Scarcely had the afterglow from Alias’ prismatic form ceased to be a spectre in Corey’s eye when he found himself…entangled in clothing?

Ah…shit! What the…?

Corey writhed and twisted as he was enfolded by hanging shirts. He could hear hangers clattering to the floor as he manuevered. Then, sticking out his hands, he was drawn to a sliver of light. His fingers went towards the light, finding purchase on the edge of a sliding door. Corey opened it and….

Huh?

He had stepped out of a closet and was in a modest bedroom. An antique dresser to his left, a papasan chair to his right laden with folded laundry. Just ahead was a bed, and further still a series of bookshelves filled to the brim with action figures and collectibles.

Oh, and a man sitting on the bed reading a graphic novel.

Oh…uh….hey. Sorry….I….Corey kicked away a stray hanger that had found it’s way around the toe of his shoe.

No problem, Corey! I was looking forward to meeting you. The man said. He was slightly stocky, his hair shaved into a fine buzz with a well kept beard hanging just below it. Somehow, the buzz cut made the green in his eyes pop.

Corey blinked rapidly and lilted back in surprise. You know me?

The man sat up, tossing the graphic novel aside, and swung his feet to the floor. Of course. I created you. He extends a hand. My name is Jason.

Wait…wha-what? Corey ran a hand down his face in consternation. I’m still high. Just ride out the trip and hope it ends soon. Corey stepped in a shook the man’s hand. Hey, I’m, uh, oh, you already know…my name…

Come on into the dining room, I’ll get you something to drink. Nonalcoholic, of course.

Corey followed Jason into the adjoining room. A dining room table was there, beneath a tasteful chandelier. The far side of the table was littered with sorted mail. Jason gestured to the mail. Sorry about the mess.

It’s no problem. Corey pulled out a chair and sat, eyes lingering on the light brown woodwork in front of him before turning to look at Jason as he opened the fridge. It was very much a bachelor’s store, with little in the fridge but beverages and some bagged half eaten Chinese food.

Guess I need to go shopping. Turns out it’s Bubly Sparkling Water or Bubly Sparkling Water?

Corey smiled. I’ll have a Bubly.

Jason tossed him one and sat down at the table across from him. As this occurred, it struck Corey how mundane all of this seemed. A far cry from the unfettered strangeness of before. Jason cracked open his can and Corey followed suit. He took a sip, remembering that Bubly tasted like flat ass, but swallowed respectfully. So what did you mean by “you made me”?

Yeah…hooo boy. This is gonna be tough on you. I’m sorry for that. Honestly. Jason’s expression became less muted and more sorrowful. Whatever he was about to say featured very real pangs of guilt. You’re a character I created to participate in a fantasy wrestling game on the internet.

Corey cocked his head. The individual words were familiar but their comportment was not. Ultimately, all he could do was laugh. You’re a funny guy. Cool toys too.

Yeah, it’a a miracle I ever get laid. Despite the joke, he remained serious. Look, Corey, I don’t expect this to be easy at all. But I need to talk to you and to do that I need to level with you about where you come from.

Corey chuckled again. I’m never smoking weed again.

No, you won’t. Because that’s not how I’ll write you. Again, with a steadfast seriousness.

Corey leaned in, now slightly piqued. Look man, you’re just a hallucination I’m going to be sleeping off in a few hours. So could we maybe punch it up a bit? Maybe fly to Jupiter and have a Dragonball Z style throwdown with Chris Page? Or ride a rainbow to a pot of gold that turns out to be a Mimic that tries to eat me?

Did you even know what a Mimic was until right now?

Huh? I…Corey realized he had no idea what a Mimic was until just then.

Yeah, its a monster from Dungeons and Dragons. I know that because I’m a huge dork. And now you know that because I created you. I’m STILL creating you.

Okay, okay, fine, if you’re some omnipotent creator, tell me how things are going to go for me at the Cannabis Cup.

Jason shook his head. I’m not omnipotent, but I’m going to try like hell to make sure you win. But’s it’s not going to be easy.

Damn, but this is a consistent delusion! You haven’t even grown an extra eye or started speaking in tongues or anything. Corey throws his hands out. This all looks like a real house!

Would you just listen! Jason’s declaration bordered on scolding.

Corey softened. Well, I suppose if you’re my creator I have no choice.

The “creator” looked a trifle taken aback. I guess…I guess you don’t. Huh. A pause. Look, I’m sorry for all of this. And like I said, I know this must be difficult. But I had to talk to you before I had you ride off into the sunset. Another pause. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.

You’re sorry? Sorry for what?

Jason folded his hands in front of him, looking pained. I’ve put you through a lot. The life I’ve written for you has been nothing short of hellish. And you didn’t deserve that.

Corey, still humoring this “Jason”, replied. So why did you?

Because I was in pain. And I needed an outlet for it. Maybe I needed somebody to hurt worse than me. I don’t know…

Corey had to admit he hadn’t been expecting that. No. My choices were my own.

No. They weren’t. They were mine. Choices that I IMPOSED on you. Horrors that I IMPOSED on you. And it wasn’t fair.

Okay. So, again, why/ What kind of hurt must you have been going through?

I wasn’t…he grimaced. I wasn’t well. Mentally. I mean, the writing was a good outlet. It helped me through some tough times. Some really tough times. I was depressed. And scared. I didn’t see any hope for myself.

Something inside Corey resonated with the sentiment. That overwhelming despair. The feeling that nothing would ever get better. That bottomless chasm.

Jason wiped away an errant tear. So, I’m sorry….

And then, just as soon as the sympathy flowed, it ebbed again with the coming of another realization. Wait, so were you responsible for Madison Dyson?

The “creator” looked down at the table, shame faced. Yes.

Corey snorted. Yeah, you must be pretty fucked up then. He jerked his thumb towards the front door. Look man, I’m gonna step out that door and into outer space or a whale’s belly or whatever the fuck this high has in store for me. Later.

No…please! Don’t go.

I don’t need to grant absolution to some delusion.

You’re right. I don’t deserve your absolution. I don’t! Jason held his hands out plaintively. I just wanted you to listen. I…I care about you.

Corey relented a bit. So did you also create Dolly? And Thad?

No, no. They were made by others.

Who?

Other people. Online. But people who have come to be good friends to me regardless of how I met them.

So you all sing kumbaya and think of people’s lives to upend?

I guess so. Yeah, it’s pretty shitty when you put it like that. Jason chanced a look up at Corey again. But that’s why I had you retire. You deserve to rest. You deserve to be happy.

Okay. Thanks. His tone was somewhat dismissive, and yet still bordering on reconciliation. So you all know each other as you write these stories. What’s the point?

Jason shrugged. Different people do it for different reasons. Many because they needed an outlet. Like me. Some just because they enjoy writing. Or like the competition.

How long have you been doing this? Have their been…others? Like me?

Yeah. Quite a few. Some decent. Some not so much. And I’ve been doing it for years. But nowhere has felt like home as much as the XWF has. It’s special.

Corey chortled. I’ll say.

No, really though. Yeah, it can be crazy. Kinda dramatic at times. But the relationships I’ve formed, granted, I’ve never met any of them in real life. But they feel real. They feel important. You know? I guess it’s like one big commune of strange, beautiful people coming together to create this shared experience together. An experience that probably only makes sense to them. Jason chuckled lightly. I don’t even know quite how to explain it to my family.

Despite the sheer surreality of it all, Corey was finding himself drawn in. I guess that sounds kinda nice.

It is. It really is.

Okay, so, fine. You’re sorry. Corey sat back in his seat. Make it up to me.

How?

Destroy Madison. Or delete her, erase her. Whatever.

I…

You control her, right? You created her?

Yeah.

I mean, as messed up as that is. You unleashed this thing. So, I want her gone.

Jason squirmed. It’s not that….

Don’t tell me it’s not that easy. You just said you made her up. So it stands to reason, given the parameters of this drug induced thought exercise, that it should be easy for you to make her go away.

I’ve invested ten years of my life into her.

Corey mouthed “wow”.

Look…

That’s fuckin’ sad. I’d be pissed if this was real.

Can we table this conversation? Let’s talk about the Cannabis Cup. It’s your last grand hurrah.

Corey stabbed his finger on the table for emphasis. If you really care about me as one of your creations. As your brainchild! You’ll do this small thing for me.

Jason went silent and closed his eyes. So this is how it ends.

Yup. Madison. Gone for good. He points at the door again. Do it or I rejoin Alias in space.

Jason sighed deeply. Alright…he spoke quietly. Alright.

Alright! Corey scooped up the can of Bubly and took another sip, instantly regretting it. You know this stuff really is the pits.

…huh? Jason’s attention lagged, lost in thought.

Corey waggled the can in the air. This stuff is gross.

Yeah. Heh. It’s an acquired taste I guess.

Corey placed the can back down. So how do I…I mean WE…win the Cannabis Cup?

Jason relaxed, as though contented to be on more neutral ground. We go through Bobby Bourbon or Mark Flynn.

You sound confident. There’s a lot of people in this thing.

There sure are Corey. Thankfully for us, most of them are hack jobs from outside the XWF.

Corey looked at Jason askance. So you’re assuming they suck because they’re from outside the XWF?

No. No, no, no. Jason smirked. I’m DECLARING that they suck because they’re from outside the XWF. Because when you get luminaries like The Swallowing…

*Snrkt*

Like…the fucking SWALLOWING. The jokes literally write themselves. Oh yeah and guys like The Tactilizing One, like “tactilizing” is anything but a word that’s designed by an idiot to make bigger idiots thing you’re a goddamn Mensa member…

Okay, but ‘hol up. Funny as they are, none of them are in the Cup.

No, they’re not. But they’re indicative of the kind of “talent” IN the Cup. Jason sighs and sits back. The XWF breeds the best of the best. Bar none. There’s a reason the place has been going strong for over 20 years when other feds have died by the wayside. There’s a reason why people who CARE have taken the reigns time after time to keep this show going. And it’s because the XWF is a showcase of the best goddamn talent on the internet.

You mean…oh, right, we’re on the internet…

Yes we are. And that’s why I’m confident it’s an XWF’er who’s going to take this thing. Aside from Michael Graves, because you’re DEFINITELY rolling his sorry no showing ass round one.

Maybe we should address another elephant in the room?

Yes my young padawan?

Wow, you ARE a dork. But you’re kinda cute so I’ll let it pass.

This counts as masturbation.

*Ahem* The aforementioned elephant is that Chris Page is representing like half the guys in this thing.

Five by my count. But still entirely too much Chris Page.

Exactly. Now, of those five, who’s the one that Chris REALLY wants to win? Who’s the one who he thinks has the GREATEST chance of winning? Because let’s be real here, the only reason he’s representing that many people is because Page is doing what Page does best, slutting it up for the camera. But there’s no way he thinks they all have an equal shot at winning. And you know what? I bet they’re all thinking the same thing. They all got that ear worm wriggling around in there. “Is it me? Does he believe in me? Or is it one of the other guys?” Hell gentlemen, maybe he’s just representing the rest of you because he wants to give his one true chosen one an edge. Maybe he’s going to try to push one of these shlubs through to the finals so he can stab them in the back and hand it all to Flynn because yes, fellas, YES it’s Flynn as the chosen one if Page has half a brain.

Which is unproven.

Touche my literary friend. But you’ve gotta think that all this drama is deep in the back of their heads. That’s why most managers who aren’t wasted piles of idiot puke only represent ONE client. Because it’s to avoid situations exactly like this one where loyalties can become divided and suspicion and resentment can bubble to the surface. But Page never thought of that because he’s stupid with a capital Stu.

But let’s circle back to my original point. It’s gonna be an XWF’er winning this thing. So who do we got? We got Mac Bane, who is just BARELY an XWF’er and has thus far proven to be perfectly mediocre…

And also repped by Chris Page, so he’s got that working against him.

…Latina Submission Machina, Bobby Bourbon, Betsy Granger….

Does she still count?

We’ll count her. Bets is good people. Doesnt have a prayer of winning, but good people. And then we got Jason Cashe (see Mac Bane but smart enough to avoid the Page plague) and….Thunder Cuckles.

Heh. But ok, how can we be so certain it’s gonna be an XWF guy (or gal). Isn’t immediately discounting the non-XWF folks making a gross tactical error?

Jason sighs. I’d smack you if you weren’t my most beautiful creation and also clerverly advancing the dialogue.

Corey has himself a little bow.

Look, like I said before, the XWF is *THE BEST*. It is the the fiery kiln from which greatness is forged. If you can survive here, you can thrive literally anywhere. Case in point? Alias. Fucking unstoppable. An absolutele gorgeous nightmare. Forged where? Here. Bobby Bourbon. Multi time champion. Done it all. Seen it all. Forged where? Here. Hell, our cast offs, the people who couldn’t truly flourish here, flourish elsewhere because their game has been so altered by being exposed to the level of sheer competition in the XWF.

I told you I’ve been doing this for a long ass time, right? Well, in this case “long ass” is about 15 years. In that time, I’ve participated in God knows how many promotions. Seriously, I have no fucking clue. But the one universal constant is that I have encountered the level of talent I see in the XWF nowhere else. Absolutely nowhere. I have staked out the horizon, the far corners of the fedding globe, and found them wanting in comparison.

So you ask me why I’m so confident it’s an XWF guy? That’s why.

Oh, except it’s definitely not going to be Thunder Knuckles.

Corey laughs. Yeah, that guy might punch a big gaping hole in your theory.

Nah. He’s okay by our standards but would be a badass anywhere else. Except I think he got beat by Cholo.

And he has been the recipient of the easiest most relaxed XTreme Championship run of all time. Like, when’s the last time somebody’s taken a shot at it? How many times has he gotten rolled up in those hallways?

Zilch. Or damn near.

Pre-zactly. Thunder Knuckles, man. Homeboy is entertaining but has always been solidly mid card.

Pre-zact-a mundo. And mid card you are NOT. You’re so far past TK he is but a mote in thine eye.

Poetic. And a bit over the top. I see where I get it from now.

Ahhh, so you’re coming around to the existential realization of your existence?

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But yeah, TK is a slim to none chance of making it to the finals. How about Jason Cashe?

Not forged here. But kudos for taking on this bitch of a promotion. It’s just too bad he’s so insistent on swimming in the XWF’s smallest pool.

Betsy Granger?

Betsy wasn’t Betsy the last time we saw her. She couldn’t catch her footing and made a poor showing of it. It’s not her.

Latina Submission Machina?

Competent, but ultimately queen of the small pool twice over. It ain’t her either. But here’s hoping she makes for a decent War Games captain.

Cheers to that. Corey holds his can aloft. So it really does come down to Flynn or Bourbon. Let’s speak on Bobby Bourbon. Dude’s the King, man. Literally.

Not to mention the only person in the entire XWF to beat us twice.

Yeowch. But, for as good as he is, and for as ooey-gooey as he makes me…Corey winks flirtatatiously, we all know he’s quite fallible too. He lost to The Engineer. He just recently failed to overcome newcomer par excellance Raion Kido at Leap of Faith. Granted he wasn’t the only one to do so. He also uhhh….lost to Calypso recently.

Whoa, hold on, do you smell toast? I swear I must be having a stroke because I thought you just said…

Oh, I sure did. The Grande POO-BOB himself couldn’t get it done against the trio of Dolly Waters, John Black, and the C-man himself. What with poor Dolly only just recently starting to return to fighting strength, that match should have been a clearing house for the big man. Except it wasn’t. And that there is Bobby Bourbon’s most glaring flaw: his inconsistency. I’ve said it maaaany times before, and I’ll keep saying it because it’s true. You just never know what brand of Bobby you’re gonna get. Bobby who gives a damn. Or Bobby who doesn’t. It truly is a shit shoot.

Nevertheless, I’ll be the first one to admit the man poses a problem for me. He pinned me. He actually pinned me. I can count the motherfuckers who’ve done that on one hand and I don’t even need all the fingers. And is that fact creeping around the back of my head as I stare down the finals of this shindig? I’d be an idiot if it wasn’t. But still…STILL I gotta give myself the edge.

Why?

One word. Cardio. Bobby’s big and strong, but when it comes to sheer GO, I’ve got him beat. I’m legit fucking indefatigable compared to him. Because that mass of a man is going to have to fight how many goddamn times in so short a period of time? I think Bobby’s gonna get tired. I think he’s gonna get wore out. Especially being that he’s spent the majority of the last year being able to rely on a tag when things get hot.

But me? I’m a lithe 160 pounds of manic pixie pure energy, baby. Red Bull poured and distilled into a vaguely humanoid form. I don’t get gassed. And I damn sure know I’ll have more in the tank than Bobby by the time the finals roll around. But hey man, at least you’ll still be the biggest Poo in the entire XWF when all this is said and done.

Corey takes a breather for a moment before proceeding.

And finally, we come to Mark Flynn. Captain Consistancy. The man who took my friend Thad Duke to the limit and then some. But Flynn struggles from one of the same problems Bourbon does. Because when he runs this gauntlet, he’s doing it solo. Or, almost solo. But more on that in a sec. There’s nobody to tag in Marky Mark. And you’ve got a long road to wander before you can rest. I don’t think you’ll get gassed like Bourbon though. You’ve got too much spite to ya.

And then there is the Page problem. Because you see you probably think Page is there for you, but as always he’s really there for himself. He wants to be the spectacle. He wants to be the star of his own show. Why the hell do you think he’s repping so many guys in this thing when he’s names already on the damn marquee! Come on, Mark, THINK. And you know what? If you prove you’re not the chosen one, if you slip up and lose a match? You dont think he’ll dump your ass so fast your head’ll spin? And that’s if he even thinks your the lynch pin. Like I said before, he probably already has his assumptions made about who the one to beat is. Did he tell you it’s you? I’m sure he didn’t say that to all the other guys.

Corey folds his hands. I’m done.

Good job, Corey.

Shouldn’t we be saying good job, Jason? You’re the puppeteer with your hand up my ass, right?

Jason sighs. Come on, man…

Corey smirks. I’m not gonna leave it like that. You did give birth to me afterall. Hope I didn’t tear you up too bad on the way out. Corey proffers up his fist for a fist bump. Jason takes a look at it, smiles a wan sort of smile, and fist bumps him back.

I really do care about you. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Well, you’re welcome. He nods his head and stands up. But duty calls. See you in the funny pages, Jason.

Yeah. Yeah, see you soon Corey. Jason lifted a hand to wave goodbye as Corey turned and left out the front door. Jason’s hand faltered as he lowered it, and a certain sadness overcame his features.

Then, a woman’s fingers approached from stage left and started to worm their way over Jason’s scalp. Playfully massaging his hair. Jason winced and withdrew, but didn’t stop the mysterious stranger.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. You know you can never be rid of me.

The woman’s voice descended into a mirthless cackle as Jason sat stock still, a haunted gleam in his eye.

Elsewhere

Corey’s eyes flutter open, and then he squeezes them shut instantly against the onslaught of the light.

Ugh….Gaaahd….

Massaging his eye balls with his fingers, he slowly opens them again. He finds himself back in his car.

Am I still….?

No, no, somehow he knows he’s not. The high has passed. Mercifully so.

Jesus, what a ride.

And yet the end was so peculiar, so unlike the rest. It carried a certain authenticity, not nearly as dreamlike. Corey pondered why that was. Perhaps his visions simply became less extravagant as the high wore off?

And that’s when he noted the can of Bubly sitting beside him.

Well, ain’t that a pisser.