The scene opens on an older, balding man in a prison cell. A man who, despite being in prison, looks to be having a pretty good go of things. Oh, did we mention that the man in question is David Berkowitz? Mr. Son of Sam himself?

Yeah, this sick fuck who gunned down and murdered a score of people is presently sipping a spot of Earl Grey tea, with large headphones about his ears listening to opera music. With a satisfied sigh, he looks at the blank wall of his cell and considers masturbating furiously to the memory of gun smoke and blood spilled on the sidewalk.

Of course, Mr. Berkowitz is turned away from the door of his cell, which sports a window to the common area of the prison. A window at which an eerie mask can now be seen.

Mercy.

The lock to his cell door is deactivated, and the door slowly yawns open revealing a trio of reprobates, because along with Mercy it’s Tommy Wish and Madison Dyson.

Hey Berky. Madison calls. Berkowitz doesn’t respond, instead bobbing his head to the music in his headphones. Berky! Madison calls out again, louder. Still no response. At that, Mercy marches into the cell, grabs Berkowtz by the shoulder, and spins him around.

LiStEn!!

Berkwowitz gasps and fumbles backwards, landing directly on his ass. Tommy steps in and has a seat atop a mini fridge next to Berkowitz’s bed. Madison stands before the killer now, hands on her hips. David shakily removes his headphones.

Wh-who are you people? What do you want?

It’s simple Berky. We’re here to set you free.

What?!

Tommy reaches down and opens the mini-fridge, pulling out a soda and cracking it open.

Hey, that’s not yours!

…so? Tommy takes a sip.

Berkiwtz returns his attention to Madison. What the hell are you talking about? Who let you in here?

It’s amazing what a metric fuck ton of cash can accomplish. But as I said Berky, we’re here to release you. I have secured your freedom.

Berkowitz still looks stunned. That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been denied parole 11 times.

Well, looks like today is just your lucky day.

Tommy sighs with satisfaction after taking another sip. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, brother.

Berkowitz gets to his feet, looking at Mercy appraisingly. So what’s the catch. There’s gotta be a catch.

Well, “the catch”, if you can REALLY call it that, Madison intones with an oily veneer of schmooze, is that you just be yourself. The dreaded SON OF SAM. That deluded dog talking, stalking, mass murdering son of a bitch we all know and love!

The killer stands stock still for a moment, before starting to chuckle. Madison’s smile goes belly up. What’s so funny?!

Oh, all that talking to a demon dog stuff? I made that all up. Hell, I only ever did two of the murders they accuse me of. This crazy cult I got tied up in was responsible for the rest.

Heh…yeah…”cults”...crazy. Wait so what the WHAT?!

It’s the God’s honest truth. David looks past Madison, just outside his cell. And to be honest with you, I’ve kinda grown to like it in here. I’ve got three hots and a cot. They supply me with just about everything I could ever want. Free medical care. Honestly, I’m doing better in here than I ever did out in the real world.

…what? Madison’s face tics with a mounting rage.

See Maddy, I told you this guy would be a waste of time! He’s not what we’re looking for.

SHUT UP, TOMMY! Then, back to David. What are you blathering about? Your one of the most feared serial killers of all time. You expect me to believe this cult shit?!

But Maddy aren’t you in a…?

Shhhhhaaaadaaaaaap!

dO yOu wANT me To kILL hIm?

What?! NO! Everybody just calm the fuck down!

I’m calm.

Nobody asked you, Berkowitz!

Look, if you guys don’t mind I have a very busy afternoon planned. I was going to jerk off, finish my tea, maybe catch up on some Chaucer. He shrugs. Probably jerk off again….

That is so, so sad. Look, look, look….Madison gesticulates in frustration. I don’t think you quite understand what I’m offering here.

Oh, I understand just fine. I just prefer being in here. It’s like my own little oasis away from the world.

Madison pinches the bridge of her nose. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.

Hard way! HARD WAY! Tommy chants from the sidelines.

Berkowitz considers the group anxiously. What’s the hard way?

Tommy gives you a testicular torsion and Mercy injects you with whatever the fuck is in her glove.

Berkowitz looks off to the side and then back at the group. So when are we leaving?

Nowish. Pack your shit. We got a plane to catch.

Substitutes are for BITCHES.

Mmmm. Yeah. Let’s talk about the substitutes. In fact, let’s talk about Chris Page. Chris….YOU are a fucking

R

E

T

A

R

D

And as clever as YOUR offer was to slobber the tip of YOUR knob, I think I’ll have to pass because I can’t be arsed to find a pair of tweezers right now.

Let’s talk about how stupid YOU are Chris. Let’s talk about how after getting randomly chosen to sub in for a team you were neither prepared nor expecting to join, YOU took it upon yourself to insult two of your team members. Let’s roll that beautiful bean footage.

Quote:I can care less about some King that picks and chooses when to wear the crown and I’m not concerned with a random Dick sighting; although to be fair at least Dick is funny. I don’t need to coexist; I don’t need to pretend that I care if YOU are on board or not because again I am going to use YOU just like YOU are going to use me so that the finals are made. I’ll tell YOU this if we make that final… all bets are going to be off.

Wow, way to endear yourself to the team. Great job Chris. It’s a good thing your not letting that oversize ego get in the way of good solid team dynamics. Not only is this team composed of a bunch of randos, one of said randos has made it clear he “can care less” (FYI that means you COULD care less ya fackin’ CORKY) about his team mates. Not to mention the fact that he went on to mock and ridicule the aforementioned King’s best friend, and weh-heh-hell we got the makings of a SOLID UNIT right here.

And as for you Dick, as running cock jokes go I suppose your not a terrible one. It’s just too bad that your record as a War Games team captain is even more mediocre than your record as a euphemism. Your team bombed out last year, and that was when you had all the time in the world to prepare. Now, as a last minute substitution, can you honestly say you’re looking to do even better? I’m thinking not.

But let’s talk about the real meat and potatoes of this shindig. Let’s talk Team Speedrun. In fact, while we’re talking about things with a quickness, let’s talk about just how quickly Game Girl is gonna get turnt out at War Games. I’m sorry bitch, did you say you were MISSING AN ARM?!

Ah hem. Mmmpf. *Chortles back laughter*.

Calypso, you literally drafted a CRIPPLE! A fucking CRIPPLE! You wanna talk blood in the water? We’re in the Red Sea, baby. Princess Peach here qualifies for a disability hang tag in her Mario Kart and she thinking she’s gonna be any kind of useful to her team? What happens when Mercy removes your one good arm from it’s socket and starts to flay you with it? How you gonna shoot a fireball or whatever other dumb shit you can do this week? Bitch, my girl is gonna turn you into a head on a stick faster than you can say “Power Up.” I’m starting to think maybe I was wrong when I called Blue Tango the weakest link. Good God. A CRIPPLE!

And while we’re on the topic of cripples, let’s talk mental cripples. Let’s move on to North Korean War Criminal. Or as I like to refer to North Korea, “the dirty Korea.” You know, I just love how this whole team is pumping up NK for supposedly winning War Games last year. Like he was anything but a bit player on the team who threw his body into the thresher while Corey Smith and Alias did all the heavy lifting. Don’t get me wrong, I hate me some Corey Smith and I think Alias is some twee pseudo ET dipshit with a hard on for performative profundity, but to think you or Flynn for that matter was the lynch pin of that team is a level of purestrain stupid that I had yet to encounter, and I managed Dexter Bright!

Who made it to the finals, slanty? Because I don’t remember North Korean War Criminal getting his malnourished arm raised at the end of the night. No, it was Corey and Alias. And fuck you double time for making me say something good about Corey Smith. Just for that, Mercy’s gonna smack you roundeyed and send you back to Dear Leader in a box, bitch!

Rounding out Calypso’s team is the significantly less interesting Hispanic on the roster (you’re welcome LSM): Hanari Carnes. Tha big money, big dick playa, right? Motherfucker thinking he’s some olive skinned Gordon Gekko. Well let me introduce you to MY patron, cabron. His name is Mammon. Hell spawned Lord of Greed and Avarice. You’re already worshipping him and you don’t even know it. Which puts your squarely in my back pocket. You see Carnitas, I am Mammon’s right hand gal on this plane of existence, which makes you thoroughly small fry compared to me. I mean, as if we couldn’t tell you’re small fry to begin with. What with the way you advertise your own insecurity by putting your wealth and “nose to the grindstone” on public display every chance you get.

But here’s the thing about TRUE wealth. TRUE power. It’s effortless. The last time I broke a sweat was in a match. But in my day to day, my MONEY makes MONEY and you don’t see me crowing about it because, quite frankly, I don’t need to be so gauche. True power isn’t performance, it’s a simple state of being. You? You’re playing a role. You’re sweating it out. But me? I stopped having to break a sweat ages ago.

But now I guess your stuck in a video game or some shit. Aye, dios mio!

Fuck off you poser.

And last, and questionably least (rememeber everybody’s favorite cutesy limbless paragon of naive dumbfuckery is still well in the running), we come to Calypso. And here’s what sticks in my craw. People keep saying that Mercy isn’t relevant. That she hasn’t DONE anything. But this insignificant skidmark on the underoos of humanity has been in and out of the XWF for EIGHT YEARS and the most he has to show for it is an ignoble 11 days run as TV champion. A run that was ended by one Abigail Monroe. Who the fuck is Abigail Munroe? Hell if I know! But this nobody definitely lost to THAT nobody back in 2018 and he’s been doing fuck all ever since. In fact, look at the highlight reels kids. Mercy has had MORE action than Calypso over the last two years. Funny that. And yet she’s the one who is not relevant.

But man, fuck relevance. Mercy is a WEAPON. Calypso is an awkward balding white man who used to crow about beating GHOST TANK of all people. Relevance won’t save any of you when Mercy is peeling back your flesh, revealing the chalk white bone beneath. Relevance won’t save you when she sinks her teeth into the nape of your neck and PULLS. And relevance definitely won’t save Calypso as Mercy rips off the baby carrot he calls a peckerwood and slurps it down with some fava beans and a nice chianti. Yeah bitch, I said she gonna EAT YO DICK!

DO SOMETHING.

Ah hem.

Madison coughs a little as she returns to a semblance of decorum.

Now, I suppose you all expect me to have something to say about his little highnASS himself Thad Puke. I did make something of a stink about him replacing noted fart in the wind Savannah Knightly. And I still say that was a bullshit call on managements part. Even a “soft goods main eventer” is better than nothing at all, and that’s precisely what the War Masters got. But then I remembered….

…he’s still on a team run by a guy who made the conscious choice to call them War Masters.

Thad, how many times has Mastermind asked if you have stairs in your house in a desperate attempt at making conversation?

Yeah. Not even a former Universal Champion can save this team. Mind you, a former Universal Champ who lost said championship to….Chris Page. Whom we have already decided needs diagrams to tie his shoes.

Ya know what, let’s call a spade a spade here. Despite his prodigious ego, Chris Page was the main event’s whipping boy for ages. The quintessential “couldn’t get it done” guy. Until he got it done against even more lukewarm “main event” talent Thad Duke. And all it took was Chris Page slathering his face with paint and turning himself into a diabetic Alice Cooper to beat Thad.

SAD!

Jesus Christ Thad, you got beat by that? Do you think somebody the calibre of say, Jim Caedus, or Sarah Lacklan, or Alias to name a few, would have gotten beat by that pathetic joke? No, they wouldn’t have. But YOU did.

So, yeah, congrats on your budget main eventer Mastermind. But hey, still better than Blowjob Queen Savannah. Although I have it on good authority that Thad himself gives great head too. So if ya ever get lonely on the road…

Now, if you’ll permit me, I’m gonna go out on somebody who actually interests me. Because, even though I hate just about everyone, that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize talent when I see it. That doesnt mean I can’t see…Raion Kido. The man who finally put an end to Alias, aka the most dominant star the XWF had seen since my original client, Dexter Bright.

Raion, you ARE worthy of my time and attention. Mr. Universal Champion. Oh sure, you may have had that little hiccup against Charlie Nickles, but aside from that the sky’s been the limit, hasn’t it? You are unquestionably the standout of your team. Which is why I think your team is gonna fail. Because I hate to break it to ya sweety, but you're the only main event player in your corner, and for damn sure the only one holding that team aloft. Jenny Myst? That cheap trick who’s finally gone full Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Angie Vaughn, that “vaughnted” major star from the other side of the fence who has completely failed to make any kind of sustainable impact here? Elijah Martin? Who…?!

That’s what you got to work with Goku. And I don’t think even going Super Saiyan Level 4 is going to save that sinking ship.

So that’s all I gotta say for now. If I didn’t mention you it’s because you fall completely below my notice and therefore don’t even qualify for personhood. So suck my ass.

Byeeeeeee!

Now-On The Plane

So you’ve secured Berkowitz?

Of course we did, dear.

…and Tommy?

He’s still on board, for now. LSM can be heard muttering over the phone. Speaking of… Tommy approaches Madison.

Madison pulls the phone away from her ear to whisper something to Tommy Wish before returning her attention to LSM. Tommy darts off.

This loco plan of yours better work Madison.

Oh, it will….it will! Nobody is more proficient at the dark arts than me and my crack team. Hell, I’m even flying in The Master Ch’GTHON himself, high priest of Cthulu!

…what?

He’s 97. So long as we can keep him from shitting his pants for a solid 40 minutes the ritual should go off without a hitch.

There is a long pause on LSM’s side before she continues.

And this creature we make? We’ll be able to trust it?

Naturally. It’ll be totally under my control.

Does this feel like bad foreshadowing? Because this feels kinda like bad foreshadowing.

Madison scowls. Hey, I can always take my services…and my masked freak…elsewhere and you can roll the dice on a replacement. And a little bird told me there ain’t nobody left but Chuckie Nickles!

LSM responds quickly and decisively. We’re sticking with you guys.

And I’m so glad to hear it! But anyway, lines breaking up so I’ll have to talk to you later. Toodles!

Madison thumbs the red call end button on her cell, before sauntering to the back of the plane, which presents a horrifying sight. A corpse is hanging from a chain affixed to the ceiling. It sways gently back and forth with the rocking of the plane. Tommy is there curling up some blood splattered plastic to replace it fresh.

Damn girl, you sure know how to make a mess.

Yeah, Madison plucks out a cigarette and pops it in her mouth. I don’t think we’re getting the deposit back on this rental.

With that, Mercy revs the chainsaw and continues butchering Berkowitz’s Earthly remains.