"What the fuck was that?"

Those were the only words that Julia could muster as she and Luca made their way out of the Los Angeles Memorial Colosseum, and even then she almost couldn't force them out without almost choking on laughter. Shaking his head, Luca shot his eyes down to the cracked cement of the sidewalk, grumbling something to himself which only heightened his companion's enjoyment of the situation that had just transpired earlier on in the night. Luca Arzegotti, lost. Yeah, that's right folks, he fucking lost like a shithead.

"Who the fuck's talking?" Luca barked, finally snapping out of his trance of self pity. Peeling his eyes away from the pavement, he scanned around the immediate area, looking for anyone who could be relaying his actions in any way, shape, or form. However, he doesn't get to look anywhere too closely before Julia's hand fell onto his cheek and pushed his face to the left until his eyes met her's.

"You're new narrator," she said, using the wrong form of the word your like the illiterate cunt she is. "Hey, fuck off. I'm the fucking reason you aren't eating out of a dumpster tonight, Ron."

Oh shit, right. Anyway, Luca's eyes grew wide and his brow furrowed with confusion as he pondered her answer for a moment.

"New narrator? Need I fuckin' remind you what happened to the last one?"

"No you fucking don't. You got his blood on my favorite shirt, you douchebag."

She shook her head and balled her hands into fists in a flash of anger, before cooling down just as fast as she heated up. Scanning the road in front of them, and sighing in relief when it appeared that there were no cars in a twelve mile radius, she took her first steps off the sidewalk and onto the street, grabbing the still distracted Luca's hand and tugging on it to get him to follow. Reluctantly, he did but not without first making his issues (for lack of a better word) regarding my employment known.

"So, what the fuck makes you think going through that shit again will be a good thing? Huh? You got another shirt in need of a crimson Rorschach test stain? Plannin' on makin' a whole of that shit?"

"No. But obviously something's not working and it hasn't been since he bit the bullet."

"Literally."

Wait, what the fuck did I get myself into?

"Shut the fuck up Ron."

Sheesh. The bitch doesn't even bother look at me while telling me to shut up. Did she forget what she hired me to do, or what?

"I know what I hired you to do. Now get to doing it."

Fuck, fine. Safely on the other side of the road, Luca and Julia started to make their way into the parking lot; where Luca's car waited for them. However, almost as if he finally caught a word of what she said, Luca stopped. Using the hand that Julia was still holding as a boomerang of sorts, he tugged on her hand and pulled her around to face him and cleared his throat.

"Something's not working? The fuck kinda shit are you on and where can I get some?"

"Think about it," she said, almost pleadingly. I swear to fuck if the waterworks start I'll be too busy laughing to accurately display that shit.

"I didn't even know that it could get more annoying than the last guy. Holy fucking shit Ron do you like eating Styrofoam cups or something?"

"Fuck him, answer me. What the fuck are you on?"

"I'm not on anything right now, because the coke you got off that El Salvadorian with the bowl cut was weaker than my anemic grandmother."

"So that's what this is about?"

Luca laughed. Or at least, chuckled before coughing into the crook of his elbow and spitting out a red and yellowish-green substance onto the cold, cracked asphalt of the parking lot. With the sole of his shoe, he smears the bloody snot even further into the ground before returning his attention to his partner in crime.

"Some motherfucker gets lucky and I get a shit batch of drugs; and all of a sudden you think there's something wrong with me? And that said something stems from the fact that I don't have an annoying cunt spelling out every detail of my life like it was going outta style? Now, you're obviously lying because in order to come up with some grade A bullshit like that, you have to be droppin' more than your fuckin' body weight in LSD so why don't you lemme see your stash so I can at least act like you're makin' some kinda sense, kay?"

"For fuck's sake, I'm not high."

"Yeah, totally believe you," Luca said with a wink as his hand tightened around Julia's. Closing tighter and tighter, until he got to the point where she was cringing and frantically attempting to pull away, cursing under her breath.

"What the fuck?! Let me go!"

"Not until you enlighten me on this theory of yours."

"Think about it! You kill the Narrator, what happened after that?"

"I beat Mark Flynn. I really don't see where this is going if this is part of it. I thought I was supposed to be losing it, not beating the guy who made the new class of XWF shit their pants."

"Right, but you needed Azrael Erebus' help to get you the win."

"No I didn't! That motherfucker came out on his own accord, I didn't ask him to."

Once more, Luca broke out in a laugh, loosening his grip just a little bit.

"Come on, I still don't get it."

"Okay, now look at ya. You lost this match, your big return match."

"Wait. So a guy who didn't even pin me gets the win off someone too busy playing parody than actually put up a fight and that's on me? Nah, I don't see it that way. Loverboy played smart there, some shit I woulda done."

"Are you even listening to yourself right now?" she asked with a horrified expression on her face. As if she walked in on Shane jamming potatoes up his asshole or something.

"Nah man, she did that once. She's much more freaked out right now than she was then. Wait a second does this guy actually have some semblance of what the fuck he's talking about?"

"Barely. Seriously though? Something you woulda done? Comparing him to you? You're way worse off than I thought. Oh my god, I don't even know where to start."

"With what?"

"Getting you back to your former glory. Shit, you're like a husk of yourself and it's sad. Also embarrassing as fuck. Watching you give someone props and shit. Christ, it's like you traded your dick for shitty coke or something. What's next? Are you gonna cry about actors like Azrael?"

"Hey!" Luca almost screamed as he tugged harder on her hand and pulled her a few inches closer, and widened his eyes as far as they could without his eyeballs rolling out of their sockets. "Even at my lowest, I'll never be that much of a pussy."

"And yet here you are, losing to Loverboy Vinnie Lane. You're so fucking far from the mark that you were probably better of showing up to Warfare. Lucky for you though, you have Vinnie boy again next week and with me training you in the art of being yourself, there's no way you're gonna fail again. If you do you're dead to me and you're gonna have to find another camera operator who's willing to be an accomplice to murder and you'll be stuck with Ronnie boy because I sure as hell ain't gonna be taking care of him."

That was all it took. Luca's grip loosened completely, his hand fell from her's to his side as his face looked locked into place. Mouth agape. Eyes wide. The faintest of all smiles dotting the corners of his lips. Looking down with only his eyes for a moment, he raised both of his arms slowly and started a slow clap. A slow clap that crescendo'd into a roaring round of applause, complete with screamed cheers.

"When the fuck did you grow a dick?"

"What?"

"That shit just came outta your mouth, right? It wasn't Ray or whatever the fuck this narrator's name is talking for you? A fuckin' bitch tellin' me what to do and y'know what? I must be losin' it because I'm actually gonna listen to you! Look at me, gone off the fuckin' deep end, eh?"

Another round of laughter as Julia rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, can we please go?"

"Depends, can we put Roy in the trunk?"

Hey guys don't I have a say in this?

"Trunk sounds fine."

Oh, son of a fucking bitch they're walking towards me. Fuck's sake Jules, you wanna touch me like that, you gotta take me out to dinner first! Luca shoves me into some douchebag's car, causing me to smack the back of my head off the passenger's side door. With his hands still wrapped tightly around my shirt, he lifts me off the ground and smashes the side of my head onto the hood.

And then, everything goes black.

---

I sit, with my back up against the wooden back of a park bench. I don't quite know why the Lord called me to this place in particular, but far be it for me to ask him that question. It obviously had something to do his plan, his goal. His glorious cause. No matter what this field trip entailed, I know it'll be divine. Heavenly, oh yes. Even with the bright sun shooting down Hell's heat upon the earth, nothing could stop this. Nothing would if it could, once faced with the prospect of aiding the Lord, anyone devout, pious man will find it within himself to do anything. Anything at all. Thankfully, the Lord doesn't just come to anyone with requests, or else there'd be a little bit of competition in the ranks. People forget who they're supposed to be pleasing and instead abuse His trust to carry out any vendettas that they can think to perform.

I could've been lost on that train of thought all day, had it not been for the timely appearance of a man beside me. Some scrawny Hispanic with a jet black bowl cut and bangs that covered his eyes takes a seat beside me, tapping me on the shoulder. Probably to check if I'm still alive. I twitch, before turning my head to face him dead on, and he sticks out his hand for a handshake, which I accept without hesitation. A friendly smile crosses my face as an invisible weight drops from his shoulders.

"Hello," the man says as I try to push away the nagging sensation building in my chest. A signal from the Lord. This is the one. Now all I have to do is get some information out of him. "The name's Omar. Omar Guzman."

Alright. He just handed me everything I needed to know on a silver platter. After a few brief seconds of silence, I snap out of my confusion long enough to stammer out something, anything that would make this one sided "conversation" seem more natural.

"Nice to meet you. Christopher Harmon."

There, a name. That should keep up this friendly facade long enough for me to get away without having to do much more. Though, curiosity starts to get the better of me and I start to ponder aloud:

"Do you always introduce yourself to strangers like this?"

"Nah man, I'm just in a good mood I guess."

Killing people for the Lord puts me in a good mood. Doesn't mean I go around socializing after doing it. No, there's something more to this. There has to be.

"Well, that's interesting. I have to go now."

I really should've left once he introduced himself, but now the overwhelming sense of dread, mixed with the already nagging tingling of the Lord calling his mark was getting too much for me. If I stick around any longer, I just know something's going to happen. He nods with a forlorn look on his face, as if I personally offended him and I get off the bench. Picking a random direction, I start to walk off, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my cell phone. With a series of button presses that I've memorized through repetition, I click the call button and press the phone up to me ear to hear a heavily distorted voice on the other end.

"Yes?"

"Scribe. I have a name for you."

I shoot a glance back to the bench, where I see my new acquaintance doing the same thing as me. Talking on the phone. Likely doing the exact same thing.

"Which is?"

"Omar Guzman."

It's fake. I know it is but I can't help but want to play along. After a few excruciating moments of silence, The Scribe confirms my suspicions. Without responding I hang up the phone to and keep my eyes lingering on Mr. Not Guzman. The look on his face assures me that Christopher Harmon doesn't exist. Good, I'd hate for someone innocent to get pegged for my actions.

Sliding the phone into my pocket, I take off. Out of the park. As far away as possible from Not Guzman.

It appears the Organization may be onto me.