Noon. June 14th, 1847.

There’s a crowd in the town square. Grumbling. Calling out. Slowly turning from the hanging platform set up at the front to the sheriff’s office to the West. Equipped with mugs of whiskey, a femme from the local saloon actually stepping outside to serve drinks, so as not to miss out on this unique business opportunity. Fathers stand with sons on their shoulders. The women left at their houses, given the opportunity to avoid seeing this grotesque disply of mortality, dust the same shelf for hours to stay near a window with a view…

The town knows the purpose of the gathering. To watch the hanging of a criminal and a murderer and a thief. A man who has evaded capture and execution for almost a year.

A man who deserves, above all others, to die.

The world hates this man. And they are prepared for him to die. More than that, they are eager to watch a man squirm at the hangman’s noose to wrench the last of his life likethe bartender twisting the liquid from his rag…

The crowd starts to turn… They slide towards the sheriff’s office… almost silently…

One man, the town doctor, carefully steps up and onto the porch. He revolves nervously to the crowd. A few nod…

The doctor slips through the swinging door…

Silence outside…

On the inside, deathly quiet. The sheriff and his deputy sitting around a deck of cards. The sheriff slides three on the table and gets returned three.

The doctor holds his hat in his hands as he waits for attention.

The deputy looks from his cards as does the sheriff.

“Something the matter, Doc?”

The doctor shakes his head. “No, sheriff. Just that the hanging was supposed to happen at noon. We’ve had Art Miller’s son running back and forth from the train station and the last time he came back, it was half past noon…”

The eyes of the law return to his cards.

“A man, no matter how wicked, has to have his last rites… We’re waiting for the father to get here to deliver ‘em.”

A low laugh can be heard from around the corner… Inside the cells…

“SHUT UP IN THERE! I TOLD YOU GODDAMNIT YOU MAKE A SOUND, YOU HANG WITH A BROKEN JAW!” The deputy calls out. The laughter stops, but a giggling continues.

The doctor remains silently in the room for a moment. Then, leaves.

A low grumbling starts outside… Hushed whispers. The deputy puts two back and the sheriff takes the deck to shuffle the cards…

“These cards are wet…” The sheriff turns to the deputy who wipes his forward… Swallowing down dry throat…

“You nervous about something, Glen?”

Glen’s eyes shoot up.

“N…Naw, sheriff. It’s just a hot day.”

The sheriff turns from his deputy to see the people gathered outside.

They’ve been waiting since 8 am.

Four and a half hours in blistering Texas heat…

The sheriff shakes his head as he stares down at his new hand.

“Lousy luck, today…”

Suddenly, there’s an uproar of sound. The people outside start to cheer, actual applause…

The sheriff scratches his head as the deputy sprints for the front door.

The deputy turns and smiles… a mixture of relief and anticipation…

“The Preacher’s here…”

The sheriff presses himself out of his chair and goes for the window instead.

The crowd has surrounded the newcomer.

Who stands a good foot above the crowd… His black brimmed hat tilted towards the town above an unsmiling face.

“Good lord…” The sheriff shakes his head.

The hat and shoulders slowly weave through the crowd, onto the porch…

The deputy almost dives out of his way as the father’s heels click against wood.

The deputy takes his hat off and bows…

“How was the train, Father?”

The father removes his dark brimmed hat…

And reveals cold white eyes…

The deputy gasps audibly…

The sheriff remains unmoved.

“Point me to the man I’ve come to serve.”

The sheriff points to the hall of cells.

“The one at the end.”

The father picks up his bag.

And marches down the hall.

***

The Last Will and Testament of Mark Flynn

I, Mark Flynn, being of a mind that the United States of America refuses to allow me to state is sound, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me. I’ve been making a will once a week, so don't any of you get your hopes up.

To Sebastian Duke, a man I’ve never had the slightest modicum of respect for, I leave this video explaining me tapping out to a child.

http://s2.excoboard.com/exco/archive.php?ac=t&forumid=165590&date=12-30-2012&t=2365561-1

Do you see how I’m tapping out to a child for shits and giggles? Are you really trashing me for doing a little bit of charity work? Are you angry because my $5 service got a big line than your shitty $5 autograph table, you miserable cunt?

God…I’m sorry, I’ll eviscerate all of my loved ones before the end of this document… But, I’m going to miss swearing. Whether I die actually this Sunday or die on the inside staying on Warfare. The beauty of unacceptably uncensored language has never been more apparent to me than right the fuck now.

As a result, this motherfucking Will and Testament is TV-M, cocksucker.

***

The father steps silently. Passing empty containers of expired men… Shuffled off this mortal coil against their will…

He allows a finger to tap one of the bars next to him, as he walks…

The wall coming closer with every step… The sunlight disappearing behind the wall…

He finally reaches the cell… where he sees a pair elbows resting against the bar.

He takes a step further and their eyes meet.

The giant lets his bag drop to his feet as he sizes up his competition.

As the dwarf cackles.

“Company… I’ve always enjoyed a bit of idle conversation before a hanging…”

The father adjusts his sleeves up his arms. “I’ve heard such.”

“Would you like to come in? I’ve been cleaning and spit shining all day getting ready for you. Unfortunately with my tight schedule and limited allowance, I couldn’t get any food from the market, but I’ve got a half a rat under the bed if you’re hungry.”

The doctor turns, ignoring this challenge. “Deputy.”

The deputy dashes from the table and stands at attention, going so far as to salute.

“I require a chair.”

The deputy sprints to find a suitable seat…

“Planning on staying a while?”

The father turns and stares coldly into this man.

“As long as I must, Josiah…”

Josiah shrugs as he leans against the wall beside him.

“Your loss.”
***
To the Duke.

I leave this.

You tried three different occasions to give me a run for my money and Future Legend Jordi hit me harder than you did in one try.

You’ve failed from end to end to even move me past second gear. I’ve had to take swings at other people just to keep myself from getting bored.

And you dare just shit out a bunch of pictures of me in a last-ditch effort to do… anything?

Jesus Christ, Duke. How the fuck do you have a winning streak of any length?

Hang on. I’ve got to outdo at your own game for at least the fifth time this week.

Here’s Sebastian Duke preparing another devastating SOUL SHOT!



Here’s Sebastian Duke doing his scary face to play mind games with his opponent.



Terrifying.

Here’s Sebastian Duke showing off his natural grace and ability in the ring.



And I’m done. Check and mate. In two pictures and a video, I outdid your pathetic slideshow presentation.

You must feel really bad, Duke. I bet you worked for hours on that, finding the perfect pictures, not accepting ones unless they didn’t have logos.

I mean, you’ve worked so hard this week. That video you put together to open Warfare with! Solid B- effort, kid!

And just like every other time, you’ve tried to step into my domain, I just outclass you in the most embarrassingly over the top manner.

I’ll tell you what, Dukey.

I’ll recognize that you beat me twice and have legitimate claims to a 2 and 0 record against me.

When you admit that Angelus has beaten you fairly.

When you admit on three separate occasions, Angelus has pinned you, embarrassed you. Is all around better than you.

And the only reason that Angelus isn't getting a US Title shot this Sunday...

Is because he already failed and you're the new favorite

When you admit that you’re the XWF’s number one puppy, being sent out to do tricks and is urinating all over the carpet trying not to embarrass himself.

If there’s one horse race that and his stooge Witastick are trying to fix, it’s this one.

You’ve been manufactured like a shoe in a sweatshop, perfectly designed to satisfy all of the XWF’s commercial needs.

You’re dark but in a scary way that the kids like.

You can’t trash talk which means there’s no risk of you for a second delaying the feed.

You’re an evil monster who defeats the darkness. But, sure, you’ll sign an autograph for that kid.

5 dollars, please.

You disgust me, Duke.

This fight isn’t you versus me.

This is Mark Flynn fighting against the tools of oppression.

This is Mark Flynn saving those stupid fucking ticketholders from cheering for a sell out.

Angelus tried it and I stopped him.

Now, look where he is.

Not only is he being sacrificed to a bunch of rookies so the XWF can forget about him and move on.

But, if you win, you get to face him, with his title on the line and not yours.

Straight from the desk of Wallace Witastick.

Are you so blind that you can’t see how much of a pawn you are, Duke?

For a man affiliated with the Illuminati.

You seem unaware of how rigged and pre-determined this game we’re playing is, how stacked the deck is against those of us who refuse to kowtow to the pimps that want us to sell our souls...

Something you, my Angel of darkness, seemed to do for the same price as those kids buying your name on a sheet of paper.

Or maybe you’re just fine with being fed titles, with being ’s prostitute.

Well, that shit doesn’t fly in my ring.

And let me assure you.

I’m leaving Gauntlet City the United States Champion.

But don’t worry, Duke. I’m leaving you something too…

To Sebastian Duke, I, Mark Flynn.

Leave one loss.

One embarrassing defeat.

One submission ending to a match where Duke is the one begging to get his arm back.

One more night where Mark.

Fucking.

FUCKING.
F.
U.
C.
KING of the XWF FLYNN.

Proves he’s better than the rest of you.

Sic Semper Corruptio, Duke.

Thus always to the corrupt.

Sic Semper Luca.

Thus always to whores…

…

You cunt.

***

The father pulls out the holy book as his subject refuses to take his eyes off of him.

“We begin with Penance. The absolution of your sins as you travel to judgment.”

“Nah.”

The preacher looks up from his book. Josiah shakes his head.

“I like my sins. I’d like to keep them as unabsoluted as possible if you don’t mind…”

The preacher stares daggers into the evil demon before him…

“Then, we move onto Anointment. Where we pray for your relief and ask God that his Grace bring and end to your Suffering.”

“Suffering?”

The father looks up again.

“Do you think I’m suffering?”

The preacher sighs.

“I suppose you don’t want to take the Eucharist, then either?”

Josiah nods behind him.

“If you want to split the rat, I’d be willing to dip it in Jesus’ blood.”

The father throws the Holy Book into the bag.

He crosses his hand on his forehead, chest and shoulders.

“Then, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

The father heaves his bag off the ground...

“Mercy?”

The father looks coldly at this criminal…

Who sports a genuinely perplexed face…

“You think I’m in need of mercy?”

The preacher spits.

“Mercy against the fires of Hell.”

Josiah Flynn grins…

“Sit. Please, preacher. Just a few minutes.”

The holy man sighs. It is his duty to see a dying man to his resting place.

He takes a seat.

“Let me tell you about Hell…”

***

Anyway, I’m fairly certain this already stopped being a legal document when I put a video in it. Might as well ride this plane crash straight into the ground.

To Tyler Decker, I leave my schtick.

You’ve been borrowing it for years. It’s yours now. Do with it as you do.

Which seems to be ‘Slightly worse than whatever original he’s imitating.’

Congratulations on keeping the debating going on who was the real weak link after you and Ray Ray split up.

We all thought after Ray Ray retired it must have been him, but leave it to Decker to not be able to finish something we all thought was over.

Well done.

To Unknown Legend Jordi, I leave my thanks.

All the pieces have come together.

I realize only now that no one has ever seen Future Legend Jordi and Unknown Soldier in the same place at the same time.

The same way that no one hasn’t enjoyed a Future Legend Jordi appearance. Although, it’s difficult to say the same about Soldier.

But, still, now it’s clear why you lost to Sebastian Duke in such an embarrassing, emasculating fashion.

Because you’re so busy running your own club. We’re all a bunch of losers with no lives.

And judging by your work this work, Soldier. It’s clear that you just don’t have the time to put out the good stuff you used to.

Karl Cross rolls over in his grave thinking about what a cakewalk it would be to beat you now.

Match of the Century, my ass.

To John Black, I leave my undying gratitude.

As a friend.

As a brother.

As a brutha.

Thank you.

To Peter Gilmour, a lifetime supply of Yellow Play-Doh.

Don’t eat it all at once there, kiddo.

To NAZI, I leave a cordial greeting he never seems to receive

I don’t think we’ve ever met before.

I’m Mark Flynn.

People hate me, too.

Nice to meet you.

To Johnny Madison…

…

I’ve thought long and hard about what I would write here…

What do you leave to Johnny Madison?

The man that has everything?

I realize that I could never give Johnny Madison something that truly interests him.

Title shots, contracts, Pay-Per-View Main Events? All things he’s received and thrown away.

But, to Johnny Madison.

I leave Nothing.

Silence.

Disinterest.

Does that piss you off, Madison?

Does after weeks of biting your nails, begging for me to take a swing…

The desire to get people to pay attention to you is still sad.

Like a child who shat on the floor so he could feel his mother’s hand on his backside.

That’s what Madison trash talk feels like.

“Hey Mama Flynn! Look what I did! Guess you’re going to have to beat me now, huh?”

No, Johnny.

Not only are you not worth my time.

You’re not worth my continued interest.

You’ve gone from the Machiavellian Artisan who singlehandedly killed the XWF.

To the elderly geriatric in an armchair who talks about how great it was when he singlehandedly killed the XWF.

I’m the old guy in XWF. How the Hell are you more senile than me?

Sorry to ask but do you have any newer work?

No? And I’m wrong for asking?

No. No thanks. I’ve already listened to ‘Johnny Madison’s Greatest Oldie Classics Vol. 3.

I enjoyed it more the first time. You know when I said it.

Hell, Madison, you even stole getting things stolen from you from me. THAT WAS MY THING!

I’ll tell you what though, Madison.

I hope you, Mister Mystery and I happens. I want it even more than that crown.

Because the only thing I’d love more than stealing a win from the both of you seperately.

Is having the both of you beat each other unconscious while I steal another victory.

Thanks, Maddy. I’ll be sure to actually break your arm this time.

For old time’s sake.

Fuck the XWF.

Long Live its King.

Signed,

Mark Flynn

XOXO
***
“Do you know why I’m being executed?”

The father stares silently.

“Murder. Theft. It’s a decent sized list, Josiah.”

“Why would a man do those things, do you think, preacher?”

“You’ve fallen out of the Lord’s sight. The Devil tempted you and led you away from his flock…”

Josiah claps and points to the holy man.

“That’s it, preacher. You got it in one guess.”

“Are we done, then?”

“Do you know what I did before I was deemed by the state of Texas to be a threat worthy of prosecution?”

The preacher turns his head to the side, eager to end this interaction.

“No.”

“I was a teacher. You ever hear of René Descartes?”

“No.” The preacher taps his foot, trying to expedite the process.

Flynn turns away from the holy man…

“He believed that this power to perceive the world around him proved his existence. I think therefore I am. You ever hear that one before?”

The preacher sighs, trying to regain his patience. “Yes, Josiah. I’m familiar with the phrase.”

“However, he pondered what existence meant. Was the way he perceived his actions proof of their accuracy or were the stimuli and interactions around him only the way he chose to understand and were in fact inaccurate. He couldn’t possibly say. He could only confirm that he in fact could in one way or another see and that proved that he was some material part of whatever the world was.”

“Is there a point to this, Flynn?”

Flynn slams his fist into the bars. A loud clang can be heard echoing through the sheriff’s office…

“What if I saw the world, in a moment of clarity for it truly was… What if my only crime was uncovering the true nature of the world around me? The way I’ve offended you trying to save my soul in your reality, can you see me trying to save yours in mine, Father?”

The father springs out of his chair.

The sheriff and deputy rush from their game as the Father lifts Josiah a foot into the air by his throat.

Both officers of the law grab Father Duke by the arms, trying to pull him off, but he proves too strong, too overcome by God’s strength…

Flynn’s feet dangle in the air as Duke stares into his eyes…

“Do you see Hell in my eyes, boy? Do you see the damnation and hellfire that awaits you?” The father curses…

Flynn gags for air before staring down at the enraged pastor…

“I don’t see… anything…”

Duke stops… And drops Flynn on wobbly feet. He crashes to his knees, struggling for oxygen.

The sheriff and deputy yank Duke back to the wall, in case Josiah delivers another rambling rave…

Instead, Flynn just coughs and swallows, like a fish re-entering the sea…

Flynn looks up from the floor.

And mimics Duke’s arm motions. Forehead, chest, shoulder to shoulder.

“I forgive you, preacher.”

Duke springs for the cell.

“UNLOCK THIS FUCKING CELL!”

The sheriff and his deputy struggle to keep his arms off of Josiah.

“Father, please…”

“He’s possessed… Josiah’s done claimed the preacher…”

“I WILL FUCKING TEAR YOU APART!”

“I bless you, child.” Flynn cackles as he slides back to the wall away from the preacher…

“And in the name of Hypocrisy…”

“FUCK YOU! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Deceit…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Deputy, pull him out of here…”

The two men struggle with Duke as if he’s a snake in a burlap sack…

Flynn rushes to the edge of the cell.

“AND THE CORRUPT SPIRIT! I HEREBY FREE YOU OF YOUR EVILS! GO OUT IN MY NAME AND PREACH FREEDOM!”

Duke is finally pushed onto the porch.

He turns to the crowd.

“THAT MAN IS POSSESSED BY A DEMON! STRIKE HIM DOWN NOW OR A PLAGUE FROM THE LORD HIMSELF WILL BEFALL THIS TOWN!”

Duke spits as the crowd looks on silently.

“YOUR CHILDREN WILL BURN IN HELL IF THIS MAN IS ALLOWED TO SPEAK FOR AN HOUR MORE…”

The deputy slips the preacher’s bag out the door. Duke yanks it from his hands and marches toward the train station… Impatiently stomping through the collection…

He calls out as he reaches the edge of the crowd.

“THIS IS A TEST FROM GOD HIMSELF! PASS OR FACE HIS JUDGMENT!”

Inside, Josiah Flynn smiles…

“Another soul saved from Heaven…”

The sheriff unlocks his cell.

“It’s time…”

Flynn nods.

“One more show…”