OOC: Shout out to The Hired Gun, thanx buddy you kinda gave me the inspiration for this one, lol


Walking to the corner gas station, in order to grab a pack of Marlboro Reds and I hear a noise from behind me, that makes my heart skip a beat and pushes a sort of... instinctive panic button, within me. A sound that would have instantly, put me into fight or flight mode when I was younger and it was always, flight. Always.




Now, the young version of myself, would have immediately bolted and not look back. Run like my life depended on it. Because I was usually out and about, doin' shit that would get me into trouble. Grant me a nice pair of bracelets and a trip to the local police station. And that's if the cop wasn't a prick but lets face it, most police officers are dicks. At least that's the takeaway experience I have from encountering them in my youth. I was a young punk in the city of Chicago, pulling off some seriously stupid shit... getting into fights, drinkin' and smoking pot in the streets, as well as other various acts that would definitely be frowned at by law enforcement. Not to mention the way I dressed, basically put a target on my back. Still, I was wild and rowdy, on top of that and drew attention to myself with my antics, thus guaranteeing the arrival of 5-0. Either someone summoned them or I simply had the unfortunate luck of a cruiser, slowly driving by and the pigs inside, caught a glimpse of my friends and I doing something we shouldn't and took it upon themselves to stop our "fun". So we all learned to run. Like the fuckin' wind. Everyone would take off into different directions too and I always managed to get away. Till the day that Reese went and fucked everything up.


That was then and this is now though. Sure, I eventually became a living weapon and property of The Order, requiring me to do some unspeakably awful things, in the name of following their commands but that's a part of my past too. The ties with The Order have been severed and currently, I am no longer doing their bidding . Not to mention the fact that there's no way to link those vile deeds to me, nothing that I did could be pinned to me cause there is zero evidence that those acts ever even transpired. It didn't exist. Not a damn bit of evidence remained from the heinous crimes that I committed and you know what they say, no evidence... no crime. All of that would have been dealt with by me, immediately after I finished my mission and I never fucked up, left loose ends or made a mistake, so the only thing left, would be my own fucked up memories.


Meaning, I have no reason to worry or feel nervous and with that knowledge cemented in my mind, my initial knee-jerk reaction fades away. With its passing, this brand new, Griffin of the present, swiftly spins around and in my nicest tone; which I don't even use on the kid, I say...


"What seems to be the problem officers?"


They're already out of the car and walking up, when I do this and there is two of them. A woman and a man. The male officer is staring me down, hard. While I swear, I do believe that lady cop, checked me out. Full body, head to toe style. Weird. It doesn't take them long to reach me and the dude speaks first. He's a white guy, with a shaved head, mutton chops, mustache, full beard and sunglasses. Name tag reads: Warstein. Which causes me to chuckle internally. A member of the fuzz is named Warstein.


"We don't want to cause a spectacle or a scene but we're going to have to ask you to come with us. Hands behind your back and turn around."


"Woah. Wait. What is this about?"


I ask, completely clueless.


"Several celebrities that were a part of the riots, are being taken into police custody. For the crime of causing a public disturbance. To make a statement and hopefully, stop the madness. You were involved in the protests and chosen as one of the people that we should pick up. Officer Mills spotted you, right away."


"Hold up. Riots? I wasn't involved in a riot."


"Officer Mills is a tremendous fan of yours, watches clips of you, all the time. She even has your picture on the desktop of her computer, Mills noticed you almost instantly and now that we're standing face to face, so do I."


I shift my gaze over to Mills and she mouths the word "Sorry." Shaking my head, I direct my attention back to Officer Warstein.


"Yeah, I'm still going to insist, you have the wrong man because I never participated in any protest."


"Is that right?"


"Yeah, that's right."


"Then maybe you'd like to explain this."


Officer Warstein pulls out his phone and shows me this photo.




"You are a very recognizable gentleman, Mr. Reedus."


My eyes rapidly snap up from photo to cop.


"What the fuck did you just call me?"


"Mr. Reedus. You are Norman Reedus, after all."


"No, I'm not. My name is Griffin MacAlister."


"Well, then you're one of those celebrities that use an alternate name, understandable given your popularity."


I can't help it, I bust out laughing.


"So you're actually standin' here and telling me, you think I'm Norman Reedus. Star of The Walking Dead. You think I portray, Daryl Dixon and I earn a living, running around with a crossbow, pretending to kill zombies."


Really want to tell this man that one of my closest friends is a zombie but I don't cause then he'll most likely think I'm nuts. Every bit of my credibility would vanish. Even if I am speaking the truth.


"Alright. Take a real long gander at that there picture."


Warstein complies.


"That man has long hair and I have short hair."


"You could have cut it."


"Fair enough. He's also 51 years old and I'm thirty three. For fuck's sake. He has a titanium eye socket, from an automobile accident. An operation they clearly botched, based on how fucked up his eyes appear. If you watch the show, it is very evident. Even with the make-up that they put on actors, you can tell."


"There is another pic, without sunglasses but you're right, the eyes are sort of messed up looking."


"He's an old man, that'll happen but one is worse than the other, that's why he does things to take the focus away from it. Can you honestly see my face and say I do the same?"




"No. You still look so much like him though."


"I've heard it before but he's not me. C'mon. The man is old enough to be my father. Hey, I have an ID to provide further proof that I'm younger than him, got my birthday on it and everything. It's in my wallet, located in the back left pocket of my jeans."


As soon as I say this, Mills steps around me and pulls the wallet out. She then flips it open, revealing my driver's licence.


"April 18, 1987. That would make you, thirty-three. Dang. I'm sorry for the confusion. No, you are not the man that I thought you were, you're clearly a different person."


Almost seeming disappointed, she hands my wallet back to me and walks off with her partner. Sighing, I pivot around and continue towards my original destination, the gas station. Where I buy a pack of smokes and promptly head back home. Firing up one on the way. When I get to my place, I see Lila sitting on the sofa, drinking a cup of tea. I assume it's tea cause she isn't a coffee drinker.




"Hey Darlin' the funniest thing happened when I was out, I gotta tell you about it."


"Okay but can it wait cause... we need to talk."


What??? We need to talk? My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, like a boulder the size of Robbie Bourbon and I start to slowly stroll over.


"Could you die that cigarette out first? Please."


Confused, I squash the tip of it, between my fingers and stick the short behind my ear. From there I move forward and sit down on the sofa.


"What's up? Is everything okay?"


Lila sighs heavily and states.


"I'm pregnant."


Before I can stop them, these words tumble out of my mouth.


"Is it mine?!?!"


Wince right after too, I know I'm an asshole for speaking 'em but dammit, with our history they fell out, all on their own.


"Yes. I swear I haven't been with anyone else. What happened with Nathaniel was an isolated incident. If you don't trust or believe me though and want a paternity test..."


"No, I'm sorry, I believe you... I do. You don't have to do that."


"You sure?"


"Positive."


We share a kiss and when we part, I put my arm around her and she snuggles into me as we settle back on the sofa.


"Ha! There's going to be a tiny version of me, runnin' around soon."


Fuck. There's going to be a tiny version of me, running around soon. My dna was totally messed with, when I went through the weapon program. That has to do something, right? Pass down to my child, in some way or another. Oh lord, I am not a praying man but please, do not let that happen. These are worries, I do not voice. Alternatively, I push them away from my mind, hug Lila closer to me and whisper.


"We're going to have to think of names."


"It's funny that you mention that because ever since I found out that I was pregnant, I have a name stuck in my head, almost as if it was placed there by an outside force that knows everything that's going to happen, right before it does. It's a boy's name too. One I would have never chosen, not in a million years and now, it seems perfect."


"What's the name?"


I laugh.


"Silas."


What the actual fuck?!?! A cold chill sweeps over me. Why would that name... of all names, pop into Lila's head?

---

"This next match I'm in is kinda messed up, when you think about it. I'm taking on my closest and oldest friend and my girlfriend's father, who's basically going to be kin to me eventually, since Lila's knocked up with my kid. But y'know what, that isn't going to stop me from doing my job. Come Wednesday Night, I will march to that ring and throw down, same as always and I won't hold back or pull punches cause that would be wrong, that would mean that I don't respect either of them. No, I am going to give that fight, my all and I know, they will do exactly the same. Then when all is finished, we'll have a laugh about it, down at King's and I can share my good news. Until that moment, it'll be all business and nothin' more."


"Which is why, for the first time ever, I have no bad words or ill will to share, I won't mention throwin' a boot party. Or stomping on the back of bRiaN's skull till he passes out. Cause lets face it, he's a lot larger and slower than me and I would definitely use that to my advantage, given the chance. I also will not bring up the fact that now that Azrael lost his powers, I'm stronger and far more resilient than him. That I can now hurt him way worse than he could ever hurt me. For instance, if he were to get pistol whipped in the back of the head, he'd probably need to go to the hospital and have stitches put in place, maybe even suffer a concussion."


"Whereas when it happened to me on Savage Saturday night, allowin' that opportunistic, trouser dropping, ankle grabbing, pillow biting, fairy fucking fruitcake, that walks with way too much sugar in his shoes, Felix Jones to steal the pin. All that happened was that I was rendered unconscious and when I woke up, I simply went home with a slight headache and the next morning, I was perfectly fine."


"Nah. Never would I say such things... or did I just do precisely that."


"As for my partner Geri, we're most assuredly smokin' a blunt before the match. Hah! Gotta bond, right?"


"Till Wednesday Night Warfare and may the best team win."