CORNER OFFICE - XWF HQ.

Future-Flynn’s Fingers methodically type against a keyboard…

Efficiently striking words into place like a drill sergeant.

Wrestling with language itself, as if to perfectly and flawlessly, master the art of communication itself.

Flynn spent his entire life fighting, combatting a system designed to hold him down.

He'd mastered time-travel AND alternate-dimension-hopping…

But, he’d done it.

He’d secured his own name on the Universal Title Belt…

He’d (...or rather, some idiot sharing his DNA) taken the MountainTop.

…

That completed Phase One.

Future-Flynn’s fingers… cease typing.

…

His eyes methodically scan the document… Left-to-right, top-to-bottom.

He can’t allow a WORD, a letter, an ERRANT backslash… To muddle this.

His magnum opus.

What will begin the final clash in his war…

For control of the XWF.

He glances at the document’s title…

HOSTILE_TAKEOVER_NOTIFICATION.docx

…

Future-Flynn presses on an intercom button.

“Irwin.”

“Yes, Mister… sir?” Irwin had no idea how to address Future-Flynn. He and the mindless stooges Contingent Stakeholders™ simply knew him as an older man that Flynn kept around the office.

Some had hypothesized he was Flynn’s father.

…Laughable.

“Send Mark to my office.”

“...Erm. Mister Flynn has… appointments that will… occupy the remainder of the day…”

…

Future-Flynn’s eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

“I make Mark’s schedule. His calendar is clear.”

“*throat-clear*He… uh… organized these appointments himself. Very… spur-of-the-moment… Sir.”

…Future-Flynn’s face doesn’t twitch a millimeter.

“And… What is the… purpose of this… spur-of-the-moment meeting?”

“...*cough* From my understanding, Mister Flynn arranged meetings with… *hack*... potential investors.”

“...Investors?”

“Yes, he… uh… Or rather, the meeting is for… *ahem*...”

“Irwin.” Future-Flynn slows his speech, as if explaining advanced physics to a gerbil. “Your… hesitation makes for… inefficient communication. Tell me the purpose of this meeting.”

…

Future-Flynn can hear flop sweat coagulating on Irwin’s brow through the phone.

“Your fears are likely… ill-founded. Whatever… antics Flynn has planned are… largely negligible to my affairs…”

…

……

“OUT WITH IT.” Future-Flynn bites, like a crocodile’s jaw snapping closed around a meal.

“AH! H-h-he’s trying to sell complete control of the XWF to potential investor!”

“There, was that so ha-...”

…

Future-Flynn’s eye… twitches.

“He’s trying to sell WHAT… to WHOM?!?”

***

“I’m not looking to sell anything to anyone, Elon.”

Present-Flynn calmly sips a lil’ paper cup of water…

Once it’s emptied, he crushes it in his hand… And drops it onto the floor where he stands… Several feet from the wastebasket beside his desk.

Meanwhile, in the chair opposite Flynn’s desk, Elon Musk sits in a suit, slightly too small for his frame… Kinda looking like a big kid at picture day

Face… very confused.

…

“...Haha!” Elon eventually says, mock-confidently. “Of course you aren’t looking to sell the company!” He coughs… as he rapidly scratch his pen across the check he’d made to ‘XWF OWNERSHIP’ for ‘ALL DA MONEY’...”

Elon leans back in his chair, trying with all his ability to look like a smooth operator. “I, of course, anticipated as much. Your intentions were made crystal clear by your… mass email, asking high-profile power players to come to XWF HQ to discuss… purchasing the company.” Elon nods.

…

“I mean, right?” Elon’s eyes widen, as if begging to be told what opinion he should have.

Flynn exhales, as his fingers stab upwards into his window blinds, permitting him the smallest slit of vision into the mass of bodies outside his office.

“Look at these worthless, fucking worms… They think just because they’ve amassed hoards of wealth…. Because, they’ve crippled other, more ethical companies and climbed to the top of their fields, leaving a trail of child labor and worker misery in their wake… They have the fucking GALL to believe they deserve the right to own the largest sports entertainment empire in the HISTORY of CIVILIZATION… Just because they can afford it.”

Flynn eyes them, sitting out in the hall, eagerly awaiting their chance to beg to buy…

“Ballmer.”

“Bezos.”

“Buffett.”

“Anthony Funnel-Cake, the Inventor of the Funnel-Cake.”

“And the Mole King.”

…Elon cranes his neck to look outside the window.

“Wait, the Mole King is out there?” Elon squints, as if trying to solve a Where’s Waldo…

Flynn side-eyes Twitter’s CEO sighing. “You didn’t notice the three-and-a-half-foot-tall Mole, wearing a crown?”

…

Elon’s eyes scan the faces, helplessly…

…Flynn exhales, before taking a couple steps over…

Grabbing Musk by the back of the head.

And manually turning his head several to the left, toward the small furry creature currently gnawing on the ottoman in Flynn’s waiting room.

…

Elon’s eyes widen!

“Aha! There he is!” Elon points, looking at Flynn, as if expecting a treat for his vigilance.

“...Yes.” Flynn releases Elon’s bulbous neck, before taking a seat at his desk. “They came running. These fucking TITANS of industry have more money than the average American has an IMAGINATION capable of PICTURING IN THEIR MIND’S EYE…”

“And yet, they hear that the XWF… Is simply considering putting itself on the market…”

Flynn’s lips curl in disgust, like his office is dense with the smell of putrid rot.

“And they line up outside my office, like a pack of hungry hyenas, looking to feed.”

Flynn snaps his fingers.

“THAT… Elon… is POWER. The XWF’s power. The ability to have the powerful at your beck-and-call like trained dogs.”

Elon nods his neck up-and-down. It’s not clear if he’s vigorously agreeing, or if he’s just following Flynn’s finger.

Elon’s brow scrunches. “So…  Wait, ARE you looking to sell the XWF?”

…Flynn slowly rotates back towards the Twitter owner.

“...Elon, are you actually this dense?”

“Uh… y-... Well, n-... Ehhhhhhhhhh.”

Deer-in-the-headlights.

Flynn pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The company isn’t mine to sell. Sure, a… partner of mine… has accrued a decent chunk of the 49% available to shareholders... But, Theo and Vinnie still own a joint majority.”

“Ah, yes!” Elon seems to vaguely recall. “That’s why I tweeted at Theo Pryce about buying the company at one point… Then, he declined… Then Mother ordered my Twitter account closed…”

“Correct. Now, you may have questions about the… obvious inconsistency here.”

“Aha, yes!”

…

Flynn circles his right hand in the air, gesturing for Elon to proceed.

…Elon mirrors Flynn’s hand-motion.

“...That inconsistency would be…?”

…

Elon’s eyes whir back-and-forth.

Thinking so hard, he might end up burning out his last brain cell.

…

…Oh my God, Musk’s actually sweating.

Flynn sighs.

“Why am I offering to sell a company I don’t own?”

“Why am I offering to sell a company I don’t own?” Elon repeats, like a trained parrot…

Flynn squeezes his forehead. “God, I miss NK…”

Flynn shoves a finger towards Musk. “Because Theo is waging a war against CCPE…”

“Ah, yes! Pryce battles his equal, ‘Chronic’ Chris Page.”

“...Equal. Page has proven himself inferior to Pryce thus far.”

“Haha, agreed!”

…

“Wait, no. Didn’t Page and Miller beat Theo and Cashe at Bad Medicine?”

“Page bested Theo… in the ring. BUT, Page has been outmanuevered in the true battle: Business operations.”

“Theo out-schmoozed CCPE for Jason Cashe’s signing rights.”

“Theo negotiated his way into control of the Uni title (albeit briefly) by signing at-the-time Uni champ, Raion Kido.”

“Pryce secured Buster Gloves, a man who *just* beat Page one-on-one.”

“And then, EFFORTLESSLY, Pryce took CCPE’s crown jewel, Thad, straight out of Page’s trophy case.”

Flynn exhales, shaking his head.

“Page may have scored a few chair shots on Theo… But, business-wise, Page’s been thoroughly thrashed.”

“Aha! That explains everything!” Elon beams!

“Nearly. What hasn’t been explained is… Why Theo has gone silent…”

“Silent?”

“As the grave. He’s screening calls. He’s dodging press-conferences. He’s locking the doors to the factory… Like Willy god-damned Wonka did before he sent out the golden tickets, Musky.”

Flynn strokes his chin, thoughtfully, like he’s considering the long-term plans of an opponent… “You’d think the way Pryce got smacked ‘round at SnowJob, he’d be rolling out with his Saga goons in full-force…”

“But, he’s playing it reeeeeeeal close to the chest.”

…

“Clearly, he’s setting something up… Something BIG.”

“And I’m drawing him out.”

…Elon gasps. “Oh! Aha! I get it! You’ve loudly offered to sell something that Theo owns, so he has no choice but to come out of hiding!”

“‘Zactly.”

“Brilliant!” Elon laughs.

…

“Only…” Elon scratches his head. “Isn’t it… um… illegal to offer to transact, then rescind it once the offeree attempts to accept it…?” Elon blushes, since that’s how he got sued into buying a financially-insolvent micro-blogging site.

“Right. It would be thoroughly illegal if I called you here under the guise of selling the company and then told you all to leave, without reason. That would be fraud.”

“Fortunately, I have an… assessment.”

…Flynn opens up a desk-drawer.

And retrieves…

A chessboard. Sixteen pieces, black-and-white, magnetic.

…Elon’s brow furrows.

Flynn sets it down between himself and Musk.

“Play me for it.”

…Musk’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“The XWF needs a leader… with long-term vision.”

“A comfort dealing with shifting power…”

“Gamesmanship.”

Flynn taps his index against the side of the board.

“The XWF. Play me for it.”

“...But, you just said th-”

“That I don’t plan on selling anything. That I don’t own the company. But, I’m offering to sell it to you, if you win.”

“If you win… I’ll be liable for breach of contract… and owe you… tens of BILLIONS of dollars.”

Flynn grins.

“You could buy five or six Action Wrestling-size federations with that kinda money…”

…Immediately, Elon starts salivating

The idea of owning a wrestling company (a dream that Elon has had for three WHOLE months) gives Musk the pit-sweats.

“You want power in this industry?”

Flynn points at the idiot son of an Emerald-mining fortune.

“Take it from me.”

***

Flynn types at his computer.

“Gotta tell you, Roberto.”

“I expected something GREAT this cycle.”

“I had to lift a number of fucking SCRUBS and OPENING-ACTS I brought to the MAIN EVENT… to get here.”

“The Optimal Path™’s GOLDEN AGE! Title defenses against FORMER UNI CHAMPS! The best in XWF’s history descending from history to STOP MARK FLYNN AT ANY COST…”

“Sure, I struck down Vaughnaroo, World Series of Wrestling Winner… BUT! This match?”

“NEXT-LEVEL BUY RATES™.”

“BOBBY BOURBON. THE FUCKING GRAND POOH-B.O.B. of the XWF.”

“One of SEVEN GRAND-SLAM CHAMPIONS of the Modern Era…”

“The man who took ALIAS took his reality-warping limit… And nearly put an end to one of the most dominant Uni Title reigns in the history of this company…”

…

“That’s the opponent I THOUGHT I was getting…”

“I’ve seen the mighty Bobby Bourbon traverse fucking dimensions, fight vampires, slay outlaws…”

“I’m taking about MISTER PRESIDENT BOBBY BOURBON. This man has shit in the OVAL OFFICE.”

“And what the FUCK do I get?”

“A sadsack, sitting at a bus stop, whining about how he’s having a hard time giving it his all…”

“Complaining about how the boys in charge would never let him walk out of our match with a belt… How he’s being fed to the GREAT MARK FLYNN…”

…

“And, all-the-while, lying through his FUCKING TEETH about his accomplishments versus mine.”

…Flynn points toward the camera.

“Fun fact, Bobby! Did you know that once you’ve been elected President, independent fact-checkers comb through your promos to find bullshit?”

Flynn flips the screen of his computer around…

“I sent a copy of your last promo to the data geeks over at Politifact… And they found some… FACTUAL DISCREPANCIES… between the words that came out of your mouth. And the REAL WORLD...”

Flynn sneers with a grin as he taps the end of his nose…

“And as the Master of Reality™… It’s time you got a REALITY CHECK™.”

Flynn cracks his knuckles and scrolls down the page.

“Claim! …Bobby Bourbon has always beaten Thaddeus Duke…”



“False. High Stakes 2020, Uni Title Battle Royal. Thad won… Meanwhile, you finished 12th in a 20-person field.”

“To me?” Flynn sticks out his index finger and his thumb. “Sounds like a loss.”

“Claim! When Bobby Bourbon does stuff, people…” Finger-quotes. “notice!”



“Half-Truth. Sure, when Bobby wins a title, people care…”

“But, then, we have to remember the 9/15/21 Wednesday Night Warfare! Betsy Granger - vs - Bobby Bourbon! Bobby lost and was forced to UNMASK! Revealing his true identity as DANNY SEX!”



“...And… BOY, did no one give a shit, huh, Bob? Like, nooooooooooobody. Betsy just slung the mask into the sixth row and the world kept spinning!”

Flynn scratches his head, perplexedly.

“This one STILL puzzles me to this day, Bobby! I mean, why WOULDN’T the XWF Universe CARE about Bobby Bourbon’s secret identity as ‘some asshole who wrestled three matches in 2017 then never wrestled again’...”

Flynn shrugs, baffled.

“Musta been a dead crowd… Except, they were red-hot later that night for the feud between Thad and I…” Flynn grins mischievously, straightening the notecards.

“Claim #3: Mark Flynn never had the CAJONES to face competitors like Jim Caedus...”



Flynn yawns, pulling a notecard to his face.

“...Bad Medicine 2021. NK and I - vs - Caedus and Main.”

Flynn frisbees that card away.

“…Bobby, what the fuck are you doing? Did you think you could bullshit THE STATS GUY™? That you could sneak lies past the FUCKING LOREKEEPER™? That I wouldn’t systematically point out the fact that, by volume, you’re 99.7% BULLSHIT?!?!”

…Flynn pulls up the next note.

“Claim: Mark Flynn went into hiding for seven years… out of FEAR.”



“No, yeah, I was SUPER AFRAID, Bobby…”

“Having your L4 vertebrae LIQUIFIED on concrete… Getting wheeled out on a stretcher, wondering if you’ll ever FEEL YOUR LEGS AGAIN…”

Flynn sniffs.

“Yup, was definitely a coward, doing physical therapy for SEVEN YEARS, trying to get back the CAREER that was ROBBED FROM ME…”

…Flynn sighs.

“Eh... I can't blame you for not knowing that, Bobby. I only brought it up EVERY OTHER PROMO FOR A YEAR…”

Flynn delivers a finger gun to the camera.

“Almost as often as I mention how many times I’ve beaten Bourbsy…”

…

“Three.”

“Three times.”

Flynn winks.

“And finally… Claim: Bobby said about MY win-loss record…” Flynn smiles. “...Well, why don’t we just pull up the quote…”



…

Flynn’s eye twitches.

“What the FUCK are you talking about… REDACTED?”

Flynn shoves a briefcase out from a drawer onto his desk.

“I compiled TEN YEARS OF MY OWN RECORDS… I combed through archived websites, I SCOURED HOURS of grainy footage from DAYS-GONE-BY…”

“I’VE TOLD PEOPLE MY DICK GOT BIT OFF FOR OVER A DECADE…”

…

“You think I’d tell that as a FUCKING LIE?!? As if I’d carefully curated only the best bits of my career into the record book AND include THAT?!?”

Flynn shakes his head.

“No, Bob. 68-23-1? Means 23 losses.”

“I fell against Jaymz Dante, a man no one should have EVER lost to.”

“I went on a bad losing streak for a HOT minute. I did lose to Sweet Cheapshots AND Tyrone…”

“Hell, I have a loss on my record against Frodo Smackins, a man we will NEVER SEE in this company again, is how BRUTALLY UNTALENTED HE WAS.”

“If I were any other man… I might’ve hung up the boots then and there… I could have stared at how far I’d made it up the MountainTop™… Seen just how far I had to go… And called it a career.”

“Started a podcast… Opened up a merch store selling t-shirts… Going to wrestling conventions and charging $35 for a shirt next to the other losers who wrestled for a few weeks, then decided it was too hard…”

…

“BUT.”

“I.”

“FUCKING.”

“RETURNED”

“I CAME BACK. I CLIMBED THE MOUNTAINTOP™. I BECAME THE XWF UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.”

“As of midnight tonight, I’ll pass Trax as the FIFTH-LONGEST REIGNING UNIVERSAL CHAMPION OF ALL-TIME…”

“I am THE FUCKING BRAND ON WHICH THE XWF STANDS™.”

…

“I took that adversity, that failure, and ASCENDED, BAY-BEEEE… Higher than anyone else could have fucking IMAGINED Mark Flynn climbing...”

“What have YOU built from your recent setbacks?”

“Nothing but a list of complaints.”

“Grievances.”

“You’re a fucking whiner, upset that his actions had consequences and he had to take a month off, before getting his job back, booking matches ANY TIME he wants like nothing ever happened.”

“Bitching that you owe this company FUCK-ALL after the shit it’s done to you…”

“Woe is me. The XWF put a World Champion belt around your oversized waist.”

“Gave you chance-after-chance to climb the mountain anew.”

“Made you a STAAAAAAAR.”

…

“Well, bad news, Bob.”

“I used trademarks because copyrights are for your artsy-fartsy movie parody BULLSHIT.”

“The XWF is a CORPORATE BRAND™.”

“Company’s under NEW AND EXCITING MANAGEMENT™.”

“And we’re wishing you BEST OF LUCK IN YOUR FUTURE ENDEAVOURS™.”

“The recently-deposed King of the XWF?”

“Trapped in a corner.”

“Surrounded by threats…”

Flynn smiles, pushing a black rook beside the white king on the board.

“Check. Mate in one.”

***

Elon shoves a pawn forward.

“F4.”

Flynn retorts.

“E5.”



Elon rubs his hands together.

“Haha… You have faced truly fearsome opponents, Flynn. Many a physical rival, indeed…” Elon shoves a pawn beside his first! building an impenetrable wall AND threatening Flynn’s pawn!



“But, none have matched your mind. Until this day! Today! You find yourself facing a mental pe-”

“Checkmate.” Flynn weaves a queen diagonally beside the pawn wall.

…

Elon glances down.

…



Fool’s mate.

…

“Best two-out-of-three?”

“Get the FUCK OUTTA MY OFFICE.” Flynn shouts at the World’s Wealthiest Buffoon.

Musk, terrified, scoops his briefcase and scrambles! Little napkin doodles of himself holding title belts fall out of his satchel flaps as he vamooses.

Flynn chuckles.

“Fucking idiot. Knew a guy who couldn’t beat Thad’s Lady-Football team couldn’t play worth a damn…”

Flynn leans forward and thrusts a middle finger against his intercom.

“Send in the next rube, Irwin.”

The door kicks open. Flynn perks, surprised.

“Actually…”

Standing in the doorway…

Exuding pure MENACE…



Future-Flynn.

“I’m up.”