Sloooooooooooooow fade-in.

We see a picturesque Christmas cabin, on a beautifully snowy hill.

…

Actually, I’ll just show you.



Look at this majestic scene right here! Straight outta Norman Rockwell, huh?

Paper-white bits fall from the sky, gently, falling weightlessly in front of the camera!

The scene slowly steps back from the cabin…

This is a storytelling device, ya see. We’re about to show someone entering onto this dreamlike wonderland of a cabin!

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?”

The camera pans out a little quicker.

…It turns out ‘the cabin’... is a poster on a wall.

The bits of snow were three fellows in ‘Optimal Path’ t-shirts sprinkling handfuls of torn, papery bits, just in front of the picture, to create the illusion of a beautiful winter scene.

In fact, we’re in Florida, at XWF Headquarters.

The whirring of t-shirt presses! Dozens of hands sliding fabric into iron-on presses! Sweat pouring from foreheads, as these people have been working their hands to the bone.

Printing off Mark Flynn merchandise.

Speaking of Flynn, he stomps up to the three. He’s sporting his trademark sunglasses and suit. And his face is pink with unbridled rage. Like a semi-cooked Christmas ham.

The three simps in Optimal Path t-shirts that were scattering paper in front of an office poster for fun, suddenly trip over each other trying to bow down to Flynn harder than the other two.

Flynn snaps his fingers.

A moment later, Irwin, the head simp of his brigade of sycophants and boot-lickers is one step behind him.

“Who are these three FUUUUUUUCKFACES?”

Irwin points. “Oh, well, that’s Jerry, Todd an-”

Flynn snaps again, petulantly. “I don’t give a shiiiiiiit what their names are, Irwin. Who are they to MEEEEEEEEEE?”

…Irwin looks down at his keyboard. “Volunteer #117, #231 and #185. From left to right.”

“There we go.” Flynn beckons the three closer. They step up, eager to bask in the shine of Flynn’s brilliance.

“Do you know what time of year it is, boys?”

“...Well, of course!” Jerry Volunteer #117 offers. “It’s the happiest time of year!”

Flynn grins widely, reaching into his pocket, unfurling a paper... “That it is, one-one-seven, that it is. Because it is…”

Flynn SLAPS the paper stuck to the wall! Plastered over the winter cabin!

It’s an order sheet for Optimal Path products.

“THE HOLIDAY RUSH! We’re talking action figures, t-shirts, postcards, souvenir mugs… ‘TIS THE SEASON TO MOVE THE PRODUCT, BOYS. TO GENERATE REVENUE. We have a DUTY… to our mouth-breathing… sixty-IQ… MORON fans. To fill their stockings with MERCHANDISE. Every child that wants a fuckin’ Tickle-Me-Elmo instead of a Raion Kido daily inspiration book… Every kid that wants an art kit instead of a Latina Submission Machina DIY Facepainting-for-Luchadors-and-Luchadoras color set? That’s MONEY being STOLEN from our pocket. We have half-of-the-fucking-planet HOOKED to the DRUG we sell. That’s what this season is all about, Charlie Brown. To keep the PRODUCT in their veins, keep the ACTION on their minds, and keep our HANDS in their wallets…”

Flynn exhales angrily, as he stares at the order list. Some of the items are genuinely in the millions of pre-orders to satisfy.

“We’ve got BILLIONS of dollars to make this month. To do anything less… Would SHAKE the confidence of our shareholders. If the shareholders lose their confidence, they will sell. And if they sell, we lose company value.”

Flynn spins back toward his three eager simps.

“And you three boys…” Flynn smiles warmly, patting One-One-Seven on the cheek. (as he’ll call himself from now on. “With your monkeyshines and your tomfoolery…”

…

Flynn grabs One-One-Seven’s face and sticks his foot behind the simp’s ankle! He SHOVES his face and the simp lands backwards on the ground!

“ARE FUCKING WITH MY GODDAMNED BOTTOM LINE!”

One-One-Seven cradles his skull, agonzied when he landed skullfirst on the concrete floor.

“ALL THREE OF YOU GET BACK ON THE ASSEMBLY LINE!”

The other two simps drag a moaning, bleeding One-One-Seven away, back into the gaping maw of the industry that is the bowels of the production room.

Irwin coughs.

Flynn spins on him. “THOUGHTS, Irwinner?”

Irwin immediately covers his face with his clipboard.

“Well handled, Mister Flynn. As always, brilliantly motivating. Tough but fair.”

…Flynn grins.

“God, I love this job.”

“...But I do think th-”

“I don’t pay you to THINK, Irwin.”

“...You don’t pay me at all, Mister Flynn. I do this out of admiration.”

“...Ah, that’s right. Then, go ahead, I guess.”

“I believe that, maybe, these unpaid volunteers… might have just been looking for a way to make the tedious, repetitive labor… more fun.”

Flynn looks taken aback. “How is feeding yourself gainlessly into the machinery that is a perfectly optomized corporation NOT fun?”

Flynn spits, as he seethes downwards toward the collection of people, all working themselves to the bone for no money, entirely because Flynn told them to.

“Goddamn millennials.”

“I do think there’s some merit to, maybe, giving the volunteers a… short break.”

Flynn cranks his neck 120 degrees around like an owl hearing a sound in the night. He stares daggers through Irwin’s clipboard.

“I-I-I only mean, sir. I’m sure that a 15-minute break would improve morale and productivity! I’m sure… *some*... of your volunteers are feeling lonely, spending this time of year on the production line.”

“...Ah.” Flynn snaps his fingers. “Of course, you mean Winter Solstice.”

“...Well, I guess. I meant more like Christm-”

“YOU. MEANT. WINTER SOLSTICE.”

…Flynn wraps an arm around Irwin’s shoulder, who shivers terrified.

“The merriest, most non-denominational time of year. A holiday that does not exclude any customer and MAXIMIZES REVENUE.”

“...Yessir, of course, sir. But, I do feel like our workers might enjoy a fifteen-minute break. To call their families and wish them a Merry… Winter Solstice.”

…

Flynn strokes his chin.

…

“Or… y’know. Eat lunch.”

…

“For the first time in two weeks.”

…

Flynn nods.

Irwin delightedly rushes to the wall and pulls a string.

A workhorn, embedded into the wall, covered in cobwebs, blows loudly!

The dozens of simps look up, perplexed as to what that sounds means.

“Fifteen-minute break!” Irwin calls out. “All thanks to your philanthropic leader, Mark Flynn!”

The simps immediately slap their hands together, like trained seals, applauding the Universal champion.

Flynn grumbles, already furiously. You can feel his mind calculating every wasted second with indignant rage.

The simps continue to waste their fifteen-minute break applauding the object of their worship, as Flynn turns on Irwin.

“I want this place running DOUBLE-TIME after this…” Flynn spews this word like a slur. “...hiatus.” Irwin nods with a meek salute.

…Flynn walks away, still awash in adulation and applause. And disappears behind his office door.

Flynn takes a seat in his luxurious, midnight-black leather office chair.

…

He snorts out like a mad bull.

…

“Okay, that’s gotta be 15 minutes, right?”

He checks his watch.

…It’s been 38 seconds.

“GRAGH.” Flynn leans back in his chair, exasperated.

…

Flynn folds his arms over his chest.

“...Well, if those fucking SLOTHS are going to take a break…”

“Might as well take a…” Flynn double-checks his watch again. 12:15 PM

“14-minute nap.”

…Flynn clicks a few buttons, setting an alarm for 12:30… He presses his boots onto the surface of his desk…

And shuts his eyes tight.

***

“Ahhhhhhh, Atara Themis!”

“Atty Raven!”

“THE GREEK GODDESS!”

“Take a seat, please.”

“Y’know I was really feeling like I was losing my mind for a minute there…”

“Every fucking underling CRETIN walking through my fucking door…”

“Marf Swaysons…”

“Dick Powers…”

“Mieky Graves…”

“Came in with a dynamite sales pitch. ‘My product works great!’, they say. ‘It’s good enough to sell ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE…’ they claim.”

“...But, then, I run the numbers.”

“And the surefire moneymaker? Is a lemon. A scam. A FRAUD. A FUCKING SWINDLE.”

“Dicky, Mieky and Sicky, despite claiming they were on my level… That they’d EARNED my job as THE MOUNTAINTOP™…”

“Each came in to our match with a below .500 winning percentage. A combined record between the three of 57-76-5.”

“They hadn’t earned SHIT.”

“Their product was SUB-PAR.”

“And when they tried to make the climb? I wiped them off the fucking mountain.”

“As easily as I would brush flecks of meat off the corners of my mouth.”

…

“BUT! It’s the start of a new fucking day! AND A NEW FUCKING TIER OF BRAND QUALITY!”

“I mean, here I am, lil’ ol’ Mark Flynn, a humble CHAMPION OF THE UNIVERSE AND MASTER OF REALITY.”

“Sharing a room with a RAVEN!”

…

“Not by blood, but by marriage. But still, Atty! You’re wrestling-fucking-royalty! Shacked up with the People’s GOAT… As Jimmy-Jam likes to call himself…”

“Hell! Even before you became Jamesy’s broodmare, popping out the Wrestling World Champions of the 2040s and beyond… You’re Atty FUCKING Three-Belts!”

“...I mean, you held the three least prestigious titles all at the same time (Shooting Star, Internet and Freestyle). Two of those belts don’t fucking exist anymore… And the third is, as we speak, being freestyle rap-battled over.”

“BUT STILL. You’re Atara Themis. You are BELOVED the industry over. SURELY, your brand is FIRE, Atty!”

“Well, at this point, I’m just building up suspense so let’s get into your star-studded metrics…”

“It’s finally time, Atty! For a star-studded… BRAND EVALUATION™.”

***

Chirp.

Flynn’s finger efficiently press onto his wrist, clicking his alarm off.

…His face contorts, enraged.

“WHY DON’T I HEAR ANY FUCKING WORK HAPPENING?”

Flynn’s eyes open.

…His lights are off.

“...AND WHO TURNED OFF MY LIGHTS? WE’RE STILL ON THE CLOCK, PEOPLE. IT’S ONLY…”

Flynn glances down at this watch.

It is, in fact, 1:30.

…

AM.

…Flynn peers confused.

…

“I slept for 12 hours.”

…

“GooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOD DAMMIT.” Flynn stands up, punting his executive chair over onto his side. He lifts… and FLIPS his table.

“Irwin… and his FIFTEEN-MINUTE BREAK. I am going to SKIN HIM ALIVE. I’m going to TEAR HIM IN HA-”

A cold, eerie wind rushes through the room, scattering papers.

“...And they left the A/C on when they left? Do they THINK I’m MADE OF MONEY?!?”

“Maaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn…” Calls out a distant whisper.

Flynn peers perplexedly.

“Someone out there? Working late?”

The sound… of rattling chains.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyyyyyynn…”

WHAM! A thump against the office door! It startles Flynn, who dives behind his turned-over office desk.

“Go away! Better yet… Get back to work!” Flynn calls out over the desk!

Fwsh! At once the office door unlocks… And the chains rattle closer.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaark Flyyyyyynn… It is I!”

Flynn peeks over the table and is astonished. Before the Uni champ, stands… actually, floats in mid-air… A thin Korean man in military fatigues!

“Your former partner, North Korean War Criminal!”

Flynn squints, astonished.

“NK?!? I thought I kil-… I mean, I thought Theo killed you! …Using me.”

“That all transpiiiiiiiiiired, yeeeeeeeeees!”

Flynn gasps. “So… you’re a ghost! Come to haunt me from the netherrealm! And warn me that I’ll be dragged to Hell in chains for my sins!”

NK clears his throat. “Oh, ridiculous, Mark Flynn! Pish and posh! As a citizen of Glorious True Korea, I believe in no afterlife at all! Let alone Hell…”

…Flynn squints confused. “...Wait, if you don’t believe in an afterlife… How do you explain being a ghost?”

“I choose not to think about it!” NK lifts a finger in the air, triumphantly, like he’s perfectly answered this question.

“...Ah… Then, where’d the chain come from?... If not the gates of Hades itself?”

“Home Depot. I brought it for Dramatic flair!” Rattle-rattle. “For you see, Mark Flynn!” NK says, hovering over him, rattling the chain once more. “I am here to show you the error of your waaaaaays! You have been corrupted by capitalism!”

…Flynn sneers. “Oh, fuck off, you leftist.”

NK is taken back, dropping the chain, gasping. “Mark Flynn! Language!” NK reaches behind his back and retrieves… a glass jar labelled ‘Swear jar’. The War Criminal shakes it in front of Flynn.

Flynn extends a hand to smack the jar away… But his hand phases right through it.

…Flynn waves his hand through a couple more times.

“...Huh. Neat.”

SMACK! NK smacks Flynn’s hand away! Flynn is shocked, recoiling his struck hand, fanning it cool with the other, nursing it under his armpit.

“Mark Flynn! You won the Universal Championship, destabilizing the power structure that held down non-traditional talent like us… And then, after you won. You immediately BOUGHT IN and strengthened the power structure. After YEARS of insisting that Universal champions were Hollywood divas and marketing tools… YOU BECAME A HOLLYWOOD DIVA AND MARKETING TOOL.” War Criminal shakes his head, tsk-tsking. “You were supposed to destroy the capitalist machine, not become one with it! What happened to your grandiose notion that a universal wrestling champion should be a wrestler first and foremost?”

Flynn scoffs. “Oh, can it, NK. You’re just JEALOUS of my success. You had every opportunity I did to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and win this Uni title. What stopped you, huh?”

NK coughs awkwardly. “...Mark Flynn, you threw me through an electrical box when I tried to cash-in my title opportunity.”

…

“Feh. Typical millennial excuse. In your shoes, I would have WELCOMED… getting thrown through an electrical box. You young people don’t know how to take the opportunities you’re given. You want everything served to you on a silver platter. Well, life doesn’t work that way. I worked my ASS off to get this belt. And if I had to throw you through four or five more elec trical boxes to get it, I WOULD HAVE.”

…The War Criminal wrinkles his nose, disgustedly. “Dear Glorious Leader… Mark Flynn, You used to be…” NK scratches his ghostly chin. “I mean, not a *good* man. But, you were a MAN. Not some profiteering, oil-baron-esque snake creature! What *happened* to you?”

“SUCCESS™ happened to me, NK. THE OPTIMAL PATH™ happened to me. I BECAME A SUCCESS STORY™. And you? Became a FOOTNOTE in the LEGEND of my ASCENT TO GODHOOD. TRIVIA. Nothing more…”

LIGHTNING STRIKE.

…Flynn ducks behind the table, frightened.

The tips of NK’s hair light with sparks… He seethes down furiously at his partner.

…NK shakes his head.

“I did not come here to watch an old ally choke on his own excess…”NK spits, venomously and disappointedly. “I simply came to warn you… That, this night, you will be visited by three spirits."

Flynn squints. "Isn't Dock already doing the whole 'Christmas Carol' thing?"

NK waves his hand dismissively. "His match is supposed to be Twas the Night themed! It's not our fault he can't read."

"Regardless, these Spirits of…”

“Spirits of Winter Solstice.”

“...Fine. Without their guidance, your soul shall be dominated perpetually by the capitalistic evil that has taken it.”

Flynn sputters. “Look, NK. I get that you probably have a lot of free time on your hands as an unemployed CORPSE. I am a BUSINESSMAN. I don’t have time for drop-in appointments!”

“Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one, Mark Flynn.”

NK glides backward… And phases through the door…

Flynn sneers…

He slams open his door.

He dashes down the stairs to the assembly line…

“First ghost, huh?”

He starts tossing over packaged merchandise. The XWF Official board game. An ocean of XWF Pop! Figurines…

“When the bell tolls one, huh?”

Paydirt. An officially licensed Ring Master WarGames Ghostbuster tie-in set!

…Flynn smiles.

"I ain't afraid of no ghost..."

***
“Y’know, what the hell, I’m in the spirit of the holiday.”

“(that holiday being WINTER SOLSTICE™.”

“If some fuckin’ ghosts are about to go over MY past, present and future… LET’S GO ALL IN ON YOURS!”

SLAM!

“Let’s see… Atara Themis! XWF Debut: 10/31/2019! Halloween Night! How spooky! And with an XWF win-loss record of…”

The creature flips open the folder on his desk.

…

……

“25-30-1?”

“...Check my fucking math…”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Atty?”

“At this point, am I getting fucking PRANKED here?”

“How is this mathematically possible? Mathematically, if one of you loses, someone else has to win, right? How the FUCK are ALL OF YOU UNDER .500?!?”

“...Shit, hang on.”

…The simulacrum slinks from his desk and disappears off-frame to the right.

……
In a flash, he’s back with a bigger folder…

“Okay! Okay Okay Okay!”

“I ran the numbers on my own records, Atty! I figured if I came back under .500, CLEARLY the method of compiling people’s records is faulty.”

“...And you know what I came back with? What XWF record I calculated for ol’ Mark Flynn?”

“64-24-1.”

SLAM! The larger folder smacks against the desk with a thud.

“THAT’S WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT, BABY. That’s a goddamn legendary career right there.”

“Meanwhile, if we check your stats… JESUS. How thoroughly mediocre.”

“0-3 in Universal Title matches.”

“0-4 in matches against the reigning Uni champ.”

“And a ONE-AND-ELEVEN RECORD AGAINST FORMER UNI CHAMPS.”

“CHECK. MY. FUCKING MATH.”

“You have ONE win over a Uni champ. Warstein. March Madness 2020. X-Treme champ. And he basically wrestled, handcuffed and one-legged. Cashed-in his briefcase later that night. That’s the ONLY way, UNDERCARD ATTY, could beat an ACTUAL FUCKING OPPONENT.”

The creature slides the two folders side-by-side.

“Atty. Check my fucking stats. MY Singles record against former Uni champs? 10-2-1.”

“I’ve beaten Corey Smith AND Robert Main. The #1 and #2 Greatest wrestlers in XWF History. I’ve beaten 17 names on the XWF Top 50. Who the hell is the biggest name you’ve beaten? Big Preesh? Fuckin’ OSWALD? Barney GREEEEEEN.”

The creature spits bitterly.

“Atty, you’re a fucking joke. Your past is humiliating. You’ve had FIFTEEN TITLE SHOTS IN THREE YEARS. This is despite effectively being a part-timer for MONTHS ON END…”

“And somehow… Some way… You’ve lost NINE OF THOSE MATCHES.”

“Big Match Atty has an even worse record in title matches than she does in regular matches… And why? Because you’re JAMES RAVEN’S WIFE.”

“Because you married into being a draw.”

“Lot easier than doing it on your own, I imagine.”

“I wouldn’t know. I HAD TO WIN TO GET MY CHANCES.”

“That’s your past, Atty. Humiliation after humiliation. Failing upwards in the ring because someone ACTUALLY TALENTED put a ring on it.”

***

SLAM! The bathroom door gets kicked open!

And Flynn is in a brown jumpsuit, wielding a proton pack…

He squeezes and pulls up the waist. It’s a little small on him.

“Snug, but I’ll make it work. Thank God we only sell these in a Child’s Xtra-Xtra-Large… Goddamn obesity epidemic.”

SWHOOOOOOOOOM! Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open! A glorious, white light fills the bathroom.

“Uh, occupied!” Flynn says, as he squeezes the rubber ball of the proton pack! The light display on the side of the pack flashes yellow…

“FLYYYYYYYYYNN! Your past awaaaaaaaaits!”

Yellow…

Flynn furiously pumps, sweat running down his face!

A light fog rolls in on the roll… A shadowy looming figure emerges…

GREEN!

“HAHAHA! SUCK IT, PAST! MY TIME IS NOW!” Flynn cackles as he thrusts the proton pack’s barrel up at the spirited intruder.

Flynn pulls the trigger!

aaaaaaaaAAAAAAND!

…

A spritz of water shoots out.

…Flynn murmurs disappointedly, dropping the pack to the floor with a thud.

“…Sigh. I should have known they wouldn’t sell a positronic particle accelerator in a package marked ‘For Ages 8-12’…”

“Time is short, dude!”

The Spirit steps into the light.

…

“Let’s rock!”

“…Vinnie?” Flynn squints. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be running your all-women football league further into the ground?”

…Lane looks slightly irked by the insinuation that LFL isn’t going swimmingly… But gathers his composure.

“No no, Flynnerino! You see I merely APPEAR as rockin’ dude, Vinnie Lane! I am, in fact, the Spirit of Winter Solstice Past!”

Flynn squints suspiciously. “Oh, really, now?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I’m here to show you where your moral mandolin went out of tune, my dude.”

Flynn exhales. “Makes sense YOU’d be the Past, Lane. You’re IRRELEVANT. Your whole persona is 40 years out of date…”

WHAM! Lane grabs Flynn by the shoulder…

“ROCK WILL NEVER BE OUTTA STYLE, BRO-HAM!”

Taking Flynn’s shoulder, Lane does the Wayne & Garth dissolve.



…The bathroom shifts and lurches! Space time wraps around the pair…

And the scene melts into… A dingy, grimy street. Car alarms and dimly-lit alleys…

“This scene look familiar, Flynn?”

Flynn squints, perplexedly.

“It looks…. kinda like the hellhole of a town I grew up in…”

“Correctamundo, dude! We’re in Battle Creek, circa 1985! One of the best years, imho.”

“...Sure. But… It’s a little…. Different.”

“Oh, totes. Everything probably looks smaller, cuz you’ve grown up since then!”

“No, not that. I’m pretty sure Battle Creek was never populated by this many… Muppets.”

In fact, the dingy, poorly-lit crime-infested Battle Creek of days gone by… Is entirely populated by beings of felt and Googly eyes.



“Dude, I have made it very clear what my favorite Christmas Carol is. Don’t kill my vibe, yo. At least until we get to Beaker and Professor Honeydew.”

“…Sigh. Fine.”

Lane claps his hands together.

“Now! We step onto this scene where we meet a Mister and Mrs Flynn…”



…

“Ok.”

“And their precocious, six-year-old pride and joy… Lil’ Markie!”



…Flynn irritatedly side-eyes Vinnie. “Is that fucking goat supposed to be me?”

“Hush, dude. I’m setting the scene. Now, from a young age, lil’ Mark loved wrestling.”

The two muppets are on each side of Mark, holding hands... er… horns.

“Well, that local wrestling show was AMAZING!” Cheers Mrs. Flynn… “But, should we have taken lil’ Markie out so late on a school night.”

Mr. Flynn shakes his head, exaggeratedly, like a puppet performing for the children in the back of the theater. “Come now, dear! You know Markie would stay up all night crying if he knew he was missing live wrestling! It’s pretty much the only time he smiles. Right, Markie?”

“Baaaaaaaaaaaah.”

Flynn glowers. “Straight out of Norman Fuckin’ Rockwell, Vin. But, can we speed this the fuck up?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Flynn, because heeeeeeeere comes trouble!”

The Flynns continue walking down the street, with flickering overhead lights…

“Come on, we parked just around the corner.”

“I feel like we should have parked closer, Dear.”

“$2 for a spot? In this economy? Absolutely not.”

As the family turns the corner, they run straight into…



A no-good-nik. With a big iron.

“Your money or your life.”

The well-to-do Flynns shiver and quake in fear.

“Oh goodness… We’d love to give you money, in exchange for our lives… But… We just paid the last of our pocket change to get into that wrestling show.”

…The shadowy goon clicks his tongue.

“Shame.”

BANG!

Fluff and felt bursts into the air! Mister Flynn’s skull splits completely in twain!

“No!” Mrs Flynn howls, in the most profound pain. She dives forward for the gun… Wrapping her little felt mitts around it.

“GIVE IT UP, LADY.” Barks the criminal.

“DON’T HURT HIM! NOT MY BABY!” But, her little felt hands cling for dear life… Until…

BANG!

One in the gut…

Of Mrs Flynn.

White fluff unfurls to the pavement as Mrs. Flynn lifelessly drops to the street.

The brazen murderer, unfazed by his double muppet-homicide, holsters his gun.

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

And with that, the scum disappears back into the shadows.

The goat muppet stands over the corpses of his loving parents.

His hooves press against them, desperate for them to rise.

He turns toward the moon, distant and ambivalent to fate’s cruelty.

“BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Lil’ Markie bleats mournfully.

“Duuuuuuuude. *sniff*.” Lane dabs a tissue at his eye. “This day, lil’ Markie was lost. And Mark Flynn came into being. His loving parents lost, he turned to the sport he loved: wrestling.”

“...Lane.”

“And he would turn wrestling into a symbol that would inspire the people of Battle Creek to take back their city from the criminal scum that so cruelly parted him from his parents.”

“Lane.”

“But, then here comes Muppet Blair Sully to bite off Flynn’s di-”

“LANE.”

Lane spins toward Flynn, irked. Clearly, he felt like he was on a roll.

“May I make a quick note?”

“...Uh. Sure, dude.”

“This is supposed to be my past, right?”

“Ch’yeah, dude! I only present the shadows of the things that have been. As they are that they are… like, don’t harsh on me, yo.”

Flynn strokes his chin.

“See, that’s interesting. Because….”

Flynn waves his hand, gesturing at the tragic scene of a Muppet Goat mourning his deceased Muppet parents.

“None of this. Absolutely NONE of this happened.”

…Lane double-takes at the scene.

Then, back to Flynn.

“You sure, dude?”

“Am I sure that my origin story is just Batman with a wrestling spin? And that my parents didn’t die in FUCKING CRIME ALLEY?” Flynn points emphatically.

Indeed, the street the stand on is called Crime Alley.

Running across Tragic Backstory Avenue.

…Flynn nods. “Like 85% sure.”

…Vinnie lowers his rock-and-roll bandana an inch to scratch his forehead.

“...Okay, full discloshe, Flynn dude? I was supposed to research your whole back story to handle the Flashback dealie… But, something came up.”

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Lane is at his computer reading an email.

“Sah-weeeeeeeeeeet! Help Flynn see the error of his ways? AND save Christmas Winter Solstice! Hell yeah, dude! The LFL can wait! This is priority number one for me! I’m going to spend the next two weeks FOCUSED, yo!”

The intercom buzzes. “Mister Lane, you have a package on your desk.”

…Lane tilts his head a few degrees from his computer.

Atop his desk… In plastic wrapping.



A pristine, untouched paddleball.

…

“Okay.” Lane exhales. “The kids need me. SantaWINTER SOLSTICE FIGURE needs me!”

…

Lane picks the paddle off the table.

“One quick go.”

ONE WEEK, SIX DAYS, TWENTY-THREE HOURS AND FORTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER

“Two… Thr- SHOOT!” Lane frustratedly tosses the paddleball on the table.

NOW

“It was, like… Mondo importante, dude.”

“Uh huh.”

“And it WASN’T paddle-ball related.”

…

“Welp. Dag, yo.” Lane snaps his fingers.

The mysterious fog evaporates and the two find themselves back in the bathroom.

Lane bites his lip.

“Uh… So. Did you, like, learn the error of your ways and stuff?”

…Flynn tilts his sideways at that ridiculous question.

“...No.”

Lane valley-girl scoffs. He glances at his watch. Almost 2 am…

“...Shoot. Well, uh… If the next guy asks, could you tell him, like, I totally nailed it and you’re gonna, like, volunteer at a soup kitchen ‘n stuff?”

Flynn exhales.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lane extends his pinkie and thumb and shakes his fist. “Radical. Thanks, Flynn.”

And in a puff of smoke, Lane is gone.

…

Flynn’s hands rest on his Ghostbuster costume’s collar… And in one motion, he tears the clothes outfit off. It comes off in strips, like it’s made of tissue and asbestos.

Which, knowing Flynn’s labor standards, it might be.

“Hmm.” Flynn says, briefly naked as a jaybird, before retrieving his suit from the hanger in the stall he had just changed in.

“So, Ghostbusters didn’t stop a ghost…”

…

A moment later, Flynn is dressed, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

…

Flynn snaps his fingers.

“Got it.”

In a flash, Flynn retrieves his phone from his pocket…

And starts googling…

‘Pol-ter-geist…’

***
“But, the past is the past, right, Atty? After all, I’m bringing up ancient history! Nowadays, you’re main eventing crossover shows on the biggest stages in the industry!”

…

“Admittedly, your hubby Jim-Jim still gets top-billing. But, hey! A payday is a payday!”

“Maybe Atty is a late bloomer…”

“Why don’t we check the present? Her most recent title match for example…”

“BAD MEDICINE 2022.”

“In one corner, you had the defending champs… A ragtag odd couple: Johnny Madison, Junior and Angie Vaughn. A team that disagrees on whether or not they’re dating, let alone proper in-ring tactics.”

“And challenging them, you had Atara… AND THE MOTHERFUCKING PEOPLE’S GOAT, JAMES RAVEN.”

“Holy fucking shit, Atty! Can you ask for a better partner than possibly THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED PARTNER IN WRESTLING HISTORY?”

“Not only that, but Maddy cut a dogshit promo. Like his heart wasn’t even in it. It was going to be one-on-two. And, I can’t overstate this, the side with two had JAMES FUCKING RAVEN.”

“How could anyone fuck this up?”

…

“Atty found a way.”

“Atty No-Belts was presented the tag belts on a SILVER FUCKING PLATTER. And she and Jimmy Ray SHAT THE FUCKING BED.”

“That’s your present-day, Atty. That’s how you’re coming into this match. Record your podcasts, rule over wrestling Twitter, post those GIFs…”

“Turn heads… OUTSIDE THE RING.”

“Because inside it? You are, as you’ve always been…”

“ME.”

“DEE.”

“OH.”

“KUR.”

***

Flynn is back in his office… Sitting in the chair he’d knocked to the ground earlier. He’s taken a letter opener and start carving it against his corporate nameplate…

He’s shaving off pieces. And fashioning it into a… Tee.

Flynn holds it up to his face to admire it.

“A cross. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

…And right on time, Flynn’s wrist chirps. He stares down at his watch.

2 AM.

Like clockwork, the fog rolls into his office.

Flynn defensively raises the cross in front of him.

“THIS HOUSE… IS CLEAN.”

Despite his cross, the fog rolls in.

“Flyyyyyyyyyynn. I’ve come to show you things as they aaaaaaaaare.”

A figure looms just outside his door.

Flynn stabs the cross forward “POLTERGEIST! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU.”

“Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynn.”

…

“Pretty sure, that’s from Exorcist, not Poltergeist.”

“...Sigh.” Flynn exhales, tossing the cross to the ground.

…Emerging through the clouds of vapor… It’s…



Theo Pryce!



…Sort of.

An automaton with Theo Pryce’s live face rolls in through Flynn’s office door.

“Flynn! It is I! The Ghost of Christmas Winter Solstice Present!”

…

Flynn squints.

“Theo, what the fuck is this shit? Why are you a robot?”

…

“Did you finally give up on your human body? Not efficient enough for you?”

Flynn flicks the face of the robot-on-wheels.

“Don’t do that.”

…Theo clears his throat.

“Unfortunately, my upcoming film is going through a brief scheduling of reshoots and I am unable to save the holiday in-person. Fortunately, I have a controllable teleproxy for such situations where I have to be in two places at once, as I often do as XWF COO.”

…Flynn’s forehead throbs angrily. He draws his face right up in front of Theo’s webcam.

“Oh, right. Mister Hollywood, Theo Pryce. How is your Oscar speech coming along?”

Pryce warmly smiles. “You mean, how is the film going? Thank you for asking. It’s so outside of my traditional wheelhouse. As a COO, I’ve gotten used to doing the organizational labor, rather than providing the creative energy as I used to as a wrestler. Even on my first day, I w-”

“On your FIRST DAY.” Flynn cuts in, drawing his face even closer to the robot’s. Pryce pauses, vexed. “You went to set and were given a shooting schedule of various locations you and your co-stars would be shooting.” Flynn emotionlessly recites. “Well, you’re looking over the shotlist and you think, well, this doesn’t make sense logistically at all. The first scene of the day requires make-up that they’ll have to take off, then put back on for the fifth scene of the day. So, you call the crew together to re-organize the shoot. It took an hour and a half, and by the time you were done, you were ONLY 30 minutes late to your own scene.”

…

Pryce’s eyes narrow, sternly. “...Yes. How’d you know that?”

Flynn pinches the sides of his forehead. “You said the same FUCKING story on late night two nights ago, promoting your big movie’s premiere.” Flynn golf-claps twice, his whole demeanor bubbling with disingenuous sarcasm.

Pryce’s lips purse. “I take it you weren’t a fan of the segment, then.”

“Oh, how could I not have been? After all, Fallon LOVED it. He laughed almost as hard as he laughs at EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” Flynn stomps his feet, fake-laughing, pressing his nose into the Theo-bot's webcam.

…Pryce sighs. “Well, should have known you wouldn’t be in the mood for idle chatter. All business? Fine. Let’s get to it.”

A thick fog rolls into the office once more…

The walls fade backward… And as quickly as they do, a stoop appears before Flynn and Theo(-bot). A set of concrete stairs. A metal rail. A push-door.

Above the stoop is a tattered, withered banner.

‘True Korean Wrestling Gym’...

…Flynn strokes his chin.

“Oh. Wait, I remember True Korean Wrestling…”

Flynn climbs up the stairs of the stoop.

“This was the company NK ran before he signed an XWF contract last year. Pissing off Americans in high schools gyms all across the country.”

Theo smiles.

“Yes, Flynn! This used to be your tag-team partner’s passion project.” The robot rolls up behind Flynn. “But, when you threw him into an electrical box, th-”

The robot bumps into the first step… Then rebounds off.

…Theo frustratedly presses a button. The robot rebounds off the step.

…

Theo clears his throat, tapping the screen

“Flynn, could you… um… Carry my teleproxy up the steps?”

Flynn grins fiendishly, pleased to see his friend-slash-adversary helpless, even if not physically. “What’s wrong, Theo? I thought this teleproxy was a perfect solution to you not being present? Did you not account for STAIRS?”

…Theo squints.

“Flynn, I asked because it would be easier with your help. I, of course, have a solution I can implement on my own if you so obstinately insist on being a thorn in my side.” Theo hammers a few keys on his keyboard.

…FSSSSSSSSH! Bursts of air erupt from the bottom of the teleproxy… lifting it into the air!

Flynn backs up, amazed, as the machine gently rockets a few inches off the ground.

Theo smiles.

“There, see. Now, let us enter the gym of True Korean Wrestling…”

Theo presses forward… The robot surges forther.

“And see how your selfishness and green has affected those around y-”

The robot… is just a few millimeters short of clearing the stair.

The thing’s wheels trip. It lands face-first…

…

As its circular trashcan body rolls back down the steps.

…

***

A few moments later, the door opens. A number of young athletes in tights have entered through the front door.

Behind them, Flynn rolls in, a cylindrical trash-can looking robot over his shoulder.

As the wrestlers close the door behind them, Flynn (unseen) sets the robot down. Its wheels set creakily on the floor.

“Thank you...” Theo begrudgingly nods.

Flynn ruffles the top of the robot’s head.

“Like that jail cell in Colorado, Pryce. Always need ol’ Mark to bail you out.”

“ENTER, YOUNG TALENT.”

The wrestlers head down the hall… Pushing past a set of double-doors…

To a smaller-than-traditionally-so wrestling ring. Surrounding by blue gymnastics mats.

In the center of the ring…

Is The War Criminal’s second-in-command, Kato! Standing beside an easel covered by a tarp.

“Come, come! We have no time to dilly and/or dally!”

Flynn’s eyes widen!

“Oh shit! K-Man! I haven’t seen him since…” Flynn trails off.

“Since you electrocuted his commander to near-death?”

…Flynn side-eyes Theo. “Don’t make me kick you over, Pryce.”

The wrestlers all surround the ring.

Kato is sporting a megaphone and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

“Gather, gather!”

The talent steps through the ropes and joins the True Korean’s number two in the squared circle.

Flynn rolls up to the side of the ring and peers upwards and inwards.

“Man, Kato… Good guy. Level-headed. NK’s voice of reason.”

The wrestlers all chitter and chatter under their breath, as Kato walks over to the easel.

“You all must be wondering what the ad I put in the local paper referred to. ‘Unique, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be remembered in wrestling forever!’...”

This quiets the group.

Kato pulls off the sheet.

It’s a black-and-white picture of NK.

“This is…” Kato’s shaky hands pull off his sunglasses.

His eyes are beet-red. From constant weeping.

“My commander. My l-l-leader. The sun whose journey we all followed… *sniff*... that would lead us to a brighter tomorrow…”

…Flynn’s smile fades.

…

Kato closes his sunglasses and places them in his pocket.

“This man… The greatest man I have worked under. Was struck down at the precipice of greatness…” Kato gently grips the beautiful NK in-memorium picture, before setting it down against the ropes.

“BY THIS COWARD…” Kato strikes his finger against the easel.

Behind the NK picture is a snapshot of…

You guessed it.

Mark Flynn. Smiling. Sunglasses. Selling the Optimal Path.

“This DEMON. This JUDAS… (if you’ll pardon the religious allusion)... Gained my commander’s trust. Rode his coattails to victory.”

Flynn’s eyebrow twitches. “*I* rode *NK’S* COATTAILS…”

“And STOLE MY COMMANDER’S UNIVERSAL TITLE SHOT…”

…Flynn scoffs.

“I pledged the day I lost my commander… That I would devote my every waking breath… My every thought. TO STRIPPING MARK FLYNN OF HIS ILL-GOTTEN GOODS. TO TAKING EVERYTHING FROM MARK FLYNN… AS HE HAS TAKEN FROM ME…”

…Flynn pulls out his phone… Pulls up a Note labelled ‘Winter Solstice Card List’...

And deletes Kato’s name.

“And, with one of you… The best among you… I shall impart upon you what I learned being so close to Mark Flynn… His weakness! And the means by which we shall liberate him from his falsely-earned gold!”

…A wrestler in the ring raises his hand.

Kato is surprised. “Erm, yes! A question? A comment? Or, perhaps, a pledge of loyalty to our mission?”

The wrestler coughs. “Is this gig paid?”

…

“Er… Pay?”

The wrestler reaches into his pocket and unfolds a slip of paper “The flyer said, untold riches await those who answer this opportunity…”

…Kato stammers. “W-w-well… When I said, untold riches, I meant the riches of doing the right thing! Of avenging a fallen hero wh- HEY! WAIT!”

Before Kato can justify his false advertising, the dozens of wrestlers are all making a clean break for the exit!

“NO! I NEED THE STRONGEST AMONG YOU!” Kato tries to grab one by the arm.

“Get off, you little weirdo!”

WHOOSH! Kato gets shoved back against the ropes! Trips over his own feet…

SMSH! And lands ass-first…

Onto the in-memorium NK picture.

“COMMANDER!” Kato is immediately weepy, he spins, alternating between cradling the picture to his chest… And dusting it clean with his tears. “I-I-I-I… I am so sorry… I c-c-c-an’t believe I’m failing you… When you n-n-n-need me most…” Kato lies, defeated in the ring as the talent pool recedes back outside.

…Outside the ring, Flynn bites his tongue.

“...Shit.”

…

“Look, Kato just doesn’t get it. NK *would* understand, right? He and I both knew how important the Uni title is…”

…

Flynn scratches his head.

“I mean, I know NK’s ghost told me earlier tonight that I’ve lost my way, but…”

…

Flynn exhales.

“Did I fuck up?”

…

“Well, Theo? I’m genuinely asking if I’m in the wrong… Here’s your chance to rub it in.”

…

“Theo?”

Flynn checks over his shoulder.

The Theo-Bot’s back is turned, facing the corner.

“You get stuck on the carpet or something, R2?”

Flynn walks up behind it.

“-ee, that’s the thing about this part, Stephen. It almost feels like I’m not acting at all. Sometimes I get so deep into the scene, I forget I’m not Phillip. You see, my last film, on the set of TimeSplit, the director and I ag-”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU’RE ON COLBERT RIGHT NOW?”

“...Er, one moment, Stephen, I’m so sorry. *click*” The robot spins around.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THEO.”

The on-screen Theo pulls down his headset and tries to assume a somber, ghostly voice.

“You see, Flynn. Your actions have hurt those you once called friend. And now, y-”

“NO NO NO.” Flynn shakes his finger in front of the robot’s face. “WE’RE DONE WITH THAT NOW.”

Flynn covers his face with both hands. His face is turning purple he’s so angry.

“See… Theo.” Flynn exhales, squeezing his fists. “The thing about being the Ghost of the Present? YOU NEED TO BE IN THE FUCKING HERE AND NOW FOR IT.”

…

Flynn smiles, still gritting his teeth angrily.

“But, that’s never been your vibe has it? Let’s get real FUCKIN’ honest, Theo. Who’s in your circle of friends? Who would count on you for help that you’re letting down right now?”

“Dolly is on relapse number eight this year and disappeared into fucking rural Kentucky. Who knows what cult or pyramid scheme she throws in with next, but she’s lost and helpless.”

“Thad is so desperate to make you proud as his weird surrogate business daddy that he bought a stake in OCW just to play dress-up as Lil’ Theo…”

Flynn covers his mouth like he’s telling a secret.

“By the way, I dunno if you remember what happened to his real dad, but I’d watch out for that.”

Flynn grits his teeth.

“OH WAIT, YES, YOU FUCKING DO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. YOU WERE THE LAST GUY OL’ PAPA DUKE SPOKE TO BEFORE HE AND HIS HEAD PARTED WAYS.”

“Luca is missing, presumed dead. Azzy Erebus shot off like a rocket-man into the Sun. Madison is serving a life sentence. And poor Vinny really thinks his all-women football league is going to work out financially.”

Flynn shakes his head.

“And here you are. Giving it 15% at all times. Putting in just e-fucking-nough that people think you’re the voice of reason around here, Theo. The glue that holds all the madness together.”

…

Flynn draws the robot screen right up to his face.

“Well, that glue has gotten weak, Theo. You can play office manager for your new kids, The Trilogy. And maybe you’ll even keep them happy with occasional midcard title shots… But, at some fucking point, Theo. You’re going to get tired of them being human and flawed. Just like you do everyone else.”

“Just like you did your ol’ pal, Flynn. The one who bailed you out of a Colorado jail cell. The one you ABANDONED after YOU fucked that Trios Title shot.”

…

“You’re NEVER going to drop that, are you?”

Flynn scoffs.

“Someone needs to keep track of everyone else’s transgressions, Theo. And I’m the fucking recordkeeper around these parts.”

…Pryce bitterly sighs.

And on his keyboard, he hits escape.

In a flash, Flynn is back in his office.

Alone.

…

Flynn glances at the Uni belt hanging on his mantle.

…

And sighs.

***

“And as for your future Atty? Does it look bright? Sure, you’ve had a hard road… But, I mean, things are only going to get better with age, right At-At?”

“After all, you’re only… 27! You know what they say about women in entertainment! The older, the better!”

…

The creature smiles bitterly.

“I’m joking, of course. Ask any former teenage Hollywood starlet. By 24, you’re considered used goods and tossed into a fucking geriatric facility as your body atrophies into total averageness.”

…

“Or, even worse, you start directing.”

The creature chuckles as he reaches into his desk drawer…

“You’re past your prime, whenever that was. I guess that half-hour that you had three belts, like, a year ago?”

“But, now, you and Jim are raising your brood of future-entitled wrestling royalty. Everybody loves babies. Surely, a bundle of joy every eighteen months will keep you in the limelight, right?”

The homunculus scoffs, shaking his head.

“Unfortunately, no. See, the trick to royalty… Is POWER… And… as a POWER couple…”

The monster retrieves from his desk… A miniature guillotine.

“You and Jimmy are running dangerously low on the stuff…”

The creature’s haunting guillotine sits atop the desk.

“Hell, even Jimbo Raven, that talent rocket you attached yourself to… Sure seems out of fuel recently…”

“He was eliminated FIRST at the Tara Fenix Charity Event, representing CCPE.”

“He got pinned in four minutes flat, by Johnny Madison’s doofus son.”

“And even when he does find the will to cut a promo on time, he’s usually slurry-drunk as he does it…”

The monster reaches back into his desk…

And retrieves…

Dolls.

Two dolls.

One man. One woman. Gleaming, frozen smiles.

Both with small plastic crowns resting on their heads…

“See, that’s the thing about royalty, Atty.”

The monster slips the male doll’s neck into the small model guillotine.

“It looks real glamorous from the outside. When you’re a fucking peasant, scraping together wins against gutter-trash and losing against everyone worth a damn. I imagine you see an overrated slob like Raven and think…”

“That guy’s got it. The looks. The physique. And the smarts… I mean, you can’t deny…”

The creature’s cheekbones lift into a grin…

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

CHOP.

The monster reaches into the basket the size of a thimble under the guillotine. And retrieves the doll’s smiling, disembodied skull…

“Or rather, he used to…”

“Now, you’re in the royal family. And you’re learning Prince Charming is an over-the-hill drunk. Desperately clinging onto his relevance by taking an executive position in WGWF. Feeling his greatness atrophy and die.”

The creature tosses the male doll into his trash can…

Before moving onto the female doll…

“Are you wrestling royalty, Atty? Perhaps. Are your worthless, shitty broodspawn royalty? Yep. Is your drunk, slovenly, overrated husband? Fine.”

“But, after you lost to Angie and Maddy? The gold on your crowns are rusted.”

“The Treasure Room of the woman once called Atty-Three-Belts… Sure doesn’t have much around her waist these days…”

“Except maybe a belly band for pregnancy weight…”

“And people don’t tolerate weak royalty, Atty.”

The freak slips the female doll into the guillotine. He reaches down… And retrieves the doll’s crown.

“Lose too many times and you lose your crown.”

CHOP...

“Among other things.”

The creature takes the tiny circular crown.

Pinching it on both sides like a wishbone.

And snaps it in half.

“It’s time for a revolution, Atty.”

“No more kings.”

“No more queens.”

“ONLY THE OPTIMAL PATH.”

“EQUALIZING.”

“ACCESSIBLE.”

“FAIR.”

...The Creature slides the dolls off the desk and into the trash can beside his desk.

"Atty. Since I came back, I've beaten the very best of the past (Kieran King), the present (Charlie Nickles), and the future (Raion Kido)."

"And all I can say about you? Is that your time is up."

***

Chirp.

3 AM.

The fog rolls i-.

Before it can even finish the effect, Flynn’s door pops open.

“Let’s get this over with.” Flynn pulls his arms through his coat as he closes his door behind him.

“I take it you’re the ghost of Winter Solstice Fut-...”

Flynn turns around.

And finds himself face-to-face with…



…

Flynn sighs, slightly off-his-game, but still some confidence up-his-sleeve.

“Okay… So, what are we gonna see now, huh? Some match I’ll lose four years from now? My body in an unmarked grave? Some meeting of talentless hacks I’ve beaten all whining that they would have beaten me if they had one more chance?”

…A bony hand extends outwards.

And snaps.

In a flash, Flynn finds himself in a graveyard.

The fields are white. The grass long-since dead. The ground is bare and lifeless.

The only thing present…

Headstones.

…Flynn exhales.

“Fucking called it.” Flynn spins on the Future Spirit.

“Oh, woe is me!” Flynn presses the back of hand to his forehead, in mock drama… “Someday, I’ll DIE!” Flynn spins, as if his whole world is ending….

“OH, TO BE CONFRONTED WITH MY OWN MORTALITY…”

Flynn drops to his knees, grasping his hands in the most desperate prayer.

“PLEASE, SPIRIT! Are these portents of things that WILL be? Or only what MAY be? I beseech thee! Tell me I won’t really die! Tell me I’ll just go live on a farm with big fields I can run all-day in, like my childhood pet goldfish…”

…Despite Flynn’s over-the-top, melodramatic speech, the Grim-Reaper-looking spirit remains unmoved… Pointing forward ominously, with a single bony finger…

Flynn sighs, and stands up, dusting off his knees.

“Look, I get the song-and-dance here. We gotta go through the motions. Just don’t be surprised when that take is better than anything *genuine* you’ll get outta me.”

The Spirit points once more ominously.

Flynn sighs. And follows his finger, stepping forward.

Flynn finds himself walking among the gravestones, the reaper gliding behind him…

“I’m just saying… Have I MAIMED a few people on my SUCCESS STORY? Yes. Should I have NOT ended NK’s career? Debatable.”

Flynn calls over his shoulder. “But, THAT is the beauty of the Optimal Path. The choices I made have culminated in the most dominant Universal Title Reign of All-Time. You want an omelette without breaking any eggs? You’re gonna go hungry.”

Finally, the pair stop.

At a headstone.

Flynn side-eyes ‘Death’.

“Look, I already got the twist. It’s my grave. Wow, crazy. Can we skip this bit already?”

…

The bony finger remains pointing forward.

Flynn sighs.

“All right. Your funeral.”

…

“Er… You get what I meant.”

Flynn steps forward as leaves dance across the grave, clearing off the engraving on the headstone…

The headstone reads…

MARK FLYNN_ _ _ _ _

Flynn yawns.

…Until more leaves clear off the stone.

MARK FLYNN’S UNI TITLE REIGN

“nooooooOOOOOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO!”

Flynn dives on top of the grave, like he was breaking up a pinfall… He scratches the headstone.

“No NO NO NO NO No NO. NO NO NO!” Flynn smashes his fists ineffectually against the stone.

“No… I can’t lose this belt… Not after what I’ve done to get it.”

…Flynn spins and points at the Spirit.

“YOU! What do I gotta do, huh? When does it happen?”

The Spirit’s finger unfurls back into his hand. He hovers silently over Flynn

“OH! Mister Pointy wants me to walk all the way to my title reign’s fucking grave…Then, I guess your fucking job’s done, huh?”

Flynn grips the figure by his robe…

“WHO DOES IT, HUH? Chuck? Maddie, Junior? Kiki? I’LL PUT THEM ALL IN THE GROUND!”

The Spirit remains silent, his face shrouded.

“Some kid who hasn’t been called up yet? Like King Herod himself, I’ll have every son killed if that’s what it takes to keep my fucking gold!”

…

Flynn throttles the Spirit.

“ANSWER ME. WHO DOES IT?”

…Flynn shakes the Spirit once more.

And the hood drops.



“hey.”

Flynn screams.