An expansive scene explodes before you as our intrepid party of Azrael Erebus, Lux, and Joachim Bright pop into being. They arrive atop a hill, the tall grasses on it buffeted by a gentle wind. Below, a sea yawns out, it's lapping waves reflecting the rays from a midday sun. Rowing atop this sea is a fleet of....

BLEEEAAAARGGGHHHHH!

Oh, hold up Jo's puking.

Yeah, that happens sometimes. Azrael grimaces and gives Joachim a gentle pat on his hunched back. Cross dimensional travel can be rough on human biology.

Lux is looking a bit green herself. She rubs her stomach and steadies herself, closing her eyes to shut out the dizzying effects of their teleportation. Good thing I ate a light lunch.

Jo is doing that “heavy breathing and spitting” thing as he tries to clear all the bile from his mouth. Thanks for the warning, Alf.

Sorry! I do it so often I guess I just forget sometimes. Want some dramamine? I probably have some here somewhere....Jo nods his head as he pulls himself upright. Azrael reaches into one of the many compartments in his eccentric attire and pulls out a couple pills. Jo reaches his hand out to take them but then Az gasps and snatches them away. Oh, wait, not those! He rifles around a bit longer before producing two more pills. Okay, that's the stuff. He drops them into Jo's hand as Jo looks at him quizzically.

What would the first ones have done to me?

Put some hair on your chest. Or caused you to cough up your spleen. I forget.

Huh. Jo considers the two pills he's holding, and then open palm slams them down the hatch.

Lux steps to the fore now, looking sufficiently recovered. So we ready to go?

Both of her traveling companions nod an affirmative, and all eyes are cast back towards the environs. Finally, right? Anyway, rowing atop the sea an entire fleet of black gondolas cut through the waves. There have to be hundreds, if not thousands of them stretching from the bank to the horizon. At the helm of each gondola a rail thin robed figure dips an oar into the waters, guiding the small boat to one of the many docks that pock mark the shoreline. Some of the robed figures have their hoods cast back, revealing bleached fleshless skulls. Azrael gestures towards them.

The fleet of the dead, rowing the recently deceased to the afterlife.

So that whole Ferryman on the river Styx myth was true?

Nearly so. More of a lake than a river really. And down there is where we're headed. Azrael points at the land, where a massive shanty town seems to have sprung up and metastasized outward from the docks like an immense wheel. It too seems to stretch into the horizon, an entire patchwork community building on itself, layer by layer out beyond the bounds of sight. Jo and Lux take a moment to marvel at it, when Lux quirks her head and starts looking up at the sky, and then at the sea. She blinks a few times to clear her vision, but the image remains. It occurs to her than the environs' colors seem washed out. Faded. Like everything has been rendered through a greyscale.

Why are all the colors so drab?

Yeah, it looks like a DC superhero movie in here.

Azrael shrugs. Well, is IS just Purgatory. It's not like it's the main event. He nods in the direction of the shanty town. Engy's down there somewhere, we should probably get a move on if we want to find him anytime soon.

Joachim starts. Wait, what? You think he's still down there?! He died weeks ago! Wouldn't he have, I dunno, “moved on” by now?

Unfortunately not. The afterlife's had a backlog of souls for the last century. Hence the shanty town. With nowhere else to go an impromptu community has formed on the banks of the Styx.

But aren't people living longer now? Shouldn't things be slowing down?

You'd think so, but Yahweh's been having a hell of a time hiring bean counters to process them all. Azrael starts making his way down the hill, with Lux and Joachim in tow. Joachim especially can't resist marveling at the strangeness of everything around them.

Finally, the trio arrives at an imposing wrought iron gate. A figure is seated before the gate atop a desk that sits as tall as Azrael. A small man with rounded glasses and a halo sitting crooked over his head glowers down at them over the top of the desk. Death certificates please. He drones.

Death certificates....?

Ah, yes, we're not actually dead we're just here to see a friend.

The little man's face screws up like he's just heard the stupidest fucking thing in history. If you're not DEAD you cannot be admitted to The Purgatorio!

Azrael looks behind them and then leans in closer to the gatekeeper as he withdraws something from beneath his cloak. He slides a package of Hostess Snack Cakes surreptitiously towards him, and the Gatekeeper snatches it quickly and pulls it down and out of sight. You may enter. But if you get caught you don't know me. He hits a button beneath the desk and the gates yawn open. Azrael, Lux and Joachim waste no time scooting inside.

So that's seriously all it took, some processed snack cakes?

Souls in Purgatory don't HAVE to eat, but are still stuck in a limbo state where their mortal senses are still functional. Junk food is as hot a commodity down here as drugs are in the living world.

I wonder what would happen if somebody brought actual drugs here.

Ugh! Don't even go there. That happened in 1874 and Yahweh got so pissed he reincarnated like 3000 souls as blob fish. In short, not a good idea.

They press on into the shanty town, which up close looks even worse than it did from afar.



What a dump. Lux squints her eyes, taking it all in. It seems like it goes on forever. Finding Dexter is going to take a while.

Maybe. Maybe not. I have a few connections that I can lean on. I'll be right back.

Joachim looks startled. Wait, you're bailing?!

I'm not leaving for good. Relax, you'll be fine. It's just Heaven's waiting room. Azrael considers Lux. Look after the kid. I'll be back soon. Don't tick off any Paladins, 'kay?

But before Lux can inquire what a Paladin is exactly, Azrael blinks out of existence once more. Then, surveying their surroundings, Lux plants her hands on her hips and smiles. Who knows, maybe we'll find him first.

Yeah, well I could use a drink. If they even have that here.

Lux points just past him. You may be in luck.

Joachim follows her gesture to a large corrugated box that has a series of power lines running in and out of it like a morass of tentacles. But, the power lines don't seem to be connected to anything. In fact, they climb right into the sky and affix to nothing at all. A sign just above the old timey creaking saloon style door helpfully advertises it as Moises' Sports Bar. Lux follows Joachim inside. Within, the building has all the trappings of a typical bar, except it's wall to wall television sets. Not modern sets either. In fact, the brands seem to vary in time periods from the 50's to the 80's. And playing on each one is a different sports event from a variety of different eras. The 1927 World Series. Super Bowl 13. Wrestlemania III. The first Olympic Games. Joachim points to the television showing the first Olympic Games with a confused look on his face as Lux wanders over to the bar. A roundish man with pallid skin comes over.

What are ya havin'?

You got iced tea?

Iced tea? The barkeep chuckles. I guess. You new?

You could say that. How did you know?

He pokes at one of her cheeks. You still look rosy. That'll fade in time. He clears his throat with a hacking cough. But yeah, I got tea. Everything pretty much tastes the same here though.

Joachim pulls up a seat next to Lux. This all feels like a dream. I'm getting a headache just trying to process it all.

Lux pats him on the knee. Yeah, I try to just go with the flow. Otherwise you might end up having a stroke.

The barkeep meets Joachim's gaze. Beer me, please. Whatever you got on tap. Then, turning to Lux. I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me. I know you've got a lot on your mind and that you probably didn't need one more “zany Engy adventure” to top it off.

Don't worry about it. Anything for a friend. The word “friend” immediately becomes an elephant in the room given their history of romantic liasons, and she curses herself silently for it. Lux goes for the drink that's put out before her as an escape, and scowls a bit at the taste. This tastes like LaCroix.

Joachim takes a sip of his beer and crinkles his nose in disgust. So does this.

I told ya everything tastes the same! The barkeep cuts in.

But LaCroix?! That's in defiance of the Geneva Convention. Joachim replaces his bottle on the counter, never to be picked up again. Just then, another voice shatters their relative calm, a voice that sounds like how chewing tinfoil feels.

OMG! YOU GUYS ARE DEAD TOO?!

Both Lux and Joachim turn towards the source and....



Jo clutches Lux's arm in pure terror. OH GOD ALF FUCKED UP! WE'RE IN HELL!

It's Rain. Yes, THAT Rain!

OMG OMG OMG! This is soooooo AWESOME! Then, to the bartender. Do you know who these guys are?! THEY'RE MY OLD COWORKERS LUX AND THADDEUS DUKE!

Um.....

The barkeep throws one meaty palm down on the counter top. I told you a million times to stay the fuck outta here, you creep people out!

Rain, oblivious as always, closes in for a hug on Joachim, but Jo just backs away as he advances. No, no, no......

Wait! Lux takes hold of Rain's shoulder, prompting him to turn around. You actually might be able to help us. Have you seen The Engineer?

Rain taps his chin making an overdramatic show of basic thought processes. Ummmm....I don't think so? And then, he perks up. But I have a great idea!

Please don't.

Okay, how about this? Rain splays his hands out. Triple Threat match in a rainbow pyramid shaped cage. At the top of the cage is a briefcase. Guess what's in the briefcase?

We don't care.

ANOTHER BRIEFCASE! And inside that briefcase? A BRAND NEW CHAMPIONSHIP! I call it the Cross Gender InterGlitter Wokeness World Championship. Each match will be sanctioned and approved by Tumblr and promos will be conducted under Safe Space rules where you're only allowed to talk over each other and completely miss the point.

I called the Paladins.

What are paladins?

Suddenly, two guys dressed like this come crashing through the door.



Lux's eyes widen in surprise. Oh, damn!

One of the paladins stabs a sharpened gauntleted finger at Rain. You are Rain?

Rain bows theatrically, completely misreading the situation. It's almost not fair at this point. The one and only! Hey, can you guys help me find my sister, Snow....

Ew!

….I really, REALLY miss her!

EW!

The lead paladin marches up to Rain and snatches him up by the throat. Rain starts to wriggle in his grasp, kicking his skinny jean bedecked legs and twisting his reedy little body. ACH! Guys, THIS HURTS!

By the order of Yahweh, your Processing has hereby been accelerated to NOW.

Rain smiles through the pain. **Gasp** Yeah! **Choke** 'Bout time! **Wheeze**

The other paladin steps to the fore and starts tracing a series of esoteric symbols into the air, and before long the air itself starts to glow and come alive with a bright light! He then starts to murmur in Latin. The lights grow in intensity until all present are forced to shade their eyes. By the time the brightness dims, Rain is gone.

Lux looks about in confusion. Where did he go?

He was reincarnated.

Oh, as what?

SOMEWHERE OFF THE COAST OF AUSTRALIA....



AND BACK TO PURGATORY......

SUCH KNOWLEDGE IS DIVINE PROVIDENCE AND NOT FOR YOU TO KNOW! The paladin booms.

Lux holds her hands out placatingly. Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But hey! Maybe you guys can....

And in a bright flash of light, they too are gone instantaneously. Dejected, Lux turns back around to the bar. I guess we're waiting for Azrael.

Seems like it. I wonder what there is to do to kill time around here? Because I'm sure as hell not sitting around and drinking this flavored piss. Joachim notices the barkeep standing right there. Oh! Uh....no offense!

None taken, it does all taste like piss. You guys wanna watch The Motherfuckers' promos? He gestures towards the TV's.

Lux quirks an eye brow. You guys watch the XWF down here?

Oh hell yeah! Lingerie Football League too! Heh heh.... The barkeep nudges Joachim with his elbow. This one knows what I'm talkin' about.

Actually, I don't.... Joachim mutters quietly, but lets the sentiment trail off.

The barkeep grabs hold of a remote and turns the closest TV to the XWF promo channel. Jo turns to Lux with a shit eating grin on his face. What a pivot though!

Yeah, smooth as silk. She points at the TV. Can you turn it up a bit?

The barkeep does as asked, and Lux and Joachim settle in to watch some promo goodness.



As we return, we see Joachim and Lux bobbing their heads to the beat of Robbie's mad lyrical skills.

Pretty fly for a white guy.

Yeah, I certainly can't touch that. Lux chuckles and swings around on her stool in a way that just hollers “it's go time”.

Robbie goddamn Bourbon. You know, I feel kind of bad in retrospect that when I put that call out to legends to challenge me for my TV title a while back, I left your name off the list. At the very least, your promo game? Still pretty on point. TO a point.

Small problem. I'm not one of those people who loses sight of the forest for the trees. The kind of person who gets baited into losing sight of the big picture no matter how hard you try to distance yourself from your past, regurgitating pop culture and spitting game in your wake. Because you see, Corey wasn't pulling a Comic Store Guy and pointing out banal inconsistencies in the minutia of your existence. No, he was questioning why the bomb throwing, bombastic, man of the people saw fit to do something like this.

Lux gestures for the barkeep to change the channel again, and he does so.

Quote: Robbie spits with anger, and Danny Imperial just shakes his head no. Finally, Robbie makes good of his word by slapping his big meathook across the mush of Imperial, and Imperial pauses, checking to see if his lip is split... then clobbers Bourbon with a forearm shot to the skull!



ROBBIE HITS THE DECK AGAIN!



Bourbon takes the forearm like he got hit by a Buick Skylark, collapsing motionless yet again to the mat and even offering up a leg to be hooked.


Danny Imperial looks sick to his stomach. He throws his hands in the air and begins to exit the ring, leaving Bourbon on his back looking up at the lights, but not the way he'd hoped to.


Imperial exits the ring and starts to head up the ramp!

Lux considers the camera pointedly. Wednesday, January 17 2018. The day Robbie Bourbon shocked the world by theatrically crapping his pants and surrendering his dignity in front of thousands of butts in seats and millions at home. Oh, I can hear it now. Lux cups a hand to her ear. How dreadfully dull it is for me to re-litigate old news. I mean, coming from you, of course. But me? I kind of think the day your credibility played it's swan song is all too relevant.

Robbie, this isn't on par with bitching about midichlorians. It's not about toxic fandom. It's about THIS MOMENT IN HISTORY. It's about Robbie Bourbon, a man of immense talent and charisma, shrugging his shoulders and deciding “today is the day I mostly stop giving a shit.” Oh sure, you've popped up here and there since then. Sometimes giving a damn. Sometimes not. But all of it under the shadow of this indelible moment in time. The moment that defined the very essence of who and what Robbie Bourbon is.

The moment that solidified Robbie Bourbon as Flake Supreme.

And you know what, I'll give you one of your points. Perhaps you don't truly owe anything to anyone. I mean, paint me confused that you would ever refer to yourself as a “man of the people” out one side of your mouth while telling paying ticket holders to go blow out the other, but sure. I'll give you that one on credit. But don't you think you at least owed it to yourself? To your sense of dignity? Your PRIDE? She points back at the TV at the shameful display on it. I watch that and it HURTS me. I feel enough shame for BOTH of us. And given those cheeky smiles and playful shenanigans as you took a steaming dump on the legacy of the Universal Championship, I think it's probably safe to say I do have to pick up the slack for you in that regard.

Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, or do you need it in iambec pentameter?

Lux shakes her head and chuckles.

But, Robbie Bourbon knows who he is. He insists on it, right? Robbie Bourbon is the kind of guy who's going to call somebody elses life a convoluted science fiction B-Reel despite the fact that he was once host to a sex obsessed parasite that turned him into a completely different person. Despite the fact that he's hung out with superheroes....that he's BEEN a superhero...that he once owned his own multi-national company out of the blue (until he flaked on that too)...that he's apparently been the president??....etc...etc....etc.....

Robbie, if you're gonna pull a Sarah, you might want to check your own Merry Melodies inspired existence at the door. Because it's not gonna wash. And don't think I didn't notice how you tried to parlay who and what you are into some game of “gritty reality one ups manship” just because it suited your need to call us into contrast. I'm sure as hell not going to apologize to you (or anyone else) for what I am. But hey, great job moonlighting by tossing meth heads out of natty night clubs. I guess being a cartoon character by day doesn't pay as much as I thought it did.

But while we're on the topic of gritty reality, let's get real low down and dirty to the ground. Let's talk about those moments that tested our mettle, shall we? Those “It” moments. Now, I don't expect you to have an encyclopedic knowledge of my history. That might require effort and I think we've well established that your allergic to that half the time. So let me bring you up to speed. My “It” moment was watching myself be decapitated as the world fell apart all around me. As my friends were slaughtered and their murderers were closing in. As my consciousness was shunted into the body of a 17 year old boy who was wholly unprepared for what I needed him to be because he was literally the only option available. Which reminds me, yeah, Corey wasn't exactly optimal, but when it's that or OBLIVION....well.... she shrugs. Unfortunately all the Olympians had already been flayed like wild game.

But you know what? Having spent all this time with Corey, I don't think I would have had it any other way. Because for as much as you like to drag Corey, I don't think I have ever met a stronger person in my life. Because Corey? He had one hell of an “It” moment too. Kid was an addict who overdosed and almost died on the table. And he still struggles with that Devil on his shoulder every fucking day. And you may call him weak. You may mock him because his “It” moment was self-inflicted. But quite frankly, his “piddling” little body was more than enough to put your partner away with a vengeance. He's BEEN dealing with the bruises and the welts you're primed and ready to inflict for months already. You're nothing new to him. Nothing different.

And do you know what TRULY makes Corey strong? HE DOESN'T HAVE TO DO ANY OF THIS! He HAS fought me off before! But he came back and CHOSE to suffer right along with me through this hellish, insane existence of mine because he knows what's coming. Because he believes in my fight...and in me. This kid that you shat all over has been sacrificing his time, body, and mind for me for months because he wants to help me save this world. And it makes perfect sense why Robbie Bourbon doesn't respect that. Because Robbie Bourbon is a hollow man who is the very epitome of not sticking it out. But unlike you, Corey Smith wasn't satisfied with trying to drag a Danny Imperial on top of himself for the 1...2...3.

So let's talk brass tacks, you and I. Let's talk about why The Motherfuckers are sure as water's wet not going over on Warfare. Your boy Pig? Your rock? The one that brought you back to the dance? I beat him. Badly. Me. In Corey's sad wiry little addict body to boot. And I'm not the only one who's turned BWP inside out either. Because unfortunately, he plays the whole “will I or won't I give a shit” game even worse than you do.

I know I've got Bearded War Pig sorted. And he does too. He can't ever admit it. But he knows. Ask him. Look deep in his eyes and ask him the question. Does he avert his gaze? Is there that pregnant pause there before he answers the question?

Lux leans in and hisses. He knows.

And you? We've never had it out. But let's pet the elephant in the room. Let's talk about how, throughout all that juking and jiving, all that playful banter and bravado, not once did you try to knock my record. Not once. And it's because you're smart enough to know not to go there. Because it's 17 and 3. Pinned once. Submitted once. And didn't have Centurion's back fast enough once. Can you honestly point to a single year in your career where you pulled down numbers like that?

Robbie Bourbon, the cold hard fact is this: I just have more fight than you. It's how I got past the handicap of being in a small body that started out woefully unprepared for the rigors of combat. It's how I went over your good buddy Pig surrounded by a ring full of people who hated my guts. It's how I outlasted you on our War Games team and took out Tony goddamn Santos as the cherry on top. It's how I defended my TV championship for 8 shows straight and only gave it up so I could chase something more, NOT so I could duck my head in and out of the XWF for the next year and a half hoping against hope that one day people will forget the day I sacrificed my shame at the altar of sloth.

For all your chatter and assurance about you knowing who you are and me not having a clue, you sure seem to be a man of unceasing contrast Robbie. A purported full time badass who almost backed out of War Games because a British man was mean to him on Twitter. Yes, yes, you SHOWED up. But only after a great deal of cajoling from Donovan and I as you stomped your feet in your footie pajamas, clutched your teddy and threw a conniption about how management was blowing up your “big time feud” with somebody you knew you could beat in the first place. And what DID happen to BourbCo Robbie? Was that just a convenient shtick to lean on during one of your part-time sashays back into our ranks before deciding it wasn't worth it again for a few more months? Hell man, you've already blown up your own spot. You've been a little bit of everything. So why does that make you seem like a whole lot of nothing?

There's nothing wrong with my self concept Robbie. I may be of two minds, but the mind that FIGHTS is laser focused. My goal has always been crystal. Use the XWF to hone this body into the world's most efficient fighting machine. Turn down NO challenge. Fight hard and fight often. And above all, never fucking stop for ANYTHING. And it's a goal I've been CRUSHING.

Did you catch that? I need to you to pay attention to the words coming out of my mouth. I am not stopping. Not for Tristan Slater. Not for DeVille. Certainly not for Pig. And for damn sure not for a man who is so lacking in any modicum of passion, or pride, or decency that he can't even put a half assed effort into convincingly throwing a fight.

Robbie Bourbon, YOU DO NOT DESERVE THIS. Your contempt for the XWF and everyone in it is crystal clear. You've been all but screaming that this place is beneath you since January 17, 2018 and the ONLY reason you wade back here at all is to stoke the dwindling embers of a career you yourself aborted. It's time to let the fire die.

I'm the water Robbie. Whether you like it or not.

As Lux starts winding it down, Azrael Erebus walks through the door of the bar. Joachim taps Lux on the shoulder to draw her attention as he saunters up.

Ok, so I have news.

Good news?

Hopefully. I found Engy and managed to pull some strings to get his Processing date pushed up to later today.

Joachim stands on top of his stool and, ignoring the surprised looks from Lux and the barkeep, plants a big kiss on Azrael's forehead. You're the best deus ex machina ever!

The alien wears an inscrutible expression as he mouths “deus ex machina”. Well, thanks! I think. But actually, you probably shouldn't thank me JUST yet. Engy still has a lot to answer for. He wasn't exactly a saint, as much as we all love him.

Lux and Jo exchange concerned looks. Jo takes a breath and steps down from the stool. I understand. I've been thinking about it ever since we got here. I mean, I hope he gets an afterlife that reflects the person he became in the end...but....

Lux intertwines her hand in Jo's and she shoots a steady gaze at Azrael. Can we speak on his behalf?

It's not unheard of. But I can't say exactly how much weight our input would have. Yahweh works in mysterious ways, as they say. Azrael extends his hands towards them both. Are you ready?

Joachim pauses before taking Azrael's hand, almost impulsively. Okay.

Lux takes his other hand, but then casts a look back at the barkeep. Do we owe you anything?

He makes a dismissive wave and smiles. I'll carry your tab till you come back down here for real.

Lux smirks and makes a “shush” gesture, drawing a sagacious nod from the barkeep before they're all gone.