly and methodically phasing out whatever light remains inside the gas chamber.”

“I used to fucking hate that game! It was like fucked up checkers.”

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

“Alright, alright. Jayzus.”

“Lazarus, if you continue to ignore our importance in this match, then we can guarantee that we will rip off your gas mask first… we cannot guarantee, however, that the rest of your head will not come along.”

“Which I’m sure your Congregation buddies wouldn’t mind. One can have your mouth, one can have your hiney, and one can have that big gaping hole at the top of your neck. It works out for everyone! Except you, of course. But hey, you’d still be fulfilling your only purpose on this planet, you atrophied sex toy, you. Why don’t you step aside and let the real beast handle the boy-king, huh? You can play with the viking, maybe he’ll show you his axe and tell you stories of Valhalla! Or, there’s that siren bitch who may be the only thing in this match more difficult to understand than you. Does...does she even know that she’s in a match? Somebody might want to interrupt that Twilight fantasy of hers and let her know that there’s business to attend to this weekend. And as soon as you’re little Lazarus legs get tired, why don’t you go see Titan and I’m sure he’ll be happy to…”

“End you, like the insignificant, mangy dog that you are. And while you slink away with your tail tucked between your legs, we shall take care of the playboy Theo Pryce. Do not fear of talk of this match being a showcase for the best of the Company and the worst of the Congregation, because neither side will emerge victorious.”

“You hear that? This isn’t about some stupid fucking power struggle between Theo’s yuppie, tacky assholes and Eli’s Kool-Aid drinking psychopaths. This ain’t about a dumb cunt who can’t separate real life with old wives tales. And it sure ain’t about some pussywhipped, Avicii loving caricature. This is about a new order, a new age. One where the corrupt leaders of the XWF like Theo and Eli are put down on their knees, and forced to pay for their evil deeds. Titan is here to stay, folks. Put him in there with a midget, a king, a lapdog… whatever you want, and the result will always be the same. Titan always wins.”

“Always.”

The scene begins to come to a close with the members of the fellowship hobbling back to their seats. Titan returns back to his chair and the woman steps up to the podium. She urges the people to all sit and holds up a tattered book.

“And now, it’s time to sing.”

To be continued...

1X - GOAT.