The XWF Board Room. A conference phone resting on the center table. Glass surface table-top. A couple dozen chairs around the table’s perimeter.

…Only one seat's occupied.

His head resting at the head of the table.

Mark Flynn.

The Universal Champion.

…Troubled. A massive folder, overstuffed with multi-colored documentation…

On its face, attached by a paperclip, is a Micheal Graves picture.

***

“Mikey! Come in! Take a seat!”

A faceless creature weaves its fingers along your shoulder, thrusting you down into a chair.

It contorts along the desk into a chair of its own…

…

“Wait, is it Mikey or Mieky? Does it change where the ‘e’ goes in ‘Mikey’, if you spell ‘Micheal’ like an idiot?”


I tried searching your name as research. Now Google thinks I can’t spell ‘Michael’

The simulacrum strokes where his chin should be… Then, shrugs its shoulders.

“Mieeeeeeeeky, it is, then.” The ersatz man says, stretching out the pronunciation until it sounds vaguely Russian.

A desk-drawer opens…

“Phew… This’s a big ‘un.”

The creature lifts a hand assertively.

“NO!”

It turns its non-face towards you.

“No help necessary, Gravy…”

The likeness of humanity bends its knees…

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEAVES.

And WHAM! A JAM-PACKED folder SLAMS onto the desktop. One desk-corner briefly leaps into the air, clattering back down onto the floor.

The simulacrum breathes heavily… Before slapping his hand down on the tome.

“Guess what I cobbled together… That’s right! YOUR PERMANENT RECORD, MIEKY!”

The quasi-person raps the front of the gargantuan folder with his knuckles. The desk actually creaks and moans, supporting its massive weight.

“Isn’t that INSANE? Who would climb through SIX YEARS of a lackluster career, watching EVERY SINGLE MATCH RESULT, just to create a STATISTICALLY UNDENIABLE RECORD OF YOUR LIFETIME OF FAILURE.”

…The facsimile places its hand over its heart where its heart would be.

“I would.” It leans in. “Because I care.”

The figure leans, pressing its weight against the MASSIVE DATA PILE.

“Full disclosure, Miekelangelo. Obviously, this isn’t EVERYTHING. Like ol’ Kiki King’s ALLEGED 2009 dominance… we lost a lot of XWF’s classic, pre-2013 content in the EVENT-WHICH-SHALL-NOT-BE-DISCUSSED.”

“Of course, that means our records lack your World Title reign from your 2004-to-2008 run…”

“But, I mean, those matches might as well be in black-and-white and accompanied by a piano player. Who gives a shit about ANCIENT HISTORY! Fans don’t. Alias, the unbeatable Universal Champion who ruled over this business with an iron fist? The God-Killer? The World-Eater?”

“He disappeared three months ago and he’s already FORGOTTEN. So, excuse me if I think the fans couldn’t give a rat’s festering ANUS about your prime… 18 years ago.”

“With what’s available, this record is 100% complete. No need to update!”

***

“...Update?”

Flynn glances up, surprised.

To his right… is a second Mark Flynn. Wearing a pair of glasses, sporting a pen and a clipboard.

“Flynn? Status Update on the… Gravy situation?”

…The sitting Flynn glances up curiously at the Flynn with glasses.

…Glasses-Flynn tsks-tsks.

“Um…We’ll come back to you. In the future, please come to these meetings prepared.” Glasses-Flynn jots a note down on his keyboard. He points the pen at the chair next to Flynn. “Okay, onto Marketing. Update?”

Flynn’s eyes follow the pen. Whoa. Suddenly, beside him on the right, there’s another Flynn, this one wearing a money clip in a dress-shirt with a pocket-protector.

“Marketing is going swimmingly!” Marketing-Flynn says. “I just registered another two dozen trademarks in Flynn’s name! Including Marketing™, Synergy™ and Hostile Takeover™! We’re moving t-shirts, posters, and souvenir cups like it’s the end of the world. Speaking of which…” Marketing-Flynn grabs a razor phone and rattles off a text.

DING!  “I just registered End of the World™, that’s ours now. I’m also working on ‘Grandmaster’, as in ‘Grandmaster of Wrestling’… The ‘Grandmaster’ trademark’s currently owned by the International Chess Council, but I dug up some pretty sweet dirt on Magnus Carlsen that they’ll definitely bargain to keep quiet.”

“Neat… Is it about anal be-”

“It has EVERYTHING to do with anal beads.” Finger-gun.

“Fantastic.” Team-Lead-Flynn jots down that note. “Okay. Executive Relations?”

To Flynn’s left, a Flynn in a blazer, wearing a wireless headset phone holds up a finger. He presses a headset-button, then grins.

“The company owners are AWOL, as desired. Our Ol’ Pal Theo is on the set of his SPLAT! movie. We’ve sent his acting coach a… financial incentive to push Theo. Coach’s insisting on extra hours a day, dedicated to just…” Finger-quotes. “Find the character. The adult-in-the-room is officially out-of-the-room.”

“Excellent. And Hair Metal?”

“Vinnie’s dumped all his time and energy into his midlife crisis, A.K.A. the all-women’s football league. Half of the website’s dedicated to it. He’s spending WEEKS just pinging team owners about talent concerns. He’ll be minimally capable, focused on his little start-up for MONTHS… And that’s before the season even starts.”

“Love it. And operation XWF_TO_MARS?”

“Elon Musk keeps making larger-and-larger offers. And we bypassed Mommy Musk’s ban by offering him our Twitter. As long as Vinnie and Theo keep rejecting him, the company’s speculative value will SKYROCKET. And if the money’s climbing, Theo and Vinnie will have ZERO reasons to challenge our reign.”

“Fan-TASTIC.” Team-Lead-Flynn checks a box on the clipboard. “The business has NEVER been stronger.” Checkmark™. “Which means WE have never been stronger.” Checkmark™, Trademark™. “Only immediate hurdle left to worry about is the Graves situation. Which brings us back t-”

SMASH!

…The other Flynns flinch (flynch™?) as shards scatter.

…The glass table surface under OG-Flynn’s fists… juts jaggedly.

Blood runs down the sides of Flynn’s hands. He clenches his fists, furiously…

“What if he’s right?”

Team-Lead-Flynn’s squints, perplexed, partially hiding behind his clipboard. “...Pardon?”

Flynn’s eye twitches impatiently. “What. If. He’s. Right?”

…

Team-Lead-Flynn looks at his clipboard. He pulls up the top page to glance at the second page, looking for an answer to that question that he can read, without having to think critically about what it entails.

“...Um, who?”

“Micheal Graves.”

“Ah… And… Um. Right about what?”

“Has he stepped onto the Optimal Path?”

…Flynn flips open the folder.

“I’ve watched every FUCKING Micheal Graves match for the last six years. He’s had more humiliating lows than anyone else… possibly in wrestling HISTORY.”

Flynn tosses a few highlighted pages to the center of the table. The other Flynns peer down at the notes…

“Betrayed by Colton Kato, survived the complete implosion of Ax3, lost to a fucking PARODY team called Bx3, made up of guys named Bilbo Blumpkinz and Sebastian D*ke…”

“THEN, he faces them again the next week, puts his career on the line, LOSES, AND GETS FIRED.”

Flynn flips pages in disbelief.

“I don’t even know if he ever signed a new contract after that! He’s just hovered around the XWF periphery FOR YEARS. He wrestled in a Generic Heel LOCAL TALENT Battle Royal, just to get in front of Vinnie Lane… He’s been begging for a full-time contract since 2018…”

…The other Flynns in the room look at each other, uncertainly.

Executive-Relations-Flynn raises a hand. “Okay... And? You’ve outlined a HUMILIATING career summary. Micheal Graves is a Fucking Joke. Theo and Vinnie DESPISE the guy.”

“GOD DAMMIT.” Flynn picks up and frisbees the folder. The massive accordion file SMACKS against the wall with a thud, flopping to the ground like a block of concrete. “DO YOU NOT SEE THE PROBLEM?”

…

“GRAVES HAS SPENT ALMOST A HALF-DECADE ACCUMULATING HUMAN SUFFERING.  ACCRUING PAIN LIKE THE PAIN STORE IS HAVING A LIQUIDATION SALE. AND EVERYTHING MUST GO.”

“Ooh, hold that thought…” Marketing-Flynn grabs his phone and starts texting. “Gotta snag the trademark on ‘Pain Store’...”

“IS HE ON THE OPTIMAL PATH? HAS HE FALLEN SO LOW… AND FOUGHT SO HARD… THAT THE UNIVERSE WOULD GRANT HIM FAVOR?”

…Team-Lead-Flynn double-checks his clipboard.

“...Uh. Let’s go around the room…” Team-Lead-Flynn sweats, his only function being to keep other people on task. “See if… other people can… answer that.”

A hand raises.

“Yes!” Team-Lead-Flynn oozes, visibly relieved. “Er, I mean, yes. Statistics-Flynn?”

Two seats away from Flynn is a Mark Flynn with a visor, punching numbers into a calculator. He shakes his head.

“The numbers don’t support that hypothesis. Micheal Graves’ lifetime record is…”

***

“Drumroll, please…” With two fingers, the simulacrum drums on his desk. With his opposite hand, he slowly flips open the folder.

“Thirty-three wins…”

“Three draws…”

“AND FORTY-FOUR LOSSES. CHECK MY FUCKING MATH.”

“Holy shit, Graves! How does this keep happening? How do I keep getting paired up against lifetime LOSERS? People who couldn’t take the belt off a goddamn broomstick.”

“Let’s hit the lowlights, huh? Two firings… A year-long quest to get re-signed which has meandered into nothing… Zero career wins against low-tier ring rats like Bilbo Blumpkinz AND ‘Radical’ Gabriel Reno… And, GET THIS, a 2-13 singles record against former/current/future Universal Champions.”

“Seven years in the XWF… And FOUR YEARS WITH WIN PERCENTAGES BELOW .500.”

***

“Not to mention… his PPV record is 8-11. His record in Universal Title matches is 0-3. His record this year alone is…” Statistics-Flynn punches a few numbers… “... 5-11! Hell, he’s 0-3 on Madness, where he runs the entire Deathmatch Division. There’s just not significant data to support that Graves could-or-should win a Universal Title…”

“THAT’S THE POINT. The Optimal Path favors those who have subjected themselves to FAILURE. LOSS. HUMILIATION. It BATHES you in HARDSHIP, DRENCHES you in ADVERSITY. Such that when you have ONE OPPORTUNITY TO STRIKE… THE CEILING OF IMPOSSIBILITY PARTS FOR YOUR ASCENSION.”

***

“See, that’s your upside, Micheal Micheel Mecheel. Our audience LOVES Cinderella Stories. They love a team that spent years losing, finally putting the pieces together to WIN!”

“THAT’s what we sell to our obese, talentless audience, Gravy. FALSE HOPE.”

“That illusion that YOU and THEY are one-and-the-same. If they struggle against the current… and push against the nefarious-powers-that-be… And NEVER GIVE UP…”

“Run on that hamster wheel. Toil at that job you hate one more day. Pay for our Pay-Per-View and GRIND-YOURSELVES-TO-DEATH…”

“Someday… Maybe even someday soon… your dreams will come true. If Micheal Graves can be Universal Champion, anything is possible.”

…

“The best thing about selling this product, Gravy?”

“It’s an illusion.”

“A lie.”

“It’s a product that people buy with ZERO CHANCE OF PAYING OUT.”

“Because there’s no FUCKING WORLD… Reality. Fantasy. Fantasy football… the WORLD OF FUCKING WARCRAFT, THE WONDERFUL-FUCKING-WORLD-OF-DISNEY itself…”

“Where MICHEAL GRAVES… BEATS MARK FLYNN.”

***

“...Um.” Team-Lead-Flynn turns red(der)… when pressed with anything creative, he overheats. “Brand-Deals-Flynn… Any thoughts?”

Two seats to Flynn’s left, there’s a Mark Flynn wearing a red-and-blue jacket, with an embossed Pepsi’s logo on the chest. He’s also wearing a hat from Chili’s. He takes off the hat to scratch his head.

“I just don’t see the brand synergy there. Mark Flynn™ is a SPORTS FAN BRAND. We’re creating deals with clothing brands like Nike and Adidas, fantasy betting sites like Caesar’s Palace and FanDuel…”

“I mean.” Brand-Deals-Flynn scoops his phone off the table. “We’ve got deals with Gatorade AND Powerade… BOTH THE ADES!”

He holds up the screen to the cacophony of Flynns, swiping the screen back and forth to look at both deals.

“There’s no profit to  Micheal Graves title run. I mean, who do even sell Graves’ airtime to? The homeless?”

“OOoooooh.” Across the table, beside Team-Lead-Flynn, a Mark Flynn with a pencil in his ear raises a meek hand. “I’m sorry, (External-Communications-Flynn here). The company would prefer we NOT use the word ‘homeless’.” Finger-quotes. “The more-palatable term is ‘house-challenged’.”

Marketing-Flynn squints, confused. “...Wait, What does that even mean? They’re challenged by lacking a home?”

“Okay, well, the problem with selling a product for the ‘house-challenged’ is th-”

“Oooooooooooh.” External-Communications-Flynn lifts his hand again. “Quick update: We just completed focus-group-testing of the term ‘house-challenged.’ Turns out, it doesn’t resonate. So, let’s shift our word choice from ‘house-challenged’ to ‘permanently-camping’.”

“You literally JUST told us to say ‘house-challenged’.”

“Our audience nowadays is VERY particular in their word-choice. Part of what makes XWF so great is our desire to adapt and meet the tastes of the modern consumer. We thank everyone here for actively working to representing the brand in as positive a light as possible.”

Executive-Relations-Flynn raises a hand. “...We basically produce a biweekly bloodsport, right?”

“Yessssss and people really don’t want problematic word choice while they enjoy their regularly-scheduled gladitorial bloodbath.”

…

Executive-Relations-Flynn lowers his hand. “...Yeah, all right. Fair.”

“EXCUSE ME.” Exasperated, Brand-Deals-Flynn interrupts, waving his arms. “As I was saying, the ‘permanently-camping’ community… Doesn’t have disposable income. Because they are homele… permanently-camping. ZERO brands actively seek consumers within the… permanently-camping community. A Micheal Graves title run would be a MONEY-LOSER.”

Flynn howls. “Is anyone listening to a THING I’m saying? All of these reasons Gravy SHOULDN’T win the Universal Title? They’re reasons that the Optimal Path WOULD embrace him.”

Flynn smacks the busted table again.

“YOU FUCKING SOULLESS YES-MEN. YES OR NO? IS MICHEAL GRAVES ON THE OPT-”

“Mark.”

…Flynn glances upwards at the door to the Board Room.

Who could it be, but…



Future Flynn The Opponent.

“May I ask your…” Opponent adjusts his tie as he parses for the perfect phrase... “Current objective?”

Flynn exhales. “I’m crowd-sourcing solutions to a conundrum.”

…Opponent purses his lips. “Crowd-sourcing.”

“Yeah, talking to..” Flynn gestures forward at the spineless Team-Le…

…

Team-Lead-Flynn is gone.

As are the rest of the Flynns.

Flynn’s alone.

As he’s been this entire time.

…

Opponent strides across the room, pulls out the chair next to Flynn, and takes a seat.

“Describe the conundrum.”

…

Flynn sighs.

“Is Micheal Graves on the Optimal Path?”

“Yes.” The Opponent says, matter-of-factly.

Zero hesitation.

…

Flynn grits his teeth. Fuming mad.

“So, what? I’m out? That’s it? I DISCOVERED THE SECRET TO WRESTLING SUCCESS… And now, this fucking NO-TALENT Micheal Graves gets to reap the fucking benefits. Just WALTZES into the Optimal Path like a pair of SECOND-HAND KICKPADS?”

…The Opponent grins, shaking his head.

“...I think we’ve identified your… outlook issue, Mark.”

Opponent points at his right temple.

“You’re still thinking like the challenger. The belt-chaser. The climber reaching, STRIVING, for the mountain-top.”

Opponent shakes his head.

“That state-of-mind? Should’ve ended the moment you became the Universal Champion.”

“You aren’t defending the Mountain-Top.”

The Opponent snaps his fingers.

“YOU ARE THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. YOU SUBSIST ON THE SUFFERING OF THOSE BENEATH YOU.”

***

“You see. You MISUNDERSTAND the Optimal Path, Gravy.”

“It’s a great sales pitch. Suffer, sweat and toil. Degrade yourself. Expose yourself to inhumane, nightmarish working conditions. And on the other side of it all? GUARANTEED SUCCESS™.”

“After all, it worked for Mark Flynn. He’s not just a spokesman for the Optimal Path™! He’s also a satisfied user!”

Despite the creature’s featureless face, you can tell from the shift in facial topography where cheeks would go… He’s smiling.

“And because you’re a simple-minded, gibbering ape… You bit the hook. Congratulations, Gravy. You fell for the oldest trick in the book: A testimonial sales pitch.”

“But, there's something MISSING in your perspective. You operate under the assumption that we’re at the same level. You just need to OUT-suffer me.”

“That you’re playing a fair game.”

The creature tsk-tsks.

“Bad news, Gravy. This scheme was rigged from the start…”

***

Opponent reaches out, sinking his claws into Flynn’s shoulder.

“If you’re concerned that… Mister Graves… can suffer more than you.”

“Don’t think ‘How can I suffer more than Graves?’...”

Opponent draws Flynn’s head next to his.

“Think… How can I CREATE more suffering… than Graves can self-inflict?”

“How can I FEED on the PAIN of others?”

***

“Here’s the problem with your approach, Graves.”

“Since I won the Uni Title, I’ve RUN this fucking company. I’ve beaten down losers on Anarchy, on Madness, on Savage… And I just keep getting stronger.”

“I dislocated Jess Anderson’s arm… I beat Marf with-AND-without Chuckster… And Dick Powers, despite apparently showing up on Madness, fucking died facing me.”

“Does it seem like I SUFFERED throughout those victories, Miek?”

“No. I thrived comfortably. But, I drank deeply from the fruits of THEIR suffering.”

…

“Finally connecting the dots, Gravy, ol’ boy?”

“When I ascended the Mountain-Top? I BECAME THE MOUNTAIN-TOP.”

“I AM THE OPTIMAL PATH.”

“And the suffering of those now walking my roads… Nourishes me… EMPOWERS me.”

“Every wound you suffer, every hardship you endure… I skim off the top. I derive strength and power from the trials and tribulations.”

…

“That’s right, Gravy.”

“The Optimal Path… is a Pyramid Scheme.”

“And while you’re a bottom-tier sufferer.”

“I AM THE FUCKING TOP, CONSUMING ALL THAT TREAD BENEATH ME.”

***

“You have THOUSANDS more suffering sources than Graves does… Simply… EXERCISE them…”

…

Flynn looks up into Opp… into Future-Flynn’s eyes.

“What must I do?”



***

The folder snaps shut.

“So, Gravy. My sincerest apologies, but after reviewing your ATROCIOUS wrestling record… And considering your COMPLETE INEPTITUDE in understanding my OPTIMAL PATH SUCCESS SYSTEM™… I’m afraid it’s just… not the right time to approve a Promotion Request.”

…

“But… Lemme counter-offer.”

…

SNAP! The creature’s arm extends across the table and wraps around your throat.

“How’d you like a PERMANENT MEMBERSHIP to the Optimal Path? An eternity of suffering, that’ll NEVER culminate in reward?”

“Your pain is so unique, Gravy. It’s… DENSE… COMPLICATED IN FLAVOR… So… fucking DECADENT.”

…You struggle, clawing against the creature’s grip… But it only tightens.

“Do you understand what I’m offering you, Gravy? It’s a once-in-a-life opportunity. The chance to become a part of something so much bigger than yourself…”

“To become a piece of the SUCCESS STORY™.”

“To invest the only valuable thing you have… into the MOST VIABLE PRODUCT of the 21st century.”

“MARK.”

“FUCKING.”

“FLYNN.”

…The creature’s maw opens.

“Join me.”

And it sweeps you into its gullet.

“And die.”

***

Bzzzzt.

“Therese?”

“Yes, Mister Flynn?”

“Schedule a try-out in my hometown.”

“Battle Creek, sir?”

“Yes. There’s some up-and-coming talent out there, looking to go pro and…”

Flynn licks his lips, salivating.

“I’d love…”

“A taste…”