September 18
Neverland


The alien beauty of the amphitheater was truly something to behold. Like a snippet of some fever dream captured and brought to life. The stands were carved into the immense trunks of a circle grove of trees. Each tree must have been at least 500 feet in diameter, and somehow they had formed a perfect ring in the midst of this nigh endless wood. The space in the middle of the ring had been cleared away, so that shows and festivals could be held amidst the grandeur. And to top it off, the bark of the trees flowed with color like spilled oil, making the entire scene look positively out of this world.

Corey could have appreciated it more if he wasn’t currently cuffed and staring down 200 or so young children and adolescents calling for his head.


The crowd roared at Corey. Corey felt himself jabbed in the shoulder by the dull end of a spear, prompting him to walk into the middle of the amphitheater. The clearing had been set up like a facsimile of a courtroom, but using a mishmash of furniture purloined from Earth and made here in Neverland. Corey was prodded over to the “defense” side of the court room and made to sit in a large rotating office chair that looked like it had been left out in the rain. The table before him was cheap particle board, also no doubt originally from Earth. He looked to the empty seat beside him, having been promised a “defender”. But so far no one had showed up.

Corey then looked to a large desk that had been raised up on stilts. Seated atop a ladder just behind it was a boy of no more than 12 who wore a old style judge’s white pompadour wig. Twisted in between the hairs were twines of berries and other natural elements. And he was adorned in what looked to be a barber’s smock. The name plate on the desk helpfully read “Judge Kevin”.

Can I at least know where my defense is? Corey asked the spear wielding boy to his left. But the boy wouldn’t so much as grant him a look. Corey cast his gaze back out at the youth venting their rage at him, calling for him to be banished to the In-Between like Hook had. It was an experience he hoped not to have to endure again.

Just then, he picked up on some commotion just behind him. Another boy had arrived, wearing a straw hat. He rushed into the seat beside Corey, breathing heavily. Sorry I’m late! He jerkily extended his hand towards Corey. I’m Pedro, I’m your uh….uhhhh….

Defense attorney?

Yeah! That!



Great. Corey sighed, sinking further into his seat.

And let me just say Mr. Smith that I am a big huge fan of you! I sneak onto Earth all the time to watch XWF! And you’ve always been my favorite.

Well, thanks. I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.

Don’t you worry Mr. Smith, I’m gonna “defense attorney” the hell out of this case!

Corey cringed. Yeah? And what about the judge? He looks like he may not even have hit puberty yet. What are his qualifications?

Oh, he’s a big fan of that Earth show Law and Order. So we decided Kevin would be the best judge!

Oh, of course! I’m screwed.

You’re not screwed! You’re-

ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT! Judge Kevin belted out, his voice cracking audibly as he hit his desk with a blow up gavel that somehow wasn’t as effective as the real thing. The benefit of course was that it got the throngs of Lost Boys in the stands to finally stop calling for his banishment.

But were they so wrong? I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this.

This court will now hear the case of Lost Boys vee Smith. Corey, how do you plead?

Some of the boys in the stands shouted out GUILTY before Corey could get a word in. Corey looked to Pedro, who seemed to be out to lunch. Corey nudged Pedro’s foot with his own, bringing him back to the present.

Oh! That’s me! UM, NOT GUILTY YOUR WORSHIPNESS!

Judge Kevin leaned over his desk with a sneer. Corey Smith, you stand charged with the death of our beloved Peter Pan!

Raucous boo’s rocked the stands.

Judge Kevin banged his gavel again. THIS COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!

SEPTEMBER 15
THE WAINSCOTT BUILDING

Pan blew the pink dust in the secretary’s face before she could even protest their presence. It had been a small miracle that they had gotten to this point, but between Pan’s magicks and Corey’s fast talking they had reached the pinnacle of the very beating heart of Wainscott’s empire. Now, they stood just outside his suite, with naught but a personal assistant standing in their way.

The pink dust flew up the secretary’s nose and mouth, and she sneezed a bit. Corey was about to start in when Pan raised up a finger to quiet him. Give it a minute.

The secretary started to consider them strangely, and then her features slackened and her pupils dilated into large dark moons.

There we go. Pan clasped his fist together. Ma’am, we sure would like to see Mr. Wainscott. If you could please let us in that would be fantastic.

The woman, still with a miasma of pink dust peppering her lips and nose, slowly got up from behind her desk and walked to the door. Yes. Let you in. She replied dreamily. Then, taking her key card, she swiped it through the door lock and opened the door for them. They all stepped into a large ornate office. That was empty.

Uh, where is Mr. Wainscott?

Oh, he’s not here! The secretary replied, again in that dreamy cadence.

It didn’t occur to you to tell us that before? Corey groused. Come on, there’s gotta be something in here that will tell us where he lives.

I’m surprised Thad’s intel wasn’t able to provide you with that.

Yeah, me too. But apparently the creep is super paranoid. Hell, I would be too after what Lux did to him. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course. But let’s scour the place and look for an address. It’s got to be here somewhere.

We have to act fast, my magicks won’t hold forever.

In point of fact, they didn’t even hold for five minutes before outside forces intervened. Corey heard the telltale sounds of an elevator, nay, multiple elevators on the rise. Racing out of the office and back into the lobby, he sees all four elevators climbing to reach the apex of the building. Corey rushed back into the office, waving at Pan.

We’ve got company! A lot of company!

And we were prepared for that. Pan stepped away from the pile of detritus he had made on Wainscott’s desk and stood shoulder to shoulder with Corey as they waited for the elevators to rise. Are you ready?

We have to be.

The doors opened almost simultaneously, and out of them stepped 18 clones of Dexter Bright and The Engineer, still wearing their dowdy rotund body from the medical examiner’s office.

It was worse than they thought.

The Dexter’s filed into the office, appraising Corey and Pan like meat on a bone. But clearly The Engineer was holding them in check. The Engineer took center stage, standing in the doorway with their hands on their hips, surveying the scene.

You had to know it would come to this. You overplayed your hand coming here.

You wanna talk or you wanna fight? Pan challenged. He assumed a fighting stance, pushing one foot slowly backwards. He spread his fingers wide and then with a bit of flash made two daggers suddenly appear in his hands.

Ooooh! Fancy! Too bad there’s still one….uh….one….plus….

Two. There are two. The Engineer retorted cooly to the Dexter.

Yeah! Too bad there’s only two of you!

I’ve got a little something for that too. Good thing the lighting in here is just right. With that, Pan spoke a series of indesciperhable arcane syllables, and his shadow started to bubble and froth. The Dexter’s stepped back in fear, but The Engineer looked on in what seemed like fascination. Then, from that shadowy froth a form pulled itself up and out, an exact shadow twin of Pan himself, completely pitch black but unmistakeably his profile. Three more shadow Pan’s then emerged, making things a slightly more equitable 6 on 19.

He-he-he’s got HAINTS! One of the Dexter’s stammered fearfully.

Rally, you idiots! It’s just parlor tricks and worthless superstition. Fight like your lives depend on it. Because they do. But remember what we talked about.

Oh, you mean not to…

Shut. Up. The Engineer pointed at Corey and Pan. Restrain them!

On command, the Dexter’s charged Corey, Pan, and the Pan doppelgangers. Corey immediately swept left, Pan right, and the duplicates ran through the middle. It was almost choreographed how smoothly they all broke off to face their respective targets. Testament to the bond Pan and Corey had.

Corey waded into three of the Dexters. One threw a punch and Corey ducked under it, chopping low at his knees before bringing his own knee up to meet the jaw of another Dexter. The third tried to grapple Corey from behind but Corey was able to deep arm drag him instead, which resulted in a satisfying popping sound and a cry of pain from the enemy.

Pan also lunged into battle, leaping haphazardly at a Dexter and plunging both his blades into his chest. Pan then kicked out at another Dexter setting him skittering to the floor.

The shadow Pans were carving their way up the middle, and the Dexter’s had to quell their rapidly rising urge to flee. When they discovered they couldn’t actually touch the shadow creatures, but that the shadow creatures could harm them, two of them wailed in despondancy.

Attack Pan! He’s controlling them! The Engineer called to arms.

The Dexter’s broke away from the shadows and ran at Pan, and Pan became a whirling maelstrom of strikes and counterstrikes. But even he couldn’t keep the momentum going indefinitely. A blow landed to the back of Pan’s head, followed by a punch to his gut that sent him reeling.

Seeing this, Corey shouted out to his friend and tried to break away from his attackers, but one grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in. Corey met this attacker with a swift palm heel strike to the face, but two more grappled him and held him fast.

Not today! Pan cried as he rallied, trying desperately to shrug off his wounds and resume his attacks. Meanwhile however, one of the shadow Pan’s had faded to dust due to Pan’s break in concentration. But the other three attacked the backs of the Dexter’s attacking Pan, two of the enemies receiving blades plunged into their spines for good measure. They called out throaty death rattles as they fell, but there were still so, so, many on Pan, manhandling him. Pan’s blade strikes were getting slower, and before long two more of the shadow Pan’s bit the dust. Literally.

Hes fading! The Engineer cried.

Meanwhile, Corey lashed out with a sidekick on one of the Dexter’s holding him, cracking his knee and forcing him to let go. Corey then reached across to the other Dexter with a throat punch before kicking the other in the side of the head so viciously he dropped like a wet sack of meat. Having freed himself, Corey was able to join the fracas with Pan and his last remaining shadow. But he knew he had to hurry as Pan was clearly feeling overwhelmed. Corey leapt up and nailed one of the Dexter’s on Pan with a leaping neck snap just as Pan sliced another across the throat. But that was when one of the Dexter’s Corey hadn’t quite finished off before surprised him and grappled him from behind.

What happened next played out like a slow motion horror film. Pan swung wide at one of his assailant’s but in so doing lost his footing, causing him the minutest of slip ups. But this was just enough time. Enough time for a Dexter with a gaping stab wound in his chest to somehow rouse and rise up behind Pan. Enough time for him to sink his teeth deep into the meatiest section of Pan’s neck, bite down and pull. And just like that, where smooth skin used to be was now a open wound that instantly starting pushing out blood like a sieve.

Corey’s blood ran cold. He knew he had started screaming but couldn’t hear himself over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

Pan’s hand went to the wound, the blood continuing to flow freely between his fingers as he slumped to his knees, his expression one of shock and pain.

STAND DOWN! The Engineer shouted, and the Dexter’s heeded her call. Corey slumped in the arms of the enemy who was holding him, the fight having drained out of him at the sight of this horror. What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!

I can save him, Corey.

Look, look, LOOK, you can have me alright? You can have me! Just let me get him some medical attention. Please, I’m…!

You’re not listening. The Engineer responded cooly. And youre grossly misreading the situation.

God fucking damn it, he’s dying!

The Engineer was in Corey’s face in an instant. You’re not listening. I can save him. If I bond with him.

Corey, uncomprehending, could only mutter, What?

It wasn’t about you, Corey. It never was. It was always about Pan. Getting Pan to be my next host. With his power and insight, I would be nearly unstoppable.

That’s who you wanted? Corey replied lamely as the truth crashed down on him. She wanted Pan this whole time. And I brought him right to her. Oh God…oh God…

Once I’m bonded with Pan…

Shut up. Corey blurted out. The Engineer looked at him with mild surprise. Corey had been hiding something up his sleeve the whole time. A detonator. He flicked it into his palm. The Dexter holding him released him and shouted.

He’s got a bomb!

The Engineer smiled. So is this your ace in the hole, Corey? You’ve got this place rigged to explode?

No, just you. I have an electromagnetic pulse device strapped under my shirt. I don’t think I need to tell you what that would do to you.

Well, it seems we’re at a stalemate then. You have the means to destroy me. But only I have the means to save Pan. Looks like you have a decision to make Corey.

Pan would never want that. Corey reasoned. He would never want to be one of those things. But…

…what do I want?

I want Pan to have a chance at life. I…I can fix this. I know I can.

But am I being selfish? Would he want a chance at life? Or would he resent me?

He’s bleeding out, Corey.

I know! Corey hollered back. You said you could save him. How?

My nanites can close the severed blood vessels and stop the bleeding until he can get medical attention. Which he will. Very quickly.

How do I know you’re not lying?

Why would I lie? The Engineer looked bemused. As soon as you determine I couldn’t save your friend you trigger that EMP and I would die anyway, right?

Right.

Corey looked down at the trigger. He wondered why the device was trembling, and then realized it was him.

I can’t let you die, Pan.

I’m so sorry.

Corey dropped the trigger.

Do it.

Excellent choice, Corey. The Engineer smiled wide, leering. And it stepped back to the center of the room. The host body then started to convulse, choking up blood before long as the nanites inside him started to detach and flow freely again. The body dropped to the floor, rolling onto its back, as the nanite swarm started to pour out of his ears, nose, and mouth. The body was clearly deceased before the nanite swarm revealed itself in its full glory.

It looked like a BIblical swarm of locusts, bending and curving as though it was a whole sentient being. Which, in effect, it was. Corey looked on, desperate and numb, as the nanite swarm then entered Pan’s body, through the same points of entry it exited its previous host. Pan’s body started to spasm and quake, and once silent, Corey noticed the bleeding had stopped. The Engineer had told the truth.

That was when the vicious blow rained down on the back of his skull, and Corey’s whole world went black. 

NOW

Don’t worry kids, I lived. Although I kinda wish I hadn’t. But that’s another unfortunate story for another unfortunate day. Here, it’s time to talk about Thunder Knuckles. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

So, there’s something I’m about to say about TK that I think is kinda taboo. Something we’re not supposed to talk about when it comes to him. Something we’re supposed to see, hear, and speak no evil about.

Unfortunately I’m in a seeing, hearing, and speaking evil kind of mood. So let’s let ‘er rip.

Your shoot skills suck.

I’m not talking about shooting in the ring. I’m talking about your meandering, thoughtless, rambling dementia patient after a benzo bender promos. You switch more gears than a high performance sports car, and drop half assed bombs and walk away from them without providing any explanation whatsoever. What’s more, you just make shit up. And that I can’t abide.

Especially when we’re talking about your record over me. You see, to the surprise of absolutely NO FUCKING ONE, TK is taking credit for his “win” over me. What’s more, he takes pride in it. He thinks that “win” earned him a shot at the Universal Championship. Despite the fact that he already earned a shot at the Universal Championship, but anyhoo….semantics, right?

Thunder Knuckles, you didn’t beat Corey Smith. Corey Smith beat Corey Smith. And if you think that’s all you need to win this time, well sunshine, I see a pretty grim portent on your horizon. Because I’m not going to cup your hand in loving grace and lead you to a victory like I did the first time. No. This one you will have to EARN. And it’s mighty murky whether you’ve got it in you to do that.

You see folks, when you watch a TK promo it tends to be pretty light on facts and high in cheap attacks and blase insults. “Corey has a bad romantic history.” Well, at least I have a romantic history and no, drinking shots from between the plastic bolt ons of a cheap hooker blitzed on fentanyl doesn’t count as a “relationship”. But his promos run roughshod with cheap below the belt shit like that that has no bearing on the match whatsoever. Oh sure it’ll probably get his B.O.B. buddies to clap their fins together and hoark out hosannah’s to their Bastardly Father in the sky, but in the end, homeboy’s promo game is WEAK AS SHIT. Hell, he couldn’t even go ten straight minutes without (poorly) copping Bobby’s rap shtick. As if we needed two uncoordinated white boys spitting pedestrian rhymes ripped straight from a Kids Bop CD.

My point is this Thunder Knuckles: DO BETTER.

I know you’re trying to get under my skin. The problem is, you’re already there. Like a flesh eating virus. And you may think that’s a good thing. Being under somebody's skin. Except for the small fact that it propelled me to fill 19 briefcases with ways to make you suffer. You think you won the headgames? You think you got that dubya already? I hope you still think so as you're forced to take a belt sander to your face. Or you're forced to pry out your own finger nails with rusty pliers. Are those tortures in there? Who knows! But it’ll be fun to find out, won’t it kids?

I can just picture you, having to take a hammer to your own teeth, and with your mouth still frothing with blood, with those nerve endings still screaming in agony, patting yourself on the back for your success in getting under my skin. Moron.

So why does Thunder Knuckles focus on so much fluff, so much pointless, fact less bloviation and outright lying? Well, it’s because he has a lot to hide. The man said it himself. He has a laundry list of failures on his resume. Now, there are also some successes for sure. But TK (and Bobby Bourbon for that matter), both have records that are more like the waves in a sea than a true monolith. And it’s all in their thinking patterns. It’s in what they value. Because for guys like that, it’s okay to throw some chaff in with the wheat. Eating a loss is just something you stumble over on your way to a 10 minute Universal title reign. Anything less than damn close to perfection is just part of the game. They ACCEPT that and EXPECT so little of themselves. What did TK say in that abysmal rap of his? “Even in loss every second is perfection.”

Bloviation and bullshit.

No, TK, in loss everything is NOT perfection. Especially the part where you got pinned. Especially the part where you seem to hold two simultaneous notions in your head about “you being perfect” and “you having suffered losses”. My God that cognitive dissonance must be a KILLER.

Those of us comfortably here in reality see right through your d-tier promo game. And you won’t get that kind of insipid bullshit spewing from me because I don’t have anything to hide.

Like, for example, did you know I have only been cleanly beaten by THREE people? Bobby Bourbon. Mark Flynn. And Thad Duke. Hell, we can throw Jim Caedus in there too, but I was already beaten and left for dead by the time he got around to covering me. How many people have beaten you clean, TK? Do you even know? Is the number that high? Why don’t you spit some more of that cultural appropriation beat boxin’ to gloss over that fact?

And that right there is the difference between you and I. I can speak the truth because my record backs it up. You can’t because you know yours doesn’t hold a candle to mine. So you have to rely on overinflated ego, outright lying, and cheap personal attacks to hide the fact that, historically, you just haven’t been as good as me. And you never will be.

So for God sakes, clean up that promo game. You look like an asshole.     

September 18
Neverland

Judge Kevin cast Corey a critical eye. So how are you even still alive?

Corey looked at his council, Pedro, before replying. That's a story in it of itself.

Well I think we can all agree we'd love to hear why you're still alive and Pan isn't.

Corey looked exasperated. I already told you, Pan isn't dead. He's just…

Pedro cut in. Taken over by a sadistic robotic entity that likely wishes to do all sorts of unspeakable acts while wearing Pan like a flesh suit!

Corey rubbed his brow. Not helping. He muttered.

Well then Corey I think we would all love to hear how this tale of yours ends, hmmmmm? Kevin pounds the toy gavel. Speak like your life depends on it bucko!



To be continued….