A Lifetime or Two Ago

On one hand, Luca regretted not asking more questions. On the other, he knew that keeping his trap shut would be better in the long-run. That bit of knowledge did little to keep his heart from racing or his hands from shaking as he waited, crouched in an alley behind an abandoned warehouse in Hell's Kitchen.

He knew the man he was waiting for. Or, rather, he knew of him. "Big" John Bosco. The nickname was ironic, Bosco was 5'4 on his tiptoes but what he lacked in size he made up for in ruthlessness.

Luca cursed under his breath and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he had stolen a couple hours before. His hands shook as he fumbled to place one of the cigarettes in his mouth and attempted to light it. Once he finally managed to light the damn thing, he took a drag before immediately coughing uncontrollably, dropping the lighter on the ground.

He thought he was clever. Posing as a homeless man. No one would suspect him. No one notices a drifter. Unfortunately, that meant his tattered clothes did little to protect him from the icy winds that stabbed him with each gust. The only thing he didn't skimp on was the gloves.

The cigarette smoldered as it hung from his lips, ashes scattering in the wind.

He heard footsteps, and after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed the lighter and stumbled out of the alley.

He literally ran into John Bosco.

"Shit, sorry man," he muttered, awkwardly patting Bosco on the shoulder.

Bosco grimaced. "It, it's fine. Gimme one of them cigarettes and we'll call it square."

Luca coughed into his elbow.

"Don't see how that makes it even, but sure." He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the pack, pulling out one of the cigarettes and the lighter before handing both to his mark.

"It's freezin' out here man, why are you out here?" Bosco asked as he lit his cigarette and handed the lighter back to Luca.

"Got no place else to be I suppose."

Luca slid the lighter back into his jacket pocket, before letting his hand hover above the spot in his waistband where he kept his gun.

"There's gotta be one of them shelters 'round here somewhere."

Luca pulled the gun from his waistband.

"Ain't lookin' for no handouts."

Bosco's eyes widened when he saw the gun pointed at him, but he couldn't draw fast enough to save his life.

The blood that splashed against Luca's face and clothes somehow felt both warm.

Luca's blood, on the other hand, ran ice cold.

He stared wide-eyed at the limp, lifeless body of "Big" John Bosco for a few seconds.

Then he ran.

Am I Speakin' Norwegian Here?

I don't think you guys get it.

Matter of fact, I know you guys don't. At this point I don't know how to get this through your thick skulls beforehand, but I'll keep on trying.

In short, you guys are fucked.

I know you don't see it like that. No one ever likes to think they don't have it in them. It goes against what our parents told us as kids. You know, you can do whatever you put your mind to? That's bullshit. A fucking lie. No matter how many times Justice Drake tries to hype himself up before this match, there's not a fucking universe that exists where he's going to do anything of note. No, he'll get tagged in, run right at me, then collapse to the mat when I poke him in the shoulder because compared to him, I might as well be omnipotent.

But enough about Drake, let's talk about Alexis. See, I don't need to be on the hook to fire back at the pink haired fuckboy.

Let's chat, Alexis.

Let's have a nice long chat about whatever the fuck you're on about.

How we're, as you put it, "complete, insecure, fakes."

Wow, see I thought you were playing checkers when everyone else was playing chess (including Drake, if you count swallowing the pawns and trying to shove the knight up his nose as playing, that is). I never thought you were actually just throwing the pieces across the room hoping to hit either Austin or myself with them.

While we aren't even in the fuckin' room.

Insecure, like the girl who inflates her record by counting kicking out of pin attempts in unsanctioned matches as victories?

Like the girl who willingly teams with Justice Drake so he can be the fall guy forever?

Fake, like the girl who's supposedly a "loner" and supposedly "tries not to get too close to people" who almost immediately has a fuckin' tag team partner because those two things don't contradict each other at all?

I'm sorry, are you actually trying to talk shit or are you just venting the things you hate about yourself to us and just expecting us to play fuckin' therapist? Because the only therapy you'll get from either of us is some physical therapy after we break you in half on Wednesday. Real talk. Neither of us are in the mood to play doctor to some confused twat who can't decide which public persona she wants to present.

Maybe when you stop being a straight up scrub and #gitgud you'll realize that Austin and I, we aren't fronting when we talk about ourselves. We don't need to. We're the fucking elite. We are the one percent. While the rest of the XWF stumbles around like chickens with their heads cut off, we're the ones cutting the heads off the stupid cocks.

Judge. Jury. Executioner.

And just like the ninety-nine percent, you go straight on that Occupy movement slacktivism bullshit. Them Occupy fucks were out there on their shitty overpriced cell phones, drinking overpriced coffee, driving automobiles, so on and so forth completely oblivious or downright willfully ignorant of the fact that all those things were made by the people they hate.

Just like you two.

You're so quick to jump on Shane's nuts when he's the guy who, and I know I'm about to drop the fuckin' bomb on ya so be prepared, signs your fuckin' paychecks.

He's the reason you're a fuckin' champion because if it weren't for him, there'd be no X-Treme championship.

By all means keep ignoring that point though.

Slacktivist.

And one last thing before I go, since you're bodying yourself so well on your own like a good fucking drone ought to.

What was that little crack you made to Austin? That cutesy little logic bomb?

"In fact, in your "amazing" career, you haven't EVER held a major accolade or even a XWF championship!"

Right, since titles and accolades, the ultimate corporate prop are the only things Alexis Riot thinks are conducive to having an amazing wrestling career. Tell me again how you're some kind of rebel.

Seriously, you're the most corporate friendly "rebel" I've ever seen.

The definition of a sell out.

But, by that logic of yours, if you compare your accolades with mine, just like your partner, I might as well be omni-fuckin'-potent.

Check.

Fucking.

Mate.

Because, get this, I'm actually playing chess.

You're lucky I don't need my girls to be smart, because you hopping on my dick is the closest thing your braindead ass will ever get to greatness.

A Lifetime or Two Ago 2: Electric Boogaloo

He'd cleaned up.

The gun?

In a storm drain on the other side of town.

His bloody clothes?

Burned.

Just like he was taught.

Still, his heart pounded. No matter how many deep breaths he took, he couldn't calm himself down. His mind raced at a million miles per hour. Thoughts about what he'd done, who he'd killed, if anyone saw, whether or not Bosco had a family. Everything, yet nothing. None of the thoughts stayed long enough for him to focus; they merely arrived and immediately left in the blink of an eye.

He'd thrown up twice, and he still felt queasy.

The heater was cranked to the max, but he was still cold and numb.

A knock came at the door.

For a second, he felt at peace. It was the police, he reasoned. He wasn't careful enough, and here they were there to take him in. It wasn't opportune, but at that moment the only emotion he could feel for that outcome was relief. It was over, at the very least.

He made his way to the door of the safehouse; a small, one bedroom apartment in the same borough where Bosco met his end. A couple deep breaths later, a fake, empty smile found its way to his face and he pulled the door open.

And his manufactured confidence shattered.

There were no police at the door.

Just his on/off girlfriend Olivia Di-something. He'd only realized he'd forgotten her name when he saw her.

She didn't look much better than him, her eyes eyes puffy and red, black stains running down her cheeks. Breathing shallow and rapidfire.

"Luca," she stammered, grabbing tightly onto his shoulder.

Luca felt ready to collapse, to fold up, and snap.

"I, I had to see you, Johnny told me you were here. I just, I uh, don't know how to say it any other way so I'll just come right out with it. I'm pregnant."

It was surreal. An out of body experience, almost. He heard the words come from her mouth and yet, he couldn't feel anything towards it. It didn't feel real, not compared to what he'd done.

And she'd finally noticed he looked to be off in space.

"Luca?"