Once your footing is sturdy, then you’ve gotta begin climbing. Lifting up despite how rocky the conditions are. They might dig into your hands, but your road’s above and you're not getting there without pain.



It was a strange first date, but pleasant, if only for the company they shared. A gentle breeze passed by Ned and Darcy as they walked down the street, surrounded by the comforting skyscrapers he’d called home for almost as long as he could speak. Things were well. In a world where twilight seemed endless, finally there was some brightness to the surroundings. Ned inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of a nearby pastry shop, the aroma accentuating the mood perfectly. He looked over to Darcy. She seemed happy... but anxious. She always carried some level of worry, even when she was comfortable. He knew the feeling, largely, but he figured that he’d let her approach it at her own pace.

Besides, he was the last person qualified to discuss opening up given his track record.

Just as he was about to recommend grabbing pastries, he felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. A repeated hum to alert him about a call. Shrugging and slowing his speed, Ned glanced at his phone, expecting his mother or perhaps Noah telling him something about their cat. His eyes rolled over the name at the top of the screen.

Theo.

Ned wasn't used to him calling so abruptly. That was the first sign of something wrong. The second being the half-dozen or so missed calls from him prior.

“Well,” Theo began, “I'm glad you finally decided to stop ogling the ladies.”

“You know for a fact that's not what I was doing,” Ned responded, used to Theo's snide remarks having a bit more bite.

“What's up?” He asked hesitantly, dreading the possibilities.

“It seems the FBI could use your input on something, sounded urgent,” Theo navigated his next few words with caution, “it's Chameleon related.”

Ned's heart sank. He'd gotten past this, hadn't he? The two Custodians were imprisoned and he and Darcy began moving past that sullen point of their histories. Yet it reared its head once again, almost determined to haunt them. Darcy noticed the change in his face instantly, her own concern bubbling to the surface.

"What's wrong?” She asked, Ned's loss of speech becoming more off-putting the longer it lingered.

“Ned? Are you there?” Theo piped in, prompting a response.

“Yeah. I'm here. Why do they want me? I only ever really worked with them back in 2020.”

“I was told it was because they needed somebody who worked on the project. To verify some information and assist with their operation. You know, they were rather sparse on details with me. Are you going to ask why I didn't probe the federal government for info or are we past the stupid questions stage?” Theo explained, the distaste in his voice from being potentially roped up in some FBI business readily apparent.

“Alright. Thanks... for letting me know. I'll go ahead and get packed so I can-”

“I'm not done, Ned,” Pryce cut in, “there's something else that you should be aware of.”

“...What is it?” Kaye anticipated the answer, his nails digging lightly into his palm.

“Thias Watts is in the hospital,” Theo said sullenly, “he was involved in some jetski accident. They're not optimistic.”

Ned nearly dropped the phone as the news hit him. In just a single call, he was shoved back into the bleak darkness. Forced to choose either addressing this Chameleon business or potentially burying another friend.

“I’m sorry.”

A raindrop landed on Ned's hand, shuddering at the moisture.

---

A downpour surrounded the truck. Night came early, the clouds above shielding all light above the street. Waiting was the worst part. They were all stationed in this armored vehicle, a few agents awaiting the signal. Once received, wheels began whirring, vibrating the walls of the vehicle as they kept secure inside. Someone looked over to Darcy after the target was acquired, her head carefully held down as she attempted to blend into the shade. She stood, trying to prepare mentally for what could be.

“C'mon, Ellis,” a voice shouted out, “we need you to check this out!”

She quickly nodded, rushing into the rain as she watched several shadows shift around her. It was nigh impossible to catch a glimpse of anything with the weather, but once the spotlight shined, it became clear as crystal.

“Look familiar?” Asked the agent closest to her, the radiance exposing what was strapped to the flatbed of the target: imitation Facility parts. A scrapheap recreation of the compound where the first Chameleon was “born.” That's when the truth of it became obvious as swiftly as it terrified her.

Someone was making bootleg Chameleons.

---

Ned watched Thias carefully. The young man was more physically formidable than Ned, yet he laid there, helpless and comatose while Kaye sat aside him. It was only at this moment that he realized that he hadn't truly mourned Steven Cooper, opting to focus on work, neglecting a thought that invaded now. It should’ve been him. In that bed or buried. Yet he enjoyed "redemption" those who joined him in Avalanche were suffering. An empty feeling filled his stomach. All he could do was be there and hope the Chameleon situation was handled by Darcy.

But those hopes were dashed as he glanced upward, met with another figure from his past.

“...Marina?” He questioned, almost not recognizing her. Her red hair, tidy and short, stood out from her uniform’s muted tones. They hadn't met on great terms, but they wound up being partners during his stint with the FBI.

“Long time no see,” she stated, sitting beside him.

“I imagine it's worse than just some Chameleon stuff out there?” Ned asked, trying to gauge her reaction despite her stoicism. She answered indirectly.

“Do you know what the TC project’s end goal was?”

“Personality readjustment. Dante had a horrid idea of making people's personalities as malleable as his own,” Ned responded.

“What if you readjusted someone forcefully?”

He thought for a second before it struck him like a freight train.

“Mind control.”

Marina stayed quiet, a crack in her demeanor before she spoke again.

“It's bad. They found data, but none of it recoverable. We have an informant who could possibly give us a kill code for future incidents. He won't talk to us... but he'll talk to you.”

Ned looked to Thias, barely breathing with the machines hooked up to him, thinking of the man he might have been if he hadn't been wrapped up in Ned's world.

"We need you.”

He stood up, his mind drifting to those that could get caught in this crossfire.

“Then let's get to work.”

---

---

---

“Playing god is a temptation many are drawn to.”

“There's an appeal in being the arbiter of fate. The one to decide countless destinies with a wave of your hands. Is it any surprise that a man named after one would internalize that desire? Maybe to some, but not to me, Dionysus. You're not the first person I've faced to fashion yourself after divinity. I think it's partially something to do with this business. You don't do what we do without some level of ambition and, unfortunately, for many that is tied up in the desire to determine what others are. In this sense, you're far from novel. Now, you might argue that this isn't your intention, but we've all seen what you've said about Barney and Mark when stepping into this tournament. The first choice you made was to try and chisel history in the walls of time before the fight is fought, let alone won. But what do I do, Dion? I see people for what they are and I want them to be better.”

“That includes myself.”

“Seeing Thias reminded me of what it was like when I tried to be something I wasn't. Embracing a darkness I forced myself towards with lies and illusions... I hurt people, Dionysus. I roped them into something poisonous all because I let the temptation of changing fate swallow me whole in a way I couldn't comprehend until I was waking up every morning and downing bottles of whatever liquor I had on hand to dull the slow realization that what I was doing was harmful. See, that's the thing about revelry: it is most often embraced to distract. You see, what you seem to be so purposefully ignorant of is that the vices that you use as a costume are clothes many of us had to wear without the slightest bit of pride. What you glorify is sickening whether you intend to or otherwise.”

“The god-complex is not just some concept we hear about in tales, it's how you view yourself, Albert. And you view yourself as the kind of man important enough to win this company’s most prestigious tournament only a few short months into your career here, while at the same time complaining that your five year anniversary opponent in AW is a newcomer. You hold an exception for yourself because you believe that makes you exceptional. In short: it doesn’t. And that's something that hits me close to home because even in my darkest moments, in my own misguided manner, I tried uplifting people who hadn't gotten the fairest shakes. To carve out a place for them in a business that seemed full of dead ends. And in comes you, haughty and proud, fresh off a few wins where you felt like you shoved a few people out of your way, eager to do the same to me. You'll describe the tales of my crusade against you as you drench them in mythological metaphors and snide hubris, finishing with a conclusion that places me with the rest of the mortals, squarely beneath your foot. But I can tell that you haven't really been learning from the parables you vomit at people because if you had, you'd know that the lesson of your namesake is to not underestimate a mortal. And mortal is what I am to a tee. In a business full of self-proclaimed Gods, Kings, and Queens, I take pride in being human. I care about people, Dion. I care about them to a fault. You want a tale for me? Look at Orpheus. While you would turn your back on anyone to press onward, I look back. I always look back. And I don’t get a town to tear me limb from limb because I do it myself. But you? The only thing you’d dare turn back to see is a reflection..”

“The party ends here. I don't have the patience for your shtick, so I’ll keep this brief: You think you're better than this company and its inhabitants. You think you're better than people who haven't been around the places you've inhabited for as long as you. You're entitled, you're selfish, and you thoughtlessly empower the kinds of habits I’ve spent years trying to overcome. You embody a name that was given meaning by others and you act as if it never mattered before your feet stepped into those shoes, but I took a name people underestimate and made it matter. You're a man of vines? I'm one of burning passion. I don't use the title “indie darling eternal” lightly. You might be a self-proclaimed god, but I’ve been a nonbeliever in more frightening deities than you. For every single person you spit on or forget, I’m their hands, their voice, their passion! I fight because they no longer can! I walked through hell out of a love you can’t reciprocate and the ballad I sing is the one of this company. Of moving forward, no matter the misstep. Of climbing upward despite the pain. I am the spirit of this company given form. And when we face in that ring…”

“You will learn what the XWF stands for.”

"You can't run from yourself."