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Thaddeus Duke · (11-29-2020)

Illuminatus Compound || Old Saybrook, Connecticut || 7:41 AM

Laying here wide awake and staring at the ceiling, try as I might, I can’t shake what happened yesterday at my shrinks office. Everything from the moment I closed my eyes while suffering a migraine to waking up at home here is entirely lost. I remember the dream, but nothing else. I don’t remember finishing up with DeVille. I don’t remember leaving his office. I don’t remember driving back home. I don’t remember any god damn thing. It’s almost as if time just stopped for the last twelve plus hours and my mind struggles to fill in the blanks.

Turning my head to stare at my love, I’m a little surprised to see her staring at me.

”You’re awake,” I state the obvious as tears well up in her eyes. She navigates herself right up next to me, curling herself into a ball and gripping me as tight as she can.

”What’s wrong?” I ask as she sobs onto my bare chest.

”You had me... scared to death,” she says between sobs, her chest heaving as she tries to quell her emotions. ”Ever since you got home last night, you’ve been a zombie. You were just in a daze all night. You didn’t eat. You didn’t drink anything. You entirely ignored Frankie and never opened your mouth to say a word.”

I try to speak, but no words come. Normally, I’d be trying to calm her, reassure her that everything will be okay. Fact is, I don’t know what happened or why. I don’t know how to be comforting when I have no idea myself what the hell is going on with me.

”I just laid here all night, watching you sleep and not move a muscle,” she says as she cries her last tears, wiping them away with her hands as she rolls off of me.

Thing is… I don’t remember sleeping, either. Did I sleep last night? Or did I just lay here staring at my eyelids, not wanting to relive the episode at DeVille’s office where I dreamed of my mother, only for her to be replaced by someone else… or something else?

”I’m sorry I scared you,” I say to her as I kiss her forehead. ”But I don’t remember a god damn thing, Babe.”

”Frankie will be up soon,” she states. ”I promised him french toast.”

”I’m okay now,” a lie. I’m not okay and I know it. ”I’m just gonna take a shower and I’ll be in to eat breakfast with my two favorite people,” forcing a smile of course. I’m as confused and as worried about myself and what the fuck is going on with me as I have ever been. I can’t say that though. In my own mind, I need to be a rock here as I sort out what’s going on until I can get it figured out. There’s no sense in worrying her or anyone else any more than they already are.

”Don’t ever do that to me again,” she says as she wipes the last of her tears from her face. ”Frankie cried himself to sleep because he thought you were mad at him, Thaddeus!”

With shame upon my face, I turn my head toward her. Not Frankie. If it wasn’t evident before, it certainly is now. There is no way in hell I will allow this to continue. Not when it’s hurting my loved ones. Not when its affecting Frankie. He’s been through way too much and I’m not about to put him through anything more.

”I’ll talk to him hun. I’ll make sure he knows that whatever is going on isn’t his fault and I’d never intentionally not talk to him.”

”Really?” she asks incredulously. ”And when you can’t explain to him what’s going on because even you don’t fucking know, despite you saying that you’re okay now?” she asks as she climbs off the bed and heads for the door.

”Wait, are you mad at me?” now I’m the incredulous one.

”NO THAD!” she shouts. ”I’m scared to fucking death for you and you’re just trying to sweep it under the rug like nothing happened!”

”I’m sorry,” I state honestly.

”I don’t need you to be sorry, Baby! Whatever it is isn’t your fault! I just need you! Frankie needs you!”

Without another word she exits our bedroom. I resume staring at the ceiling in deep thought as I try and figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

After my shower, I stare into the bathroom mirror, unintentionally giving it the Kubrick stare- my head at a downward angle, my eyes straight ahead. It’s like I’m trying to peak through the looking glass into the dark recesses of my own mind through my own eyes staring back at me.

OPEN UP, GOD DAMN YOU!

I shout at myself in my own head. At once, I’m shaken backwards by the deafening tone of tinnitus, rocking my equilibrium from side to side. Squinting hard, I try to shake it as my head begins to throb from the inside out.

Whatever, whomever, wherever… I need to be where they are, but I just don’t know how to get there. I don’t know how to get from the outside to the inside and GOD DAMMIT MY FUCKING HEAD! On the one to ten pain scale, this is a fucking fifty!

Thrusting my eyes wide open, instinctively I grab the closest thing to my right hand which like the left one, was clenched palm down on the surface of the counter. A glass bottle of aftershave. With my strongest throw, it gets thrown like a baseball with so much heat, it shatters into pieces upon impact with the wall, sending glass shards and the inner contents flying and spattering against the wall. The wall itself, now with a gaping hole within it.

Closing my eyes again, the pain starts to subside moderately. Enough so that I can open my eyes again. I’m thrust backward by unknown forces as the reflection in the mirror isn’t of me, but of a memory.

Berlin, Germany.

The night of the Illuminatus coup that effectively saw us become the governing power in that country. My grandfather, better known as Asmodeus, stands at the head of the table inside the Chancellery.

”What are we doing about the resisting officials, Grandfather?” I ask him. I was just fifteen years old then. And I remember his answer all too well.

”Line them up in the alley way,” he begins. ”Have them shot before any conspiring or treason can begin.”

I wasn’t shocked. At the time, I was all too happy to inflict pain upon people that weren’t us. That version of me, and the one everyone can see now, are two entirely different people. If you only knew me at fifteen or sixteen years old, you don’t know me at 21. Even I barely know who I was back then and I don’t much like reliving these memories.

Outside in the alley way, I can see myself with my Luger pistol in hand. I can’t hear what I’m saying, but with a smile on my face I fire my weapon. Just as the memory of me pulling that trigger hit my minds eyes, I look away, not wanting to relive it any longer.

After opening my eyes again I smack my hand on the side of the mirror and the memory leaves its reflection. Within the blink of an eye, another memory floods the mirrors reflection.

”STOP!” I shout out to no one in particular.

In the mirror I see myself sitting alone with my father. I can’t make out the room, but dad flips channels on the television, stopping on a statement by the Pope not long after our coup of Germany. The Pope warns the world of our existence and us being allowed to continue doing so.

”I could kill him, you know?” I casually say to my father.

”Is that a fact?” he asks of me, slightly interested. Naturally I reaffirm my statement. ”You might just get the chance,” dad concludes as I slam my hand against the mirror once more.

Again, the memory fades from that to he and I in a car pulling up to a gate.

Stuttgart, Germany.

Camp Finis. ‘End,’ in English.

”No!” I shout in angst into the mirror. ”I was fucking there! I know what happened!”

The car slows to a stop as the gates open.

”There’s thirty-two camps, just like this one, Father,” the memory of me says to my dad. ”This one is the only one that is yet fully operational.”

”What’s that?” he asks as we roll through the gate, pointing to a church looking structure in the near distance.

”The Altar of Leviticus,” fifteen year old me says with a wry smile. Dad looks at me, then back to the structure.

”What the hell for?”

Young me grins his devious grin.

”It gives them the last place they’ll ever pray,” I reply to him happily.

”What’s the end game?”

”It’s the end of the line, Father. When they enter that church to pray, they’re gassed, then cremated.”

Camp Finis was a death camp. I orchestrated and organized the death of countless German members of the Catholic faith. The Altar of Leviticus was nothing more than a furnace to exterminate them under the facade of the Illuminatus allowing them to continue practicing that faith.

Their faith in their faith killed them as much as I did. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

It was around this time that my father and grandfather started referring to me as De Mortis Principe. The Prince of Death. I remember begging and pleading with my Grandfather to name me Defense Minister of the Illuminatus occupied German government so that I could unleash my early madness on whomever I wanted to.

”I DON’T NEED TO RE-LIVE THE WORST THINGS I’VE EVER DONE, GOD DAMMIT!” I shout out into the mirror, once more to no one in particular. Whomever or whatever is inside my head has a knack for pulling levers and opening doors that I want to remain closed.

I’m not that person anymore.

I’m confronted now of memories of my newly minted military marching through the streets of Berlin. They’re being mobilized for one of my biggest regrets of all. A man named Matthew, at one time was the Communications Minister. It was just a facade, really. He did surveillance, hacking, that sort of thing. I conspired with him as the newly named Defense Minister to impress my father and grandfather. We used the son of the deposed and murdered German Chancellor as a scapegoat. On my orders, Matthew planted proof and doctored footage and data that would suggest he was a mole and working with the Polish government to undermine the Illuminatus threat next door.

All in an effort to go to war with Poland, and win it quickly. I even had Matthew say that the Polish military had been mobilized and in all actuality, they hadn’t. That lead to the quick and complete devastation of the Polish military while cemented myself as some great military leader. I was a good leader, but I needed a way to cement myself in the early stages in order to get my dad and grandfather to pretty much let me do whatever the hell I wanted to do.

Vividly, I remember the encrypted message in Polish that Matthew planted on my behalf purportedly from the former German Chancellor’s son, to Polish military leaders: “Jestem Illuminatus. Zniszcz mnie.”

I am Illuminatus.

Destroy me.

I’m confronted now, not by the war with Poland that was over in a few weeks, but with George von Hildenburg. The son of the Chancellor who on my grandfathers orders, had killed his own father in order for our coup to be successful. He was entirely innocent of the crimes he was charged with against the Illuminatus, but he needed to die in order to keep up my rouse.

The Bendlerblock Building.

Berlin, Germany.

I confront the young man that had killed his own flesh and blood for us. Not once do I allow him to speak. In order to assert my authority and strike would-be dissenters with fear, I had the “trial and execution of von Hildenburg” on display on state television. He didn’t suffer a bullet to the head. Instead, I had my fathers dagger attached to my wrist. With a flick of my wrist, the dagger exposes itself and viciously sends its point into the throat of von Hildenburg, silencing him for all eternity.

”I’ve seen enough,” I say quietly. ”I was never the man I was pretending to be,” I say to my own reflection in the mirror.

”No?” asks a voice so familiar. It takes a moment to put a face to the voice and after a few blinks, I’m now face to mirrored face with Harold Jenkins. The young Ares Project soldier I killed in Berlin. At once, I’m startled backwards.

”You need to leave, Harold,” I say to the reflection. ”You need to leave me alone.”

”I know what you did for my mom,” Harold states. ”I’d thank you if I could.”

”I didn’t do it for thanks,” I state emphatically. ”I didn’t do it for adulation or absolution. I did it because I fucked up. I did it… because of my own guilt.”

”I kind of admired you, you know?”

”I gathered as much.”

”I’m not sure why, now though.”

I stare at him in the mirror.

”Seeing you haunted by your rather dark past, Thad… can I call you Thad?”

”Does it matter?”

Harold smirks slightly, then scoffs.

”I admired you Thad, because despite being on opposite sides, your soldiers fought bravely for you. They died willingly for you. They’d die twice if they could. Maybe more.”

I say nothing. What can I say, really?

”We weren’t all that different. Close in age. You are a fighter pilot, I wanted to be one. You care a lot about your loved ones, so did I.

“We could have been friends, but...”

”I ended that possibility.”

”You killed me with my own gun.”

”I know.”

”You found my journal after, and you realized that looking through its pages you saw glimpses of yourself. You imagined what it would be like if your mom was still alive and it was you gunned down in cold blood. You wouldn’t have wanted her to not be able to bury her kid.”

”How could you possibly know that by our brief conversation before I...”

”Say it.”

I look away briefly before returning my attention to the mirror and Harold Jenkins.

”Say it, Thad. Brief conversation before I… what?”

”Ended your life,” I finally humor my… whatever this is. A hallucination? A dream? Simply a manifestation of guilt all being dragged up because I killed this kid and my conscience won’t allow me to forget it?

”WHAT!?” I shout with anger, slamming my fist down against the counter and suddenly the tinnitus kicks in again. My equilibrium is sloshed around like a ship on stormy seas as once again, my brain throbs from the inside out. Leaning down over the sink with my eyes clenched shut as I try and wait out the incredible pain, I feel the urge to vomit. Moments later, the urge to vomit passes, my equilibrium corrects itself, the tinnitus quiets, and the pain in my head begins to subside.

After I open my eyes and lift my head up, it takes a few seconds for my blurred vision to clear. When it does, Harold Jenkins is no longer staring back at me. In his place, my grandfather Asmodeus. The modern day founder of the Illuminatus.

”DAMMIT! ENOUGH!”

”Is it enough, boy?” my grandfather asks.

”Yes,” I say with a sigh, unable to look away from the ghostly reflection.

”All these years go by and you still worry about things you’ve done when you were just a child.”

”Of course I do, Grandfather. I was never that man.”

”Yes you were,” he interrupts curtly. In response, I merely shake my head. ”You were every bit the man you say you pretended to be, Thaddeus.”

”I was only trying to assert my position,” I tell him with conviction. ”I had years and years of stern leadership to live up to. I was only fifteen and you let me lead your armies. I had to cement my status.”

”And what’s become of all of it?”

”What?”

”You say you were just asserting your position. You say you had large shoes to try and fill.”

”That’s not what I said, but… yeah.”

”And what came of all that assertion? What came from the status you were trying to cement, boy?”

”Death.”

”Quite a bit of it, no?”

”Too much.”

”Not enough.”

”Dammit!” I shout as I throw my fist into the mirror. The glass shatters but stays in place with my grandfathers broken reflection still staring back at me. He smiles slightly.

”You’re not so different than your father after all, boy. Perhaps I made a mistake in placing you upon the pedestal and making you the rightful heir to the Illuminatus throne.”

”Don’t call it that,” I say to him.

”What? The throne?” he asks but I don’t answer. ”As I recall, you were all too happy to parade around in your regal regalia. All too pleased to wear your suits of dress armor. All too enamored with the gold and crimson colored floral patterns of your everyday wear.

“I should have known then about your… affliction.”

”My affliction?”

”Your desire to lay with other men.”

I sigh a deep sigh.

”I thought you just wanted me to be happy?” I turn to look away from him, only to realize Asmodeus is live and in the flesh in front of me.

”What would give you that idea? In my entire lifetime I never cared about anyone’s happiness. Not mine. Not your fathers. Certainly not yours.

“Your job was to lead, not seek pleasures of the flesh.”

”I did lead!” I shout to him. ”I am leading! Or did you forget the fact, old man, that it was me that conquered Poland? It was me that brought Italy to heel? Or did you conveniently forget the fact that it was me that delivered Vatican City and the Church’s surrender to you while you sat in the warmth and comfort of a high rise office in Berlin!?”

”No, my boy,” Asmodeus says with a slightly more even tone of voice and a smirk on his face. ”I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

”Then what the fuck do you want from me!?” I shout, stepping into his face to the point our noses are almost touching. He grabs me by the neck and forces me against the wall.

”For you to do your job! For you to stop running from the Illuminatus every time some poor fool dies and stand up! For you to end that silly little Ares Project once and for all, boy!

“You take what you used to be, the you that you’ve been hiding from all these years… and you make ‘em regret the day they crossed our path! Make them fear the power of the Illuminatus! Make them tremble in your wake, Thaddeus!”

”That’s not me,” I reply quietly as my dead grandfather unhands my neck.

”It is you, dear boy. You’ve just forgotten.”

”What do you mean?”

”When they hit the base in Berlin, what did you do?”

”I hit them back.”

”Yes, but with the full force of Illuminatus military might! They slaughtered our people and you returned the favor! That stupid boy tried to reason with you and you rightly put a bullet in his skull ending his aggression against us for all time!

“That’s the Thaddeus Duke the Illuminatus needs in order to survive, boy! Don’t you get it!?”

”It was wrong,” I offer him in response. ”I shouldn’t have done that.”

”It isn’t your conscience affecting you these days, Thaddeus. It’s your fear.”

”What fear?” I ask of him, a bit puzzled. ”I don’t fear anything.”

”Wrong, silly boy. You fear the emergence of the old you, the real you… and for all time.”

”Grandfather, that’s not the real me and you know it,” I say to him. He scoffs a bit in response. ”Genetic altering ring a bell or have you forgotten? You designed me to be exactly what I am now, not the lunatic I was when I was fifteen.”

In the distance, I hear a door, or at least what sounds like a door creaking open. With it, the bathroom falls dark and only my grandfather and I remain illuminated.

”Thank you young Duke,” Asmodeus says as he turns from me.

”For what?” I ask him. ”Where are you going?” I say as I grab him by the shoulder as he steps from the light into the darkness. The world around me shudders momentarily and I’m in complete blackness. Asmodeus vanishes entirely and my hand falls from the shoulder it was previous resting on. Moments later, despite the blackness of nothing, I begin to see and hear things. Men shouting. The repetitive ting sound of tracks as they navigate across city streets.

Soon, the darkness fades away and dim light illuminates the new world around me.

Rome, Italy.

Almost five years ago.

Light snow falls in the dim lights of Rome, its streets with a generous dusting. Sitting in the Humvee as our position advances, my men smell victory. I smell victory. The Vatican sits now less than a mile away. I’m entirely aware of the memory being shown to me. Unlike previous memories I was being forced to witness, this one I’m a participant in. It’s almost like an out of body experience. Or maybe, it’s an in-body experience? I really don’t know. What I do know, is that I’m not watching this memory so much as reliving it altogether. In the flesh. I know this because a rifle rests in my arms and I’m wearing combat fatigues and a helmet.

Not quite 17 year old Thaddeus on the outside, 21 year old me on the inside.

Poland had fallen in short order, but Italy and Vatican City was another matter altogether. Vatican City was the key to our existence but the Italians fought hard, they fought well. They protected the Vatican until they couldn’t anymore and even then, I admired their fighting spirit. We had no hate for them. The Illuminatus had a goal and Italy stood in our way. The first of my planes flew over Italy and dropped their bombs in late March. This is Christmas Eve.

Even today, I’m unsure how a then sixteen year old kid was able to organize a war effort that was overwhelmingly successful. My seventeenth birthday was just over an hour away.

”Commander, Rome is yours,” comes the call from my General in my headset. Like yesterday, I remember it all. Rome had fallen and it was the last stronghold. My forces had come in from the northern and southern ends of the Italian Peninsula and met in the middle with Rome surrounded. Italian forces laid down their arms and the war was over. All that was left was the scum residing inside the walls of Vatican City. My warships sat idle for the last day or so upon the Tyrrhenian Sea, their guns and barrels all pointed toward the Vatican as my ground forces finished up and moved toward the sea and made our way through Rome.

I remember being overwhelmed with emotion inwardly. I remembered the symbolism in my mind, of the Vatican falling into Illuminatus hands on Christmas. I remember being overjoyed that I was able to deliver my grandfather’s ultimate goal to him. Back then, it meant everything to me to be able to do that. Today? It holds far less significance in the grand scheme of things.

”All stop,” I say into my headset and with surgeon like precision, the entire military presence slowly rolling through the streets of Rome, comes to a stop. ”Connect me with the Pope,” I say, turning to my right hand man, my chosen brother and best friend, James Edwards, better known as Jim. We exit the Humvee and walk toward the front of the lines, the light snow crunching beneath our feet.

”Right mate,” he replies as he rings our biggest nemesis on a sat phone. ”Illuminatus Commander Thaddeus Duke for His Holiness,” Jim says into the phone as I watch the snow fall over the dome of the Basilica in the distance. Even today I remember thinking and hoping that the Pope would do the right thing and I wouldn’t have to destroy the Vatican though I was prepared to send in my planes and finish the job.

Victory was victory. Whether they surrender peacefully or not, or whether I had to raze the entire city to the ground or not. Victory would be mine. And I’d have it by midnight.

”Commander, the Holy Father,” he says to me as he puts the call on speaker.

”Hey Frank, nice to chat with you again,” I say with a cocky grin.

”I’m aware of your presence, young Duke,” he replies. I remember imagining him rolling his eyes in that stupid pointy hat. ”I suppose we’re at an impasse, no?”

”An impasse?” I say with a slight laugh. I will not be denied my moment. Victory is mine. ”Not an impasse sir, but a one hour warning.”

”Rome has fallen?” he questions.

”It has.”

”A great city, full of ancient and irreplaceable treasures and artifacts. Doubtless destroyed by your weapons of war.”

”Forgive me father, but I care nothing for artifacts and ancient treasures. The only thing I care about, is that throne of lies you sit your old white ass in.

“Frank, you have an hour. Your bells will toll at the stroke of midnight to begin the Christmas holiday sir, and if I do not have your unconditional surrender, my planes and bombs will echo right behind them.”

”You would do such a horrific thing? On this holiest of days?”

His question causes me to chuckle.

”Absolutely, I would. And you know it.”

The Pope releases a sigh.

”For centuries, your people have disparaged ours. Murdered ours. All this time later, and the war wages on, Father. Except now, we are in control. We told you we were coming and you laughed in our faces. All the while we were planning for this very moment and you sent assassins and spies after me and my family.

“We’ve killed your assassins and eliminated your spies, Father.

“You sent everything you had and you used every trick in the book, yet here we are. The might of the Illuminatus military now sits on your doorstep. One hour, Father.

“In an hour, if you haven’t surrendered, your bells toll, my bombs drop and I raze the Vatican to the ground. If you survive, maybe I’ll let you celebrate Christmas Mass in the smoldering rubble.

“One.

“Hour,” I conclude with a nod to Jim who promptly ends the call.

With just an hour to go, I ordered my military to move forward. I wanted to be outside the walls of Vatican City so that the Pope and his band of merry pedophiles could look out their windows and see my banners flapping in the breeze. I wanted them to see my tanks and my men gathered, ready to end their existence should I give that order. I wanted them to see my military for what it is, the premier threat to their lives. I needed them to see that I don’t give idle threats. If I do not have the Church’s surrender, the seat of that Church will be destroyed and they need to see that that threat is very much real.

The minutes rolled slowly by just as I remembered them.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

That hour seemed like days. The culmination of years of planning, preparation, training, death, destruction, all of it rested upon that final hour. My men stood in silence for much of that hour and as the first bell tolls, my planes are heard coming in from the distance. The bells continue to toll and the planes grow ever closer.

When the bell tolls stop, peering through my binoculars, the front door to the Basilica opens and that silly little priest in his silly little robes and gowns steps out.

”ABORT! ABORT!” I shout into my headset, calling off the bombardment.

”Commander,” Jim says from my left. ”He’s called in. He requests a face to face near the Obelisk.”

I take my eyes from the binoculars and look at him, then return my gaze through the looking glass as the Pope makes his way toward the pointed structure.

”What if they have snipers?” he asks me, and its a fair question. If the situation were reversed and I was organizing my own surrender, I’d sure as shit take him out with me.

”He’s the Pope, Jim,” I say as the man in question stops beside the obelisk. ”If he wants an audience, I’ll give it to him.”

”Right, but you’re not going alone,” he says to me as he pulls his mic down in front of his face. ”The Commander is going to meet the Pope. I want volunteers to flank his sides and watch his six. If anything happens...” he pauses and looks at me and I at him. I give him a nod.

”Exterminate them all.”

My soldiers… anyone of them are ready and willing to die for me so there was no shortage of volunteers. Flanked by six men on either side with three others covering my backside, we march into Saint Peters Square. As we near the Pope, I hold up my fist. The stop signal.

”Young Duke,” he greets me with an extended hand. Warmly, I accept the gesture. He keeps my hand though and places his free hand on top. ”Despite our difference, I’d admire you a great deal.”

”Is that a fact?” I ask of him, somewhat uncomfortably.

”Indeed Commander,” he replies with a pause. ”Our sides have battled for centuries, that’s no secret. Yet the Illuminatus never had the gumption to go to war, real war with us, until you came along.

“You’re a true warrior, son.”

”I’m good at it,” I say nonchalantly. ”Don’t particularly like it much.”

”No good man ever does, yet at times we suppose it’s necessary.”

”Are you trying to get your people killed, Father? I meant what I said.

“Midnight.

“Bells.

“Bombs.”

”We are soundly defeated, young Duke,” he states as he finally releases my hand. ”Your forces win the day but perhaps in the future, fortunes will change. The Cardinals and I would rather abandon the city and watch it live and thrive, than to see it destroyed for the sake of our pride.”

About an hour later, sitting on the steps of the Basilica, I watch as the hierarchy of the Catholic Church vacates the Vatican. Once they’ve gone, I climb to my feet with Jim, as per usual, by my side. Together, we enter the Basilica. In the distance sits the throne of Saint Peter upon the altar. Casually we make our way up the aisle and about half way, Jim hangs back and takes a seat in one of the pews. Looking down at the floor as I continue on towards the altar I’m suddenly reminded that none of this is real. Not anymore. It seems like a lifetime ago when I conquered the Church. Ions ago, when I sat the throne in the wee hours of Christmas morning on my seventeenth birthday.

When I reach the steps of the altar, I stop and look up at the throne. Lounging in the chair with one leg tossed over the arm and wearing the Illuminatus crown that even today I never wear anymore, cockily tilted off to one side, is a grinning Louis D’Ville. I’m not startled. I have no fear. I feel nothing, but a kind of understanding.

”That’s how I sat,” I say to him. He says nothing in return, only nods in my direction one time. Remembering Jim sitting in a pew I turn my head back toward him and he’s gone. Vanished without a trace.

”Is there a reason you have this interest in me? My past?” I ask of him, but again I receive no response. Only an ever so slightly widened grin from Doctor D’Ville. I finish climbing the steps and take a seat a few feet from the big chair that Doc now rests in.

”This is it, you know?” I say, looking up at the human form of D’Ville.

”Perhaps, young Duke,” he finally speaks.

”Now that I know its you, and it has been you… I won’t allow it any longer.”

”Perhaps not,” he says in response as the watch on his wrist starts beeping. ”It’s time to wake up, boy,” he says after peering down at the watch.

The alarm clock on my end table rings and rings as I open my eyes. I stare blankly at the ceiling, neglecting to kill the alarm. I feel nothing. I don’t feel rage, or hurt, or any type of love or hate. I simply feel calm. Relaxed. Rested. Understanding.

Finally I reach over to kill the alarm.

”Baby,” Liz says as she opens the bedroom door. ”Twenty minutes until breakfast, are you still showering?”

”Yeah,” I reply to her, realizing I dreamed my shower earlier. I must have fallen back to sleep.

”Frankie’s up hun, you need to see him as soon as possible.”

”I know,” I reply as I sit up on the bed. ”I figured out what’s happening, Babe.”

She stands silently in the doorway, entirely motionless.

”It’s D’Ville.”

”Your shrink?”

Turning my head to her with a smile, ”No, the good one.”

”What are you gonna do about it?”

”I have an idea,” I inform her. ”We’ll talk about it after we eat and after I talk to Frankie.”

”Okay… shower?”

”Right now,” I state as I stand and enter the bathroom where this episode all began.

Last week… on Sons of Anarchy…

Nah, I’m kidding. Kind of.

I’m enjoying the self congratulatory echo chamber though.

So Chris Page, the same guy that criticizes me for blaming everything for my TV title loss to him, also blames me for him losing his mind and getting himself disqualified against me at Relentless. Here’s the fact, Pappy… I never once blamed anything or anyone for losing that TV title, other than myself. It was me that allowed myself to get distracted. It was me that got cocky after kicking that masked freak in the face. It was me that allowed you time to handcuff me to the top rope. It was me that beat me. Making excuses for my failures isn’t something I do. When I fail at something, it’s on me. I own it. I learn from it. I adjust.

Try it, it isn’t that difficult.

He also likes giving me shit because I claim I went 3 and 0 at Relentless… Fact is, I did go 3 and 0. Just because you lost to me by DQ doesn’t change any of my W’s to anything other than still a W. I know, facts is hard. Maths is hard too apparently. This is the same guy that claims he went 1, 1 and 1 at Relentless while really going 1 and 2 because getting yourself disqualified isn’t a technicality… it’s a loss. And he hasn’t stopped crying about a stupid little kiss ever since. It’s not like it was open mouth or anything. Grow up, “champ.”

Unlike you Chris, unlike your boyfriend… when my back is against the wall, I don’t have to find a mask and be super scary and pretend I’m someone else. I don’t fear you. Neither of you intimidate me. You never have and you never will. Cue the ‘laugh out loud, he’s too stupid to be scared of us’ bullshittery. Yeah you both put me on the shelf for the last couple months with a sprained ACL then have the audacity to call me out for my dad intervening on my behalf.

“Yeah we were both kicking your ass because we can’t do it on our own and your daddy had to come save you.”

Real top notch argument. Think about that. Y’all brag about it taking two of you to run down pint sized, or whatever the hell Main said, me down but bitch and moan and want to mock when neither of you really wanted a piece of my dad. No one will see right through any of that. Promise.

Y’all got a whole lot of balls when you got numbers. Ya kinda lack anything real when the sides are on even footing. You showed him though! Y’all buried him alive. Good for you guys, the man was well past his prime anyways and you still bitched out and wanted nothing to do with him.

“You haven’t pinned me, you haven’t made me quit.”

Chris’s famous words that he loves to bestow upon the ears of the XWF fans right up until the moment he realizes that I can say it too then it becomes the reason I chose a ladder match.

Spin cycle: engage.

Bobby Main, you dumb fucking cuck. I’m not exceptionally talented because I say I am. I’m exceptionally talented and I prove it in that ring every chance I get, therefore I say so. I could have a fuckin’ five star match with a broomstick. In fact, I did when I beat Mastermind. Sit your big ugly ass on that Harley in your wrongness and just be wrong.

Just because you don’t want it to be true big guy, doesn’t make it a fact.

Guys, Main’s taking tips from Gage Gannon’s playbook and saying he’s gonna whoop my ass. Of course you are, that’s kinda what we do. You kick my ass, I kick your ass, and around and around it goes until someone wins.

(Spoiler: Me and Doc D’Ville)

You’re right Main, I really haven’t done a whole lot of note since my return. I’ll concede that point entirely. In my own defense, when you’re attached at the hip to your own tag team partner… it kind of comes with the territory. Your partner has been jealous of the younger, better, faster, far better looking, and certainly more talented version of the him he wishes he was.

See, I was ready to move on. I kicked his ass on Savage like the inferior piece of shit he’ll always be, something he earned by trying to take me out, and I was ready to move on. I don’t need to know who’s better, because I already know I am. So, in essence Roberta, your partner is keeping me from reaching the fame and glory I’m going to achieve in this industry by attaching himself to me. Like I said, half of the equation that keeps him relevant.

Guys, I’m sorry my win loss record isn’t spotless. I’m sorry Robbie Bourbon beat me twice. But you know, sometimes guys just have your number and sometimes… ya just ain’t got it together and sometimes, both of those things happen at the same time. I mean, I don’t do the booking and neither do either of you two overconfident asshats but here we are gearing up for High Stakes and these two dumbasses are condemning me for owning Chris Chaos while one of them praises himself for also owning Chris Chaos, mock me for losing to Bourbon, who is double tough when he’s on his game, while conveniently ignoring the fact that throughout all of 2020 its not like I’ve been matched up against Zane Morrison, Vita, Gilmour and Wrestler 82 barely more than once a month like some people around here who shall continue to remain inside their uninteresting echo chamber of suck.

I’m not saying my Main man didn’t have a notable win or two throughout the year but it stops at two. Unless you want to count Cent and Ruby but lets be honest. Centurion is like an unsalted saltine cracker from the Dollar Tree in the world of entertainment.

He ain’t that.

I’m nothing more than Sebastian Duke’s kid.

Talk about wash, rinse, repeat. Literally everyone I have ever faced has said the exact same thing and its pointless and getting to the point of entirely mundane to continue to respond to that garbage. Try something new. Try something that sticks. Try something that isn’t just more of the same.

Here we go again. “Thad begged for a Uni title match.” There was no begging you dumb fucking idiots. I asked, because I earned that right by beating the number one pretender after he was named pretender, and by right that should have placed me right into the match with him. I was denied and that’s fine because even Derrick Diamond agreed that I deserved to be number one contender. Sometimes, a little respect from the people you work for is enough. That said, none of its gonna matter when I walk out of High Stakes with two titles around my waist.

Bobby, you’re damn right I thought it was a brilliant idea to accept that contract. You two have been in need of a fucking reality check for a real long time and Doc and I are happy to provide that for you. We’ll be real happy to humble your arrogant ass and not only end your Undefeated* 2020 streak, but take away one of your precious titles.

“I mean my reputation speaks for itself and we all know I’m not the guy that you don’t want to fuck with.” - Robert Main ladies and gentlemen!

Thad claps in mocking applause for the genius ramblings of an incoherent dumbass.

You are factually correct for probably the first time in that insanely long promo. I absolutely want to fuck with you. I absolutely 100 percent want to stand in the ring with you one on one. You wanna shout your warnings to the battle royal participants, of which I’m clearly one of? Robert Main, hear this loud and clear. When I win the Universal title after Doc and I have already relieved you and Chrissy of your tag team titles… I want you to come for me. I want you gunning for my title so I can sit your ass right the fuck back down and you’ll finally learn your true place in the new reality of this XWF.

Bring your hall of lame alter ego’s too so I can sit all three of you the fuck down.

We’re now nearing the end of this also insanely long promo. I saved it for last. If you were able to sit through Main and Page droning on without needing to set an alarm, you noticed Chris Page bring up my foster son. It’s a go to move for the non-creative villains of the industry to go after the loved ones of their opponents.

I’m not taking the bait, but I’mma sniff around and take a nibble.

You now have my undivided attention, Chris. You wanted it, you practically begged for it by saying what it is you said and my friend, you sure as shit got it. You want to attack me, attack my parenting, attack me for doing and saying the things I do, so be it. It’s all part of the game of chess we all play on a biweekly basis.

Well, some of us.

For you to sit there and think its a good idea to say that Frankie or any kid would be better off prostituting themselves than to be in a loving home? Are you really that stupid to think promoting pedophilia was in anyway gonna turn out well for you? It won’t. Make no fucking mistake, Chris… that’s exactly what you did.

It begs the question: how many ten year old prostitutes do you know Chris?

Is that something you’re into? Or was it your lame attempt at being funny?

You tryna take Micheal Graves shtick now too?

If you don’t mind, I’mma bring Doc D’Ville in here so we can laugh at our own jokes and he can just agree with, and echo everything I’ve said…

Nah, I’m kidding. This isn’t fucking amateur hour.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go release this shit on XWF99.com then feed my ego and promote it on twitter.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Man in the Mirror
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