"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."

― Aristotle

---

---

---

---

---

Crown of shit.
Hello, my friends.

Hello, Peter. Mister Gilmour. I am terribly sorry that I haven't got back to you in regards to our session you've requested. I've been taking messages lately. Ha.

You fool, Peter. What makes you think I want that ridiculous lunchbox you carry around? It means nothing to me. It means nothing to everyone. That's why you have it. That's why you had the crown when you did. The XWF had no need for a King. Therefore, it was given to you.

You see this has all be a giant jab to you, Peter. Something you were so proud of was taken away in a single night.

The tournament was for all comers. You had your chance to defend what was not even yours. You had a chance to claim it, just as I did. Instead, I'm not even sure what you were caught up with at the time. But, here we are. Nearly everday you come out and make threats to me. You make challenges to me. Peter, I don't know what to say. Do you not think when you speak sometimes?

If you want to challenge me, that's fine. I'm not afraid of your little lunchbox and I'm not afraid of you. I know you're so much higher on the pedestal than the rest of us around here, but that's only because you've been here since you've graduated high school. I'm surprised you still have a neck, my friend. But yes, the giant pedestal... You look down onto the rest of us. Onto me. Is that why you've avoided me for so long, Peter? If I was the King of the XWF, oh, which I am, I would be sure that every new threat that comes into the XWF knew exactly who I was. Surely you can come back and say that I'm no threat, but I believe you'd be mistaken. Surely you're not THAT ignorant, Mister Gilmour.

I'll tell you what though. Let's make a deal, hm? Why don't you try REALLY hard and come up with a session for us. The Crown versus your little lunchbox there isn't going to work. Maybe throw you're xbux in with it? Or perhaps something a bit more valuable... I keep hearing you ranting on about a certain Universal Title shot. Perhaps the chips on the table will be changed by the time we get around to meeting. I think you should just focus on what's in front of you right now, Mister Gilmour, before making too many enemies at once. You've already crossed a few lines with me, but nothing too bad Peter. All can be forgiven, but I just don't think I can trust you. This being the XWF and all, I'm not sure the limits of what can possibly happen are within reach.

Now, I'm sure unless you want your other ear ripped off, Peter, that you know enough to stay out of my title match this Wednesday. Mastermind and I have even denied the presence of a Special Guest Official for our match. As stupid as you are, I'm sure you'll be down there doing something.

You hear that, Mastermind? Keep your eyes peeled for a Gilmour Sighting. I know you take a lot of pride in that belt of yours... and every possible win you can get your hands on, I doubt there would be much pride if Mister Gilmour came down and assisted either of us in any way. I'm not sure how many, if any, times your path has crossed with Peter's, but it can get quite annoying.

Aside from that Mastermind, here we are. A day from Warfare. One day from a new reign.

I must admit I am quite excited for this opportunity and I don't believe I've thanked the right people for it.

Mister Pryce, I do appreciate your generousity, my friend. I have been waiting ages for the GM's to finally reward me what I've won so long ago. My debut match in the XWF, a battle royal for a shot at any title. Although, I do not push the issue, but I've even been teased with contendership matches. Give me a break people. Say what you do. Do what you say. It's not that hard, is it?

It must be. When businessmen such as Theo Pryce and the Doctor get talking, things get done, you see? A simple transaction and now I'm the #1 Contender for the X-Treme Title. Simplicity, my friends. It was a shame though. Mister Mastermind please do not feel as though you are a disappointment to me. But how I was looking forward to a match with Evertrust...

My old chess buddy. One of the most interesting beings I've come across in my years. I had plenty of encounters with him, but to have him within my own grasp in a session. Oh my. It was something I had looked forward to for quite some time. That is, perhaps, the only time I may have pushed an issue to get a title shot. Instead, I was placed on hold and Evertrust continued his kickouts after kickouts after kickouts. Did you keep track of how many kickouts Evertrust had, Mastermind? Maybe he should have made little 'Evertrust shirts' , as well. Regardless, I believe he had quite a few kickouts.

Are you expecting more kickouts, Mastermind? I hope you just order one shirt at a time and I hope you haven't lined up boxes and boxes of consecutive 'KICKOUT!!' tee shirts...

One hundred fifty-eighth kickout!! I believe you've kicked out on me several times. I've misplaced the tee shirts, sorry, I don't wear too many of them anyway... so. I don't care.

Now, I hope all of this training you're putting yourelf through here is going to be worth it M. You know how I've been training? Sitting on a train four hours from one side of Sweden going to the other side of it. A sort of meditation, I suppose. I admire the landscape and by means of locomotive are, by far, my favorite way of travel. I do hope you're enjoying yourself in New Zealand, Mastermind. Make yourself comfortable because you'll be back there soon enough. This session with the Doctor is not going to be like any match you've had in your past. A new experience, my friend.

---

---

---

1999

The Detective wheezes as he walks through the cemetery, he has a bit of trouble 'hoofing' it with just one working lung. The weatherman on the television called for one of the hottest, sunniest days of the year. It could have been, until the Detective opened his eyes this morning.

He spent nearly two months unconcious after an incident that happened around Christmas of 1998. The Detective had a hunch, which led to an unapproved stake-out, which led to his death, which led to the death of his family. He didn't die.


December 20, 1998

"You, daddy."

The Detective sighs and looks up to his wife. The woman sighs and frowns back as she exits the room into the kitchen.

"I want YOU for Christmas, daddy. Promise you'll be home."

A few nights ago the Detective received word that one of the big drug cartels of Los Angeles was making a big move Christmas morning. The cartel was somewhat new to the city, at least not a lot was known about it. They either had money or power or both from wherever they crawled out of. The Detective was determined to bring them down before their malicious behavior spread through the rest of LA. He was camping out a few blocks away, for several days if it was necessary, to get whatever he can on them.

"I promise, Lou. I'll be home for Christmas, pal."

He pecks a kiss on top of the boy's head and lowers him down from his knee. He gets up from the chair and walks into the kitchen where his wife stands, sobbing as she looks through a window.

The Detective steps behind her and places his arms around her. She immediately shoves him away.

"Don't Trevor. Just don't."

"You have to explain to him how important this is, Jess."

"No, I don't! YOU have the explaining to do, Trey. Why do I always have to break his heart? Why is it always ME that has to see that sad look on his face? It's not going to sink into him! When it does, it'll be too late and he's going to resent you!"

"I'm a cop, dammit!"

The woman shutters at the level of decebals the Detective's voice became.

"He needs to know that life is about sacrifices. Life is about giving things up for the things you want."

"So you're giving up on your family."

"I didn't say that, Jess."

"Then what are you saying, Trevor? You're ditching us for your stupid job again. Are you going to give up on this case like you were told to? Obviously not. Obviously you hold this case higher than you hold ANYthing else."

"I'm so close to something. They don't get it down there. They think--"

"Spare me, Trevor. Fucking spare me, okay?!"

The woman begins sobbing some more. Tears of rage race down the sides of her cheek and drip to the floor.

"I have to go."

"Then, go. See you next year...."

The Detective sighs, looks to the ground, and walks out the front door out to the street. After a few moments, the young boy runs into the kitchen.

"Where did daddy go?"

"Work, honey. Daddy went to work."

"I hate work."

1999

The Detective picks his head up and looks at the tombstone that he's kneeled in front of. He reaches out and feels the lettering that spelled out the names of his wife and son across the front of it.

He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a flask of whiskey and takes a few large gulps from it. He chokes a bit as he puts the flask back into his pocket.

He gets up from the ground and begins walking back out of the cemetery to his vehicle. He had a meeting at the station. He was late.

He traveled to the station in less that five minutes, with it being normally a fifteen to twenty minute drive. He pulled into a parking space and stumbled out of his beat up, blue unmarked police car.

"Sit down, Detective."

The Detective lips quiver with a cigarette hanging from the tip.

"And put out that God damn cigarette."

The Detective drops his cigarette into a glass of water sitting on the desk of his superior.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

The Superior Officer sighs for a moment as he throws the polluted glass of water into the garbage.

"It's obvious you've been pretty out of your game here in the past year. I understand the traumatizing and life changing experiences you've had, but I believe it's time we give you an evaluation."

"A fucking job evaluation? When?"

"We already did one, Trevor."

"Without telling me? Isn't that illegal? What the fuck, man?"

The Superior Officer ignores him and pulls out a small folder.

"Your behavior out on the field the past year has crumbled, Trevor. You're drunk or.... high.. Whatever the hell you are.... Let's just say more times than you're not."

"Hey! I am not drunk!"

The Superior Officer frowns at the Detective.

"What's in your inside pocket?"

The Detective sits back and cringes.

"Your behavior on the field is below par. Your absentiesm from work and your work hours themselves worth discussion. The accident with the school bus... There's plenty to go over, Trevor. But I tell you what I'm going to do."

The Superior Officer throws everything back into the folder and throws it into his desk.

"I'm going to suspend you. I want your badge, Trevor. Here's the thing. You need some fuckin' help man. You get some help? We have this talk again. You've been through a lot, Trevor, maybe you just need some time--"

"I've had time! Time doesn't heal shit! Those fuckers went after my family after they thought they ALREADY killed me! They went further and went to MY fucking home, man! You can't kick me out now! I need this."

"You need time away from here. Trust me. Get some help and we'll talk again. There's a great guy across town, he takes care of cops all the time. Maybe you should go see him."

The Superior Officer begins shuffling through hundreds of cards in a little booklet on top of his desk.

"I have his card here somewhere... There it is."

The Superior Officer reaches out with the card, but the EX-Detective has already left the office.

He speeds across town to his dive apartment, basically just a hole in a wall. He reaches into his mailbox and pulls bills stacked on bills and throws them down on his 'kitchen' table. He reaches up into the cupboard and pulls a large bottle of whiskey from it and takes a couple glugs from it. He begins shuffling through the mailings, tossing about every other one into the garbage, until he finds one different from the rest. It's a postcard. He flips it around and it;

Hello, my friend. Something got you down? Life on the force can be tough, sometimes even, too tough. Visit everyone's favorite Doctor for not only a tune-up for the mind, but a chance to make a new friend. A friend in need is my friend indeed. My doors are always open.

The EX-Detective looks it over a few more times. No name on it, just an address. Maybe the Captain sent it to him days ago and didn't remember, he thought. Who knows. The EX-Detective threw it into the garbage, as well.

---

---

---

---

---