The flowers are strewn about on the graves that are side-by-side. The four of them are in a row together.

Not too far from those plots sits a tree. Its branches are just out of reach from reaching the tombstones so any rain that pours down drenches the dirt and cleans the words on the stones every time.

Against this tree leans Hawaiian Hardhead. He’s wearing blue jeans, an Hawaiian shirt, and orange flip flops. It’s like he’s harking back to a time over 15 years.

He raises his right arm to take a drink from the whiskey bottle in his hand. He spits out half of it towards the ground, wiping his lips with the free hand before speaking.

“I’ve been in this industry for over twenty years. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go from every shape, size, personality, and ethnicity. I’ve faced a lot of them and I’ve fought a lot of them. And yet…despite being retired…I find myself back into this game we play.”

Hardhead takes another sip from the bottle of whiskey but swallows all that’s in it this time.

“You know why I came back. I already said all I needed to on that front at Snow Job. But to prove why I am here…I came back at Savage. Not Warfare. Not Anarchy. I chose to attend Savage…because it’s fitting that…a show would be called that…when it involves one the most savage, sadistic, son of a bitches in this industry.

Check the tapes. Check the history. I’m one of the only guys to get a segment banned from a show because I brought a fucking rifle to it and started poppin’ off.

I’ve made legends and icons bleed with barbed wire because I just didn’t like them.

Despite my lack of…accomplishments here in the XWF…people remember who I am, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t survive off this place for a while.”

The whiskey is thrown back to his throat once more.

“Will people remember who you two are? Will they remember Corey Smith and Savannah Knightley a decade from now?

I sure as fuck hope not.

Not because you two won’t deserve it or because you’ll fail miserably, but because being remembered is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, there’s positives to it. People remember you, you’re a name people can think of when they think of the past, but…trust me…you don’t wanna be remembered when you’re a failure.

The name Hawaiian Hardhead, when it comes to the XWF, is remembered as a fucking joke. He was handed the ownership position on a silver platter. He was the GM of Impact because he made himself as such. Sure, he’s won titles, by all means, but…who the hell remembers ‘em?

But there’s a positive to this.

You see…just because the XWF never got a full vision of what Hawaiian Hardhead was capable of does not mean that they missed out. If anybody worth a damn in this industry did their fucking homework they would know I dominated PWE.

I was the only man to win the State Penn Match and Road to Glory tournament is the same damn year.

I faced off against two of wrestling’s greatest Japanese superstars in a Hell in a Cell Match and survived with broken ribs.

I got skin torn apart by dogs that belonged to K-Money and I still showed up to my World Title Match.

So yeah…I’m a little bit bitter that the name Hawaiian Hardhead…in the XWF…is a fucking joke.

Now the name Hunter…in Tampa, Florida they’re fucking legends.

The patriarch and matriarch dominated the independent scene in this metro and made it their own.

One of their sons stayed and became beloved by all for giving back to the community almost ever day he could.

Their other son got a little bit too deep in other matters.”

HHH turns to the camera, taking one last sip of the whiskey before tossing the bottle away to his right.

“But I’m not Jack Hunter anymore. I’ve been removed from any semblance of reality enough to finally understand that this…this wrestling…thing that I do…it’s out of necessity at this point. I can’t go away for too long and move on because it’s in my blood. It’s what I have to do to survive because the only things I now how to do are survive…and fight.

I tried to lead. I tried to follow. I tried to organize and maintain. And where did that get me?

My daughter doesn’t want anything to do with me.

My son hates my fucking guts.

My wife doesn’t wanna see me until I get my mind back to where it needs to go, but it can’t until I figure out where that place is.

So now that I’ve been kicked out of what I’m good at, kicked out of my home, and kicked out of my family, the only thing left me to do…is start kickin people out of this company.

I’m a veteran, yes. I’m old, yes.

But does I look like I give a shit about any of that? Does it look like I’m in a position to say no when I have to fight and survive?

Corey and Savannah…you are just the first two who will realize that it’s…it’s not easy to talk a big game when you don’t know your opponent, and trust me, I don’t know…anything about the two of you.

Savannah I was known for being forced into matches with other females and trust me, it never ended well for them.

Corey I have faced more arrogant bastards in my time than you have faced opponents. Trust me, son, you have nothing on an Eric Anderson. You have nothing on a guy like Neptune. You have nothing…on a guy like James Raven. I’ve faced all of those people. And I’ve had the pleasure of beating them in that ring.

So yeah…I don’t know you two…and I don’t know this new XWF, but this XWF sure as hell does not know me.”

Hardhead steps back, approaching the four graves behind him.

“These graves that surround me are nowhere close to the amount of bodies and corpses of friends and family I've had to bury. My father, my mother, my brother, my best friend, and my first wife are just at the top of the list.

And when it’s all said and done…and I’m walking away with a comeback victory…I have no problem making two more.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You are not to interact with any interdimensional being with your knowing. If you are to do so, you will be arrested under the jurisdiction in the fifth amendment to the Interdimensional Guidelines as outlined by the original Council of Interdimensional Beings. Say yes if you understand.”

“Yes,” HHH says.

The man checkmarks something on the piece of paper in front of him.

“You are to immediately forfeit all rights and benefits granted to you as a member of the Council of Interdimensional Beings. Say yes if you understand.”

“Yes.”

Once again, the man checkmarks something on a piece of paper.

“You are to attempt to return to normal civilian life in your original dimension despite having the knowledge that you do of interdimensional travel and the existence of other dimensions as a whole, as referenced under the jurisdiction in the third amendment of the Interdimensional Guidelines as outlined by the original Council of Interdimensional Beings. Say yes if you understand.”

“For fuck’s sake Spicer I was there when we wrote this,” HHH says.

Spicer—Jack, specifically—proceeds to checkmark everything on the paper in front of him. He then signs at the bottom before setting the pen down and sliding the paper to his right.

“Never was a fan of precaution,” Jack says whilst standing out of his chair. “Take over from here Paradox. I’m gonna check the databanks for a third.”

Jack exits through a door behind them, leaving Hardhead sitting in a rather uncomfortable office chair in front of the desk. A man in a lab coat—Paradox, Professor to be accurate—grabs the pen and signs on a different line.

He places the pen down and slides the paper towards HHH.

“I feel the need to stress that this is probably a mistake,” Hardhead says.

“You have. Many times, in fact,” Paradox says. “However, what has occurred to not be undone so easily.”

Hardhead chuckles without any real humor intended in it. He shakes his head and folds his arms in front of him, the suit he’s wearing crinkling under the pressure.

“You were right there with me when we voted on that decision. You were right there when we fought that battle. You were right—fucking—there…when we closed the gates…and now that it’s biting us in the ass I’m taking the fall, is that right Paradox?” he asks rhetorically.

Paradox doesn’t answer. He merely taps a couple times on the piece of paper.

“As part of your resignation from the Council—”

“I was there when we wrote it Paradox!” Hardhead shouts.

It doesn’t take long at all before he finds himself with four rifles in plastic containers pointed at him by masked soldiers wearing the same white plastic uniforms.

“Don’t fucking lecture me because we got beat by David and his…"fourth group." Don’t fucking look down me because we got outplayed by a newbie. We both knew he was too good for any of this and we let him do what he wanted anyway. But because you…you’re unbeatable right? You’re the only one of us with the actual powers, but because you…can’t fail…your job is secure. Is that right?”

All the people in the room know the answer to the question.

That doesn’t stop Paradox from picking the paper off the desk and handing it towards HHH.

“Sign the paper Jack. It’s over,” he says.

Hardhead rips the paper out of his hand before grabbing the pen off the desk. After scribbling vague lines that might resemble his actual signature, he tosses the pen away from him to a general direction. It hits the floor with a crack.

“I hope you find somebody just like you Paradox…maybe then you’ll realize the mistake you’re making,” he says.

As he opens the same door that Jack left in and exits, he pays no attention to the words spoken behind him.

Paradox begins to say something unheard of by Hardhead, but he slams the door before it can be finished.

Finding himself back in his temporary hotel room is not something he wanted to happen, but it’s something that, at the moment, he has to live with.

It takes him all of five seconds before turning around and opening the door behind him.

When he sees nothing but the hotel’s parking lot, he slams it closed.

He tries again and gets the same result.

When he does it a third time, he can barely see the cars over the tears in his eyes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s raining. It’s a Friday night and it’s raining enough to flood the road, but a 2018 black Mustang is still being driven down at a speed inadvisable.

It makes a sudden and sharp stop in front of a warehouse on the outskirts of town. HHH exits his car, not even bothering to turn it off.

He approaches the keylock and enters the five numbers that are supposed to be the passcode.

It blinks red at him.

HHH lets out a growl before pressing and holding down the “3” button.

“Come on…” he mutters.

After ten seconds, the screen shines green with a “welcome” message and unlocks. Hardhead throws the door open expecting the warehouse to be filled to the brim with boxes and a various assortment of interdimensional items and locales collected here with the sole intention of safety and continuously expanded via magic of space distortion.

Suffice to say he doesn’t expect to find a completely empty, normal sized warehouse. It looks exactly the same as when he first bought the damn place 13 years ago.

Hardhead hits his knees and barely reacts to the tears that now fall down his cheeks.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he arrives in Philadelphia for Savage, the first thing he does is not go to the hotel and check-in, oh no. He doesn’t go to the arena and scout everything. He doesn’t even go to a bar and drink himself dead, even if the sound of that is like a dream come true.

No, the first thing HHH does is visit a little shop downtown called ‘Silver’s Trinkets’.

He enters the little antique room and expects to find it filled with a bunch of personalities talking up a storm and plotting about what to do next.

He does not expect a pawn shop of various trinkets collected over many lifetimes and nobody to help him.

“Please…” HHH mutters.

He hears a noise in the back of the story, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Please be here…” he mutters once again.

The door to the back opens to reveal an older man with a cane. He takes one look at HHH before slamming the door shut. He uses a key to lock it and puts it in his pocket.

The two men stare at each other for a little bit, neither man really taking the first proverbial step.

Eventually, Hardhead lets his luggage bag drop to the floor. When the cane in the other man’s hands twitches just a little bit, HHH raises his hands in front of him.

“What the fuck are you doing in my shop?” the man asks.

“Philip, please—”

“Shut up. You are to address me as Mr. Silver and nothing more. Is that understood?” the man—Mr. Silver—asks rhetorically.

HHH nods his head before wiping his palms on his jeans.

“Look…I get that you don’t wanna see me…but I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Not interested. Get out of my shop,” Mr. Silver says.

“Wait!”

HHH takes one step and finds himself frozen in place. Not out of fear, no, literally frozen in place. The sole of his left shoe is encased against the floor with ice.

Hardhead takes a peak to his right to see a blue skinned woman in blue pants and a multiple shade of blue halter top. Her right hand is reaching out in front of her and the trail of ice leading right to HHH’s left foot tells the story well enough.

“Lap—” he stops himself before finishing the name. “Miss…Lazuli…”

“You’re not welcome here or anywhere near him,” she says.

“I’m not here for him. I’m here for Mr. Silver,” HHH says.

“And he already told you to get out,” Miss Lazuli says.

“Than I want to make a de—” before the word ‘deal’ can leave his lips, a cane is swung into his gut, removing the rest of the breath from his lips and forcing him to his knees.

Mr. Silver leans down next to Hardhead, his cane gripped firmly in his grasp.

“No deals. No ways around it. There’s no secret code or other alliance you can pull out at the last minute here, Jack. You’ve wasted your time and burned your bridges with anybody in this building. So do us all a favor…and get the fuck out of my shop,” he says.

Mr. Silver stands up and nods towards Lapis. The ice recedes from the floor, leaving HHH to cough a couple times.

He stands, holding his stomach with his left arm. With a nod, he exits the shop, in a worse place than he was entering it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He finds her as he’s entering the arena.

The glare he gives her does nothing to stop the smirk across her face.

She’s dressed differently. The suit she’s wearing looks nice despite how out of place it is on her. Hell, she even wore heels.

The two of them meet up in a nearby empty room so that nobody knows what’s going on.

Her magic does enough to stop anybody from snooping or listening in.

“Why the fuck are you here Wuya?” HHH asks.

“Ooh, somebody’s testy. Are we a little pissed we can’t continue our secret little dalliance anymore?” she asks.

HHH briefly thinks of Glynda. Thinks of her room. Her skin. Her mouth. Her—

He lets it flash out of his mind with a shake of his head. That’s in the past.

“That’s over and has been over. Any chance Lydia has of ever knowing about that died when I was exiled,” he says.

“So confident for a man who’s lost almost everything.”

“I repeat…why the fuck are you here?”

Wuya’s smirk only seems to grow. She pulls her hand through her deep red hair and chuckles a couple times.

“It appears, my little dumb-ass, that you need some help,” she says.

“And why the fuck should I trust you? You corrupted my son. You’ve stalked and molested him for years. Hell, I could be arrested just for talking to you,” Hardhead growls.

“Yes, well, we are both out of options it seems. You need my help getting back in the Game and I need your help to get out of it. And before you say no, let me remind you that being Heylin has…near limitless potential. Who knows how a secret might get out to the wrong ears…?” she purrs.

He narrows his eyes and groans. He doesn’t have time for this. His return is tonight…

"Fine,” he roars in a voice almost unlike his own.