***
Beads of perspiration hung precariously to Karl's brow, threatening to drips down in the eyes which dared not to even blink. His attention remained fully on the revolver aimed at his chest. The dusty light seemed to change it's mind every half second about whether it would rather be on or off. The wiring within the whole building had been faulty since Karl moved in back in Septem-... June?
Odd. When did I start living in this apartment?
He shook the thought from his head and focused on Lianna. Her face has developed adult features however when he looked closely, Karl could still see the small girl that had grown up playing in the shadows of the laboratory. Her father, Kutz, had never been one for lavishing her with pointless affection and at the time Karl was too young to foresee the type of person it would cause her to become. Under the flickering light, it was clear now to see that she had grown hard. Her lightly tanned complexion was blemished by slight lines across her forehead which told Karl a story of a smile- less life.
What the hell is it with that flickering light?
Pay attention!
LIanna stepped forward and filmed the bottom of her boot in the sticky sanguine which pooled on the floor. She fully extended the weapon outwards in her right hand and fingered the trigger. Karl thought that the cold December night where he finally put down his foot and fought back against his captures.
"Do you want me to apologise? What you father did to me was..."
"My father made you! You wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for him."
"He was a monster."
"He was your father. He gave life to you. He was your god."
She was right but at the same time totally wrong. Kutz had given breath to Karl's lungs through his experiments but his existence was not something he would regard as a life. His "father" treated him with a cold discipline and physical pain which was a microcosm for the way life had treated him since then. Only two years ago Karl had been on top of the world in an industry he loved but fate deemed him not worthy and snatched it away.
"Lianna, isn't what happened to my career enough of a punishment? I'm just as broken as anyone in this."
Lianna became incensed.
"Are you comparing you bottoming out and hitting the bottle to my father being horrifically scalded over half of his body?"
Karl's eyes began to well up. The image of Dr Kutz' top layers of skin bubbling off of his bones from the concentrated acid pounded against his temples
.
"What do you want from me Lianna?"
"I want you to get to your knees and cry. Weep just like that pussy S.A.M!"
Karl drew his head back as his face screwed tightly together.
"Who the hell is S.A.M? I won't know him for at least another 7 months Lianna!"
She cocked her own head back and released a heart laugh.
"Where do you think you are, Karl?"
Memories of the laboratory came racing back in to Karl's mind but somehow they felt false. He could recall them happening but had the strange feeling that somehow he had never actually lived them. Looking downwards, the sight of his own filthy clothes and out of shape body made him feel angry.
How could I Iet myself become this disgusting?
He furiously snapped back towards Lianna and embers in his eyes.
"This can't be real!"
"Oh silly Karl, none of this is real."
A shot rang out inside the small apartment as a blistering round split through Karl's chest.
***
[PRESENT DAY]
Karl Cross shot upright in his bed covered in a cold sweat. The room around him was cool with the darkness shattered near the window by rays of light streaming in between his blinds. Slowly climbing to his feet the soft plush carpet tickled between his toes. He made his way towards the large en suite and pulled the cord as he entered. His marble was room was illuminated in a radiant light which dance off of each of the luxurious furnishings. Looking in to the mirror he saw the familiar handsome face of one of the world's finest professional wrestler and released a chuckle.
Jesus Karl! What the hell was that? Just a nightmare - nothing to be scared of at all. Next you'll be living of whole life of schizophrenic fantasy much like S.A.M. At least you know what reality is. No pretending to murder people or dancing with corpses for you. What sort of delusional moron needs to make believe just to appear more interesting? And for it all to end on a huge cliche that's been recycled again and again where I wake up and it was all a dream. It's almost as if Dylan George wrote it.
The future number one contender rubbed a hand across the light stubble of his cheek and made the decision to have a quick shave before his workout but knew he had something to do first. Slipping back out of the bathroom door he located his mobile phone. Keying as quickly as he could he typed out a quick message to his physiotherapist:
THANKS AGAIN. MY NECK FEELS BETTER THAN EVER AFTER THE SURGERY. I'M READY TO GO BACK IN TO THE RING.