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Thaddeus Duke · **01-02-2017, 01:57 PM**

Friday, December 16, 2016 | 9:04 AM Local Time | The Illuminatus Compound | Old Saybrook, Connecticut

It is unmistakeable, the motorcade is obviously Illuminatus. Several blacked out SUV’s are rolling down the back roads of town, and the Illuminatus flags fly upon their fenders. The locals wave as they try to catch a glimpse of their most famous resident. The Connecticut State Police have done their due diligence. No longer are they giving a quick escort from the airport to the Compound for merely a professional wrestler, no, these days the Duke’s have risen to power on a global scale. The Vatican city-state may be small, but it is a nation nevertheless. The department knows this and have taken their protection protocol to a whole new level. Out with the casual off duty officers taking a ride and flashing their lights. In with security sweeps, snipers on the motorcade route, hundreds of officers hitting the streets looking for any sign of hostility, a plethora of police cruisers leading and tailing the motorcade.

On the recently renamed Galileo-Asmodeus Drive, sits the Compound. Far back, near the coast. Number 503 to be exact. It’s the only home on the road. Once, long ago, it was a main staple in the American fight for independence. Hundreds of Revolutionary soldiers, American and British alike, are buried within its earth. The Illuminatus Compound, is hallowed ground. Chosen decades ago by the now deceased founder of the modern day Illuminatus purposely for its connection to history.

It once was a fort for Colonial soldiers. It’s walls proved to be impenetrable while under siege from British war ships. Later, when the British seized control (due to an act of treachery) of what would later be known as Connecticut, it was a main fort for the redcoats. After the British surrendered, a statue was erected in honor of soldiers on both sides now buried there.

The motorcade makes right onto the long winding driveway of the Compound. They won’t get far though, as the security gate lies just ahead. Guards in the sniper towers radio ahead, alerting those at the gate that the Prince has arrived. As the gates open and the motorcade begins to pass through, the Connecticut police contingent peels off knowing very well that no one, unless invited by the family, is permitted within the gates.

”Jeeves, stop!” orders the Prince from the back seat of the Chevrolet Tahoe.

”My name’s Gary,” replies the driver, looking somewhat confused.

”You’re Jeeves now. Shut up. Anyway I want to go in that little shack.” The Prince has grown up in many ways, yet he’s still as curious as any teenage boy. ”What’s in there?” he asks, not really to anyone, but to both Gary, or Jeeves as he’s now known, and James.

”According to this wonderful chicken scratch map drawn by Matthew, that was once the humble abode of your grandfather.”

Thaddeus opens the door to the Tahoe and steps out. Walking quickly toward the small wooden shack-like structure. He opens the door with a creak, as if the door hasn’t been opened in quite awhile. He steps inside and notices a thick layer of dust on the wooden floor. To his left, a small antique sofa with its back side facing a lone window. Across from the sofa rests a dusty old antique coffee table. Facing it, is an old arm chair turned slightly toward the unused fireplace. A couple of feet from the fireplace stands a door. Curiosity again getting the better of him, the Prince proceeds toward that closed door. On his way there, he stumbles, more trips, and lands on his knees.

”You okay?” Jim asks, concerned for his friend.

”Yeah I’m fine. What the hell did I trip over?”

James searches walls in the darkened room for a light switch, finally finding one. He flips the switch but nothing happens.

”Is the power off?”

”That or the bulb is out,” Jim replies while retrieving his phone. He presses the power button to illuminate it. Shining the phone’s backlight toward the floor in the vicinity of where Thaddeus tripped, they find the culprit. A throw rug on the floor had bunched up a little near its center. James grabs a corner and tugs a little, attempting to straighten out the rug, but to no avail. The bunched up carpet remains. Finally he pulls the rug back, revealing a metal ring attached to the floor.

”The hell is that?” Thaddeus asks, pulling on the metal ring which incidentally lifts a section of the wooden floor up. Noticing its on hinges, he drops it to its reverse side. Immediately, lights flicker to life in the newly discovered hole in the floor. ”Grandfather, what the hell were you in to?” he asks rhetorically.

A smile creases his lips as he steps down a wooden ladder.

”I don’t think we should...” Jim states, quivering a little.

”What do you think we’re going to find?” Thaddeus asks, stopping his descent with only his head above the hole in the floor. ”Goblins aren’t real and I don’t believe in ghosts. Come with me, pussy.”

Thaddeus’ head disappears through the hole. Jim rolls his eyes and follows him, ever hesitant, but still he does. Once down, the two are blocked by a large steel door with a just a mail slot sized window. To the doors right is a keypad and fingerprint scanner.

”Damn.”

”I feel like we’re the Hardy Boys.”

Thaddeus looks at him, but says nothing.

”The sleuth kids?”

Thaddeus shakes his head.

”The books you read as a kid...” and it hits him. Prince Thaddeus is not yet 3 years of age. While nearly full grown, he never actually experienced a childhood. To look at him, you’d never know it, but the young man is deprived of all the things children grow up with.

”Kids books?”

”Uhhh yeah...” Jim answers, ashamed he went there. It doesn’t really bother Thaddeus since he has no idea what he missed anyhow.

Thaddeus pulls out his phone and sends a text.

MATTY Said:
Grandfathers secured door.
How do I get in?

Use the key pad to ur rt.
Type 503503503.
Then NTR.

Thaddeus does as he’s instructed. With a small delay, the door buzzes and the lock disengages, allowing Thaddeus and Jim to enter. On the left of the door, a series of three jail cells. All of them unlocked. Straight ahead lies a stainless steel table, almost like one you’d find in a morgue. Ahead and to the right is what catches Thaddeus’ eye. A large cage against the wall about three feet high. Inside the cage, hundreds of rabbits. All of them wearing miniature NAZI armbands. All of them face one rabbit at the front of the pack, it facing the hundreds.

”The hell is this shit?” he asks, not really expecting any kind of answer.

”Well, what we have here is… It’s like… You know how when...” he stymies himself shut.

”You have no idea,” Thaddeus says with a smile.

”Fucking clueless is more accurate.”

”That bunny at the front… Does it look...”

”Like Hitler?” James completes Thaddeus’ question.

”Even has the fucking mustache.”

On a stand nearby, lies a plain manilla folder. Sticking out slightly, is a newspaper clipping. Thaddeus takes immediate interest and opens the folder. With Jim looking over his shoulder, Thaddeus thumbs through numerous clippings. All of them telling the stories of missing and murdered families in Old Saybrook.

”Shit.

“Was Father Asmodeus a psychopath?” Jim asks. Not really of a serious nature, more a joke than anything.

”Nah, it wouldn’t have been him.”

Prying himself away from the intrigue of death, Thaddeus notices something against the far wall, covered in a sheet. He ventures over and pulls down the sheet revealing a white board. On the board, in detail, is every move the Illuminatus made, and the exact consequences for those actions.

”This is insane.”

”What is?” Jim asks, looking over the white board nonchalantly.

”He predicted every damn move.”

James crinkles his forehead as he looks over the board.

”Jim, when the Illuminatus left the Compound, no one returned. Except my father once. My grandfather predicted every god damn thing. Look at the end date.

“December Twenty-Five, Twenty Fifteen. The Illuminatus takes the heart of Catholicism,” he reads with an excited smile, pointing at the date on the board.

James can’t bring himself to speak.

”This is unreal...”

Suddenly, James interest is piqued. Not the end date or many of the other things Asmodeus predicted, but something towards the very beginning of the list. Written very small and easily overlooked. ”That’s curious,” he muses out loud.

”I know, it’s completely… I don’t even have a word for it.”

”No, not that. Look at the left corner, near the top. It’s written real small.”

Thaddeus’ eyes search the board, then he finds it. ”Late January, early February Twenty Fifteen, Sebastian demands that I resurrect Thaddeus.”

”You… were...” he doesn’t finish.

”I need to talk to my Dad.”

”The very best. Nothing more. Nothing less,” says Thaddeus as he looks over Gabe Reno’s superstar profile from his computer on XWF99.com.

”I call bullshit,” exclaims James, sitting nearby and munching on a burrito. The large Taco Bell bag sits on the floor between his legs.

”If Gabe Reno is the very best, then why can he not manage to even pick up a win? I mean, he loves to remind everyone of that fluke win in a rumble. Yet I’m almost certain that was the last time Reno tasted victory.”

”You could look,” Jim says before devouring the last bite of his burrito.

”I could, but I don’t care enough to know for sure.

“See, the guy claims he’s nothing more than the best but he just can not manage defeating anyone these days. It’s kind of sad, really, when you stop and think about it.”

”I don’t see it as sad, more pathetic than anything.”

”True. This is the same guy that made up some bullshit story about finding some Duke Family secret that never really existed to begin with.

“How was the burrito?”

”Fucking delicious.

“Want some of my steak quesadilla?”

”Not particularly, no.

“I watched his last promo, Jim. I really can’t tell if he’s hallucinating, or we’re somehow stepping into an overactive, yet very bland, imagination.”

”I saw it too. That woman didn’t look anything like your mother.”

”I wonder if he knows that my mother is dead?”

”Does it matter?”

”Not really, but he claims he did his homework.”

”Yeah you brought that up. Failed the test. Open book, all that.”

”Yeah.

“I’m growing bored of Gabe Reno.”

”I’m surprised you weren’t already.”

”You knows those excerpts from his book?”

”Yeah what about them?”

”They’re far more entertaining than he is in person. I’d consider buying it.”

”Why?”

”Obviously wrestling isn’t his calling. The guy still has to make a living. Who am I to deny a man his real calling?”

”You’re such a saint, Thaddeus.

“I’d likely just watch him burn.”

”Do you think he realizes just how far in over his head he truly is?”

”I doubt it,” Jim replies after swallowing a bite of his quesdailla. ”You can fix broken cars. Broken appliances. Broken anything almost. But you know what you can’t fix?”

What’s that?”

”No matter how hard you work and no matter how hard you try, you can never fix stupid.”

”You think he’ll cry when he loses on Warfare?”

”We could hope.”

”Think he’ll attack me after the match that I’m certainly going to win?”

”That’s likely. Cowards like him do that sort of thing. They can’t get the W so they resort to pussy shit like attacking a man from behind.”

”You know what bugs me? Even when he has nothing interesting to say, he still records. You know what I do?”

”What’s that?”

Click.

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