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Doctor Louis D'Ville · (05-23-2015)

"Don't compromise yourself. You're all you've got."

â€• Janice Joplin (1/19/1943 - 10/4/1970)

She means, don't do anything she wouldn't do.

The conclusion . . .

The Doctor and his patient exit the small theater through the entrance from which they came and step back into the Doctor's office. Much to their surprise, the Mirror of Mastermind is no longer lying and burning in the fire, it is standing upright in front of the Doctor's desk.

What the fuck?

Interesting . . .

The mirror had no marks and no burns. It wasn't scratched and didn't have a speck of dirt on it. The Ex-Detective stormed over to it and looked deep into his own reflection. He feels a bit hazy for a moment before he loses his balance and slowly begins falling into the mirror. The hands of his reflection reach out to catch him, but the Doctor watches the Ex-Detective by the back of the collar and pulls him away. When he falls back he breaks eye contact with the mirror and snaps out of whatever trance he was under. He shakes his head left to right and watches the Doctor throw a curtain over top of the mirror.

I'm quite certain I mentioned to ignore the mirror.

It was your idea to come check on it. And now it's apparently indestructible and possessed. What do you want to do with it Doc?

Throw it back in the case. We'll dispose if it soon enough, Trevor.

You got it, Doc.

The Ex-Detective picks himself up off of the floor and picks up the mirror. He lays the the covered magic mirror into the straw from which it came and threw the large wooden lid back on top of the crate.

The pickup truck struggled to keep up to sixty five miles per hour. As soon as it began climbing the hill it started losing speed and the entire climb was a struggle for the old truck. In the passenger seat is the Doctor. Sitting, smiling, and smoking away at one of his fine cigars, he watches the landscape as it slowly creeps by him. Beside him, driving the truck, is his patient, the Ex-Detective.

Lying in the bed leaning against the one side is the large crate. It's just a little to big to fit perfectly. With every bump the truck hits, the crate smacks around and nearly flies off of the truck.

Mind the crate, Trevor. We don't want to waste any time stopping to retrieve it, hm?

I can't go too fast in this piece of shit truck, Lou.

Just like old times, isn't it?

You mean driving EVERYWHERE in some of the shittiest vehicles I've ever seen in my entire life? Yeah, just like old times, Doc.

The Doctor chuckles a bit and carries on watching the landscape.

Yes, just like old times.

Mister Lane, I see that you're still taking this week quite lightly under the circumstances. Late bed times with your little porn bunny. Midnight texting with Thunderbolt X. There's a friend you could use. Someone who worships the ground you vomit on. There's something about the guy that just rubs me the wrong way . . . Oh, that's right, his glorious efforts during our Lethal Lottery Match. The poor lad obviously has no idea who's who around here, otherwise I'm sure he would have played it a little smarter. Then again, I've seen worse. Maybe the kid has no smarts in that head of his. It would makes sense since he placed someone like the Loverboy at the top of the shrine inside of his locker. It doesn't surprise me that you'd waste your time with someone like him, Mister Loverboy. You're a megastar, am I right? You need fans. You need them to feed your ego, feed your faith in your own performance, and feed your strengths. Without the millions of fans at ne of your little rockstar shows, what kind of show would it be? You may as well go home, Vinnie Lane. The thousands that surround you when you approach the ring to shed your blood, sweat, and tears just for them. You need them too. There would be no Vinnie Lane without the people, would there?

What a waste of time.

Have you always cared of what other people have thought of you around here? I think you have. One good example is the President of the Loverboy fan club, Thunderbolt X. Like I said, anything to feed that ego of yours just makes you erupt. And I know you're not weak, Vinnie. You're a strong individual. Anytime someone's really crawled under your skin you've had the ability to just ignore it and let it pass. Be passive. Not make a little pissy-fit scene. There's something someone can respect.

If it were true.

Pissy-fits.

Mister Lane that's the difference between you and I. The Doctor cares nothing about the cheers he receives from the crowd around him. The arena turns red, smoke fills there air, and I walk to the ring while the spectators watch in silence. I suppose it's because they're unimpressed with my entrance or my presence even. My patients sit in silence out of respect for their Doctor. They watch as their champion . . . Their King . . . Their Higher Power makes his way into his next session to prove to the world once again that he belongs where is today. No matter my age, no matter how you think I would perform in bed, Mister Lane, I walk away from my matches victorious. It's not that I mostly win. It's not that I sometimes lose. I always win, with one exception.

Time's running short, Mister Loverboy. After months in waiting for another chance to face the Doctor, you'll finally have your chance. You claim walking away the Universal Champion at Bad Medicine is your destiny. That you were born to take me out. This is why you're here in the XWF. What are you, my friend? Some kind of super hero here to save the day? You're not a hero. You're not an idol. You're not a mega star. Not anymore at least. You see, the little jabs that your little sex-dummy throws at you aren't all just fun and games. There's a little truth behind it all, Mister Lane. You claim that my age is a factor in all of this? You're the one that's falling apart here.

Not to mention the 'age' thing gets a little old. I mean, 'old man' and 'geezer' and such, I get it. I'm Father Time, people. But since when has the appearance of my age had any effect on the outcomes of my sessions? How many times did Papa Doc need to take a time out in the middle of the match to strap the breathing matchine to his face for a breather? Or leave the ring for a glass of water to take his pills? Give me a break, Mister Lane. You're better than all of this. There you are, lying naked in your bed next to your love calling out your good buddy Doc's age.

True love. Is that what you're experiencing right now, Mister Lane? A sex-driven relationship is always healthy and the trust you two have for each other is unbelievable. It's amazing that after all the time that you've spent on the road, my friend, that the two of you have continued to stay so very loyal to one another. It's quite a sight. The type of thing that parts the clouds and makes angel's appear. The type of thing that changes people. The type of thing that ruins lives. If you cared enough about the XWF, your fans, and your career here you'd tell the tramp to cool her jets and let you concentrate. Drop the charade and put up your dukes, Vinnie. As much as you make it sound like one, this is no joke. I am no joke. I'm not one of your simple routine title defenses on Monday Madness, Mister Lane. You talked about the stakes being much higher right now, but do you really see that? Do you really see what lies before you at Bad Medicine? It's your chance to put all of those simple little wins you've accumulated the past nine months and make them matter. Make them mean something. Because you know what they are right now? Empty victories. You may as well have fought Peter Gilmour fifteen times in a row. Empty victories, Mister Lane. After I show you that all of this practice you've been doing all this time has been a waste, you'll truely see that the Doctor is perfectly capable of evolving with the times around here. Being a champion for nearly half my career here hasn't made me lazy. It hasn't made me any less of a competitor I was when I first arrived here. If anything, it's made me stronger. It's made me renowned. Everyone here knows what I'm capable of and they have no desire to even come close to me.

I know why you were biding your time as the Number One Contender for so long. Bragging week in and week out as if it was some kind of special title to claim. You certainly have some amazing ways to showing your prowess. You were biding your time and waiting just in case the Doctor screwed up. Maybe someone would come along before you Mister Lane and take care of the dirty work for you. Then, you of course being the next best thing, could easily waltz in and claim your victory. That didn't pan out though did it? It's about time you pulled those balls out of Barbie's mouth and threw them on the table. The hunger still lives inside me, Mister Lane. You may think it's gone because when I look up, there's nothing else to claim. I have it all. The crown. I was an undefeated X-Treme Champion. I was Mister Money in the Bank. And now, I am the Universal Champion. The wait you put me through just made me hungrier Mister Lane. I've swept through the roster like a hurricane and I'm nearly to the point where I can begin my victory lap. There's only a few names on the list of competitors that have yet been laid to sleep by the Doctor. I'm sure their day will come long before my final day here in the XWF. But for now, the spotlight's on you, Vinnie. Just like it should be, right? That precious lime light that you crave. The fame and fortune that you crave.

You're like a shooting star.

It passes by for just a moment. It could be the prettiest thing you've ever seen. For that split second, it could soak up the attention of thousands of people all at once. Then as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

Do you think the XWF needs a champion thats . . . Pretty? Someone that the world could look up to, huh? Hmm. I don't think it would say much for what the XWF is all about to have an actual poster boy as the poster boy of the XWF. You want to save the XWF? The XWF does not NEED saved, Mister Lane. I find myself to be a pretty good King, to be honest. Much like the one's of the past. I didn't place the XWF under my thumb, I'm not a vicous dictator that makes the rules. I'm a simpleton like yourself. This crown you claim is empty? I believe it was an empty crown when Mister Gilmour held it, my friend. What makes it empty now that I am the King?? Because someone like you did not participate in the tournament to claim it? Well, fancy that. Your "good friend" Gator was there. He bailed in the second round, but we won't get into that. You not participating in that match was a simple sign showing that you knew the outcome before it even happened. You knew that the Doctor would rise as the King. Perhaps the look of the crown on my head has grown a bite stale in your eyes. It has been quite some time since I've won the tournament. Regardless, it is what it is. When the tournament rolls around again, I'll win it again, just like this year. Just like I do everytime I step into the ring. Will it mean something then? Or will you have some trio's match or something much more important to worry about by then? Let me guess? A Universal Title defense? Keep dreaming, Mister Lane.

I enjoyed your history lesson. About your patriotism and how you plan to jump aboard the cycling universe and change the world. Ending my reign of terror. Pulling the XWF back into the light. Do you think if you become the Universal Champion it's going to bring the XWF back to your so called, 'days of glory'? The second you raise the title above your head, do you believe Eli James will come knocking back on the XWF's doors? Do you think Maverick gave up because he knew that he'd never amount to becoming the Universal Champion? Were the King's just bored? Mister Lane you've never proven that you can carry any type of burden here in the XWF. You proved you can compete with second rate competition and the potential 'futures' of the XWF. That Hart Title around your waist says it all. Show champion. Go defend it. I'll keep my crown and my Universal Championship, you keep that one. But let me tell ya, once you fall to the Doctor for the second time and lose your chance at being the Universal Champion, that Hart Title is going to look like shit to you. A piece of crap draped across your shoulder that will always remind you that you couldn't do it. That you can't do it. So, maybe after this Saturday, you'll realize that you should just stick to what your good at. Keep the lower carders in place and keep Monday that middle card as exciting as can be. Maybe you could go after that Federweight Title one more time. It's silly you bring that up, Mister Lane. The Federweight Title was something that was pretty exciting when it first arrived. I even participated in the battle royal to be the first holder of it! Unfortunately, I did not succeed. My precious Violator did. A perfect fit, if you ask the Doctor. Claiming that it was a way for me to test the water with you is ridiculous. I saw it more of an opportunity to drop by and say 'Hello'. After all, whether we were in direct contact for the duration of our waiting period, you still felt the effects of the Doctor. Sending my army after you, attacking you behind the scenes, shaving your head . . . All fun and games, my friend! What a better way to get someone's attention and remind them of who's watching them then by abducting them? Of course I'm not sure you knew it was me behind the scenes at that point, but hell, it's not like my point didn't get across.

It all comes down to this, Loverboy. All of the times I've left my opponent beaten, face down on the mat. All of the times that I pulled the wool over everyone's eyes and just squeaked by. Everything I've done since August, everything I've earned comes down to one night. Am I hoax? You sure make it sound that way. Keep pretending that I hand picked my patients time and time again and did nothing to truely impress. Watch a few more of my matches, Mister Lane. You claim that I'm not unbeatable, which is of course true. It's been proven. The Doctor can be beat. Just like you. Just like Gator. Just like all of those legends you named off . . . But am I going to be beat by you, Mister Lane? It's not going to happen.

You want to be a hero? Do what you mega stars do and go pick out a kid in the Make-a-Wish program and sing them a song. Let them hear that pretty voice of yours. Maybe even let them hold that Hart Title of yours.

This Dark Age that you claim to see around the XWF is just you with your eye's closed. Open them. Open them and see the perfect world that I've created for all of you. The Hart Title is as far as you'll go, so don't bother looking up anymore, Loverboy. Get comfortable. There's nothing for you up here.

The Ex-Detective hits another bump coming down from the top of another hill and the crate in the back smacks around a few more times. It slides back and hits the back window causing the Ex-Detective to nearly jump out of his seat.

Jesus Christ!

He swerves the vehicle into the other lane.

Why the hell didn't we strap this thing down?

Just pace yourself a bit, Trevor. We're in no hurry at this point. We'll dispose of the mirror and begin our plans to dispose of Mister Lane.

Yeah, about that. With you fella's locked in a cage like you are... It's going to be a little difficult to ---

Your mission has NOTHING to do with our session, Mister Dedtnik. You leave Mister Lane to me at first. His fate will be decided soon after.

But, you still want me to kill him right?

Saying that, another bump along this horribly paved highway jostles the crate enough that it bounces into the air and busts open! The Ex-Detective swerves the vehicle and again and swears aloud as he looks back.

As he turns his eyes back to the road, he realizes the Doctor is gone from the passenger seat.

Awe, not this shit again.

HONK!

HOOOOONK!!!

The Ex-Detective looks straight ahead and is met with the high beams of a large mac truck heading straight for him. He whips the wheel back to the right, a little too hard, and sends the truck off the road and down a bank. It slides down on it's side and eventually flips over a couple of times before it lands on it's roof. The vehicle instantly catches fire. Luckily for the Ex-Detective, he didn't lose conciousness. He slowly crawls out of the open passenger side window and climbs to his feet. He panics for a moment, but quickly gains his senses as he sees the broken crate about halfway down the hill from where he fell. He climbs up and slowly reaches the crate. Surprisingly, the wreck didn't completely destroy it. He pulls a few boards away from it and begins digging through the straw.

The crate is empty. Where is the Mirror of Mastermind?!

The Ex-Detective loses his balance and stumbles back down the hill to the bottom. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He salvages one from the pack and lights it. It's at the moment he lights his cigarette the truck explodes and sends him flying back on his backside. This hurt more than the actual wreck he thought. He sits up and rubs his neck. The cigarette that he just threw in his mouth was now broken in half. He swears to himself as he picks himself back up and turns around.

He's face to face with his own reflection.

The mirror did it again. It somehow found itself standing, even after several attempts at destroying it. The Ex-Detective looks directly into the eyes of the reflection and is stunned when it leaps through the mirror and attacks him!

The two roll around on the ground as they choke, punch, and kick each other. The Doctor stands over the two of them and watches as they fight each other to the death. The Ex-Detective reaches behind him in his pants and pulls a pistol from it and tries aiming it at his reflection. The reflection fights back and throws the gun from the Ex-Detectives grasp and it slides across the dirt a few feet away from them. They've shuffled around so much, it would be difficult for anyone to be able to tell who is who.

One of them manages to gain the upper hand and straddle the other. He reaches down and begins choking the one on the ground with both hands. Dirt flies up and hits him in the face and he falls off of the victim. As the one Ex-Detective rubs the dirt out of his eyes, the other slowly crawls over to retrieve the pistol. He just touches it with his fingertips as he feels a tug on his one leg. His instant reaction was to lift his other leg and kick the grappler in the face. After he's freed up he manages to reach up and grab the pistol off of the ground. He rolls to his back, holds the pistol with both hands, and points it at his "twin".

He froze as he watched a form of himself fall backwards with a hole between their eyes, which lied open and crossed as if watching the smoke pour out of the bullet hole.

The Doctor grins and step forward towards the Ex-Detective.

Now, I told you to be more careful around that mirror, Trevor.

The Ex-Detective snaps out of his frozen state and stares at the Doctor now. He pulls the pistol up again and holds it with both hands, pointing it straight at the Doctor.

Oh, I see. Still don't trust me, hm? What do you plan on doing with that?

I'm done being your puppet.

The Ex-Detective then turns the gun on himself and shoves the barrel into his mouth.

NO!

As the trigger is pulled and the loud, deafening ringing pierces through the Ex-Detective's ears. The last thing he can hear is the demonic howl of the Doctor cursing him.

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