Well, shit.

That was all that I could think of. I went into the last Warfare holding all the cards. My dear brother held the key to my victory, the hacksaw that all he had to do was give to me at the most leisurely moment. Dr. Holly Cambric had hooked me up with an obsidian nail as a backup in case things went south. Solomon and I were supposed to work together when possible to come out first and second.

If I won, I would get the first overall pick. Dicky Watson was mine. I wouldn’t need anyone else. Dicky is HIM.

Jigsaw had promised me Grok as a bonus prize to repurpose as I wished if I had won. Grok would have made a great soldier under my command.

You couldn’t ask for a better setup.

But it all went to shit.

Total, utter shit.

And now? I’m no longer a captain. That popcorn fart, Roxy Cotton took that from me. Even worse, I’m the bystander getting golden drizzles from the pissing contest between Isiah King and my brother. Most would be honored to be picked first in a team draft for something as prominent as Wargames. But not me. I’m a pawn on the chess board for that prick Isiah to move around in his game with Charlie.

And those bastard Trillionaires own the board.

Great.

Wonderful.

Fantastic.

“Damn it,” I cursed while smacking my forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I lambasted myself in Orton voice. Honestly, I should’ve punched myself in the forehead instead.

It hurt to move, so I lay still on the concrete prison slab with the quarter-inch-thick padding that acted as a joke of a mattress. A chuckle rumbled from my chest. The irony was funny. I’d rather stay on the concrete slab than move around in my cell. Every portion of my body ached, even places I didn’t think could.

There was a silver lining in all the failure, though.

I’d requested a match with El Landerson, and to my surprise, it was granted, despite the hostilities between myself and the cowards powers-that-be.

There were several reasons I asked for Landerson. The most prominent one was how he reminded me of someone. The tattoos, the luminous eyes. The veneer of affability and friendliness. It was uncanny.

And when I closed my labored lids, it took me back to the one he reminded me of.

FLASHBACK SCENE…

Seven years ago.

Juan Espino fought with all his might to break free of the bounds I’d trapped him in. The cuffs around his hands and ankles kept his nude form tied to the tree in a forced hug, though. I had gagged him, though it wasn’t needed since the area was one of the 149 wilderness spots in California. Nobody would hear him scream.

My state-of-the-art live stream set up whirred with activity, all the bells and whistles operating at their peak for another episode of ‘The Sentence’ hosted by yours truly, the Scarlet Verdict, pumping out the feed on encrypted relays through the dark web.

One of the perks of being a prosecutor in L.A. is all the things you learn when prosecuting the scumbags of the world. Blue collar. White collar. They all had some pretty damn smart schemes, and a prosecutor had to work with experts in many fields to understand how to nail a prick to a prison sentence. It was how I found out about some of my kill spots and how to encrypt relays. And so, SO much more.

“Alright, chat,” I began, my mask and crimson suit on full display as I did my signature justice pose. “Tonight’s shitbag of the century is Juan Espino. This dashing little guy owns a nightclub in L.A. and specializes in Raves. He loves, loves, loves to drug women, then take them to spots and do unmentionable things to them along with some of his friends. Don’t worry, I got his friends lined up for guest appearances on ‘The Sentence’, so stay tuned!”

I grabbed the microphone and moved close to him. “Mic test, one, two.” Wham! I cracked him upside the head with it. “Good. Check. As you can see, chat, Juan has some of the usual credentials monsters have. He’s handsome. He has many tattoos, which we all know ladies love, especially the rebellious teen types. He’s successful, he owns a nightclub, and has gone out of his way to wear luminous contacts to make his eyes so vibrant and captivating, especially during his rave nights. It’s like moths to the flame when he puts the eyes on them.”

My hand smacked against my chest in mock fancy of him. “And, chat, like, oooooh my god, you should hear him talk in court. He’s smooth. So friendly. So affable. Judges slap him on the wrist and send him to prison for a few years, and then he gets out in no time due to good behaviour, cause he’s just such a nice misunderstood guy who wraps those prison counselors around his finger.”

I paused a beat, then shrugged. “Oh well, best get to it. Since Juan likes to gang up with his friends on defenseless women like a pack of starving dogs, I felt it would be apropos if the same happened to him. Chat, meet starving dogs.”

I maneuvered the camera, letting the audience see the platoon of hungry, angry, big-breed dogs I’d tied to several trees so that they wouldn’t kill each other. I hadn’t fed them in a week. “And since Juan likes to get his tiny little dick wet during his horrible crimes, I’ve made sure they’ll chew his ass out. Literally.”

Producing a single pork loin sausage, I waved it around. “I shoved several of these into his bowel track already, figured you wouldn’t wanna see that. But they’re up there, now we’ll see how long it takes these dogs to tear through him to get to them. You know, just like Juan and his friends liked to tear through his victims.”

Juan went ballistic. Even though he was gagged, he managed to scream. I passed by the starving dogs and taunted them with the sausage, then flung it next to the tree where Juan was held captive.

From there, I cut the dogs loose. What followed next was horror that some would claim no man should ever experience, even scumbags. Some of the dogs killed each other, but most devoured Juan, ass first.

And I couldn’t have been more pleased, and chat shared my joy.

BACK TO THE PRESENT..

The pie flap opened, popping me out of my trip down memory lane. The correctional officer slid the manila envelope in, and it hit the floor. I rolled my eyes. I did NOT want to move my PAINED body. Grumbling, I flopped off the slab like a sloth and sifted through the contents. It was from my captain, Isaiah King, a fact he made sure I knew since his captain's insignia was printed in many different sections.

That prick.




THE FOLLOWING VIDEO IS BROUGHT TO YOU IN PART BY #MystManagement

(An actor, not the character, plays any roles/references to opponents or non-Corporation members in the following clusterfuck. Only Jennie Nickles and Charlie Nickles are the real characters in this; everyone else is an actor playing the part of others.) 

The scene cuts into a trial already in progress. Jennie Nickles has reclaimed her old job of prosecutor and paces back and forth across the courtroom floor, her fierce figure clad in a pristine pinstriped pantsuit. Her hand flicks through yellow notes on her pad, her bottom lip tucked in with thought.

“Mmmhmm. Mr. Landerson, now can you please tell the court what your day-to-day life is like?”

The masked luchador, who looks A LOT LIKE El Landerson BUT IS AN ACTOR NOT THE REAL EL LANDERSON, cocks his head to the side. It’s not a question he expected. In fact, he is not sure why he’s even on trial.

“Uh, Si? Uh, I wake up. I go tinkle potty. I make food for my wife and child. I eat the leftovers. Then I…errm… I uh…”

The masked man squirms in the chair, as the witness stand he’s sitting in feels like it’s closing in. 

“Mr. Landerson, please continue so the court can have it on record. After you eat the leftovers, what do you do?”

The luchador’s lips smack, dry. His luminous eyes have that lost look in them that everyone knows all too well.

“ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION YOU SAWED OFF LITTLE SON OF A BITCH OR I’LL HAMMER YOUR SKULL WITH THIS GAVEL!” Says the booming voice of the dishonorable Judge Charlie Nickles.

The fan favorite high flyer looks mortified.

“If only knows what I do then, this Sunday on Wednesday Night Warfare, on Anarchy then Friday for Spooky Madness.”

“SON OF A BITCH!” Judge Nickles looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm.

“So, for the record, Mr. Landerson, you, in fact, do not know what you do during the day, and night, for that matter?” Jennie prods despite the Judge’s furious theatrics.

“OBJECTION!” Bellows the defense attorney, who looks A LOT LIKE RAZOR BLADE BUT IS AN ACTOR NOT THE REAL RAZOR BLADE. “If only knows what the objection is… maybe leading the witness… maybe argumentative… if only knows if you’ll sustain the objection this Tuesday on Monday Night Brawl in Warfare.”

“OVER-FUCKING-RULED!” Judge Nickles hurls his gavel with such power that it knocks him smooth out.

With the defense out of commission in this farce of a courtroom, Jennie takes full advantage. She punts her yellow notebook away and gets in “El Landerson’s” face. “Enough with the incoherent crap. Tell the court why four different witnesses testified that they saw yourself, John Blade, Latoya Hixx, and Razor Blade wandering aimlessly, individually, lost and confused in their backyards looking for Steve Sayors on multiple isolated occasions.”

“Well…” ‘El Landerson’ begins.. “Thank you for cross-examining me, Ms. Nickels. If only knows why they witnesses said those things. If only knows why I am charged here with what? Why is-are-am I charged here? What crime? I no speaky English.”

Jennie shakes her fist at him. “You know damn well what you’re charged with, Mr. Landerson.”

The masked man shakes his head cluelessly.

“You are charged with… IMPERSONATING A PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER!” Judge Charlie screams, then extends his hand and summons his gavel back into his palm like Thor summons Mjolnir. “Jury, you’re dismissed! This man is GUILTY!”

The camera swings over to the jury box full of classic Looney Tunes characters that the Nickles siblings used to watch growing up. They all leave in their own quirky ways.

“With the court’s permission, I’d like to have Mr. Landerson remove his mask at this time,” Jennie says.

“OB…ject…tion..” The “Razor Blade” says weakly as he finally comes to. Jennie thrunders across the courtroom and Curb Stomps him back into Lala Land, then adjusts her professional pantsuit.

“Remove your mask at once, you little shitstain! Let’s see who is really under that mask! You’re not fooling the court. Off with it NOW!” Judge Charlie wags the gavel at him threateningly.

The little luchador gets wide-eyed. He knows the gig is up. He tries to bolt, but Jennie clobbers him with a Superkick that knocks him back into his chair. She straddles him next, but it’s ok, nothing sexual is gonna happen. Instead, she yanks his mask off, sending gasps across the courtroom.

Jennie’s eyes grow into saucers. “What the hell?”.. She holds the mask in her hand, but the little luchador is wearing another mask, this new one bearing the likeness of Razor Blade. Jennie and Charlie look back and forth at the luchador, then at his unconscious defense lawyer.

“Impossibru!” Jennie digs into the new mask and rips it off. Another gasp. It’s yet ANOTHER mask underneath. This one is Latoya Hixx. She rips that one off, too, but he comes to and panic shoves Jennie off him with superhuman strength that rockets her all the way into the prosecutor's table. There’s a pause between all in the courtroom, the suspense building as the little luchador’s tiny body is not clearly in view now.

But then…

He slowly rises…

His true form…

His ultimate form…

Made manifest before all…



The ACTOR playing the part of JOHN BLADE does a great job of cutting a quick, nonsensical monologue like John Blade is legendary for.

“SHUT YOUR BITCH MOUTH, BOY!” Judge Nickles snaps. “We all knew it was you. That’s why you were charged! You’re still guilty of personating a professional wrestler, and I hereby sentence you to getting your fucking ass kicked, Mr. Landerson!”

The dishonorable Judge Nickles waves his gavel at Jennie, who dashes toward “John Blade” …. But something incredible happens.

“John Blade” tosses a saucy salute, does a shoulder shimmy dance, then waves his hand in front of his face and suddenly, like a fart in the wind, he is gone. Invisible. The only trace of him that remains is the overly dramatized words, “See you this Monday on Tuesday War-archy in the hell of a cell tables match for the IC title, then I will fight King Kerryann for the vacant extreme champlingchip at Leap of Relentless.”

Jennie lets out a frustrated sigh, but turns toward the camera, and the scene focuses in on her only.

“El Landerson, I asked to face you for several reasons. You remind me of a shitbag I killed during my time as the Scarlet Verdict. Normally, serial killers don’t get to kill one of their victims again, but this is a pretty damn good consolation prize for that.

I also needed an outlet. I murdered Grok in the ring, but thankfully, he was a robot. I knew I might cross the line and do it to a human opponent, though, and after what happened in the Captain’s Match last Warfare, I am absolutely fucking pissed. That means there was a good chance I’d kill the shit out of my next opponent, whoever that might’ve been.

That’s why I requested you, Mr. Landerson. You’re an NPC. You’re expendable.  If that wasn’t true, the Trillionaires who hate me wouldn’t have said yes to my request. They don’t care if I kill you. They don’t care about the possibility of your wife and daughter being without their Dad.

I don’t want to kill you, but I honestly have no idea how far I’ll go at this point. Not after last Warfare. Not after I got put on pawn duty to that trash bucket Isiah King. Death or no death, Mr. Landerson, I’m going to hurt you; I’m going to take out all my anger and frustrations on you. I know you like to bring your wife and daughter to the shows to watch you perform, but I ask you, no, I am begging you, please leave them home for this… just in case I go to a place that is only meant for the Scarlet Verdict.

I get time off my sentence for every win I collect, and I'll stop at nothing to get it, Mr. Landerson. If you heed nothing else in your career, heed my warnings for Warfare." 

End.