One or two? Two. Two or three? Two. Wait...let’s see one again. One or two? One? Shit, I don’t know. Fuck. They all look the same to me. She’s burnt to a fucking crisp.

“You got one yet?” Mof asked.

I continued to sort through the three photos. Pausing, I asked, “Do we have a four?”

“No!”

“Why are you yelling?”

“Because, I asked if you wanted to take more photos but you were more concerned about leaving. NOW you want more photos?”

He was right. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Fred Eclair was a weird dude. Plus, staring down at Sharon and her charred mouth which seemed to be more moist and a bit wider than I remembered it being when we last saw her, a certain amount of angst pushed me to cut the investigation short.

“Okay, fine. I think...three. Yea, three.”

“About time,” Mof scrapped the other two photos, securing the third.

---

Staring at the stock photo we pulled from the internet as a ‘before’ shot of Sharon...ya know, pre falling from the sky while burning to a crisp, I wasn’t sure if we’d chosen the correct image. It seemed – off.

“Ed, I just - ”

I heard his teeth clinch, “If you bring up those stupid photos one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“I’m just saying! Are we sure Sharon had blonde hair? Maybe she was a red head.”

“Of course she had blonde hair! Every man buying one of those things is going to go blonde...it’s the virgin fantasy.”

Yea, that made sense. I had always been a sucker for blondes. Wait, what? Did I just admit something?

Moving along.

I gave in. That photo finally passed my final inspection. So, my eyes slowly hovered over to the photo of a burned Sharon. “You didn’t happen to bring the other two photos…”

Mof slammed on the brakes. He threw a bulging glare my way, “I swear on everything that is sacred in life that if you bring up those photos ONE MORE TIME I will turn this car back around. I SWEAR IT.”

Silence.

He was serious. I’d worn out my welcome in regards to inspecting those photos.

“Fine, these will work,” I said with wide eyes and a very open, passive posture.

Mof hit the gas and we continued our vehicular journey. Glad the road was a sparsely traveled one, otherwise we may have taken a hit on our monthly insurance.

Staring down at the photos one, final time, I sighed. They’d work, I guess. Or hoped. I mean, at that point, they kinda had to.

---

Obligation is a word easier said and spelled than accomplished. Too often people eschew obligation in favor of frivolity. Something about being obligated makes a good portion of the population sweat. It creates a form of claustrophobia.

Especially in the wrestling community.

I can’t tell you how many wrestlers I’ve seen or read about who failed to live up to their contractual obligations. Happens more often than it should. This is an industry filled with capricious individuals.

A pro wrestling philosopher once said, “Pro Wrestlers have the highest percentage of family members that live under power lines.” Don’t quote me on that.

But it’s true. A pro wrestler will come up with every excuse under the sun (or in this case, manufactured electrical current) to excuse themselves from – obligation.

Well, The Wizard is here to tell you that he will never, ever avoid obligation. Fulfilling ones obligations is what separates the greats from those with talent. You have to show up, you have to be consistent...you have to be reliable...then and only then can you reach the apex of the industry.

At this point you may be asking yourself why I’m talking about obligation so much? It’s to pretty much explain why I’m heading to a meet and greet with a couple of fans.

You see, a pro wrestler by the name of Jack Puffer contacted me and asked for a favor. If granted, he’d owe me one. So, why not? It doesn’t hurt to build pacts with other performers – even those in outside promotions.

I did him a solid. And now, I’m off to fulfill my end of the bargain.

But.

Not without something to gain. Never let an opportunity go to waste.

While I’m shaking hands, taking photos, and answering questions from my fans...Ed is going to be running a separate booth, showing off the photos of Sharon. It’s his goal to attain additional cases of LARPers who have lost a beloved sex doll. Another step in, perhaps, solving this heinous crime.

---

“I just love the Local Soup and Deli,” I said, taking in the air. I was in costume, ready to go. The only thing that had arrived was my steaming hot plate carrying a grilled cheese alongside a cup of tomato soup. “Delish!”

I didn’t actually hear him grumble...but he was. Mof, across the street, outside the local Washateria, had his booth set up. All the trigger signs were up. Lots of red. Words like ‘Missing’ ‘HAVE YOU LOST A LOVED ONE?’ ‘DAMSEL IN DISTRESS?’

It was sure to garner attention.

While I took a bite into grilled bread hugging ooey, gooey, melted cheese, I watched Mof struggle with a bag of fritos.

“Excuse me...Mr. Wizard?” a voice asked. Looking up, I spotted what would be the beginning of a pretty healthy group prepared to meet THE WIZARD.

---

I’m obligated to show up at Savage and face you, Andrew Logan. And face you I shall. In a parking lot, evidently. This wasn’t my idea. This isn’t how I hoped to plan out my Saturday night...I had far different ideals, mainly getting revenge on Robert Main.

Yet, here you are. In front of me and my momentum. A win streak destined to take me to the top of the XWF ladder.

My obligation is to face and defeat you and that, I shall do.

So understand that, Logan. And don’t take the slight perfunctory attitude I exhibit as a slap in the face. To say I’ve got bigger fish to fry can be accurate and not the least bit insulting. It doesn’t diminish your talent or future in XWF. It merely states that at this point in my career my singular focus is on Robert Main.

The man injured my head.

He injured my stablemate.

His very existence threatens mine.

And, he holds the title that should be around my waist (THANKS HAVARTI).

For those reasons, alongside the other, obvious ones (glory, accolade, etc)...he is where my focus lies.

Main. You are not invited to my party. This celebration is to honor an achievement far beyond any I ever expected to attain. So, please, for once in your life display a basic level of human decency and leave me be. Let me have ONE NIGHT to relish in what’s taking place.

Then, after this Saturday, once my celebration is over...war. All out war. You want it? You got it.

But first...give it a rest. Give me a break. Please.

---

“Ah yes, it was at that point when I knew coloring my beard was a waste of time. You see each gray hair within this magical beard is a sign of experience. It’s what separates me from other wizards. Those who like to place aesthetics over strength.”

The LARPers nodded, agreeing with everything I was saying. My plate of food was empty. The ink from my pen was nearly dry. My mouth ached from all the smiles it was forced to produce. We were nearing the end of a very long, very tiring meet and greet. That Puffer guy owed me more than he realized.

I kept looking over at Mof. His eyes never left me. The stare of a man furious over a colossal waste of time. He sat there, yet to entertain a visitor, glaring at me from across the street. Probably hungry, too. That bag of fritos wasn’t very big.

Feeling as though he might go postal at any minute, I decided it was time to end things.

“Well, friends, I thank you for coming out. This has been a glorious occasion, one which will echo throughout generations of LARPers turned wrestler. I urge each and every one of you to continue following my career as I enter that ring looking to vanquish evil in the name of fantasy.”

“HUZZAH!” they cried out. Before taking the hint and dispersing. I had to give it to the LARPing community...they were a very polite people. Strange, sure. Not the type you’d want to be seen with in public all too often. But they were nice, easy going, and knew not to overstay their welcome.

Was that commonplace within the entire community or had I simply gotten lucky?

Meh, who cares. It was time to pack up and get ready for Savage.

---

Fuckin bullshit. I’m sitting over here in front of this stupid Washateria while he’s over there talking to all those people. All that stress over these photos only for nobody to even look at them. Talk about wasting a fuckin day.

Oh, yea, not to mention I’m out, like six bucks. Why do people even come to a Washateria if they don’t have enough money to wash AND dry their fucking clothes? Ugh, we can’t get out of here soon enough.

To think, I…

“Uhh, excuse me?”

“Yea?”

“Are you...are you inquiring as to people who may or may not have a missing loved one?”

“Yea.”

“A loved one that may or may not be of the plastic...albeit a very REAL, AUTHENTIC feeling and looking plastic...variety?”

“Yea.”

“Okay. Well, allow me to tell you my story, if you will. It’s one of infatuation, love, confusion, anxiety, and, eventually, heartbreak. I hope you have a stomach for tragedy.”

“Just tell me the fuckin story.”

---

“Whew, I tell ya, Ed, these meet and greets are getting exceedingly tiring. Fame comes at a price, ya know?”

Ed didn’t say anything. I was trying to lighten the mood, a bit. Ease into conversing with my manager slash dating coach. I understood, just by watching him, he’d had a bad day.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just thought there’d be a crossover. I guess I was wrong.”

He was tense. I felt he desired to punish me. Drive all the way home in complete silence. BUT...a little something called interest drowned out his impulse for revenge. “There was one guy.”

My body jerked to the left, “Really?”

“Yea, right at the end.”

“What did he say?”

“I really don’t want to get into the story, don’t make me. It was like a really, really shitty Hallmark movie.”

“Yea, please, don’t give me the details. Just a very, very brief Cliffs.”

“He bought and fell in love with a sex doll. She went missing about a month ago. Situation sounds identical to Fred Eclair and Sharon.”

“Whoa,” I leaned back, “so I was right.”

“Kinda. I mean, not dead on by any stretch, I mean I did sit out there all fucking day to talk to one guy who told me the most banal, ridiculous, unemotional love story in the history of humanity. But, I mean, if that counts as you being right – whatever.”

“I hope you wrote the details down.”

“I did.”

“Great...looks like we’ve got a new lead!”

“Yea, I guess.”

“What was her name?”

“Destiny, I think.”

“Ooh, provocative. And his?”

“Timmy Bearclaw.”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, okay then. Back to the abode for some rest...then off to celebrate my star of the month award at Savage while also defeating Logan and then...on Monday...BACK ON THE CASE.”

Mof was less than enthusiastic.

“Oh and while we’re on our way home, how about a pit stop at Dairy Queen.”

He lit up, “Blizzard?”

“Yep.”

“Large?”

“You got it, pal.”

He smiled. All was right in our little world once again.

---

There’s always a calm before the storm.

Robert Main, our match at Super Relentless which once seemed too far in the future to even mention is suddenly bearing down upon us. A category five hurricane within eyesight of the shore.

It won’t be long before high winds and torrential rain tear XWF apart.

But first, this Saturday. The calm before the storm. Stay away from me, Main. Leave me alone. Allow me to enjoy in my achievement.

I’m warning you.