The Story So Far...

And now… The story continues!

***

“Dismiss the past.”

“Dismiss the future.”

Maria keeps rubbing Flynn’s temples, one clockwise, the other counterclockwise…

Flynn struggles, still lying on the makeshift bed of popcorn makers… Twisting and turning against Maria’s touch…

But, she persists…

“Return to the now.”

“Return to the present.”

***

The two Mark Flynns furthest from the past move… partially shrouded in the darkness.

‘The Beast’ and ‘The Whore for Gold’.

They circle in opposite directions, the bound Mark Flynn from the present.

With ‘Free-Win’ hovering in the back, grinning with a lead pipe in hand.

Flynn strafes, grapevining his feet one over the other, maintaining a defensive stance.

Although, without the use of his arms… even he knows he’s at a disadvantage.

Behind his back, his fingers nimbly work to loosen the knots that bind him… But the knot holds tight…

“Note how Marcus leads with his right foot, compatriots.”

Flynn looks up at ‘The Beast’, the velvet-robe-donning, dressed like a distinguished gentleman and in every movement, a scoundrel. A cold, calculating, paranoid-obsessive monomaniac who studied tape for days at a time to plot counters against his opponents.

The wine swishes as he rotates his glass in a circle. ‘The Beast’ takes a sip.

“We’ve reviewed his past performances. His left kick is a half-second slower than his right. He’ll go right every time. When it comes, we merely catch the leg. Takedown. Take the arm. Fujiwara. He’ll be screaming for the pain to stop four and a half seconds after the initial attack…”

Flynn grins as an idea comes to his head.

“Hey, neat trick, calling out your defense before you do it. I loved seeing it in that awful 2009 Sherlock Holmes movie.”

Flynn spins on ‘The Beast’.

“Too bad your parlor tricks hit a ceiling once you took on real opponents. People with actual fucking talent.”

“Let’s face it, kid. You made a reputation of beating rookies and journeymen, but every big match you had, you fucking choked. And, I’m not sure if I’ve brought this up before, but YOU’RE THE ASSHOLE THAT GOT OUR DICK BIT OFF BY THE CLOWN.”

‘The Beast’ bares his teeth venomously, before swirling his glass once more.

“HE’S GOT A BELT.”

Flynn spins again and there’s ‘Whore for Gold’. A mangy animal doing a poor impression of a human being. Hair matted and drenched in sweat. Crawling on all fours. The desperate look of an animal who must kill or starve. He slithers desperately looking for a quick opening.

“Can smell it on ‘im… He’s got it and I want it. He’s got it and I want it. He’s-got-it-and-I-want-it. He’sgotitandIwantit.”

Flynn crouches down to meet ‘Whore for Gold’ in his eyes.

“Well, well, well. I almost forgot about my ‘Gollum from Lord of the Rings’ phase.”

“You know, if you were around today, they’d call you ‘Flynny Three-Belts’ and stick a hashtag on it…”

“European Champ, Tag Champ and Heavymetalweight Champ… I think back and remember how good it felt to be so encumbered… I could bury myself in gold and leather. Like a fucking pharoah.”

Flynn nods, fondly remembering those days. The ‘Whore for Gold’ beams and nods his head eagerly, as if Flynn’s words alone could bring those belts back.

“Only… aww… where are those belts now?”

The smile of the ‘Whore’ disappears… as if Flynn’s words just made the memory disappear. He seethes furiously, frothing from the mouth like a mad dog.

“Where-my-belts?!?! WHEREMYBELTS?!?!”

Flynn pretends to recall disappointedly.

“Ohhhhhhh yeah, that’s right. Randy Cross took both after your bad attitude pissed him off. That’s okay, maybe you could join up with your friends…”

Flynn then tut-tuts, murmuring as if he’s recalled a whole new leaf of disappointment.

“Oh jeez, that’s right. YOU DON’T HAVE FRIENDS. You’re a spineless worm that thought you could collect every belt in the company in one fell swoop and ended up losing everything and sleeping in between trashcans in an alley. You’re the most embarrassing low I’ve ever sunk to and when I get out of these ropes, I’m locking you wherever repressed memories like you belong…”

The ‘Whore’ snarls, biting down his jaw, beating the side of his skull with his right arm…

“Nose-never-lies… Can-smell-your-belt..”

“Boy, you’re sure good with words, Marky.”

Flynn looks up at ‘Free-Win’. Christmas-sweater-wearing and soft-voiced. A giant, pearly smile. An open stance like he’s got nothing to hide.

And eyes as black as coal.

“Of course, we’ve always been fans of five-dollar words. Unfortunately, I think in terms of backing them up…”

Free-Win’s hand raises.

“I might be the only one of us with a solid track record. I had six successful X-Treme title defenses. I earned us a briefcase. We were on the cusp of all our machinations coming to fruition.”

Free-Win tilts his head to the side, then tut-tuts.

“And then you came along and took control from me.”

Free-Win pokes the lead pipe into his chest.

“If we want results, if we want HER… you might wanna step down and let the Superior Flynn handle things…”

Flynn spits on the ground. The sneer he has when he looks at the black-eyed Flynn is the deepest of all.

“Fuck you, Free-Win. You got behind the wheel and drove the car into a fucking ditch. You lost the X-Treme belt to a fucking nobody, then went on such a bad morphine bender, we ended up in FUCKING GOVERNMENT CUSTODY. Because of you, we got locked away in an 8 foot by 8 foot cube waiting for Uncle Sam to sign our permission slips to breathe.”

Free-Win is unphased.

“And I can get us out. Now.”

“You jackass. The only way out is playing along for now. They’ve got so many eyes and ears on us, unless we work out the location of the Beacon, we’re serving a life sentence under a microscope.”

“I know where the Beacon is.”

…

“Fuck outta here. You don’t know shit.”

“I know quite a bit more than you.”

“How?”

“I have…” Free-Win smiles. “A contact.”

“Hahaha, okay, now I know you’re full of shit. You had even less people in your corner than Liberace and Mowgli over here.” Flynn says, tilting his head towards ‘Beast’ and ‘Whore’ in that order.

“This is a… recently made contact. And he’s told me… Everything. It all revolves around Phone #1.”

“Wow, great detective work, Columbo. Of course R.M.’s behind it.”

“And who do you think R.M. is?”

“My suspect list for this investigation is a mile long: Robert Main… ‘Real Mister Mystery’...”

…

…..

“Radioactive Man…”

“Haha, you’re funny, Marky.”

Free-Win’s smile gleams.

“My list is one name long. But, that name is the correct answer.”

…

…That’s interesting.

Free-Win’s eyebrows wriggle, his smile lifts on just his left side.

He’s in total control and he knows it.

“Hand over the driver’s seat, Marky. And we’ll wrap things with Uncle Sam and get liberated. We can still fulfill the prophecy. We can still make the world Black’s. We can defeat EVERYONE.”

Flynn scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Oh my God, you almost had me, you fuckface.” Flynn shakes his head “Do you still believe your apocalyptic cult bullshit? Do you really still believe John Black winning the Universal Title will call down the End-Times? And we get to say we beat everybody because we caused fucking Armageddon?”

“I believe in the prophecy… And I think… deep-down? You do too.”

“What you think is worth fuck-all. We had a weird dream six years ago. Probably caused by Too many Frosted Flakes before bed. That’s all the evidence you have.”

“That’s one more piece of evidence than you have in the Optimal Path.”

Free-Win’s smile gleams. Flynn squints.

…

“The Optimal Path is real. I’ve seen it.”

“It surrounds us. It renders choices obvious. It determines not only our designs but the designs of those around us. The Optimal Path is the tool by which we take what is ours.”

Each of the three past Flynn’s chuckles, in their own unique ways.

“Please. We may not all have the same design, but we are all men of science, Marcus. Our combat styles are steeped in tenants of logic, reason and knowledge. Your faith has not one ounce of such truths… If you truly buy into this mumbo jumbo, then you are no Mark Flynn, let alone worthy of control.”

“Strength in belts. Power in titles. Optimal Path is phooey.”

“Sorry, Marky. But I think it’s a unanimous vote of no-confidence in ‘The Optimal Path’... and in You. I think the only thing left to decide is who gets to drive now… Which we’ll decide after we’ve…”

Free-Win chuckles.

“...Set-up your exit package.”

Flynn still grips at the ropes at his back. He’s maybe loosened it a few inches, but he’s still not free.

“Hold on!”

The various Flynns pause. If Flynn has one thing on his side, it’s knowing himself.

And how much he fucking loves to talk.

“I think you’re ignoring one thing about the Optimal Path.”

“And that is?”

“I’ve been undefeated since following it.”

…

The three are silent faced with this truth.

“You don’t pull the guy off the mound when he’s throwing a perfect game. Even if you don’t believe in my methods, they’re getting results.”

“I’ve beaten The Wizard. I’ve beaten Dolly Waters. I’ve beaten Latina Submission Machina. And if the XWF hadn’t fucked me by stopping the match, I would’ve beaten a Duke. Thaddeus FUCKING Duke. Something none of you have ever accomplished.”

“Would’ve? It sounds like you didn’t accomplish it either, Marky.”

“But we all know I had him. WE had him. Mister Relentless, 3-0? Is now 3-0-1. Because of the Optimal Fucking Path.”

“And once we leave here, we fight the Bastards for the tag titles. A match we’re going to win. So, why don’t you tell me where the Beacon is so we can go back to winning and winning and WINNING.”

…

Free-Win smiles… but his teeth bite down on his lip. He’s thinking…

Flynn has him now. Just need to add a little torque…

“Each of you fucks had your chance until you flamed out in spectacular fashion. You want me off the job when I haven’t missed a shot ONCE.”

…

…

“But you will.”

From the shadows…

…

Jesus Christ, of course, it’s another Mark Flynn.

Only… This one looks identical to the tied-up Mark Flynn… except instead of being bound in ropes, he’s got a bowl of popcorn. He grabs a kernel and pops it into his mouth.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mark Flynn from December 2021. I’m a couple months further along than you are.”

A closer look at December Mark Flynn shows his fists are bruised purple, like he’s been slamming them into lockers. His fingernails are short like he’s tried to tear them off his fucking digits.

Ergo, this Flynn just got robbed of victory.

“And Brother, if I were a magic 8-ball… I’d be telling ya, ‘Outlook is Not Good’...”

***
Meanwhile, in the hallways of the KFC Yum! Centre, the BOB-Anon eyes the walls suspiciously.

“What kind of den of blasphemy is this?!?”

He wanders, still wielding his katana over his shoulder… As he peers at various frozen FXW superstars and staff. Like a living diorama.

“Oh My American God…”

The BOB-Anon peers a stagehand, mid-drinking from a cup by the watercooler.

…

He looks from the cup to the frozen man.

…

“AHA!”

The BOB-Anon slaps the man’s frozen hand and the cup falls to the ground. The water splashes onto the concrete.

“IT’S OBVIOUS! The liberal elites must have dumped pesticides into the water supply! That’s what froze these people! And turned them into gay frogs!”

“WELL, NOT ME! I’M A PROUD CITIZEN SOLDIER OF ROBBIE BOURBON’S ARMY AGAINST THE GODDAMNED WOKE POLICE! AND I WO-”

“Return to the now…”

“Return to the present…”

The BOB-Anon’s ears perk.

…

“...Chanting?”

BOB-Anon walks toward the muffled voice... It gets a little louder.

“Dismiss the past.”

“Dismiss the future.”

His eyes open wide.

“IT’S A DAMN SATANIC RITUAL! THE DEMOCRAT LIZARDS MUST BE SACRIFICING A CHILD TO GEORGE SOROS!”

...

"OR THEO PRYCE!"

He sprints towards the sound…

***

“So, wait, we win the tag titles against The Bastards? The Greatest Tag Team of All-Time?”

“Yup.” Near-Future Flynn says disinterestedly as he runs his gnawed-nail index finger along his gums to fish out a kernel stuck between his teeth.

“But then we drop one against Betsy & Ly? And the Wolfman dies.”

“Rest in Peace Larry.”

“Then, because the referee forgets who's the legal man, APEX steals one over on NK and I?”

“Yep.”

“Well, fuck the XWF! This is the second time in two Pay-Per-Views I’ve gotten fucked!”

December Flynn stoically cracks his knuckles one by one.

“It’s clearly a pattern. And one that needs to be rectified.”

…

…

Fuck.

…

FUCK.

On cue, ‘The Whore’ leaps… Flynn turns his back to try and cushion the attack… but takes a leaping headbutt to the spine…

‘The Beast’, without letting a trace escape from his glass, has slipped behind Flynn and stuck his foot behind his opponent’s heel. Flynn drops, tripping…

…

But somersaults to keep his footing.

If he ends up on the floor, this is already over.

‘Free-Win’ cackles as he walks forward, closing the distance. ‘The Beast’ and ‘Whore for Gold’ go back to circling.

“Neat moves, Flynn. But, this new information locks in what we all know. It’s time for you to give up the wheel. Give up the investigation to superior minds… And you’re not going to talk your way out of this.”

The three close the distance, nearing closer and closer.

Flynn… Spins back towards these confrontational alter-egos…

And Gently laughs.

“I had a feeling we couldn’t be talked out a plan…”

Free-Win’s smile dims ever-so-slightly.

…

“But I figured I could keep y’all busy… to buy just enough time.”

…

“To figure out this knot!”

Flynn grunts and twists his arms behind his back!

“HA!”

…

His arms remain tied.

…

The other Flynns are unimpressed.

“HA!”

He tries to lift his right shoulder to bounce the rope over his left…

The effect is minimal.

The bound Flynn furrows his brow. He’s still tightly tied… but he does finally gets his hands onto the knotted section…

“Fuck. What the fuck kind of knot is…”

…

Suddenly, Flynn’s eyes open wide.

“Oh my God. Did you let ‘The Beast’ tie these knots?”

…

“...Why?”

“HE TIED IT IN A WINDSOR KNOT! OH MY GOD, YOU FUCKING YUPPIE IDIOT.”

Suddenly, Free-Win’s grin is gone and replaced with dumbfounded shock. He and ‘The Whore’ both look to ‘The Beast’ who blushes embarrassedly.

“It’s the most professional knot, compatriots. And a windsor shall surely do the job we requi-”

Flynn cackles and joins his shoulders together behind his back. The ropes slip off his arms effortlessly as if his wrists had been greased with butter.

…

“...Shit.”

Flynn rotates his shoulders, once forwards and once backwards, stretching as one might before delivering the beatdown of a lifetime.

The other three Flynns are taken aback.

The fourth, the one from December, pops another kernel into his mouth. He retrieves from behind himself a folding chair and takes a seat, resting his snack bowl in his lap.

The Optimal Path Flynn grins.

“All right, children. You want the keys to the family car? You want to be the sleuths that solve this mystery so you can wrestle instead of me…?”

Flynn tilts his neck, cracking it.

“Sorry, kiddos. You’re gonna have to pry this wheel out of Poppa Flynn’s cold dead hands…”

***

Maria breathes a sigh of relief.

The blood has stopped running down her patient’s eyes, nose and ears.

He should be stabilized soon enough… And just need a little time to recuperate and adjust…

She nods satisfied… You can’t rush these things.

SUDDENLY, THE SLAM OF A BIG MEATY FIST ON A WOODEN DOOR.

Her attention turns upwards.

“C’MON OUT WITH ALL OF YOUR REPTILIAN HANDS IN THE AIR!”

“I HAVE BEEN COMMISSIONED BY ROBBIE BOURBON HIMSELF TO EXTRADITIALLY(sic) JUSTICE Y’ALL IN THE FACE! FOR THE CHILDREN!”

…

Maybe Maria can make an exception about rushing this time…

To Be Continued…

***

Flynn stands in front of the chalkboard…

In the War Room, where he plans out all his matches.

He looks over and sees the camera.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Come on in. Take a seat.”

The camera drifts around the room, before weaving into one of the student desks and taking a seat.

Flynn comes close to the desk and looks down at the camera imposingly.

“How’s the new gig? You getting used to everybody?”

Flynn chuckles to himself.

“I mean, you must be pretty fucking comfortable around here. Trying to hijack and use a briefcase the night of your second match here. Pretty fucking ready to move on up, huh, Pete?”

Another little chuckle and fond sigh.

“Eh… I can’t blame you, Peter. I’m a big fan of shortcuts. You might not know this, but you’re talking to the guy that received the first AND the second 24/7 briefcases in XWF History. I’ve had three, tied for the most of any superstar in the company.”

“Tied With Jim Caedus.”

…

…Flynn looks into the camera silently, letting that fact breathe.

…

“And only the last one I got by holding the X-Treme title. Doing things the…”

Flynn lifts up his fingers on both hands to deliver a set of ‘finger-quotes’.

“RIGHT WAY.”

Flynn smiles genuinely and points down the barrel of the camera.

“I see you, Peter. Stealing Caedus’ briefcase… Trying to cash it in before anyone was the wiser… It didn’t work out, of course. But I see in your methods my own. The same methods that made me World Heavyweight champion. The same methods that got me briefcases #1 and #2.”

“The first two I got by tricking people. I launched a campaign. I went into hiding, put on a mask, pretended to be someone I wasn’t… I got a number of people that I knew hated me on my false identity’s side, signing off on my ‘purehearted dreams’…”

“Then, I ripped off the facade and took what I had earned. It’s been nine years, Pete. And I can still hear the boo’s of thirty thousand people, people screaming for me to die… I can still feel the boxes of popcorn hitting me in the chest, the full Extra-Large Coca-Cola catching me in the back of the skull, a gallon of sugar water exploding down my neck and back…”

Flynn…

…

Grins. Deeply and profoundly.

“It was the greatest night of my fucking life.”

“And I think you know why. If anyone does, I think you do, Peter.”

“I know you’re new around these parts, Pete. And you’ve definitely got a few enemies already in the locker room. But, If anybody here understands you, Peter? It’s your old pal, Mark Flynn.”

Flynn departs to the left, walking over to the teacher’s desk. The camera remains stationary as he walks out of view.

Off-screen, we hear a key turn and a drawer opens… Papers shuffle.

The drawer closes and locks again.

Flynn slips over and drops a dossier on the desk. The camera pans down…

It’s an accordion folder and a picture of Peter Vaughn.

It’s a thorough record of his entire career.

It catalogues his time in CWF, GCWA and concludes in OCW… Before ending in a number of question marks regarding his departure…

The camera pans back up to Flynn, who is stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“I read up on you, Peter. I’ve watched you. I’ve fucking obsessively consumed everything you’ve done. Your entire body of work.”

“And you know what I see? I see someone who got told ‘no’ at every door he knocked on.”

“I see a kid who had to grab a mop after the show and wipe his own blood off the mat so the booker running cards out of the local high school gym wouldn’t give his spot away to a bigger kid.”

“I see a fucking guy… who got left outside the village… And burnt it down so he wouldn’t freeze in the cold that night.”

“I see that. Because I’ve lived it, Peter.”

“You’re five and a half feet tall. I’m just a hair above six feet.”

“You’re 175 pounds. I’m 200 even.”

“We’re not titans. We’re not superheroes. We’re men made of grit and determination… Men that would fucking figure out how to punch a hole through Superman’s chest…”

Flynn cackles.

“Or shoot an endangered primate in the ass, in your case.”

“If it meant we get to come back next week… If we got another chance to do what we love.”

“Nobody sent guys like us a fairy fucking godmother to make our dreams come true, Pete. So we had to rip open the storybook and write our fucking name down in the margins, since no one else was going to hand us a part.”

“That’s what I saw at Bad Medicine, Peter. I saw someone who knew what he wanted and moved to take it in the fewest steps possible. The spirit of The Optimal Path. As if etching your name in the pages of the Universal Title's history was you scrawling ‘Go fuck yourself’ into the eyes of every gatekeeper that rose up to push you down.”

“I see it.”

“And I respect it, Peter.”

…

Flynn sighs, thoughtfully.

…

Before he grabs the camera by its side and forces it up to his face.

Flynn’s face is mere inches from the lens now.

“Here’s where you made a mistake though, Peter.”

“A simple faux pas. Something I hope I can help you… correct.”

…

“You’ve been here two fucking matches.”

“You beat a gorilla and Drew Archyle.”

“You beat a helpless, dim-witted animal who can perform wrestling moves like a parrot can speak… through training, repetition and positive reinforcement… And without any understanding of what it’s doing.”

“And before that, you beat a gorilla.”

Flynn winks.

“But before you even won at Bad Medicine. When your record was 1 win and 0 losses…”

“Theo Pryce announced that YOU.”

“YOU, Pete.”

“Were the number one contender for the XWF Universal Championship.”

“That you were going into Fire and Ice and face Jim Caedus for the Universal title.”

…

“I’ve been around, Peter. I’ve been a two time World Heavyweight Champion. I’ve been...”

Flynn hikes the camera even closer to his face, to guarantee he can be heard.

“THE.”

“GREATEST.”

“WRESTLER.”

“WHO.”

“EVER.”

“LIVED.”

“Since Day One.”

Flynn inhales deeply, staring into the camera with venomous hatred…

“I had the greatest tag team in XWF History, made of the two most prominent universal champions, dead to fucking rights. If the officials could keep track of simple concepts like “the legal man”… we had it in the fucking bag.”

“I’ve beaten SEVEN former Universal Champions… In my tenure here.”

“And guess how many chances I’ve gotten… not to hold the belt. Not to reign over the kingdom. Just to challenge for the Universal Title, Peter?”

“Just to be given a chance to compete for the big brass ring and prove my worth, Peter?”

…

…

“Zero.”

“Goose-egg.”

“Nada.”

“And you wander in from the minor leagues? Whether or not OCW kicked you out or ‘you kicked them out’, whatever the fuck that means… You come from the bottom of the fucking barrel… from the fucking equivalent of YMCA Rec-League wrestling.”

“And you step in front of me in line, Peter?!?”

“You want to delay me from my FUCKING DESTINY!!!!”

“YOU WANT TO CREATE INEFFICIENCIES IN THE OPTIMAL PATH?!?”

Flynn lifts the camera into the air…

…

Before slowly lowering it back into the desk.

“Don’t worry, Peter. I know it was just an error.”

“A mistake.”

“Nothing personal. No hard feelings.”

“In fact… I think you can help me.”

“Let me tell what I’m thinking about right now, Peter.”

“It’s the six inches of reach advantage I have on you. The 25 pounds of strength I have that you don’t.”

“It’s how close I’m going to keep you from the bell’s ring… To the moment your shoulders have been pinned to the mat for a three-count.”

“How I plan on sinking my grip into your arm, wrapping you in a wristlock. How I’m going to shut down your high-flying, quick offense from moment #1 to the end of the match.”

“And how I’ll be slamming my fist into your face… Over and over. Until you lose consciousness.”

“Then waking you up in searing, mind-numbing pain… Wrenching your arm out of its socket… Twisting and tearing the fucking sinews and capillaries in your bicep, bloodflow rushing and slowing… As your body struggles, sending desperate jolts of torment to your brain so you can try to take back whatever you did to deserve this torture…”

“And you didn’t do anything, Peter.”

“And you know that’s not what this is about.”

“You aren’t an obstacle, Peter. You’re my salvation. You’re my hope.”

“Because you were given the number one contendership… Just so I could decimate you and establish myself as the real challenge Jim has to deal with.”

“The Optimal Path works in mysterious ways… But I’ve never seen it work more clearly.”

“That giving an undersized overrated runt of a rookie the chance of a lifetime… And then setting him directly in front of me.”

“Just like how you saw Jim’s briefcase as an opportunity… I know you’ll understand.”

“It’s about what you have and I don’t.”

“And it’s about using what I have that you don’t..”

“Specifically, six inches of reach and 25 pounds of muscle.”

“And using it… To take what I want. From you.”

“Cuz my Optimal Path to the Universal Championship?”

“Is through you… and your soon-to-be-useless arm, Pete.”

Flynn smiles…

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

Flynn reaches into the folder… And pulls out a black, extra-small boys t-shirt.

That just says “XWF” across the front.

“Welcome to the company, Peter.”

“Hope you enjoyed your stay in the major leagues.”

“Cuz you’re about to get sent back to developmental.”

“In a bodybag.”

Flynn tosses the shirt into the camera.

Cut to black.