The following takes place very shortly after Warfare.

The multi-toned beeping of hospital machinery accompanies us into the shot of the interior of a hospital room. Some half assed Christmas decorations adorn the windows, beyond which mother nature is belching some serious flurries. It's a safe bet that the occupant of this hospital room is not quite in the Christmas spirit however.

The Engineer, who at this point you can really only tell IS The Engineer because I say so, is covered in gauze. One arm is held in a sling, and bandaging conceals half his face. He's wearing a plain white hospital dressing gown and a blanket is pulled up to his waist. In his lap is a filthy porno mag that most certainly did NOT come from the gift shop.

Madison Dyson wades into the room like she owns it and casually slaps the magazine off Engy's lap. He sits up straighter, which draws a grimace.

You stupid fucking asshole.

Good evening to you too sweetheart.

Madison starts pacing the edge of his bed, throwing her hands up in the air histrionically as she launches into a full tilt rant.

Why.....why.....WHY? We are WEEKS before War Games, and quite possibly the biggest match of your career! You are embarking on a senate campaign! You just earned a 24/7 briefcase! People finally RESPECT and FEAR you. So....why....why.....WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU NOT JUST END THE MATCH WITH GILLY AND AVOID BLOWING YOURSELF UP?!

Engy gingerly raises his good arm up as though trying to interject, but Madison is too far gone.

I mean, were you trying to make a point? Did you really want to get rid of XWF's resident loveable mental deficient that badly?! Don't get me wrong, I sure as hell appreciate the inherent melodramatic spectacle of sacrificing yourself for the satisfaction of destroying someone else, BUT GILLY? You could have blown yourself up against Caedus, or Main! We could have dragged Theo Pryce's retired ass back into the spotlight and you two could have engaged in some oh so satisfying mutually assured destruction because that would have had some thematic PANACHE.....BUT MOTHERFUCKING GILLY?!

Help me see this Engy. Take my hand, walk me through this. Help me understand. Please, I'm begging you.

Madison finally stops to take a breath, only to realize that Engy is laughing. It's more of a pained wheeze in his current state, but still. Madison clenches her teeth in rage.

What is so motherfucking FUNNY?

You really wanna know why?

No numbnuts, I don't. Ugh...YES!

Engy leans forward as much as he is able, and still manages a despicable leer through the pain.

Because it was FUNNY.

He lays back against the pillows, a self satisfied expression on the half of his face that is visible. Madison blinks once....twice. Her expression is blank. She looks incredulously out the window, and then back at him.

Two skin grafts, shrapnel in your back, and multiple 2nd and third degree burns....for a joke?

Yup. Hey, can you give me back that titty mag? I was just getting' to the good stuff.

Are you aware of just how much you jeopardized for that stupid joke?

Engy sighs, casting a glance at the spank mag that is oh so far out of reach.

Fine. I'll level with you. It wasn't just a joke. Although the shit with Maria was pretty funny, you gotta admit. I wanted to send a message. To Apex. To Vinnie. To Doc, if he's still around as the shambling undead corpse of the Kings. I wanted to send a message that if I'm willing to blow myself up to try to kill Peter Gilmour of all people what else am I capable of? What WON'T I do to people who actually MATTER to get what I want?

That Argyle guy wants to cheap shot me like a punk bitch in the hall? Fine, he's got my attention. He's got my ire up. But Peter? Peter didn't do shit to me aside talk some half coherent trash and I still tried to fucking murder him on a LARK.

So you wanna know why Madison? There's your answer. Plus putting Maria's terrified face in the ol' spank bank. I'm gonna get a lot a mileage outta that one. And speaking of....

He points to the titty magazine. Madison scowls, picks it up by the corner as though she's afraid of just where it's been and dumps it unceremoniously back in his lap.

So as consistent as it would be with your inherent “you-ness” to waltz into my room post-op just to bitch me out, I got a sinking suspicion something else brings you here.

Madison pulls a file folder out of her massive handbag and lays on the bed at Engy's feet.

You are correct. There has been a development. One that could be really good or really bad depending on how it plays out. Because the universe sees fit to shock and horrify me on a daily basis, you have a son.

Engy remains stoic.

I said....YOU HAVE A SON.

I know.

Madison looks incredulous again. She runs her hands down her face in exasperation.

You know what, I can't even.....uggghhhhh. How long have you known?

Not long. I hired some private investigators after we started the senate campaign to see which of my skeletons were still in the closet and which had fallen out and they said I had one. A son, not a skeleton. Or, it could be both I suppose. I didn't get any other details and didn't pursue it further.

Well, I did the same thing. Did it never occur to you to tell me you had already hired private investigators so we could, oh I don't know, coordinate our efforts maybe?

I wanted to keep a filter on what got out that went through me and only me. And by the by, you could have given me the same heads up, and you didn't so check your butt hurt right at the door please.

Point taken. But anyway, here's what they found, and it's not much. The kid's got a name, Joachim (weird ass name). Some crazy lady showed up at a hospital in West Virginia saying 9 months ago she was drugged up and forced to participate in some cult ritual where she got knocked up up by a kid. Sound familiar? Naturally the police were very interested, but she ended up being institutionalized because she was way far gone and the kid became a ward of the state. Rolled around in the system till he was about 13 then just ghosted. They couldn't even get any pictures of him because the foster care agency he was in folded years back and all their files are MIA. Kid has no permanent address on record.

So how the hell did they find him?

This is where shit gets weird, but given it's a product of YOU I guess that shouldn't be a surprise. Apparently there is this hobo commune near Mobile Alabama, some kind of nomad community of vagrants who hitch rides on trains from town to town, set up shop there for a bit, and then leave. Well it turns out there is a warrant for the arrest of a Joachim Bright, who is believed to have something to do with this commune. That's GOT to be more than a coincidence, right? We're thinking it could be the same kid.

That ain't much. And why the hell would he use my name?

Who knows. Again, product of you.

Engy shrugs. He picks up the magazine and flips it open to a very graphic BJ scene.

Well, thanks mightily for the update I guess. Now if you'll be so kind as to let me have some “me time”.

Oh, we're going to see this kid. We need to see just what kind of problem this is going to be for us. And who knows, maybe we can even turn this into some kind of “father-son sob story reunion” shit. The media will eat that up.

It's Engy's turn to look incredulous.

I ain't goin' nowhere. You see how busted up I am?! I aint FLYIN' like this! Plus I got zero interest in this little shithead it'll uhhhh.....it'll bring back my PTSD!

What PTSD?! Get your shit together, pack up all the morphine you can and crank one out if you gotta, but this is happening! You can use the character development B-reel for your promo's anyway.

FUUUUUUUUU-

Later....

UUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Madison, sitting across from the champ on hr private jet, pulls her palms away from her ears in annoyance.

Was that REALLY necessary?

Sorry. Who are you again?

Madison scowls and pulls out a fuzzy purple sleep mask and slides it over her eyes. She reclines her seat back and does her best to look restful.

I'm going to try to catch some shut eye. Why don't you cut a promo on Apex or something. Quietly.

She turns away from him in the seat. Engy pulls out a bottle of pills, unscrews it hastily and dumps some into his mouth. He's fully clothed now, but judging from the awkward bulging in his attire he' still heavily bandaged underneath.

”This promo is brought to you by OPIOIDS. Opioids: Because sometimes you just don't want to feel your body.”

AM I DOING DRUGS RIGHT JIM?!


Call backs rule. He tosses the now empty pill bottle into the aisle and groans.

Terribly sorry to keep you guys waiting with my “sackless silence”. But it's kind of hard to focus on forming coherent statements when it feels like your skin is gaining sentience and trying to rip itself away from your body. I am pleased to report however that my sac is still attached and that I am indeed not “sackless”. Thank you for your concern.

So, I gotta say guys, bravo. Some entertaining stuff so far. I enjoyed it. I mean, it's not gonna stop me from running a half awake train on some of your dumber points, but still.

Let's start on easy mode. I need to warm up here. Drew just tried to play the Robbie is gonna backstab you card on me, but I'm pretty sure I've already covered that ground. So for the benefit of those who missed it the first time, let's recap.

Uhhhhhh...no.

He gives himself a little slap when it seems like he's gonna nod off.

I'm AWAKE! But seriously though, Robbie ain't gonna backstab me. I've already laid this shit out. Yes, I have a 24/7 briefcase and no, I'm sure Robbie hasn't forgotten that. But what possible benefit would he have from taking me out when he needs me so badly at War Games? Do you honestly think he would be so set on launching a preemptive strike against me that he would guarantee himself a loss in the main event of THE BIGGEST SHOW OF THE YEAR?

Drew, I know you were in the clink for a while. Did ya never take advantage of the prison library? Maybe do a little readin'? It does wonders for your critical thinking skills.

Which leads me to my next fallacy to fell (see,now you got me doin' that rhyming shit like Caedus): namely that Robbie should fear Engy because I'm gonna cash in on him at War Games.

Uhhhhh....no.

He goes to slap himself awake again, but then bites the hand.

Uh uh uh! Fool me once.....!

I'm not cashing in on Robbie. Why the fuck would I? Robbie, I love you, but you have a target on you the size of the Great State of Texas. There are HOW many briefcases in play? We got Jim's. We got however the fuck many Unknown Solider has. That's not even counting other guy's briefcases that may or may not still be in circulation.

So, even if I wanted to stab Robbie in the back (which I don't)....what the fuck makes you think I want ANYTHING to do with that clusterfuck? And how goddamn OBVIOUS would it be for me to cash in at the end of War Games anyway?

AND EVEN THEN! My body is so beyond fucked right now that I'm not even gonna make it through War Games without copious amounts of pharmaceuticals. What part of THAT screams, “Now is a great time to take on a Uni title reign with lots of other top tier talent itchin' to cash in on me”.

Does that about sum it up there, son? And as for your offer to help me? Nah thanks. I don't know you from Adam and I'll take the Devils I know over the ones I don't any day of the week.

He shakes his head at the camera in a “stupid don't pay dividends boy” kind of way. Which, apparently, is a way you can shake your head.

Bobby Main, I ain't duckin' or disrespectin' you because I ain't got much to say about you. I think another time, another place, you and I could definitely be alright. You haven't had a whole lot to say about me and that's fine. Plus, you were the one that seemed most offended when your boy Argyle cheap shotted me backstage. You seem to have your head on straight-ish since you dumped all that tiresome “The Devil Inside” shit and you're a better man for it.

I know mutual respect ain't exactly the “it” thing to do in an environment like this, but that's all I got for you right now.

Engy rubs his hands together, suddenly looking like a giddy child in a candy store. He rubs them together so hard that some of the bandaging on his left hands peels away, causing a stitched up shrapnel wound therein to open and bleed.

And finally, the main event! It IS starting to look a lot like Christmas because now I get to talk about my favorite person in the whole wide world JIM MOTHERFUCKING CAEDUS!

He claps his hands together now, scooting forward to sit on the edge of his seat. As he claps, little specks of blood from the reopened wound pepper the floor and the seat, but he seems oblivious to it.

Oh where do I start, where do I start, where do I START?! Jim Caedus who so, sooooooo desperately wants this to be some climactic battle of good versus evil. Right versus wrong. Creamy versus Crunchy (it's CRUNCHY YOU FUCKS!). Jim, you've always had an undeniable flare for the melodramatic, so it's no surprise you want our battle to some grand morality play.

But is it though?

He cocks his head.

I mean, look at who's on your team. A guy who literally used to claim he was a monster who ran with the devil, and an ex-con who makes no bones about being a back stabbing bastard himself, and who went as far as saying he would do it again someday. And you guys are gonna shit on Robbie for what he did to James Raven?

Are you little sweeties even listening to what each other is saying?

But I don't even want to talk about them, Jim. I want to talk about YOU and what a good guy YOU are.

You really like to rag on me for being a liar, Jim. Hell, you claimed that I even cal myself a “Lyin' Motherfucker.” I don't recall using that SPECIFIC term Jim, wherever would you get such an idea?

Engy rests his chin on his closed bloodied fist, parodying the Thinker as he looks UP AND TO THE LEFT.

Well, heh, I just don't see where you could have pulled that from. And I don't think you should see that either.

Engy pulls his fist away from his chin and shoots a very pointed look at the camera.

Okay, okay! We all know that Jim Caedus likes to cherry pick facts sometimes from an alternate dimension, or the known ends of the universe, or even an alternate reality where we are all just puppets dancing on strings for a bunch of introverted losers with overactive imaginations and too much toilet time at work. We know this! It's not news.

But do you know what else we know about Jim Caedus?

He ain't a saint.

Engy loses all pretense of jovialty from his features as he spits these words out.

Because the cold hard fact is that Jim is a known deviant, lunatic, and “former” drug addict who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Who will stop at nothing to try to gain some cheap promo points on somebody like it even makes a goddamn fucking difference when it comes to wins and loses.

That was quite a story you told there about Robbie. Very vibrant, very visceral. Am I using those words right there, Hawthorne? I know how IMPORTANT that is to you.

But did you realize that what you described, the humiliation, the fear, the abuse that you parodied and applied to a grown man is a stark reality for millions of children the world over? It was for me. And I know you think I'm lying about that too, in which case you should probably tell this punk kid Madison's dragging me out to go see that he doesn't exist.

You think that's fucking funny? You think people's pain is some kind of fucking JOKE? You fucking piece of shit....

Engy looks deathly serious now. But then, bit by bit, it starts to crack. And he starts to laugh.

....COME JOIN THE CLUB! Ah hahahahahahaha! Of course people's pain is funny sometimes! OF COURSE IT IS! Welcome to The Gray Area, Jim. Like it or not, you're kind of a piece of shit too.

And you know what else is a prerequisite for joining the Gray Area? LYING. You know, that thing you call me and Robbie out for? That thing that every other bottom feeding fuckstick in the XWF does to get ahead? The thing that this scummy, carny business is BUILT ON?!

Lying, Jim. Lying. It's ubiquitous. I like that word. Rolls off the tongue. And you know what Jimmy? I bet my bottom dollar that you have done more than your fair share of lying. That you've lead people astray. Stolen from them. Used them up. Because that's what people with your particular background do. It's encoded in a junkie's DNA.

Get down off your high horse. I bet even now, involuntarily as I speak the faces of every person you've lied, misled, let down, used and abused are flashing through your mind's eye. Like you've never spun a yarn to get one over on somebody. To get your dick wet or score some product. Please.

Face facts, Jimbo. Nobody's innocent. Not me. Not you. Nobody in this match. And that's ok. Because sometimes being a bastard can still have good outcomes. Sometimes it results in certain tyrannical “royale with cheese” shitheads getting shook enough to finally find the exit.

And sometimes it results in men like Jim Caedus.

Engy draws in a deep sigh.

I don't hate you Jim. I mean, yeah, you're a huge self-righteous pain in the ass sometimes. But you're also batshit crazy, have a hell of a lot of savoir faire, and regularly set the world on fire here. Robbie hates you. BWP hates you. But you know what they say, “if you don't have enemies then you're probably not all that interesting”.

It's a crying shame you didn't stay with us. And God damn you for making me have to stand on the opposite side of the ring from you. But that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna stand on the opposite side of that ring and I'm gonna fight you and the rest of Apex. I hope it's everything you want it to be and more, Jim.

And that ain't no lie.

The shot abruptly cuts to....