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**01-12-2015, 03:41 PM**

“The point is there ain't no point.”
― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

Jump back to our first night as Patrick and Flannery Kissinger.

“I don’t know about you, but this is definitely what I think of when I think ‘High Society’,” Flannery said, her sickeningly stereotypical southern aristocrat accented voice dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes and reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve her pack of cigarettes. Thumbing it open, she reached in and pulled out one of its contents and pressed it in-between her lips, biting lightly on the but before patting herself down and letting an exasperated growl escape past her loosely clenched teeth. “You seen my lighter anywhere?”

Patrick chuckled as he looked at the hotel room. A dump of epic proportions. The wallpaper was torn, tattered and stained; it was hard to tell what the original color was, but odds were good it wasn’t the piss-yellow it had become. The carpet likewise was filthy, stained with splotches of colors ranging from menstrual-blood-red to semen-white to a putrid, vomit-green. The curtains and blankets were littered with moth holes and the whole room reeked of death.

“Still better than David Johansson’s apartment, eh?” he offered in response, before reaching into his pocket and coming back up with a zippo lighter. He waved it in front of his face, pulling it back as Flannery reached for it. “No smoking. Didn’t you read the sign?”

“Fuck the rules. We have money now.”

She reached once more the lighter and snatched it out of Patrick’s hand. Flipping it open, she strikes it and lowers her face towards the small flame until it engulfs the end of the cigarette. She closed the lighter and took a few steps into the decrepit room, placing it on the table about an inch away from a coffee stain. Scanning the room, she took a long drag, pulled the cigarette from her mouth, and blew a thick gust of smoke. “Come on, don’t you want to enjoy all the amenities fifteen bucks can buy?”

“I spent fifty for the room,” Patrick muttered as he crossed the threshold and entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Jesus! I get we have money to burn now, but we don’t want to throw it all away on bullshit, right?”

“In my defense, I was not expecting this.”

“What were you expecting from a shitty little motel off the interstate in the middle of scenic nowhere?”

“Something that shouldn’t be condemned, preferably.”

“Whatever.” Flannery took another drag and took a seat on the bed. “The way I see it, this is the best case scenario.”

“And I thought I was the cynical one.”

“Hold on a sec, hear me out. You ever see that movie Vacancy? Where the couple stops at that one motel in the middle of nowhere and it turns out its some front for a snuff film ring? That’s the worst case scenario.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Piss off.”

A silence falls over the two as the glare past each other, the only light in the room coming from the lit end of Flannery’s cigarette.

“Is there even an ashtray in here?”

“Nah, I’ve been stamping out the ashes when they fall on the floor.”

“Right, make sure you keep up on that shit. Don’t want the room catching fire.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not keen on dying here.”

“I believe you.”

“Oh, get out of here with that. It’s your fault we’re even here. We could’ve just switched and you could’ve slept in the passenger’s seat.”

“You forget that I’ve seen you drive.”

“Asshole.”

“Idiot.”

“So, how much money do we have? Y’know, as Patrick and Flannery Kissinger?”

“Quite a bit.”

“Yeah, thanks. I got that much. Jesus, why don’t you ever tell me anything?”

“Because the less you know, the better our schemes play out.”

“One time, I accidentally drop the ball and you hang it over my head ever since!”

Flannery groaned and tossed her half smoked cigarette on the ground before snuffing it out with the sole of her shoe. Patrick stifled a laugh and climbed into the bed.

“Get some sleep, Flannery. We’ll be outta here soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Prick.”

Now, jump to the present.

Hello, XWF.

Why yes, I’m aware of my shortcoming in my grand debut. Am I disheartened? Not a chance. Why should I be? Fernando fizzled out just like I predicted and Hysteria used his signature

strength. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Not quite like losing to a little girl, now. Oh, hello Cain. Hello Lucius. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Patrick Kissinger. You may have heard of me, you may have not though in actuality it really doesn’t matter. Because, you see, by the end of the night Wednesday, you will know me. And while you’d love to claim to differently, there’s no outcome to this match that doesn’t involve my hand being raised in victory. It’s, simple really. Figuring the outcome, that is. All you need to do, is pay attention.

I don’t put my faith behind such flawed, archaic beliefs like Lucuis Fyre and I sure as hell don’t make excuses for every shortcoming like Cain.

Oh, who to talk about first? The man who doesn’t bother saying anything at all, and will persist that way until the day of our match where he’ll walk in and be immediately destroyed? Or he who talks too much without saying anything at all? Why, I’m positively torn. Though, I guess I ought to start with the more worthwhile of opponents.

Cain. You’re so very confident, aren’t you? Need I remind you of where that confidence left you last week? Defeated and subsequently humiliated by a little girl and yet you puff out your chest and look down on Lucius and I? Well, okay. I guess I can concede that even after during what you’ve endured you can still look down on him. But me? No sir. I can see it. Hell, everyone can see it.

You’ve fallen and you can’t get back up. No matter how desperately you claw to get your spot back as someone to take seriously, you just can’t quite reach it. So, you lash out at me, thinking you can intimidate even though there’s no reason for me to fear you. No matter how close it looks like you are to standing, you’ll fall once more and the process will repeat itself once more, never to end.

This is your fate already. All I’m doing is perpetuating it.

So while you want to hide from your failures and say things like “Iris Oppenheimer didn’t beat me,” for this week and this week only, I’ll be standing on the other side of your arguments, saying three simple words.

Yes she did.

That’s how life works. You underestimate anyone, anything, and you fail because of that? They win. They beat you. I can’t believe I have to explain to someone who claims to have lived for millennia. Though, I guess I’m talking to a brick wall, aren’t I? He won’t learn from his mistakes, no matter how many pile up. He’ll go right back his ways. Underestimating everyone even when he’s in no position to do so.

It’s sad, really. How far gone he is.

And then there’s Lucius Fyre.

Truly, what is there to say about him?

That he’s a failure? Well, he is though I’m pretty sure that’s obvious to just about everyone.

He isn’t as smart as he likes to think he is? Again, obvious.

Christ, I can’t think of anything. Thankfully, he’ll never give me a reason to think too hard about him.

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