Olive Pendershore, stood in the center of her bedroom, which was far too pink and purple for her taste and stared down with disdain, at the bottle of prescription drugs in her hand. Reluctantly, she removed the cap, shook out a single pill into her free hand and glared at it. This one tiny, little thing was supposed to make her all better but how did she know that she was sick, one day she simply woke up in a mental institution, with no memory of how she got there. Only to be told that she had been there for five years. Five years?!?! What the actual fuck?!?! For several months afterwards, she was mentally prodded and poked, in the most passive aggressive way possible, which by the way, is still pretty god damn excruciating and should be listed as its own means of torture. All in the name of returning her memories and granting the glorious gift of insight, light to a darkened room... if you will, to no avail. Which was a disappointment to all but no one more than Olive.


They claimed she did something awful, tragic even but no one could explain any further than that and utterly dismissed her queries away, with a slight wave of a hand, a smile and a reassuring statement. Most commonly being "You'll remember... in due time. This gave Olive, no comfort or solace, of any kind. Instead it simply blended in with the rest of the torment that came from being locked away in the loony bin. Until salvation arrived in an unlikely form, high on Valium and stinking of Chardonnay, Olive's mother swooped in for the rescue. Her reasons for doing this were unclear, after so much time had passed but Olive didn't complain, who looks a gift horse in the mouth, right?


Freedom was still freedom, even if it wasn't technically free... and hoo boy... it was not free. There were rules and restrictions, guidelines and a certain way things were to be carried out and done, all the basic stuff Olive dealt with before she gave that life the finger back in 2013. With the added bonus of mandatory medication as specified by the hospital and her mother, constantly confronting her about putting on the act of amnesia. Yeah, Olive's mother thought the lost memories and missing five year gap was all a ruse, a show conjured up by an ungrateful, spoiled girl seeking attention. But then, Olive's mother also thought she, herself wasn't in need of a nice vacation at the Betty Ford Clinic, we all tell ourselves whatever we need to, to get by though, perception is everything, correct? So Olive endured this new layer of hell, which wasn't so new at all, rather it was more like an old version that had been revamped or rebooted for a new era and learned to find comfort in the fact that at least in this layer of hell, Lucifer was passed out and dead to the world by 8pm. At least she wasn't stuck in a sanitarium with a bunch of lunatics.


Yet, today felt different, somehow. Ordinarily, she'd pop a pill and go on about her day but today she examined it and wondered, what if this was the reason that she couldn't remember? What if the act was real, it just wasn't being put on by her. What if all the acting came straight from the doctors, the very ones that were supposed to be trying to help Olive, remember? What if they were the ones pretending? Curious. With that thought still fresh in mind, she placed the pill back into the bottle, tightened the cap and stuffed the bottle into her sweater pocket. Now, it was fully in her intentions to walk over to her laptop and do a quick but thorough search on the drug that she's been willingly ingesting, something she should have done ages ago actually but when she turned, a light cast brightly from beneath her closet door, captured her attention instead. Abruptly the door swung open revealing that the tiny room was filled with immense illumination. Standing in midst of the light was a man; however, all that could really be made out past the glow was the silhouette.


Even with that being the case, it could be seen that this man was formally dressed in a fancy tuxedo, wielding both top hat and cane. How strange and yet, not peculiar at all, in a way. One that Olive couldn't quite understand completely but still seemed familiar and fundamentally relevant to the future and what lay ahead. Tilting her head, ever so slightly, she slowly approached the threshold of her closet, hoping to gain some clarity. Woefully, this effort was all for naught. For no matter how many steps brought her closer, her perception never changed.


"Take the pill, Olive."


The voice halted her movement completely.


"Come on. It's better this way. Stay in the dark. This light, it's much too bright for someone like you and you're safer here, why take the risk when you don't have to? It's going to get very dangerous and complicated on this side and you aren't even remotely prepared for such difficulties. Your fragile mind could never handle such a shock and you would be doing more harm than good to yourself and everyone else, all around you. So be a good girl and take the medication."


Olive glanced down, only to see a pill in one hand and an opened bottle in the other but how did that happen? She knew she put the pill back in its bottle, tightened the cap and shoved the bottle into her sweater pocket. Defiantly, Olive stared down the shadow man, with a top hat and cane and stated, matter of fact as fuck.


"No."


"Olive, you don't want to defy... me, of all people. Come now. That's clearly crazy because anyone who wasn't already nuts would tell you that doing such a thing, could only lead to one, very tragic outcome."


"And what's that?"


"If you have to ask..."


The shadow man broke out in a hearty chuckle.


"Well, you are unhinged after all, so I guess someone like you, would have to ask. Simply put with that mind... it's something that you... DON'T EVER WANT TO HAVE HAPPEN!"


Clearing his throat loudly, the shadow man's voice returned to a far more pleasant sounding pitch and even if it couldn't be seen, his tone gave the sensation that he was smiling, almost in a mocking sense.


"Trust me. There are fates worse than death and if any man could make them happen, it would be me. Now, I would tell you not to take my mere word for it but sadly, I don't have a way to communicate with the misbegotten freaks that dwell on my island of misfit toys, so it'll have to do."


Slight scoff and a snicker.


"Take the pill, Olive."


"No."


"Take it!"


"No!"


"I SAID... TAKE THE PILL OLIVE!"


The entire room shuddered from the sound of the shadow man's monstrous bellow. It was funny how his voice could do that. Soft and sweet one instant, to the sound of a billion worlds imploding in on themselves the very next, with an overwhelming backlash sensation that felt precisely as devastating and brutal. Still, Olive never looked away or faltered, instead this outburst showcased one thing and one thing alone. This man... this shadow man was not to be feared, he was weak and she was not. In spite of everything that might make one assume otherwise... she was far from weak. Throwing both pill and bottle at the shadow man, she declared in her loudest voice ever heard, to date.


"AND I SAID... NO!"


Her words were met with immediate repercussions. There came a tremendous roar and then, the entire room burst into flames...


...


Olive shot up in bed and gasped. She was in her bedroom. It was only a dream. Merely a dream and nothing more. Shaking her head, she rose out of bed and threw on a robe over her nightgown, swiftly continuing onward to her bedroom door. But when she went to reach for the knob, she discovered that it wasn't there. Huh? That's weird. She thought. One quick push to the door also established the fact that it was locked, fastened shut and kept secured by something way beyond the capabilities of what any other ordinary, standard locking mechanism would provide. There was absolutely, no give, whatsoever. None. And that wasn't a brand new door, so that feat was mighty impressive. Hurrying to the windows, Olive threw aside the curtains and stumbled back in horror when she discovered, they were covered by bars! Bars! That appeared to be made of wrought iron.


This had to be another dream, right?


All she had to do was wake up. Problem solved.


One quick but firm slap should do the trick.


Wrong.


No matter how many times Olive slapped herself, she couldn't wake up.


"Olive. Stop slapping yourself. This isn't a dream. This is really happening and for your own good, I might add."


"Mom?"


Confused, Olive searched the confines of her room for the source of her mother's voice, yet no matter where she looked, she couldn't seem to locate it. Her mother was nowhere to be found.


"Top, right corner of the room, above your bed. There's a speaker."


Sure enough. There was a speaker.


"Supposedly, a man is going to install an intercom, at some point in the future, I don't know when. Until that happens, you'll only be able to listen. A far better option, currently. Since I assume you have a few choice words for me... that you're now, showcasing via a pair of middle fingers. Yes, there are cameras in place within the room but only for your safety, not to invade your privacy. Listen I know this seems severe but lets face it, you weren't getting any better. And I know, I accused you of lying about the memory loss in the past, allow me to start the stages of rectifying that by saying, I believe you now. Sweetheart."


Sweetheart??? Not even in her mother's most drunkest hour, would that woman ever slur out the word sweetheart and have it directed at Olive.


"Things are going to be different now. I acquired a new medication for you and a nurse will be around shortly to administer it. Trust me. It'll be for the best if you don't make a fuss and willingly comply. I believe, this is the answer and soon everything will return to normal, in due time."


Oh fuck this bullshit. Olive threw back an area rug, next to her bed and lifted up a loose floor board, where she retrieved a cell phone but not just any cell phone, it was her old school flip Motorola, that still was in service and had all her previous numbers saved. Quickly scrolling through numbers, to the soundtrack of her mother's panicked inquiries as to what she was doing, Olive located the one she was looking for and hit - send. It was answered within two rings.


*hushed but stern tone* "Da fuq, Olive??? Do you realize what time it is? I gotta be at work in the mornin' and on top of that, I'm dating Lila now and you calling at this time, doesn't exactly make things all too good for me."


"I know but this is an emergency."


"Everything is an emergency with you. It's 3am..."


"Griffin Timothy MacAlister. Shut up and listen. Something really bad is about to happen. Shit is hitting the fan and I need to get out of my house. I don't know how to emphasize the state of how awful things are but something tells me, if I say that I've been insured that they'll get better... in due time, you'll understand? I'm not sure why? Call it intuition, maybe? I don't know... it doesn't make sense but something told me repeating that would maybe mean something... to you?"


Olive sighed. For a second there was only silence. Then an chorus of "fucks!" could be heard before Griffin finally said...


"Hang tight. Help is on the way. Best be ready to go, when it does."


"Understood."


Changing into a t-shirt, jeans and a pair of Vans, Olive threw a few clothes into a bag and spun around just in time to witness, the impossible happen. Stepping out of nowhere and everywhere, all at once, Azrael Erebus emerged with a smirk.


"Olive Pendershore. It's been ages. Lovely to see you, my dear."


"Yeah, right back at you, spaceman."


*whispered, under breath* "Freak."


"What was that, I didn't quite catch it."


"Nothing."


Sigh.


"Can we get the fuck out of here now?"


"Oh, most assuredly, yes."


With nothing more than a wink and a snap, Azrael Erebus and Olive Pendershore vanished. Precisely at the same instant, the door burst open and a bunch of men in all black uniforms, crashed into the room. A few of them clenched their fists and growled in frustration, while a couple of others shuffled around a tad and one raised a walkie talkie to his mouth, pressing the button needed to transmit sound to another.


"She's gone, Mr. Maximus. The girl - Olive Pendershore is gone. Do you want me to send out a team and..."


"No. Don't bother. I know exactly where she is going or at least, where she will be eventually. Speaking of which, I do believe, I'm late for a wedding reception."

---

"Okay, this is where I'm supposed to speak my mind and say how I really feel, so here goes... screw you management. Seriously? How could you give me a title shot? Were you all drunk and smoking a shit load of crack or something? Did a jet engine fall from the sky and crash through the roof, while you were all having a board meeting of some kind, instantly killing everyone inside, thus forcing Vinnie to activate your less-than-equal, sub-par clones? Don't tell me they don't exist, I seen enough conspiracy theory videos on YouTube to know, all the really important people, have back-up clones."


"To deny it is basically lying or admitting that you're not actually important. And everyone knows Lane doesn't attend meetings, so don't even try to spin this into a scenario where he'd be dead too. No joke, everyone knows, he just has you guys call him and put it on speaker phone. He's at his mansion, penthouse or yacht, playing video games, listening to heavy metal and drinking bubble tea, while you all, sit in a stuffy, dimly lit room and discuss things. With your stale peanut butter and cheese crackers and warm Tang, circa 1985. That's why his job is better than everyone else's. Duh."


"Anyway, whatever reason you all had, it was absurd. I barely show up to wrestle. The last time I had a match was back in April of last year. How low does my participation level have to be in order to make you understand, I am here for the paycheck, alone and random amusement, of course. Half the things I say is out of irony or sarcasm and even then, I don't ever remember saying... I'm back and going for gold! Yet here I am, facing Fuzz for the X-Treme title. This is the type of spot made for Donovan Blackwater or Zane Norrison. Not me. You really dropped the ball this time guys. Shame on you. I actually feel bad for Fuzz now and I was all set to make fun of him and talk shit too. Damn."


"Whatever. I'm over it."


"Look Fuzz, I don't know you personally and you don't know me."


"I know of you and I am aware of your hi-jinx, which gives me the capacity to poke fun and talk shit but that's about it, no har... hahahahaha! Always hard feelings though. Yeah, I don't like you. You remind me of that annoying white rapper. What's his name? Oh right... Bless. Remember him? Sang a track on Def Jam Fight For NY. No? Consider yourself lucky. He was terrible. Anyway, you're fairly insufferable yourself, so you can see where I find similarities and I'm sure when you hear my words, you're going to use the "I'm rubber, your glue" technique but hey, look man. I didn't book this fight."


"Also if it's any solace to you, ninety percent of the population is insufferable to me. I hate people. I am not a 'people' person. At all. When someone I don't know randomly says hello to me, on the street and interrupts my trajectory, I wish I could Darth Vader choke the life out of them. If you ever see me standing in the halls of the main XWF building and someone is talking to me, there's a good chance I'm picturing their slow and gruesomely, painful death. This is an equal, opportunity hate too. So you see? It's nothing particularly personal. You're merely alive and exist in an area where I also happen to exist."


"As for the fight. I'm not an idiot. I talk a lot of shit but even I placed a bet, against myself. Don't worry, I'm still going to show up. I mean, I'm not a pussy and we both get paid no matter what happens, so fuck it. I'll even put on a good show. Make the crowd really believe, I'm in it, to win it. Even if I'm not. Then, I'll get some extra advanced treatment, courtesy of The Elite and tag with Jenny. Against Shane and some other doof. The world will keep turning and life will go on. Hey, but you'll get to say, you got another win. You're still everyone's special snowflake. Everyone's fluffy, snow fuzzy."


"Maybe Noah will buy you a 'World's Greatest Dad' mug in honor of your win and then, take you to get your photo taken together and put on a t-shirt, that you both can wear. To the ring. At the same time. Then when you get to the ring, you both can hug and whoever is fighting, can pass his shirt over to the other. Now wouldn't that be precious. To someone. Else. Not me. Someone will be touched by it though, I'm sure. There are a ton of stupid, easily entertained individuals out there."


"Alright. That's all I got. Laters Fuzzball. You keep doing you, man. All the way until it kills ya. Meanwhile, I'll keep doing what I want, when I want and how I want, with zero pressure or stress involved. To me... that's worth way more than any title. Will ever be worth."