Okay, so here's the thing about Mark Zuckerberg....

Madison's voice rings about inside the largely empty hallway as she addresses XWF Universal Champion The Engineer. He looks about in seeming disinterest, but Madison keeps talking anyway likely because she knows him well enough to be assured he's always listening.

...he MIGHT be a Jewish homunculus.

The Engineer tips his hand and reveals he was indeed listening by chortling out a brief laugh. ...what?!

You know, a homunculus. An alchemically created golem. Made by Jews.

He considers his manager derisively. That sounds stupid.

Madison immediately gets defensive tossing her hands in the air and taking on that shrill cadence in her voice that sounds as great as it feels. Well he's definitely not human, that's for damn sure! But at any rate, we need this freak so don't piss him off and don't stare directly at his face.

Why, does that make him insecure?

No, it's just that his face is deeply, deeply troubling. We're here.

Madison holds out a hand to stop The Engineer. They have arrived at a large hermetically sealed door that bears the Facebook logo on it. Madison steps up to the key pad and punches in some numbers, drawing an affirmative beep from it and opening the door with a whoosh. They both step inside and the door promptly closes them in.

They seem to have arrived in a pristine white chamber. In fact, it looks unnaturally clean and glistening, supplying an uncanny valley level of perfection and pristine-ness that somehow swings back around to feeling like the whole room is some cosmic horror from out of time. The only thing in the room is an ovoid chair, upon which Mark Zuckerberg is seated. Above him is a twisted contraption that looks like an artificial multi-tentacled squid. But, at the end of each arm is a syringe. The contraption hangs over Mark's head like some Lovecraftian predator ready to strike, its needle tipped arms dipping down in sequence to inject a strange brownish fluid into Mark's face at regular intervals.

Madison can't help but wince at the sight. Ironically, it's the Engineer who seems unmoved. Hey Mark, did we...uhhhhh...catch you at a bad time? Madison averts her gaze as another needle buries itself in the corner of Mark's eye.

Not at all. I am just recalibrating the neurons in my face. Mark speaks the words with a blasé indifference. Like all humans do.

Why do you have to do that? Madison nudges The Engineer with her elbow, but Mark doesn't seem bothered by the query.

Because neurons die. The Engineer's expression indicates he is waiting for further explanation, but the awkward pregnant silence soon clues him in that none is coming. I think that will do. Mark waves his hand at the spindly robotic legs and they rise back up into the ceiling. Getting to his feet, you find that his expression is still as inscrutable as when they first entered. How does it look?



A wreckage of a smile slowly appears on Mark's face, like some unseen controller is pulling on strings built into the flesh about his lips, cheeks, and eyes. The Engineer shudders and Madison for some reason has the image of a dead bird rotting at an enhanced rate of speed appear in her mind's eye. I don't understand what just...Madison says dreamily, suddenly bringing her fist to her mouth to fight back against an abrupt rising tide of bile.

The smile promptly vanishes from Mark's face, though it's clear it has nothing to do with his guest's reactions.

So, Mark, are you cool if I call you that?

It is my given very, very human name. He stares at The Engineer without blinking.

You're kinda horrifying.

I am glad for creating that human feeling in you. Shall we proceed to business? His arm snaps up as though he's gesturing towards something. Then, the pure white floor suddenly molds itself into a crescent moon shaped console all around Mark. Madison and The Engineer are forced to take a step back to accommodate it. The air all around them also seems to start to buzz, and then the entire room is quite abruptly filled with rapidly shifting holographic displays of various peoples Facebook pages. The champion looks impressed. Madison is acting like she's still bothered by something, but looks quizzical and confused at the same time, like someone slowly coming out of anesthesia.

I'm all for getting down to business! So Mark, the reason we're here....

I have already plucked your purpose from Madison's head.

Madison is now standing stock still and seems to be drooling a bit.

Her condition will improve to her normal state within three hours.

The Engineer points at her and smirks. Actually, that's about par for the course. Damn, Mark, you sure are efficient for a little fucking weirdo, I'll give you that.

APPRECIATION! He blurts out the word at a clipped shout, but his expression remains unnervingly fixed. You seek to utilize my social media platform to expand a tremendous sense of mass desperation and ennui amongst the human race. But...confusion. He cants his head in an over the top display of confusion like a Jack Russell terrier hearing a dog bark on TV. My social media platform already does that.

The champion claps his hands with a satisfied grin. Indeed it does my friend, indeed it does! But, we need to pick up the pace a bit. He starts to circle Mark, reaching out every so often to play his fingers through the holographic displays of people's Facebook pages, dancing his finger tips amongst their life stories in a manner that seems intrusively intimate. Aiwass is looking at bumping up the time line. We're thinking 2038 as a solid benchmark for the big finale. The masses are tipping ever closer to chaos each day, but we need to make sure our feet are firmly planted on the gas, Mark. You feelin' me?

I can make them all kill each other. Mark says this with complete dispassion.

What?! No....Jesus! The champ looks aghast. Have a little pride in your work, man! It can't be anything so crude...so forceful. I mean, yeah, we want it fast but not that fast.

My platform can make them do anything. Believe anything. It can make them kill.

Yeah...yeah, I got it! He says with some exasperation. But the key to Aiwass' resurgence lies not just in the deaths but the suffering. Snuff everybody out too fast and it's like...he waves his hand like he's searching for the right allegory....it's like blowing your load too early! We need to slow down and enjoy things a bit. Really make 'em stew in their own juices. You understand?

No.

The Engineer rolls his eyes. How about this? Can you make it so that everybody else on Facebook looks just a little bit prettier to each individual user? I figure that constant drumbeat of feelings of jealousy, insecurity and self loathing is just the ticket we need.

Mark again makes a contrived play at evidencing a human emotion, scratching his chin like he's pondering. Yes. I can do that.

The Engineer snaps his fingers. Great! Then, looking to Madison, he waves a hand in front of her face to check her responsiveness. She doesn't react at all. He returns his attention to Mark. And can you do me a personal favor? Make her look extra old and Boomerish in every selfie she posts on Facebook. It'll drive her INSANE!

Yes! For the first time their entire interaction, a small glimmer of spiteful light appears in Mark's eyes. Is there anything else I can do for you? I am always here to help. His arm juts up, rendering a thumbs up in a very mechanical fashion.

With a sly glance, The Engineer raps his knuckles on the console and points at Mark. There IS actually one more thing. Can you bring up Dexter Bright's old Facebook profile? If it's still available that is.

Everything is always available, Engineer. Mark turns to the console, and his fingers dance over the controls. All the other images of Facebook pages are subsumed into a larger image of Dexter's old page. The visage of the dead man is haunting, even though the picture in any other context would be sweet. The profile image is of Dexter with his arm wrapped around his son Joachim. Dexter is making a funny face into the camera, while Joachim laughs. Two dead men riding an echo of happier times.

The Universal Champion assumes a straight backed pose beneath this image, basking in its glow. We gather here today to diminish and demean the legacy of Dexter and Joachim Bright. He speaks in a mocking funerary cadence, holding his hands out and affecting the demeanor of a priest. One, a man who despite having the intelligence of a cheese spread that had been left out overnight is the longest reigning XWF champion in history...the other, his spirited naïve son who was massacred live on television by a madman (love you Soldier, see you creepin'!).

And you know what, for funsies, let's toss Lux in there too. A woman who literally transcended the bonds of time and space, trailing righteous fire and fury in her wake....only to fail spectacularly and die ignobly. He does double finger guns at the camera with a roguish grin. Gotta admit, that last one makes me allllll atingle!

What do all of these dearly, DEARLY, departed have in common? Azrael, you might tempted to say they were all known friends and allies of yours. Well, as Carly Simon once said, “I'll bet you think this song is about you...” But it's not about you. It's about ME. And the thing all of these people have in common is that they died to make way for the second coming of The Engineer.

Dexter Bright's abdication of the title Engineer pointed Aiwass in my direction. It showed him that he simply couldn't trust a human being to be his acolyte. They're too weak, too brittle...too feeble. Dexter Bright failed and died so that I might live.

Joachim Bright's sacrifice was, in fact, orchestrated by the /Dyson alliance to throw Lux off guard and make her dangerously distracted, vengeful, and erratic. His death made it easier for me to cast aside her influence and take control of this body. He too died so that I might live.

And Lux? He chuckles dryly. Well, that one's pretty self evident isn't it. Out with the old, in with the new. Ah....he gestures for emphasis. Do you know what exactly happened to Lux, Azrael? I'll tell you. Ya know, for closure. Her consciousness was housed in a unit about, “yay” big.... He spreads his fingers apart to indicate the size.... which, side note, interesting to see how someone like her could in reality be so, so small. Anyhoo, that unit was cut out of this body and Madison threw it on the floor and stomped it to death. That's how she died, Azrael. Getting stomped to death by a Nazi.

He stares intently at the camera, relishing the moment.

Three of your friends dead....to produce this.He pats his chest. You FEEL that, don't you? No, no, no....don't try to pull a Robbie Bourbon on me and downplay all that hurt. I KNOW this stings. And it's why I wanted to face you. Because for some reason you've let all that hurt thus far go unspoken. You've done NOTHING about it. Seems to be a trend around here. So this is me granting you the gift of catharsis. You're welcome.

Now some might say I'm acting foolishly. Prodding at a sleeping giant. But...am I? Sure you just picked up my scraps from Cunt Fest, hobbling a man I already blinded and took to the limit. Great....I guess. But take the temperature of the room, man. Nobody thinks you're going to win this match. Plans are being made for my eventual title defense at March Madness. The world keeps spinning and your ghost of a match with me carries nary a flicker of recognition.

Why is that? I mean, on paper you should be a considerable threat to my reign. A former Universal Champion. The longest reigning champion of the modern era with a Television title reign of 297 days?! Mark....did you catch that?! He turns to Zuckerberg, but Mark is simply seated in his egg chair staring straight ahead. Nevermind! And those are just two of your accolades. Oooof! Yeah, on the page you should have this in the bag!

But you don't, do you? Nobody thinks so. Because the fact is, you're one of those people who has allowed your considerable legacy to wither and die on the vine. You're on par with the Chris Chaos' of the XWF....yeah, the title runs are there, but most of us looking back on them now are forced to scratch our heads and ask ourselves “....how?” Because for as much as Fuzz may be milking the whole “afterthought” moniker, the real afterthought is YOU.

So I find myself asking, how is it that this man with this pedigree, this man who wields the POWER you do, has allowed himself to become so IMPOTENT? And make no mistake, impotent is every bit the proper turn of phrase here. After all, it was well within your power to stop me, wasn't it? You could have SAVED Lux. In fact, you watched Lux get carried away, literally CARRIED OFF by her enemies at the end of Lethal Lottery, and did NOTHING.

Why?

Did you stop caring about your friend? Kind of like you stopped caring about everything else in your career circa 2016? Did you not really care that much in the first place? Did you disappear up your own ass on some self absorbed space adventure with your ponderously interchangeable sons?

Or are you just every bit as impotent as I said you are? Something to think about while you're on your space faring honeymoon. Mazel Tov, by the way.

The Engineer takes another look at Madison, who is still out to lunch. Her lips work moronically but nothing is coming out except for a steady stream of saliva.

Mark, you got something I can cart my manager home in?

Elsewhere....

A hatchback sedan drives down a lonely stretch of road coated in a light dusting of snow. A youngish woman in her early 30's is at the wheel returning from a grocery trip in town. You never expect the final thing you do on this Earth to be so mundane.

The woman first notices a certain something in the air. The small hairs on her arms rise up as though abruptly vigilant, and a deep abiding sense of wrongness passes through her like a visitor stepping over her grave in the future. She looks in the rear view mirror because something compels her to, which almost makes her miss the clear and present danger before her.

Directly in the line of her vehicles path, a portion of the asphalt just disappears, not as though destroyed but displaced by some unseen force. A woman stands in the midst of the displacement who was not there before.



The woman veers, avoiding the stranger in the road but not the pit that has appeared before her. Her front driver's side tire dips into the pit and then out, but not before the lip of the absence demolishes her tire. It explodes and the woman is forced to correct her car's errant momentum. She cries out in panic and white knuckles the wheel, pumping the break and bringing the vehicle back under control before it ends up in the ditch. Her heart hammers in her chest and her mind buzzes as she tries to push back the shock. Craning around to look in the back seat, she mutters a mantra. It's okay....it's okay....

Her eye catches sight of the strange woman in the road climbing out of the recess in the street. She starts walking towards the car. The driver's head swims as she struggles to process what just happened. The woman walks right up to the driver's side. Her clothing is completely inappropriate for the weather. She must be cold. The driver muses, and then quickly discards the inane nature of the thought given that she literally just watched this woman appear from out of nowhere. The strange woman starts tapping on the window and the driver's first thought is to grab her cell phone, but the woman starts tapping more emphatically. Maybe she didn't appear from out of nowhere. That's impossible. Maybe she needs help. The driver's brain autocorrects to reject the insane. She rolls down the window.

I am Lux. The stranger speaks the words as though they suffice for a greeting. I am Lux, I will not hurt you. Don't be afraid.

The driver struggles to understand. I....I...don't...

The stranger cants her head, as though she was not expecting this reaction, as though she thought simply invoking the name “Lux” would suffice.

Look, I have a phone. I can call....

No. No calls. You did not see. Where is The Engineer?

The Engineer? The driver is at a complete loss. I don't know who that is. Look, let me get my phone....

No. No calls. The stranger continues to speak at a clipped, artificial pace. You didn't see this, alright? It'll be okay. It'll be okay.

The stranger moves so fast, so awfully, terribly fast. The driver scarcely has time to react before the stranger's hands are strategically placed at her chin and the the back of her head. With a quick twist and a resounding snap, the driver wonders why she's suddenly looking at her child in the back seat...why her mouth tastes like blood....why....why.....

Her brain starts to die before she can make sense of it. The child in the car seat screams and the stranger reacts like she just noticed they were there.

I am Lux. It'll be okay.

She walks around to the rear of the car and opens the door next to the child.

It'll be okay.



TO BE CONTINUED....