---

---

“I do not judge you. The magistrate sits in your heart that judges you.”
-Elizabeth Proctor, The Crucible

Ned’s right hand dragged down his face, pulling the skin down softly as he exhaled, the warm breath pushing against his palm. Mark, Theo, and himself had been momentarily sequestered to a side room in the church, somewhere small with a few early season manger scenes made by younger members of the congregations.

“Well, this is a fucking mess,” Ned proclaimed matter of factly.

“You’re telling ME!” Mark responded swiftly, “Jesus isn’t supposed to be THAT oblong! Who’s teaching these kids to cut construction paper?!” Flynn’s hand swung wide, shaming a crayon recreation of the Last Supper.

“Somehow,” Theo mused, “I doubt Ned shares your distaste for the artistry of Sunday School children.”

“WHAT?! C’MON! The arms are too long!” Flynn shouted with disbelief at Ned’s inability to recognize proper arts-and-crafts technique. “If ol’ Jebus had that kinda reach, he could have healed the blind standing three zip codes away!”

“He’d likely indulge you a bit more if you didn’t crash a funeral, Mark.”

Ned’s glare turned upward, annoyance leaking out, “And you wouldn’t know anything about that, huh? What, would a tank have been too quiet for you?”

“There was traffic, one that helicopter would bypass. I didn’t think King would’ve liked me to be late.” Theo shot back, taking a small sip of some communion wine before deciding against further intoxication given the circumstance, “...and as you can see, I’m here.”

“Sure, you’re here, but what does that matter if you’re not doing anything for anyone? This day isn’t about us!”

“I KNEW that!” Flynn perks up. “It’s ‘bout HELPING ISAI-”

“-It’s not even about King! This is a funeral! This is about Doc, the man just died!” Ned’s breathing quickens.

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we?” Theo shot back, slightly more annoyed than before.

“Hell, we need to think about how he feels about us even being here or about losing someone this instrumental to him! Did either of you even think to ask him that?”

WHAM! Ned’s hand smacked down a nearby table!

His hand stung slightly from the impact, but it was the cost of impressing the disrespect they had just shown someone they all were attempting to support.

His tense demeanor was quickly sliced through.

“Did you?” Theo asked.

It wasn’t a question he anticipated. Of course, he had Isaiah’s best interests in mind, however! That’s what mattered, wasn’t it? He glanced over at Mark, the still somewhat clueless look in his eyes saying more than any rant or monologue ever could to convince Kaye. Shame and regret slowly seeped into Ned’s form, his eyes pointed downwards as he absorbed it all.

“No. No, I didn’t,” Ned admitted, crossing his arms as he made peace with his own intentions when first arriving at the service. The light from the window, orange from the hue of the setting sun, draped over half of Ned’s face, leaving the other side covered by the shade of his hair.

“YES! Perfect! THIS is why we’re the dreamteam! We have a plan!” Flynn’s finger immediately starts weaving through the air, drawing up a gameplan for… asking King how he feels.

Ned gives Theo a look like, ‘stop him’.

“GOT IT! YES!!” Flynn howls, delightedly! “We  go out there and empathize the ABSOLUTE FUCK out of King! A BLITZ OF BEING THERE! EMPATHY ON THREE, fellas!” He stuck his hand in center confidently… until Theo gripped him by the shoulder, giving Ned an understanding nod.

“Actually, Mark, you and I have a bit more to discuss regarding…” Theo coughs. “Proper… team dynamics. We need a long-term vision planning meeting for… how we’ll efficiently collaborate… Together.”

…Flynn squints at Theo suspiciously.

…Theo sweats.

…

“FINALLY.” Flynn snaps his fingers, walking Theo to the patio where they can talk privately “SOMEONE TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY. Now, listen, Pryce, I’m thinking Q1 2024… Nothing but TRUST FALLS AND ESCAPE ROOMS! ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT TEAM-BUILDING!”

WHAM! The door shuts behind them.

---

Heading off into the church’s main hall was an… uncomfortable notion for Ned. Frankly, Ned despised the atmosphere that came with being in a church ever since he was young.

Stained glass patterns strewn about in suffocating fashion.

A labyrinth of beliefs that flew past him like air through a shattered window, catching only the edges.

The congregation’s eyes followed Ned carefully, suspicion in each glare and anger with every sneer. The day was as much about them as it was about Doc, in a weird way. The carefully carved stone loomed over Kaye while he stepped towards the current place they had placed the casket while attempting to restore some order after Theo’s… unexpected aerial entrance.

Chaos had ended up enveloping the funeral, but it took the form of three men who had assumed it as their duty to steer the occasion based on their specifications.

Ned looked around, gazing past the perceived antagonism he projected upon the attendants of the funeral. Certainly, he had gotten some disdainful looks, but few truly focused on him. They checked on their loved ones, looked towards the ceiling, or merely shut their eyes, hopeful that the most turbulent parts of the service were long behind them. They had all arrived here to grieve, hearts swollen with the remorse of losing someone deeply important to them all. Is that why he came here? Just to swim in tragedy because it was what he had grown accustomed to? Is that why he hadn’t asked King about any of this prior to the day?

Darcy had warned him about this… His insistence of heroics manifesting in unintentionally selfish ways?

Maybe he just needed to stop.

The thought seemed to solidify until he finally saw Isaiah, guards to his left and right, head pointed downwards. It was a pose Ned recognized immediately.

It was how he himself was seated at his father’s funeral.

Pushing aside the myriad of conflicting thoughts competing within him, Ned merely stepped forwards, looking upwards at one of the more physically intimidating guards. With a deep breath, he spoke.

“I’d like to talk to Isaiah.”

The guard snorted somewhat, shocked that Kaye would press his luck after everything that had already transpired. Cracking his knuckles, the guard responded, “Man, you just don’t know when to give up, huh?”

“Not here,” Isaiah interrupted, having pulled himself up, his usual cold demeanor restored after a prolonged moment of vulnerability.

Moving out of the way, the guard allowed Ned to sit next to King. The bench was as uncomfortable as it ever had been, but it was where he needed to be right now. Despite his intentions of delivering some inspiring speech, Ned sat there for a few moments, drinking in the feeling, experiencing the loss for what it was.

“Three minutes.” Isaiah declared, his sight pointed forward, unable or unwilling to look Ned in the eyes right now. “Then you’re gone. All of you.”

It took a little, but Ned finally found the one thing that made most sense to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“I already told you I don’t want your-”

“I know,” Ned cut him off, already envisioning the slew of righteous anger King was well-prepared to lob his way, “it’s not condolences. It’s not pity.”

“I’m sorry I came here without asking you first. It was wrong. I just decided for you that I could address your feelings about this moment. I took a moment important to you and to a whole lot of other people and… Made it about me, just like Mark and Theo did.”

Isaiah’s lips contorted as he searched for a way to articulate the stew of emotions he tried to shove down into his stomach, “That’s all well and good, but Theo’s entrance knocked one of our pallbearers clean out. But that’s what y’all do right? You apologize because, God forbid, you think three seconds on the shit you’re about to pull. I ain’t an idiot, Ned. Otherwise, I woulda’ thrown your self-absorbed ass out and then handled the commotion. But… I wanted to know if you were here for Doc or yourself.”

“I might’ve come here for some bad reasons, but why does everything between you and I need to be some sort of war? Did it cross your mind that maybe- just maybe- I really would like to help you. And not that bullshit help when you’re waltzing out there with a wrench to go smack an opponent of mine! Real support!”

Isaiah rolled his eyes, his head shaking while the words flowed out of his mouth effortlessly, “You mean like the help you showed me after our tag loss? You think you’re all these big things, but you’re in it for you. You just ain’t honest about it.”

“I’m sure you’re an expert on doing things for yourself. That’s why you’re here, huh?” Ned shot back.

It wasn’t often that Isaiah couldn’t formulate a response,  that feeling of panic bubbled once more in Isaiah’s chest. Those words cut.

Still, Ned spoke.

“You’re right. I’m not perfect. I end up doing a lot for myself.”

“That’s something I want to change. I don’t know what you want or need and I should have just asked you,” Isaiah’s eyes met Ned for the first time since Kaye had sat, “So. What do you want me to do?”

King slumped in his chair, the rigid oak, polished decades ago flat against his back.

The weight of Harlem bearing down on his shoulders.

…

“I don’t know.”

Churches had a special kind of silence. One that reached into the soul of those present, lingering like a spectre taking its last long looks at those they cherished.

“You know,” Ned started, snapping Isaiah out of that silence, ““I knew Doc, too. Not well, but he trained me a bit. Out of all the trainers I ever studied under, he was the only one who sent me a Christmas card.”

Isaiah chuckled softly, pulling himself up gently, “Same corny shit every year.”

“Like clockwork.”

“Sometimes,” Isaiah added, “I wonder what he saw in people. Why he bothered…  Why he made something out of me.”

“He had this whole thing figured out better than either of us. He knew there was no surviving out here on your own, no matter who you were. We all need help. We don’t shape ourselves alone, we’re made by the people around us. Sometimes those truths’re unspoken... Doc knew a Christmas card could be a lot. For some of us, it was everything.”

Ned looked down at his watch. His three minutes had passed. Standing up, he began making his way back towards the room to inform Theo and Mark that they should depart....

“Ned.”

Kaye’s body twisted, seeing the proud Kingslayer with a mournful, humble demeanor for once, his gaze fixed on Ned’s.

“Help me put him to rest.”

---

The casket rose once more.

Four men carried the intricate wooden box towards the nearby cemetery.

The wind roared mournfully.

Each step felt like it was one too many, the somber sunset casting shadows on this final moment Isaiah had to be close to someone so important to him.

It felt as though he shouldn't have had the strength to keep carrying Doc to his final resting spot, but each time his arm felt as though it was going to give out, the other men walking with him strengthened, Ned included.

The weight of the world was on his shoulders.

But not only his.

Once they had finally made it to the grave, they lowered Doc cautiously, making sure there would be no sudden drops or further excitement after such a turbulent road there.

Ned stepped back, giving King his space, standing aside Pryce and Flynn, careful not to interrupt the last moment Isaiah would have with someone almost closer than a father. Kneeling and placing his hand on the casket, Isaiah said but two words.

"Bye, Coach."

He pulled himself up, quivering slightly at the feeling, but standing aside Mark, Ned, and Theo. They didn't share words at the moment, but they didn't have to.

Because sometimes the truths unspoken are the ones most dear.

---

“Dearly beloved.”

“We’re here today to bury the Brotherhood of Bastards.”

…

“...Or rather, we WERE here today to bury them.”

“Honestly, watching their work this week?”

“They did the job for us.”

"Bastardly beloved, here lies an overgrown group with an overstretched theme."

“Holy fucking cow.”

“They say you shit yourself when you die.”

“And that’s the best explanation for the Capital-C CRAP that the Bastards EXPELLED FROM THE FESTERING, PUTRID ANUS THEY CALL A PRODUCTION COMPANY.”

…

“Genuinely.”

“I have mocked the Bastards for years…”

“MULTIPLE YEARS.”

“For being untalented hacks.”

“WHOLLY INCAPABLE of a single unique idea.”

“Their best pitch for a promo *always* being…”

‘Hey! Let’s do a shot-for-shot remake of a movie we like?!?’

‘Wow! Great idea! Even better! Let’s cast ourselves as the movie’s HEROES!”

“GASP! And our opponents will be the VILLAINS!’

“OHMYGOD, WE’RE FRICKIN’ GENIUSES.”

“From the minds that brought you Scary Movie One through Five, it’s… NINETY-FIVE PERCENT OF BASTARDS PROMOS.”

…

“I genuinely thought the Bastards couldn’t get lower on the creativity totem pole.”

“How can you dig below…”

“ROCK.”

“BOTTOM.”

“How can you scrape BENEATH the BOTTOM of the BARREL?”

…

“Then, I watched their work promoting this Warfare.”

…

“They cut.”

“The same promo.”

“THREEEEEEEEE TIMES.”




…

“I got a great idea, fellas! This will take the XWF universe by storm!”

“Let’s play cards with ZERO STORY OR INTEREST OR STAKES OR FUCKING HUMAN DRAMA!”

“We’ll play cards and shoot the shit with meandering gross-out tales!”

“Wow, brilliant!”

“And what do we do for the other two?”

“...Whaddya mean? I already had ONE idea. That’s enough work for this year. Let’s do that half-baked NOTHING concept…”

“THREEEEEEEE.”

“FUCKING.”

“TIMES.”

…

“No craftmanship.”

“No work.”

“No message.”

“No purpose.”

“No point.”

“A beautiful picture of your current careers.”

…

“It had the unique energy of three chucklefucks.”

“With fuzzy, Fifty-Dollar Walmart USB microphones.”

“Sitting in their parents’ garage.”

“Laughing at each other’s obscure pop-culture references.”

“A three-hour long inside joke.”

“Forced onto the viewing public NON-CONSENSUALLY.”

…

“And that sums up the Bastards recently, doesn’t it?”

“Three… or seven or… fifteen, maybe? IDIOTS.”

“Laughing at each other’s shitty material so loud.”

“That they don’t notice the crowd sitting on their hands.”

“Waiting for something GOOD.”

“Or just… Something.”

…

“And I don’t blame Bobby.”

“Bobby has been fucking up opportunities since MARCH.”

“I held the Universal Title for SIX MONTHS.”

“Bobby held it for SIX MINUTES.”

“I beat Mercy, Micheal Graves and Dock for my 24/7 briefcase.”

“Bobby slipped ass backwards into a Leap of Faith win and couldn’t WAIT to give it to Dock, eating a pin on the grandest stage of them all.”

“Bobby’s been disappointing almost a FULL CALENDAR YEAR now. Why would we expect anything different?”

“Hell, I don’t even blame ‘Clownshoes’ Big D.”

“The guy pretending rolling me up in a NON-match is an achievement.”

“I defended my X-Treme title week-in and week-out for MONTHS.”

“I am the ONLY MAN TO EVER DEFEND the X-TREME TITLE OVER WARGAMES!”

…

“And the WEEK after D stole my belt, thanks to NK’s chicanery?”

“D immediately went on vacation.”

“Took a break after NO WORK.”

“‘Big D’ went soft in a heartbeat.”

“How could I be disappointed… Given another chance at the plate to swing?”

“D still can’t get it up.”


…

“I blame TK.”

“THUNDER KNUCKLES.”

“YOU FUCKING CLOWN.”

…

“See.

“When a guy wins the Uni? Typically? He levels up. Elevates his game. Carries the organization on his back because he’s the face of the company.”

“We were all expecting the TK that beat Robert Main to wield the Uni belt.”

“The man who SHOCKED the WORLD.”

“Who captured LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE.”

“TO ELECTRIFY US ONCE MORE.”

…

“And what’d we get instead…?”

“A FUCKING ARISTOCRATS JOKE.”

“THAT IS WHAT TK BROUGHT TO THE BIG DANCE. A JOKE FORMAT THAT TURNED STALE IN NINETEEN-SEVENTY-FUCKING-EIGHT.”

“...Not only that, what a fucking…

“DULL.”

“Version.”

“TK. Did you think I would be IMPRESSED?!?””

“I HAVE HEARD ARISTOCRATS JOKES FEATURING JESUS, MOHAMMED, MOTHER TERESA AND EMO PHILLIPS.”

“I HAVE SEEN THE MOST DEPRAVED MINDS OF MY GENERATION, WAVING SHIT-COVERED AMERICAN FLAGS, FUCKING BALD EAGLES.”

“INVENTING CRASS, HORRIFYING SEXUAL ACTS THAT WOULD MAKE THE KAMA SUTRA ITSELF FILL FOUR BARF BAGS AND SEVEN CONDOMS.”

…

“TK’s joke of a joke sounded like if you asked ChatGPT to write an aristocrats tale.”

“A mishmash of quasi-offensive things other people said, put in close-to the right order, in a way that is almost fun.”

“That’s TK for ya. Acting how he thinks the champ’s supposed to.”

“But missing that key ingredient.”

“Actual.”

“FUCKING.”

“Talent.”

“Yes. TK’s got the big shiny belt.”

“But he’s just a kid wearing a Halloween costume.”

“Same ol’ TK.  The one comfy sitting back, chuckling at Bourbon’s jokes… “

“So the crowd knows when they’re supposed to laugh.”

“He’s no leader. Watch him this entire week, sitting on his flat Hank Hill ass, letting Bobby and D carry him.”

“Then showing up at the finish line with fucking UNORIGINAL DRIVEL.”

“He’s the XWF’s Top Guy? Of the greatest wrestling company on the planet? The weakest link of three?”

“That’s the real fucking joke. That’s what disgusts me even more than TK’s sorry excuse for a story that Don Rickles would use as a sleep aid.”

“R.I.P. Mister PotatoHead.”

“TK’s out here thinking he’s a creative genius for doing a cover of Gilbert Gottfried’s C-material.”

”And Bob Saget's B-material.”

”R.I.P. Danny Tanner.”

"Where once we celebrated the likes of Fuzz, Robert Main, and ALIAS, we are left with a cavernous void. Left with this. Left with you."

”Shock value without stock value.”

”R.I.P. Bastards.”

"You can't run from yourself."