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Early December 2018 | Asmodeus Air Base | Berlin, Germany

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Sebastian Duke has been in his cell at Asmodeus Air Base just outside of Berlin, Germany for two weeks now. He has seen virtually no one aside from the few guards and his son Thaddeus on one occasion. For his entire life, Sebastian has been a cold and calculated individual. Much of that had to do with the fact that his father Asmodeus had been his rock and guided him when he’d start acting impulsive. It was a steel fisted guidance. Your King of Darkness had never been treated with kid gloves.

With Asmodeus’ death on Christmas Day of 2016, he lost that rock and the steel fisted guidance that accompanied him. Too many sycophants surrounded the Illuminatus leader so when he spoke, the response was always “yes, sir.” No one would deny him. No one would argue with him. One could make the argument that Jake Anderson, Sebastian’s best friend and most trusted adviser, could have stopped his impulses. While probably true, Jake was taken away by an assassins bullet meant for the Illuminatus leadership. Sebastian’s own half-brother, Theo Pryce, did step into Jake’s role upon his death but he was a busy man that led his own life away from Sebastian Duke’s Illuminatus. Theo also meddled less than either their father Asmodeus or Jacob. He’d state the facts and offer his advise and opinions, but ultimately the final decisions were always Sebastian’s. For better or for worse. Either Theo just didn’t care enough to meddle, or he knew he wasn’t the man that made the decisions. Probably a little bit of both.

Ultimately, the deaths of both Asmodeus and Jake in 2016 is what has led Sebastian Duke to the predicament he’s currently in. Coupled with the complete break of his relationship with his son and the impending War Crimes trial stemming from the incident in Iraq in which he acted on impulse rather than hard evidence resulting in the death of 400 Iraqi children, he’s lost and confused. Being left alone with his thoughts for two weeks, it gave him ample time for self-reflection. Though very little of his time has been spent thinking about the 400 children. Most of the time he thinks of Jacob. He thinks of Asmodeus. Only after thinking of them does he confront his decision to level that school in Iraq. He wonders to himself briefly that had either man been alive, would he have acted without the solid intelligence? Would he have sent his war planes to level what turned out to be a school, and not a warehouse harboring ISIS terrorists that nearly decapitated the Illuminatus Nation?

He also reflects on his son and their relationship. He wonders how the hell it went so far south so damn quickly. Many forget that this cold and calculated man who is sometimes impulsive, does indeed have a heart, and he makes that fact very easy to forget more often than not. Most forget the heartbreak he suffered when he cradled his dying sons head in his arms. He masks those emotions by turning even colder still. “A man never shows his feelings, Sebastian,” his father always preached. “You bottle them up and crush them into the pit of your stomach. That’s where they lie for all eternity.”

Sebastian Duke, lying on his back on his cot within his cell, his fingers locked beneath his head stares into the space above him. “Mr. Duke,” calls a voice from outside the cell in his deep southern dialect. Sebastian looks over toward the voice and stands to his feet. He walks toward the bars and the man extends his right hand through the bars. “Lincoln Tritter, Director of Illuminatus Intelligence.”

Duke extends his hand and they shake briefly, but he says nothing.

“I was sent to interrogate you in regards to the Iraq incident,” Tritter explains.

”With all due respect Mr. Tritter,” Duke begins. ”I’m not going to speak with you. Anything and everything I say, I’ll say in front of the panel.”

“That is your right, but I’d advise against it,” Tritter responds. In his mind, Sebastian believes Director Tritter sounds much like his half brother Theo.

”You work for my son, Tritter,” Duke replies. ”Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

“Because,” Tritter’s voice lowers. “I… am your way out of this.”

Sebastian Duke steps back, eyeballing who he percieves to be his opponent, wondering if he’s not wrong. He wonders if maybe Director Tritter is an impartial voice merely doing his job. One with no stake in the outcome. He knows relatively little about Lincoln Tritter except that he’s from the state of Georgia, he once worked free lance Intelligence for the Catholic Church, and finally, he now works exclusively for his idiot kid.

“We can do this the hard way, Mr. Duke,” Tritter states before popping a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth. ”Or… you can avoid this trial and all that comes with it… by giving everything to Thaddeus Duke.”

Sebastian stands there silently for the moment. ”I want to talk to my brother,” he informs the Director.

“I can… probably arrange that.”

”What are the conditions? Spell it out for me.”

“You denounce your actions, Mr. Duke. You proclaim Thaddeus Duke the true and only leader of the Illuminatus Nation. You appeal to what’s left of your former men for unification. You instruct them to accept Thaddeus as their leader,” Tritter answers.

”And what do I get?”

“Your life. And the lives of your men.”

”That’s it? Lincoln, I have given...” he starts before Tritter interrupts him.

“Mr. Duke, you get spared the embarrassment of a trial. You get spared a most assuredly guilty verdict. You get spared your life. If you decide to follow this advice, then perhaps we can work out a nominal role for you within the Illuminatus.”

A short awkward silence ensues as both men measure each other up.

”Theo Pryce. Get him here quickly, or...”

“He’s already here, Mr. Duke,” Tritter interrupts. “Thaddeus anticipated you wanting to speak with Mr. Pryce and summoned his uncle. He’s been here for hours,” Tritter concludes. Director Tritter then looks to his right and snaps his fingers. A steel door creaks open and Tritter walks away as Theo Pryce appears.

”Sebastian,” Theo greets his brother.

”Did you talk to him?” he asks of his brother. To which, Theo nods confirmation. ”Did he tell you why he’s offering this to me?”

”He doesn’t want you to go on trial. He’s agonized over it since it became clear his side was going to win the war,” Pryce answers emphatically.

”What do you think?”

”You’d be an idiot not to do it.”

Sebastian stands silently.

”If you are found guilty the best you can hope for is life in prison,” Theo begins to explain. ”The worst, is you hang from the gallows,” Pryce pauses before dropping the other shoe. ”Along with the rest of the boys.

“So it’s pretty easy in my estimation. Do what Thaddeus wants, and save a whole lot of lives. Consider it atonement, for your epic bad decision.”

Sebastian paces a little bit. ”Y’know I was about to end all of it before Thaddeus and his men broke through the door in Paris.”

”He told me as much,” Theo replies. ”For what it’s worth, I’m glad Thad they stopped you. I think you have quite a bit still to offer, to him, to the Illuminatus Nation.”

Sebastian stands silently, pondering his dilemma.

”What the fuck would I do with myself?”

”I don’t understand the question.”

Sebastian retreats from the cell door and plops himself down on his cot. ”I’m a man of action, Theo. I always have been. It’s never been my M.O. to sit around twiddling my thumbs doing nothing.

“If I submit to this deal, I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life.”

”There’s plenty of shit, Sebastian. Stop feeling bad for yourself and man up. You could go into consulting. You’re a talented man when it comes to military operations. Yeah, you lost the war, but at the same time, the nephew had superior air power and that’s what turned the tide in his favor.”

”Who would I consult for?”

”You have a very high profile name. Once word is out that you are available for consultations, you could land government contracts with Defense departments, heads of state. There’s no limit really.

“You could go back into wrestling. You’re only 36...”

”Fuck off, I’m still 35.”

”Whatever.

“I could even sell you Decima if you wanted,” Theo offers, referring to his private security firm. ”It’s just sitting there collecting dust and I haven’t really been involved much lately.”

Sebastian stands up and approaches the bars again. ”I got some things to think about, little brother.”

”I’ll let you to it,” Theo replies as he starts for the door.

”Thanks for coming man,” he states genuinely.

”Had you called on me sooner, the nephew would be in that cell you’re in, and you’d be contemplating letting him live.”

Theo exits the cell area with a creak and a slam from the big heavy door. Sebastian stands there quietly contemplating his decision. He wonders too, if Theo is right. If he’d called him in, would this situation he’s in now be reversed? Hindsight is always 20/20, but still, he’s not sure even someone as gifted and intelligent as Theo Pryce is, could have stemmed the tide and changed the course of the war effort in his favor. The defeated Sebastian Duke then retreats and sprawls out on his cot and stares into the gray ceiling above as the scene fades.

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Is this the best you’ve got, XWF?

I don’t do much joking around, so obviously I’m 100% fucking serious. The state of the XWF is a fucking disgrace to the company I had on my fucking back for 4 fucking years. To think that the great names that have come through the curtain and graced the squared circle with their presence those 4 years have been reduced to some lame fucking run of the mill, cookie cutter, been there done that types is equally appalling and disturbing. Gone are the days of Mark Flynn and Luca Arzegotti. Gone are the days of the Unknown Soldier’s of the world. Gone are the days of the Theo Pryce’s and the Eli James of the XWF. I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud, but gone are the days of great championship holders like John, I’m about to throw up in my mouth a little, Madison.

Hell, even Vinnie Lane was a great compared to this disgrace of a roster. I mean, he did beat me right? He hasn’t let anyone forget about it in 5 years or whatever. I guess sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

Right Vince?

That once great roster is now reduced to a very small group of people that pretty much sound the fucking same as the next guy. How have we fallen so far? How are the powers that be so fucking bad at their jobs?

I am a legend in this business. I have been away for something like 3 years, maybe 4, I don’t know because I’ve lost count and I don’t care to even look it up. A legend returns to the ring in the company he helped makes famous and in his first match he gets to face…



Wait for it…



A no name curtain jerking scrub that would have a very hard time making a match opposite of Peter Fucking Gilmour even remotely competitive. It’s that fucking bad. Worse than that, it’s disrespectful to the men and women past AND present to put a man like me in the ring with a bonafide cunt like that.

But wait. There’s more.

Then you see fit to put me in a match with the biggest wind bag this side of Andromeda. Seriously Donovan, do you stop to even take a breath? Or do you just continuously drone on and on and hope people are still paying attention at the end? No one cares that you’re having a smoke on a fucking balcony with frozen coffee because your fucking infant is asleep in the house, apartment, whatever the fuck it is, who cares… Next.

You know a lot about me Donovan Blackwater. You know a ton, actually. In fact, you know way too much to be healthy. Are you some obsessed fucking stalker? Because seriously, I’m starting to think so. I mean, as soon as I made my intentions for last Warfare known, there you are making yourself heard and jumping all over my jock. Combine that with your insistence on my sexuality being that of a homosexual nature, it begs the question: are you projecting? It seems like a big deal to you. You make it an even bigger deal than it would be if it were even true. Look, I don’t care what or who you’re fucking, but don’t project your own sexuality onto me. It’s lazy and entirely not creative.

You got jokes to go with that knowledge, too. Lame jokes that elicit nothing more than an eye roll from the masses, but you got jokes nevertheless. I could go on and on about the Illuminatus and you can call it a cult or whatever you prefer, but it doesn’t matter. Let’s not let facts get in the way of your laughter. Who would I be to deprive you of such a thing?

Oh gee, he’s got eyeliner jokes, people. Azrael is that you?


Nah…


Couldn’t be. Azrael was at least half interesting. I mean, he should have been, since there were multiple beings inside him making him what he was. But alas, all is fair in love and Warfare right? Especially when he was so… tight with the owner of the company.

Donovan, far be it for me to explain how the XWF works and why things always seem so… dramatic. XWF cameras are with us at all times. If nothing happens why hit record? When something does, the able bodied XWF crews are there and ready to go with cameras in hand. Suggesting otherwise makes it sound like you’re trying to tell the worlds that everything that makes us who were are and the things that happen in our lives are staged or directed as if it were some kind of act. That’s a fools path, Blackwater. If you want an act in professional wrestling, or some team of writers to tell wrestler A to go in front of a camera and say shit about wrestler B, there are places for that.

This ain’t it.

It’s an interesting path you’re on though, I have to admit. Unfortunately for you, that path is a dead end that runs into a brick wall, but its an interesting path nevertheless. Donovan Blackwater, I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy our time together Wednesday night…


















In before Donnie boys next unfunny gay joke.



Fade.