The camera opens to a snow-covered, wooded area. The woods are dark and mostly silent, save for the faint hoot of an owl. As the camera shifts to a large, seemingly abandoned building in the middle of a clearing, flashlight beams begin dancing about the trees, eventually they all settle on the clearing. The sound of snow crunching underfoot accompanies a group of four men, each carrying flashlights and various bottles of liquor. As they head toward the front door, the man at the rear of the pack slows his pace and begins searching the surrounding clearing, prompting the others to stop and laugh at him. He holds his hands out to his sides as the camera moves in closer. One of the men steps forward and tosses a cell phone at him, which he fumbles yet manages to catch. He presses a button and shields his eyes briefly as the backlight springs to life.

Jones: “Quit being such a pussy. Check my phone, I promise this is the address from the Facebook event.”

Artie: “No fucking service, genius. Besides, I’m not as gullible as you. If some random girl, that you’re not sure if you actually hooked up with--mind you, invites you to a party in the middle of the woods you should maybe get a few more details than an address, dontcha think?"

Jones smirks and snatches his phone back, giving Artie a wink.

Jones: “Liquor and pussy. What other details do you need? Should I have asked her for a copy of her W-2? Just shut up, we’re gonna get fucked up! And maybe there’s even a fat girl in there to keep you warm.”

Artie only offers a middle finger in retaliation. The group reach the large, steel door of the building and knock loudly. No response. Artie scoffs and rolls his eyes at Jones, who quickly taps against the door again. After a few seconds, the door slowly creaks open, making the group exchange unsure glances. With a slight hesitation, they enter the building and are greeted with synthetic fog and bright green and blue neon lights, shooting around the room. Upon the door closing, loud music suddenly startles the group:



Jones: FUCK YEAH!

The doors to a large, open area swing open, revealing a crowded room of hooded figures all dancing wildly to the beat. Jones throws his arms over his head and as the others follow his lead they make their way into the crowd, dancing amongst all of the hooded partygoers.The group becomes separated after a moment, and the camera focuses in on Artie, awkwardly dancing next to a shorter, shapely dancer moving provacatively.

Artie:”I feel kind of like an idiot! We had no idea this was a costume party!”

Artie smiles, waiting for a response, but is ignored by the dancer. Undeterred, he attempts to grab the dancer by the hips but is met with a fist to the nose, sending him crashing backward. The music stops and all dancing ceases. The hooded figures all silently move to either side of the large room, leaving the four men in the middle confused.

Jones: “Uhh… Are we in the wrong party?”

Instantly, the familiar disembodied voice emanates from the rafters.

“No. You are exactly where we intended you to be.”

Jones: “Who said that? We’re not looking for any troub--”

Jones is cut off by the sound of a steel chain clanging against a pipe. The hooded figures all simultaneously look upward. As the men all begin to follow their lead a body falls from the ceiling, right above them. The men shriek and fall to the ground. The body slams to a halt merely a few feet above them, suspended by chains coiled around it’s biceps. Grasping the chains, the figure straightens itself into an upright position. The crimson mask of Titan looks down on the men.

“Trouble? You will find none here. On the contrary, this place has become a haven for those who wish to be freed from such trivial concerns. Here before you lies protection and acceptance, two things that the world outside will never be able to offer you. We welcome you as one of us, and this is the greatest gift you sad souls will ever receive. Accept it, and the follies of men will no longer be of your concern. You will become more than your creator could have ever envisioned. Reject it, however, and we cannot guarantee anything beyond a slow, painful end to your pitiful existence. Unlike the grandiose promises of false prophets, such as the cur Eli James, we can guarantee you a life filled with meaning. No, unlike Eli James we do not suffer a Messiah complex, we have no delusions of what we are. We are no savior. Merely, we are a beacon designed to guide the less worthy vermin of this place to a path much greater than the one chosen for them.”

Artie: ”Just wait one motherfucking minute. Are you talking about Eli James, the wrestler!? What is this, a hidden camera show? Where’s the 15 year old with the iced tea?”

Jones: “Dude, you watch wrestling?”

“Silence. We are well aware that your level of comprehension is insufficient to process your current situation, but we will remedy this. You scoff at our medium, yet do not realize it’s full potential. We have. We know that the key to any effective beacon is exposure. We ask you: What better way to expose our message than to do so to a global audience of lost souls, tuning in to fulfill their primitive entertainment needs? We intend to give them just that, when we provide them with the systematic destruction of Scott Charlotte.”

Suddenly, the hooded figures all drop to their knees. Titan releases his chains and falls to the floor, landing on his feet with a large thud. He kneels down to the level of the men on their knees and tilts his head to the side, carefully surveying the fearful group.

“A coward, not unlike you all. A man with clear psychological shortcomings. A worthless whelp who provides us with nothing more than incoherent ramblings and contrived bravado. This Charlotte character is at a decided disadvantage when in comparison to us. He cannot send his Wraith to harm us, for it is nothing more than a figment of his imagination--a ghost imprisoned in the limited mind of a severely mentally challenged man. Surely, the walls of this man’s mind must twist and strain and even the most basic of coherent thought, and to be placed inside an arena of combat demonstrates that he should be remanded to the care of someone much more intelligent. Perhaps our methodic torture of this poor soul will open the eyes of those who see him as anything more than a burden on society. A pyromaniac with the intellect of calcified dog feces has no hope when facing us one-on-one, we can guarantee the world of this. Absolute destruction is in store for Scott Charlotte this coming Monday night at Madness. And then, we may begin to guide the people of this twisted land to the path of a higher conscience. The path that they would be otherwise unaware of. The path that could not be offered by any God. The path that we will now allow you to walk, side-by-side with us.”

The hooded figures all shoot to their feet as the camera cuts to black. A low inaudible chant is interrupted by piercings screams, until all falls silent. As the camera cuts back into the scene, Titan is surrounded by four new hooded figures. The rest, lining the walls, all converge to the new group. Titan steps out from the crowd, and faces the camera. The hooded group all turn to face the camera. They each pull down their hoods, revealing crimson masks exactly similar to his.

“We are Titan.”

The camera fades to black.

1X - GOAT.