2A: Help Me. You're My Only Hope


"I always wanted to come here," Lance remarks, as he and his BEST FRIEND enter the hotel lobby. The taxi had dropped them off only a couple of minutes earlier, and Lance had been positively giddy ever since.

Inside, a manufactured opulence abounds. A marble floor (the legitimacy of which neither man can discern) free from a single scuff mark squeaks underneath their feet, and silent, flicker-free chandeliers shine down from above, intricately designed to cast light into every nook and cranny. Even in the middle of the night, the lobby would be as bright as it was at the height of the day. Not that the two of them were here at night, mind you. If they were, they might have been able to catch the puppet show that Ruby is putting on this evening, as advertised on hand-drawn posters stuck all around the building. It's at a perfectly reasonably time to allow plenty of crime fighting afterwards, of course. And all in all, this place is a far cry from the sorts of places that either man typically frequents.

The sign up ahead welcomes them to the:


CORTINOVIS RADISSON HOTEL


Before the sign, an ageing man steps forward. A shaved head hides his recede, and a tiny, but unnerving scar lives just underneath his left eye. He mutters something into an earpiece clipped into place, and stands square in front of the two, studying them with his dark eyes.

"Can I help you?" the security guard asks, polite enough to not draw suspicion from the guests bustling back and forth, but with enough menace behind the tone to put his targets on notice.

"Yeah, we were just hoping to get up to see the boss man," ALIAS says, thumbing towards the elevator.

"He's unavailable," the guard responds.

"We have an appointment," the Universal Champion says.

"We do?" Lance asks, whispering behind his hand.

"Shh…" his BEST FRIEND whispers back, nudging Lance to quieten down.

"All appointments have been cancelled while Mr. Cortinovis rests up," the guard continues.

"Rests up?" That wasn't in the plan. If there was one. "From what?"

"Oh!" Lance exclaims. "Centurion was injured over in UGWC. A back injury, I believe. The psoas muscle."

"Ooh, nasty," He winces, pretending like he knows what that is. "Is this a Twitter thing? You, uh, didn't think to tell me this beforehand?"

"I would have if I knew this is where we were going," Lance pleads.

"Have you…" He lowers His voice even further, keeping it from the guard's ears. "Have you been trying to hit on girls online again?"

"What?!" Lance gasps. "No, I uh–"

"Gentlemen…" the guard says, trying to interrupt.

"Jesus…" the God-Killer shakes his head. "You're as bad as Thad like six months ago."

"We'll that's kinda ru–"

"GENTLEMEN!" Adding bass to his voice, the guard succeeds in getting the two's attention. "If you have no other business here, and are not a guest, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"But…"

There's no use in arguing. The burly guard gestures towards the exit, and the two are compelled towards it. Stepping out onto the street, they stand at the edge of the entrance bay, flummoxed and without a solution.

"I know that we came all the way out here to see Centurion, but is there anyone else who could help?" Lance asks.

"No." The face of Space Jesus hangs low and sullen. "The Universe told me. Centurion can help."

"But how do we get up to see him?"

It's a good question. One which doesn't prompt a quick reply. The sun peeks through the surrounding trees, causing both men to strain against its glare. With it, a calm wind floats through from the street and catches a small piece of paper slapped to the wall beside the entrance. It snags and comes loose, gently somersaulting right into the Legend-Breaker's face. He paws at it, pulling it down and looking at it.

It's another advert for Ruby's puppet show.

A lightbulb goes off inside His head.

"I have an idea!" He declares.

"What is it?"

"Come with me!" He tugs Lance by the shirt and sets off around the side of the building. They cut across a finely trimmed lawn, following a square hedge down along the building’s perimeter. Reaching the far corner, Lance follows his BEST FRIEND’s eyes up towards the top of the building. "Whatever happened to a good ol' fashioned fire escape, ya know?"

"Your plan was to… climb up the building?" Lance clarifies.

"Yeah," ALIAS says, like it's the most sensible thing in the world.

“Still?” Lance asks again. “Even without the fire escape?”

“Yeah,” the answer repeats.

"I am not doing that," Lance says, refusing.

"Suit yourself," He shrugs. "You uh… you just watch out down here then."

And just like that, He begins scaling the building. Fingers find their way into the gaps between building blocks as he pulls himself up. His tattered Chuck Taylor's scrape against the wall, searching for stability. He pushes with his quads, trying to get higher and higher, while Lance watches on from below. His determination drives him onwards and upwards, finding some refuge on a ledge at the first floor on which he can take a breather.

"You sure this is a good idea?!" Lance calls from below.

"This is the way!" He shouts back.

And he begins climbing again.


~~~



Panting, with his muscles aching head-to-toe, He pulls Himself up to a ledge on the final floor. With a grunt, he collapses, but doesn't give up. He spies an open window nearby, and seeing that the end is in sight, he begins dragging Himself along the perilous ledge towards it. He uses whatever strength He has left in His arms to push Himself up one last time, and drag himself through the window. With a loud thump, He falls to the ground and remains there, breathing heavily.

"What the hell are you doing?" From where He lies on the ground, he rolls his head to see Andy Cortinovis, better known as XWF Legend Centurion, sprawled out on the couch. For a brief second, He thought it was a bit rude that Andy wasn't getting up to check on him, but then He remembered the injury.

"I… needed… to speak to you…" He says, struggling to get the words out.

"So you climbed the wall of the freaking hotel?" Centurion asks. His brow is furrowed, but in his defence, it probably went that way the moment someone fell in through his damn window. "That's like ten stories."

"I thought… Ruby… superhero… probably comes in and out… like Spider-Man…"

"Yeah… usually she just uses the door." Centurion's eyes flick towards the more traditional entrance.

On the ground, ALIAS rolls a little and edges his way to a sitting position with his back against the wall. His legs stretch out before him, barely able to even be brought up towards his chest.

"Is she here?" He asks of the Banana-Lime Blur he just mentioned. "I could use a little help here."

"No," Centurion replies. "She and Nellie popped out for a moment to get some last minute supplies for the show tonight "

"Puppets…" He nods. "Big fan."

"I'm aware," Centurion says. "So, what can I do for you?"

DING! DONG!

A doorbell rings, because for some reason it makes total sense to have one in a hotel. Centurion grows even more perturbed.

"Come in!" Centurion shouts, and the door swings open. ALIAS breathes a sigh of relief as Lance’s face materialises in the opening.

"Oh dear…" Lance says, as he sees his BEST FRIEND exhausted and near-incapacitated against the wall. When his eyes scan across to Centurion, he grows nervous like he did when he first met the champion. "Oh my…"

"Are you with him?" Centurion asks, looking between the two.

"Lance!" The Wolf-Skinner waves to him from the ground. He finds a little more stability in His voice. "How did you… get in?"

"Oh, I just paid for a room," Lance says. "Wound up costing a pretty penny, since all that was left was on one of these upper floors, but it worked like a charm."

“I thought… you said… no wallet… when we were… back in Brooklyn?” Lance didn’t want to get a taxi out here for that very reason.

“Umm, yeah, it was in my other pocket.” He shifts uncomfortably in place.

"That's great, bud!" The man on the ground smiles. "Mind giving me a hand here?"

"Certainly!"

Lance rushes across the room, and crouches down. Looping one arm over his shoulders, he heaves the heap of a man to his feet and does what he can to hold him steady. They sway a little at first, before eventually finding their balance.

"Is one of you going to tell me what's going on any time soon?" Centurion asks. With his back bothering him like it is, his patience is running especially thin.

"I need your help," ALIAS asks. He tries to take a step forward to stand on His own, but stumbles a little. Lance catches Him and props Him up once more, before carefully letting go and hoping that He stays upright. He does.

"What with?"

"You've been around the block a few times," the intruder explains. "You've met a whole range of people. You have… connections."

"In a sense," Centurion acknowledges.

"I need your help to find someone," He continues. "A girl, about three years-old. You've met her before, out at the campsite where we stayed with Corey and NK before War Games. The one whose parents Morbid Angel killed."

"I remember," Centurion says. "Though I kind of wish I didn't."

"She may be going by Paritegi," He adds, giving the Legend whatever information he can. "Last seen in the custody of her grandmother."

"This isn’t some sort of kidnapping plot, is it?" Centurion checks.

"No!" He denies. The truth of the answer might be somewhat murkier than that, but He figures the less that Andy knew, the better for him.

"Good," Centurion says, satisfied. "Anything else to go on? Last known location?"

"Yangju, South Korea."

"Oof, international." Centurion shakes his head. "That's going to be a lot harder."

"That's why I couldn't do it myself," ALIAS says. "Help me, Andy. You're my only hope."

"You'll owe me one," Centurion points out. "Might be awfully handy to have someone like you I can call on if I need it."

"I'll owe you more than one," He says in earnest. It's not that big of a deal, as far as he's concerned. In His mind, after War Games last year, Centurion already could've called on him. On their parts, Corey Smith and the North Korean War Criminal have already been intertwined in His story since then. He figured The Universe added Centurion into the mix for a reason.

This is it.

"It means that much to you?" Centurion asks, unaware of the thought process going on in the Universal Champion's mind. "Why are you looking for her?"

There's only one way to answer that.

The truth.

"I'm trying to save the world."

---

---

---

2B: Great, Kid. Don’t Get Cocky

“Cordial. Respectful even.

Cool.

Thanks, Thad. I guess.

Now, in the interest of playing fair, I reckon I can play one round of that same game before I get back into business as usual, because Thad… and I fully take into account the way you spoke about me when I say this…

You’re a cunt.

But I can’t very much call you out on being a pompous fucking prick if I wilfully ignore a situation where you, in fact, showed the teensiest bit of decorum, can I?

Take this for example:

Maybe it’s just that whenever you open your gob I struggle to get past the fact that you’re jerking yourself off in the process, but I actually believed you when you said that you were sorry for what you did to Corey. And that… well, that goes a long way, right? Oh sure, you’ve spoken a little here and there about it, particularly after Fire and Ice, but even though you said that you’re not a guy for excuses… there sure came with a lot of caveats about the hows and the whys and whatnot. This time? None of that was needed. Just a straight up ‘it was wrong’. And whether my opinion means anything to you or not, I can respect that.

I don’t expect you to have done it for me, though. Shit, I’m not even involved, right? Corey was the one whom you attacked, and if he’s moved past it, I’m not really in a position to hold that over your head. It wouldn’t be fair to you, and it wouldn’t be respectful to him.

BUT!

Don’t worry, this isn’t a bad ‘but’.

As if there’s such thing as a ‘bad butt’.

But… my name sure did come up a lot, didn’t it?

I never actually thought it was about me, man. You’ve dropped that line again, so I figure I should clear that up for you. You were the one who started calling me a ‘cancer’ as part of your justification just after War Games. You were the one trying to tell Corey that it’s hate that drives me beforehand too. You were the one who ran images of Lou and I whispering sweet nothings into yours and Corey’s respective ears while you pointed guns at each other. That wasn’t me, Thad. And look, maybe it wasn’t you either. You’ve acknowledged that your mind was warped, and we all know Lou’s penchant for toying with people like that. There’s no shame in being just like everyone else on that front.

Except little ol’ me of course.

All those times that my name came up, though? That’s why I’m not just going to brush it under the rug and move on. Don’t get it all topsy-turvy though! This isn’t going to be me trying to convince everyone that your lovers quarrel was about me after all. Remember. This is the ‘nice’ part, Thad, and there’s a really obvious piece of evidence that counters that claim that I’m gonna gift you here: You didn’t exactly go kick Dolly’s head off either, did you? Shit, you barely batted an eye to her being my friend and if anyone has a relationship as close to you as Corey did, it’d be her. But she didn’t get the same treatment. In my mind,as ‘warped’ as it is, that means I need to give you the benefit of the doubt here. I don’t really stand anything to gain from arguing the point, and honestly? I’m glad I wasn’t the reason for your spat. I’ve had quite enough on my plate to deal with, thank you very much, and costing a friend a valued relationship like that isn’t something that I want on my conscience.

But yet… my name kept coming up.

You still called me a ‘cancer’. You still painted me out to be some sort of vile villain, and really, you’ve done it since the day we fucking met.

I tried to tell you, Thad.

This is what it’s always been about.

Since day dot, you’ve held me to a different standard just because I didn’t meet whatever set of ideals you thought merited acclaim. And I didn’t care that I didn’t get your praise and adulation. I just cared that if you continued to go unchallenged on that assumption, it leaves no way out for people like me. Don’t you get it, man? You were so concerned about Corey holding you to a different standard, that you kept doing the same thing to me! All the while galavanting around with my personal whipping boy, Lou. A.K.A. the guy that literally fucking everyone knows you can’t trust. Did the irony not dawn on you? Did you never once try to see things from my perspective?

You had no obligation to, and that’s fine.

I made it hard for you, and I get that.

Remember, this is the ‘nice’ part.

But was my dream of Frankie and you that different from what you put forth regarding Lou and I? In fact, I never once acted on mine but you? You kept on denegrading something that I’ve worked so damn hard for - my fucking name! - and that fucks it all up for you, bud. Because while I genuinely do appreciate some of the things that you said about me this time around, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been painting me out to be somebody that I’m not for a long ass time here.

You claimed at High Stakes that I was trying to run the good ones off.

I wasn’t.

This feels like the pot calling the kettle black, doesn’t it? To say that as much as you might claim that I’ve been mischaracterising you from the outset, you have definitely been doing the same to me? Maybe. Maybe not. But the accuracy of that statement when directed towards me doesn’t change the truth of it when it’s reflected back at your face.

Which only goes to show that the outset… I was right about you.”

---

---

---

2C: A Wretched Hive Of Scum And Villainy


"Are you sure this is the spot?" Lance asks. He squints up at an innocuous-looking building from underneath the shade of red maple whose leaves are only just beginning to make their heralded return. Beyond the bramble overhead, the sun pokes its head out from behind a cover of clouds, and ping-pongs its way off glass and steel down to Lance’s pupil, preventing him from looking up for long. His gaze drops to the park bench next to him - the only one in the plaza without graffiti.

“About ninety-five percent sure.” Seated on the bench, Lance’s BEST FRIEND ALIAS answers. He doesn’t meet Lance’s eyes. Having already been stung by the deceptive glint of today’s overcast sky, He wasn’t eager for a repeat event. “I think it’s more of just a waiting game now.”

“I just would have thought a government building would be more…”

“Like you’d see in the movies?” ALIAS asks.

“Yeah, I guess.” The side of Lance’s mouth stretches out as he glances back at the building - lower, this time, to avoid the punishing sun.

The urban park they bide their time within lies across the street from the building in question. Save for the splattering of signs and placards that litter the sidewalk around it from a recent protest, the building looks like any other office building would. A drab, grey, stone column rising from the Earth, not too high as to stand out, and not too low as to look out-of-place in the middle of the city. Windows wrap around it in a perfectly logical pattern that wouldn’t draw any further attention. The more Lance looks, the more he starts to think he might understand why it isn’t what he thought it would be. Nobody would expect this place to be the headquarters for the government division that is housed inside.

He shrugs, letting the thought drift away.

On the other side of the coin, sitting on the bench as He is, the King-Slayer’s head remains down. His elbows rest on His knees and between His fingers He twirls a daisy around and around. It had been plucked from a flower bed inside the small, quarter-block park as they walked through it towards their current position. As best Lance could tell, it served no purpose other than something for the Master of the freaking Universe to occupy His time with. Thinking that, Lance grew a little annoyed that he hadn’t brought his Sudoku book to do the same with.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” he asks, deciding conversation is the best option that he has available. He walks a small arc around the back of the bench, and takes up a position on the other side from ALIAS.

“I really wouldn’t know,” the reply comes, attention still fixed upon the flower.

“How do we even know they’ll be here today?” Lance continues to question.

For whatever reason, that is the question that finally draws some eye contact. The more time the two men had spent with each other, the more that was able to be communicated without words. It felt silly to Lance to keep beating the same drum, but the description was apt again. He may as well be told that the World-Eater finds his lack of faith disturbing. From just the look in his BEST FRIEND’s eye, Lance knew.

The Universe is how they knew.

He accepts this with a nod of his head.

“What if we get made before they get here?” Again Lance’s eyes flit back to the building across the street. Space Jesus can tell that he’s getting nervous.

“We’re already made,” that very same interstellar messiah says. He points a finger on His gloved right hand towards a window about three-quarters of the way up the side of the building. “Do you see? Right there.”

Lance doesn’t see. With blinds drawn across its inside, he can’t discern anything different about this particular glass pane. It’s an unassuming window, looking just like all the others.

“No,” he admits.

“Oh?” The Legend-Breaker seems surprised. “There have been about five different faces prying those blinds apart in the ten minutes that we’ve been sitting here. Some of them even came back for secondsies.”

None of this helps quell Lance’s anxiety. His palms begin to sweat and he drums his fingers on his knees with a tense, increasing frenzy.

The daisy still twirls in the hand of his companion, but eyes don’t fall back to it. Instead, the corresponding face softens, and half a smile is mustered upon it in an attempt at reassurance. It works. To an extent.

“Don’t worry,” ALIAS adds for good measure. “They’re not going to do anything. Especially not to you. You’re not exactly the droid they’re looking for, if you know what I mean. Honestly, they’re probably spending more time freaking out about how we even found this place than why we’re here.”

“That… doesn’t sound right…” Lance doubts.

“Eh, I reckon Thaddeus Duke’s got a better chance of coming up with a logical explanation as to how engaging in all of his extracurricular activities doesn’t make him a terrible king than the government does in making logical decisions.”


“Besides, I’m sure whatever strings Andy had to pull already put us on their radar,” the Soldier-Butcher says.

“And Centurion’s intel is good?” Lance asks. This line of thinking is much more successful as a distraction from his concerns.

It had been a few days since they visited the XWF Legend at his hotel in New York, and the War-Winner now found Himself indebted to Centurion. But for a guy intent on protecting his own liberty and autonomy at any cost, that prospect oddly didn’t seem to phase Him. Again, Lance knew why. In His own words between then and now, He had said that there wasn’t much that Andy–


–could ask of Him that He wouldn’t have already been prepared to do. It was an odd sense of loyalty that was felt. One extended to only a select few within the XWF: Corey Smith (of course), Dolly Waters, and the North Korean War Criminal. A small circle, and one that Lance seemed to have been welcomed into. It always seemed to pay off, as well. Even when Betsy Granger was trusted in such a way, she was able to offer her own help, as The Universe required of her.

For his part, Centurion had already returned with the goods. Lance thought it better to not ask any further details about how he accomplished it. That was something he was happy to not know. It didn’t change the fact that The Universe had led them to him, and he had delivered.

They now knew where the girl was.

The Daughter of ALIAS.

They had found her.

Now they just needed to get to her.

“There!” ALIAS shouts, right on cue. That pointing finger now juts towards the building’s entrance that Lance had been surveying earlier. The volume of his voice catches the attention of two men stepping over a discarded sign, about to enter the building.

“Comrade ALIAS!” the North Korean War Criminal shouts back.

Beside him, Mark Flynn, narrows his eyes.

Lance feels his arm yanked as his BEST FRIEND jumps up off the bench and drags him to his feet as well. He pulls him in the direction of the street, rushing into it without checking for traffic first, alarming Lance accordingly. An orange delivery van rumbles by, but the Wolf-Skinner heeds no danger, pushing forward in a straight line towards the XWF Tag Team Champions. Lance, not being so bold, at least waits until the van rolls past before joining them.

“What are you doing here?” Lance hears Mark ask, just before he can join the group.

“Comrade Lance!” NK says once Lance joins the fold. He offers his hand, which Lance readily takes. They shake for the appropriate length of time - as determined by NK counting quietly under his breath.

“I said ‘what are you doing here?’” Mark repeats. “This is the Office of Interplanetary Security and Defense. And YOU may constitute a threat to interplanetary security and defence.”

WIth a jutting finger of his own, Mark thrusts towards ALIAS.

“Ah yes, the great American pastime of ‘planetary security’,” the accused retorts, a snigger in his voice.

“INTER-planetary,” NK helpfully corrects.

“Of course,” ALIAS smiles.

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” Lance can tell that Mark is clearly growing impatient, but he doesn’t dare get involved.

“I’m here for help,” the Universal Champion says. He offers up his hand to Mark, with the daisy still held between his finger and thumb. “I got this for you. Consider it a peace offering.”

“A lovely gesture, Comrade ALIAS,” NK remarks. Mark snatches the flower and after looking it over for just half a second, passes it on to NK without saying a word. “Great idea, Mark Flynn. I will have Kato keep this safe for you.”

“You and I are not enemies,” Mark says, staying focused on the human-sized question in front of them. “We don’t need peace offerings, just answers. You want help? What with?”

The visitor’s eyes fall to the North Korean War Criminal.

“Getting into North Korea.”


~~~



Mark Flynn may not consider ALIAS an enemy, but he certainly didn’t trust him enough to bring him inside the Office of Interplanetary Security and Defense. The four men instead had retreated back across the road to the park. Lance felt like the odd one out. He swore that he could feel Mark’s eyes burning a hole through him, but whenever he turned to look, The King of the Midcarders would be looking in the other direction. Still, it was following Mark’s advice that gave them a supposedly safe space to speak. Apparently, moving just one bench down the path from where they had been, to one graffitied rather obviously with the words ‘DON’T SIT HERE’, the agents and officers of the OIPSD could no longer see them. In hindsight, and with NK’s insistence, it all seemed by design, but Mark’s face gave Lance second thoughts about the accuracy of the statement. NK probably did believe it, he surmised, but it may just have been something Mark said to get him to stop talking at some point.

Lance’s BEST FRIEND didn’t seem to care at all. He had only one thing on his mind.

“...North Korea,” He says, finishing a statement that Lance hadn’t quite been listening to. “It’s where the girl is.”

There it is.

The result of the intel Centurion sourced.

Paritegi.

The Daughter of ALIAS.

Is in North Korea.

“I don’t know…” Mark hesitates.

“If Comrade Centurion has provided the intelligence, it is highly trustworthy,” NK says, trying to convince him. Evidently, he seems to think it’s a good idea.

“C’mon, man,” the God-Killer pleads. “I saw the trial that Vinnie had to give evidence at. He hit the nail on the head. What we do here can change what happens in the future. That’s what I’m trying to do, and I know that you can appreciate that.”

“I have a bad feeling about this…” Mark says, still unconvinced.

“That’s not a no,” ALIAS looks to NK, suggestively.

“Correct, it is not,” NK says. “But that is the face Mark Flynn makes when he does say ‘no’…”

“Whatever,” Mark dismisses. “If you want to jump into the garbage chute, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” the D’Ville’s Bane teases. But the matter is settled. He’s going to North Korea.

He looks back to NK.

“So, North Korea… how do I get in?”

“You’ll need Operation C.O.N.F.I.D.E.N.C.E.!” he replies with pride, not missing a beat.

“Oh, Jesus Christ…” Mark rolls his eyes. The War Criminal has clearly thought about this previously.

“Good suggestion, Mark Flynn, but he will not be needed for this operation!” NK chirps, oblivious to the sarcasm. He begins writing the letters out with a black marker on a giant piece of white paper pinned to an easel.

“Wait… where did all of that come from?” Lance asks, finally finding a reason to speak up. He is sure that the easel wasn’t there previously, and that neither the War Criminal nor Mark Flynn were carrying it when they met them. Yet… nobody else seems remotely bothered by it.

ALIAS turns to him, but has other thoughts on His mind completely.

“You know… you two kind of sound the same,” He says, pointing between Lance and Mark.

“I kind of thought the same about you and Centurion the other day,” Lance snaps back, causing his BEST FRIEND to feign offence. Mark’s eyes do a full loop-de-loop when they roll this time, and even after the retort, Lance manages to keep his eyes on the page NK scribbles on. The War Criminal finishes writing the final E onto the page, squeezing it into the tiniest blank space down the bottom as he was running out of room.

“Ten steps, nice…” ALIAS approves, and NK beams from ear-to-ear. “Lay ‘em on me.”

“First step: C,” NK announces, scribbling onto the paper as he goes. “C is for Costume! You will need a North Korean military uniform. I would, of course, offer to lend you my own, but I am afraid you may be too small.”

“But you’re–” Lance goes to object, noting the size comparison is the exact opposite of what the War Criminal has suggested. His BEST FRIEND shakes His head at him. A clear indication to put that thought on the backburner. He sighs, and opts for a different tact. “If you can get me the design, I can have someone whip one up.”

“Excellence work, Comrade Lance!” NK approves. “Second step: O for Occupation. Your occupation will need to be registered as a Double Agent for Central Command. Fortunately, I have already entered you and the rest of Team F.U.C.K.T.H.A.D. as friendlies to the state in the North Korean databases.”

“Oh, Centurion will love that,” the World-Beater chuckles.

“Third step: N,” NK continues. “National Holiday. Security will be more relaxed.”

“Is there one coming up?” the would-be infiltrator asks.

“I just Googled it,” Lance says, looking down at his BEST FRIEND’s phone that he safeguards. “Sunday is Labour Day.”

“Correct! Both your work, and Comrade Google’s, continues to astound!” Ignore the ridiculousness of it all, now it’s Lance’s turn to beam from ear-to-ear as The War Criminal gets back to his presentation. “The fourth step is F for Fake Travel Papers. Every North Korean is an expert calligrapher, so you will need to make sure these are of the highest quality! I assume you have a guy?”

“Can you just do it for me?” ALIAS asks. “I mean… you’re probably the best calligrapher I know, right?”

“That makes perfect sense, Comrade ALIAS,” NK agrees. “I also respect how you used the word ‘probably’ to make those with dainty wrists feel more skilled.”

Lance feels Mark Flynn staring at him again, but he doesn’t blush. The thin wrists on the ends of his long arms have rescued many a remote control from the nether reaches of a sofa.

“Step Five is I for Insist You Are North Korean, which flows seamlessly into Step Six: D. Deny All Proof Otherwise.” Like when he was writing the letters vertically down the side, these steps require some smaller letters at the end, as well as lines that all of sudden veer off diagonally in order to fit onto the page. It all works out in the end, because the next line winds up with much less letters needed on it. “Then, you’re ready for Step Seven: E. Enter! I would recommend from the Chinese border. Or the ocean. Or the air. Or underground. Or from space.”

“So anywhere other than South Korea?”

“Precisely!”

“So, if we enter the country at this point, what do we need the other three letters for then?” Lance asks.

“Because it does you no good to simply enter North Korea and then just stay there,” the War Criminal replies. Lance looks to his BEST FRIEND, who seems to acknowledge that the guy has a point. Lance is willing to concede this. “Although if you do, let me know and I can give you some recommendations for holiday labour camp resorts to visit.”

“Did you say labour cam–”

“THE EIGHTH STEP,” NK’s voice rises to cut off any further questioning. “N. As in, NOT Draw Attention To Yourself! Very important! When you pay your respects to our Dear Leader, you must believe it!”

“How often am I going to have to say that?” the King-Slayer asks.

“It depends where you go,” NK replies, “but is likely to vary between ‘quite a lot’ and ‘near constantly’.”

“I’ll aim for ‘quite a lot’ then,” ALIAS says.

“Wise choice,” the War Criminal decides. “Step Nine is C: Complete Mission. Once you have done that, you can move on to Step Ten, E, for Exit.”

After writing the final T, the North Korean War Criminal puts a big full stop at the end, and a little squiggly line in what remains of the space at the bottom of the page. He places his hands on his hips and regards his work with pride. A quiet falls over the other three, but Lance isn’t even sure if Mark had been paying attention for the last half of the list.

“That’s it?” Lance asks, breaking the silence. He doesn’t mean for it to come across as snarky, but it does, so he backpedals a little to try and smooth it over, stammering in the process and forgetting to take breaths between sentences. “I mean… if it is, that’s great, I just didn’t want to interrupt if you were still going and I was kind of wondering if announcing all of this beforehand with the XWF drones and what note would give it all away and blow the cover?”

“Well that’s what the Costume is for,” his BEST FRIEND points out.

“And the Occupation,” Mark adds, regarding one of the parts that he definitely was listening for.

“And the Fake Travel Papers,” ALIAS continues.

“And Insisting You Are North Korean.”

“And Denying All Proof Otherwise.”

“And NOT Drawing Attention To Yourself. Jeez, were you even listening?” Mark asks, accusing Lance of the very thing that he had been thinking about Flynn and completely taking the poor guy by surprise.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Space Jesus adds. It’s half-joking, but it’s still enough for Lance to feel like he’s being kicked while he’s down.

“Yeah, of course I was,” he says, defending himself. “I was just concerned is all.”

“It’s been really helpful,” ALIAS tells NK, leaving Lance well enough alone. He rises from the graffitied bench, and gives the War Criminal a pat on the shoulder. “If you can get us those uniform designs as soon as–”

A piece of paper with uniform designs drawn on it is pulled out of NK’s pocet. Evidently, he had been saving that for a rainy day. Lance rises up now too, and takes it from the War Criminal. He gives it a quick once over, and after a couple of “mmhmms’ said quietly to himself, looks up with confidence.

“I think I can actually put together two of these myself,” he says.

“One,” his BEST FRIEND says. “Just one. Just for me. I’m sorry but you can’t come, buddy. I’m going to be travelling light, and I need as much flexibility as possible. Besides, the girl doesn’t know you and for me this is…”

“Personal.” As ever, Lance knows. He’s not happy about it, but he also knows that he’s not going to have much luck in changing the Bastard-Tamer’s mind.

“Thank you, guys,” the Exile-Hunter says to Mark Flynn and the North Korean War Criminal. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Any time, Comrade ALIAS,” the War Criminal says. Mark, the only one still seated, finally pushes to his feet. He studies the Universal Champion carefully, considering any other data that may be useful in the future for his Kenta Kobayashi Maru. Satisfied with his conclusion, he wishes his colleague luck in a way that seems oddly appropriate.

“Don’t die.”

What a wonderful idea…

---

---

---

2D: You Stuck-up, Half-witted, Scruffy-looking, Nerf Herder

“You know we’ve done the ‘nice’ part already, right Thad? Maybe it wasn’t all full of warm fuzzies, but I tried to at least approach it with a level of openness that I thought would be respectful.

So if that’s done, you know what this part is then, yeah?

Let’s start with an easy in-road.

Are they in the wash yet, Thad? Those fatigues I asked for? Do you get why I’m asking you to put them on? It’s not to bring the best version of you into that ring or anything like that. You’re Thaddeus Duke, right? I’ve gone on record and said how damn good you are when it comes to this fighting thing. Multiple times, in fact. Shit, I think I’ve even gone as far as saying that you’re on the very short list of people whom, somewhere deep down in that shit-coated soul of yours, could do what everybody else has failed to do.

BUT!

Just one more of those, eh?

The operative word there is ‘could’.

Not ‘did’.”

Quote:“Battle royals are a crapshoot and have never been about who is better.”

“Whoops! Don’t ya hate it when you lay out a backdoor escape clause in case you lose, only for it to come back and shit all over your ‘victory’ later on? I mean, you won, yes. I never denied it, and I owned my failing. But in your own words right there… it doesn’t really mean much, does it?

Alas, I’m allowing myself to get a little sidetracked. I already threw all this in your face back at War Games just before I–”

Checks notes.

“–pinned you, rather than throwing you out. Back then, you had nothing to say to it, instead just opting to kind of clamp shut and pretend that you never embarrassed yourself with what you said about that battle royal. To be fair, War Games still wasn’t just the two of us either though, was it? No. Which means, sadly, that actually limits how much I can hang it over your own head. I can, of course, point out that you had the best chance to draft the best team, and yet…

Chris Chaos.

Andre Dixon.

Fuckin’ Lou.

HA!

Yikes. And we? Well we had to go back to fucking basics and try to re-establish a whole new team dynamic, not just once but twice! Centurion in for Morbid Angel, Mark Flynn in for the North Korean War Criminal…

Still got ya, though, didn’t we?

Why do you think that was? Did you ever take the time to dissect that loss, or did you just brush past it because it doesn’t help the Thad brand? Please don’t lie to me either, bud. I know what happened. I already touched on some of it. You called me a ‘cancer’. That’s what you did. Then, of course, you played the exact same card as Bobby Boyrbon and went all-in on the ‘two-on-one’ excuse.

Oops! I must be mistaken because you don’t make excuses, do you? Nah, you just call five fucking seconds - three of which you were getting pinned - of a naturally obtained disadvantage in what started out as four-on-four a ‘two-on-one’ and you call it a fucking day. ‘Cause really, after that bullshit excuse (let’s call a spade a spade) that was it for War Games, wasn’t it? No acknowledgement of your failing as a ‘captain’; no acknowledgement of all the shit you said in the lead up being exposed for the fucking lie it was. Thaddeus Duke just went on being the same Thaddeus Duke that I always said he was, didn’t he? Refusing to change. Refusing to evolve. So insistent that his way is not just the right way but the only way. Well lemme do the heavy lifting for you here, Thaddy.

Your team lost at War Games because you couldn’t lead them.

Sooooooo… that’s gonna circle us back around to why I want you to put that combat uniform on, cock your fucking rifles, and bring the other Thaddeus Duke to the party.

Because that’s where you really lead in war, isn’t it?

That’s where you do whatever it fucking takes to ensure you and yours are safe from harm.

Whatever.

It.

Takes.

As if kicking your friend in the head wasn’t enough, amirite?

Wait, who was that keeping safe again? Fucking, what?

Whoopsy-daisy, I was supposed to be done with that.

I digress!

See, the usual Thad will do whatever it takes too, as long as it also keeps the fragile fucking ecosystem you’ve constructed around yourself intact.

There’s a different E-word for ya.

That’s who you are! A man who instead of drafting a winning team, will draft up any excuse - hey-oooooo! - under the fucking sun to get what HE wants. He’ll hide it behind the veil of trying to protect his family, but he’s the motherfucker putting them in harm’s way! But if you put that fucking camo on, you get a chance to show that you’re better than that. Everything I’ve said about you has all been for you, Thad! It always has been. And by donning the suit, you get a chance to prove me wrong.

OR!

At least it wasn’t a ‘but’.

You wind up being the same self-absorbed cunt you’ve always been. At least the choice would be yours, right? Gauntlet put down, baby. That’s fucking liberty! That’s autonomy! That’s what I fucking do.

I can’t wait for you to take the other choice, bitch out, and refuse to dress the part. What’ll the excuse be then, eh? Will say you don’t negotiate with terrorists? Do you wanna call me a cancer again? I could go into a whole bit about fire and cigarettes if you’d like?

Do you have a light?

More than likely, you’ll just play the same fucking card you always do…”

Switch to dumb Thad voice right about… … … NOW!

“YoU dOn’T kNoW mE!”

Switch back.

“Or how about this gem?”

Active Thad Sucks voice.

“I dOn’T hAvE tO eXpLaIn MySeLf To YoU.”

Revert!

“See, the thing is Thad, those sort of statements are absolutely the kind of shitfuckery you pull out whenever people question your motives and methods. And they are so close to actually being good points EXCEPT when you use them like a get out of jail free card so you never have to have a good rationale for anything that you do. Which you do, liberally, to the point that they lose all fucking credibility and you just look like a whiny little bitch.

Fine for you to hang with Lou, but not Corey with me, right?”

“ShUt Up! - YoU dOn’T kNoW mE! - i DoN’t HaVe To ExPlAiN mYsElF tO yOu!”

“The E-word.

Not ‘ego’. Not ‘ecosystem’ either.

Entitled.

Thaddeus Duke: So entitled that he wants to strip the Hall of Legends title from someone else, just so he can get it himself one day. Your fucking words, right?

En-fucking-titled.

So how does that Hall of Legends deal apply to me, bud? It’s not something I’ve given much thought to until this moment. I don’t particularly care one way or the other, but if, per se, I wanted to make sure I could get in, what do I need to do? Do I have to throw a tantrum like I’m a goddamn child who was supernaturally aged into a grown-up’s body?

LOL!

I don’t know my Daddy, Thad, so who do I have to beat up to make sure no goofy ‘legacy’ rules get in the way?

Always the anomaly.

But hey, since we’re talking about the accolades, let’s go ahead and touch on the XWF Star of the Year award! You know the one! It’s the one we shared last year!

BUT!

Fucking LOL! ad infinitum.”

“Yeah… no. Turns out, that’s just another thing you’re trying to claim to fellate yourself.

Normally I wouldn’t brag about this sort of thing - let’s face it, I have so much more that I could boast about - but you? Star of the Year?

There was only one ‘XWF Star of the Year’, and you’re lookin’ at him.

But why would Thaddeus Duke let something like reality get in the way of a good story, eh?

Because he fucking needs something to beat his chest about. He craves that kind of attention. That’s why he dismisses Lycana’s win over me where she LITERALLY SET ME ON FIRE as if I was somehow holding back, all the while boosting up a win in a fucking battle royal that occured the first time that I stepped between the ropes in ten goddamn years.

Go back and look at the tapes, ya dumb bitch, I never ONCE told Lycana that I held back. She beat me because I allowed my fire to burn me up. You beat me by somebody else throwing me out the fucking ring. Who has the bigger claim to fame there, bud?

Spoiler: It’s not fucking you.

But you need to feel special. So you construct these fucking stories, and intentionally conflate being named co-MALE Wrestler of the Year by an external magazine as somehow being the Star of the Year. Somewhat ironically, Lycana was one of the Female Wrestlers of the Year too! But that’s not worth the same as being Thaddeus fucking Duke is it? Like it fucking matters. Either way, neither of you were that rag’s MVP, were they? And neither of you were named by the XWF itself as Star of the Year.

I was.

And like I said, this isn’t the sort of thing I’d usually bang on about. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’m even speaking on it. But if you haven’t picked on this yet, Thad, I am very much in favour of ripping down all of the fucking falsehoods that you’ve built up around yourself.

‘Cause Wednesday Nights are the Thaddeus Duke show, right?

Seriously… who even says shit like ‘I don’t work Saturdays’?

Well this Wednesday… the Thaddeus Duke show plays once more.

And guess what?

it’s gonna be dinner and a show.

I’ll let you add the last three words yourself.”


~~~