Neil, just close your eyes. It'll all be over soon...

I can't believe I'm about to listen to this fucking voice, but what's going on in this house is just too fucked up. Looking around at this room that now looks like something out of a POW camp scene of Vietnam War movie, I decide to do as I'm told and close my eyes. Drifting on the edge of consciousness, I flash back to better times. Finally, eyes still closed, I wake up 12 years ago. Back to when things were somewhat normal...

I haven't opened my eyes yet, but I can see that I'm in a completely different place then I was just moments ago. It takes me a few moments, but then I finally realize it!

I'm in my family's house!

Specifically, my room. I look around and nothing seems out of the ordinary, except for the picture on my dresser. It's a picture of my brother and I.

Part of me wants to think that still having that picture is a good sign, it means that he hasn't gone off to the south to marry our fucking druggie cousin or whatever he ended up doing yet. I hear a voice I've heard a lot lately, but it sounds a lot less cold and sadistic now...

"Neil?"

I spin around and see in the doorway of my room the real Kim alongside Paul Burns, my best friend. Without thinking, I run up to them and hug them as tightly as I can. Paul decides to shove me off however, sending me toppling over to the ground.

"Hey man, I don't roll that way!"

We both laugh and he helps me back up to my feet.

Everything goes black and I hear the cold and twisted version of Kim's voice that I've been hearing for what feels like an eternity.

Wake up! Your break time is over! You hear me? Over!

What the fuck?

Don't you know, we can subject you to anything. Anything!

Nice repetition.

Shut up Neil, I swear to God I'll kill you.

No, you won't.

Yes, I will. Don't fucking tempt me.

I'm dropped hard back to reality, back into the grisly scene these psychos have created. However, none of that catches my attention this time. All I can focus on is one of the men who are still alive, tied to a chair in front of me. Dr. Fitzgerald, the oh so astute psychiatrist who claimed I was just a douchebag.

"Hey Fitzgerald, recognize me?"

I get as close to him as I possibly can, my nose touching his. He looks me in the eye, and I can see just how truly terrified he really is.

"N-n-n-no."

I reach to my face and my hand rubs against a mask. How this got on me is unknown, but I'm not complaining about it. A gun is laid on the table, and I reach for it. I press it against his temple, and then set it back on the table.

"Lucky you, you get to live."

I turn from him, trying to find the nearest door. I must've scoured every square inch of the fucking room, but there's no door. I do see a window however, it'll have to do.

The window's already open, and I dive out of it. Landing hard on the ground, I feel my nose bleeding under the mask. Ignoring it, I get up and rush to the car and hop in the back seat. The woman in the driver's seat questions me upon my return.

"Where are the others?"

"Still inside. They got it under control."

"Uh, okay then."

The driver and I continue to sit in utter silence, waiting for the other two to finish up...



"Another thank you to Paul Heyman for an easy workload this week. A triple threat match with Agony, who I've beaten twice, and Ursula Areano, a woman with an odd interest in my sex life for some reason.

Agony must've realized he had no chance in hell of winning this match because I'm in it and is trying not to embarrass himself by saying something stupid in preparation for this match. There really isn't much to say about him. He's a stupid man who likely fakes Split Personality Disorder to get around his apparent lack of intelligence. You can tell a man who wants people to think he's a cannibal isn't that bright. The only thing you will eat this week is your lack of words, Agony. Think for once in your life. Think about that.

Ursula is a strange case. I mean, I don't know German so you don't see me trying to state what German words mean. Judging by your words, you clearly don't know English, and here you are trying to turn a word you obviously don't know, 'sado-masochism' into a very poorly executed gay joke. Keep on with your high and mighty idiocy and wonder where it all went wrong on Tuesday. Try to comprehend with your lack of English knowledge the phrase 'Your winner, Neil Capra!' I advise you moving forward to focus on the match, and not the sex life of your opponents, Ursie.

Fuck.

You guys make this so easy."