OOC: Just a brief note. You may notice I sometimes flip back and forth between using male and female pronouns to describe Lux. It's not a typo and it is on purpose. I do it to intentionally blur the gender lines on the character and hammer home that Lux really is, in some ways, a combination of both genders.


The shadows sometimes came at night, in dreams. Memories of the host body's past. It was said that they were the product of random synaptic misfirings, thoughts, feelings and past events that died with the host, brought back to the surface by the presence of the new consciousness. If we had had the time to philosophize what it meant, the questions were endless. Did it mean, in some small way, the host was still alive? That some aspect of that past personality lived on in us?

What did that mean for the concept of a human soul?

But like I said, we didn't have the time to pontificate. Not with the Black Queen's Praetorians on our heels. Not with the Beast and his [REDACTED] tightening their grip on the planet's systems of government, slowing plunging civilized society into a new epoch of chaos and barbarism.

And besides, the shadow was one of mine this time.

My eyes struggled to adjust, my mind a blur of confusion and numbness. My body propped up against someone else, limp and cold and dead. My hearing also struggled to acclimate, the sounds coming dull before coming hard, the volume piercingly and unnaturally high as the sensory overload comes crashing down. I try to call out for help, but nothing escapes. My lips don't even move. It slowly dawns on me that I am unwilling passenger in these proceedings. Helpless to intervene. But at least the eyesight starts to refine. I begin to see. And almost wish I had stayed blind.

Orlu is the one holding me up, and I'm shocked that she's able to bear me on her thin frame. Her hair is choked with dust and desperation is scribbled on her features.

“Lux, are you with me?!”

I hear her. She looks in my eyes and deduces I'm conscious. But I still can't respond. I can't even look down at....wait, why am I still acclimating to a host? Why aren't I in my own body?

“I'm so sorry Lux....”

What's going on?

“They're here, Lux. They found us. They ambushed us. They destroyed all the other bodies, all the other hosts. We had to put you in one of the Class B's.

Class B?! They weren't even suitable for field work! Or much of anything else! Why not just put me back in my own body?!

But then it hits me. Destroyed all the other bodies, she said.

Oh God.....

….oh no.....

Orlu deposits me on the floor, looking frantically back the way we had come. I still can't move. Can't even blink. My eyes held open to drink in our downfall. The reinforced door at the end of the lab was glowing, and then sparks began to jettison from the white hot dot that was spreading from it's center. Someone was breaking in. Orlu appears above me again.

“Lux! You're the only one left, the only one I could save. They're all gone! All dead! I'm sending you back in the E.R.A right now. It has to be now....” She steals a look back at the door before turning her panicked visage back towards me. “I'll destroy the lab after you jump so they can't follow. Lux....I....I'm sorry it had to be like this. I'm so sorry. But everything is counting on you now! Do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

How did it all go so wrong? The orange dot on the door expands as the steel's structural integrity starts to break down. The only thing standing between us and a horde of slavering Praetorians on the other side. Orlu goes to the console next to the E.R.A and I'm left looking at the door, watching our own impending doom. Watching as the final nail is sunk deep into the coffin of our entire race.

And then she is there. A leering visage in the bulletproof glass of the door's portcullis. The Black Queen. Her stringy blond locks are sodden with blood. She opens her mouth in a feral cry of victory, revealing the artificial steel fangs implanted in her jaw. The jaw itself distending unnaturally wide, unhinging like a viper's and absolving any trace of humanity her expression may have once had. She holds something else up to the portcullis, and it takes a few moments for me to comprehend the horror of what I was seeing. She was holding up my head. My decapitated head. My head. My host body shudders involuntarily. I can feel a tear escape one of it's eyes. I squeak out the word “no” but beyond that can only muster up a pitiful sob. It draw's Orlu's attention, and she looks back at the door.

“Oh fuck, Oh God Lux don't look! DON”T LOOK!”

But I can't stop looking. These eyes won't shut. The Black Queen knows it's me in here. She knows I see this. She's taunting me. It dawns on me that she has now secured her revenge on me.

A hole appears in the door. A horrific inhuman face peers through. Orlu's fingers dance over the controls of the E.R.A.

“I've almost got it Lux. I'm sending you back! God speed....Go-”

And then I'm gone. And I'm puking in the street.


I awake in a lake of sweat. Darting up and tossing the sheet aside, I stumble as though drunk into the bathroom. Throwing a hand out to flip the light switch I then go to the sink to throw water on my face as I desperately try to wash away the sight of my own severed head. Closing my eyes, I start to bring my breathing under control. They come ragged and shallow at first, but I impose calmness and serenity.

I open my eyes. But the boy is still there, staring back at me from the bathroom mirror. And for right now, that's a sight I am unable to bear. The mirror gets shattered with a single blow. It's a futile gesture though. I'm still stuck.

I'm still here.


We see Lux, his slim figure engulfed in a hoodie that's two sizes too big for this boyish body. The shot pulls back to disclose more of our surroundings. It's a seedy hotel room, a step down from Lux's own accomodations. Front and center is a bed that is unmade and looks unfit for human relaxation in the first place. She's alone, for now, and looks at the camera.

It would seem as though John Lewis met an unfortunate end. I wish I had more to say. But I don't. Maybe it makes me a bad person. Maybe it makes me a cold, unfeeling bitch. But after a while, when someone is as inundated with tragedy as I have been, it all just looks....gray. A big wide awake gray. I know he has people who will miss him. People who will mourn him. But I'm not going to sit here and string together some hollow platitudes when I barely knew the guy. His loved ones can do the mourning. I have no tears left. I'm sorry.

Lux breathes out a sigh.

So I get a call from Bob Williams today letting me know that a replacement has already stepped up to the plate. He calls himself “El Pantera”. Well Big Cat, I hope you're prepared to swing for the fences. Because you're just getting the one shot.

Growing up in the environment that I'm accustomed to, the ability to adapt to change is a way of life. You stepping in for John Lewis is a change, but certainly not an insurmountable one. I mentioned my environment, so let's run with that, shall we? It's a scientific fact that the environments people grow up in shape them on a biological level. And that people who grow up in high stress environments, places like war zones, or those who are subject to abuse or neglect, suffer a sort of neurochemical rewiring that renders them in a perpetual state of arousal. An unending sense of fight or flight. In other words, someone who is ALWAYS ready to react.

So, while I can't guarantee I'll always win....I am always READY. But can I say the same for you Alejandro? See I'm at a bit of a loss with you. With John Lewis, I at least had something of a frame of reference. YOU on the other hand are a complete mystery. I have no idea what you're capable of.

So let me tell you what I need you to be. Lux's voice takes on an odd cadence with that declarative statement. I need you to BE capable. I need you to be every ounce an opponent for me. You stepped into another man's shoes and now have two matches bearing down on you in a matter of days. Is that something you can handle? Is it? Because I need it to be.

Everything I'm doing here in the XWF, it's not just for personal glory, or championships. Hell, the wins are nothing more than a barometer of how much more work I have to do. Alejandro, I'm here as a trial by fire. I'm training. And my training is only going to be as good as the competition put across from me. Now I already went on the record as saying that I picked John Lewis not because he was the best, but because he was adequate. Because I'm not ready for “best” yet. I know that. But, and here's that word again, I need you to be CAPABLE. Not exactly the highest bar, but you need to clear that for me. Because I'm on the clock Alejandro. And before that time runs out I need to remake myself into the best possible Lux I can be. I can't do that without competent competition.

From what I'm saying, you might be gathering that I expect to be disappointed. Nothing personal, but I always expect to be disappointed. It's what I'm used to. And it's just so much of a pleasant surprise those few times I discover I was wrong. But there is one niggling thing about you that is making me feel that you may not be worth my time and it is this. You really don't prioritize threats very well. You're putting me and Drezdin on the same level, maybe even looking past me a bit to focus on him. Now maybe there's just something wrong with my eyes and ears but...really? Because from where I'm standing, the man screams “sideshow variety act”. Drezdin can't even make it through a sentence without tripping over himself. And as new as I am, I would hazard a guess his record around here isn't exactly sterling. Advance apologies to the XWF viewers for slaughtering one of their most sacred, but admittedly LIMITED, calves.

Alejandro, let me clear this up for you. I'm the one you need to worry about. True, I have one match to my name, and it was a loss. But I'm not like any other competitor on the roster. For me, the experience is already in place...my flesh and blood just needs to catch up. And it's doing so very, very quickly.

So bring your “B” game, Big Cat. I'd say bring your “A”....but I'm willing to settle....

Lux's attention is drawn to a knock at the door. He goes to it and two men walk in, one of whom is carrying a long black case. The two men look at Lux, and then at each other. The man carrying the case cracks a smile.

Mlada, zar ne? (Translated from Serbian: “A little young, isn't he?”)

Lux scoffs. Bez obzira na moje godine, imate li oružje? (“Nevermind my age, do you have the weapons?”)

The man with the black case looks at his counterpart with some bemusement. Finally, he replies. Ja radim. Nadam se da su na vaše zadovoljstvo. (“I do. I hope they are to your satisfaction.”)

The man positions the black case on the bed, and removes the clasps to open it. Inside, are two wicked looking swords. Lux reaches in to inspect one, and he takes his sweet time doing it. Ultimately, he places it back, his face pinched with annoyance. To je kvalitet buvljaka. (“That one is flea market quality.”) He takes the other blade now, and gives it the same thorough inspection. He lifts it up to eye level, his eyes narrowing to hone his view of the keen edge on the sword. He smiles a strange smile.

Ali ovo će uraditi. (“But this one will do.”)