Ned stared at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled in his head in a bizarre cacophony. He would try to focus on one, only to find it, again, was fleeting. Soaring out of his mind and into some dark place Ned didn’t dare step towards. He was forgetting entire days now. A day would pass and Ned had to sit and question what had occurred. What he… no, what it had done. In his bed was the only place where he seemed to be able to focus on thought at all. To keep thinking for long enough so that he didn’t have to blackout again.

So, that he didn’t have to lose control again.

He investigated the tiny marks that cast themselves over his ceiling. Some almost seemed like bodies or faces and others resembled clouds and music notes. He scanned his gaze until he found what seemed to be a pair of eyes looking back down at him. The same eyes he had seen in the recording of The Nefarious One.

Ned looked away from the ceiling.

Pointing his stare at the creases and folds on his bed, Ned attempted to find some other detail to focus on. Whatever he could to keep himself in this moment. To keep himself as himself. And yet, that drifting feeling began to return. As if his eyes were becoming glassy and the feeling in his body was disappearing. Or being transferred. Ned didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to wake up here again a day later. With a final ounce of desperation coursing through his bloodstream, Ned prayed for some intervention. For some act of God to stop him from becoming the reflection again instead of the form.

Despite all odds and Ned’s own disbelief, his prayer was answered.

A doorbell ring. Ned considered lying down more, maybe having the visitor ring it again just to feel more like everything around him was real. But there was the chance that it was any number of sources that would only ring once and then depart. After a short eternity considering the options in his head, Ned began to walk downstairs. Each step was a trial, a difficult test to see if Ned was truly in any condition to talk to someone. What if he blacked out while speaking? What if he was still awake as whatever… it was took control. Would he have to watch it do horrible things as he stood helplessly behind eyes he couldn’t even shut?

Somehow, Ned made it to the bottom of the stairs. With a few more steps, he had made it to the door. There was a peephole, but trying to put that sort of energy into getting an early glance at a potential visitor was too much for Kaye at that time.

Still, as he opened the door, he wished he had peered through it anyway.

Steven Cooper stood in front Ned, looking a little impatient.

“Jesus, what took you so long, boss?”

Ned slammed the door in his face.

Pressing his back against the door, Ned tried to process the situation. He hadn’t been in a stable state of mind for more than a week. Maybe this was all apart of that? Another way to destabilize him? He was moments away from sinking into his own paranoia again when he heard Cooper’s frustrated grunting and a loud knock on the door.

“Jesus, not this whole rodeo, again…”

Ned opened the door, peeking out to meet Steve’s gaze.

“...Again? What do you mean again?”

“Well, I’ll let you know I’m a much better storyteller inside of houses, so if ya’d let me in, maybe I can sort some things out for you?”

---

“Is this really the best coffee you have?”

Ned held the pot of coffee by the handle, noticing Cooper’s disgusted face. He shrugged, saying “Unfortunately, I’m not really a drinker. I just have stuff in case someone else wants some.”

“So, you have a coffee maker-”

Steven paused.

“And you don’t drink coffee?”

“It was my fiance’s.”

“My condolences.”

“Thanks.”

The two shared an uncomfortable silence before Steven leaped at the chance to break it

“Hey, if you’re gonna serve me this crap, could you at least hand me some sugar to drown it in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ned walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a small bag of sugar and placing it on the table next to Cooper’s mug. Cooper wasted not time at all dumping some sugar into his drink. Ned averted his gaze, mostly due to the discomfort of even having this man around in the first place before asking the question that burned on his mind.

“When did we first meet?”

Steve chuckled, seemingly keeping something to himself.

“You really wanna know?”

“Yeah.”

Steven cracked his knuckles and sat back in the chair, lifting up his mug.

“It was a month or two back.”

---

Steven Cooper sat alone at a small table outside a coffee shop. He pressed the paper cup up to his lips. All of these corperations were rotating in all of these new options that were “environmentally friendly,” of them fucked up the flavor of the actual brew. So, it was nice when he was able to arrange this strange meeting with indie darling Ned Kaye at one of the last places in NYC that had the good old, non-recycled paper. He turned his head to determine whether or not the kid was actually gonna show. I mean, Steve understood the whole fashionably late thing, but it was nearly half an hour by now. He was about to pick up his things and go when he saw him: dark, black shades on and a navy blue jacket over his shoulders. He was smoking a cigarette and put it out using the sole of his shoe before approaching Steve’s table. He sat across from Steve and immediately propped up his feet on the table. Cooper had seen the kid on TV before and while the guy looked the part, he sure didn’t act it.

“...Ned?” Steven asked with genuine uncertainty.

“In the flesh.”

Steven considered what to ask next, but just fell back on the immediate question that bugged him.

“So, you said we were gonna discuss something groundbreaking. Something that maybe would reward me as a coach and a wrestler? Maybe get in the XWF? Could you… elaborate?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,”replied “Ned”, “You’re thinking so small for someone with such a big history, Steve. I’m not here to just make your careerbetter or to help out one of your students. I’m here to change the world of wrestling as we know it.”

“Heh, large claims from a guy who can’t show up on time!”

“And yet you waited for me, Steve. Maybe I’m not as out of touch as you think. Maybe I know you better than yourself.”

“Kid, you just met me.”

“And I already knew you’d wait here for me same way I know you’re already going to say yes.”

“Yeah? And how’s that?”

Ned tossed an envelope onto the table. Cooper opened it up cautiously before realizing what it was.

An XWF contract. All ready, just waiting for him to sign.

“That’s how.”

---

“And that’s how we met, Kid.”

Steve looked over to Ned, who was turned around and oddly silent. In a swift moment, his enemeanor and stance had changed, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and downing it almost whole. He twisted his body to face Steve, a calm smile on his face.

“Sorry about the delay, Stev. You know I love to be fashionably late. Now, let’s talk business.”

---

---

---

It’s Getting Harder to Tell the Two of You Apart

A clip of Ned Kaye plays on an old television. He is visibly distraught, his hair an absolute mess, seemingly pleading into the camera.

“Edgar, I-... I need you to trust me! I don’t want the Hart Title, I don’t want to fight you! I know about as much of what’s going on as you do and you just… you-”

Ned looks down.

“You’ve already decided I’m guilty. I’m not. I’m not. For the love of God, I’m-”

The Nefarious One turns off the television, rolling his eyes.

“How did you all put up with that mess of a human being for two years straight? So apologetic. So worried about the feelings of others and how he’s viewed! So concerned with not coveting another man’s treasure.”

The Nefarious One smiles slyly, looking deep into the camera.

“I do not share Ned’s values, nor his desire to look exalted and clean in the eyes of those who surround him. No, no. I do covet things, especially things that are mine to steal from Ned himself. And that’s where you come in, Ed! Because originally, the plan was just to use my little moments of clarity to overwhelm Ned until there was just none of him left to get in my way. But while this body, a proverbial Cadillac, was under someone else’s watch, I lost my favorite hood emblem. And you’ve got it, Ed. So, of course, I had to let you be the first example of what happens when you cross me. Not Ned. Me.”

“I’m gonna wipe that smug, country boy grin off of your face faster than your name change ever could. And I’m gonna have some fun doing it. I mean, people were acting like you were some grand Hart Champion, the man who was gonna revitalize the brand after some lackluster title reigns and your only real defense was against a furry with a wolfpack that impresses only the adolescents in the crowd. What have you actually done, Edgar? Get beat up. By my group of guys, no less! Your title legacy is going to be in my shadow, Edgar! Utterly and entirely! People will mention you because of me and they’ll mention me because of what I am about to unfold. This is no ordinary, normal revolution, boys. This is some advanced shit!”

“But forget about the title, we all know you’re going to have to Sunday night anyway, what about your personal legacy? What will people be saying about you, R.L.? Maybe they’ll talk about that tag match with the Left Hand. Or you tag-teaming with Demos! Or maybe they’ll bring up someone with the name “Waters” and halfassedly recall that you do, indeed, exist! Why are you the champion when your entire life has been and continues to be decided by people with infinitely more talent than you do? Is that what you are, Edgar? Champion by association? Real great brand Warfare’s got there!”

He gives a mocking thumbs up.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised so many are rooting for you. See, nobody’s really met me yet, but they’re all desperately hoping that I’m not a threat, and if someone as pitiful as you waltzes in and beats me, then they’ve got nothing to fear. Unfortunately, the light they’re shining in that closet isn’t reserved only for shirts and old toys. No, a monster is lurking just out of sight and your ankle is the closest to sever. Hell, you’re not even the first example of my carnage! Remember Tula? Do you really think Ned of ALL people would injure a competitor? That was me leaking out, grabbing more hold over this form. You’re so unimportant in the eyes of history that it can’t even allow you to be the first person I hurt. What a shame.”

“Think about the words going ‘round, Ed. Are people really mentioning you even in a second breath? Or are they talking about me and Ned and the XWF’s “loss of innocence?” Hell, the way people frame it, you’d think I popped this company’s cherry and blocked its number the next day! Don’t worry XWF, you’ll lose a lot more than innocence once me and my merry men are done with you. Although, I can’t pretend as if the poor will benefit at all. We’d much rather dethrone the rich and give to ourselves.I know the most money you’ve ever sniffed is however much it is to buy a McChicken in the middle of nowhere, but trust me, Ed! We’ll have enough to buy at least five! You can count that high, right?”

“You know, all things considered, I am going to miss Ned for one reason. He made you feel like you had someone else in the world who understood you. A friend that would never betray your trust. He made you think that true good existed and unfortunately, I can only crush that pathetic fantasy once. How do you think I’ll look with it, Edgar? That belt that you lug around with you as if it matters to anyone outside of this company. Maybe I’ll eat a steak on it once I rip it out of your hands. Do you think it’s dishwasher safe? Nevermind. I think I’ll take the risk.”

“Times are a-changing, R.L. Heroes fall and never return. The violent inherit the Earth and her spoils. And people like you? They don’t get the heroic victories. They don’t get to take the big happy family pictures. They get forgotten. But our match will be nothing to forget, Edgar. Far from it. It’s to be etched upon the eyes of every man and woman in this company. This is when this became someone else’s stomping grounds. This is when safety and nobility died and out of its husk arose a devil beyond your comprehension. I have risen out of a frozen hell to drag you all down. Are you prepared to see the Eighth Circle, Edgar?

“Then you’d better be looking up.”

"You can't run from yourself."