It’s a quiet, idyllic day in Coreytopia (and yes, that’s what we’re going with but we insist it’s with tongue firmly planted in cheek). Some of the residents are going about their daily duties, whether it be tending to budding produce in the greenhouse or even just watching the few little ones on the premises. Corey himself is outside, enjoying a spot of conversation as he and another resident finally get around to fixing the window broken by the jocks (ALLLLL the way back to two Warfares ago), when from out of nowhere the silence is stricken dead by an angry cry.

COREY RYAN SMITH, GET IN HERE!

Corey pops his head up, alarmed. Whispering an “I’ll be back” to the other window repairman, he steps around the pool area to one of the manse’s many entrances. The door there is open, and Corey enters, closing it behind him. He soon finds himself in one of the property’s three sun rooms, where Ms. Chestnut and Tysean (hey, it’s the skinny kid with the Naruto shirt from the Spencer’s spot LAST Warfare, right on!) have assembled. Ms. Chestnut is holding a cell phone like a foot away from her face, looking at something on the screen. Tysean turns to Corey as he enters.

Busted!

Ms. Chestnut’s gaze finds him then, and given the crumpled angry expression granting her features, she’s clearly the one who yelled for him. You have some explaining to do young man!

Ms. Chestnut, my middle name still isn’t Ryan.

Then what is it?

Confidential.

That’s a weird middle name.

Okay, we never said Tysean was a genius.

Alright, Ms. Chestnut, what’s the matter?

She leans over the arm rest of her wheelchair, showing him an image on her massive old lady sized cellphone. Corey steps in and squints a bit, and then recoils. Uhhhh….that’s a picture of a penis!

Oh...shit! Damn arthritis, opened up my Tindr file instead. She fumbles for her phone, crooked fingers meandering over the screen as Tysean looks at Corey with a disgusted expression and mouths “oh my God”.

Ok, there! That’s what I meant to show you!

Corey hesitates a bit before looking, but ultimately he does and it is painless. His features relax.



Oh that’s Arkin Blackwater! I’m facing him at Warfare. He looks a bit closer at the image. I love that jacket, I’m gonna have to ask him where he got it….

Ms. Chestnut looks at him, utterly astonished. She jerks her phone back, causing Corey to snap back a bit himself in surprise. So you admit it! You’re going to beat up a child?!

Whoa, that’s messed up bro!

Corey laughs nervously, tossing his hands out in the universal sign for “let’s just relax”. Whoa, whoa, whoa…..I am NOT “beating up a child”. Ok, there’s is some CRITICAL context that needs to be…

COREY JADEN SMITH, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!

That dude look like he twelve!

Corey’s eyes widen in panic. He scrambles for his own cell phone, heading straight to the XWF website. As he does so, he continues to defend himself. First off, he’s not twelve! He’s FIFTEEN!

That doesn’t make it much better!

And second of all, he’s a Blackwater. Now I don’t expect you guys to know what that means, so allow me to explain…

They’re prissy, pompous half alien human hybrids or whatever. And they spread like black mold. Dolly finishes, entering the room. So what’s this I hear about Corey beating a child?

I’m not beating a child!

Ms. Chestnut shows Dolly the picture of Arkin on her phone. Look, Dolly! That’s who Corey is gong to fight!

Dolly gasps, shooting Corey a side eye with a helping of shit eating grin to go with it. Oh, he’s like a little CHERUB! Corey, how could you?! She stamps a foot to add a bit extra to the already hearty portion of false indignation.

Corey scowls at Dolly. Oh come on, you started wrestling when you were his age. And look...look! Corey returns to working frantically at his phone. He pulls up Arkin’s character bio. You guys think this is just some normal kid, huh? Okay, hmmmm...let’s see, looks like his theme music is “Paper Planes” by MIA….

Little old, but it’s still a banger.

Ehhhh, yeah, but on a string beany white boy like that, doesn’t it seem kind of ironic? But like that really cliche kind of ironic?

I don’t understand what you’re talking about.

Okay, everybody shut up, my point is still incoming! Hmmmmmmm! He makes a Broadway show out of his “hmmmmmmm” as he preps for his rhetorical masterstroke. It also says here that his finishing move is called “Unfortunate Fate”...

I’m not feelin’ that, seems kinda “Left Handy”.

Are we still allowed to talk about them? Wait….he shakes his head….stop distracting me! Let’s see what else this says! It also says that his strengths are that he is “quick, agile, dextrous” and, oh yeah, CAN MAKE FREAKIN’ TORNADOES! Yeah! Just dropped in there at the end all casual and shit! He looks at the group as they stay silent. TORNADOES! He throws his hands in the air miming the swirling winds of a tornado.

The silence lingers a bit more, before Dolly breaks it. Ohhhhh, but just look at that little FACE!

You know, he reminds me of my 33rd grand child Wallace Horatio Chestnut…. She starts to get that far away look in her eyes, the one old people get when they’re about to just start talking aimlessly for at least a straight hour, before eventually forgetting what they were talking about and taking a nap. ….he was such a good boy! He married his first cousin Shania, but that wasn’t quite so taboo at the time you see….

He still look twelve to me.

…..yes, 2004 was practically a different planet! And there were all those pesky rumors about Shania being a...a…..whaddya call it when somebody sticks a turkey baster full of baby gravy up a ladies “you know what”....

Corey, I think maybe you should request a special Pillow Fight stipulation, or maybe even just turn it into a Lego building contest….Corey mouths “I hate you” at Dolly, she devours it….or you could just compare your action figure collections and whoever’s is bigger is the winner!

…..interval venal forestation, that’s what it is! So yeah, she might not even have been human, really…..

What are we even, like, talking about anymore?

What’s poppin’ people?

They all startle as yet another voice enters the chorus. Christian enters the sun room, lifting his arms in a wide stretch accompanied by a yawn.

Damn dude, we didn’t even hear you come in. You like a cat or somethin’.

A very sexy cat. She purrs.

Corey points at Ms. Chestnut. Okay, we definitely talked about sexual harassment, there was a video and everything….

It’s cool, Smith. Christian winks at the old woman. I’m a slave to compliments. So what ARE you guys talking about?

Corey’s beating up a little kid and getting paid for it.

Oh, damn!

No! That is not what’s happening! But then, his shoulders sag. Okay, maybe that’s a little bit what’s happening. But I’m not going to go too rough on him, even if he is a hybrid lifeform with the power to cause weather patterns that can drop me into Munchkin Land at a moment’s notice. Corey’s expression changes, and the insecurity is suddenling bleeding out of him like a knife wound. But you know what?! I can reset that karmic balance...YEAH! He perks up, but the others look on in confusion.

Christian shrugs. I could use some good karma myself. What you got in mind?

Corey grabs Christian’s shoulders, suddenly bubbling over with enthusiasm. Meet me out front! Oh, we’re going to do so much GOOD today! And, before anyone can utter another word, he’s off like a shot.

Dolly, suddenly looking concerned, calls after him. Wait, Corey! She looks at Christian, and they both head to the front of the house. Dolly reaches the front steps first, jogging down them with a purpose. Christian is at her heels.

Hey, what’s wrong?

Dolly wheels around to face Christian. Are you really going with him?

Sure.

Then you need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid!

Christian still looks like he’s not quite caught on. I don’t understand…

We have just unleashed what is likely the greatest psychological force in the known galaxy: Corey Smith’s Guilt Complex.

Ah! He nods in understanding. I was raised Catholic.

It’s deeper than that! He….

But before Dolly can finish her thought, Corey rolls up in this.



Christian’s eyes practically bug out for the sight of this beautiful thing. Corey lowers the passenger side window and calls out. You coming or what?

Dolly, looking plaintive, calls out to Corey, Look, we were just kidding! Okay? You don’t have to do some big showy display of goodness. I mean, the kid looks like a smug little turd anyway, he could probably use a good ass whuppin’!

Oh, it’s okay Dolly. I know you were just kidding!

Then what are you going to do? She says, with some trepidation.

Probably donate millions of dollars to a child abuse charity and then drop the keys to this stupidly ostentatious sports car in the hands of some random homeless person!

Oh God! Dolly turns away, looking like she needs to breathe into a sack. Then, steeling herself, she turns back around. How about just one million dollars? ONE.

And maybe we keep the car?

I’ll take it under advisement! Now come on Christian, you’re about to have your first wacky Corey Smith adventure!*

*Patent Pending

With one last parting glance at Dolly, the young man eagerly hops in the car.

Corey! Just remember, you’re a very, very good person and we all love you! Dolly sends two very desperate looking thumbs up his way, her expression seemingly on the verge of cracking like a China Doll’s face.

No problem! His response seems distinctly out of step with her statement. Then, eyes forward, his lip quivers ever so slightly. I don’t deserve happiness…. He mutters quietly.

Wait, what?

Corey pushes the pedal to the floor, sending the Maserati GranTurismo into a squealing take off, rounding the half circle drive up to the front steps and disappearing towards the front gate as Dolly looks on.

A Bit Later….

Christian has his phone out, doing some homework on Corey’s behalf so he can keep his eyes on the road. Okay, here’s one called Prevent Child Abuse Florida. It says they’re based out of Tallahassee. Hmmm….good reviews too!

That’s the one! Corey claps a hand down on the wheel excitedly. Oh they’re going to be so happy. And we are going to help so many abused children!

Christian shoots Corey a worried look. So, you really still on this thing, huh?

On what thing?

Fighting this kid.

Corey tosses his hand in the air in a nonchalant dismissive gesture. Oh, I’m past that! Really! No, it’s not at all convincing.

I mean, you did say this kid was, what, half alien or something? And that everyone in his family has mutant alien powers or some shit? That’s, like…..considerable! I think you guys may be more evenly matched than you think.

Oh, and did I tell you he watched his mother’s head explode right in front of him when he was a toddler? Just, you know, a bit of completely unrelated trivia I guess! He laughs a little, but it sounds jiltery and a little crazy.

Christian’s eyes go wide, and he puffs out his cheeks with an exasperated sigh, not even knowing where to start on that one. So instead, he makes an attempt at changing course. He starts to rub the sleek console of the car in admiration. This car is badass. You said this was just left to you when….

DO YOU THINK I’M A BAD PERSON?! When Christian looks up, Corey has taken his eyes completely off the road, and he’s waiting on Christian’s reply like a frenzied supplicant.

I think maybe you should keep your eyes on the road. I’ve had enough horrific car accidents for one lifetime.

Oh my God, you’re right! He looks ahead. I’m sorry Christian, that was really insensitive of me, I….

It’s fine, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it! Christian looks out the window for a moment to get his exasperation under control. You ever consider Xanax or something?

Oh no! My body is a temple, man. No stimulants, no unnecessary medications, no drugs or alcohol….

Right….right.

Ah, here’s the bank! Corey pulls into the lot of a Wells Fargo Bank of Florida. As the sports car slides seamlessly into a spot, it draws considerable appraising looks from the other patrons. Corey bounds out the door, and Christian comes up along side him as they enter the bank. They step through the main door and Corey starts heading for the line, when a man’s voice calls out.

Is that you, Mr Smith….?

Corey turns and brightens. Oh, hey Mr. Mondale whats up?!

A puffy faced man in his late 50’s with a significant comb over sidles up to Corey. His name tag identifies him as the branch manager. Mr. Smith, you don’t have to wait in line, come...come into my office! Let’s talk!

Corey goes to follow, but Christian takes his elbow and pulls him into whispering range. Is his mouth always sutured to your ass?

Well, I got a lot of money here….

Christian lets him go, looking all kinds of out of his element amidst the trappings of wealth. It IS kinda nice to not get poverty profiled for once….he sighs to himself as he follows Corey into the office and takes a seat beside him.

Corey gestures to his counterpart as soon as he sits down. This is my friend, Christian. He stays with me.

Mr. Mondale barely spares a look at Christian. Oh….that’s nice. Then, attention right back on Corey. Damn, this man knows how his bread is buttered. So what can I do for you today?

Well, Mr. Mondale, it’s like this, I need to withdraw one million dollars to give to charity. Can I do that?

Mondale bristles a bit before “the (rich) customer is always right” echoes inside his head. Why...sure! But, you want it….cash?

Christian cuts in. That might not be such a hot idea, man. Walkin’ around with all that scratch.

Oh, I guess you’re right.

Mr. Mondale steeples his fingers. You could always write a check? I’ll personally ensure it clears quickly!

Corey nods. Yeah, that’s cool. Oh wait….he screws his face up. I don’t think I have any checks. Embarrassing! Haha! Who uses ‘em anymore, right?

Well, it would be my pleasure to get you some. Normally they’re a nominal $25 fee, but for you my friend….no charge!

Sweet! And hey, you got the ones with the goofy pictures on them?

The manager smiles...a pained twinge is nearly undetectable. I’m afraid our supply has run rather low because of the pandemic. I believe we only have….SpongeBob Squarepants and Kittens playing with Yarn right now. But surely you don’t want….

KITTENS PLAYING WITH YARN PLEASE!

A Moment Later….

Corey and Christian exit the bank, Corey proudly considering his new checks. Totally adorable. He mouths as he replaces them back in the box. They both get back in the car, and Corey dumps the checks into the middle console.

You know that guy’s only nice to you because you have a shit ton of money, right?

Corey snorts. Of course. I’m not a dummy. And he keeps trying to get me to invest in all this different stuff. I just blow it off.

Actually, and let me preface this by admitting I’ve spent most of my adult life without a pot to piss in, that might not be a bad idea. Sure, you got a lot of money now. But nothing lasts forever. Maybe you SHOULD invest in….stuff.

Corey shakes his head, hands resting atop the wheel as he looks out the window. I don’t need more money. Shit, I didn’t even really earn what I got.

Christian leans in a bit more. Well, you could use more money to help more people. Or, I don’t know….he shrugs….would just doing something to make yourself happy be all that bad?

Corey remains silent, his eyes seeming to affix on something far out the window. His lips move ever so slightly, but nothing audible is produced. He stays like that for a solid minute, before his hands slide off the wheel and he presses the button that serves as the car’s ignition. What did you say that address was?

Christian looks at Corey, weighing his options carefully. When to push, when to pull. He saw it there though. In Corey’s eyes. For sure. The scars. The hurt. Deep set and seemingly irrevocable. Christian’s physical scar, the one that laced up the side of his torso, tingled and sang the song of his own private guilt and sorrow, a ditty he knew backwards and forwards. But the lyrics were mostly just iterations of the same thing: shame, self reproach, regret, contrition….

He blinked a couple times. His eyes stung. So he looked down to hide them and read off the address to their ultimate destination.

A Bit Later….

The shot pans over a green road sign indicating that it’s 40 more miles to Tallahassee, before turning right around and closing in on Corey, who is sitting on the roof of the GranTurismo, legs crossed with a tepid expression. The car is parked in the lot of a little bodega gas station, and Corey casts a look at the store before turning his attention back to the camera.

So, while Christian’s in there powdering his nose and gathering some snacks, I figure now is a great time to talk to my opponent Arkin Blackwater.

He does not seem enthusiastic. His lips turn up into a forced smile and he offers the camera a weak wave.

Hey buddy. Uhhhhh….how’s school? Do you go to school? You probably don’t go to school. He sighs. Nevermind that! It’s history time. Arkin, in a manner of speaking, you and I have some common ground. Lux, who once lived here in this very body, was good friends with your grandpa Azrael. She also knew your dad. Honestly, she despised him. I have a feeling you know what I mean. But then your Dad recruited Lux onto his War Games team, mostly out of spite. The rest of the team didn’t look much better. Robbie Bourbon and Scully hated each other, and the fifth guy Brian Storm was rather new and a total wild card. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were nowhere near as bad as Big D’s team! Corey chuckles, his first genuine smile thus far. But it didn’t look good. But, gradually, Lux and your Dad started to garner a begrudging respect for each other, and they pulled out the win.

Long story short, there’s a history of good will here. A history I’ve sort of inherited. And I’d like to keep it that way.

Corey takes a gander up at the sky for a moment, seemingly trying to pluck his next words out of the clouds. That being said, I fucking HAAAAAAAAATE this match. Hate it. Passionately! And it’s not because I don’t like you! No! It’s because…..you’re just so damn young.

And I know, I know! You’re probably gonna be pissed at me for that. You’re probably going to see it as somehow disrespectful. But hell if that’s not how I feel. Here I am, trying to be a good decent person, and now I’m expecting to cave in that innocent, mysteriously acne free face of yours. It BLOWS! I don’t want to hurt you! I want to toss around the football in the yard with you. I want to be there to tell you it’ll be alright after you split up with your first girlfriend (or boyfriend!). I want to play Mortal Kombat with you and teach you how to avoid making the same dumb mistakes I’ve made.

And yes, you may feel like all of that is damned condescending. I’m sure you’re plenty talented and can make the movie Twister look like a documentary about some pissant dust devil.

But….I JUST CAN’T HELP IT! He drags his fingers down his face in exasperation, stretching his skin in rather comedic fashion. And look man, this isn’t me “not taking your seriously”. And no, you don’t need to go all Navajo Code Talker and try to suss out some hidden snide meaning because there isn’t one. I just legitimately don’t want to do this.

Tell me what to do, kid. Tell me how you want this to go down. You ok with me going full bore? Do you want that? I mean, I’ll probably have a good cry for myself afterwards and insist on buying you ice cream (sorry Alias). But if that’s what you want...Corey winces. He’s really struggling. Or...OR! Maybe I can just learn every type of elaborate pinning move between now and Warfare and play it that way! Just nothing but pin attempts. Yeah!

Um, Corey…? The camera guy chirps up from behind the lens. Did you forget?

Forget what?

It’s Last Man Standing.

Corey blanches. He runs his hands through his hair.

I think I’m gonna puke. He dry heaves a bit, clapping his hand to his mouth and silently counting to ten before continuing.

What kind of BARBARIAN is responsible for this?! Is it you, Pryce?! Lane?! SMOKIN’ BOB?! Wait, is he even back yet….?

Looking beyond desperate, Corey starts to sweat, but it’s not likely due to the heat. You know what? Maybe I’ll just lay down and take the “L”. Like, how pissed would you be at me for doing that? Would you tornado me out of the arena? Ah Jesus!

The camera pans to the right a bit, revealing Christian standing there, holding a paper bag of things that can questionably be considered food.

You good, man?

I’M DONATING 100 MILLION DOLLARS TO THAT CHILD ABUSE CHARITY! He yells back at Christian. Then, realizing what he did, he settles. I didn’t meant to scream.

It’s ok. You wanna get going?

Sure, sure. I just need to throw up a lot first!

The camera gracefully shifts perspective so we don’t see Corey blow chode all over the hood of the car. Christian turns his face away from the carnage. Car wash it is, then.