OOC note: If you have a mouse, you have the codec to decipher the minotaur language! If you're on your phone, you can suck it.


1A: I Am Giant

“Eat The Left Hand!”

The ground quaked.

“Eat The Left Hand!”

Oh how the crowd cheered.

“Eat The Left Hand!”

Then the snake bit.

As it sunk its fangs into my flesh, its unJU$TIFIED venom washed into my veins. I went down.

Down. Always down.

Always and again.

I stumbled to the back, aided and abetted by nameless faces. They whispered to me how everything would be okay. They promised I would recover.

That, I already knew.


They found me the quietest corner of the quietest room, and lowered me into a small folding chair. Though my tattered singlet was heavy with sweat, I could still feel the weight of the X that Reggie Estrada had painted on my back.

The treasure.

The target.

Me.

The faceless heads were talking about… something. I didn't catch it. With a wave of my hand, I shooed them away. With a second wave, they actually left.


They left me alone in my dysphoria.

For how long?

Long.

I sat on my pew as the world trembled and the guard changed. I sat there as the bloodthirsty horde thinned. On and on I sat as heads peered around the corner. They dared not enter. Not after last time; after The Incident.

Eventually… silence. And darkness followed. I welcomed it.

I was better, right?


The dark had no power here.

Yes, I heard that voice calling its usual refrain. But I was stronger now, and it could sense that. With every day - every step - every breath, my shadow grew.

I inhaled again.

“No”, I defied, becoming a giant. My hand had already been raised once today. That was quite enough for one night.

I glanced down to the ground. Two championship belts lay a few feet in front of me: symbols of my evolving orbit. On each, the faintest reflection flickered. I saw no source of the light, just the struggling shimmer of dull metal. With a mighty heave and a strained sigh, I pushed myself to a near-upright position. My joints needed some convincing. They were stiff from both the war I had been through and the sedentation that followed. Two laborious steps reminded my legs of their primary function, and I instantly felt them warm as the blood flowed once more.

Bending down to collect the championships, I pulled them up from the ground and lazily tossed them both over my left shoulder. I hugged them tight with crossed arms as I began to trudge down the vacant corridor. Street lights intruded through windows along the side, providing faint illumination. I scathingly ignored them. I had no need for lights or lamps.

My hand was my torch.

I had lit the match.

“The fire that will snuff the flames.”

It led the way.

---

1B: Nexus

Following its lead, I turned left and walked through a fire exit at Lambeau Field. I stepped through into a rugged cabin, emerging from a blazing fireplace that set the room aglow in amber.

A dread oak scratched against windows to my left.

Deciduous branches dripped snow upon the external window sill to my right.

In front of me, the sun beat down on the Chihuahuan Desert.

I knew these places.

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur dominated the centre of the room.

Grunt. Smoke puffed from his nose as he welcomed me into the nexus. I smiled, at peace.

I staggered towards a single bunk bed on one side of the room. Sky blue paint flaked from its iron frame exposing the metal underneath to rust. Stopping there a moment, I dropped the championships onto the brown mattress. I pulled the tattered singlet up over my head and cast it at the wall where it floated down onto the bed. Taking the only visible sheet in hand, I dabbed at the beads of sweat still nesting in my brow. I then picked the championships up once more, and brought them to my companion for show.

Grrrrrrrrrr. His mouth barely opened as his eyes swallowed the view. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

I handed them over to him. In big, meaty paws he grasped both the XWF X-Treme Championship and Federweight Championships. With one gripped in each hand, I marvelled at how his thumb and index finger touched as they wrapped around the straps.

Had he grown?


Huff. As the heat of his breath polished the decorative plates, I tried to understand what he was looking for. His mind had always been… incomprehensible. He looked up to me. Grrrrr.

Off he went, stomping past piles of dusty tomes and otherworldly artifacts. I followed behind, barely saving a rustic brass orb from shattering on the hard floor as his steps shook the room. I rotated it in my hand, studying the inscriptions.

“Greek?” I said aloud, without realising I had done so. Wait… Νομίζω ότι μπορώ να διαβάσω ελληνικά. I lifted the orb up to get a better view.

ROOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRR! I quickly put the orb back where it had rolled from. With a half-gallop, I caught back up to The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur in time for him to swipe at a pile of papers causing them to rain down onto the floor. He tugged open one of the drawers, reached in, and pulled out a rolled up parchment. Unravelling it upon the desk, he dramatically revealed the map of the world that he’s used to help direct my path.

I shuffled in close and poked my head under his arm. My eyes tracked the dashed line on the map from Arizona to Wisconsin, via Italy. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur followed my line of sight.

Grrrrrrr. He tapped on the boot of the world, reading my emotions. Grrrrr.

Analysing the map further, I noted two new additions: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Las Vegas, Nevada. The line extended from Green Bay to Philly, but from there… it stopped. Vegas stood alone in the desert.

“I did that, huh?” I begun. “So… do we just, like… go in a straight line?”

Snort. He throws his hands up in the air.

“Okay…” The uncertainty concerned me. For the entire time I had known him - how long was that again? - The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had been an avatar of composure. It was unnerving to see his divine poise waiver. “What now?”

He responded with action. With his large stride, it only took two clomping steps for him to find a clue. He returned to me with a dagger in his hands. He offered it to me and I imbibed its power once more. The glove on my right hand dematerialised, revealing unscarred skin beneath. I could have sworn that I saw the upside down pentagram on its hilt glow a deep, luminous red. The moment I noticed it, however, it dissipated. I turned the dagger over and caught an equally fleeting glimpse of a glowing white light emanating from the cross on the hilt’s opposite side.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. His fur bristled as I passed the dagger back to him. The blade flashed at the point of contact. By the time he took full ownership again, all light had withdrawn back to the singularity. Snorting huff.

He was unimpressed by mysterious light displays, that much was certain. However, I could see more frustration than I first realised hiding behind his face. There was something he wasn't telling me; some reservation he didn't want to draw attention to. I wonder what…


Before he knew what was happening, I snatched it back. He lurched after it, but I was too qui…

I wasn't fast enough.

His bulbous thumb inelegantly collided with my fingers, knocking the dagger loose. It spun, hilt over tip, as it… floated… to the ground. We watched in awe, my mouth agape, as the red and white lights flared again. With pinpoint precision, it landed tip down on the map.

Right in the mark The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had made over Philadelphia.

Faint growl. We both stood in silence as we stared at the map. Moments passed, and I dared not disturb the waters. I knew he didn't like what I had done, but this was a sign, right? Surely that should count for something. Eventually he raised his head and stared into my eyes. Grr.

Hesitantly, I complied. I made my way back to the bed, being careful to step only on the wooden floor between the labyrinth-like pattern that the fallen papers had inadvertently made on the ground. I sat upon the bed and lay my head down.

Down. Always down.

Always and again.

In my slumber, he spoke to me.

"Up. Always up.

Always and again.

Remember that."

---

1C: Memories

I awoke sitting in a chair backstage at Lambeau Field.

"How…" I began, searching for an explanation. The X-Treme Championship lay on the ground of the locker room in front of me, while the Federweight Championship was stuffed in a duffel bag behind me.

"That’s not…" I struggled to reconcile this reality against my memories. The image of vague faces pulsed in my mind promising… freedom? Was that it? The visions grew clearer as Shawn Warstein's (hideous) face hovered above me. Bobby Bourbon's thumb joined as Savannah Knightley climbed on top.

This isn't what happened, damn it! I left the building!


I went to see my friend!

Didn’t I?

The faces dissolved into a mist that blanketed my mind’s eye. More images emerged. In the haze, I remembered a future where Reggie Estrada tried to take the championship back. His friend was there too, and a man with a beard and a bat.


That’s not how any of this works!

I’m not crazy!

But… if I’m not crazy, how did I get back here?

Or… how did I leave?

I reached down to pick up the championship with my right hand. The eternal sting of burned flesh had returned alongside the glove that masked the damage. Pushing through the pain, I brought the championship up to my lap.

Knock knock.

A sense of déjà vu swept over me as a head poked out from behind the door frame.

"Hi Steve," I said, as Steve Sayors came into view. With each step he took, I found myself further and further embedded in this reality. Truth be damned.

---

1D: Good

“Are you, okay?” Steve asked, gingerly approaching. I tried to comfort him with the warmest smile that a man could muster after being physically assaulted every single show.

“I’ll survive,” I replied, with a heavy emphasis on the final word. Survival had been my story since I first reincarnated in the XWF again. I saw no reason for that to change now. With no other chairs in the room, I gestured for Steve to take a seat on the floor in front of him. The request puzzled him, but ultimately he obliged. I slid down the front of the chair and joined him on the ground, forcing our eyes to be on equal level. I had no interest in lording over others.

“Congratulations on becoming the new X-Treme Champion tonight,” he said. He seemed genuine. That made me… feel… a way I couldn’t remember feeling in… well, maybe I’ll just leave it as ‘couldn’t remember feeling’.

“Thank you,” I said, doing my best to match his authenticity.

“I’m glad to see that you’re up and about,” he earnestly continued, “but given what happened after the match, I have to ask, what’s your take on Reggie Estrada’s post-match attack on you?”

“I…” I started to respond, but felt a searing pain in my right hand. On the surface, Reggie’s attack reminded me of The Incident. But in the same breath, there was something different about it. I squeezed my hand into a fist, bending it to my will. “I pity Reggie.”

Steve didn’t understand.

“Reggie’s lost. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants,” I explained. “I don’t hate him for what he did. I feel sorry for him instead. Something clicked over in his head the moment that he heard he would be facing me and he lost sight of everything that mattered. He went from saying he didn’t want to be champion, to promising me that I had no chance, just like that.”

Snap.

With my left hand, I clicked my fingers.

“I”m not sure I understand,” Steve admitted. “When The Left Hand attacked you, you tenaciously berated them. You’ve promised revenge ever since. Why is Reggie Estrada any different?”

“Because to Reggie, I am The Left Hand.” I let the words hang in the air a moment. Elsewhere, on the edge of existence, a voice grinned.

“How so?” Steve still wasn’t following.

“The Left Hand took something from me.” I waved my gloved right hand in the air to remind Steve. “Reggie believes that my very existence has taken something from him. His response is natural. It’s survival. I can’t hate a man for that.”

“What if he keeps coming for you?” Steve pressed. “He was very clear about how you now have a target on your back.”

“Every day, we each face a number of decisions points about our future.” Through the clouds of my mind, images resurfaced of Reggie’s future decisions to both pin me and encourage Tommy Wish to do so as well. “Reggie has a lot of decisions to make. He has the benefit of the doubt, but that will only last so long.”

“Speaking of that,” I felt Steve preparing for a segue. “You’ve called out Ash Quinn. With your win tonight, your first official title defence will be against her on Savage. It’s been well publicised that the two of you had a blow up in the locker room after she left The Left Hand. Why is she not getting the benefit of the doubt, but Reggie is?”

“Why did Ash Quinn join The Left Hand?” I bit back, ungracefully.

“I think she said it was because she thought it would make her better.” Steve wasn’t wholly confident in his answer. He was close enough.

“Does that sound like a survivalist to you, or…” I paused, drawing Steve to lean in, “...or an opportunist?”

“Well, I guess…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. We both know the answer though. Let me be clear though, I won’t begrudge somebody for taking advantage of opportunity. Hell, I didn’t expect the opportunity that presented itself against Reggie tonight, but I took it. Right?”


I leaned back. Forlornly, I looked down at the championship in my lap.

“I didn’t deserve it.” I left the words hanging again.

“Tonight’s match?” he asked, uncomfortable with the silence.

“No, the other thing.” He knew exactly what I was talking about now. “Ash revelled in it. She loved every single minute of inflicting their mark upon me. That had nothing to do with survival. It was about control. And Ash, in all her stupidity, thought that it was she who was in control. But it wasn’t. It was him.”

“The Baph…”

“Stop.” Again I interrupted. This time with more force than Steve had earned. “Voldemort his ass. Don’t give that fucking bitch any power.”

I cringed as I spoke. I was trying to be… better.


The cursing, the anger, the hate - I wanted to purge myself of it. I felt… a responsibility, I guess, to making this world a better place. A place where people like The Left Hand can never take advantage of anybody again.


Find my centre.

“Let’s not forget, Steve,” I recovered, “Ash branded me. Not Lycana, not Marf, not Geri, not even the big bad himself. Ash did it. And after all of that, she just skipped away from The Left Hand and expected not to be held accountable for her actions? She expected not to even need to apologise?”

“She did…”

“Only when I pushed her to!” Steve recoiled with the last interruption. I didn’t care.


“I had to fucking approach her myself! And what did she do? She tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing! She pleaded innocent! SHE TOOK MY SELF-DETERMINATION! SHE STOLE MY FUCKING LIBERTY!

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE?

I SEE THAT FUCKING HAND EVERYWHERE!

SHE FUCKING DID THIS TO ME!”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t mean for that to happen. It took all my will to bring my heart rate back down.

“And now what?” I asked through gritted teeth. “An ‘I Love You’ match? Ask yourself, Steve… can you see a world where I will ever tell that barbarian that I love her?”

Silently, Steve shakes his head.

“I offered a lure with this potential championship opportunity for her,” I explained. “We all know how Ash hasn’t had much luck in that department. I knew it would be too good an opportunity for her to resist. But now…

It’s my turn.

Now...

EAT ASH QUINN.”

---

1E: Visions

I see that fucking hand everywhere...