RECAP As it turns out, the fabled Neverland is real, an alternate dimension of sorts accessible by water. Peter Pan is also real, in a manner of speaking. He has been collecting children for decades, freeing them from lives of toil, violence and abuse and bringing them to his home. But a danger is mounting, and Corey will be pulled into a conflict even as he prepares to defend his championship at Fire and Ice. Unfortunately, this also comes at a time when Corey’s boyfriend Christian appears to have left him. With new dangers and sorrows on all sides, will Corey be able to pull through?

Then

Corey’s pain was a passenger. It rode beside him in the car, an ever present toil that followed him from bus station to Greyhound hub to airport. The airport was the final stop, and without a ticket he had been disallowed from actually reaching the gates. Apparently losing the love of your life wasn’t much of a consideration with the TSA.

Corey dropped down into a seat in a concessions area, his mind and body weary. He had been holding back tears all day, and he reflexively went to his phone again to check for any replies. Of course, there weren’t any.



He imagined things were looking rather pathetic now. He also didn’t care. Corey scanned the crowd, his heart leaping every time he happened upon a vague resemblance. But they were only the ghost of him. Each and every single one.

Dolly was calling again, and Corey moved to silence it. He felt guilty doing it, but he just couldn’t right now. He already knew what she would say. He needs space. Maybe it was meant to be this way. Not everyone can handle our lifestyle. All that damnable wretched sense making.

Corey replaced his phone in his pocket, and contented himself with staring at the floor for a series of moments. He could feel the tears coming on again, and he didn’t want anyone to see.

It was important for him to note, to no one in particular, that he didn’t blame Pan for this. This was his doing and his alone. And the fact that even now the siren song of Neverland still maintained its insouciant pull only served to compound his guilt. Perhaps there was some sort of sorcery at work. Corey preferred that explanation to considering his own selfishness.

Corey happened upon Christian dancing in the dying of the light, the evening redness glistening off his damp frame as he twisted and contorted and whirled. Corey had thought he was being sneaky, but Christian’s smile gave up the ghost. He knew he was there, and he worked all of his magic for Corey, pushing his body to the limit. His biceps flexing as, mid number, he pulled his hair up into a bun and retied it, all of this done without missing a beat. God he was so good.

And the scar, that serpentine vision of bygone tragedy, it danced with him. A hypnotic serpent’s dance, like some stereotypical cartoonish depiction of a turbaned soothsayer with a flute. Corey watched the scar too. Corey watched Christian win out over that tragedy.

When Christian finally stopped dancing, approaching an elegant denouement, their coupling was wordless. They were simply in each other's arms. Grasping. Touching. [I]Loving. They made love in the hot tub that night under the stars, and Corey could not imagine anything else so beautiful. [/I]

Corey was weeping by the time the memory had played itself out. Sniffling, he ran a hand over his eyes, smearing the salty tears as he tried to capture them. The pain was an all encompassing gnawing now such that his consciousness was swimming in it. A vile intractable ichor, like a nightmare salve holding you at bay as some unseen terror approached. Corey knew he had to go. He was only torturing himself.

He pushed himself to his feet, skirting around the tables in the concession area, eyes downcast. His hand fumbled for the key fob in his pocket, perhaps as a distraction, or perhaps to reassure himself that his escape was still very real. But, in so doing, he nearly tripped over a fountain just outside concessions. The bottom of it twinkled with pennies cast inside and coupled with a wish.

I wish….

No. There was no point in wishing. There was no….

Corey.

The voice was faint, as though riding on a distant wind. But it was distinct enough that he could recognize the voice. Pan….? Corey looked up, but saw no trace of the mysterious forever boy.

Corey!

The voice was there again, more insistent this time. And closer. Corey happened to look down just as a hand shot up out of the fountain. Corey gasped, bucking backwards as a lithe, waterlogged body dragged itself out of the water.

Pan!

Corey vocalized, but then became acutely aware of the attention he had drawn. Attention that was now jointly drawn to the young man climbing out of the fountain. A number of tourists stopped and stared, and Corey hastily pulled off his windbreaker and draped it around Pan’s sodden shoulders. Corey sat down next to him, his initial words like hushed staccato gunfire.

Pan, what are you doing?! You can’t just…just….!

I know, I’m sorry. But I wouldn’t have done it this way if it wasn’t serious. Pan reached over and clasped Corey’s hand in his. I need your help!

Glancing about at the wide eyed stares and quiet tones of surprise, Corey replied without looking at Pan. What we need is to get you a friggin’ cell phone, dude. Corey waved at a young, enrapt Asian couple, plastering on a faltering smile and shrugging as if to say “Boy popped out of a fountain? Ehh, whaddya gonna do?” We need to move, Pan. Corey got up, offering a hand to his soaked counterpart. Pan accepted it quickly, and followed Corey’s lead as they moved towards the front of the airport. But their progress was short lived, as a TSA agent was rapidly approaching.

Shit!

Don’t worry, I got this.

Excuse me… The agent’s hand instinctively brushed a taser at his side, prompting Corey to shoot Pan a nervous glance that went unnoticed. But I got a report of you being, uh, in the fountain. Sir, that is…

Pan laughed. And Corey cringed.

Oh, I’m sorry officer. I was reading something on my phone and walked right into it! Turns out I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. Again, that sparkling charisma that Pan was noted for bled through.

The officer canted his head, working his jaw as though mulling something over. And then, quite suddenly, he snapped erect. No problem sir, please be careful! He spun about on his heels and returned the way he came.

Corey, mouth slightly agape, said, Was that some kind of magic or something?

A minor bit of influencing. Nothing more. Pan replied. Shall we go?

Yeah. We shall.

The duo walked the rest of the way out of the airport, without further provocation.

A Little Later….

I’m really struggling here, Pan.

Corey was headed back to the commune, Pan seated in the passenger seat with the window down to hasten his drying process. The daytime air tousled his hair this way and that, and everyone once in a while Corey caught a glimpse of Pan’s elfin ears beneath the buffeted locks. Why are you struggling with this?

Corey resisted the urge to look incredulous. Well, number one, you’ve had some of those kids there for decades, man. Decades. The entire life they knew beforehand is gone. Everyone they knew dead and buried. What happens when they find out?

I haven’t concealed that information Corey.

Nor have you been very open about it.

Pan laid his head against the headrest. The reason I brought them to Neverland in the first place is BECAUSE of the lives they had. That boy you spoke with at dinner? He was toiling in mines for ore at the age of 9. He would have had black lung by the time he was 20 for sure. He didn’t even have a childhood Corey. You know that’s not right.

It was tough to dispute that.

Now if we can return to our original topic…?

Corey offered silent acquiescence.

The Great Mother’s augury suggested that the forces of the Old One are preparing to move again. Which can only mean one thing. Captain Hook is back amongst their number.

Corey scrunched his face up, looking confused. Captain Hook is in federal custody. And what do you mean “back amongst their number” if the guy was born here in this reality?

That’s Hooks curse, Corey. For selling his soul to the Old One, he’s condemned to be born and reborn in various forms. But each one eventually finds its way to Neverland, and then I have to stop him. I’ve fought 4 different incarnations of the captain.

Even if he is in Neverland, I’m sure he’s just as confused as me right now.

Or maybe not. Pan replied cryptically. I’m sure the one who freed him caught him up to speed.

And who’s that?

Do you remember how I said we had been visited by a handful of authors over the years? Men who were able to pierce the veil?

Yeah, with J.M. Barrie being there the longest and drawing the most inspiration from your home.

And may the Great Mother continue to hold and keep him. He was a good man, eccentricities aside. He looks back at Corey. But he wasn’t the only author. In fact, there was another who was equally as prolific who drew on Neverland to fuel his writings.

I don’t remember anyone else writing about Neverland like that.

A darkness passed over Pan’s features. Because he wasn’t interested in Neverland. He was interested in what was below. The Old One that Hook and his crew worship. The dweller beneath the waves.

Corey’s eyes narrowed as he started to put the pieces together, as much as he didn’t want to. Pan, who was that other author?

Howard Lovecraft.

The previous day…

The FBI prisoner transport vehicle bounded along the interstate. And ensconced within it was the cause of the multimedia frenzy that was now besetting the agency. One of their own, a serial child killer, and none had been the wiser. It was a pox on their name, a shame that they wouldn’t recover from for quite some time. So Samuels made sure to make the so called “Captain Hook’s” (a moniker the media had gleefully adopted) accommodations with him not quite so accomodable. And if a stray punch was thrown, surely no one at the Bureau would press it.

His hands tightened on the wheel. His partner Gene Cho had been quiet, absorbed in his crossword puzzle. Samuels secretly felt that all this had thrown Cho for far more of a loop than he let on. Cho was a Fed all the way, an adherent to the mission in every sense. Loyalty that strong was hard to come by. Unfortunately, it made the shattering of that loyalist’s naivete all the more devastating.

So you about done with that one?

Ehh, not really. What’s a five letter word for…he stops suddenly. Jesus, LOOK OUT!

Samuels saw the dark garbed figure standing in the middle of his lane far too late to stop. In a panic, he drove to juke around them, which caused him to clip a sedan the next lane over. Then, overcorrecting, he passed through his lane and then into the leftmost lane, where he collided with a pickup and then, finally, the guardrail. Impossibly, the dark garbed figure was still standing calmly in the midst of the carnage, finally moving towards the transport vehicle. Going first to the cab, he sees Samuels barely conscious and Cho unconscious. Samuels, eyes clouding with blood, sees the man and immediately goes for his sidearm. But once again he’s too slow.

Samuel’s chest bucks, and the sensation starts out by feeling like severe heartburn. An acidic flow that started near his heart and soon spread to the entirety of his chest cavity. And then came the pressure. Samuels screamed for the pain, at first assuming he was having a heart attack. This is until he realized that the pressure from within was something trying to get out. His mind struggled to process the information. Sweat collected on his brow and he leaned over towards the hooded man, pointing an accusatory finger at him and screaming What did you do? What did you do?!

And then, the cab is nothing but blood, as Samuels chest explodes outward, showering the window with viscera and broken ribcage. A quartet of tentacles slough out of his body, wriggling madly. One of the tentacles makes its way over to Cho, who has woefully started to rouse. Just as he regained consciousness, one of the tentacles adhered itself to his face. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to scream as the flesh was ripped clean off the bleached skull beneath.

The hooded man then rounded the rear of the vehicle. The double doors were slightly ajar now, and he slid a hand between them and cautiously popped them open. Another guard was present in the back with “Captain Hook”.

Get back! GET BACK! But before he could utter another word, his next declaration descended into a wet sounding sputter. He dropped to the floor as slits opened up on either side of his neck, makeshift gills suffocating on oxygen. The man started to thrash, a demented fish out of water. The hooded man paid him no mind, instead taking hold of a stunned Hook’s handcuffs and tearing them off with ease.

Hook marveled at his benefactor and sputtered, Who-who are you?

At this, the mysterious figure pulled down his hood. His features were stony and severe, and though Hook failed to recognize him, the world did not.



My name is Lovecraft. I’m here to help you.

Now

Do any of you have any idea how hard it was to find a house of mirrors in this country? Unfortunately I’m a complete ho for a good motif.



Corey is indeed in the midst of mirrors on all sides, bending and refracting his form in a myriad of ways. At one point there is a veritable army of Corey’s. And then, with but a single step, they are extinguished.

Since my return, I’ve struggled to identify who and what I am. Not in a literal sense of course, but who I would like to be, and whether reality has been in lock step with those aspirations. The jury’s still out.

Corey reaches out and taps a mirror, creating many duplicates of his arm.

I suppose then its only fitting that one of my potential opponents be a man of many identities. Or just one. Me. I am of course speaking of The Chameleon. They were not my opponent of choice in my last promo. And while I admit I may have underestimated them a tad, they are still not my opponent of choice.

Oh! I bet you thought I was changing up the list! Not so fast Mirror Master. Because we just gettin’ in this shit.

Man, one thing I gotta say is that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s life so closely resemble one of those old kitchy sci-fi novels. Check it, we have all the females shuffled into categories of either sex object or unattractive groveling minion while the male hu-mon (spoken with a Ferenghi’s cadence) can barely contain his disgust at them for being too easy or too unattractive. This is a level of chavanism rarely seen outside of 1950’s sci-fi publications, many of which were penned by men who had never so much as touched a ta-ta in their entire lives. Proto-Incels, if you will.

Also, somebody might want to let the Custodian know we already have a janitor on the roster. Like, duh.

Anyway, then there is the dialogue. Sweet merciful hells is it stilted. It couldn’t be more robotic if The Chameleon was actually a robot. Which, as it turns out, the jury's still hung on that one too. Custodian guy, maybe next time you should skip the Mastermind language matrix and go for something a little more entertaining, eh?

But I know what you’re all thinking. Why the hell am I wasting my time on a guy/girl who didn’t even mention me? And the answer is: because I always set the trends, baby.

You may not have noticed, but I’m usually the one who kicks off these shindigs. I set the parameters, I stage the scene, and I dictate the flow of conversation. And that’s not ego, guys and dolls, check the highlight reels. Corey Smith’s always poppin’ off at the mouth right out the gate. It doesn’t matter to me if The Chameleon deems me below their notice when I’m the one who brought everyone to the dance in the first place. I’m going to speak my peace and dictate the course of this conversation. Like I always do. And The Chameleon is going to follow suit, like a good little science project.

Ya know, for all my struggles with my own identity, at least I can say that it is, in fact, MY OWN. I couldn’t even imagine having to glide through life being a second rate everyone else. But that’s The Chameleon for ya, I guess. So here I’m wondering, just how good can anyone fight if their sense of self is so null and void they can only experience life through the eyes of another. You see, I’ve always felt the development of one’s fighting style is as unique as every other form of maturation they undergo. It’s intrinsic and ever evolving, as much a unique part of one's sense of self as a fingerprint. But here we have a being that has never been anything but a hollow facsimile of that fingerprint.

No matter how much you try to ape me, the joys, sorrows, fears, and triumphs that brought me to this point, with these skills, are completely my own. No man or woman can truly understand another, not fully. To do that you’d have to experience their lives, in toto, with all its intendant triumphs and tragedies.

And that’s why you’ll fail.

Miyamoto Musashi said, “Unless you really understand others, you can hardly attain your own self-understanding.” And yes, yes, I Googled it. So sue me. But it holds water here. You don’t understand us, Chameleon. Because if your facile, surface level “adventure” in Jay Omega’s shoes was any indicator, your grasp of any of us is about as shallow as a kiddy pool. Do you know what Jay fears, or loves? Do you know what his dreams are? No. No you don’t.

Corey stops to look at himself in one of the mirrors. He reaches up, splaying his fingers across the image of his own face, leaving little streaks in the otherwise pristine glass.

A Xerox copy, Chameleon. That’s the best you can hope for.

Oh, and by the way, you’re still number five. He winks at the camera and keeps walking. And thus, he keeps refracting as he goes.

Hayato! What the hell happened to Okamoto-san? I was so geared up for you and…*poof*....nada. Ouch, man. I sold you so hard and you just fumbled that ball and rolled ass over tea kettle right into Drake’s lap at courtside.

Now look, I’m not one of those lames who automatically assumes a lack of promo air time is a guaranteed loss. Though, it does seem to happen that way to an uncanny degree. He strokes his chin, musing, before proceeding. But, in case nobody told you, these bits ARE contractual obligations. So you’re already not doing your job. Which is never a good sign.

Are you gonna get the job done at Fire and Ice? Hard to say. And I suppose that’s one advantage of playing the whole “man of mystery” thing. But is it really “man of mystery” or more like “man of mediocre”?

Corey crosses his arms and side eyes the camera.

Yeah, I know it was a stretch! But I think you catch my drift. And Hayato, because you seem like such a sweet guy, I’m going to give you another chance. I’m gonna sell the shit out of you AGAIN. But if you disrespect me once more by not doing your job, so help me GOD you are dropping down to number two on the list! Ready? Here we go.

Hayato once urinated in a truck’s gas tank. That truck is now Optimus Prime.

Hayato is so badass he died 20 years ago and the Grim Reaper is still working up the courage to tell him.

Hayato was in all the Star Wars movies. He was the Force.

Guns carry Hayato for protection.

Hayato knows Victoria’s Secret.

Hayato can cut a knife with butter.

Giraffes exist because Hayato uppercutted a horse.

Etc…etc…do not Google search these, they are definitely not repurposed Chuck Norris memes. Now get yo ass out here Anime Man!

Corey continues his ethereal jaunt through the mirrors, tapping the glass as he goes and taking a peek at himself from all angles.

Damn, my ass got flat. Stupid pandemic.

*Ahem*

We’re going to take another niceness pitstop…

**COLLECTIVE GROANS**

Oh, you stop that! The XWF could use some niceness. Anyway, Jay Omega, thank you for the kind words. You are clearly a spaceman of class and distinction. Thank you for the advice. However my sagacious friend, I’m not as naive as you might believe. While you were getting jaded by time gods and interdimensional bullshit, I was getting jaded by visions of a dark, fascist future, seeing my mentor destroyed in front of my eyes, and getting taken over by a despotic rouge A.I. If we’re having a contest over whose life has been the most f’ed up, I’m like half your age and can still give you a run for your money.

But we’re not here to compare trauma peens, we’re here because…well…you showed me respect Jay. Even after I had a bit of fun with you. That means something to me. And as for the recent change in my relationship status…Corey glances at the mirror, and this time there is a touch of…disdain? Self loathing? Anger?

It’s absolutely going to impact my performance.

Hell, why lie? You’ll all find out about it anyway. The love of my life left me because he was underappreciated and hated my life of nonstop chaos and fantastical calamity. And I don’t blame him a bit. Now, my job is to try to shelve those feelings and defend this championship. Will I? Who knows. But your consideration is appreciated.

Corey seems to recover a bit.

Ah, fuck it. You’re my new number one, Jay! Corey mimes blowing a kazoo and throwing some confetti. YOU DID IT!

And then, last AND least, we have….The Dick. Powers.

Dick, I never would have guessed so much concentrated stupid could be stuffed into such a small package. Live and learn I guess.

No, I guess I didn’t win Star of the Season. Maybe because I was too busy winning, ya know, matches and high calibre pay per view main events. Are you familiar with those, Dick?

You act like I’m the one stuck in middle gear. Well fuck me if winning the TV, Xtreme, and Supercontinental titles in the same year I led the winning team in War Games and won Leap of Faith doesn’t qualify as some mystical level of quality as determined by the one note gimmick who can barely be arsed to wrestle a match.

Know your place Dick. You are the platonic ideal of a mid card scrub for life who solicits an occasional chuckle. If anything, I should be the one who’s pissed that beating you won’t put any respeck on my name. But you wanna act like you’re too good for all this. Like it doesn’t even merit your attention.

By the way, thanks for showing up and going full throated effort with the promo spot. I mean, you outdid Rampage I guess. But it’s in the same sense that Charlie Nickles manages to outdo himself everytime he remembers to put on a clean pair of underwear. Yeah, it’s a good thing…but do we give a shit?

But you know what the most insulting part of that whole minute long segue into blithering idiocy was? Dick saying he doesn’t even want the Supercontinental Championship.

Corey cocks his head, curling up his lip.

Bitch, why are you even here?

If you’re not here to win, if you’re not here to be the very best, then why fucking bother? You say you don’t want the responsibility? Again, with feeling, BITCH WHY ARE YOU HERE?

Fuck outta here with that limp wristed bullshit. And I eat ass so I’m allowed to say “limp wristed”.

So, you heard it here first folks, Dick Powers has absolutely no motivation to win this match. Don’t all rush to place your hard earned cash down with Mr. Wheel and Dealer on this sweaty load of fuck. What a tool.

Corey takes one last look at the mirrors stretching out behind him. Naturally, his movements are mimicked by the glass panes as he walks away.

Well, except for one pane of glass with an intractable shadow standing in front of it.

Then

Corey and Pan have returned to Neverland, and they’re seated in a small forest clearing. In the near distance, rainbow faerie lights play in the dusk. But so enrapt are they in the conversation that the beauty momentarily escapes their notice.

Once Hook returns….

You mean once he’s here.

Pan shakes his head. No, I mean returns. As I said, some incarnation of Hook will always come. Its his curse, to never be free of the endless cycle of conflict here. A conflict he always loses.

It sounds like more of a curse for you too. Corey noted.

Pan hung his head. Maybe I have some things to atone for too. His voice was low and solemn. Anyway, Hook will rally his men, and they’ll attack again. We have to be ready.

Corey nodded. So how can I help you?

For starters, some last minute training for some of the newer children would…

Wait, whoa! Corey leaned back, splaying out his hands. What do you mean “training the children”?

The children will be our front lines…

Corey looked horrified. No they will the fuck not!

Pan took on a countenance of defensiveness. Corey, I understand where you’re coming from. But they all understand that Neverland’s bounty must be defended. It tears me up too to bring them into this!

Corey shot to his feet, pacing in front of Pan and looking increasingly agitated. No dead kids!

Pan closed his eyes. Corey, I understand…

No, you don’t! You don’t!

Were you not a boy yourself when Lux brought you into her war?

Yeah! And that’s exactly why I don’t want that for any of them! Corey stabbed a finger in the direction of the village. You want to take Hook on. Fine! But I have an alternate plan in mind.

Pan looked quizzical. An alternate plan?

Yeah. Corey looked off into the distance. I’m going to ask an old friend for help.