In the wake of Wednesday's eventful evening, the arena begins to clear out. The fans walk out of the Staples Center, merch in hand or in bags, out into the evening. The night welcomes them with open arms. Lights from cars leaving the parking lot illuminate the way home. But inside, there is something far from home. All that the performers know is the road, aside from brief pauses to head back whatever they can actually refer to as "home." Midnight comes and passes, and the staff of the Staples Center are already hard at work cleaning up after the blood and tears have been shed. It's their job; their life. This is what is means to be a performer, it seems. A long night of getting beaten up...and then, nothing. Back to the toil. Back on the road, back to whatever bed will welcome them, whatever bar is still open, or whatever room is still available at the Comfort Inn.

But even after everyone has left, there is still a stirring within the locker room far backstage, in the very guts of the stadium itself. The locker room still holds one soul, huddled against one of the cold lockers, gently rocking. Mystica is oddly satiated in this state. Though he is in poor condition, he has never felt quite so alive. As he sits and mumbles to himself, a lonely janitor sweeps up the filthy tile floor. Mystica seems to have no qualms regarding sitting on what is sure to be some parasite-infested tile. He is all smiles.

"The beasts have been fed tonight..." he says aloud.

The janitor seems to notice this, and pauses in his sweeping for a moment to ruffle the light beard he's toting. He chuckles, thinking Mystica is some sort of joker.

"Yeah, the crowd went home happy, didn't they?"

"Not what I meant, but yeh," Mystica replies, grinning a sick smile to himself. As he moves his face, a small trickle of blood pours down from his nose and across his teeth. He doesn't bother to stop it or spit the blood out. It tastes like victory. But he does seem to realize that something's amiss.

"Roight. This," he says, grabbing his nose between his knuckles. "Broken, I figure. Bloody Van Dam. Hits like a mule."

The janitor watches on in abstract horror as Mystica grips his nose and in a sudden burst of strength, wrenches it back into place. A sickening SNAP! rings out in the locker room. Mystica gasps, then slowly regains his composure. A steady stream of blood erupts from his nostrils, staining his pale lips in a bright crimson. The janitor kneels over a nearby wastebin, clearly sick from the sight.

"Oi, that's better. Gonna bleed, tho'. Broke some vessels snappin' it back in place, I figure."

He looks to the janitor, who has turned a vague shade of green. Mystica can only laugh as he rises to his feet, a sense of anxiety suddenly overwhelming him. He's fed the beasts for tonight, but there is so much more in store. He still has the voices in his head, somewhere, waiting to taunt him. He furrows his brow as he approaches the janitor, who has turned away from the sight of Mystica's bleeding nose.

"Can't much handle the sight of blood, eh?" he asks, not expecting an answer. "You'll not get far with that mindset, mate. Me? I love it. It's a sign you're still alive; your heart's still pumpin' away, sending the blood 'round. That's the key. Stay alive, even in the worst of circumstances. Even when you're cornered by the monsters from your worst nightmares. Even when the grip of the north bites at your bones and tears at your skin and burrows inside. No compromises. Stay alive. Even when the voices in your head tell you to bring forth an end."

The janitor, hearing this, suddenly gains a sort of confidence and turns his head to look at Mystica.

"The hell you talkin' about, kid?"

"I'm talkin' about meself, really. Stayin' alive. I'll stay alive, even in the face of destruction. See, mate, I got a lot to look forward to. Two matches next week. Two bloody matches. Two opportunities! One to break a lad down, and another to earn my place in this wretched hive of buzzing bees as a soldier. War is hell. I've covered it. And you know what those boys do out there in the desert? They stay alive. Grab for the air and breathe it in as you slowly drown. I'm going to reveal my soul to them all. Let's see how you respond to someone's blood other than my own. Be sure to watch, mate."

The janitor can only shake his head in disbelief. This weird wrestler kid in the locker room is utterly nutty to him. He's a bona-fide mental patient. Quite literally. Mystica chuckles and pats the janitor on the back, clearly pleased with himself. He gives a quick lick of the blood on his lips and steps back.

"Now if you'll excuse me, mate," Mystica whispers, reaching into his back pocket and removing a single slip of paper. The janitor angles his head to look at the slip. A one-way plane ticket to Pittsburgh.

"I have some business to attend to with a very interesting man."

Achievements

• 1x Tag Team Champion
  
• August 2013 Superstar of the Month (Thank you all so much!)
  
• 1x US Champion
  
• 1x X-treme Champion