(OOC: I did something with this one that I don't normally do, and I have a part at the very end that's off camera. This is usually something I do not do, but I did it this time to have a chilling counterweight to the content before it, and to add some disturbing ambiguity to Engy's character. Plus, there is no way he would allow that on camera (although there are hints to what happened that appear on camera. It's not something I'm going to make a habit of, but I think it really worked here and I hope you feel the same.)



A harsh Southern sun bakes the faded tile on the mobile home, beached in a morass of weeds curling up the windows. The Engineer, looking particularly out of character in blue jeans and a trucker cap, walks in front of someone holding a camera down at knee level. They both mount a trio of rickety wooden steps. The Engineer doesn't even bother with the treacherous looking handrail. He walks up to the door and knocks three times. Patiently, he waits for the door to open. When it does, it irises open only as much as the chain will allow. A haggard looking woman with stringy grayed hair peers through the crevice.

Hello?

It comes out as more of a challenge than a greeting. The Engineer smiles in response.

We're really sorry to bother you, but we're in a bit of a bind. We were up the road getting some footage for a promotional video we're shooting for the county when our van stalled. Neither of us has any bars on our phones out here either. Do you have a phone we could borrow to call Triple A?

The woman squints, working her tongue over the gaps in her teeth in contemplation.

What kinda promotional video?

Oh, just this tourism thing. We were getting shots of the woods and the creek a few miles up to use in a highlight reel.

Who the hell would wanna come visit here?

Engy chuckles good naturedly.

Well if we do our jobs right, plenty!

The woman, eyes still narrowed to slits, considers them a moment longer. It's almost imperceptible, but a spectre of....something....crosses her features, steeling her expression for a moment before relenting.

Ya'all can come in for a minute. We don't got no cell phones though, just a wall phone.

That'll do just fine. Thank you.

The door closes, and we can hear the woman slide the chain away. The door opens fully now, and we see more of the woman. She's very skinny, like her flesh is a thin film stretched taut over bone. She's wearing the kind of cheap bathrobe you pick up at Wal-mart, furry and dotted with cartoon cows. Engy goes to remove his shoes but the woman just shakes her head “no” and makes a dismissive gesture with her hand so he doesn't bother. The camera is still held at thigh level as they venture into the cramped home. Passing the living room, we see a man in a wheelchair, sitting in front of a television brought to life by honest to God tinfoil wrapped rabbit ears. There are a few piles of newspapers scattered between the rough looking 80's era furniture. A lamp that still has a thirft store tag provides the room's only illumination aside from the television.

Bill, these boys are just here to use the phone.

Bill doesn't respond. They pass into the kitchen where the walls are filled with cheap farm décor kitsch. The stovetop is splattered with red sauce and a table that could only benevolently be described as “vintage” sits in the midst of the room, surrounded by 4 chairs. An overloaded ash try sits in the middle of the table. The woman pulls it closer as she sits and grabs a pack of Camels from the pocket of her robe. She gestures at the wall, pointing out the phone.

Chuck, call Triple A for me, would ya?

The man known as “Chuck” places the camera down on the table, positioned in such a way that both the Engineer and the woman are in view. He goes to the phone on the wall, just off screen, and we hear the dialing of numbers. Engy removes his hat and places that on the table as well, running his hand along his scalp.

Hot one, huh?

That spectre of emotion that splayed across the woman's features at the door returns. Her lighter stops halfway in it's journey to the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. In the background, a male voice intones into the telephone, but it's hard to make out precisely what is being said. The woman brakes from her paralysis and finishes lighting the cigarette. She leans forward in her seat as she replaces the lighter. Her arm plays over the cheap lacquer of the table, drawing back the sleeve of her robe slightly. The deep dark ruts of ancient collapsed veins are revealed. Engy's eyes are drawn to this momentarily, and the woman self consciously pulls up her sleeve.

I really appreciate this. We'd be pretty screwed without your help.

Yeah, its fine. We don't get too many visitors out here.

She takes a deep drag.

It's nice though. Quiet. Peaceful. You guys could probably get away with anything you wanted all out here on your lonesome.

Engy chuckles, but the woman stiffens slightly.

Hey, is that the man of the house?

Engy points back with his thumb towards the man in the wheelchair.

That's my husband. But he don't talk none...

***DING!***

The sound, like a service bell from a hotel's desk, resounds from the living room. Engy looks at the woman, bemused.

Dinner's on?

Like I said, he don't talk much and....

The woman interrupts herself to look up and in the direction of “Chuck” and the phone. The distinctive click of a receiver returning to its housing can be heard.

Sounds like your boy's done. I'll see ya out.

***DING!***

Again, the bell punctuates the scene. Engy cranes his neck around to look into the living room. Off screen, Engy's camera man intones, “They said they'll be here in about an hour. “

Ya'll can't wait in here.

The woman pushes the words out, like they had been brewing for quite some time. Bursting forth from her mouth like a repressed urge. Engy turns back towards her. His lip curves up in a slight smile. The woman eyes him.

Sure. That's fine. We don't want to inconvenience you.

***DING!***

Pretty insistent, ain't he. I'd like to thank the man of the house for his hospitality before we leave, if you don't mind.

I said he don't talk!

But Engy is already up out of his seat and walking into the living room. The camera operator, having finished his call, scoops up the camera, allowing us an unfettered glimpse into the living room again. Engy sidesteps a pile of newspapers and sits on an off-green ottoman next to the old man's wheelchair. The camera operator maneuvers towards the front door, the all seeing eye of the camera changing position to give a renewed glimpse of the scene.

The man in the wheelchair is largely immobile. Straps restrain his crippled body in the seat. The only sign of capability is in his left hand, which is hovering over the bell. The right side of his face droops horribly, flesh surrendering to gravity to the point that a red iris of inner flesh is exposed beneath his eye.

***DING!***

A trembling finger hits the bell. The non-atrophied side of the man's face registers recognition and fear.

***DING!***

Engy leans in, looking triumphant.

You're still in that husk, aren't you?

The woman rushes into the living room, but stop short of getting within arm's reach of The Engineer.

What do you WANT?!

***DING!***
***DING!***
***DING!***

Engy keeps his gaze locked on the man.

Shameful, isn't it? Doesn't even recognize her own. But you do, don't you?

His voice is a malicious purr now, any trace elements of geniality ripped away by a simmering hate that he has finally cut free. The woman, trembling, brings her hand to her mouth and gives a small gasp that is part shock and part terror.

The Engineer considers her now, drinking in the moment, body electric with satisfaction.

Hello mother.

////NOW////

I'm not gonna say a single bad goddamn thing about Jim Caedus.

Engy declares as he haphazardly places some clothing in a suitcase. He slams the lid shut and sits on the edge of the bed. It seems he's in a cheap hotel room somewhere. The kind that looks like every single hotel room you've ever been in. Ikea furniture. Bland Thomas Kincade print on the wall behind a thin veneer of glass. You get the drift.

Seriously, I'm not. This isn't a mind game. This isn't a ploy. And any of the bookers or GM's who think I'm insufficiently repping this match can get fucked.

I'm not shooting on Caedus. Not happenin'.

I mean, Caedus can do whatever he wants. When the man gets a bug up his keister he cuts the most savage promos known to man or beast, and if he wants to rip me to shreds he is more than welcome. He certainly won't be hurting for material. But I won't be doing that and I'll tell you why. I have never...NEVER....met a man I respect more. I have never met a man who intrigued me more. And I have never met a man who FRIGHTENED me more. And no, those things aren't mutually exclusive.

It's confession time. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief when I got bounced from the War Games match because I knew we would lose. And I knew we would lose because, yes, Apex was the more cohesive unit. Moreover, I firmly believe that Jim was the glue keeping them cohesive. Go back and watch those promos leading up to War Games. Tell me if you saw what I saw. Because what I saw was a man who LOVES just as fiercely he as he hates. I saw a man with an equal passion for his friends as his rivals. I saw a man with genuine affection for the people he calls “brother”. And in this business, how often can you say that about someone else? Huh? Where the fuck do you find that kind of loyalty? This is a business steeped in hate and rage and viciousness and that team won....APEX WON....because they were such good friends.

Now I'm a cold bastard. I've never made pretensions at being a decent human being. But even that spoke to me, thawed this frosty heart a bit and made me come face to face with the utter void deep within me. It wasn't Madison that made me finally agree to go looking for my boy. It was Jim. Because Jim taught me that there was a place for decency in this business after all. And that it isn't weakness to want to reach out to others and carry them up with you.

Engy zips up the suitcase and dissappears into the bathroom. In this quiet moment, you can hear the sirens of emergency services in the distance. Engy reappears from the bathroom, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Not to mention a ton of stolen hotel soaps and shampoos. He looks sheepishly at the camera as he dumps those into the side pocket of his bag.

All the heels steal hotel soap. What was I sayin'? Oh yeah. That's why I respect Jim Caedus. Now let's talk about why Jim Caedus intrigues me. And this is probably more self-centered than it appears at first blush, but hear me out....

////THEN////

The room is still and silent as the enormity of the revelation finally makes it's full presence known. The Engineer's mother looks on at her boy as he pulls the ottoman closer to his father, her husband.

Oh my God....

Her tone is hushed, awed even. The Engineer reaches over and slams his palm down on his father's bell three times.

***DING!***
***DING!***
***DING!***

DING DING! Winner winner chicken dinner! You finally recognize me. You know, your maternal instincts were never really all that hot, but JEE-SUS that's BAD....

Dexter there ain't nothin' here for you, why are you botherin' us like this?

He looks at her incredulously.

Bothering you?! On hell, I'm so sorry. How inconsiderate of me to want to come square up with the bastards who made my early life the drizzlin' shits. How inconvenient that must be. Am I cuttin' into your “Soaps and Dope” time, mother? God, I'm such an asshole.

Dexter's mother runs into the kitchen. She reemerges with a carving knife, leveled out in front of her at Engy with a quaking hand. But she stops short. The Engineer has a straight razor in his hand, and he's holding it up against his father's jaw line. The old man registers terror in his single good eye, looking every bit like he'd crawl right up and out of his skin to escape if he could. The woman's resolve dies.

Please....

Put the knife down. Sit. We're gonna chat. And I'm gonna shave Dad.

The woman drops the knife to the shag carpet, where it bounces soundlessly. Jittery and numb, she finds her way to the couch and sits. Engy reaches up with his free hand and, with the back of it, runs it along his father's jaw line, feeling the uneven line of his facial hair. He addresses his father.

Who the hell taught her to shave? Let me help you out Dad. We're gonna do this dry, but I spent quite a few years not being able to afford shaving cream so don't worry, I'm a pro.

The Engineer brings the blade flush with his father's skin, and starts gently running it against the grains of his facial hair. The old man's eye winces, and starts to water.

Why are you here?

Don't upset me. I might slip.

I...I ain't tryin' to upset ya Dex. I ju-just wanna understand.....

You wanna understand? Sure. I've recently become a whole lot more interested in digging up my family roots so to speak. You have a grandchild by the way. With that freaky cult bitch I fucked in the tub. Life's weird like that sometimes, ain't it?

Surprise breaks through the numb horror on her face. Engy continues to carefully trace the old man's face with his blade.

You got a son....? Is he....?

Fucked up? A little. But not like us. He's a good person. Decent.

That ain't what I was gonna say. I was gonna say, “Is he happy?”

Engy stops a moment. He looks aside and away from his father, boring a hole in the floor with his gaze. His teeth grind, and then he returns to work, bringing the blade flush with his Dad's face once more.

He's fine.

His mother worries her hands in her lap, stress tears pressing out of her eyes. An internal debate is raging, and finally one side wins.

Dex, I don't know how much you remember of what happened. I don't know what version of what happened that you THINK you remember.

Oh, what the fuck does that even mean?!

Engy roars at her. The blade dips beneath his father's skin, drawing a pearl of crimson from the wound that races down his face and onto his shirt. His mother gasps, drawing Engy's attention to what he did. He pulls the blade away. A tear rolls down his father's cheek, washing into the wound.

Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!

////NOW////

Another emergency vehicle can be heard roaring down the street, this time sounding like it was just outside the hotel. The Engineer pays it no mind.

Jim Caedus intrigues me because he and I? We ain't so dissimilar. We've both had tough lives. We're both....not quite right in the head. Not an insult by the way, just a statement of fact. We've both been betrayed, used and abused by people that, ostensibly, were supposed to love us. We both have family situations that ain't exactly ideal. And we're both cursed with a duality of character that makes us downright fucking incomprehensible to most people.

So why is it that, despite all these similarities, Jim Caedus is unquestionably going into this match the good guy and I'm the bad guy? I mean, granted, I just got done saying what a great friend he is. But, and this is what fascinates me....what is that EXTRA....that je n'ais se quoi that made him turn out to be the kind of man that cares about integrity and me.....ehhhhhhhhh......falling short of that mark?

In other words, why did a crazy person like him turn out so goddamn decent and a crazy person like me turn out so NOT?

I mean, Jesus, the guy was legit ECSTATIC when I became co-tag team champs with him. This guy, who was on a rival team. Who HATED me for what I did to Theo's wife. Who tore me apart in a series of promos like I just ran over his goddamn dog, bought him another dog of the same breed and then RAN THAT ONE OVER TOO in front of him and his metaphorical weeping children...this guy....THIS GUY....

….forgets all that because he was just so happy to see me as his partner. I could come bearing a billion fucking dollars to anyone else on the planet and they wouldn't have been one one hundredth as happy to see my scumbag ass as Jim Caedus was. And you know, a more cynical man would say that was a ploy. That he's suckering me. But he's not. You can't shit a shitter. That man ain't shittin' me. He was actually happy to have me as his partner.

Engy shakes his jowls in an exaggerated “gobsmacked” fashion, runs a hand down his face, laughs, and looks at the camera.

Forgiveness. Just like that.

He snaps his fingers to accentuate the point.

No way I woulda been capable of that. And yet this monster of a man, this man who nature should have decreed would be a broken, bitter, beast like most of the rest of the roster. This man welcomes me with open arms. Unbelievable. And utterly fascinating.

Engy puts a hand to his forehead and shakes his head, looking genuinely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the kindness he was shown.

////THEN////

Engy dabs at the blood on his father's chin with a Kleenex, as his mother looks on wide-eyed and panicked.

Relax. He's fine.

He resumes shaving his father's face, but every so often looks up at his mother.

So you say you're not sure which version of events I remember. You say that like this shit is somehow multiple choice.

I've watched you on the TV. Talkin' about us, and everything that happened. Sayin' we tortured you, forced you to do....things....

You callin' me a liar?

Ever mindful of the blade against her husband's throat, she relents.

No Dex! No, I ain't accusin' you a nothin' like that. Me and your dad, we did plenty wrong. Plenty. But Dex, we never hurt you like that. We never forced you to do none a that. And...and....I think maybe you misremembered because you was so sick....

The woman squeezes her eyes shut, questioning if maybe she pushed things too far. Engy looks at her, and pulls the razor away from his father's face.

Say what you're gonna say.

I don't want you to....

I won't. Just fucking spit it out.

She brushes aside some errant tears with the back of her hand and her throat bobs with a deep swallow. The Engineer watches her expectantly.

Me and your dad, we wasn't right. I admit that. We didn't do right by you. We was neglectful and....and bad. We was bad parents. But Dex, we never beat you. We were failures in so many other ways, but to hurt you that way? No....no.....not ever. We knew you was different. That you had your own demons. You scared us sometimes, Dex....

Oh, so your gonna race ahead of me to the old victim finish line, eh mother? Real classy....

WE VICTIMIZED EACH OTHER DEX!

Even she looks surprised by her own vehemence.

We cared more about the drugs than anything else! We missed so many signs, we shoulda got you help! And we didn't, so you did things Dex. That girl down the street, do you remember that girl?

The Engineer's lips pull down into a deep frown. He flicks the straight razor back open with his thumb, seemingly without conscious intention. His mother looks at the blade.

What fuckin' girl?

Never mind....never mind....

SAY WHAT YOU'RE GONNA SAY!

It wasn't right Dex....it wasn't right....

She breaks down into sobs, and her son just watches her intently, studying her.

There it is. All that guilt. You wanna talk about different versions of events? You're the only one paintin' with that brush, mother. The mental hoops you musta jumped through to mitigate all that awfulness. You got some nerve puttin' this on me.

Those people came to you! THEY CAME TO YOU! Talkin' about all that crazy Aiwass this and Vox Aeterna that! It was madness!

Her choked sobs become a crescendo of shrill recrimination.

They came to you! Tellin' you they saw somethin' in you, somethin' terrible and dark and violent and you liked it Dex! It felt so wrong to us but you liked it and we tried to keep you away but they...they preyed on our weakness. They gave us the drugs....oh God....

Again she descends into sobs, dropping her face into her hands as the tears run between her fingers. The Engineer looks up into the active lens of the camera. He folds the blade back up and replaces it in his pocket. He locks eyes with his father for a time before rising up and sitting beside his mother. His expression is an inscrutable void now, emotionally sanitized. Leaning in towards her sobbing form, he brings his lips close to her ear.

I forgive you.

She looks up at him as he heads for the entrance. She opens her mouth to speak, and then shuts it again. The camera follows The Engineer through the door and back out the world at large, where afternoon has started to surrender to evening redness.

////NOW////

Jim Caedus scares me.

By now, The Engineer is putting the finishing touches on his departure. Two bags are packed and ready to go, sitting on his bed. The champ is standing at the foot, facing straight on at the camera like a challenge.

But it's not his size (which is gargantuan), his wrestling prowess (which is considerable), or even his wit (which is razor sharp), that scare me. I mean, I've BEATEN Jim Caedus before. He is a powerful adversary but he's not insurmountable.

But what scares me about him is that, no matter what trials you've been through, no matter how hard the deck has been stacked against you, no matter how downright mean somebody's life has been, altruism is never an impossibility. Jim Caedus shows that a sliver of goodness is always within reach. And THAT scares the shit out of me. THAT makes me question everything I've been up until this point. Because when it boils right down to it what Jim Caedus means is that there may be hope for ME yet.

Holy FUCK.

Here's another dirty little secret about this business. Being the bad guy is easy. That's why most of the people in the XWF are shit heads. Hell, it's why capitalism works too. Getting ahead is just so much easier when you got no qualms with stepping over some bodies on the way up. But when you got a code, when you got a LINE, well....that tends to limit your options quite a bit. People think playin' the heel is hard, but it's not.

It's being the hero that's hard. Especially when you live in a society as cynical as ours, when it's not seen as “cool” or “sexy” to do the right thing. Who the hell wants to turn on an XWF show, looking for some escapist fun, only to be preached at about decency and moderation? Not that Jim Caedus is the preachy type, but he represents a step up from the Kings, the Chris Chaos'...the ME's....that pollute the airwaves.

Engy steps away from the bed, and the camera tracks him as he walks across the room and towards a sliding glass door leading out onto a second story porch. A towel was hanging over the rail outside, and he opens the door to take hold of it, pausing on the porch to continue his thought.

So I'm gonna leave you with a question Jim. And I sincerely welcome an answer.

The camera starts to slowly pan back, and something unusual enters the frame. In the distance, black smoke billows up over the tree line, marring the evening sky as it slips into night.

Is there hope for me?

(OOC: THIS IS OFF CAMERA)

////HELL////

The Engineer steps out of his parents ramshackle home. The camera is off. Across the street, the demons are knocking at the door.



The Engineer smiles like a butcher knife's slash. The hooded figures withdraw their blades in response, the cold steel catching the dying embers of the late afternoon sun.

tOrCh iT WheN YOU'rE dONe. VoX AeTeRnA.

The figures advance towards the house. The Engineer starts walking down the street in the opposite direction. Before long, we hear The Engineer's mother scream, a bone chilling combination of terror and futility, the sound of a human being who knows it's the end and has only moments to process the horror.





































Is there hope for me?