Thunder ominously crashes in the distance. The image on your screen flashes through all the accouterments of a mad scientist’s lab.


Beaker’s full of strange substances simmering!


Dials and vacillating graphs!


Oscillating oscilloscopes!


Whatever the hell this thing is!

And, at the center of it all, your Anarchy champion and mine….Madison Dyson!


More thunder cackles in the distance, and the lightning briefly illuminates Madison’s face. She seems to be tits down on a bed that looks like a massage table, with an opening for her face that we are presently looking up into. Madison’s eyes open dramatically, and she smiles.

Hello, Mark.

Yes, let’s dispense with whatever pretense is left, shall we? You have, after all, given me exactly what I wanted. IE. YOU. Contrary to your caterwauling about how much I supposedly fear you, when I have stated no less than the fact that I WANTED to face you…

…you fucking IDIOT….

…here you finally stand in all your spergacious glory. Mark Flynn ladies and gentlemen, the XWF’s most autistic superstar. And while your ‘tism may grant you all the social graces afforded a man who thinks asking a woman if her house has stairs is the epitome of a pick up line, I have to admit that your particular condition has granted you a certain excellence in the ring. You see, like most autistics Mark has a singular obsession. Unfortunately for yours truly, it’s not a crippling addiction to masturbation or a pressing desire to catalog every episode of My Little Pony. No, it’s a fascination with WRESTLING.

And that’s why Mark Flynn wins so damn much.

Even though success with women, or having an honest to God friendship, or having a life that doesn’t play out like some hacky sitcom, are far beyond Mark’s social capabilities, his skill in the ring cannot be disputed.

Which makes it so damn shocking that I already beat you twice.

Yes, Mark, count ‘em. On the last episode of Anarchy, if it wasn’t for a distracted referee and a bottle to the brain, I had you beat twice over. And by my count the number of people who can claim two victories over Mark Flynn are exactly nil.

Except for me, of course.

But I’m not taking any chances. Even though you’ll bore the fairer sex to tears with the minutiae of your ELO scores and call it a win, you’re still a threat. A major one.

Thankfully, even Madison Dyson’s back up plans have back up plans.

And trust me when I say nothing…NOTHING….has prepared you for the lengths I’m willing to go to to protect my Anarchy championship. 

The shot abruptly pans over to Misty Waters who we can plainly tell is worried despite the surgical mask she’s wearing.

Maddy, I sure hope you know what yer doin’.

Ah, my dear Misty! I know EXACTLY what I’m doing. Unlike Mark.

Mark, I can already see you tabulating the bump to your ELO score. You think you got this in the bag. And why shouldn’t you? One of the longest reigning Universal champs of all time. I mean, still not longer than my client, of course, but whatevs.

Heh.

Well, I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t be confident, Mark. Because nobody that you’ve ever faced has done something as purestrain psychotic as what I’m about to do to beat you. In fact, I’m doing something that it is literally IMPOSSIBLE for you to have prepared for. Something so INCONCEIVABLE that even you, with your neuroatypical brain, would never have considered the possibility.

Here.

Now.

I become INEVITABLE.

Madison looks to Misty.

How was that? Suitably epic?

I mean…I guess?

Whatever! Let’s get this show on the road. You! The one who reeks of curry!

Each of Misty’s three remaining Indian engineers points to themselves in turn. Madison rolls her eyes.

The one near the switch, numbnuts! PULL IT!

The numbnuts near the switch pulls it. Another clap of thunder resounds as Madison’s bed begins to rise. We see now that she’s clasped into it. She’s raised to a vertical position, where her exposed back is now crisscrossed with red targeting lasers. And then, like a mechanical spider, a series of animatronic arms with needles on the end glide over to Madison’s back and begin puncturing her in turn. Madison winces.

Owee, owee, owee!

But she weathers the storm of needles. The horrible mechanical spider withdraws and from somewhere an electronic voice calls out…


Maddy, how do you feel?

But Madison has a far away look in her eyes and she fails to respond. Because she’s not here. She’s within.

Within her mindscape. 



The eye of the storm. Thunder rages over the ragged landscape, torrential winds splitting the skies and planting Madison’s hair against her face. But despite the chaos, she seems unpurturbed. Because, of course, for Madison? This is home.

A gnarled tree stoops over in the near distance and Madison walks towards it. It looks ashy and warped, from weathering constant lightning strikes. But despite the emaciated cover it provides, someone still has seen fit to try to hide behind it.

Madison steps up to within ten feet of the tree and extends her hand. She speaks against the winds, shouting into the void.

I know you’re there. You can come out. You’re safe!

Slowly, the figure creeps out.



It’s LUX! One of Madison’s most hated enemies!

Lux steps up to Madison, awash in confusion.

Do you remember me?

I don’t know you. Lux replies cooly, casting a look back at the maelstrom. 

Madison’s face creeps up into a smile.

What do you want?

Madison takes a knee, bowing her head like a knight supplicant. 

Teach me.