A single dim light beats back the darkness in a room that amounts to a barren cement cube. There is one door, an aged affair with chipping olive green paint and a metal locking bar drawn down across it. The desolation's uniformity is broken by two figures, one of which is bound to a ramshackle office chair that's had the wheels removed. Malcolm, the bound figure, slowly rouses and blinks away the chemical fog that put him in this predicament. Realization comes in stages, first a sense of unusual discomfort, and then the spike of anxiety that comes with the sensation that your limbs are no longer yours to move. With a grunt of surprise, he rides the wave of a sudden adrenaline boost and starts to fight with his bindings. But he soon becomes aware of the other presence in the room, and stops.



Malcolm smiles nervously. Is this some weird new sex thing we're doing?

You need to shut up and listen to me. I don't have much time.

The Engineer's acolyte's expression flickers, and without another word further realization sets in. With a renewed focus, he fights with his bindings again.

Stop....stop and listen!

Fuck off, Corey! Malcolm flexes his legs, trying to make use of them but they too are bound, laden down with what seems like multiple pounds of duct tape affixing his ankles to the base of the chair.

Corey Smith takes a chance on drawing closer to Malcolm. You wouldn't listen to me otherwise, I'm sorry.

I won't listen to you regardless! He wrenches at his bindings one final time, but they're resolute. With a weary sigh and a fierce glower, he considers his lover's invader. How the hell did you take control again? But as soon as the words have parted his lips he gains insight into his own question. Corey's face is set in a barely restrained grimace, the hinges of his jaw working and pulsing with an internal tension, his eyes struggling to lock onto a single sight. A vein bulges in his forehead and his brow is dotted with beads of sweat. He's fighting.

I don't have long. I know you hate me. I know you feel like you have no reason to listen to me. But I swear to God Malcolm I am the only person in this pack of wolves you've surrounded yourself with that actually gives a shit about you.

Malcolm laughs mirthlessly. Is that right? He gives him the once over. You're fighting a losing fight right now. I'm just gonna wait it out.

Good. Yes! There's actual solace there. Just listen, okay? Corey searches within himself for where to go, looking torn. Then, with a deep breath, he dives in. I'm going to give you a reason to believe me. The left side of his face twitches spasmodically and he does his best to ignore it. I'm gonna lay myself bare. Okay? He's plaintive, vision brimming with sincerity. I'm there every time that monster makes love to you.

Malcolm curls a lip up in disgust. You're not winning me over.

You're fucking MY body! Corey explodes, and then with a look that suggests he surprised even himself, pulls himself back from the brink. You're BOTH using ME. He pats his chest with his palm. Do you understand that?

There it is, the barest hint of guilt worms its way onto Malcolm's features. But he says nothing.

But I'm not here to bitch about that. I'm here....his fists clench at his sides, and Malcolm sees the musculature in Corey's torso clench and unclench as The Engineer tries for another assault. Corey gasps and his posture wavers briefly. I'm here....I'm here....because I'm all fucked up over you.

What does that even mean?

I....he searches....I'm not into men. There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm not. And yet, I've been forced into this intimacy with you. Forced to be close to you in a way that I never would have chose. A vein in his neck throbs and he grimaces. And me....and The Engineer....sometimes it's hard to separate us. It gets all jumbled up, you know? Where he stops and where I start. There's...there's bleed through. And....he trails off, seeking the right turn of phrase again. I think, that closeness with you, even though it's something I wouldn't have wanted...even though it's not me.....I....He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. I should be pissed about it, right?! I SHOULD BE ANGRY ALL THE TIME! Right?!

Malcolm shifts uncomfortably, searching Corey but not knowing what he's looking for. I have no idea what the hell to tell you.

Corey grimaces again, his teeth grinding together as though he's trying to keep The Engineer INSIDE. He swallows it down and a thin film of moisture frosts over his right eye. I should be angry all the time....but it's like...it's like....I feel this bond with you sometimes. This kinship. We've shared something. And sometimes...sometimes it DISGUSTS me. It makes me feel dirty and used. It feels like RAPE.

Malcolm casts his gaze downward as the word “rape” claps like thunder.

But other times....he looks plaintive....pleading even....other times it feels like some approximation of affection. I care about you. I don't love you. I don't think I do. Fuck, if anything I should HATE you. And sometimes I do, but.... he shakes his head violently in confusion. Corey makes a sound that sounds like a combination of a sigh and a shuddering sob.

Why are you telling me all this? Malcolm's voice is quiet, and moreso, tremulous with...something. Sadness. Self recrimination. A maelstrom of disquieting feelings that comes with the realization that you have profoundly wronged someone. That you've DAMAGED someone. The wounds on his back ache with shame and a single question starts to fester in his mind's eye. What have I done?

Corey breathes in and out with some difficulty. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand how real I'm being with you. I want you to understand that in some weird, sick way I care about you for reasons I don't even understand. I need....he swallows..I need you to see that I'm not another wolf.

You think he's using me? His tone bespeaks an uncertainty as to whether that was a question or a statement.

You know he is. Malcolm stays silent, looking down at the floor. He told you himself. See, and that's the real pisser about The Engineer, isn't it? He's a real mother fucker but at least he's HONEST. It's kind of funny in a way. You're the one who's not being honest.

This gets Malcolm's attention. He looks dead at Corey and opens his mouth to speak....but then doesn't. Because he doesn't even have to ask what he means. He already knows.

You told him you wouldn't love him. But you do, don't you? You...Corey suddenly cries out and drops to one knee, his body wracked with the worst spasm yet. And once more, he pushes the virus back down. But, when he looks up, the capillaries in his right eye have exploded, turning it blood red. Fighting his way back to his feet, Corey endures. You can't help yourself. It's not in your nature. Because you're decent. You're not lost. You're not a broken toy, or a callous. You're not like him.

Looking deeply torn, Malcolm retreats inside himself, hanging his head. When he finally ventures out, his voice sounds defeated. What would you have me do?

Run. Corey replies with simple conviction. Just run. Don't be his back up plan. Don't give up your life for someone who doesn't care about you. Run.

Malcolm meets Corey's gaze, tearful and apologetic. I'm sorry I hurt you.

I know. And that's why you're different.

If I leave you'll still be stuck with him. He sniffs as a tear drops down his cheek and tickles his nose. You'll still be suffering.

But I'll keep fighting. Suddenly Corey barks out a cry of pain and doubles over, holding his stomach. He starts to make a dry gagging sound, his breaths coming in painful shuddering waves. You have to go now! Fighting fist tooth and nail against his own body, he pulls a box cutter out of his pocket and exposes the blade. On uncertain legs, he comes closer to Malcolm and drops to his knees to cut away the tape binding his legs. Once free, there is a moment exchanged where their eyes meet. A tense mutual scrutiny. But it passes quickly and Corey moves behind him to untie his hands. The young man backs away after Malcolm is freed, back bowed and one arm clutching his stomach. Go.

Steeling himself, Malcolm nods and turns to the door. His initial steps towards it are tentative, but gradually his confidence in his decision increases the closer he gets until he reaches the door and casts aside the locking bar with no hesitation. Stealing a look at Corey, he speaks one last time. Thank you.

Corey accepts his thanks wordlessly, and watches him depart. Then dropping against the wall and sliding down onto his haunches, he presses his teeth together as his body continues to revolt. His chest bucks as another barrier is broken down, but he knows he just has to give Malcolm enough time to get away, enough time to put some distance between himself and the monster. Another pained cry bounces around the room as the boy's torso arches. And then, The Engineer is there.



He's a gore soaked atrocity, clutching a still beating heart in his hand and pressing his lips to it. With a wicked smile, he turns to look at Corey, his lips painted crimson. You taste good.

He's safe. Malcolm is safe. Corey pants.

Of course he's safe, Corey. He was never in any danger. You on the other hand. He proffers up the heart. Recognize this? It's yours.

Corey glowers at him from beneath pained lidded eyes but gives him no further satisfaction.

This was your final act of rebellion. I'm fully imbedded in every micrometer of your brain. I've metastasized Corey. You'll still be there, but you'll never be able to regain control again. You know that. He points a blood stained finger at Corey. But why now? Why not at March Madness when you could have embarrassed me on a national stage?

Because getting Malcolm to run hurts you worse.

But you did nothing of the sort. Malcolm will never leave me.

Corey smirks. You seem so sure. He coughs. And that's your blindspot. You have no faith in people to do the right thing. You think everyone is as sick and parasitic as you.

The Engineer rolls his eyes. Mmmm...yes, the “Ned Kaye Argument”. Cute. He sighs. Well, Corey, I'd say it's time we end this charade. You shot your shot. You missed.

Corey chuckles painfully. I don't think....

But before he can finish his thought, the virus brings Corey's heart to his lips one last time, but this time he distends his jaw wide and sinks his teeth into the flesh. A fresh gout of blood explodes down The Engineer's chin as he dines. Corey screams as his body is wracked with horrific spasms, body setting itself in a rigid arc of agony. By the time he's devoured the heart whole, Corey's body is slack. The Engineer's manifestation vanishes, and when Corey's eyes open once more time, he is no longer home.

Working out some of the lingering muscle aches, the Universal Champion stands up slowly. His hand dips into his pocket, trying to find his cell phone, but it's not there. Damn it. Tearing out of the room at a heightened clip, The Engineer steps out into the hall, looking for Malcolm. Malcolm! Malcolm! Seeing nothing, and with his confidence ebbing ever so slightly, he continues on. Not quite running, but certainly walking with a purpose, he gets his bearings until he finds an elevator.

The shot then changes to another locale within the building, The T-Mobile Center in Las Vegas, Nevada.



The main hall of the arena is eerily quiet, like a calm before a storm. Which, in a manner of speaking given that March Madness is less than 24 hours away, is correct. Eventually, The Engineer steps into the shot. Alone. His eyes scan the court yard outside through the immense windows, but he looks resigned. And more than a bit unsettled. Malcolm is nowhere to be found.

The edges of his lips bury themselves in a deep frown as he heads for the door and departs.

Later...on the streets of Las Vegas.....

The Engineer brings his cell phone down and depresses the call button once more. He stares at the screen for a moment, and briefly catches a reflection of his own face. His finger tips find their way up to his blood stained eye, still damaged from Corey's war with him earlier. Then, replacing the phone in his pocket, he turns his attention to the barren streets of Las Vegas.

He finds peace there. What was once a city teeming with vitality, a fresh vein flush with healthy blood, was now the narrow damaged artery of an addict. That wellspring of healthy crimson replaced with but a narrow eddy of toxic sludge.

In the distance, the silence is broken by the plaintive peal of an ambulance. The sound breaks through The Engineer's tension, and a slow smile forms.

Bright lights...big city.... He takes note of a woman walking towards him, one of few out and about. She's wearing a mask over her face, and takes a wide berth around The Engineer. Not so much anymore.



The camera's view walks beside him as we navigate this hollowed out former spectacle of a city.

This....THIS...is all I ever wanted. Peace. Quiet. An end to ceaseless cluttering irrelevancies, an end to the noise pollution, the ignorance. Is this not wonderful? Do you not find some calm in this? He cants his head a bit, looking sardonic. Maybe it's just me.

So, Ned, here we are. Or maybe I should say, here we aren't. Because I can say for damned sure that we are sorely lacking a main event for March Madness. I mean, are you sick and hiding it from us? Or is your total dereliction of duty because your cowardice has finally won out?

You know, people like to go on and on about what a bad guy I am. But Corey Smith said it best earlier today. “I may be a motherfucker, but at least I'm honest about it.”

You, on the other hand, are a liar. He lets that sink in for a moment as he pauses at an intersection. But there is no traffic to speak of, and he proceeds unimpeded. And more than that, you're CRUEL. Which may seem like a pretty fancy proposition coming from me, but if you really stop and think about it, you are just so, so much worse than me.

He lets out a patronizing little laugh. Yes folks, that's right. Ned Kaye is WORSE for you than the actual virus. He points at himself. And do you know why? Because Ned Kaye is a PLACEBO. Ned Kaye is the thing that makes you feel good. Makes you feel like you're getting better! But in the end, he's just a sugar pill! There's nothing in there. And any curative properties he claims to have are really all in your head! Two weeks ago, Ned Kaye laid me out and gave this grand uplifting speech. He puffed you up and made you feel good. He made you feel like the light at the end of the tunnel was coming! He anointed himself in the blood of Christ and declared himself savior supreme!

What hogwash. What BULLSHIT. And now, two weeks later, you see it too. But you already swallowed the sugar pill thinking it would help, thinking those “warm fuzzies” in your belly meant the medicine was working. But it's not. The cancer is still rotting out your guts. You're still SICK and DYING. And where's your knight in shining armor? Where's your HERO?

He dances a little jig as he walks and starts singing the Bonnie Tyler classic “Holding Out For a Hero” as he goes.

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight....

The champion laughs and an old man who's also wearing a mask and sitting on a bench looks at him strangely. Paying him no mind, he keeps moving.

You're a BASTARD, Ned. Injecting these people with all this false hope and BAILING on them. You sanctimonious PRICK. You should be ashamed of yourself. Or maybe....just maybe....I'm giving you too much credit. Maybe that little show you put on had nothing to do with the people and everything to do with you! Just another example of some shameless self promotion, a little hype building at the expense of a scared and worn down populace that just wants something to believe in. Yeah Ned....yeah...maybe you worked 'em. The Engineer purrs maliciously. I'm almost jealous.

And in a weird way, you're kind of ahead of the curve too when it comes to the XWF. The first one to acknowledge, even if implicitly, that there is no actual hope that ANYONE is going to defeat me. That's it's all just bluster and empty words. Because I keep seeing this talking point bandied about that the Universal Championship division is dead and buried. That's it's some worthless vestigial appendage of the XWF. And for the first time I'm starting to wonder if maybe they're correct. He makes an expression of mock surprise. I know, right?!

Yeah, maybe they ARE right. But not for the reasons they keep telling themselves. No! Because all I keep hearing is that the division is dead because of ME. But that's just a psychological defense mechanism working overtime to protect their fragile egos. Because the TRUTH is, this division is dead because of THEM. This division is dead because NONE of them are strong enough to stop me and they know it. So, to save face, they throw their shade at me and stay warm and snug in their hidey holes, content with ruling their petty fiefdoms while I bend the entirety of the XWF KINGDOM to my will. Read between the lines, folks! Do you honestly think that the guy who's willing to take on all comers is the problem? Or is it the pathetic, anemic mid card and doddering old men content to rest on their laurels while I lay waste to the company they supposedly care about?

I mean, Christ! This company relied on proverbial do nothing NED KAYE to punch the card against me. Ned Kaye! Who is on absolutely NO ONE'S radar as a viable challenge for me. And yet, that was the guy who stepped into the brink because nobody else was able to grow a pair long enough to fight me.

This is not a “ME” problem, XWF roster! This is a “YOU” problem. Because none of you are GOOD enough to beat me. And that's precisely what this is all about. YOU ALL FUCKING SUCK! Another sardonic laugh. But by all means, keep on feeding me the Ned Kaye's of the world. Keep on telling yourselves that the Universal Championship....the top prize in the company, for FUCK'S SAKES.... is “not worth it anymore” because that's what you NEED to believe so you get to go on pretending I wouldn't BREAK YOU DOWN like a BITCH if it came to it.

You want me to name names? He holds his fingers up as he counts them down.

Chris Page
Robert Main
Noah Jackson
Centurion
(Hmmmm....am I forgetting someone? Nahhhhh)

The final finger he's holding up is, naturally, the middle.

Any one of you could have stepped to me. But you didn't. You let Ned Kaye...Ned FUCKING Kaye, of all people, do your job for you. Because you're spineless callow fucks who aren't even fit to hold my shaft for me while I take a piss. Don't like what I'm saying? DO SOMETHING. It's what I've been saying all along.

The Engineer stops at another intersection, but doesn't cross. Instead, he turns to face the street.

Wow Ned, turns out you're such a nothing I had to go on a screed against four other guys just to sex this up. But what were we talking about? Ah yes....hope. Or lack thereof. I think we've conclusively proven that you aren't the cure for what ails the XWF. Hell, you've already given up. But I'm still going to do you a solid. You see Ned, you don't have to follow through on your vow to quit the XWF if you don't win my title. Noooooo.

You can come work for me.

Yes! My brand is always hiring for new talent in the field of “destroying hopes and dreams”. And boy oh boy, you've sure knocked that out of the park. You're a natural! And I think that whole “placebo” thing needs to stick. “The Placebo” Ned Kaye. I mean, it doesn't QUITE roll off the tongue, but it's not like anyone ever expects much out of you anyway so it'll suffice.

You got a job waiting for you. And not just the one at March Madness either. The Engineer flashes a cheeky smile. And I gotta admit, I LOVE the optics of it all. Rolling Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows into my debauched collective. Yeah.... he muses for a bit and stares off into the distance. Well, think it over. It's not like you really have anything else to chew on. See you on the other side of that “L”, Neddy boy.

And then, he catches sight of something off camera that makes his smile widen. He licks his lips, and his eyes take on a certain HUNGER.

You know what just occurred to me? It occurred to me that this is usually the part in the story where some last glimmer of redeeming promise rears it's head. Some light amidst the all encompassing darkness to add a touch of narrative tension. To make the reader or the viewer think that all is not truly lost. A moment that makes the villain reconsider the confidence of their position and thrusts the overarching emotional tenor of the tale into complete chaos, effectively resetting the playing field and making one feel as though the power imbalance between good and evil isn't quite so imbalanced.

He leers into the camera, preening and deviant.


But no. Fuck hope.

He points across the intersection and the camera follows his gesture. Malcolm is waiting on the other side of the intersection. The Engineer steps into the vacant street, and a bare moment later Malcolm does the same. Opening his arms, the virus meets Malcolm in the center of the intersection in an embrace. The Engineer's acolyte folds himself into him, drinking deep of his master as he returns home after a brief sojourn.

Fuck hope.