It's a stormy night in middle Amerikkka, dark and wet. The lightning flashes break the darkness just long enough to see the branches shaking. Inside a one bedroom apartment there's a man sleeping tightly wrapped in a blanket. He doesn't know that his dog is roaming the short hallway from his bedroom to the living room, or that his front door is white open, and a stranger is inside doing the dishes. He does know that there's a stack of bills on his table, most are past due, and yet the stranger cleaning his kitchen has left a stack of cash to help pay the bills off. He doesn't know that his living room has been cleaned and organised, either. No, he just sleeps on while his dog roams and sniffs the stranger in the kitchen. What he is about to know is that the stranger has finished the dishes, and is making their way to his bedroom. He's also about to know that the stranger is standing upright in the doorway to the bedroom, and has just flicked the lights on. He sits up and looks around the room, adjusting his eyes to the blinding light, and jolting awakening.

His eyes slowly fixate on the figure in the doorway of his bedroom. Blinking three times he slowly speaks, "Kropotkin?" The stranger tosses a notepad over to the now awake man, he picks it up and slowly reads it aloud. "Hello, William. I've been away doing some soul searching. I'm back and would like you to join me again as my camera man. Are you interested?" He thinks about the stack of bills on the table, the job he's working as a labourer in a warehouse, the apartment he has, the dog he adopted, the date he has on Friday with the cute girl from the coffee shop, and the fact that last time he went along he barely got paid, and it only lasted two weeks. He weighs all of the factors and thinks this over. The decision is a large one, and it shouldn't have been asked in this manner. As he weighs the options he watches the shadows dance on the wall, he thinks about the lump forming in his throat, and about his dog, who he just notices is not in his room. William thinks about all of this and more as he slowly forms a thought in his mind.

The answer comes out of his mouth low and slow, almost a whisper, barely audible. "No. I can't, I'm sorry. Last time I lost my job, and my apartment. I slept in my car, and struggled to find work for weeks. My family refused to help me, and I fell into debt hard. Now, I'm so indebted that I can barely breathe. Can you promise me that I'll make more than a pocketful of ones and change?" Kropotkin shrugs and shakes their head. He rolls his finger in a gesture to indicate William should flip the page. He slowly does, and begins to read aloud again. "I understand, I wish I could offer more, but I cannot right now. I can offer you a chance at more in life than slaving away at a job that doesn't value you. I can offer you a chance to see more of the world than this corner you call home, and I can offer you a chance to expand yourself, but not financial success. I've never believed in that as a motivator for doing things, you know that." He pauses at looks at the masked figure. "I'm sorry pal, but I need money to get by. I'll always support you, but I can't come along." Kropotkin moves towards William and rests a palm on his shoulder for a brief second before turning and walking out of the room, switching the light off as they do. They silently leave the apartment and close the door behind them. William won't find out for hours that his debt is nearly eliminated, but that won't matter.

The storm outside has yet to let up, and it shows no signs of stopping. Kropotkin pulls their coat closer to them, and begins to walk through the rain and wind, looking for shelter. They sees a nearby overpass and move towards it, slowly and surely. A broken off branch from a tree flies by them, and smacks into a parked car, followed by a trail of leaves. The coat is clenched tighter, and the steps more determined. A gust of wind almost knocks them over, but they don't give in, and trudge forward, eventually making it to the shelter. Underneath the overpass there's a collection of people huddled, trying to stay warm. Kropotkin huddles moves by them, and sees a dimly lit fire barely flickering with the wind. They toss some paper into it to help it burn, even if it's only momentary. One person is scuttled away from the others, and without a jacket, Kropotkin moves over to them, and hands off the jacket they're wearing. The person looks up, and manages to speak, "Thanks." As the wind and storms press on, Kropotkin sits down with their back to the concrete wall, and tries to relax.

As the storm blows through, and the night passes, Kropotkin shuts their eyes and eventually drifts off to sleep. When they are awakened by the sun, the man from earlier is sitting by them, still wearing the jacket. He gets up, and helps Kropotkin get up as well. "Ya dint need to give me yer coat, ya could've kept yaself warm." Kropotkin shakes his head, and pulls a notepad from his back pocket, along with a pen. They jot down a few notes and hand it to the man. He doesn't read it aloud, just nodding as he skims it. "Yer mute, eh? That's fine. I'm Pete." He passes the notepad back, and Kropotkin jots down another few notes and hands it back. Pete reads it slowly. "Eh, nice to meet you, Kopuhkin. Whachu doin heer?" Once again the notepad is passed back and forth. "Icey. Wull, good luck in yer rasslin'." Once again the notepad is passed and he reads is slowly. "Nah, I ain't no good with the e lec tronics. I cant be no camruh man. Sorry." Kropotkin reaches into their pocket and hands Pete some money, and Pete hands them back their coat, and they head off.

There's a diner in the distance, and Kropotkin aims towards it. They haven't eaten in what feels like days, and last night's brief sleep was the most sleep experienced in nearing a fortnight now. The winds haven't ceased, and the cold from last night's downpour is crisp and biting. The streets are nearly devoid of humans, so no one looks strangely at a masked figure trudging down them. The cafe grows in size, as the clouds begin to swell and pour down more rain. They clash as thunder and lightning rip through the skies once more. The heavens cry now as Kropotkin finishes trudging to the cafe. They arrive at the counter, and are greeted by a warm and smiling man. His brown hair is disheveled, and looks as if he hasn't been to bed in days, dark patches under his eyes drag them down, and have appeared to age him. His voice is weak, and tired. "Hello, what I can get for you?" Kropotkin jots something down on a napkin and slides it to the man. "Three fried eggs, black coffee, 3 slices of bacon, and a piece of toast. Ok, it'll be out in a minute." He turns around and pauses for a second, thinking. Without turning around he ponders aloud, "What's with the costume anyway?" Not expecting an answer he goes to work making Kropotkin's food for him.

The server continues his conversation with himself as he makes the food. "I guess you're in town for the back to school fair or something. Anyway, nice to meecha. Hope the storm didn't trouble you too much. Oh, look your bacon is ready. Mmmm, love the smell of cooking eggs. Almost done there. Yep, all ready for ya. Here you go." He hands Kropotkin the plate, and some cutlery, before setting down a coffee mug, and filling it with coffee. Kropotkin hands him another note that he reads and smirks. "So, a mute professional wrestler, eh? That's cool. Whacha in town for?" He waits as Kropotkin scribbles some more and hands it to him. While the server reads it, Kropotkin slides a bite of egg through a hole in the mouth, and chews it. "Hmm, looking for a new camera man? Alright, I'll come. Name's Mark, bee tee dub. Lemme just tell the boss." Mark goes and shuts down the kitchen, scribbles something on a piece of paper, throws off his apron, and walks to the other side of the counter. He sits near Kropotkin, and waits for them to finish their meal. "So, what's the plan? Are we gonna go film you kicking some dude's teeth in?" Kropotkin pauses for a moment, and retrieves from the pocket of their coat a copy of The Conquest of Bread, and gently places it on the counter by Mark. Two fingers gesture from Mark's head to the book, and a nod, before returning to finish eating. "You want me to read this? Ok, but Emma Goldman's essays are better. Sure, she doesn't define an ideology as hard as he did, she's just a more interesting read. Besides, if we're going to read into leftist thinkers shouldn't we be working on Trotsky? He had it all figured out." Kropotkin just nods as they sip their coffee.

The masked Kropotkin finishes eating, and stands to leave, Mark follows. "Let's go back to my place. I gotta pack." The pair silently leave the diner.



Middle America, two hours later in Mark's trailer:

Mark is sitting in a chair with a camera aimed at Kropotkin, who is sitting on a couch with a cat in their lap. Mark's voice can be heard as Kropotkin strokes the cat. "Hello XWF, this is Kropotkin, they've returned after a small absence. It's ok if you don't remember them, but you will know them now. They're placed in the main event for the next Saturday Night Savage, in a gauntlet match. They'll start off against James Raven, which we suppose is a big deal since he's the Universal Champion, but that doesn't impress us. We don't know much about you, Raven, and we don't care to. We're also slated to see Kropotkin face off against Ben Gazzi, who looks like a DAESH reject. But, then we guess any fool can cover themselves in a Shemagh and scream slightly edgy things to play terrorist. And this other person, Marlow Raxis? We've never heard of you, and don't foresee great things coming from you. Perhaps the greatest achievement you can ever hope for is to be second place to someone else. Let's cut the crap and do some mutual aid, peeps. You all aid Kropotkin by laying down and not being a burden. Sounds good? Glad."