1A: Far, Far, Away






"I have a bad feeling about this."

ALIAS supposes that Lance is right. What's not to feel uncomfortable about? He had seen his future, and in it, well… He was the bad guy.

His throat responds with something halfway between a grunt and a hum, but His mouth barely even opens enough for the sound to sneak out. He doesn't even bother to turn back. The base of His hand stays firmly planted against the glass window that His fingers gently rap against, rising and falling from the outside-in with the rhythm of a rolling wave. And His eyes stay affixed to the nothingness on the other side of the glass.

"Why the desert?" Lance asks, trying to draw his BEST FRIEND back from whatever concern had presently hooked His mind. There were so many to choose from these days, that Lance didn't dare presume to know. As he steps forward to take up position at the window himself, he sweeps by the Universal Championship and wonders if it was all worth it. The victory at March Madness was supposed to end 'it'. It was supposed to be 'mission accomplished'. But if anything, the weight that sat upon the new champion's shoulders only seemed to have grown heavier. And the championship itself bore the scars.





It had changed the very moment that it had been brought into this metaphysical Nexus. This place could seemingly access any part of the world at the drop of a hat. Lance knows that the championship has been here before - previous stories had told him so, but when he looks at the championship sitting there on the desk, something seems very different. It feels as though light itself was retreating away from it. An unnerving reflection of what it should be. In that moment, a part of him relates to his BEST FRIEND's apparent interest in staring out into nothingness. Inspired, he quickly breaks his gaze from the anti-championship, and lets himself follow its owner's own eyes out the window. Before him, an endless sea of rolling dunes stretches into the horizon. Their peaks reach up towards a spotless blue sky, before toppling under their own weight and crumbling away into a downward slope, certain to rise again only twenty or thirty yards down the line.

While he couldn’t say that he had gotten completely used to the sights that he would see from the large, whole-wall windows that dominated three of the four sides to the cluttered space The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had once called home, this was different.

‘Seems to be a trend’ he muses, privately.

Lance couldn't speak for the times when he was not around, but any time that he had been here, the windows usually just showed images of the various backstreet communities that had been cropping up in the wake of a visit from Space Jesus. Getting a good look at the burgeoning tent-city finding its roots in Tokyo right now following March Madness would have been a welcome sight. Instead, when Lance had entered today, all he had seen was the desert. And not as if the room itself was built in the middle of one of the planet's greatest sand oceans. That would require different views out of each window, but that was not the case. Instead, each window bore the same sun-dried landscape from the same exact angle, as if they were projected on a screen. But they weren't. He knew that. And that's partly why he had to squint as the light from more than just the one sun flared towards him at the same time. They were as real as anything else he had experienced.

"So you're just going with an extra side of brood today. I see." Lance turns away from the undulating desert and tries to catch the eye of his counterpart. "I suppose people have played the emo card against you enough that you may as well just lean into the stereotype. You already dress the part, so what do you say? Should we dye your hair black? I'm sure Dani has some eye-liner you could borrow."

"Heh…" It's a forced chortle. Lance knows it’s not even genuine, but he'll take it. Breaking his gaze, the Universal Champion's focus shifts to His friend.

"There you are!" Lance exclaims. He's met with a pair of rolling eyes. The World-Beater starts fumbling in the pocket of His old, ripped cardigan.

"Do you have a light?" He asks. To Lance's ear it sounds strained and weary. Without hesitation, he pulls out a lighter that, not being a smoker himself, he never really understands why he has. It lights, as it always does, and pulling a cigarette out from his bottomless pocket, ALIAS sticks it in His mouth and sucks the flames down the end.


The fire burns Him from the inside out. It seems to calm Him.

"I'm telling you, I still have a bad feeling about all of this," Lance repeats now that he actually has an attentive audience. "This plan… it–it–... well it hardly even seems like a plan at all! At best it might be a plan to make a plan, but that’s not exactly reassuring.”

"I've got to start somewhere, right?" Sweeping back past the inverted Universal Championship, its master's bare left hand brushes against its plated surface. The thermoreceptors in his fingers twang - both the C fibers and the Aδ fibers sending hot and cold signals respectively to his brain. A cold vacuum and a burning sun. Death and life.

He continues on His path through the maze of shelves and furniture that spread across the Nexus of the world, impersonating a musty old log cabin as it is. Nobody had bothered to tidy up since this place had become a 'home base’ of sorts - Space Jesus being a bit preoccupied as of late, and Lance not having the gall to risk interfering with the sorts of things that he presumed could cause the world to —BLINK— out of existence if he wasn't careful. Even so, the path through the chaos still looks a lot less cluttered. It was as if, with no bull-headed caretaker to watch over them, the objects were beginning to fade from existence.

On the other side of the room, the Legend-Breaker fell onto the dishevelled single bed that was pushed against the wall next to the fireplace/doorway. He made a little nest for himself atop the sheets and blankets. Lance, having followed through the obstacle course, leans against the wooden wall. His shoulder bears his weight.

"This Otherworld…" Lance begins. He couldn't think of any other way to describe the place that his BEST FRIEND had visited a few weeks ago. "...How do you even know it's going to come true?"

"Why else would I have wound up there?" The God-Killer says. "That's how these sorts of things have always worked. It's the–"

"The Universe." Lance finishes his sentence. He's heard this same sort of speech before, and he gets it. He really does. He believes. But there's still something that doesn't quite feel right, and he does a poor job of hiding it on his face.

"Come on, man…" His BEST FRIEND hones right in on that doubt. "Even if we can't be sure, isn't the mere possibility enough to warrant some sort of intervention? I can't become the guy I was there! I can't be the High Lord or whatever stupid fucking name that version of me was going by. I can't! I won't!"

"I know…" Lance says. His head drops a little, and his eyes follow suit as if studying something on the ground.

"That guy… that version of me…" Space Jesus continues, "It's like he gave up on everything that I set out to do, not just when I regained my freedom in 2020, but all the way back in 2008 even. Instead of empowering others, instead of fighting for their freedoms, he started taking people's freedom away."

"So where do we start?" Lance asks.

"The girl."

Lance understands who is being referred to without a name. When he says that he’s heard all of the stories, he means all of the stories. Before Otherworld. Before the movement.

The girl is Paritegi.

The Daughter of ALIAS.

In name, though not in blood.

"She's what, three-years-old?" Her 'father' nods. "How is she supposed to help?"

"It's less about helping now," the War-Winner says, "And more about making sure that future doesn't come true here. Watch."

He CLAPS, and as the sound reverberates around the Nexus, the staggering expanses of desert begin to shift. A new scene settles into place as if on an old View Master - not a still shot but a live action frame.

Of horror.

Bombs fall. A bright, destructive light overwhelmes everything Millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

It's an extinction-level event.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Lance pleads. His head jerks atop his neck, darting back and forward between each of the three windows. "This didn't just happen! It can't have!"

"No." ALIAS stays seated on his bed. "Something's changed. I can't quite explain it. Since coming back from Otherworld, it's like all of the events that lead to that world coming into existence are able to be seen here as if they were no different than whatever dish Dani is cooking tonight in– where is she again?"

"Portland. Maine." Lance replies.

"Right." Through the window, the world burns. Another CLAP and one of the windows shifts to the megalopolis of the downtrodden forming within the backstreets of Portland. One of the more frequently visited 'cities', its size and scale have grown to tremendous proportions. No longer relegated to tents and tarpaulins, the community's structures are strong and stable, expanding out to even take over some of the nearby buildings. In the middle of all of this, the two men's friend Dani stirs a gigantic pot of chilli while ever-so-politely giving instructions to a few other helping hands.

"If you can see all of that," Lance says, watching his friend cook as if it were completely normal. "Couldn't you just see exactly what happened and just go and stop it straight away?"

"That's a good idea," he smiles. "In theory. Unfortunately, these windows seem intent to only show me parts of the future I already know happen. It's Iike they're run by some perverted asshole intent on fucking with me. And I can't see her either."

"The girl?" Lance asks, bringing the conversation back full-circle.

"Yep," ALIAS confirms. "She spent six months with me, and now she’s hidden even to this super-fucking-natural portal bullshit. And that, combined with what I saw she became in that future - becomes, I should say - makes me concerned. The thought is, if I can find her, then maybe I can stop that from ever happening. I can help her. And then…"

Something more goes unsaid. But again Lance knows. He doesn't need to be fluent in over six million forms of communication to read his BEST FRIEND's body language.

If He can find His daughter, perhaps He won't ever become the tyrant He saw.

"I don't suppose you know anybody who's good at finding people, then?" Lance wonders.

"That's the thing about the XWF inexplicably producing millionaires and billionaires and attracting people from the most bizarre corners of life and existence…" A crooked grin creeps onto His face. "I think I know somebody who can help…"

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1B: Human-ALIAS Relations


"You all right, buddy?" Space Jesus asks of Lance, who falls against a dust-costed concrete wall. With one outstretched arm, Lance does his best to hold himself up as he dry-heaves. In between retches, his spare limb wipes at the spittle pooling around the sides of his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lance replies, a little strained. He musters through it. "Just when I'm starting to think I'm getting used to travelling via super special, intra-dimemsional alleyway portal, all of a sudden it knocks me on my butt again."

"We really need to come up with a better name for that…" ALIAS says, looking back at the door they stepped out of. It creaks shut over the brilliant, otherworldly lights jumbled together by the zooming blur of stars whipping towards where they stand. With its independent closure, the laneway the two men stand in is plunged into the dull greys and sandy browns of the real world.

"Maybe another time. I'm happy just to settle for having kept my lunch down today." Lance pushes off the wall, and wipes again at his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Suit yourself," his BEST FRIEND shrugs.

"So…" Lance looks around at their surroundings. Though the mode of travel still had its ups and downs for him, one thing that he definitely had gotten used to by now was coming out the other end in yet another non-descript side-street replete with grime ('check', he notes, seeing the build-up around the aforementioned door), trash ('check again', he notes, looking… well… kind of everywhere), and….'yep, there they are'... rats. All of which, when combined, just left him asking… "Where are we?"

"New York," comes the answer, as the World-Beater steps forward into the alley. Lance falls into step beside Him.

"Brooklyn?"

"Brooklyn," He confirms.

"So that means…" The path they walk takes them around a corner. Because everything one could ever need is always just around the corner.

There before them, spreads the thrumming New York branch of the movement. Their footsteps take them past homemade structures built not of torn tarpaulin and flimsy plywood, but sturdy beams and hardened cement. Last time the World-Beater was here was for Bad Medicine - the night that everything changed. At that stage, He didn't even know these cities-within-cities were cropping up, but in the time since He'd seen new ones form, and the more frequently visited locations - like those in Philadelphia, Portland, and Chicago - grow into self-sustaining communities. From the looks of this one, it was well and truly on its way towards the latter.

And it was growing.

"They're doing an amazing job here, aren't they?" Lance half-asks, half-states, seemingly thinking the same thing as his BEST FRIEND.

There isn't a response. As the two make their way down the street, the faces of the downtrodden who have found their way here - found a home - stop and stare. From behind sullen, weary eyes, they watch as the inspiration of the lives they've made here walks amongst them. Wide-eyed, they whisper secrets to each other. Some extend hands out towards Him as if His very touch will take them higher than they've ever been before.

The Legend-Breaker seems to retreat before their touch. Lance watches with curiosity.

The street carries them forward. Past smoking pizza ovens, aromatic candles, and a fully-fledged water pump chugging away, amongst other features. The city of strays has all the amenities and services it needs.

"I'm kind of amazed the city hasn't shut this down yet," Lance remarks. "I mean, I know there's a generator and all so they’re not running on the city’s power grid, but still…”

Still no response.

"Hey… what's going on with you?" Lance enquiries. “I thought I had already brought you back from the edge?”

"These people…" ALIAS whispers. The eyes of the residents continue to follow Him. "They've all bought in hook, line, and sinker. Like I'm their true blue fucking Messiah. That Space Jesus shit's supposed to be a fucking gag when I say it, but every single person here is treating me like I'm royalty. I never signed up to be anybody's king."


"You're not," Lance says, trying to reassure Him. "Remember, everybody here is here of their own volition. You don't command them, you're their inspiration."

"Yeah…" He studies the nearest devoted admirer. "That's part of the problem. You know the story, Lance. You know how this ends. All of this turns into Otherworld. It turns into bombs dropping, the world becoming a barren wasteland, and people fucking dying! Corey, Mark, Ruby, NK, Vinnie, Theo, Cent, Gator, Morby! Shit, even Lou! Even Thad! And in that future, you are trying to stop it! Trying to stop me! With good fucking reason, too. And all of this? Man… knowing it becomes that… it's unsettling."

"I…" Lance's eyes follow the King-Slayer's. "I think I understand."

"I can't let it happen," he reaffirms. Though those words seem like they're said in conversation, Lance knows they're really directed inward. His BEST FRIEND is trying to motivate Himself.

"Then don't," he says anyway.

ALIAS nods, and turns his attention forward. On the other side of the settlement, the alleyway seems to narrow. The walls close in, and it feels to Him like they're wrapping around Him, contracting as they go, and pushing Him forward.

He births out onto a busy street, Lance following just behind Him. A conveniently placed taxi sits parked on the side of the road, and with a knowledge He doesn't share with Lance, He waves out to it. The cabbie inside waves back, and The War-Winner encourages Lance to come with as He heads towards the vehicle.

"We're getting a cab?" Lance asks, confused and taken by surprise.

"Gotta get out of the city itself," ALIAS replies.

"We couldn't have just gone straight to wherever it is we're going?" Lance wonders. "Which is… where again?"

He has no luck in getting more info. Just as his BEST FRIEND had with the portal-like doorway that brought the two of them to New York, He now stares back at the opening from which they had emerged onto the street from.

"I had to see…" He says.

Lance knows. Again.

He always does.

"I, uh… I didn't bring my wallet," he says, raising one last barrier before he can fully accept the situation.

"Not to worry." Crouching down, and looking in through the taxi's window, Space Jesus slips a cigarette out of a pocket that Lance didn't even know was there - and still can't quite locate after the event has already occurred!

The smoke finds its way into its wielder’s mouth, and from lips pursed partially shut to hold the cancer stick in place, Lance hears the same question he heard himself so many months ago.

"Do you have a light?"

A small, Zippo lighter flicks open as it juts through the window. Upon it, the cigarette is lit.

"Where to?" The driver asks with a thick Hispanic accent that only stands out to Lance because of how it flies in the face of the Italian stereotype he had been brought up believing.

"New Rochelle."

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1C: Anger Leads To…

"Let’s just go ahead and pause the story right there, shall we? Thaddy, my boy, I'm gonna extend you the kind of courtesy that I wouldn't show to someone like a Charlie Nickles, and assume that you don't need this shit spelled out for you. I hear a calling, Thad. On the winds of time, its voice has beckoned; inside the nothingness that reaches between celestial objects far beyond either of our comprehension… the Universe has been calling to me. It's only now, with the clarity that I've willed into existence - that I've fucking fought for! - that I understand that it was always calling to me. It called to me in 2010, when I stumbled in from the streets of Paris for a one-off duel against Morten Saint in my first and only Anarchy fight to date. Before that, it called to me in 2008 when I challenged James Raven to reconsider everything he thought about himself. And before that still, it was calling. Before I had ever heard the three letters: X-W-F. Time and time again, The Universe whispered its sweet nothings into my ear, and I… I just didn't listen.

But that's where you come in. This moment's been building for a while, hasn't it, pal? And with… whatever you want to call this thing between you and I (mostly driven by myself, I'll admit)… simmering for over a year as it has, it's allowed the scales that we weigh ourselves upon to tilt a bit. Quite a bit in fact. There's a lot of fodder that you and I will no doubt get the chance to finally clear the air on, and I am very much looking forward to that… but!

But I want to do this real justice, man.

This is it, the moment I'm sure many have been waiting for. The moment people probably assume that I have been waiting for too! Finally, I get to set my hands on a guy that I've hated since the moment I saw his dumb fucking face. Finally, I get a moment to bring to life all these dreams I've shared of killing the sumbitch once and for all. Shit… you've figured that to be my motivation in the past yourself, so I wouldn't be surprised to hear it come out of someone else's cocksucker as well. We'll get a chance to get into all of that, I promise!

But! Oh yeah, baby, in case you hadn’t noticed, we're gonna have a few of those fuckers coming in order to really catch all the nuance.

But for now, I just want you to take my word on this and recognise that those thoughts of yours were, or are, wrong. I get that you don't have much reason to trust me, but ask yourself, why would I lie? I've never once hunted you down, I've never once blindsided you, and I've never once tried to bring this supposed death wish that you've previously mentioned into being. Sure, a part of that has been out of respect for the company that we each keep. Corey. Dolly. Even Betsy, for a moment there. There have been times where I've wondered what it is that those guys saw in you, but when I really think about it, I realise that I've always actually seen it myself and that is why I don’t - and never have! - want you dead.

Bear with me, here, alright? We have all the time in the world to go tit-for-tat over everything that's been said in the year and a half or so since we first chatted, but start by thinking about the very first words that I said about you. Do you remember them? I spoke about the future, Thad. Circa November 2020, anyhow. I spoke about how all you were promising was youth and just being around on a regular basis.

How that fucking changes, eh?

One month to go!

I criticised you for how you seemed to think that was enough to usher in a new era. And how fucking entitled you were being about it.

But!

But… what did I say on the go-home? When all that had could be said, had been, and even you had shut your fucking mouth, what did I say?

I said that Thaddeus Duke would be the Universal Champion one day.

I said that I believed it.

And I said that I was sorry for how I reacted to you.

Was.

I laid it all out for you right then and there, buddy. Back then, you pigeon-holed me into some sort of bullshit divide and conquer strategy against you and Corey - something that I hope with the benefit of hindsight you've come to realise wasn't my game at all. But the reason I can stand here and with my own hindsight and say that I was sorry is that throughout the entire time that we've had the displeasure of knowing each other, you've just gone from making up one motivation for my being to another. Oh sure you came a'trotting down the 24/7 25/8 corridors to 'check in' on me or something - once - but you never really did turn that mirror on yourself, did you? Which was what I was really wanting all along.

Heh… there’s so much more to come down that line of thinking. Let me circle back, though, so that we can move forward.

Do I want you dead, Thad?

No.

That's an easy answer. You created that fucking fiction because it made it convenient for you to plug your earholes up and not listen to the god-honest truth about the piece of shit human being that you are. And I’ve fucking tried to help! I wanted you to BE BETTER. Not as a fighter, but as a goddamn human being. There are people in this world who need help - people like I once was - and I viewed you as somebody who could do so. Like Corey. Like Dolly. Like Betsy, for a moment there.

Heh…

A lot of sniggers coming from ya boy today alongside the ‘buts’.

You see what this is, don’tcha?

Repetition, my good sir. We're running the fucking clock back and dealing with everything. Because you? You're the kind of guy who kicks his friend in the head and then, after starting a fucking war with him, still thinks he was in the right.

So you… helping people?

I'm man enough to admit when I was wrong.

I can't be sure about this, Thad, but my interpretation of what I've seen - that being your son, Frankie, holding up your severed head - is that it's the end result of your foolhardy stubbornness. Your refusal to acknowledge your mistakes. And it’s gonna fucking cost you.

And so here we are, back at square one.

You and your entitled-ness.

Me and my fucking mission.

Episode III.

And I can either beat some sense into you now, or leave you to your fate.

So what’s a Space Jesus to do?

Look… I tend to make a big song and dance about how people shoot their shot at me by drawing up a fucking scarecrow and just going to town on that motherfucker but leaving ya boy almost completely unscathed. There's probably an irony in there, given your disassociation with the reality of who you fucking are as a person. The warped logic of your own deluded brain would probably tell you that you have a good case at saying that I'm stuffing scarecrows of my own.

But!

There we go again…

If ever there was a chance for me to understand what it's like to walk in your shoes - you know, like you wanted Corey to understand - it'd be right now. It's with my own experiences now that I can, somewhat, relate to what it's like to be Thaddeus Duke. Your life beyond the XWF, from what I can tell, was thrust upon you. You didn't choose to have enemies chomping at your heels. You didn't choose to be risking your life every time- and these are your words - you so much as choose which direction to fucking turn."

~~~

Left.


Run that motherfucking clock back.

~~~

“You see the link, right? I was right to think you can think a little deeper than Charlie?

My own choices often have similarly dire consequences, and the role that has been thrust upon me as of late wasn't by my choosing.

Rather… I was chosen.

I hear the fucking call and now I listen!

To help people.

To save people.

To be better.

And do you know what I've discovered through this experience? When committing yourself to this sort of ideal, one doesn't have time to run around to other companies, spreading yourself thin, to pat yourself on the fucking back. One doesn’t have time to be an actor as well as a wrestler as well as a soldier as well as a king. One doesn’t have time to be a goddamn Mary Sue. See, I'm here because The Universe that fucking is here called me. I'm here because possession of that Universe gives me what I fucking need to achieve my broader goals. But you're king of a whole goddamn nation and you're just looking out for your fucking self.

'No more worthy opponents,' he said, while he fellated himself.

As if Raion Kido didn’t slap him down.

You admit you've got an ego though. That's fine. I’ve been trying not to use that word because people often try to weaponise it against me too and it fails HARD. So don’t mistake what I’m saying for that E-word argument, Thad. That’s not the metaphorical silver bullet I’ve already lodged in your monstrous fucking skull. I suggest giving it a second listen if you haven't picked up on what is.

It's okay though, Thad. With everything that you have to deal with, I can appreciate that you want your own happiness too. That's… well… human. And me using that word to describe you, just this once, is probably as close to a heartfelt statement as you're gonna get. But Baddy Thaddy, after you've broken up and made up again with people whose opinions I actually trust; after standing here and sharing with you that I'm as close to relating to what you have to deal with in life as I think I ever will be… I can still look at you and think that you're the same vain cunt that I always did without any concern for how it reflects upon me. Because you still are that cunt, Thad. Following your cock instead of your brain. Flashing your wallet instead of your heart. Or how about training your son to fight, just like Daddy Duke did you.

Yeah, I'm speaking out of turn on that one.

Yah, I’m talking with my head up my own ass.

What're you going to fucking do about it?

We're going to be fighting to see who gets the higher ground, Thad, but I damn sure don't mind taking the low ground most of the way there. Because this is in service of my goals. This is in service of making this world a better place for the next scruffy vagrant who wanders in off the street in whatever company you wind up finding 'worthy' competition in.

'Cause winning tag team championships so quickly - alongside dipshit Page no less - really shows the 'worthiness' of competition elsewhere, right?

Fucking what?

Back then, you said that I was seeking to 'run the good ones' off - 'good' decided by you, of course. I'd say that I wanted more of 'the good ones'.

Decided by me. Of course.

And excluding you.

It would include Frankie, though. By both of our definitions, he's a good kid. From what I've seen, he turns into a good man too. I don't want you to think that by invoking his name I'm making any sort of threat to do him harm. I know how you struggle with discerning the difference, but I made it a little personal like this against Peter Vaughn too and I never went beyond the scope of the conflict. I'm just trying to do you a favour here, Thad. I'm trying to make this fight be something that works in service of your goals like it already is for me.

Consider it practice.

War Games, but without the teams.

Thad… I don’t want you to come into this as The Lionheart.

I want you to come into this with your fucking fatigues on.

And you know damn well the kind of mindset you have in that situation.

And hey… I'm relatively confident that I know how you're going to respond to most of what I've said. If you stick to brand - and let's face it, you always stick to brand - then you've already got your usual bullshit ready to drop. And that's where the fun begins. Because if you hadn't noticed, sure I've taken a few minor jabs at what may have become some of the more expected talking points when it comes to the err… relationship… that you and I have, but I haven't really gone all in yet on a bunch of 'em. And that's by design. Maybe I'm giving away my hand here, but just as I said I did in my 'apology' all the way back before High Stakes, I've just poked the bear with all of this. When it comes to Eating Thaddeus Duke… this is just the fucking appetiser."