The Story So Far...

And now… The story continues!

***

October 18th, 2021 KFC Yum! Center Parking Lot Louisville, KY

Kato breathes a sigh of relief…

It took a little over two hours…

But Kato has finally finished rationing Mark Flynn’s gifted Coreytopian cheese-n-cracker packages.

He’s neatly packed packages 1 through 36 into the glove compartment… those shall carry him through December…

Of 2022.

Meanwhile, packages 36 through 150 have been checkerboarded into the limo’s middle console compartment.

If all goes according to plan and the monthly harvests back home in North Korea are thin and unseemly, he shall be in dire need of these cracker snacks…

…

…

Perhaps…

Perhaps he should have one now.

Kato opens the middle console.

And stares down at a beautifully packed, filled to the brim, container of 114 cheese-n-cracker snack packs.

His fingers stretch… His mouth floods with saliva… As he twirls his fingers over the center snack pack of the top layer…

…

...Oh, such a succulent salty, sweet flavor. Only the decadence of the west could possibly create such a carbohydrate-laden morsel...

Kato pinches the corner of the snack pack between his index and thumb an-

HONK!

Kato looks in the rearview mirror…

And sees driving across the entire parking lot at the KFC Yum! Center… diagonally across all spaces!

Rolling at 50 Miles per Hour!

Sticking his head out of the window and screaming ‘WHERE WE GO ONE, WE GO ALL!’

Barrelling towards the Korean limo, the only other car on the lot!

Kato immediately slams the console shut! Then covers the middle console with his entire body!

“Please be safe, my sweet snacks. My darlings…”

Kato closes his eyes and braces himself…

The pick-up truck, which even from this far away, smells like Kentucky moonshine, stampedes forward!

…

…!

Before the BOB-Anon narrowly turns the wheel, just squeaking past the limo by the thinnest margin! And jumping onto the curb of the arena!

…

After several seconds, the pick-up truck’s driver-side door pops open…

Kato’s ears perk and he peeks one eye open… He sighs with relief, making a mental note to count his cheddar cracker snacks later, after all is said and done.

He crawls up to the window and brings his eyes just to the edge of the window to spy on this interloper.

Crawling out of the Chevy Silverado, a clearly visible breathalyzer hooked to his dashboard, stands a mountain of a man. Six foot ten. 300 pounds. Wearing a t-shirt that has Robbie Bourbon’s masked face on it, but filtered through the colors of the American flag.

And he wields in his right hand…

...

...Is that a fucking samurai sword?

It is. A shinogi-zukuri katana, to be exact.

He wields the grip in his right hand, carrying the blade over his back, leaving his Chevy parked with two wheels up on the sidewalk.

“Hmm, perhaps he is… the Louisville town drunk? …With a sword collection?”

Kato reaches under the driver’s seat and retrieves a set of binoculars… He keeps his head low but peers through the tinted windows…

The BOB-Anon walks up to the arena… And doesn’t seem to notice it’s on fire.

...

Wait, the arena is on fire.

The arena is on fire!

A blaze rushes up the side of the arena! The KFC! Yum Centre is frying like a chicken coated with the Colonel’s 11 herbs and spices!

“Good Lord! Fire! Fire!”

Kato reaches into his pocket for his cellular phone. His commander finally saw fit to bestow upon him a Motorola Razr of his own…

He starts punching in numbers with one-hand, but keeps an eye on this odd, giant fool.

The oaf walks up to the XWF door, still not noticing the wall above him is ravaged in flames… He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a Budweiser tallboy, which he quickly chugs, then crushes the empty can against his head.

“TIME TO SAVE AMERICA! THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, ROBBIE! YOU AND OUR BOYS FIGHTING OVERSEAS!”

The BOB-Anon jiggles the handle.

- RECOGNIZED THUMBPRINT ON HANDLE -

The panel opens at his neckline…

- PLEASE SUPPLY OCULAR SCAN -

“What’s going on in there! This one of them peep-shows for the political elite to watch their woke inclusive pornography!” The Bob-Anon ducks his head and sticks his eyes against the screen.

- SCAN RECOGNIZED. WELCOME USER : ‘rm_guest_1’. -

The door pops open.

“Well, thank ya kindly, machine. When the globalist elites kick off the robot uprising to suppress our human freedoms, I’ll destroy ya last.”

-ACKNOWLEDGED -

The Bob-Anon slips in.

Kato slides the binoculars down his face.

“Oh No! That obese American interloper may endanger the commander!”

...

"Also! The fire!"

Kato turns his attention to the phone where he’s finished dialing his commander’s number.

It rings once…

“Please answer, sir. Time is short!”

Twice…

***

October 18th, 2021 Inside the KFC Yum! Center Louisville, KY

Owwwwwwwwwww… The North Korean War Criminal’s head… is killing him. Ow ow ow…

…

Could someone turn off that alarm…

…

Wait, that’s his ringtone!

NK’s eyes fully open and he takes in his surroundings!

The wall in front of him… Yes, it’s made of ceiling tiles! Clearly he’s in some kind of topsy-turvy, geometry-defying room…

He tries to walk forward… But is held… by some sort of… invisible, gravitational force! How insidious! It’s as strong as… gravity!

…

Wait, hold on.

NK might just be lying down and looking at a ceiling.

…

Yes, that’s the case.

NK gazes around the room… First, he notices that he can’t immediately see the source of the ringing…

The next thing he notices…

…

...Oh my.

The cast of kooky bizarro characters that NK and Flynn have been walking by and around… The FXW Superstars. Frozen in place.

That’s all typical.

Except these ones are…

...In various stages of … scientific examination.

Todd Baton, the former British constable and leader of the FXW security that, by British law, never carries a gun… is currently strapped to a nearby table and has a large magnifying glass held to his eye for examination…

Daniel Debris, the Handler of Specific Management of FXW Wednesday Night Pacifism (the weekly program where FXW has no matches and the wrestlers all sit in the ring and talk out their interpersonal issues), has some sort of dental implement on his mouth to open it as wide as possible.

And Saul Stevens, the leather-motorcycle-jacket-wearing FXW backstage interviewer (who doesn’t ask questions, because he just tells it like it is) has his cocksure smile and sunglasses frozen on his face.

While his chest has been carved open…

His organs, still connected to his body, rest on various biological weights and scales…

His heart still beats as it rests on a slab about a foot above his head.

...

...NK should probably leave.

Before he is the next to be dissected...

NK tries to sit up. He presses his hands backwards against the cold metal surface to prop himself… But finds his hands are tied and his arms are locked and chained to the table…

Haha! A fool’s attempt to hold a master escape artist. He’ll escape these chains as soon as he turns off that blasted ringing…

…

Wait, NK’s boot vibrates around his foot…

…Aha! His boot is shaking! That’s right! Even while the Razr has been stolen, NK still has his iPhone in his heel! He simply needs to reach it and perhaps he can call for help USE IT TO HEROICALLY ESCAPE!

NK tries to lift his ankle… But his foot is similarly chained.

…

Ah. NK might be dealing with an advanced fool here.

Perhaps…

…

Um…

…

The phone stops ringing!

Finally, NK has some peace and quiet to think of a plan!

…

……

…………

Um…

…

……Perhaps…

…

Suddenly, footsteps.

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

They’re getting louder and they’re getting closer and…

…

NK desperately tries to stretch his neck to chew on his straps! Unfortunately, his damn neck can’t quite reach! Why didn’t Central Command ever fund his idea for giraffe-neck soldiers that NK just thought of in this moment?!?!

Suddenly, steps coming around the corner! Now standing in the doorway!

…

It’s…

...

It’s a second NK.

…

A doppelganger.

Dressed not in camouflage fatigues as NK as, but dressed in a white naval uniform. And lengthy, flowing black hair.

But the faces. It’s like looking in a mirror.

The second NK’s eyes scan the room… And find NK #1 lying on the table helplessly MERE MOMENTS FROM CRAFTING HIS ESCAPE.

“Good Lord!” The duplicate dashes from the door and rushes to NK’s ankles. The double reaches into a compartment in his sleeve and retrieves a bobby pin.

“Who are you? What is your aim…” NK’s eye twitches as he briefly catches a glimpse of his duplicate’s well-toned posterior, identical to his own muscular tuchus. “...Handfuls?”

“I…What?”

“Uh… Handsome?”

The duplicate, still working to unlock the chains around NK’s ankles, peers at him confused.

…

Then chuckles. “Aha, I comprehend! You are making a joke about how we have the same appearance. So calling me handsome is calling yourself handsome. A most clever jape!”

…

“Yes.”

The duplicate’s focus returns to picking NK’s chain locks, “There may be time for such humor and levity later, but we must free you before HE returns…”

With a clicking sound, NK’s ankles are freed. The duplicate moves up to NK’s arm chains.

“Before who returns?”

“We must prioritize haste! I’ll share everything the moment we’ve reached safety!”

With another click, NK’s arm chains come undone… NK immediately rolls his hips back up over his shoulders and lands on his feet at the head of the metal table.

He briefly poses at the head of the table, stretching and flexing his obliques, though it’s not immediately visible through his layers of camouflage fatigues.

“Yes, new compatriot, as you may notice, I am quite nimble. Not a big deal.” NK assumes a casual, humble pose, as denoted in Central Command’s extensive documentation on Downplaying Your Attributes to Make Them Seem More Impressive. “Mark Flynn has insisted that I visit the gym several times since begging to coach me. Some may say it has quite enhanced my physique… but I simply do not see it.”

…

The doppelganger squints confused, trying to understand why NK is doing what he’s doing…

…Wait, NK thinks to himself, why am I doing what I’m doing? He blushes. What are these feelings I’m feeling?

…

Awkward.

“...We should depart.”

“A-a-and find a more intimate space? W-W-well, if it’s your idea…”

NK moves for the door his opposite came in from… But he is promptly grabbed by the arm.

“No! That way is too dangerous… He may retrace our steps, detect a pattern and head us off. We must remain one step ahead.”

The duplicate drags NK to the wall, towards a ventilation shaft… He quickly loosens its screws and pops the cover off.

“In here, quickly!”

NK frowns, smacking away his counterpart’s hand.

“I will not be dragged about the nose like common cattle or an American! I demand to know who you are and who we are evading and what you look for in a romantic companion!”

The duplicate sighs.

“I…”

Then, he stops.

“What did you say?”

“Who you are and who we are evading, I stated plainly!”

…

“...Fine, I shall speak quickly. My name is United Korean Peace Officer! I am with Federation of X-Treme Wrestling! And we aim to escape from…”

UKPO shudders just thinking about his name…

“...Flark Mynn.”

NK peers perplexedly.

“Flark Mynn? What sort o-”

Suddenly, another batch of footsteps!

“There’s no time!”

UK shoves NK into the shaft… Then crawls in behind him, spinning only to lift the cover back into its position…

…

The footsteps come closer and closer.

…

…

And the BOB-Anon enters.

He takes a quick look at the occupants of the room… The frozen half-dissected bodies of FXW superstars.

“My God! This must be the universal healthcare the liberals want!”

He peers around profoundly disturbed by the sight of medical care, illegitimate or otherwise.

“This must be how they inject the autism into the COVID vaccine that they make out of the blood of children, which they also drink!”

He spits on the ground in disgust.

“DAMN HEATHENS!”

He moves on.

To Be Continued…

***

The camera ducks under the doorway into the War Room.

The classroom that Flynn and NK have been plotting out their tag team matches.

Mark Flynn stands at the front of the class. He’s sketching out various diagrams on Centurion’s attributes. His advanced age, which means he must be running out of cartilage in his knees.

His sportsmanlike conduct and commitment to fair play, which means NK will have an advantage in rule-bending…

His stupid, punchable fucking face.

It pans around the room and finds sitting atop a desk…

That scoundrel.

That fiend.

That bandit.

That evil, awful, nationalist wrong-doer…

The North Korean War Criminal.

He lounges comfortably against a desk. His manservant and second-in-command, Kato stands behind him at attention.

He does… hesitate slightly, though. As if this next statement is awkward and unnatural for him to say. But genuinely felt.

“I would like to… take this opportunity to wish my… friend… and fellow Team F.U.C.K.T.H.A.D member, Comrade Centurion… BEST of LUCK!”

NK says this like he’s reading an unfamiliar, alien language and is doing his best to sound it out.

“May we both do the Glorious Leader proud in competition!”

…

Flynn’s ears perk.

He stops writing on the chalkboard and walks upstage to NK. Flynn leans in beside his partner’s shoulder, whispering.

“NK, what are you doing?”

NK leans backward, still smiling unnaturally, like someone trying to be friendly with 100% enthusiasm and 0% experience.

“I am merely extending… um… good will, I believe?”

“...Why?”

“Well, Mark Flynn, I shall not allow the XWF to tear apart Team F.U.C.K.T.H.A.D., the greatest collective slash WarGames squadron in the history of the XWF with one booking!”

Flynn scratches his head, still perplexed.

“So, what? You’re gonna throw the match against Cent?”

NK is aghast, face white at the idea of not trying his best.

“Of course not, Mark Flynn! I have much too much respect for Comrade Centurion to do such a thing! I shall compete to my fullest ability!”

Flynn gets a devious smile on his face.

“Well, NK. We’re both aware just how much trash talk plays a part in the mental game in this sport.”

“Absolutely, Mark Flynn. A significant portion of the match is decided well before the opening bell.”

“So, if you’re not gonna trash-talk… if you just wish Centurion good luck… That’s FUCKED UP, NK.”

NK gasps.

“F-f-fucked up, Mark Flynn?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve both done some truly depraved things, NK. But wishing someone good luck and that’s it? To not even take an opponent seriously enough to trash talk? That’s cold as fuck.”

Flynn winks at Kato, who nods, immediately comprehending the game. He leans into NK’s opposite shoulder.

“Deeply dishonoring to Mister Centurion, Commander. It’s likely he would feel profoundly disrespected if you abstained from verbally decimating him.”

NK turns from Flynn to Kato, back to Flynn.

He is mortified.

“W-well, then I shall trash talk Comrade Centurion...”

…

“Because it was my idea all along to trash talk Comrade Centurion! I was testing you both! Obviously! Haha!”

NK jabs Kato in the elbow with his ribs. Kato plays along, laughing and walking behind the camera to adjust the lens to focus on NK. Flynn rolls his eyes and walks back to the chalkboard.

NK leans back to the camera, now much more comfortable.

“Well, Comrade Centurion, I’d like to start off by saying, I look forward to your barbs against my homeland. I know you’re deeply bigoted against the people of the greatest nation on Earth.”

“Of course, why would I bother taking shots at your homeland of Greece? Western society’s drunken, dementia-addled grandfather, who accomplished things at one point, but has now been a financial burden on his progeny much longer than it ever was a provider? Greece, who has the second highest debt-to-GDP ratio of any country on the planet? With 65.5% of your population at unhealthy weights?”

“You want to call North Korea a hellhole, Comrade Centurion? We have a better employment rate than Greece and we can see our genitals without needing a mirror OR a magnifying glass! Look in the mirror and realize your country is on its last legs. Just like your wrestling career!”

NK snickers.

“I must confess though, Comrade Centurion. A victory over you would be a very impressive addition to my resumé…”

…

“If the year were 2005.”

NK slyly taps his nose.

“Of course, let’s look at your career recently.”

“You’ve become a two-time Anarchy champion. Enjoying being the biggest fish in the kiddie pool, eh, Comrade Centurion? And the only reason you kept that belt at Bad Medicine was Elijah Martin punched you so hard, you fell outside the… kennel? Bravo! You found a way to win by doing what is easiest for you recently! Getting beaten up! Well-earned victory!”

“In the last few months, You’ve taken on lackluster talent like Captain Future and The Disintegrators… Almost as if XWF is so desperate to keep their legend around, they’re feeding you the softened carrot mush of the locker room… The geriatric home’s cafeteria jell-o of wrestling talent. Meals to let you feel virile as when you were young and relevant… And still were not good enough to ever be Universal Champion.”

NK winks.

“Let’s face it, Comrade Centurion. Your turning-over-a-new-leaf? Your commitment to re-inventing yourself and digging deeper for one last late-career renaissance? You’re out of time, Comrade Centurion. What soil is left turn over when the field is fucking barren and the crops have wilted and you need two viagra to feel a wiggle in your underwear while watching black-and-white Audrey Hepburn on Turner Classic Movies, you fucking ANCIENT, WITHERED CORPSE?!?”

NK looks back at Flynn and gives an inquisitive thumbs up, like ‘good, right?’.

Flynn’s grin is so apparent, it must be painful. He is fucking delighted.

“I personally look forward to your inevitable loss against me, Comrade Centurion. Because I look forward to the full apology I’ll receive for you wasting my time. Just like you apologized to Thebe Nwadike… The young OCW talent who lost his next match and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Comrade Centurion, the first XWF talent to lose to an OCW competitor. In fact, I think we can draw a straight line to Thebe Nwadike’s victory and the sudden influx of OCW talent rushing over here. Which makes Bam Miller’s WASTE of an X-Treme title run YOUR FUCKING FAULT! Yet another waste you should apologize for…”

NK rubs his hands fiendishly as he builds up steam.

“Comrade Centurion, while you’re apologizing, when are you going to apologize to the XWF Universe for forcing them to watch your body slowly break down? Does anyone truly love watching you compete these days, when all it does is reinforce all of our mortalities? Death and mediocrity await us all and Comrade Centurion is living proof!”

“As your talent atrophies and the cartilage in your knees thins … At what point do you apologize to our audience for making them watch the first five minutes of Pixar’s Up but over the last five fucking years?”

Flynn spins around beside the chalkboard.

“Wait, NK, have you seen Up? I thought you weren’t into American movies.”

NK blushes.

“No, Mark Flynn, I’ve still only seen Iron Giant and Juwanna Mann. But I’m familiar enough with American pop culture to get the jist of the opening scene: Young man has love, loses love, gets old, is cranky and miserable.”

“As a matter of fact, I heard they based the film Up on Centurion’s career. Except replace love with Centurion being fucking relevant.”

NK cackles. Flynn guffaws in the back.

NK shakes his head and his face suddenly gets serious.

“I hope you don’t think based on the above that I’m not taking you seriously, Comrade Centurion.”

NK draws a finger across his neck.

“I have reviewed every one of your matches since WarGames to prepare for our contest.”

“And I only fell asleep a half-dozen times.”

“But I can tell watching your performances in just the last few months…”

“You’ve gotten slower, Comrade Centurion.”

“You’re getting tired more quickly.”

“It’s getting harder doing things that used to be easy for you… Running the ropes… Grappling… You look winded climbing the stairs into the ring these days.”

“Your body is desperate to rest.”

“And you’ve ignored it by tripling your workload… Three matches in one calendar week. Jumping into a tag match on Anarchy… a triple threat match on Savage… And closing with a singles match with the fastest rising star in the XWF… Yours Truly.”

“And those are just your XWF matches. Like so many other fools attempting to solidify their legend status in this business, you’re obsessed with branching out into lesser structures… Just another kiddie pool for you to still feel like a virile big fish.”

“UGWC… Level-Up Wrestling… FIGHT NYC! …What do you seek to prove, Comrade Centurion?”

“...”

“That you’re not done, of course.”

“You’re convinced that pushing yourself past your limits is what you must do as an athlete. That your limits are still only mental and can be surpassed.”

“And that would be true… for a younger man. But for someone as far away from their prime as you…”

“Your limits are physical. Even you in your promos complain about the schedule you yourself chose. It’s not as easy at used to be eh?”

”And the ceiling of ‘Centurion’s best’ is closing in… lower and lower… like the outfield at a little league game when a child with thin arms and limited core strength walks to the plate. Because he’s about to ground-out, why bother standing back?”

“You’re already dead, Comrade Centurion. Your bookings now are just the last gasps of someone whose career heights are far, FAR behind them.”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake ending up in the ring with me.”

“Because I plan to abuse your body’s regression. I plot to exploit your deteriorating ability. And I scheme to embarrass an XWF Legend by bringing victory to the True Korean people.”

NK taps his forehead, grinning ear to ear.

“You wanted to end 2021 strong? You’re about to make 2021 the end of your entire career, Comrade Centurion.”

“And if you let yourself dream… If you pretend… If you imagine for one fucking second you have a chance in the ring with me? A superior athlete? Someone whose best years are still ahead of them?”

“Someone famous for cheating the rules and taking advantage… In a match where ANYTHING GOES?!?”

NK snickers once more nefariously.

“If you’re not careful, your delusional hope that you’ll survive this Wednesday might just be your…”

FINAL.
FANTASY.

NK fiendishly grins as the camera starts to blacken at the edges.

NK then turns back to Mark Flynn.

“There. Do you think Comrade Centurion will be pleased?”

Flynn laughs and delivers a thumbs-up.

“Oh yeah, He’s gonna fuckin’ love it.”

Fade to black.