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Over 23 hours ago…

Sayors gripped the limousine’s leather armrests, terrified.

Oh God. Gunn’s a psychopath…

He’s had a whole week to consider different torture techniques…

…He’d SHOOT me if Mister Pryce told him to!

His name’s LITERALLY GUN.

With an extra N! That’s MORE threatening!

Steve quietly hyperventilates, imaging every depraved act Gunn might partake in…

Pistol-whipping.

Neck-wringing!

Waterboarding!!!

…Perhaps even…

…GASP! VERBAL ABUSE!

Steve nearly vomits… His whole body quakes, tremoring in an all-encompassing dread…

…

He shakes his head.

Get it together, Sayors… You’re safe.

You’re the trophy fiancee-slash-human-pet of an international toilet paper #BossBitch.

Gunn may be the XWF’s hunting hound… But even he knows better than to risk pissing off Du Toilette TP… The XWF’s most lucrative corporate sponsors!

Steve’s constantly-present flop sweat subsides from ‘gushing’ to a more casual state of ‘exuding’.

“-ow, this one!” The Lawyer cuts in. “Is to establish an LLC that’ll assume the debts of your own current company…” A contract flips across the limo’s ample space… Claudette, Steve’s future…

…Wife?

…Benefactor?

…Owner?

…To Steve’s great shame, ‘Owner’ felt most accurate.

Miss de Toilette focusedly pulls down her glasses over her nose, taking in every LETTER of this contract. Consuming every inkblot to ensure its absolute PRECISION!

Steve’s face reddens. He probably should have been paying attention during this…

…Whatever it was.

Tee-Bee-Aitch, Steve was so preoccupied by his constant primal terror, that he’d actually completely forgotten WHY Claudette had picked him up, WHAT this meeting was for and WHERE the limo was headed.

…Believe it or not? Wasn’t the first time this happened to Steve.

One time, Steve was in a crowd of people, following a DC Wrestling News story, when it occurred to Sayors that he hadn’t seen a dentist in twelve years.

He became completely preoccupied with the thought of hypothetical cavities… if he’d need a root canal… praying his new dentist would like him.

…Long story short, he followed the crowd and had a dental panic attack…

In the middle of the White House on January 6th.

“-ow, this one!” The Lawyer continues schmoozingly, with car salesman swagger, as he retrieves the contract Claudette just signed, immediately replacing it with another one. “*This* contract schedules your finances to be transferred on a biweekly basis, reducing your taxable income in whatever country *just* had their tax season!”

…Steve suddenly sweats.

Wait, WAS I supposed to be paying attention? Is that why I’m here?!?! To offer input?

Steve’s mouth just went dry as the Sahara.

Oh God, I think I’ve been sitting in this car for forty-five minutes! And I haven’t said a word!

…

W-w-wait! Think, Sayors! Claudette told you never to speak! Obviously, that rule applies now!

...Right?

“A beautiful signature, my dear!” The lawyer compliments Claudette’s handwriting, the same way a photographer might compliment a model… “Finally… at your request!” The Lawyer nods, bending at the neck, as he slips over one last document.

“Your Pre-Nupital Agreement!”

Claudette stares icily at it, before groaning testily.

“Mustn't the worm… be here to sign it as well?”

…

Steve coughs.

“U-u-uh. I’m here… honeypants?” He says, testing an affectionate petname, (since they are engaged, right? (couples do that?))

…

[Steve’s never been loved]

“D-d-do you want me to s-”

Claudette spins on Steve, horrified.

On the ‘horrified expression’ scale, she’s somewhere between encountering a cockroach in your Panda Express and discovering a home intruder standing where your sleep paralysis demon usually sits.

“JESUS AITCH CHRIST, STEVE.” Claudette screeches, her fists clenching defensively, like her instinct was to punch Sayors in the face.

…

Somehow, she resists the urge.

Her disgusted scowl remains.

“How long have you been here?”

…Steve sniffs.

“U-uh… Since you picked me up?”

“I *personally* requested that we pick him up, my darling!” The Lawyer grins, again pushing the contract forward. “So, we could get this signed and filed!”

…Claudette side-eyes Steve, like one might a particularly pungent fart expelled by a man who only leaves home to cut YOU off in traffic.

…She grits her teeth, but nods.

“Excellent thinking, Cunningham.” She draws the contract closer to her eyes…

…The Lawyer leans over, delighting in Claudette’s digestion of the documentation.

“Exactly as you described it. In the event of your eventual(-slash-inevitable) divorce from Mister Sayors… You shall keep all of your assets and more.”

“Perfection.” Claudette nods, signing her name on the dotted line.

…Sayors’ eye twitches.

“Wait, what does ‘and more’ mean?”

The Lawyer tries to push the contract toward Steve, but Claudette immediately cuts in.

“Steve, you do EXACTLY as I TELL YOU TO DO. If I say jump, you jump! If I say DIE, you DIE. And I’m telling you, NOW! To sign this cont-”

…BEEP. BEEP.

…Claudette checks her watch.

“Ah! Time for my meeting with the other TP CEOs.” Claudette wrings her hands fiendishly. “My final acquisition… They’ve come to beg me not to wipe them from the COMMODE OF BUSINESS ITSELF!”

The Lawyer coughs, keeping a smile on his face. “Naturally, my dear. But, first, your… beloved should si-”

Claudette snaps twice!

IMMEDIATELY, the limo goes from 50 miles-per-hour to STOPPED ON A DIME!

Steve flies, slamming his face against the partition, then rebounding backwards into his seat.

The Lawyer clung to his seat for dear life, but still looks quite jostled!

…Not a single hair’s out of place on Claudette’s head.

“Get out.”

…

“What?”

“I’m off to conduct business, Steve. I’ve no use for you at the moment.”

…Steve glances back down at the texts.

No. Nononononono. He can’t be alone now. Not with Tommy Gunn hunting him.

Steve puffs out his chest, in a desperate attempt to appear more masculine.

“Uh… Actually… sugar-squirrel… Perhaps I might accompany you! To your meeting! After all, perhaps you’d impress these… assuredly-inferior competitors with your new beau by your side.”

…

Claudette blinks.

Before reaching for her side door.

And pressing down a lever.

Steve’s chair…

…Flushes.

And Steve shoots down the bottom of the chair.

And gets pumped out the door.

He rolls, ass over teakettle, landing with his own junk in his face.

“W-w-wait!” Steve calls out as the vehicle starts to whir. He grabs it, clinging for dear life! “I-i-i… I treasure you! Please, what will I do without you? …Sweetums?”

The window rolls down.

SWICK! A piece of paper’s flicked into Steve’s face.

“For the LOVE of GOD, Steve. There!” Claudette spits. “Your allowance! Watch a motion picture! Buy a tiger! ENTERTAIN YOURSELF AND I WILL FETCH YOU IF I WISH.”

“Wait, Madam! The… uh… the pre-nup!” The Lawyer calls.

“LATER!” Claudette hisses.

A moment later, the window’s up and the limo’s two blocks down the street.

…Steve seizes… Inescapable doom overtakes him…

…Until he sees the paper on his chin.

…

A check.

For $500,000.

…

Sayors checks his watch.

Oh God. Eighteen minutes!

Sayors breaks into a sprint!

---

Sayors checks at his watch.

It took Steve fourteen minutes to run a quarter-mile to the nearest XWF Credit Union.

[He’s in TERRIBLE shape].

Still! Four minutes to spare! Before Tommy Gunn presumably apparates from thin air and MURDERS him.

Or, even worse… VERBAL ABUSE!

Thank GOD! A slow day at the bank!

Indeed, the lobby was empty. The teller’s desk had an open sign resting on it.

“Finally!” Sayors says, as he breaks into a meek jog. “I’ll be free of this awful debt!”

Sayors reaches the desk and, for the first time in maybe nine months, allows himself the smallest smile. “I’m home-fre-”

The teller’s chair spins around.

And sitting in the chair.

“HAHA! STEVE!”

It’s… Some Guy.

Some Guy?

Yeah, him.

“NO!” Sayors pounds his fist on the desk, in complete despair. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

YKW lifts his hands defensively, his delighted smile becoming one of bemused confusion.

“STEVE! WHAT’S WRONG?”

“WHAT IS IT NOW, HUH?” Steve spits, pointing in accusation and terror.

“WHAT’S ‘WHAT’, STEVE?” YKW asks, genuinely perplexed by this response. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“FIRST, YOU PUT ME $500,000 IN DEBT WITH THE XWF! THEN YOU MAKE ME SELL MY SOUL FOR DARK MAGIC! THEN YOU DOX MY FEET PICS ONLYFANS! THEN YOU MAKE ME BELIEVE THAT I’M MADE OF CAKE?!?”

Steve reaches down, unzipingp his trousers.

“SO WHAT MORE? DID YOU REPLACE MY PENIS WITH AN ORNAMENTAL FABREGE EGG, HUH? DID YOU STEAL MY KIDNEY THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES AGO AND WILL NOW PRESENT IT TO ME IN AN AVANTGARDE ART INSTALLATION, ENTITLED “STEVE’S FATHER NEVER LOVED HIM”? WHAT NOW, YOU GODDAMNED DEVIL?!?” Steve screams in  an empty bank, with his pants around his ankles.

…YKW glances around, slightly blushing.

“STEVE! THIS IS ALL CLASSIC SAYORS FUN, BUT…” YKW lowers his hand, like ‘keep it down, (while still talking in all-caps). “PLEASE! NOT WHILE I’M AT WORK, BUD!”

…

Sayors squints, confused.

…

“What?”

“STEVE!” YKW nods, grinning… As Sayors lifts his pants back around his waist. “YOU KNOW I LOVE YOUR HUMOR! BUT I CAN’T BE PULLING SHENANIGANS AT THE OFFICE LIKE THIS!”

…

Steve coughs, rezipping his pants.

“...But… why are you a bank teller? You’re a… wrestler?”

…

“And… y’know… the richest man in the world?”

“TRUE AND TRUE, STEVE!” YKW flashes a grin. “UNFORTUNATELY, I’VE ALREADY DATED EVERY BACHELORETTE IN THE HEIRESS COMMUNITY… AND THE XWF’S ELIGIBLE DATING POOL IS SIDNEY GREY.” YKW shrugs. “WHO, heh, YOU KNOW ME, STEVE… SHE’S A LITTLE YOUNG FOR ME.”

…Steve scratches his head. Utterly lost.

“...Dating?”

“YOU WERE RIGHT, STEVE. I GOTTA GET BACK OUT THERE AFTER MY ONE BILLION GIRLFRIENDS DUMPED ME. SO, NATURALLY...” YKW gestures up and down at himself, like the solution is obvious. “BANK TELLER!”

“...You became a bank teller to get… dates?”

“STEVE. STOP.” YKW shakes his head. “YOU’RE TOO GENEROUS WITH YOUR ATTENTION. IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME..”

…

“It’s not?”

“YOU SPRINTED IN HERE, A WADDED CHECK IN YOUR HANDS, SCREAMING AND UNZIPPING YOUR PANTS?” YKW shakes his head, tsk-tsking. “FOR A BANK TELLER LIKE ME, IT’S A TALE AS OLD AS TIME.”

…

“I SEE IN YOUR EYES.”

YKW looks deep into Sayors’ terrified, beady, rat-like eyes.

“DEEP INSIDE. YOU’RE AFRAID.”

…Steve sharply gasps…

“...I am.”

…YKW nods knowingly.

“YOU’RE AFRAID THAT WOMEN ONLY WANT YOU FOR YOUR LOVEMAKING ABILITIES.”

…

“...Sorry, what?”

“I KNOW, STEVE.”

YKW sighs bitterly, staring into the middle distance, as a piano twinkles in the background.

“I KNOW BECAUSE I’VE BEEN THERE MYSELF…”



…

Y’know what? Nope. We’re not doing this.

Steve scoots the check across the desk, refusing to acknowledge the song he just heard.

“Cash this check.”

YKW snaps his fingers, giving Steve a finger-gun. “YOU GOT IT!” Before disappearing into the bank’s interior.

…

Steve sighs, relieved.

Finally… Freedom…

…

A moment later, YKW is back.

…Empty-handed.

“UH…” YKW scratches his head, smiling embarrassed. “SORRY, STEVE.”

Steve squints, confused. “S-s-sorry? For what?”

“I CAN’T CASH THIS CHECK.”

…Steve hyperventilates once more.

“Wh-wh-what’s the problem? I… Claudette wrote the check! You know I’m dating her!” Steve’s fidgeting fingers rush to his pocket! “Call her! She’ll verify I’m no thief!”

…YKW sighs bitterly.

“STEVE.”

…

“THE ACCOUNT’S BEEN DRAINED. ZERO BALANCE.”

…Steve’s mouth drifts open…

“...That’s impossible.” Steve shakes his head. “Claudette is worth billions!!!”

“SHE WAS… THIS MORNING!” YKW shrugs as he flips his computer screen toward Sayors…

…

Zero dollars and zero cents.

…Steve’s eyes widen.

“No… NO! It’s ME!” Sayors falls onto his knees, as two shadowy figures creep into the bank behind him! “I ruined her! I RUIN EVERYTHING!”

As he weeps on his knees, the duo gets closer.

Closer…

A hand on Sayors’ shoulder!

“AHH!” Steve swats helplessly, eyes closed in terror. “TOMMY! DON’T KILL ME! I JUST DESTROYED MY WIFE!”

…

“Sir?”

…Steve’s eyes slowly open.

…Two cops.

“Steve Sayors?”

…

“Uh…” Steve tries to straighten his tie, standing up. “That’s me.”

“Claudette de Toilette’s Fiancee?”

“...Yes?”

“She’s been found… Murdered.”

“…What?” Steve blinks, hopelessly lost.

“You’re under arrest.”

…

“ALSO! WE HAVE TO CHARGE A $75 BOUNCED CHECK FEE.”