An alley. The night before Mark Flynn’s final hour.

Back against the wall.

Arms cradling his knees to his chest.

Breathing into his legs, maintaining some level of warmth.

And trying with every fiber in his being to not to go to sleep.

Flynn should’ve been concerned about Neonero and Michael James more than anything else.

Neonero had surprised him. He had calculated Flynn’s reactions before they were even made. He started out with a five meter lead before Flynn could even stumble out of the gate…

Cyn had gone from the hunted to the hunter… And he’d done it very well…

And James? People were calling James the next great trash talker in the XWF. Someone that could outdo anyone on the center stage.

Flynn’s time as the number one in this business was running out. And considering the retirement plan had set up for a Legend like Cyren, he knew that with all the toes he’d stepped on and all the throats he’d slit, he wasn’t exactly going to be given a glowing eulogy.

He knew this match, against two of the best and brightest the next generation of XWF had to offer, would be the best funeral he could get.

This would be a glorious end… A satisfactory one...

But instead of focusing on how to counter their offenses, instead of plotting every possible contingency to guarantee he’d be leaving as champion…

There he was…

In an alley…

Terrified of what would happen to an old fictional king he only dreamed about once…

He knew it was fruitless to try and fight it. The waking nightmares would get him if he stopped focusing on sleep…

But… Somehow he felt sympathy for this old tyrant…

In a situation he couldn’t possibly escape from…

Done in by his own actions…

Too late for repentance…

Too late for forgiveness…

Flynn was torn between desperately wanting to avoid the end of this story…

And desperately NEEDING to know what happens.

Flynn sighed.

If this was it.

And it was.

He wanted to see it. He wanted to see the final pieces line up in this random hideous pattern…

He didn’t want to be dragged into his last nightmare kicking and screaming…

He leaned back against the concrete wall behind him. A warmth overwhelmed him.

This was as comfortable of a coffin as he could get on such notice.

He inhaled deeply…

And began to dream…

of The End…

***

Flynn.

Standing over the chess board. Examining from the side. Grinning like a mad man.

“Well, boys, our game has reached its Logical Conclusion. However, there are a few things I need to deal with before I take my final victory…”

Flynn taps his nose.

“First, let’s settle some unimportant, tedious matters.”

“Michael James.”

“Bet you thought you were going to get the cold shoulder this whole week, huh? Well, I’m feeling charitable. Get ready to feel special because I’m devoting a whole half-of-a-thought to shutting down your pathetic ‘humiliation’ routine.”

“Michael, you seem to be running on empty after a ‘tough’ week where you were the Least Valuable Player in your team winning a handicap match. Not much left in the tank, when this is your big chance. This is your opportunity to throw your hat into the ring as a serious competitor, a real wrecking force, a chance to prove that you can do more than just embarrass Cyren, who frankly was already an embarrassment of a legendary status.”

Flynn briefly kisses his hand and reaches for the sky.

“May he rest in peace.”

He looks at his hand and looks embarrassed for his mistake.

He points to the ground. More accurately, below it.

“Regardless. This is the opportunity you’ve been begging for. The biggest title on the Monday Night Show. Your first opportunity for a belt… Excuse me, a REAL belt since entering the XWF.”

“And what do I get?”

“What does the King of the Mid-Carders get from the Personification of Perfection?”

“What does MARK F***ING FLYNN get from the man the locker room says is the best trash talker in the company?!?”

“…”

“Dead.”

“F***ing.”

“Silence.”

“Then, after that long miserable wait to see your big contribution. A couple of comments about me being old. And a bunch of blah, blah, this championship is beneath me. Who cares?”

“James, let me hit you with a riddle.”

“Do you want to know why it took this long for any GM to think you were worth a title shot?”

“Better question: Do you want to know why you and I have never been on opposite sides of the ring before?”

“…Because.”

“And I hope you can keep up. As a businessman, this shouldn’t be too hard of a concept.”

“Wrestling matches…”

“Are supposed to be interesting. You’re not supposed to be able to know who won before the show even starts.”

“Nobody demanded Raymond Hatcher or Eric Lewis versus me because these ants, these trembling stagnant buffoons, couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute and a half in the ring against me.”

“…Perhaps you’re slow. Maybe you can’t differentiate these two corpses from any of the other bags of bones that no longer darken the XWF’s doorstep with their gray rotting skin.”

“A different analogy might clarify my meaning.”

“To explain my thought in a different way.”

“No one is demanding Mark Flynn defend his belt against… say…”

“The Crimson Dong.”

“Because they know what will happen.”

“No one in the crowd is demanding that after his stellar performance on Saturday that Ahmed Johnson be given a match against the European Champion to prove his mettle.”

“Because they know what will happen.”

“Do you understand yet?”

“Do you comprehend my meaning?”

“Michael James… Equals… The Crimson Dong.”

“Both of you are equally fail to generate interest. Sure, you have your cult followings. Some fantasy nerds out there would set up matches between you and last-generations mediocre talents out of nothing but boredom and curiousity.”

“But Mark Flynn against Michael James?”

“Without Neonero in this match, why would I even need to wake up to defend this title?”

“And honestly James, if you think that track record you pump in people’s faces is the reason people should take you seriously?”

“You’re tragically mistaken.”

“You seem to think you’re the best around by listing beating a bunch of newer superstars. You seem to think victories against Kristofer Kain and Jaymz Dante are things to brag about.”

“That victories over a past-his-prime has-been Cyren and an untalented corrupt never-was Randall Cross are things to display as honest victories.”

“They’re not.”

“I could tout that I’ve cleanly beaten Tristan Slater, one of the most statistically dominant champion in XWF history.”

“Neonero, who seems to be painting himself as the future of the XWF and the unbeatable master of the ring? That guy you failed against? Choked out by in humiliating fashion, regardless of whether or not the official made a mistake.”

“Yup. Beat him too.”

“Randall Cross. Jaymz Dante. Angelus. Johnny Madison. Sarah St. James.”

“Yes. I’ve beaten some people that you’ve beaten.”

“And just like whether one is a sun or a stone, that first impossibly uninspired and non-sensical metaphor you delivered before your first justifiable loss.”

“It doesn’t matter a bit to me.”

“Because we’re not comparing hit lists. I’m not going to be impressed or intimidated by that little list of accomplishments you’re sporting.”

“The only thing that earns my respect? The only thing I work to show off and display around here?”

“Wrestling ability.”

“And Michael, for someone who enjoys calling himself the ‘Personification of Perfection’?”

Quote:But suddenly is shoved aside by Angelus from behind and Angelus instantly springs into action with a kick to Michael James' hand that sends the crowbar flying out of the ring! Michael James charges but Angelus dodges and catches James with a quick kick to the side followed by a roundhouse kick that sends James crashing through the ropes and out of the ring!

“I’m not impressed.”

“James, you may be younger than I am. But I outclass you.”

“The same way you plan out ‘humiliating’ people like those ‘wacky’ Japanese game shows where people fall in water or trip over themselves…”
Mark Flynn wrenches back with disgust and bursts forward spitting.

Pause.

“I plan out wrestling matches. I plan out decimating a weak no one like yourself piece-by-piece and turning your career and the thing everyone remembers you into that exact moment where every move you’ve worked years to master, every strike you’ve practiced, every strategy you’ve mastered.”

“Was rendered ineffective and countered masterfully.”

“See, James? I even outclass you on humiliating people.”

“And if you want to truly see someone personify perfection? If you want to see someone move like no one else can? Flawless technical execution on a nearly impossible scale.”

“Sit down on your couch Tuesday. Watch the re-run of Madness.”

“And when you see your Inverted Spike Piledriver, that Lethal Injection move…”

“Watch as at the split second you go for the lift, I shift my weight to your back, de-stabilizing your grip and preventing you from shifting to piledriver position…"

“And be amazed as I shift my knees up and split your vertebrae with an Accelerating Back-Cracker.”

“I’m calling this one like Babe Ruth pointing over Second Base.”

“While you two lie unconscious in the middle of a riot. Mark Flynn. Out of the Cage in Less than Ten Minutes. XWF European Champion.”

Flynn stared into the camera quietly a moment. He moved to the table and rested over the chessboard once again.

“Finally, we can move onto my last Will and Testament. And its sole benefactor.”

“Cyn.”

“For the purposes of identification, so no lawyer or XWF executive can take away what I’m leaving you.”

“Cyn Jyan Young.”

“A.K.A. Neonero.”

“A.K.A. The Cyan-Eyed Assassin.”

“Old buddy.”

“Old pal.”

“If there’s one man I want to inflict as much suffering and pain on my way out of this hellhole of an organization, it’s you.”

“Who else has done more to set me off my game?”

“Randall Cross? A pawn.”

Flynn flicked a pawn already taken off the board and listens to it click bouncing across the floor.

“Shane ? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Tristan Slater? Conquered. Moved past. Irrelevant.”

“But if there’s one frontier I still have to send home. It’s you, Cyn.”

“Remember what I said? Two moves to checkmate?”

Flynn focused on the board and moved the black queen next to the King.

“Check.”

“There’s one thing I find funny, Cyn. And there’s your sudden silence towards this match.”

“For the loud-mouthed New King of the XWF, for the future European Champion, for the ‘brand new specimen’ Neonero, you seem to have lost some nerve since I proved I haven’t lost too much talent-wise.”

“To once again counter your asinine historical metaphor.”

“Allow me to respond with a more appropriate invasive nature metaphor.”

“Behold.”



“The peacock.”

“The peacock is recognized by man to be a beautiful creature.”

“But in the animal kingdom, the peacock with its bright colors and elegant body.”

“Is seen as terrifying.”

“To ward off predators. It ruffles its feathers. And predators go running.”

“Can you imagine that?”

“This stupid brightly colored bird just waves itself around and that scares off predators.”

“However, do you know what it’s second line of defense is?”

“Do you know what a peacock does when it can’t scare off its enemy with an overt display of empty threats?”

“Retreat.”

“Do you get the parallel yet, Cyn?”

“I’m the hunter. I’m the one who’s proven time and time again that his bite renders flesh in twain and causes airways to flood with blood as teeth tear through a throat.”

“Rendering the quality of his bark in comparison rather meaningless.”

“I’m the test you failed to pass. I’m the creature that’s fed on you once before.”

“And while you were proudly explaining how impossible to defeat you are and how unstoppable your rise to the top is while I crawl in alleys and seek my fix for gold like the disgusting addict that I am. You swing for the fences. You desperately try to hit Ursula and AJ Powell and anyone else you can just to make yourself seem like a real competitor.”

“The second I throw the belt away. The second I start firing back. You disappear. Your bravery fades as you slip behind calling me a like a pathetic school boy trying to make something connect.”

"You claim I haven't solved you. But your last promo makes it clear."

"You're swinging for the fences. Ruffling your feathers as hard as you can to run me off."

"But all it does it make it clear."

"If there's one man in the ring tonight, who's 'All Talk'?"

"It's you. You're running scared, Cyn."

“And like the peacock.”

“Whose top speed is ten miles an hour.”

“It’s not doing you much good.”

Flynn smiles as his hand eagerly goes to the white king.

Who knocks over the black queen.

He frowns a moment.

“Then, there comes the matter of your fate.”

“How can I make you suffer?”

“How can I truly ensure that my end in the XWF will torment you.”

“That’s when it hit me.”

Flynn turns to the camera and grins.

“To Neonero, the Cyan-Eyed Assassin, I leave…”

“The XWF European Championship upon my successful retaining of the belt this evening.”

Flynn moves to the table. He sits down and grins as he leans back, examining the beautiful game laid before him.

“Because nothing would fill me with more joy. No temptation, no horrifying sin could give me more eternal pleasure.”

“Then you having to fulfill your obligation.”

“Your plan to carry out this GG NORE tour.”

“With the trophy you wanted to use as an incentive to draw people towards their doom.”

“And have you never win it.”

“And while you conquer whoever’s left in this charade of an organization, a mere shadow of what it used to be in, as James’ calls it, the days of the Ancients.”

“You’ll be forced, from your throne above the rest of the world.”

“To stare at your tainted trophy. At the territory you never took back. At the skeleton that still stains your closet with failure.”

“And realize…”

“That belt you have.”

“Is still mine.”

Flynn slides his black pawn forward one square.

Trapped by two bishops.

The king trapped by his own need to take Black’s prized possession.

Flynn reaches down.

And flicks the King off the board.

"Checkmate."


(OOC: Mark Flynn's going on hiatus. He'll probably be back.)