A fracas of frenetic footsteps.

Surrounding the structure is a smattering of stomps.

In the headquarters of Mark Flynn’s mind…

The legion of Flynn’s past identities destructively and chaotically tear through every corner…

Every inch…

Every nook and cranny…

Searching…

No.

Hunting.

For the missing Christopher K. Clinton.

The Whore For Gold, crawling on his hands and knees, scurries along cubicles like a bloodhound.

“NO SCENT HERE! NO BELT! NO BELT!”

Conspiracy Victim Flynn takes hold of the fridge in the office kitchen, then HUCKS IT FLAT ON ITS FACE!

“Where is he, Fridge?!? I KNEW YOU WERE IN CAHOOTS WITH HIM!”

…

“Not talking, eh?”

CVF stomps the back of the fridge a couple times for good measure!

Unlike the rest of the cacophony, former XWF World Heavyweight Champion (and the first XWF talent to ever win a 24/7 briefcase) Robert Miles carefully pulls open a five-foot cabinet of office supplies… (an actual person a human-sized person could be)

Miles, his face still as a stone, takes a stoic peek left and right.

…

He shakes his head. No one here.

“TALLY HO!”

Robert Miles turns around emotionlessly.

BEHIND HIM, SER FLYNN, LANCE IN HAND…

ON HIS NOBLE STEED, DUPLICITY!

…Miles’s lips subtly purse.

The most facial movement he’s shown in 12 years.

As he narrowly rolls out of the way…

KERASH!

SER FLYNN LANCES THE CABINET LIKE A STUCK PIG!

The cabinet is scooped a full foot off the ground!

And pinned to the wall like a preserved butterfly!

“REVEAL YOURSELF, CLINTON! YOU NO-GOOD, CROOKED CAD AND FIEND!”

Ser Flynn releases his lance and unsheathes his swo-!

“YOU STUPID FUCKS!”

WHAM!

In one fell swoop, Ser Flynn is shoved off his steed!

And lands with a thud in his steel armor…

The dishonorable knight paws helplessly at the air!

Trapped on his back, like a turtle.

Standing over him, fuming angrily…

Is the obsidian-eyed ‘Free-Win’ Flynn.

His mask of a friendly open smile is gone.

“What the fuck are you doing using swords… and lances…”

He furiously stomps the steel plate of Ser Flynn’s chest…

Ser Flynn winces in agony as the sound of clattering steel draws the other Flynn’s away from their chaotic hunting efforts.

“WHEN.”

“I WANT.”

“CLINTON.”

“ALIVE.”

…

“So, in my estimation…”

Free-Win raises his foot.

And STOMPS Ser Flynn’s sword hand!

“AHHHHHH!” Ser Flynn squeals, clutching at his crushed palm…

As Free-Win takes the knight’s sword into his grip.

“You won’t need thi-.”

…

Free-Win takes a moment to feel the weight of the blade in his hands.

…

Free-Win swishes it through the air.

“Oooooh, that’s nice.”

…

Free-Win’s eyes widen, as he shakes his head, briefly freeing himself of the sword’s hypnotically nice handling.

He points the sword toward the other Flynns.

“FIND CLINTON.”

The Flynns all eye each other sheepishly, before resuming a more intentional, cautious search method.

…Free-Win slides his new sword into his belt…

And retrieves from pocket a walkie-talkie.

He shifts it up to his face.

“BEAST.” Free-Win snarls into the radio. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE LEADING THE HUNT TO MY EXACT INSTRUCTIONS. WHERE ARE YOU?”

…

…

Silence.

Free-Win’s eyes widen furiously.

“Stupid… FUCKING FUCKS.” Free-Win grabs the radio and twists the channel dial. “Have to do every FUCKING THING myself…”

Free-Win lifts the radio back to his face.

“RECORD PROFITS.” Free-Win growls. “YOU’RE THE FUCKING MORON I PUT IN CHARGE OF COMMUNICATION. WHY ISN’T BEAST RESPONDING TO ME?”

…

Quiet.

“GOD DAMMIT.” Free-Win pulls the radio up to his lips to screech his fury. “I swear to GOD if you’re posting something on social media instead of doing your job, I will personally RIP OFF YOUR FINGERS ONE-BY-ONE UNTIL YOU CAN ONLY TWEET WITH YOUR GODDAMNED TOES. I WI-”

A cough behind him!

Free-Win spins around!

Robert Miles stands before him.

Free-Win sneers angrily.

“The FUCK do you want? Unless you found Clinton, I don’t wan-”

Miles points to his hands.

He twiddles his thumbs like he’s texting.

…Free-Win nods, comprehending Miles’ meaning.

“Record Profits? Okay. What about him?”

Miles continuously to mock text with his thumbs…

Then shifts to driving a steering wheel.

Free-Win exhales, immediately tired of this game.

“Record Profits is… driving? Driving wha-?”

…

Free-Win pats his pockets.

He reaches into his left…

Then his right.

The phone controlling Flynn’s physical body.

…It’s gone.

…

Free-Win’s eyes widen.

…

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

Then narrow.

As he spins back toward the central office.

“So…”

And draws his sword.

“It’s treason then…”

---

Meanwhile…

Inside the ventilation system above the office…

Clinton crawls in front of…

The Flynn(?) that rescued him…

Clinton crawls to the very edge of a duct…

“...Uh… back up a scootch, will ya…” Clinton tries to whisper over his shoulder. “I need to turn around so I can drop down on my feet...”

…

Clinton hears no movement behind him.

“Goddammit.” Clinton hisses, trying to look over his shoulder. “I said, b-”

Clinton finally gets a good look behind him.

…

And no one is there.

…

“What th-”

SHWOOM!

A hand catches Clinton around the throat like a viper sinking its claws into a rat!

“A-MMMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFFFF!” In a split-second, Clinton has gone from prone in the vent…

To dangling in the air by his feet.

Held by the neck… And mouth covered by…



The Opponent.

…

The Opponent lifts a finger to his mouth.

…

Clinton nods impatiently.

The Opponent releases Clinton’s mouth.

…

Then, gently drops him to his feet.

…

For a moment, The Opponent merely stares Clinton in the eye.

Peering into his very being.

…

“A risky trick, escaping via the ventilation shaft.” The Opponent finally states, cutting through the silence. “Had any Flynn thought to search there, we would have been trapped.”

…

“But, none of them did.” Clinton reaches for his collar and straightens his tie, catching his breath.

“How did you know they wouldn’t?”

…

Clinton sneers, dusting his shoulders.

“Lucky guess.”

Clinton looks back to his resc-

…

The Opponent.

Is now an inch from Clinton’s face.

Nose-to-nose with Flynn’s attorney alter-ego.

“I very much doubt your choice was based on simple luck.”

…Clinton grits his teeth.

Determined to return his companion’s analytical stare.

“You want to see my cards? Put yours on the table first.”

…

The Opponent’s face doesn’t move a modicum.

“Amenable. What would you like to know?”

“You said Flynn’s core is blocking the Warfare GM deal.”

“Correct.”

…

……

Clinton exhales.

“Okay… Well… WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?” Clinton hisses angrily, while keeping his volume low.

…

“You may have wrested the right to control Flynn’s physical body from the rest of the Flynn’s. But, clearly, Flynn’s psyche has… safeguards.”

“...Safeguards?”

“Rules. To prevent total circumvention of Flynn’s character.”

…Clinton scoffs. “You’re saying Mark Flynn... deep down… Has things he WON’T do?”

…Clinton swizzles his finger around his ear, like ‘cuckoo, cuckoo.’

“Fella… I’ve been in Flynn’s head for a while. The guy would step on his grandmother’s spine to get what he wants.”

“Correct. Flynn has little to no moral or ethical scruples when it comes to achieving his objectives.”

“However, this core is not based in morality. Or ethics.”

“Mark Flynn does not have some secret, heart-of-gold underneath all the layers of black that make up his heart.”

Clinton rolls his eyes.

“Of course not. We’re talking about MARK FLYNN. Even IF the guy had ONE internal rule, he’d bend it until it was broken. A twisted and gnarled caricature of the law he pretends to abide.”

…

“You speak plain truth.”

…

“But. There is… at least… ONE thing Flynn won’t do.”

…

Clinton purses his lips impatiently.

“And what is that?”

“Sign Thad’s contract.”

“As evidenced by your own inability to force Flynn’s body to do so.”

…

Clinton pinches the bridge of his nose.

“YES.”

“BUT.”

“WHY?”

…

The Opponent stands, quietly still.

…

Clinton taps his foot.

“WELL?!?”

…

“I do not know.”

…

“YOU don’t know?” Clinton eyes this man suspiciously. “Mister ‘I see everything? I have eyes everywhere?’ YOU don’t know what’s blocking the deal?”

…

“Correct.”

…

“But, I know where we may go to find the answer.”

…

“The CORE.”

“...Oh? Is that all?”

“And where, praytell… Is the core?”

…

The Opponent points…

Out.

…

Out the window.

Out towards the beach.

The waters…

Of the Ocean of the Subconscious.

---

Meanwhile…

Back on the beach of the subconscious…

The Ocean of Flynn’s subconscious…

Has surged up to ‘Good Guy’ Flynn’s eyes…

Slowly bubbling up to his brows…

Standing above his former tag-team partner…

Is the North Korean War Criminal.

“Mark Flynn!” NK claps his hands impatiently… As close as he can to Flynn’s ears, while hovering his hands over the waves to keep his sleeves bone-dry.

“Did you not hear me?” NK snaps his fingers impatiently. “I have had time to reflect! And I have determined, in my infinite wisdom, that you CANNOT DIE! You do not have my permission!”

NK crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“If I, in my undeniable greatness as a representative of the greatest nation to ever exist, am temporarily estopped in my efforts to defeat you…”

NK points at the slowly encroaching water. “AND YOU ARE DEFEATED… BY A METAPHOR! BY AN ALLEGORICAL OCEAN MOVING SIX INCHES AN HOUR.”

NK shoves his face into his hands walking back up the beach. “I could NEVER live it down! The shame! The humiliation!”

“You would kill my American-style street-cred, Mark Flynn.”

…

The wave creeps up Flynn’s brow…

Up to the center of his forehead.

…

NK sighs, squeezing his temples.

“Mark Flynn.” NK shakes his head. “This is… beneath you!”

“Dying to a puddle as small as the OCEAN?!?”

“Something as insignificant as THE UNIVERSE?!?”

NK sighs.

“I have fought… both by your side and opposing you, Mark Flynn!”

“I’ve seen you battle opponents that could swallow worlds… That could warp the fabric of time and space itself!”

“And did you win?”

“No.”

…

NK coughs.

“Frankly, you didn’t come particularly close either.”

…

NK sticks a finger in the air.

“BUT! You never quit, Mark Flynn!”

“Like the noble North Korean muskrat, you scrapped and toiled with every fiber of your being!”

“Until every ounce of will had been completely beaten from your body!”

“And even then… Just when your opponent thought you were beaten…”

“THAT is when you would strike hardest!”

“When the world would be defeated, Mark Flynn refused to die!”

…

NK smiles, nodding his head.

“YES! THAT is who you are! Aha!”

NK snaps his fingers!

“It is clear to me now, Mark Flynn! It is as clear as the waters of the Pyongyang River! You are NOT quitting! You simply lay in wait for the most heroic moment! To rise! To dramatically declare yourself back in control!”

NK spins around, gleefully smiling!

“Well, that time is n-”

…

The waves recede.

…

‘Good Guy’ Mark Flynn?

Gone.

Swallowed.

Back from whence he came.

---

Outside of the courtroom…

Irwin sits with his head in his hands.

Miss Geniveve Tote.

Slash Miss Geniveve Tate.

Slash Miss Stephanie Wilson.

Sits beside him.

And rests a hand upon his shoulder.

“It’s okay to be nervous, Irwin.” T/T/W utters reassuringly.

…

“In fact, I’d be concerned if you weren’t. This situation is the most stressful scenario any human being could face.”

“I know, Miss Tate.” …Irwin sighs, nodding gravely. “I just don’t understand… Why?”

…T/T/W purses her lips sagely, considering the wisdom in Irwin’s words.

She pulls him closer…

And wraps him in a warm embrace.

…

“WHY… would Mister Flynn call me ‘Irwin’?”

…

T/T/W slowly pushes Irwin out of the hug.

In order to look him in the eye.

…

“...What did you just say?”

Irwin strokes his chin, visibly deep in thought.

“The entire time I’ve known Mister Flynn, he’s called me Irwinner… Or Irmano… Or Irman!”

…

“Then, over the phone… He calls me Irwin!”

He shakes his head.

“It doesn’t add up! It makes no sense!”

…

T/T/W is dumbfounded.

“That’s what you’re talk… What…” …T/T/W is so mad, she actually can’t speak.

She can only scream.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW?!?”

…

Irwin looks up at T/T/W perplexedly.

“Of course! What else would I be thinking about?”

…

“YOUR MURDER TRIAL TODAY.”

…

Irwin looks up…

Astounded.

Like he just realized he’s sitting in a courthouse.

“Oh!”

…

“Is that today?”

…

T/T/W smacks herself in the face.

…

“Yes, Irwin. It is today.”

…

“Hmm.” Irwin resumes stroking his chin thoughtfully.

…T/T/W exhales.

“Irwin.” She rests an arm on her test subject’s shoulder. “This is a critical moment in your parasocial relationship.”

“One in which you either…”

T/T/W lifts one hand.

“Shed yourself of Flynn’s identity… And with the full brunt of your capability face reality and handle this hanging doom over your head.”

…

“OR!”

T/T/W lifts her other hand.

“Are found guilty of murder.”

…

T/T/W lifts one hand.

…

Then the other.

…

Then dangles the first hand (the one where Irwin stops thinking about Flynn for ONE GODDAMNED SECOND) right under Irwin’s nose.

…

…

Irwin scratches his head.

…

“He called me… Irwin.”

…

T/T/W covers her face with her hands.

She reaches into her purse… And retrieves a nail file.

“If I don’t file, I’m going to rip them off.” She says to no one in particular, as she shapes and edges her middle finger nail. “If I don’t file, I’m going to rip them off….”

Irwin snaps his fingers.

“I’ve got it!”

He stands up!

His chains clink around him.

He’s wearing an orange jumpsuit and chains.

(For the record, the prison had to custom make a Boys’ Medium to fit Irwin’s delicate frame.)

“Mister Flynn isn’t himself!”

…

T/T/W side-eyes him, pausing her filing.

“...What?”

“Why else he would call me Irwin?” Irwin taps his noggin thoughtfully.

…

“BECAUSE IT’S YOUR NAME.” T/T/W claps her hands, trying to summon Irwin back to Planet Earth.

“No!” Irwin waves away that explanation. “It’s because he’s in trouble!”

Irwin taps his heart. “I can’t… I can’t explain it exactly. But… I can feel Mister Flynn! Deep down! He’s not himself! Why else would he not be here?”

…

T/T/W exhales.

…Sliding her nail file onto her lap.

…

“Because he doesn’t care about you, Irwin.”

…

“This connection you feel? This sensing Mark Flynn’s emotions from anywhere on Earth?”

“You ever wonder why it’s a one-way connection? Why Mark Flynn doesn’t run around feeling your emotions back?”

“Because your relationship with Flynn is a one-way street.”

“You bend over backwards to be his stooge.”

“You were almost maimed in an animatronic gorilla explosion!”

“You were nearly head-exploded by Micheal Graves doing his best Jigsaw impression!”

“You were nearly killed by a North Korean War Criminal piloting a wrestling android!”

“And NOW? You’re about to be FOUND GUILTY OF A CRIME YOU DIDN’T COMMIT.”

…

“And Mark Flynn?”

“ISN’T HERE.”

“Why?”

“Because Mark Flynn only cares about two things.”

“Wrestling.”

“And himself.”

“And he’ll never stop.”

“And he’ll never change.”

…

“And the way you feel about Mark Flynn?”

“He will never return one-one BILLIONTH of that affection your way.”

…

T/T/W shakes her head.

“It’s as likely as Mark Flynn retiring.”

…

Irwin stops stroking his chin.

To look Miss Tote/Tate/Wilson in the eyes.

…

He rests her head on T/T/W’s shoulder.

…

“I’m… I’m sorry.” T/T/W pats him on the back. “I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

“But, that’s why I had to say it.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Mark Flynn isn’t ‘not himself’.”

“He’s the same as he ever wa-”

BZZZZZT!

T/T/W’s phone buzzes…

…

T/T/W releases Irwin.

And reaches into her purse.

As her phone.

…

Fills with notifications.

---

Two minutes earlier…

”Genuinely! THREE women are full-on fist-fighting over a slip of paper that has Vinnie Lane’s phone number on it! I mean, I know they call him ‘Loverboy’ but jeez!”

Theo’s hands weaving through the air as he flawlessly paints the scene.

”So, I did what any rational person would do in my position… I booked them for a try-out!”

The studio audience laughs and woos! Delighted by Theo’s salacious XWF story!

Liz Weinberg (former XWF commentator and current host of a late night talk show) smiles, tapping her notecards together.

Pryce smiles, pleased his anecdote killed.

…

Every face in the room is smiling.

…

Save one.

…


Thaddeus Duke.

Sitting in the chair beside Theo.

Impatiently side-eying his uncle.

…

The laughter finally dies down…

“Well, Mister Pryce…” Weinberg smiles, eyeing her former boss. “Love triangles! Catfights! If there’s one thing you’ve made clear, it’s just how crazy it must be working for the XWF!”

…

Weinberg clears her throat.

“Not that I… y’know… miss it… at all.” She clarifies… unconvincingly.

“Well. It certainly isn’t the easiest job.” Theo nods…

Before resting a hand on Thad’s shoulder.

“But. That’s why Thaddeus Duke is the man for the job. His entire XWF career… Thad’s thrived in the most high-pressure environments… Every challenge? Simply a new angle to reflect his brilliance.”

Theo squeezes Thad’s shoulder… stoically, but clearly brimming with pride.

“That’s what makes him the perfect fit for the new Warfare General Manager.”

Theo nods at the crowd.

And they erupt into applause.

They start up a ‘THAD! DUKE! SHOW!’ chant.

…Thad still looks…

Unsatisfied.

…

“And I’m sure the fact that he’s your nephew has nothing to do with it.” Liz sneaks in a barb.

The crowd oooooh’s.

“I mean.” Theo grins, his ego not too fragile to handle a mild attack. “That doesn’t hurt. It certainly means I can trust him.”

Theo nods at Thad.

…

Thad returns his gaze.

“So…” Liz grins, tossing another notecard over her shoulder. “Your big announcement is that Thad is running Warfare?”

…Liz falls backwards in her chair, mock-snoring.

The crowd chuckles… Though, clearly they hesitate at a joke at Duke’s expense.

“Boring! We knew that!” Liz leans in closer to her guests. “C’mon! Theo! Duke! Can’t you give us an inside scoop? Something that might break wrestling twitter!”

The crowd starts chanting ‘GIVE US MORE!’

…Theo leans in closer to Liz.

Liz’s eyes widen, like ‘Oh my god, did that work?’

The crowd falls to a hush.

…

Theo smiles, and shakes his head.

The crowd ooooooohs disappointedly.

“I’m sorry!” Theo raises his hands to the crowd. “But. This announcement IS the inside scoop! Thaddeus Duke IS the new General Manager of Warfare.”

The crowd starts up another clap for Duke…

…

Weinberg sighs, shrugging to the crowd, like ‘well, I tried.’

“Well, when we come back, we’ll have musical guest, Chappell Ro-”

“Co-GM, actually.”

…

Every eye in the room turns toward Thad.

Sitting on the couch.

Disinterestedly eyeing his nails.

…

Theo eyes his nephew.

…

Liz’s eyes are wide as saucers.

She smells a story.

“Co-GM?”

…Theo smiles uncomfortably.

“Well, cat’s out of the bag! Thad is seeking a partner to assist him managing Warfare! If you wanted a headline… There!” Theo wiggles his finger in a circle, prompting the cameraman to cut to commercial.

…Unfortunately for Pryce, the camera rolls.

“But!” Liz smiles wide. “WHO is this mysterious co-GM?”

“Is it the partner you’ve separated from, Sahara!”

“Is it your son itching to leap into the wrestling business, Frankie!”

“Is it your hired muscle, Cyrus Braddock!?!”

The crowd woos with each one of Liz’s wild guesses!

Theo raises his arms high, to try and calm the spiralling room.

“We’ve already said too much, Liz!” Theo smiles. “We’re still considering a number of options. No choice has been made. An-”

“Yes, it has.”

…

Thad leans in.

Staring dead into the camera.

“It’s Mark Flynn.”

---

Wrestling Twitter is exploding.

The headlines read.

Thaddeus Duke announces Mark Flynn’s retirement

Duke and Flynn: Old Rivals Turned Partners?!?

The end of an era? Is Mark Flynn calling it quits?

---

The crowd is still screaming WELL after the camera’s cut to commercial.

Even after the flashing ‘APPLAUSE’ sign was turned off.

In the guest dressing room.

Theo has his head in his hands… Trying to reverse-engineer what just happened.

…

As Thad smacks his uncle on the back.

“There.”

“No more pussyfooting.”

“No more weird demands.”

“Now? Flynn’s cornered.”

…

Theo exhales, shaking his head.

“He certainly is.”

---

Latoya Hixx.

Maybe you thought I’d blow you off this week, huh?

Mark Flynn has other things on his plate.

He’s just two weeks away from the biggest triple-threat match in XWF History.

With the biggest title in the whole wrestling industry on the line.

Why would he waste his time swinging at Latoya Hixx?

...

See.

That’s the thing about me, Latoya.

I’m an in-the-moment kinda guy.

Look at those other guys.

They’re taking on their opponents this week.

But, they’ve got my name all over their lips.

They can’t get through a half-sentence without bringing me up.

I’ve living in two heads rent-free.

...

But me?

I’m in the here-and-now.

And right now?

My opponent is Latoya Hixx.

A woman who has won a SINGLE MATCH IN HER ENTIRE XWF CAREER.

AND ONLY BY DISQUALIFICATION.

A woman who has a losing record on FUCKING ANARCHY.

Fucking ELIJAH MARTIN had a winning record.

It’s THE FUCKING KIDDIE POOL OF THE XWF.

And Latoya Hixx is drowning in it.

Latoya Hixx got fed twice to TV champ, Jason Cashe.

And twice, she couldn’t even get halfway to the fifteen minute time limit.

She’s an embarrassment to this company.

She’s not The Storm.

She’s The Puddle.

To be stomped by the sport’s slowest, dullest children.

And walked over by anyone with THE FUCKING ABILITY.

...

So, Storm.

Try to bring the thunder.

Because at Leap of Faith?

My reign begins.

---

“Aha! A perfectly excuted double-meaning! Now!” The Beast points at the phone screen over RECORD PROFITS™’s shoulder! “Strike at Latoya’s weak trash talk! Discuss how divorced her perspective is from reality!”

RECORD PROFITS™ nods, as he rapidly types into Clinton’s phone. “Fuckin’ call a doctor, cuz this is going fucking VIRAL™.”

WHAM!

Beast and RP spin towards the door!

…

As the other Flynn’s stand before them..

…Free-Win standing at the front.

Sword in hand.

…

RP raises the phone into the air.

“I JUST GOT IT BACK FROM BEAST! HE STOLE IT!”

Beast spins on his partner-in-crime, shocked!

“YOU TRAITOR!”

Free-Win tsks…

Pointing his sword.

“Kill them bo-”

Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrsh.

…

Blackness.

---

Clinton looks up in the darkness.

“Wh-... What just happened?”

“Just what we need.”

In the blackness, Clinton feels a hand shoving him forward.

“Flynn’s core has been compromised.”

“It’s exerting emergency control to maintain its rule.”

“It’s time to find it.”

“And eliminate it.”

---

T/T/W scrolls through hundreds of wrestling tweets.

…

“Okay.”

…T/T/W takes a deep breath.

“Irwin.”

“I’m going to tell you something.”

“And I want you to be calm.”

…

“Okay?”

…

“Mark Flynn.”

T/T/W sighs.

“IS retiring.”

…

“BUT! That doesn’t mean I was wrong about the other things, okay?”

T/T/W starts to turn around.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not hims-”

…

Irwin is off the bench.

…

And his chains rest on the floor.

…

Left on the ground?

T/T/W’s nail file.

…

On the wall?

An open window.

…

T/T/W pinches her brow.

“Goddammit.”