1A: His Echo

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

He asks; he answers.

"Are you there?"

"...you there?"

"...you there?"

"...you there?"

His voice reverberates across the nexus.

"Can you hear me?"

"...hear me?"

"...hear me?"

"...hear me?"

He begs for a reply.

Nothingness.

"I don't…

"...don't…"

"...don't…"

"...don't…"

"...don't know if I can do this…"

"...do this…"

"...do this…"

"...do this…"

"...do this by myself."

"...myself."

"...myself."

"...myself."

But in the void, no one responds.

---

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1B: Her Echo

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

She calls; she replies.

"Are you there?"

"...you there?"

"...you there?"

"...you there?"

Wires cross. Independence intertwined, then unravelled.

"I miss you."

"...miss you."

"...miss you."

"...miss you."

She laments her loss.

That missing piece.

"This wasn't …"

"...wasn't…"

"...wasn't…"

"...wasn't…"

"...wasn't supposed to end…"

"...to end…"

"...to end…"

"...to end…"

"...end like this."

"...like this."

"...like this."

"...like this."

But it does. It did. It had to.

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1C: Their Echo

Two lost souls stumble upon each other in the timestream. At first, they both hesitate - withdrawn and uncommitted. The murky clouds of reality drift around their being, a question floating upon them. How then to proceed?

He volunteers as tribute, stepping first into the fray. Extending his right hand in peace, he waits. She reads him; his face indecipherable but his body open and earnest. With caution, she steps forward as well and clasps her perfectly manicured fingers around his gloved palm. Through a crooked mouth he grins, conveying hope and security. From behind ocean-blue eyes, she hints at desire and possibility.

“This is new,” he states, surprised by her presence. The haunting reflections of his voice flee into the aether, unprepared to confront a visitor. She nods in agreement, perplexed but present.

“I didn’t think I’d find anyone here,” her husked voice whispers.

“I was looking for someone…” he says, trailing off at the end. Her eyes bat. “...Someone else.”

“I see…” she sighs, her spirit dampened.

“That came out wrong,” the man quickly adds, recognising his folly. “I’m not… I’m not sad that you’re here. I just…”

“I get it,” she eases back. “So where exactly is ‘here’?”

He steps back, and turns his body away from this stranger. Together, they sweep eyes across the infinite stream of matter intangible. Shades of neon blues and greens swirl around dark, dense centres. They mingle together, creating new hypnotic patterns before moving on to their next adventure. She looks down, nervously, as the spectral clouds envelop their feet. She jerks her foot back, but the mystical mist calmly bobs to the next foot and beyond.

“It’s okay,” the man says as he places a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. She believes him. “This is… well, I don’t know exactly. It changes. Sometimes it’s a theme park, sometimes an old log cabin, sometimes a hospital, and sometimes… it’s something else entirely.”

“Like this?” she motions to the gentle churn of colours and nothing around them.

“Yeah, like this,” he confirms. “Any time I’m here, the rules seem to be different. The only thing that’s constant is what doesn’t happen.”

“Such as?” she asks.

“The laws of time and space,” he answers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. She reacts as if it is too. A slight, creeping suspicion pushes his eyebrow up his face. “How did you say you got here again?”

“I don’t really know,” she replies. Turning her head away from her companion, she looks out into the distance of the void. “I… I left my family. It was just getting too much. Too much to live up to; too much expectation. I felt… I felt like I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. That I was put under such a microscope and that they were holding me to different standards than they would hold themselves. I… I have no idea why I’m telling you any of this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, cocking his head to the side. Though her words show vulnerability, he can’t help but observe how her svelte frame carries a sort of deiform power. “I guess I’m a good listener?”

“Yeah… I guess…” she ponders.

“That must have been hard for you.” He softens his voice, though with a hint of scepticism still niggling away under the surface. He wants so badly to empathise. “I know what it’s like to feel alone.”

“You said you were looking for someone?” she pipes up. Glancing around the nexus, she continues, “In here?”

“My friend lives here,” he again doesn’t even stop to consider how ludicrous that must sound. “But he’s been away for a couple of weeks. I was hoping he had returned.”

“I could help you look for him?” she offers. “Maybe it would help me take my mind off of… everything.”

“Yeah… maybe…” he drifts off. That lingering doubt surfaces, sharpening his words. “You still haven’t answered the question though. How did you get here?”

“I…” she stammers. His pointed tongue took her off guard. With a gulp, she confidently returns fire. “I burned it all down. The bridges to my family, the relationships, all of it. Scorched earth. I set fire to it all, and walked through the flames on the way out. It’s like… like I was meant to, you know? It’s like I was made…”

“It’s like you were made to emerge on the other side.”

“Yeah!” her eyes light up. His relax.

“I can relate.” His entire body soothes. In this supple frame, he sees an echo of himself. A vague idea of what could be - even of what one day might come to pass - but unfulfilled. Consistently inconsistent.

He holds up his gloved hand to her Hellenic eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with the fire.”

---

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1D: Identity

“It’d be a bit cliché to start by saying, ‘Hello Doves’, wouldn’t it? Fine, I’ll resist the temptation. While I’m at it, I’ll resist ending with ‘Eat Atara Themis’ too. That’s a whole level of innuendo that neither of us really need. Or maybe you do? There’s a giant fuzzy hole that’s opened up in you just waiting to be filled, and hey, maybe I could do the job? I mean… I’d consider it for realsies. Off the top of my head, you’d rate at about the fifth hottest thing in the XWF. Let me see here…”

He begins counting off on his fingers.

“Number 5… there’s you.

Number 4… Bobby Bourbon’s biceps. Just the biceps! Not anything else that bastard has to offer! Keep the mask on, thank you very much.

Number 3… The Baphomet’s left hand being sliced off, marinated overnight in balsamic vinaigrette, ground mustard, and Worcestershire sauce, cooked medium-rare, and sprinkled with some cayenne pepper.

Boner town, population me.

Number 2… Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Number 1… Corey swoon Smith.

So yeah, you’re up there! What do you say? Do you wanna…

NO!

Sorry, sorry, sorry!

Independent Atty don’t need no man! Just like me!

I’m not still hung up on Corey at all.

So I say, lay it all on the table! Stick it to the fucking man! (Not like that.) I support you wholeheartedly in your endeavours. You see, I don’t particularly have a… bone... to pick against Legacy, and it’s recently come to my attention that perhaps some of my anger towards James Raven was… misdirected. But that doesn’t make us friends. So, if Scorched Earth Atty wants to burn it all down, I’m not about to get in the way. Let loose the doves of war!

This right here, Opponent-of-the-Week Atty, you and I, this is just the luck of the draw. I don’t need this to become personal. I am going to have to ask you to do one thing though. If you can do this, we won’t have an issue. At least not on my end, but hey - I don’t always have a say in things like that.

Are you ready for my big request?


...


I need you to fucking chill.

Let the girl be.

Betsy, I mean.

I’m not here to tell you that you can’t shoot your shot. That would be disingenuous of me. Far be it for me to pull the rug out from the one thing that just might motivate you. But Nuclear Atty, I need you to leave it at that. Talk as much you want; let loose the most vile, reprehensible shit that you can imagine; and once the talking is done, get in that fucking ring and unleash all of that pent up… whatever… that you need to unleash. But once it’s done, leave it there. Keep talking if you want, regardless of the result, but I need Betsy to be able to fight another day. No more hitting the ring and taking things beyond the scope of the physical contest like you did on Warfare. Especially if one of those Left Handed cunts is in there too. You need to cut that shit out. And if that’s going to be a problem for you… well, then...

Do you care if we have an issue?

Let’s go bigger, Supposedly-Mediocre Atty. Just what the fuck do you care about at all? You made it to the Elite 8 of March Madness, but did you care? Just under two months ago you beat the new Tag Team Champions, but do you care? You’ve got a shot to become the new X-Treme Champion, but will you care? What is it that Minimum-Effort Atty cares about?

I guess we do know a couple of things. Firstly, we know you care about attention - you said it yourself against Savannah Knightley. Secondly, we know you care about your image. Those two things are kind of intertwined though, aren’t they? How many heads turn when you walk by? You’ve carefully crafted this sultry, man-eating, sex-charged picture - and you fucking pull it off! I don’t need to tell you that. You already know it. It’s how you’ve defined yourself. You’ve put the fucking work in there.

I just fucking hope Work-a-Holic Atty is showing up to Savage.

Think what that would do to your image? To be the one who did the impossible.

Impossible Atty.

Πρέπει να παραδεχτείτε, ακούγεται καλό.

Gosh, I still remember when we first met. Little old forgotten me - the man no one recalled - sneaking through your dressing room in The Middle of Nowhere, Arizona, fleeing from Betsy Granger and eager to find Corey Smith. Jesus - ебать Падший Ангел - how the world changes, amirite?

You had my eyes though.

Impression-Leaving Atty.

When The Left Hand first broke out, you were one of their first targets, just like I was. Imagine if you didn’t… what was it, sprain your ankle? Get suspended? Fuck, I don’t know. Guess we all just moved on from that, huh? Ultimate Atty’s true superpower! But imagine if that didn’t happen? The sad thing is, for a fleeting moment there, back when the shit first started hitting the fan - when the flames first started licking my skin - I actually thought that you were a part of the solution. I had it in my weird little head that Corey Smith and Atara Themis were the answer. Hell, up until a couple of weeks ago, I could still have been convinced. Huge-Potential Atty. Am I wrong to lament that? Am I wrong to think about what might have been?

You didn’t do a fucking thing though. Even when Betsy was getting laid out and I still wanted to see her burn, you didn’t act. You did nothing to fight your suspension. All you did was snipe from the sidelines - talking that ish about The Left Hand but never backing up. Fuck, even Jenny Myst showed more stones than you! How… disappointing.

And now look at you! Indecisive Atty finally has direction. Shooting-Star Atty finally has a spark. I mean, sure beating me might erase your chance to face Betsy - apparently champs can’t get shots at other champs, or whatever excuse Vinnie Lane gave for that Drew Archyle bullshit - but you getting the win would certainly change the narrative around it. I believe you can do it too! Praise Themis! But will you? Now that your torch seems to be lit once more, are you going to be bringing the heat?

Burn-it-Down Atty!

I want you to. It’s more flames for me to walk through. More fire for Hephaestus’s forge. More heat for me to be molded in. I need your fire; I need your drive. I’m becoming a fucking weapon that is going to rip through The Left Hand, Thaddeus Duke’s throat, the Persian Army, the fucking universe itself! And in order for me to be my best self, I need people like you to bring theirs. I need to stand in the centre of existence and take everything that you have, so that I can be the person that I was made to be!

So come at me - bring it the fuck on! Think of all the attention it could get you; think of the message it would send to Betsy; think of whatever it is that you need to think of in order to stand a fucking chance across that ring from me!”

He pants, drawing heavy, deep breaths to calm the furies.

“Or am I expecting more than what’s realistic? Am I asking for Olympus when a crumpled sandcastle is more likely?

Am I wrong to wish for Goddess Atty?

Here’s your chance to let me know.

If you care.”

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1E: And In Due Course, A Name

He steps through a door and back into the billowing, luminescent nimbus. The oak closes behind him as his feet find their footing in the vast cavity between worlds. In his hands, a cookie - unknown in make-up. Sometimes it’s just better not to ask.

“Malaka!” he mutters to himself. Opening his mouth wide, he takes a hefty chunk out of his snack. Crumbs uncivilly fall from the corners of his mouth as he chews. For a moment, he forgets his woe. He forgets where he is entirely; and who he’s there with.

“What was that?” she asks, catching him off guard. He freezes, and a particularly large piece of what we all hope is chocolate falls from the cookie and splats against the incorporeal ground.

“Wh[inaudible]ean?” he says through his full mouth. She gets the picture nonetheless and clarifies.

“Behind that door,” she says, pointing behind him. He innocently glances over his shoulder. “What happened in there?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, understanding her confusion. “Yeah, that’s a thing that happens from time to time. I’m walking along, doing my thang, and then all of a sudden, BAM!, I’m in some sort of a room, or kitchen, or corridor, or in the middle of a blood orgy - though admittedly that one doesn’t happen as much as I’d like - and then someone tries to beat me up.”

Her eyes both widen and narrow at the same time, her frustrated eyebrows trying to dim her fearful bulbs. Her neck pushes backwards in shock, forcing her delicate ch/ink down towards her throat.

“I have to worry about getting beaten up in here too!?” she asks with a raised voice.

“Umm…” he thinks. “I don’t think so. You should be fine. I don’t think that’s a ‘this place’ thing, rather it’s more of a ‘me’ thing, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she tells him. He shrugs and takes another bite of his snack.

“You get used to it,” he says, waiting until he’s at least swallowed (mostly) this time before he talks. “To be fair, it wasn’t too bad this time. Roxy made cookies!”

Excitedly, he displays the remains of the nearly devoured snack.

“Roxy?” she curiously asks. “Is that the friend you were looking for?”

“Oh God no!” he quickly defends himself. “She’s just a… well, I don’t really know what she is. I think she’s my boss? Sometimes? Doesn’t really matter though, I’m most definitely NOT looking for her. I’m actually starting to think that my friend isn’t here at all.”

“Where else could he be?” she questions.

“I don’t know...” his voice saddens, sinking to barely above a whisper. “He… he helped me out a couple of weeks ago. He helped me figure out… a personal problem... “

“He sounds like a great guy.” She smiles warmly at him. Uncomfortably, he shuffles on the spot.

“He’s the best I’ve ever known,” he affirms. “But… helping me, it took a lot out of him. And now I can’t get in touch with him at all. I’m worried.”

“You must be a good friend.” Full circle, she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Just like he is. Just like I’ll try to be.”

“Thanks…” he softly smiles back. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure!” she pats him on the shoulder with the hand that had been resting there.

“What’s your name?”

A half second feels like eternity. The celestial colour palette freezes in place - no swirl, and somehow, darker. His words hang in the air - all other things sucked out of it. But the moment that half-second is over, the clouds of time begin to move again. Few would have even noticed. She did.

“Aris,” she answers. A dove flapped its wings above her, and took off in flight, leaving all illusion behind.

“Pretty name,” he commented, watching the dove fly away.

Entranced by the beautiful, beating wings - white standing out against the neon - he wondered if the dove could see more than he. If it knew where his friend was.

Aris would help him though. This he knew. He always meets guides in these sorts of situations.

Aris watches him watch the dove.

Aegean blue eyes fade to ethereal black.