Gunfire. Screams. Children cry. Warmth. A Pest feels warmth. He looks down, it's coming from his chest. He places his hand on the warmth. Blood. He's bleeding from the chest. Young. His hands are young. The Pest looks around, and sees it. He is in Nam Dinh. Clover is firing a rifle into a hut. Laughing. His attention is turned away from Pest.

Pest:Clover! I got shot.

Clover turns his attention towards Pest. He sees his friend is bleeding, and rushes. He tries to make it to the Pest. He is screaming out a name, but the Pest cannot hear what it is. Someone holds him as he falls down. Clover is running, and trips. What happens next is too quick. As Clover falls Pest wakes up in a hospital in Okinawa. The Doctors think he is asleep. They speak to his squad mate. Frank "Razor" Lopez, a tall Puerto Rican, young, muscular. Not as brutal as Clover, but not a man to contend with. He speaks slowly, a Gook left a blade 6 inches in Razor's jaw. Since then he speaks little.

Doctor:And what's his name?

Razor:*Garbled* But we all call him Pest.

Doctor:Why do you call him Pest?

Razor:Because, esse, when he comes down on a village, it's like Pestilence riding into town. Everything wilts.

Doctor:So, he was shot outside of Nam Dihn?

Razor:Yeah, some shitty village. Dude took a round in the chest from a sniper. We lit the village up after calling in a copter. Clover didn't make it. Pobrecito took a Punji.

The Pest blacks out again. When he awakes he is in his room. At the house. Aaron and Angela are a sleep in their rooms. Angela has just left The Boy's room. He was cold. Shaking. Sweating. Hand to his chest. The scar. The sweet scar from the day he died. It's wet. He pulls the hand to his face. Blood. No wound. Blood. Blinks. Smells. Blood. Still Blood. A voice breaks the silence.


Barbie:Hello, James. Do you feel that wound?

The Pest gulps

Pest:Yes. It has been burning lately.

Barbie:Good. That's my gift to you. I traced it every night when I laid next to you. I placed my hand over it. Pretended I could heal it with my love. Now, now, I let it burn. I want you to remember me. And remember Nam Dihn. The day you became the monster the girl tried to save.

Pest:The world is no fairy tale, Barbie.

She gets close to The Pest's face. Sounds. Not words. Sounds scream in Pest's face. He does not react.

Barbie:I know life is not a fucking fairy tale! BUT YOU BECAME A MONSTER!

Pest:I was always a monster. Vietnam just assisted me in seeing it.

Barbie:I tried to save you. I died trying to save you.

Pest:There was no saving me. There is no humanity to rescue. I am the God of Emptiness. I am the Lord of Suffering. I am Pestilence riding his horse. I am the beast that hides under beds. I am why children check their candy on Halloween. There is no one safe from me or my hate.

Blood begins to drop from Barbie's chest and hands. All over Pest's room.

Barbie:The monster who hurts little girls. The monster who cannot go after people his own age. The failed monster.

The Pest raises to his feet. He begins to scream in Barbie's face.

Pest:I AM THE GODDAMNED GOD OF EMPTINESS! I MAKE THOSE WHO EARN MY IRE SUFFER! I AM THE MONSTER YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT! EVERYTHING SHE PROMISED WOULD HAPPEN HAPPENED! I AM THE BEAST FROM WHICH NIGHTMARES ARE FORMED! AND I WILL NOT FUCKING BE STOPPED.

Barbie backs up and fades away. Standing in her place is Angela. Bright. The lights come on and Pest is standing there, a pair of black pants adorn his legs, feet bare. His chest appears as if he has been clawing it. Bleeding. His clawing has drawn blood. There is no blood on the floor, however. Barbie and her bloodied wounds were all in his head. Angela looks at the Pest. Aaron is standing behind her trembling. The Pest notices the boy and his fear. He moves to the boy.

Pest:What is the problem, Boy? Do you not like seeing the monster lose his mind?

Aaron:What?

Pest:I am the God of Emptiness, boy. I am the monster you dream of. And here I am, losing my mind. Dreaming of the day I got this. My medal. My goddamned invitation to the club. And clawing at it. Trying to remove the bullet.

Angela:You're scaring him.

Pest:Then put him to bed. GET OUT OF HERE, BOY! Unless you want to see your future. See the Monster behind the screen. See what happens after a life of brutality. See what happens when even Satan himself realizes he is mortal. Do you know what happened to bullet, boy?

He shakes his head.

Pest:It got stuck in a bone. I almost missed the end of the war because of it. I had begged the doctors to let me go back to combat.

Aaron cowers more behind Angela. Angela puts herself more in the way.

Angela:You need to quit, James. He's terrified.

Pest:Then put him to bed. I will be going to the basement.

The Pest pushes past them and moves to the kitchen. He sees a bottle of whiskey and grabs at it. It's not real. Just an illusion. Clover is standing in the kitchen.

Clover:Hey, kid. Glad to see you lived.

Pest:I buried you. I handed the flag to your sister.

Clover:You did good, kid. Except you left me there. To rot.

Pest:No. I saw your body, they fixed you good. Your sister didn't know what happened. I sat with her and told her. Told her how I watched it. How it was quick. I held you.

Clover:No. You didn't. You passed out before I died. You didn't even say goodbye.

Pest:I remember!

Clover:You made the memories up. I died and you did nothing. Did you even mourn?

Pest;You were my friend. The last real friend I had.

Clover:You're lying.

Clover vanishes and the Pest moves to a chair and sits. He faces the wall, and sees a glass on the table. Clover's face appears once more. He picks the glass up and throws it at the wall. Angela comes from the Boy's bedroom. She is angry.

Angela:God of Emptiness, huh? More like a child right now.

Pest:Something is wrong, Girl.

Angela:Yeah, your attitude and behavior.

Pest:No. I am seeing things. Ghosts.

Angela:There's no such thing as ghosts.

The Pest rests his head in his hands.

Pest:Then I am hallucinating. And I cannot handle that. I saw Clover. And Barbie. I dreamed about Vietnam. And it was not one of the pleasant memories. It was reliving the day Clover died, and the day I got shot. Two weeks after that, Razor took a bullet trying to save some Slope kid. His mother did not understand why he played hero. But, she was proud of her son. I had to hold his sister back as she ran at his coffin. She was twelve, and wanted to be buried with her brother.

Angela:How old are you?

Pest:I just turned fifty nine. I have had forty five years of suffering. Forty Five years of hell.

Angela:Is this about your age, or your upcoming match?

Pest:Neither. I think I am just getting caught up in my head. I need to go to the basement. Perhaps I shall record my spoken thoughts. Tomorrow, I make an appointment to speak to a specialist. Is the boy asleep?

She nods.

Pest:Good. In the morning, I shall speak to him. And take him to the store. Perhaps I can purchase something to appease him. I truly am sorry, Barbie.

Angela:Angela. My name is Angela.

Pest:What did I call you?

Angela:Barbie.

Pest:Ah, yes. I loved her. I see her ghost some times.

He gets to his feet and moves to the basement. It's cold. He turns on a heater and sits there. The cold reminds him of Okinawa. He shivers thinking about there.

Pest:This will be uploaded to the XWF website soon, not to address my opponents. But to give people a chance to understand me. I am the Monster, the real Monster. There is no other Monster that will be in this match come Madness. None. Not Ghost Tank, not Herod. Not Hysteria. No, they are boys in a club at playing men. Boys who will never understand the things I have done, and the reasons why. They will never watch as their friends breathe their last. They will never understand the feeling of euphoria that overwhelms the senses as a little girl screams in agony beneath them. I do. I understand all of this and more. I do understand what it's like to be hated, and feared.

My opponents, should you even consider two of them that, have no knowledge of hell. No, there is no comparing them to myself. There is no equal ground for us. Except Hysteria. Hysteria is the only one who stands a chance of understanding me, and that is slim. He is also the only real viable threat in the ring. It will inevitably be a contest to see who will pin Ghost Tank first, as are most matches that Ghost Tank is involved in. But, I am not here to explain to you how weak my opponents are. No, they hold little sway in my life at the moment.

I am here to inform you all, that I am unwell. Consider this a chance to understand the Beast you all hate. Yes, I do know that you hate me. There are no children wearing my face on their clothing. There are no people lining up around the block for my signatures, nor for my books. I do not write them, and I will not do signings. The issue of me in the Pagoda report was the best selling, though. Because you all had your curiosities piqued by me. You all have this notion that I am some sort of inhuman creature. That I am less than you. You are not mistaken, but you have things reversed. I am the beast who freed himself. I allowed myself to release the saddles of human constraint, and allowed myself the freedom of life. I chose to go back and live in the jungles. I chose to bury myself, and allow the dirt from there remove what ties I had to the modern world. I chose to let my daughter die, for her continued displeasure in my life. I allowed her to die so she would not impede my freedom.

And you feel you're superior to me because I have let these things happen. No, world. You will all recognize my superiority soon enough. You shall all see that the reason you hate me is because you wish you could be me. Men, I know you. When that little teenage girl in the low cut top and short skirt walks by, you look. You think you shouldn't, but you do. And believe me, if she offered, you would lift up her skirt, and ram your tarse inside of her until you could no longer hold an erection. Whether she is 14 or 40, it does not matter to you. You only choose to pretend like it does so you do not look like the monsters. When you catch your daughter and the boy she is dating having sex in your bed. You wish to murder him. But you do not. Because it is wrong. You catch glimpses of your daughters and their friends, and you know it excites you. Their taut little bodies in their bikinis or leggings. You do not care that they are your flesh and blood. You wish you could do something about it. I do. I am you, but with less restrictions.

It is such a travesty that I am the one who is having these issues while I do exactly what all of you wish you could. Every one of you wishes you could be me. And yet, you hide behind this façade of dislike of me. Who is the real coward and ungodly creature? You, or me? These are the thoughts of the Beast from under your bed, in his hour of true madness. Goodnight, world.