Corey kicked off the wall, propelling himself into an underwater somersault, and righted himself en route to his seventh lap across the length of the pool. No small feat, as the pool at this particular YMCA location was a standard Olympic style swimming pool. Already Corey could feel the fire kindling in his muscles. Not enough to stop him, just enough bite to let him know he was feeling it.

Corey cut through the water using quick but confident strokes, the gentle splashes echoed throughout the cavernous pool room unhindered by any other sounds or encroachments. He labored his way through three more laps, before deciding discretion was the better part of valor and taking a break. He stopped in the shallow end, leaning his back up against the wall of the pool and drawing deep, soothing breaths in and out. The water had been an icy onslaught on the senses when Corey had first got in, but it certainly wasn’t anymore. The young man remained there for a moment, drawing his breaths down and bending a knee back and forth to work out a kink. The same stubborn straggling limb that was the last to be rehabilitated after his stroke.

The facility was barren, eerily so. Corey had wanted it that way. As of this moment, he and a maintenance worker were the only one on the grounds. The Y was naturally closed due to the pandemic, but an offer of a $10,000 donation to the struggling non profit had bought him some private pool and gym time here and there. He still didn’t feel quite right about it, bringing his newfound privilege to bear to attain perks unavailable to others, but in this case, it was necessary.

Louis D'Ville’s recent intrusion into his mind had left Corey bitter and shaken. But beneath the calloused shell of those emotions, the raw flesh underneath stung with a feeling of violation. Corey had been violated. And in the same manner the Engineer would taunt and toy with him no less, baiting him through a waking nightmare he ultimately held no sway over.

He knew some of the others could see it on him, like an invisible indelible stain. Something was off. Something was wrong. Christian and Dolly had noted it most of all. Thad had tried to call Corey to see how things were going. He didn’t answer, texting him an “It’s fine” in response that might as well have been the keen of a three alarm fire.

But he just couldn’t weather the questions right now, nor the scrutiny. He knew in his heart of hearts that he should be turning to his friends, but he was still too angry and out of sorts. It wasn’t what he wanted to project, especially not to the already frail and frightened people living in his home. Nor did he want to give Thad the impression that he couldn’t handle the Doc, that this team was doomed to fail.

So, Corey did what every responsible adult does when faced with inconvenient humors. He sublimated them.

Corey pulled himself out of the water, sending it cascading over his lean frame in rivulets, before going to the bench to grab his towel. He set about drying his hair, and upon removing the towel a strange sensation came over him. Something indescribable that sent a slight chill up his spine. He paused, looking about the pool area. No one was there. And thus every slight sound was magnified. The clock above his head ticked rhythmically, what was once a noise that would have been masked by splashes and the twinkle of children’s laughter, now a stark and somehow ominous thing.

I’m just rattled. He forced himself to conclude that. Going quickly to the locker room, Corey first went to the shower stall, slipping off his speedo and tossing that and the towel onto the dry bench just outside the shower area, before turning on the hot water and looking up to meet its relaxing cascade. He drew the curtain reflexively shut behind him, before realizing there was little point and letting it remain anyway.

The water was heavenly, washing away the chemical tang of the chlorine and soothing his aching muscles. He ran his fingers through his hair, allowing the water to sluice through his locks. His mind went unbidden to the image of someone joining him in that shower, smiling flirtatiously and closing the curtain behind them both. They were already nude and wanting, pressing flesh to flesh and meeting his lips with a deep kiss. A physiological response began almost immediately, and Corey pushed the thoughts away reluctantly. They were…inconvenient. But he knew he would have to deal with them sometime. Some day. Maybe.

He reached up and turned the knob a bit towards the cold.

But no sooner had he done that, did he hear the sound of the curtain fabric being rippled. He turned abruptly, and there was nothing there. But…

….no....

He was wrong. Dimly, past the white opacity of the curtain and the rising steam, something deeper in the locker room darted abruptly. Corey’s heart skipped a beat, and his lips pursed tightly in a worried frown. Who the hell was that? It had only been a vague outline, an amorphous shadow. But it had been SOMETHING. Corey turned off the water then, arching a keen ear towards the curtain, but all he came away with was the gurgle of the drain and the gentle taps of lingering droplets from the shower head.

Body tensed, fight or flight revving to life, Corey slid the curtain aside. But again, no unusual sounds, no source of overt threat. Picking up his swimsuit and tying off the towel at his midsection, Corey softly stepped into the greater locker room area. Trying to keep his labored breathing even and steady, he sidled up against the nearest bank of lockers and slinked along them to the other side, peeking out from around the edge. Still nothing. He retracted, taking another moment to expand his senses, drinking deeply of everything that was around him as Lux had once taught.

And yet, only stillness. Only quiet.

Corey stepped around this bank of lockers, still silent fooded and on guard, but now more skeptical of what he had seen before. A byproduct of his nerves perhaps? It wouldn’t be the first time his own head would bring phantoms to bear in response to Corey’s anxieties.

Corey reached his locker without incident, scarcely drying himself off before hastily throwing on his clothes, packing his duffel bag and pulling it out of the locker. Going to the exit then, Corey found himself rocked by...something. His vision flashed with a brilliant white, and a pang of pain surfaced under his forehead. The episode was over before it even began, but it invited fresh terror. Am I going to have another stroke?! He stopped for a moment, bracing himself with a hand on the wall and assessing his feelings and functioning for aberrant tingles. He spoke a few words aloud to test himself.

Evening. Mammal. Sofa.

No slurring. Even still, a call to the doctor may be in order. He sighed wearily and proceeded, stepping out into the hallway. The cement block walls were decorated with various plaques and had children’s multi colored handprints running up and down them. Corey’s eyes lingered on the prints for a moment, before looking forward. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

His brain struggled to make sense of it, but it was so bizarre it failed to draw any direct comparisons. There was something alien and unknowable about it, and Corey instantly felt chilled to his core. Enrapt, he studied it, trying to understand it, but it seemed to slide through all reason.

It looked organic, and it hung in mid air. It seemed to be an ovoid shape of flesh and innards, but it pulsed and expanded, changing form before contracting again and restarting the process anew. It was revolting but cloyingly familiar, like a fleshy blossom stuck in an endless cycle of birth, decay, and death before being born again. With a shuddering breath, Corey drew a little closer, taking stock of more detail. The presence of bone, the segmented sacs of organs that would appear and disappear, these started to become better defined. Corey jerked back as the organism once again became diminutive, and then blossomed explosively before receding. It was quick moving, and seemed to flow as easily as water. Almost hypnotic in a way.

What the hell is this….? Corey hissed to himself, unable to restrain a tremor. He forced himself to continue to look, and the cloying sense of familiarity grew into a horrified recognition.



It was a human body, a top town cross section scanning from the top of a man’s head down to its feet before retreating back to the scalp and racing down to its toes all over again. Somehow, realizing what it was made it that much more terrible and inexplicable. If reality was flesh, this thing was a festering sore reaching deep down into the dermis. Corey started to back away, back towards the locker room, or down the hall. Any means of escape from this horrific impossible anomaly hanging in the air like a psychotic’s final death throe hallucination.

Oh God….oh no….I’m dying….my brain is bleeding and I’m dying.

Succumbing to panic, Corey tripped as he backpedaled, sprawling out onto the floor. With a small cry, he flipped himself over, starting to scramble to his feet and break into a run. Once halfway down the hall, he dared a look back. And it was gone. Stopping on a dime, Corey’s breath escaped him in a shuddered gasp. His mind spun and his stomach began to revolt and threaten sick.



Suddenly, an outline of a human form appeared naught but five feet in front of him. It was a barely controlled bit of chaos, edges a constant blur and everything within the edges a torrent of unstable color and shapes. Corey screamed and ran, dipping into the gym for escape and immediately cursing himself for doing so. He frantically scanned for exits and didn’t get very far before realizing that the haunting figure had followed him into the gym. And now, it was speaking.

AH. EE. EYE. OH. YOU.

AH. EE. EYE. OH. YOU.

AH. EE. EYE. OH. YOU.

What the hell is it saying?! It was less language so much as it was discrete, simple sounds. The voice sounded distorted, clipping and echoing. But the figure stopped moving, going still in the middle of the gym. Not wanting to give it a chance to gain on him further, Corey stumbled headlong into the nearest door, and found it led into another, darkened hallway. Corey took a gamble on the darkness and plunged forward. A small light could be seen at the end of the hall as he fumbled around a corner, a bright red exit sign. Salvation.

But then, it was in front of him again, appearing out of the darkness to bar his escape. It had changed form once more, this time into a nondescript nude body, devoid of hair, or genitalia, or any other signifier of humanity. Just a blank slate form. But it was missing a face. In place of one was a hollowed out recess full of rapidly shifting lights that looked like a broken computer screen.



Frustrated tears poured onto Corey’s cheeks. His stomach lurched again, causing him to nearly buckle. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! He howled in desperation.

AHHHHH. EEEEEEEE. OHHHHHHHHH….

OOOOOHHHHHHHHHH….

LUUUUHHHHHHHHHH…..


LUUUUUHHHHHKKKSSSS….

Corey blinked through the stinging tears, thinking at first that he had imagined that. This thing, that almost seemed to be trying on language,was making halting forays into the world of speech like a toddler’s echolalic babbling. But that last word….

LUUHHKSSS….

A jolt shot through Corey. What did you just say?

LUHKS

It had spoken again, but not necessarily in response. Corey went still. It wasn’t a trick of his imagination. It was learning to form words. And the first word it spoke was….

LUX.

No… he whispered, shaking his head in defiance of all of this. No! No! No! He punctuated the dark air that was barely being illuminated by the eerie glow from this monstrosity. Then, with a manic gasp of laughter, Corey stabbed a finger at the thing. Oh, I got it. I got it!

D'Ville! GOD DAMN IT D'VILLE! STOP POKING AROUND IN MY HEAD! STOP….

It’s not me. The breath was harsh and hot against the back of Corey’s neck. But he was half expecting it, so his reaction was minimized. He jerked his head away from the breath and waited for Doctor Louis D'Ville to circle around to his front, until he was standing in between Corey and the faceless thing. Oddly, D'Ville didn’t even seem to be tracking that it was there. He snapped his fingers in the darkness, and then lights in the hallway sprung to life.

The form was no less unsettling in the fullness of light. It’s body was a flawless plastic sheen, an aesthetic so perfect it cycled around to the unsightly once more.

LUX.

That halting, echoing voice spoke again. And again, D'Ville seemed to take no notice of it. But Corey pressed him on it anyway.

Get rid of that thing.

What thing?

GET RID OF IT! Corey choked back an angry sob. It’s obscene….

The Doc looked around him, his expression neutral. I don’t see anything.

BULLSHIT! If this isn’t your doing then how did you respond to me so fast?!

I’m never far. Accompanied by the barest hint of an unsettling smile.

Just stop! Just stop it!

Corey, what are you seeing?

LUX.

DON’T SAY THAT NAME!

D'Ville’s brow threaded in confusion. What…”Corey”? How else shall I address you?

Are you seriously telling me that you don’t see that thing?!

I don’t. Corey, if this was one of my usual soirees into the psychic rubble that is your mind, I would own it. This one’s not me.

Corey looked past the Doc. The thing remained, unmoving, it’s faceless head slightly bowed. Then what is it? Is Doc just toying with me? Or…?

Or….?

Or had the passenger returned?

Corey and D'Ville’s expressions changed simultaneously, Corey’s going blanched and fearful, and D'Ville’s becoming intrigued. Oh. It happened.

What is it? Tell me what it is.

You know what it is.

He did. NOOOO! Corey screamed in anguish, sinking to his knees. No…. Then, face contorted in rage, he glares at D'Ville. YOU LIED TO ME! YOU TOLD ME HE WAS GONE! Then, trying to catch a breath. You knew….you absolute bastard….you knew….

I did no such thing. Does whatever you’re seeing, does that really look like The Engineer to you?

The invocation of the name made Corey shrink as though he had been struck.

Yes, Corey, I knew that this was a possibility. I knew that there was a piece, a shard, of that infernal machine still inside you. He clasped his hands in front of him, a facade of docility. But I have good news, dear boy. It’s VESTIGIAL. Worthless. A shadow of a shadow of its former self.

How could you possibly know that?

Try speaking to it. You’ll see.

I’m not talking to that thing!

D'Ville shrugs. Then I guess you won’t get the answers you want.

LUX. It repeated again, but this time the voice seemed more solid and more human. Corey ground the meat of his palms into his eyes to clear them. He tentatively picked himself up off the floor, lurching towards the passenger with the air of one walking on death row. D'Ville gives Corey a gentle nod as he passes by, and he turns to watch the young man.

He steps up to that eerie form, the maelstrom of lights that passed for a face reflecting off Corey’s own features, illuminating them and making Corey himself seem like something other as well.

Are you The Engineer?

YOU. ARE.

Corey scowls. I’m no-

YOU. ARE. LUX.

I’m not her either.

WHO. AM. I.

...what?

Who am I? This time, the words were the smoothest and most natural sounding they had been yet. It was as though the thing was recalibrating. Which was a terrifying thought really. If it could heal itself this much in so short a time, what could it do with 24 hours? A week? A month?

I’m not talking to….he gestures dismissively at the thing’s absent face…..this. Can you be something else?

How do you want me?

The young man paused at that unusual turn of phrase. Anything. Then, stopping abruptly. But not what you looked like before.

I don’t know what I looked like before. A pause. I will try.

You’re in control, Corey. It’s a simple visitor in your head. Take it wherever you want. Wherever you feel comfortable.

Shut up. Corey breathed. But, begrudgingly, he realized D'Ville had a point. He and Lux were able to construct mental environments in which their consciousness' could meet. It had been a long time since Corey had played host to one, but it was a small way he could demonstrate to this thing that he was in control. He closed his eyes, trying to center himself, to still his pounding heart and frayed nerves. He thought of something peaceful, serene. Something that would offset all of this awfulness.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was successful.



A gentle breeze swept over the grass, and the lands waved invitingly in reply. Corey looked about him. D'Ville was gone. Evidently he had chosen not to press further into his mind. But he could still sense him. Out there. An outsider looking in.

What do you see?

Be quiet. He bit back, continuing to scan the environs. Finally, he caught a hint of something out of place. In the distance, a dark spot amidst the green. Corey walked towards it, and as it came into focus he realized it was a human figure. But it was a far cry from the aberrations before. This one was fully formed and huddled in the grass, knees pulled under its chin and arms wrapped about its shins. An oddly child like image.

I control this place, do you understand?

Where are we? The figure stood up. Corey took a half step back in response, eying it warily.

He could see now that the passenger had chosen a human form. Male. Roughly late teens or early 20’s, with a reedy frame and sharply defined features. His hair was a mop top of messy black curls, and he was dressed all in simple black.



This too felt oddly familiar. It gnawed at him as he spoke.

You’re in my mind. But you’re not supposed to be.

Am I alive?

Corey considered the question. In a way. Then, shifting gears. Does the name “The Engineer” mean anything to you?

No. Who’s that?

But you said “Lux”. Why?

I thought you were Lux. His responses were earnest. Guileless even.

Why would you think that?

The passenger cast his gaze towards the ground, and when he looked back up he seemed confused. I don’t know. I don’t know who I am.

That’s when it hit him. The way he looked. Familiar but not. And it confirmed that D'Ville was right about what this was. His appearance was an amalgamation of two previous incarnations of The Engineer. One, the appearance of a boy whose death Lux had caused accidentally…



...and the aristocratic “beautiful monster” the virus would eventually settle on being.



Almost as if on cue, D'Ville cut in. So, was I right?

Corey doesn’t answer him. Instead, he continues interrogating the passenger. You bear a striking resemblance to someone I once knew. Corey measured his words carefully. If The Engineer truly was broken to the point that he didn’t remember who he was, it was probably best not to continue to facilitate his recollection. Corey opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off.

I’m scared. The passenger’s soulful brown eyes bored into Corey’s. No tears, just an intensity that bespoke of legitimate fear. I don’t know who I am and I’m scared.

Train of thought broken by this genuine display, Corey finds his original words floating away on that aromatic breeze. You truly don’t know?

It shakes its head “no”.

Corey, you have a prime opportunity here. Do you realize that?

Opportunity for what? The passenger looks like he’s going to interject, but Corey silences him with a finger.

The Engineer is weak and helpless before you. You could give yourself peace of mind forever.

Just speak plainly, Doctor.

Snuff it out.

Corey rankled.

All of that horror he inflicted on you. He made you watch Lux die.

I don’t need a reminder! Corey spits back, through gritted teeth.

D'Ville appears at his side. Perhaps not. But maybe some motivation?

Corey recoils from him. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

It’s not even human. It never was. By God Corey, don’t you REMEMBER? He tortured you, Corey!

Looking away from D'Ville, he retrains his sights on what used to be The Engineer. He doesn’t even seem to be clocking that D'Ville is there. He just continues to stare up at him with stupid, deep puppy dog eyes. Corey can feel the rage building up inside of him, and his mind becomes a panoply of The Engineer’s degradations

You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?

You said it was just a fragment. That it was harmless.

Oh, but it is. And that’s the most delicious part! My, how the roles have been reversed. Powerful becoming the powerless and vice versa. So few are granted this opportunity.

Corey’s fists clench at his sides. The passenger has stopped talking, and for a moment its face glitches, causing its skull to appear on the outside. Corey’s lip curls up in disgust at the sight.

Snuff it out. He repeats, but with a bit more relish this time. Corey suddenly feels something cold being pressed into his hand. D'Ville is giving him a gun. Corey takes it, but his hand quivers and he nearly loses his grip on it. Finish it.

Astonishingly, the passenger doesn’t seem to acknowledge any of this. He doesn’t spare so much as a glance at the gun. Maybe he can’t even see it.

How do I know this isn’t you? That all of this isn’t just another sick mind game?

Doc shrugs demurely. Honestly, you don’t. But either way, it’ll be pretty damn cathartic, don’t you think?

It’s not the same. He’s not the same.

You’re right. He’s an imbecile now. Put him out of his misery. And yours.

Will you….h-help me? The passenger’s words stutter. Another glitch. Maybe he’s losing control again. I don’t f-f-f-feel right….

The images keep coming. All of the pain and misery. Lux being crushed beneath Madison’s heel as this bastard made him watch. And now, this pathetic display. Jesus, it was so much. It was just so damn much.

Will you….h-h-h-h-

Corey, I….

Corey levels the gun at The Engineer’s forehead and fires. Even D'Ville looks taken aback at the sudden brutality of the act. And then Corey fires again, and again, and again. Finger pinching the trigger endlessly. The tears start to flow forth freely. He thinks he’s screaming over the savage bleating of the gun but he’s not sure.

When it’s done, the passenger, the Engineer, this vestigial thing, doesn’t drop. Improbably, he remains standing, and the blood flows freely from his wounds, spilling out his back. But the blood doesn’t fall. Instead it spreads out behind him, pooling on the empty air like demented crimson wings.

Death’s red wings.



Only then does it react. The passenger looks shocked, its mouth working to speak and gurgling blood. But finally, it manages a single strangled word.

Hurts.

Corey raises the gun to fire again, but the passenger disappears. He remains rooted there for a protracted moment before the shock kicks in. He starts to shudder uncontrollably. The gun tips out of his hand, and his eyes go blank, fixated on a point on the horizon, far, far away.

What have I done.

Back in the real, Corey is passed out in the hallway, and D'Ville is kneeling at his side. A man in a custodian’s outfit looks on, worried.

I came when I heard all the yelling. Does he need an ambulance?

D'Ville looks Corey over before scooping him up in his arms. I don’t think that will be necessary. He starts to head towards the exit with the young man cradled before him.

The custodian never even thinks to ask D'Ville who he was.

The Next Day

Corey Smith awakes in an unfamiliar hotel suite, groggy and confused. He looks about the room, trying to piece together the previous hours of his life, and comes up short. Looking down, he sees that he is still in the same outfit as before. His hands go to his pockets, and he breathes a sigh of relief to find his wallet, keys, and cell phone still there. But then, with a curse, he pulls out his cellphone.

There are multiple notifications, most of them worried text messages and voicemails from Dolly because he never came home after the gym. He goes to call her, but then notices a steepled card stock note on the nightstand. Taking it in hand, he reads it.
Corey takes note of the time on his phone.

9:52 AM.

Fuck my whole life. Corey scowls, slumping back on the bed and once again moving to call Dolly, when there is an insistent knock at the door. Corey flips his phone out of his hands in frustration, and goes to the door to peep through the peephole. Of course they’re early. He opens the door.

Look guys, I’m really not feelin’ it right now. Could you come back later?

Two XWF crew members stand in the hall. They look at each other, and then back at Corey. We’re on kind of a schedule here. This is a big show, lots of promos to cut! I think Mr. Pryce would be pretty upset if…

Sensing that this is a lost cause, Corey steps aside and wearily gestures for them to enter. He pulls out a chair and drops himself into it, taking some time to haphazardly comb his hair with his fingers as he gets mic’d up. Drawing in a deep, refreshing breath, he looks at the camera.

You ready?

As I’ll ever be.

The camera operator counts him down.

I’m not in the mood. Let’s get that right out in front. My tag team partner insists on fucking with my head, my friends are worried sick about me, I’m still in yesterday’s clothes, and now on top of all of that I have to devote time out of my life to talking AGAIN about how The Left Hand sucks a puckered asshole.

Oh, I’m sorry Lycana. Was that too crude? Oh you poor gentle flower. I’ll try to tone it down a notch as you watch this from your torture chamber. No doubt you’re drinking blood, or meticulously reenacting every scene from Gore Vidal’s Caligula, or crushing kittens with high heels or some shit. But God FORBID you should hear rude language!

Yeah, let’s talk about The Left Hand. Let’s talk about why this match is a three way dance instead of a standard tag team match. I mean, you guys KNOW why this is a three way dance, right? ...no? I’ll explain.

You see, it’s pretty much an industry standard that with any big fuck off pay per view, you want the matches to at least have the illusion of being competitive. Now if this had just been Corey and The Great Satan versus The Dissentients….welllllll, let’s just say the term “foregone conclusion” exists for a reason. So in come Robbie, excuse me, BOBBIE Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles to make it a bit more interesting. Because, quite frankly, management had no choice. And management had no choice because the cat is out of the proverbial bag when it comes to just how much The Left Hand SUCKS.

Let’s recap. A randomly concocted team of yours truly and RL Edgar recently took Lycana and Ash Quinn to the wood shed. Shortly thereafter, the randomly concocted team of Alias and Jenny Myst gave Lycana (again) and Marf the same treatment.

So we have back to back incidences of teams with no history taking down a group that’s supposedly thick as thieves.

Oh, but that’s not all! Because for the low, low price of crashing XWF viewership numbers, I will add in Baphomet getting caught by a CIA agent who probably can’t spell “CIA” and the pale horse, that dread fiend that was supposed to make us all grab our ankles and wet ourselves in sheer unadulterated TERROR, turning out to be….Andrew Logan?! Best known for stopping by the XWF to grab a cup of coffee before pissing off to God knows where. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you guys hyped this guy like he was the second coming of Steve Jason, only to give us some rando who wrestled a couple matches and bailed once he realized the heat here was too hot for him. Our balls would be blue as all hell if we cared in the first place.

So, yeah, there’s some context for you. This group has spent the last couple weeks leaving greasy fried chicken shits in the bed of life. But now...boy oh boy….now Marf and Lycana are talking and it’s just GRAND.

Corey looks giddy with anticipation.

Oh Marfy, damn those tape delays. I shot my last promo before you and Lycana had that match with Alias and Jenny Myst and, well, you remember all that stuff I said about you being a step up from Ash Quinn? Let’s just memory hole that, eh?

Now Marf here says that I got my ass whupped by Lycana. An interesting statement considering my team won that match. Hey! You know that episode of Rick and Morty where they watch all those TV stations from different universes? I’m thinking maybe you watched a channel from an alternate universe where The Left Hand met a bare minimum of competence, so maybe it’s not your fault you got that all ass backwards.

And as for Ash Quinn, tell me something Marf. If Ash Quinn was so shitty what was she doing in your group in the first place? I would figure that someone as powerful as The Baphomet would have some way of filtering scrubs like that out. That is, of course, if he was actually going for quality and not just lining up any warm body who was dumb enough to sign on the dotted line.

As much as it pains me to admit it, I think my partner may have been on to something when he was talking about “cannon fodder”.

Corey gestures to the camera, hands out, in a mockingly loving fashion.

Oh, and then dear sweet, Virgin eared Lycana. Once again displaying her talent for talking endlessly while saying nothing at all. It’s a gift, I tell ya. Now, she would like us to believe she is oh, so looking forward to dancing with me again, to meeting me in that sweet embrace of pain, to locking eyes with me and watching my soul slip away...oh….oh…. He playfully pretends to “have the vapors”.

But that’s not true at all. Because if Lycana was being honest with herself and the rest of us, she would be admitting how much she’s been dreading this possibility. Now, she made a big deal of trading in that toss-pot Ash Quinn for the strapping Marf of La Mancha, but like I said, didn’t seem to make much of a difference against Alias and Jenny. And it’ll make even less of a difference now. Because now, not only will they have to contend with TWO whole teams, but this time my partner’s seen a bit of an upgrade as well. God love Reggie Edgar, but even that stout bear of a man can’t quite reach the guy who was Baphomet before being Baphomet was...well, not “cool”, but…

Corey waves his hands in the air, galloping past that dead end.

Don’t get me wrong, saying anything nice about Doctor Louis DeVille feels about on par with saying “Hitler was right”, but I’m a pretty reality based guy, and the reality here is that DeVille is a legend for a reason. Multi time champion. One of the best of all time. Smells vaguely of Old Spice, brimstone, and the collective sadness of all of humanity. But most of all, leagues better than Marf will ever be.

I mean, I don’t think I have to go all quadratic equations to sum up how fucked you are here, Lycana, but suffice it to say you are FUCKED.

Corey slaps his thighs, still looking pretty giddy, but now maybe with marginally less malice.

Bobbie Bourbon, my man! “Bring up what an inconsistent creature I am.” Well, don’t mind if I do! Because here we have a man who joined the Brotherhood of Baddies (note how BAD is right in the name) only to turn around and play at being that decent guy again while making the world safe for buxom college co-eds. Now, I’m not saying that isn’t a noble endeavor. But what I am saying is that once again, you have no idea what the fuck you are. You’re the same old schizophrenic Robbie Bourbon you always were, except this time you’re..what? Solidifying a legacy? Having a good time? Having a stroke?

He snags his phone and mouths "one sec" as he pulls up a clip from Robbies last promo.

Quote:On the other, the proven monsters of the past putting into concrete their established selves because they’re either bored or need some credence otherwise because they would rather uphold a throne to give their own reign as tag champs credence against wrestlers who have left the XWF in their wake because they couldn’t defend the titles against us.

He tosses the phone back on the bed.

Because that sounds like a stroke! And I would know. Because that’s what I was recovering from when I got “dunked on by Warstein and disappeared”. But then again, Robbie’s never been one to let facts get in the way of his unique brand of self congratulatory word salad.

So what’s it gonna be, Robbie? You all in or just dipping a toe? It’s always so hard to tell with you. I mean, do YOU even know? You realize that if you win these things you’ll actually have to DEFEND them right? Although that’s always been a struggle for you too. And that there is the real pisser about Robbie Bourbon. That whole “effort” thing. Don’t believe all that bullshit about how what he wants is “more complex” than a Universal title reign. That’s just Robbie speak for “please don’t make me be consistent. Please don’t make me have to TRY.” Because we all remember what happened the last time you tried at the highest levels of the XWF.

You got beat by a real monster. You got beat by that vileness in me.

Corey says this with a touch of disgust.

And that’s the real difference between you and I. I’m always ON. I’m always the real goddamn deal. And while my love for Thad Duke may be stopping me from grabbing that brass ring now, once his time in the sun is done I sure as hell won’t be spouting some horseshit about wanting something “more complex” when I’m challenging whoever’s next in line for the Universal Championship.

Now let's talk about "self righteousness". That's Robbie's go to for people who want to do the right thing, because he can't envision a scenario where somebody wanting to do right isn't doing it out of a sense of pageantry. Which says a hell of a lot more about your fake ass than it does me. It also says a hell of a lot about you that it never occurred to you that you could be a "badass" without joining a world wide criminal organization. But then again, if you hadn't glommed onto the BOB phenomenon it would have been harder to sell the product that is "you".

As for me turning heel because I'm reluctantly helping Doc defend these titles, I'm not accepting your ignorance of everything I said in my first promo as an excuse. Stop being lazy. I told you why I'm doing this. But I guess that doesn't jibe with the half assed image of me you're trying to sell. Alternative facts may work on the MAGA crowd, but here in the XWF it just makes you look like a haphazard goof who doesn't understand his competition.

He takes a breath.

As for you TK, the come back is going pretty good! Eliminating your tag team partner at High Stakes, pinning James Raven and currently 3 and 0 in active competition. But thanks for asking.

Oh, and by the by, while I have had a revolving door of personas, not a one was a “cancer ridden fuck”. That would be Dexter Bright, the first Engineer. I know it’s hard to keep up but…”fucking details, know what I’m saying?”

Corey winks.

You know what though? Out of all the jerks in this match, including my own partner, I think I dislike you the least. You’re the epitome of “decent, fun, midcarder”. I mean, I think we both know you’ll never reach the top of the proverbial ladder, but you’re a solid hand! A steady hand! Am I right?

I’m right.

Anyhoo, Knuckles “ethay eckchay isyay inyay ethay ailmay”. And if you’re having a rough go of it, tell Mr. Money Bags Oswald to spring for some decent decoder rings. I figure every super villain organization needs decent decoder rings.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some panicked friends to attend to.

Corey snatches his phone off the bed as he quirks an eyebrow at the camera crew, signaling that they can clear out.