1A: Hi! I’m Lance!

“Come on, where is he?” Steve Sayors grumbles to himself as he checks his watch. He adjusts his position in his chair and the acetate cushion squeaks a little as he crosses his left leg over his right, making a snug little mangina in the crotch of his pants. The legs of his slacks pinch, pulling the trouser up to show the My Little Pony socks underneath. Today’s choice? Rainbow Dash.





Of all the ponies, Steve really feels a connection with Rainbow Dash. After all, she represents loyalty, and who is more loyal than Steve? He takes a lot of pride in being the longest serving XWF staff member (by far!), and intends to be loyal to the company until his days come to an end. That pride just adds to his frustration when made to wait. It’s not that he feels personally slighted - over the course of 22 years the hapless sod has been through the ringer. Having one of the stars turn up late seems like a relatively easy day at the office. Rather, Steve just feels bad for any of the equally loyal fanbase who were excited to see their favourite XWF stars! He doesn't want to let anybody down!

Well, he’s just about to.

The door to the hotel suite that Steve has set up in swings open and Steve cranes his neck around to greet the late arrival.

“Oh thank God!” he sighs, before he even gets a look at who it is. “I was worried you weren’t going to make it.”

“Oh!

My!

God!

Steve Sayors?!”

Steve’s brow arches. That’s not the voice he was expecting.

Gently shutting the door behind him, a man steps into the production lights beaming in around Steve. His frame is tall and lean, and his complexion is washed out, even by typical standards for someone with naturally pale skin.





“Umm… can I help you?” Steve asks.

“Oh! Right! Uh…” the newcomer stammers. His graceless gait carries him forward towards Sayors and he offers a clammy hand. “My name’s Lance! My BEST FRIEND ALIAS sent me.”

On instinct, Steve rises from his chair to accept the handshake, but only gets as far as an awkward half-crouch before Lance’s mitt slides into Steve’s grip. The dampness of Lance’s hand goes unnoticed. Mostly because Steve’s own hand is perpetually covered in its own layer of sweat. In between their hands, the juices merge together, becoming the second most disgusting liquid on the planet (after literally anything that comes out of Charlie Nickles).

“So is ALIAS coming?” Steve asks, lowering back down onto the chair.

“Umm… maybe?” Lance’s bottom lip protrudes. “He said he might take a while, but that you’d be happy to hear my story though!”

“He did?”

“Absolutely!” Lance settles into the chair across from Steve and crosses his legs in a near mirror of the intrepid interviewer (including the tight triangle between his thighs and crotch). “He said something about how people always have stories about sidekicks and characters that have nothing to do with the XWF and that nobody ever really bats an eye, so why not him too? Or something like that anyway. I didn’t really catch all of it - he was walking away from me while he was talking.”

“So this isn’t going to have anything to do with the XWF? Or ALIAS’s match against Charlie Nickles?” Steve struggles to hide his disappointment. He lives and breathes the XWF, and could talk about it all day, every day.

“Oh no, it definitely will!” Lance reassures him. “I’m such a big fan!”

As loyal and passionate as he is, Steve Sayors isn’t exactly known for having much of a backbone.

He acquesies.

“Let’s hear your story then.”

---

---

---

1B: Bad Medicine

Brooklyn, New York.
28 November 2021.

I had been waiting for hours outside the building. I had been following the XWF ever since I was a child. My Dad’s favourite was Fran Damage - the first ever Universal Champion - but I was always partial to MiGRaiNe. He was fun. In a child’s mind anyway. As I grew older, my tastes shifted. I still enjoyed the likes of Clowns R Us and Gecko, but names like Aidan Collins and KoRe really stood out in my teenage years. Similarly, as I got to college age, the shock factor of the likes of Sid Feder and John Madison would really grab my attention. I was the perfect age for every year. Just as the company grew out of that phase, I did too. As we got closer and closer to today’s era, the likes of Gator, Jim Caedus, and then Robert Main would all find their way to the top of my favourites list.

But nobody connected with me the way He did.

ALIAS.

I suppose, like the others, it was a ‘right time, right place’ sort of thing. But there was something about Him that struck differently for me. I was there when He set fire to his own hand to take His power back from the Left Hand. It felt like a movement was beginning. And it was. I was there at Coreytopia, when a million plus all rejoiced after He slayed the King. I was there on ‘the moon’ when He took The Universe into His hands. And from there? I was at every show.

In a roundabout way, that’s what led me to hiding out in an alleyway in the vicinity of the Barclay’s Center for Bed Medicine. I couldn’t explain it, but I had a feeling that something was different this time. It was a vague sensation in the pit of my stomach, but if watching Him had taught me anything, it was to trust in the The Universe. If He was in my shoes, He would listen to that voice gnawing away at his mind. He would trust his gut. So I would too. I had to find Him. I had to find ALIAS.

I knew by now that He wasn’t likely to walk in the front door. Hell, none of the XWF stars were going in the same entrance that the fans were, but even then, He wasn’t likely to just walk in the same entrance as the rest. He had His own ways of getting around. His were the back streets. His were the shadows.

The show had started. Or at least the Thanksgiving Day Parade Match between Bobby Bourbon and Matt Knox was being replayed on the screen. I had already seen it, so was comfortable giving it a miss. Besides, this felt important.

It’s not a New York alleyway without rats. I saw three or four of them while I waited. Or maybe it was just the same one skittering to and fro. It - or they - looked at me the same way each time. Like they knew something. Maybe I was crazy though. That’s okay. Both He and I had been called worse before. If I was right, it would all be worth it. A thump and a rattle caught my attention and the rat(s?) left me to investigate its source by myself. I peered around a corner, and there He was, standing in front of an open dumpster.

ALIAS.

He hadn’t noticed me yet. I watched as he took a phone out from… Holy Moly! Is that what He meant whenever He said He was reaching into Hammerspace? The phone literally came from out of nowhere!

And it went into the dumpster.

“What are you doing?!” I blurted, forgetting myself for a moment and stepping out from behind the wall. His mythic blue eyes darted towards me, piercing the dimming light. Behind them was another world, haunting yet mesmerising.

With a full view of me, and time to take it in, those same eyes softened to a more timid hue.

“Just tossing out the trash,” He smiled.

“A phone?” I asked. My legs carried me towards Him. “Is it broken?”

“No,” He shrugged. “I don’t think so anyway. I just don’t have much use for it.”

“Why not?” That same concern that had brought me here surfaced once more. Some intangible dread casting shadows in the back of my mind. “You’re uh… you’re not about to do anything… bad are you?”

“No,” He repeated, this time with a chuckle. And a disconcerting wink.

Like He knew.

“Tommy Romeo got me that thing, back when he seemed… necessary.” He reaches across the dumpster and flicks the lid down. It drops with a thud. Romeo never accomplished much in the XWF, but I still knew exactly what He was talking about. The Left Hand. “The phone seems just as necessary as Tommy now. Especially considering…”

There He went again. He trailed off. And winked.

“What if it becomes important again?” I asked, trying to bring him back.

“Then I’ll find it again.” It all seemed so simple coming from Him. So effortless.

“I could… I could hold onto it for you?” I offered. “You know… just in case?”

“Sure.” It wasn’t enthusiastic, but it’s permission nonetheless. “You’ll have to fetch it yourself though. Looks pretty rank in there.”

“Umm… okay…” I opened the dumpster up again. The putrid smell of rotting food and possibly carcasses battered me in the face. He just brushed past me, and began walking off down the alley. Before I dove in to fetch the phone, I called after Him. “Is everything okay? I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

For the third time, He winked.

A rat ran across the ground behind Him.

And He disappeared.

---

---

---

1C: Really?!

“Okay… so, let me get this straight…” Steve Sayors says, after Lance had finished his story. “You’re a life long XWF fan who became an ALIAS superfan, and that led you to gaining possession of his phone?”

“That’s right,” Lance confirmed. One of the production team in attendance alongside Steve brought a glass of water over to the fan, and Lance took a big gulp.

“I can see the XWF connection,” Steve continues. “But you said it would link to ALIAS’s match against Charlie Nickles too?”

“Of course!” Lance replies. Steve can tell he’s eager to continue.

“Okay then,” he says. “Talk to us about Charlie.”

---

---

---

1D: Fire and Ice

Reykjavik, Iceland.
30 January 2022.

He taught me to trust my gut. But He also taught me that you need all of the information in order to understand the whole picture. What’s missing before we get to what you’re after is Iceland.


~~~


“Are you SURE this is needed for the story?” Steve interjects

“Definitely,” Lance replies.

“Fine,” Steve submits. “But you better not be yanking my chain!”

“I wouldn’t dare.”


~~~


It had only been two months. Barely a blink in terms of the XWF’s wider existence. It was pretty significant for me, though. For the first time in about a year, I hadn’t been to a single show. Until Iceland.

He wasn’t on the show. In fact, He hadn’t been seen or heard from since that night in New York.

But I knew.

And I was right.

He was there. You saw it. I saw it. We all saw it! He was there, and He staked His claim.

But I wasn’t there. Not exactly. As with that night in New York, I took up residence in an alleyway in the surrounding area from the stadium. It was harder here. The density and design of New York, even Brooklyn (in comparison to Manhattan) naturally laid out more alleys to begin with, let alone when contrasted with Reykjavik. The XWF complicated things further by building their own dome for this show - which of course, required being further away from the ‘inner city’ in order to have enough space. Still, I found a spot that seemed very… Him.

When He stepped outside of the building - through a different exit than the others of course - I was there. At this latitude, and at this time of year, the sun had set hours earlier and would take longer still to rise again, but the blue of His eyes were like magnets in the dark. It was impossible to miss Him.

“Hey!” I called out in excitement. My voice was a magnet of its own. For His eyes. He turned towards me. “It’s me! Lance!”

As soon as my name fell out of my mouth, I realised I never even introduced myself to begin with. Those hypnotic blues floated towards me anyway.

“Hi Lance,” He smiled.

And winked.

“I… umm…” Don’t get me wrong. I was expecting Him. I knew He would be here. Even so, it was something else to see Him again, materialising like this out of nowhere as He is wont to do. I stammered a little. “I have your phone.”

The phone. The silly little phone. Fully charged (of course). I wrangled it from my pocket and offered it to Him. I think it took Him by surprise. He squinted his eyes as He looked at the old device. I couldn’t quite figure it out if He didn’t recognise it (or me), or He simply didn’t care.

“Keep it.” There was the answer. He didn’t care.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah,” He said. “I was chucking it out when you first stumbled across me anyway, wasn’t I?”

He was right. But…

“But what if you need it?” I had no idea why I began trying to convince Him, but I did. “What if someone tries to call you?”

His laughter echoed off the fences and walls that enclosed us.

“Like who?” He asked.

“Corey?” I offered. “Dolly? The North Korean War Criminal?”

“Let me ask you this: Has the phone rang at all while you’ve had it?”

…

Oh.

I thought about not saying it. I didn’t want to upset Him. But from the look on His face, He already knew.

“No.”

“Keep it,” He repeated, gently punching my shoulder in reassurance. “Besides, look at it this way. You were there in New York, and now look at you? Here in Iceland. We’ve met each other again in two completely different countries, without much effort!”

“Is it The Universe?” I asked in earnest. He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Err.. probably not,” He said. “It does mean that you’d be easy to find, however.”

“Right, right, of course,” I quickly spat out. “But if anyone calls, you want me to let you know?”

“Sure.” He shrugged and began to walk away, without even saying goodbye.

“I could do other things too!” I called after Him. He looked back at me without turning, leaving an opening for me to continue. “Not like… anything sexual. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Just like… just help you out in general. We could be… we could be friends.”

Again He shrugged.

He took off again. I trotted after Him. Me and a rat.

---

---

---

1E: BEST FRIENDS

“And so that’s how I became ALIAS’s BEST FRIEND,” Lance says to Steve Sayors, confidently folding his arms across his chest as an exclamation mark on his tale. He grins with pride, as if he had accomplished some sort of great triumph. Steve, for his part, finishes scribbling notes into a pad, jabbing firmly into the paper with his final stroke - an exclamation mark of his own kind. He looks up at Lance, his lips pulled to the side in contemplation.

“Okay…” he starts. “So you’re like his social media manager or something now?”

“No! I mean… kind of? I guess?” Whatever confidence Lance had felt just seconds ago now saps out of his face. The only term that he’s described himself as since this experience began was as the BEST FRIEND. Putting an occupational spin on it made him feel a little dirty and used.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Steve’s own skittish nature kicks in and the two nearly fall into an inescapable cycle of apologising to one another. A question still lingering on Steve’s mind is the only thing that saves everyone. “So what does any of this have to do with Charlie Nickles?”

A very good question, that. Lance leans forward, getting closer to Steve. His voice lowers in added gravitas.

“Don’t you get it?” He speaks barely above a whisper. From the body of anybody who didn’t look like a ventriloquist doll on stilts, what follows might come across as menacing. Lance will have to settle for disconcerting. “He’s already dropped the hints. If you knew what to look for. This is a movement, Steve. It always was to people like me, but now? Now He knows it too. I'm not the only one who has been swept up in it either. There are more of us. And Charlie Nickles is either about to be swept up too, or he will be completely and utterly swept aside.”

---

---

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1F: Swept Aside

“Thanks for holding down the fort, Lance,” calls a voice from the edge of the room. The door never opened, but there he was, in all his understated glory.

The Label-Gatherer.

The Everything.

ALIAS.

“Sorry Steve,” he says, stepping away from the wall. “I had some things I needed to take care of. Last minute, you know how it goes.”

“No problem at all,” Steve says, rising up to that uneasy half-squat again. The newcomer didn’t offer a shake though, instead just placing a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder under the weight of which Steve immediately sat back down in his chair. Lance rose too, and offered his chair.

“Do you want a coffee or something?” Lance asks.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” He turns to Steve. “Do you want anything?”

“No,” Steve also says. He taps the rim of a glass of water that the production team had also delivered to him.

“I’ll just be waiting outside then,” Lance says. “Shout out if you need anything.”

“Thanks again.” Another smile gives Lance all the fuel he needs to last another day, and he quietly slinks out of the room. The click of the door behind him fades away into an eerie quiet. In the midst of the silence, Steve Sayors feels an uncomfortable gaze settling on him. He turns back to his new guest.

“Interesting guy,” Steve says, for the sake of saying something. “Big fan of yours.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” comes the opaque reply. “Did you get any pearls of wisdom from the chat?”

“Well…” Steve thinks for a moment. “He more or less just told me about how you guys met. And how he believes he’s now a part of some sort of movement.”

“That’s one way of describing it.” He sinks further into the chair, manspreading his legs and letting his hands fall in the gap between. “Lance has a habit of getting a little carried away. He’s been eating from ya boy here’s tree though, so sometimes you can’t quite take what he says at face value. There’s always layers, you know? Who am I kidding? Of course you do! You’re Steve Sayors! You study everything! And me? Well I’m everything, baby. I’ve explained that before, right? I sometimes worry that it’s all getting a bit repetitive. I’ve explained the metaphors too, to the point where it kind of seems pointless to even keep using them, but as long as motherfuckers keep acting like idiots, well… I feel like I need to keep going. Act like an idiot, get treated like one. From my perspective, this whole thing is just a gigantic reminder to you all of how I do this shit anyway. I tell stories. Whether through you, Steve, or straight through to the people’s fucking ears and eyes. I’m just trying to make sure everybody remembers how I deliver my message, before they really need to fucking hear it.”

“And Charlie Nickles plays into that by…?” Steve trails off, leaving an opening.

“Being one the biggest fucking idiots of them all."

Steve licks his lips. This is the kind of thing he lives for! He leans forward, notepad at the ready as if the production equipment wasn't enough.

"Care to elaborate?" he eggs the former Universal Champion on. And the flood gates open.

"Jesus cornholing Christ, where does one even start with that walking anal fissure?" Exasperated, arms are thrown in the air. "Just go back and look at his most recent dumbassery. Not that nonsense with TK for the cross-promotional shindig - which, side note, TK, don't fuck her!! You actually know where she's been and it's nasty!"

"Umm…" Sheepishly, Steve interrupts. "If you're talking about Thunder Knuckles making whoopie with Charlie’s ex-wife then I think that already happened."

"FUCKING SPOILERS, STEVE!" His eyes bulge for a moment. "Goddamn it, I haven’t finished watching all that shit yet!

"Sorry." Steve scrunches up into a little, apologetic ball.

"Oh, how can I stay mad at you? You literally used the word ‘whoopie’ and that’s about the most adorable thing I’ve heard this year!" The joy on Steve’s face at hearing this is immeasurable. "Just watch out with that kind of thing, okay? Think before you speak!"

Steve Sayors nods.

"Honestly, I can't really stay mad at Charlie Nickles either," the Label-Gatherer resumes. "For vastly different reasons though. Charlie is too far gone in the head that it's hard to even genuinely be mad at him. He's never really done anything to harm me, aside from a few, fairly tame and missed-by-a-mile attempted shots outta his little cocksucker. No harm, no foul, and I damn sure swing around my big ol' pork sword on that front too, so it wouldn't be right to hold that against him. I will, however, hold his inability to actually hear what someone's saying instead of shouting into the fucking void against him because that is a perfect example of his unique brand of inanity rather than insanity. See, when I mention his most recent shitfuckery, I'm talking about what he said when he ran his mouth to even get himself into this unfortunate position. Let's be honest here, Steve… I made no bones about the fact that I really wanted one of them Apex or Exile bedshitters. I hoped that by dropping a little worm out there into the ocean, that I could get a little nibble from a Robert Main or Drew Archyle, or any of the other fuckers that might have been sniffing around these airwaves thanks to Denzel Porter, like I don't know - Betsy Granger? But Charlie in his infinite wisdom decided to ignore all the parts where I acknowledged those bitches ran off and act like I was the dumb-dumb for what? Not knowing it? When I fucking said it? You see how backwards that shit is, don't you?"

"I can't really," Steve replies, finally getting a break in the rant. “The footage isn’t available anymore.”

“Really, Steve?” the King-Slayer grumbles with discontent. “You’re gonna break my balls like that? Can’t you use your fucking memory or something? Gotta say, my guy, you’re really letting me down today.”

Again, Steve shrinks in the face of the admonishment. Frustration gives way to forgiveness once more.

“Sorry,” the God-Killer says. Steve relaxes a bit while the apology continues.“That wasn’t called for. Kind of like Charlie’s bullshit, and that, dear friend, is one helluva segue if I do say so myself. It’s like the motherfucker literally can’t think straight. But I mean, what else could he do? What do you say against someone like me? Do you talk about how literally everybody put in front of me has gone the same fucking way? Do you try to rip on how I tell my story - the motifs and metaphors that, let’s face fucking facts here, have been unreasonably successful at throwing off everybody. Maybe you make some jokes about eating stuff? Try to yank my own shit and use it against me? Visit an alternate reality where I’m some bougie Government employee who helps kids for a living all in an effort to expose me for the fucking fraud I am? Or even worse, you could take a page out of the Chris Chaos playbook and go in on how I fucking look? What else is there? What can be said that hasn’t already been chewed up by yours truly until the flavour has long since been drained from the Hubba Bubba, and then I spit that shit back out onto your fucking face? There’s /nNothing! Zilch! Nada! Charlie’s not just missing a few screws, as far as this little chit-chat goes, he doesn’t have a fucking arrow in the quiver. And let’s face it. On a usual day, talking is all Charlie has for an M.O. He guns right for people. But that unwashed taint hasn’t even opened his gob yet, and I can already tell the bitch is shooting blanks. That’s why any time he’s tried to sling shit before, he had dig deep into his pathetic fucking arsenal and pull out gems like how I’ve supposedly been dodging him. Fuck me, that makes about as much sense as the Bastards running off all the little cuntrags on ym list who fled before their fucking reckoning.”

“And you’re talking about…?” Steve asks for clarification.

“Apex and the other Exiles!” the War-Winner yells. Taking a few short seconds, he closes his eyes and wills himself back to composure. “Look, I’ll give TK Robert Main, ‘cause watching that back, that shit had me rolling! But Betsy? Miller? Jim fucking Caedus? When were they last seen? When the man came back around, that’s fucking when. But Charlie wouldn’t think like that. Charlie doesn’t exactly have a very strong grip on reality. The clown thinks that I have been dodging him? Shit, he’s been saying as much as far back as War Games, but he didn’t exactly come knocking did he? And we know that he likes to stir shit up with a little sneak attack here or there. From his end? Nothing. Because he doesn’t have a bullet in the fucker chamber. Do you know what I did when he tried to say that shit back at War Games? Fucking nothing! Because I was the god damn Master of the Universe…

Still am.

…and if someone had laid down on their back in front of the failure that was and is Charlie Nickles, the cunt still would’ve found a way to fetch the L. Nothing’s changed on that front. What, are we supposed to pretend he isn’t about to lose the Television Championship and go tumbling back into a pit of fucking despair? Again! Come on! This is Charlie Nickles we’re talking about here!”

Again his voice rises, and so the Legend-Breaker takes a moment to look down and shakes his head. Inhaling a calming lungful of air, his eyes return to Steve Sayors.

“Do you remember how the Freestyle Championship was birthed, Steve?” he asks, his tone solemn and volume quiet. “That is a prime example of what one would call ‘dodging’ someone. See, Charlie instantly realised he couldn’t match words with me. The entire fucking world saw me go to town on his sloppy little pooper. So he wanted to take it to an arena that he thought (that’s an important word there) that he could keep up with me in. Me being the guy in the fucking driver’s seat…

Still am.

…I made him jump through a little hoop to do it. Sure he threw his toys and said he didn’t care, but then what did he do? He did what he was fucking told. And I gave him a date. Go back and look for yourself! I know that footage still exists. I told him we could dance on Warfare, the 17th of March, and what did he do? Went and played grab ass with R.L. Edgar and Ned Kaye instead, leaving me to have a second course on Reggie Estrada. I was ready and willing, but Charlie? He chose to go a different way.

He dodged.”

“Was that around the time where he became known as Demos?” Steve asks, after doing the maths in his head.

“Oh Lord,” the D’Ville’s Bane rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it was. Want to know how I remember? Because he was allegedly undergoing that transformation before our little brouhaha, but the guy who turned up with that God awful banter was most definitely the Charlie Nickles we all know and love laugh in the face of. Then, right as I was mid-thrust in my skull-fucking sesh, that Demos personality came surging forward! And the rest? Well, he lost the Television Championship the next month now, didn’t he? Another ALIAS encounter, another life changed for the worse! Thanks for making sure I didn’t forget to already mark Char’-Char’ on the tally sheet, Steve-o!”

“Are you claiming that you’re the reason he became Demos?” Steve asks, keeping the questions coming because unlike Charlie Nickles, he’s actually good at his job.

“HELL NO!” The Wolf-Skinner nearly jumps out of his chair. “That’s possibly the most hurtful insult anybody has ever slung my way. That whole mess was his own thing. But I would suggest that it was after running into me that he lost complete control of it and fell into his downward spiral. The sad thing is, Demos and I were kind of friendly. Whether he knew it or not, he gave me a gift - a clump of Geri Vayden’s hair - that actually helped me unlock some of the answers to my life. I would’ve helped him if I could’ve. But alas, the damage was done. In typical Charlie Nickles fashion, he couldn’t stick to one thread long enough to get anything done, and really, Television Champion or not, nobody has looked at Char’-Char’ the same again.”

“You keep mentioning that you think he won’t be the Television Champion,” Steve circles back. “He’s defending on Savage. You’ll be facing Xavier Lux on the same show. Do you have any…”

A raised finger cuts the interviewer off.

“Charlie Nickles is probably going to attack me on Savage.” He’s very matter of fact about it. “It’s not very original, really. The Exiles did it. The Left Hand did it. Fuck me, even Reggie did it! Charlie’s going to try and get under my skin, so that he can get some sort of upper hand, and it’s all going to come back around on him and make him look like a fucking idiot. Again. Let him try, I say, because you’re forgetting something, Steve.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

“This is a fucking movement.”

“But I thought…” This time, it’s not a raised finger that stops Steve from continuing. It’s those eyes. The malleable blue within hardens to steel.

“I am taking back The Universe,” the Soldier-Butcher states, unblinking. “On Savage that movement will fucking drown one of the people responsible for it not being in my hands as we speak. I asked for more of the same for Warfare, and recognising that my quarry would rather hide from accountability than face the fucking fire, I asked for the biggest fucking feast they could find. They gave me Charlie Nickles instead. Not with The Chameleon and Barney Green also in the mix to add some spice to the dish. Just Charlie. A damn pre-cooked TV dinner. Now, Charlie can attack me all he wants. It’s not going to be enough. It will never be enough. I’m going to run straight fucking through him, and on to Peter Vaughn. On to The Universe.”

“But Charlie will be waiting on the other side of that,” Steve adds. “He already has a shot at the Uni granted to him.”

Space Jesus just smirks.

“Let him wait on the other side,” he sniggers. “If he makes it that far. But think on this: Jim Caedus lost his fucking mind - if he ever had it - and that made him an easy for Charlie to goad into a match. Fair play to Charlie on that front. For whatever reason Peter Vaughn seems to have agreed to do the same. There might be a conversation to be had about dodging there, but it seems I get first dibs. Which leaves both Char’ Bear AND Petey Vee for me and me alone. No sharing between the two of them. With that in mind, tell me this: why would Charlie get a shot at the Universal Championship if the champion - that is, me - has already put him down?”

“Are you saying that if you beat Peter Vaugh, you won’t honour Charlie’s shot at the Uni Title?”

“Correction: When I beat Peter Vaughn,” ALIAS says. “But no. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that I’m going to Eat Charlie Nickles. After that? Well… that depends on what’s left.”

The door creaks open and the gangly frame of Lance steps through. He greets the two seated men with a smile that is only returned by his BEST FRIEND.

“Perfect timing!” his BEST FRIEND stands to greet him with a cupped hand to the shoulder. He turns to where Steve Sayors still sits. “See you again in a couple of days for Round 2, yeah?”

Sayors nods.

“Fantastic! Can’t wait!”

Sayors jumps as a rat scurries over his foot and out the open door.

And the two men follow after.