The scene opens to an open-top Jeep trudding along a barely-paved road. Mystica sits in the drivers seat, carefully dressed in a suit jacket and neatly-fitted slacks. To his right sits Hyphema, her bandages carefully affixed over her eyes. There is a look of worry upon her face, even as music filters out of the car's speakers. Mystica, however, looks utterly serene. Well, at last this part of him is calm. Elsewhere, deeper down, there is something darker speaking to him. It has been louder since Saturday night, wherein he assisted Eli James IV in sacrificing Eric Rex. It was a form of atonement for him; a means of showing he was worthy of having Eli assist him with his problems. The inner darkness had been creeping out, and Mystica knew. He knew he needed the help of an enigma.

The Jeep slowly approaches a rickety stone bridge and brakes to a halt. Mystica steps out and places his hand over his eyes to glance into the distance. Past the stone bridge, the road dissipates into a dirt trail. No car would be able to drive on that. Mystica sighs and turns back to Hyphema, who points her head in his direction.

"What is it, father?"

"Don't call me that. I'm not a Prophet any more."

"What?"

"Nevermind...just...just head back without me. I think this is the path that heads down to Eli's compound. I'd promised him I'd come stay there for awhile. Therapy, y'know? Figure the fresh air oughta fix me up a bit. Listen to his sermons, obey the good word and all that. He's my prophet. I'm not special. No one is."

His head eerily tilts to the side and his mouth droops open. A different sort of voice from his own emerges from the slack jaw.

"We are special. We are immortal."

Mystica shakes his head, and the man beneath the monster resurfaces.

"No, shut up! Shut it!"

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Don't call me sir. Don't call THEM sir! Grah!"

Hyphema furrows her brow, then quickly opens the glove box and digs through it for a moment before withdrawing a piece of folded paper from it. She leans out the side of the Jeep to hand the paper to Mystica, who unfolds it and takes a look at it.

"The card for Wednesday," she states plainly. "I know you knew the circumstances, but that's the specifics."

Mystica's head jerks to the side.

"Sweet Cheatshots? Sweet...Cheapshots? Is that really his fuckin' name? Oh, Mrs. Cheapshots, it's a boy! Name him Sweet, you say?"

Mystica growls and his head returns upright.

"Stage name. Give me a mo'. Search the mind palace."

He pauses, placing his hands upon his temples. This is a memory exercise, where one creates an imaginary house and places information within it for later use. He had learned it many years ago while visiting India on an assignment. Ever since, he had been using it to his advantage, storing all necessary information for future retrieval. After a moment, he opens his eyes and begins spewing information out like a computer database, utterly monotone, dead in the eyes.

"Real name unknown. Birth date sometime in July, 1984. Fond of himself. Arrogant in places, known mark to the wrestling world. Enjoys fame, followed by a small sort of posse. Recently did some signings. Likes his punches. Finishers include variations of cutters. Won last week's match in one move: his finisher."

His head clicks back to an unhealthy angle.

"Ooooh, a big shot. One move? Guess that's where the name comes from. Well, you can't sneak up on people like me. Not when there's a thousand eyes watching us. See, when creatures what you, most are malevolent. But some...some like to help. And those thousand eyes see everything. Even Mr. Cheapshots. I wanna watch his skin crawl when he feels those eyes. Then I wanna rip that skin off him and make a lampshade out of it."

Mystica shakes his head, returning to normal.

"No, enough of that! Enough! I'll beat 'im at his own game! Fair and square. Mr. James has his own match, and I know he'll destroy that poor lad. But I'm not going to lay down for him should we both end up in that main event. No, I won't lay down for 'im at all. But I refuse to hurt him. I will not ruin the help I found."

Hyphema has been listening to his all, and now she appears quite frightened. She knows there is only one man outside the Jeep, but she has been hearing two separate voices argue with one another. She cowers a bit, then boldens up as Mystica look to the inner pocket of his suit. He withdraws a few envelopes and hands them over one by one to Hyphema.

"Roight, uh...this one, could you mail for me?"

He hands over an envelope marked to be sent to one Elizabeth Martin, address in the UK. Hyphema flips the letter over and feels the wax "M" seal beneath her fingertips. It seems Mystica hasn't thrown out everything.

"And this one, deliver personally. We discussed this."

He hands over a second envelope, marked only with the letters "DM." Hyphema once again fingers the wax seal, enjoying it's filmy texture.

"And uh...this one..."

Ha finally hands over a blank envelope. As Hyphema takes it from his grasp, there comes the sound of something jingling inside the envelope.

"What is this?" she asks, cocking her head in confusion.

"They're the keys to The Temple. I won't be returning for a long while. I want you to take care of it. It's yours for now."

"Mr. Martin, I can't..."

"Hush, luv. Get out of here before anyone realizes I've arrived. I have some arrangements to undergo. Eli has some things he wishes to discuss, and I'd much like to hear his evening sermon."

With that, Hyphema scoots over into the driver's seat of the Jeep. Carefully, she peels the bandages off her eyes, revealing the dark spots where her corneas used to be. She can see well enough to drive home, Mystics figures. But for the most part, he doesn't care, even as the Jeep disappears back down the way they came, dust trailing behind in a cloud of uncertainty. The future is so close at hand. Mystica has never been very good at acclimating to new homes.

He turns to the stone bridge and slowly makes his way across. His pace down the dirt trail is slow but steady. He is ready to face the truth and the future. But all along his walk, there are times when his head lurches to the side and he finds himself humming to himself:

"Angels and sailors
Rich girls
Backyard fences
Tents...

Confusion
No connections
Come 'ere
I love you
Peace on earth
Will you die for me?
Eat me
This way
The end...

We could plan a murder
Or start a religion..."

Achievements

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