The scene opens to reveal the exterior of a large, tattered circus tent. The once vibrant colors are now dull and faded, with the exception of the fresh graffiti that sprawls along the length of the tent. As the camera surveys the scene, the sounds of torn canvas fluttering in the wind are accompanied by the rustling of long-forgotten ‘Missing’ posters stapled to the nearby posterboard. A pair of feral dogs fighting over the bloody scraps of a rabbit corpse bolt into the scene, growling and snapping at each other until startled by a large click--followed by a bright light coming from within the tent. The dogs scamper away, leaving the gory rabbit’s hide behind as the camera moves in closer to the large entrance way. As the camera moves closer, an organ blares so loudly that it vibrates the camera lens, followed by a faint cheering. As the camera moves ever closer to the tent the cheers grow louder, until the entrance is reached and an all sound is muted as the camera is blinded by the bright lights of the interior. A few seconds pass spent in the pure, blinding light before a familiar voice cuts through the silence:

“PRAISE JAYZUS!”

The lights dim to reveal the scene. Several rows of seats fill the area occupying the front of the stage. The hundreds of rusty folding chairs are mostly empty, the few that are occupied are filled with an interesting sort: Men in straight jackets, women rocking back and forth and mumbling to themselves, the blind, the elderly, the mentally handicapped. All hooting and hollering, the grotesque crowd never once take their eyes off the stage, seemingly unaware of the presence of the camera. As the blue and red lights dance around on stage, the crowd erupts into roar as Titan, clad in a vibrant white cloak, makes his way to a large white throne positioned in the center of the stage. As he takes his seat his female accomplice takes the stage from the other side with her hair covering her face, wearing a brightly colored red robe. Her hands are held high as she bounces to the center of the stage, playing to the crowd. The woman steps up the podium, her shaking hand held high above her head.

“Welcome, all you beautiful miscreants! Welcome to your new home! Outside of this place all of those evil people look at you, and they see nothing but a bunch of damaged, imperfect monsters. But here, we accept you and all your flaws. To those hypocrites outside, you may not be as aesthetically pleasing as the Rose Smiths of the world, but to us--you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful in our eyes, but more importantly: In the eyes of Jayzus!”

The woman bows her head and nods rhythmically as the crowd cheers her on. Titan shifts in his chair and props his chin on his fist, releasing a sigh of exasperation that goes unnoticed. The woman enthusiastically points toward a man in the front row, excitedly the man springs from his seat with the aid of a pair of crutches.

“You there! Missing a leg! Tell the rest of the fellowship what life outside this...tent, is like! Don’t be shy, come on now!”

“It’s a-a-a-awful. They treat me like an animal. I’m crippled, I can’t find a woman, I can’t perform my job… I feel like I’m Mr. Supernova.”

“Oh Jayzus, anything but that! The world is a cruel, cruel place. You cannot let it beat you into submission. You can’t let it define who you are. And above all else, you cannot let it tell you that you’re one of those heathens, those cretins, that make up Theo Pryce’s Village People rejects. No, it’s times like this where you need to turn to Jayzus! Let him remove the doubts from your mind. He, and only he, can erase those comparisons to the living, breathing pieces of garbage that inhabit The Corporation. Come up here, my brother, receive the blessings of Jayzus!”

With help from an impossibly large man with Down syndrome, the man makes his way up the stairs and his placed on his knee in front of the woman. The larger man also takes a knee and begins sobbing.

“And you, boy, what plagues you?”

“I. Brain. Not. Smart.”

“Oh sweet Jayzus…”

The woman places her hands on the kneeling simp and shakes her head slowly.

“This poor, sweet, boy has been afflicted! He suffers a debilitating condition, not unlike the one that Peter Gilmour’s fan club president, Sid Feder, suffers from. Another joke! The Congregation! If I didn’t drink so much orange juice and pray to Jayzus, Eli James’ cute little cult would make me sick to my stomach! The Congregation is little more than toilet flotsam, to put it nicely.”

“Float. Sam?”

“It means they’re pieces of shit, junior. I guess I should’ve broken that one down into simpler terms anyway, just in case one of those Congregation mouth breathers decides to steal himself away from licking Eli’s boots long enough to catch wind of a message that isn’t a complete piece of shit. I’m lookin’ at you, Lazarus. Nasty little lap dog.”

“Much swear. Such fear. Wo--”

“So that’s where that came from. Who woulda known? But I digress. You may be crippled or simple, like the vermin represented by the Congregations and Companies of the world, but with the blessings of Jayzus you will matter, much unlike them. And his blessings are open to all: A smarmy know-it-all like Theo Pryce. A foul-mouthed brat like Lazarus. A ditzy whore like Mandii Ryder. A...rave fueled Norsemen? Jayzus accepts all who will accept him, but sadly, we know these fools will never see the light. Not like Titan has. This beast of a man--”

“Can speak for himself.”

The woman stops and turns to Titan, who is now standing and surveying the crowd from the podium. She begins a slow clap, and the members of the crowd possessing both hands soon follow.

“Auschwitz. A place steeped in dark and twisted history. The site of quite possibly the biggest atrocity in the history of mankind. This place should wrench and twist the stomach of those who dare set foot in such an evil location. And yet here we stand, in full contemplation of a journey to this historically dark place… and we smile. Our smile is one that has been shaped by irony; this site of numerous atrocities and the extermination of human life happens to also give way to the birth of something new, something powerful and something that will not be contained. Not by the the constraints of the XWF’s tyrant. Not by his lap dog. Not by this ‘king’ of ours. And certainly, not by the gas chamber.

“Oh praise Jayzus! Ain’t no gas gonna hold down a true believer!”

“Please, shut up. Woman. Your games may have been entertaining as we prepared for a worthless whelp like Frodo, but we are in for a much more interesting battle. Techno Viking appears to be nothing more than a cuckold, trapped underneath the boot of his woman. While the presence of his spine is questionable, we cannot underestimate a man with a size similar to that of ours. Surely he is a far cry from the diminutive, venereal disease trap we faced this past week--a challenge we more than welcome. And then there is Mandii Rider, a woman who--”

“That’s a dumb bitch right there! Don’t you try to talk her up like she’s respectable! All she cares about is how many ghastly sissy boys she can fit into that overused cock pocket of hers. I wish she’d stick them all in her goddamn mouth so we didn’t have to hear her angsty, teenage love affair shit! Oh Jayzus, give me strength. Give me the strength to calm my nerves when I have to address this disgusting jezebel.”

“Enough.”

“Well come on! She left a poorly worded note to her limp dick little boyfriend saying he wouldn’t be able to find her, despite the fact that she is being ADVERTISED to be in Auschwitz! I guess it doesn’t matter, I can’t imagine anyone with the intellect higher than simple Simon’s here to to stick their love muscle into that rusty bear trap of hers."

“Perhaps she is of no consequence. We are well aware that our focus belongs in the final two men in this match. Both clearly capable, yet both lap dogs-in their own right. Lazarus, a man we have watched since he showed himself in the XWF, clutching the pant leg of Eli James like a frightened toddler afraid to leave it’s mother’s side. And when Lazarus spoke, we listened. We listened, and we laughed. There is no mystery lying underneath that mask. No, all that mask conceals is man who will perpetually be nothing more than a scraggly dog with no purpose other than to provide a pathetic eagerness to belong to an equally pathetic master.”

“Talk about a guy who has misinterpreted the teachings of Jayz--”

“We have had enough of your interruptions.”

“But you just interrupted me to say that you were tired of me interrupting you! Jayzus doesn’t look to kindly on hypocrites!”

“We will live with that. Much, as we live with having a silver spoon-fed King. What’s there to say about a man like Theo Pryce? A man like Theo has heard every type of criticism that could possibly be leveled against him. Week, after week. Match after match. Opponent after opponent. It will continue, if for no reason other than one undeniable truth: Theo Pryce is unbelievably nondescript. Take away the man’s money, money that he did not earn himself, and what is he? Another generic pretty boy capable of making quips that would make college frat members squeal with delight, but few others. There is nothing special about Theo Pryce; had he exited his father’s testicles directly onto a tissue or tube sock, the world today would notice no difference. His father would have sired another generic set of teeth to take over his company after his death. Had he not shocked the world and beat the shell of John Madison, Theo’s star would have faded long ago, much akin to the likes of Sid Feder and Unknown Soldier--although, he would make a far less talented contribution to that list.”

“Yeah, asshole. You know what the difference between $1 vanilla pudding and 10$ vanilla pudding is? Just a bunch of fucking filler and tackier packaging. But they taste the same. Like shit. Theo, you’re the one that needs to be seeking out Jayzus, you’re the one with everything to lose. All eyes are on you. Go ahead, sit back in your big comfy chair and drone on and on about how Titan here hasn’t beaten anybody. I’m sure it’ll be absolutely riveting. Would you like to make fun of the mask too? You know what, it doesn’t even matter, because we’re here, basking in the light of Jayzus and there’s no bringing us down. Not the pussy, the skank, the lap dog or the mannequin. Now! Let’s get on with this shindig! Ladies and gentleman…”

The woman reaches down and pulls up a box of Ritz Crackerfuls and a bottle of Cabo Wabo tequila.

“It’s time for communion.”

The scene ends as the miscreant fellowship all murmur to themselves and begin lining up in front of the stage. The camera goes black for a moment before words begin to fill the screen.

To be continued...

1X - GOAT.