Luca still hasn't moved from the table where Toreno was foolish enough to leave the briefcase. In his hand the document the agent wanted him to read still remains. His eyes however are no longer darting across the piece of paper like they once were, now they were following the second hand of the clock mere feet away from his face.

Counting down the moments until he would officially be declared a menace to society, or some similar title. The thoughts of how he would be able to survive being placed on that prestigious list of threats try to escape his mind, but are held hostage by his deteriorating subconscious.

Finally, he comes to the grand conclusion. Pushing the chair back far enough to give himself enough room to stand up, he lets out a hearty laugh. The fourth or fifth one in the span of a few hours, for he realized for the seventh time in a matter of 60 seconds that as long as he had the briefcase, nothing bad would happen to him.

What began as an empty threat made to scare Rodriguez manifested itself into a viable option little by little.

It was a simple business practice really, if a prominent member of society for one reason or another were to wind up dead in the suspicious ways that are always employed in the matter of government assassinations, people are going to ask questions. They're going to want answers. When those answers "can't" be answered by any branch of public investigation, the people's faith in their government will fall. Just like stocks decrease when consumers aren't confident in the products or services offered, the government's approval rating will plummet even further into the fucking rabbit's hole. Luca was safe, and he knew it...

...And that was why when the knock on the door came, Luca was caught entirely off guard.

He hadn't even heard it the first time, he was too busy celebrating his victory over the fucking CIA to even care about anyone finding him. The second time, he figured it was the apartment next to his as no one would be stupid enough to try him when he held every secret he needed to know in the palm of his hand, right?

The third time however, was enough to make the young man's blood run cold. They had him cornered, and everyone knew it...







The apartment door swings open, Luca standing back a couple feet from the doorway with his hands raised in the air. Through all the anxiety flowing in his veins, Luca manages a cocky smile at the two men who walk through the door, guns still in their holsters. The first one in motions for Luca to lower his hands, much to the surprise of the man who for all they knew spilled all their precious secrets.

Agent 1: "Calm down, Mr. Arzegotti. You're not going to be placed under arrest or anything you might be expecting. We're a lot smarter than that."

As the last sentence leaves the agent's mouth, it finally clicks in Luca's mind that his hands were still in the air. He pulls them down slowly, keeping one hand on his gun, tucked in the back pocket of his pants.

"Really? Ain't that a crazy random happenstance? What are you here for, Mr...?"

"Mr. None-of-your-fucking-business. Shut up and I'll tell you."

Luca couldn't help but smile. He liked this guy about 12,000 times better than Toreno, whose all but intimidating demeanor made it hard to take him seriously. Yes, if you were to listen to Luca tell his side of the story, he'd say it was all Toreno's fault, which everyone already thought anyway. No one likes Toreno.

"As I was saying, the director of this operation thinks you could be an asset to us. Personally, I disagree. Prove me wrong."

Dammit! He found Luca's only weakness! A challenge would be the only that would make him work with the CIA after gathering all of the dirt on them. Without even thinking, Luca bursts out his response.

"Challenge accepted!"

Surprised, the agent tries to suppress a smile. He thought it would be a lot harder than that.

The second agent pulls out two pictures and lays them on the table.

Agent 2: "These are the two who run the farm out in the scenic part of the state that we're going after. Apparently, these guys have connections to the DEA and a couple of cartels!"

"You mean to tell me that a couple of fucking marijuana pushing are connected to any cartel, let alone two? How did this happen?"

"One of their brothers is-"

"A high ranking member of the cartel, and this guy's trying to make some inroads in America with the drug that everyone and their fucking mother has done at least once?"

Luca cracks his knuckles, staring down at the pictures. One of the men looks awfully familiar, like a Cajun Mr. Clean. It takes a few odd seconds to piece together the fragmented moments of his life to put a name to the face.

Nari.

"One more thing, Mr. Arzegotti!"

The first agent hands Luca a card. It has all his driver's license information on it.


"Welcome to the CIA! You're probably going to want to kill yourself at some point on the job. Don't."

What.

The.

Fuck?



"I have to ask a couple of questions to people of varying degrees of importance, but where to begin?

Wallace Witasick, how would you react if I decided to show up on Warfare and embarrass and utterly humiliate one of your promising stars like I've done twice?

Paul Heyman, when will you actually get someone worth my time to compete on that deformed tumor of a program you call Monday Madness?

Sebastian Duke, when you will ever learn how to accept without insinuating that you would've won but you were screwed in some way shape or form?

Mr. XWF, when will you climb out of the bay? Seriously, did he drown or something? Fuck.

Angelus, when will you stop being a little bitch and hiding behind some petty, bullshit injury and go back to embarrassing yourself and Wallace Witasick on a weekly basis? That was the only watchable part of the episodes of Warfare I wasn't involved in.

Ann Thraxx, when will you actually make a point?

What is the common denominator to every question that I just asked?

None of the people I've addressed will ever answer them. They'll try to say that the question wasn't worth their time, but in reality it's because it'll require them to think a lot more than they're used to. Because that's what I do. When Luca Arzegotti starts spouting off at the mouth, people hide in fear hoping that they don't catch his attention because they can't handle the truth that flows from my every single word. Every phrase that culminates in a glorious crescendo of insulting proportions, and everyone wants to play it off like it didn't happen.

They want to hide.

C'mon Thraxx, throw your best shot at me, try to say anything that holds more substance than what I've said to you. Prove me wrong!

Oh wait, you can't.

You can't because no matter what you do to me or what you say to me, I'll come back with something at least 12 times better. Hell, I even insult myself better than you could. Want an example?

Luca Arzegotti is a loud mouthed prick who hasn't done jack shit to back up his claims!

Wait a minute, isn't that something she would say?

Nah, she'd be too busy trying to poke fun at my sexuality or some equally worthless trait. Why?

Because she's a stupid, insignificant, unworthy, STD ridden cunt. See, I even do what you do better.

Hey Soldier, SATAN!

There, I officially just reenacted every Unknown Soldier promo ever. Just throw some dark imagery in there, follow it up with some blood drinking, and Unknown Soldier throws it out like the empty baggies of meth he disposes of hourly.

C'mon Soldier, Do something. Make your move. I'm waiting oh so patiently over here.

Now, why am I so cocky?

Because he's already lost this game of chess.

From my first move I already have twelve ways to take his metaphorical king.

Speaking of Kings, while we're throwing this King moniker around.

King Madison

King of the Midcarders Mark Flynn

King of ahem, 'Wrestling' Peter Gilmou- HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH! Is he still calling himself that when he can't win a wrestling match to save his life? That's too good, that's really too much!

Oh wow, that was a lot funnier than I anticipated. Give me a moment.

I proclaim myself a King in my own right.

Luca Arzegotti, King of the Douchebags!

Try me, Soldier.

Fuck off, Thraxx.

Because at the end of the day, it can all be summed up in an inequality.

Luca Arzegotti minus the dead weight of Scott Charlotte is still greater than Unknown Soldier and Ann Thraxx.

Tick.

Tock."