The Odyssey

The gentle hum of the space stations air filtration system provided an innocuous static counterpoint to the arterial spray all over the walls. The gore was still wet and gleaming, racing down the gun metal gray walls and to the floor. On the floor were the barely there remains of a jumpsuited woman, her body an unrecognizable wound.. Her belly was ruptured like a sore, the innards worried about into a gruesome slurry with her body as the bowl. It was as if she was attacked by some psychotic animal, rabid to the point of complete fearlessness.

Or, perhaps, just one very determined, very insane man.

RJ Dyson sat on the floor, back braced against the woman’s bed. A power drill with its bit still wound tight in viscera was clutched in his white knuckled grip. The body was an arm’s length from him, so he reached over and plucked at the tatter of her suit that had a name tag on it. Drawing it right up to his face, he addresses her.

Good times Naomi. Good times. He tosses the name tag aside. You couldn’t do me the fucking favor of having an extra suit though? He pauses, his eyes narrowing. Fuck you! I could pass for a Naomi! Do you not see the supple curves of these child bearing hips? The flushness of these lips? The gentle uninterrupted mesa of my scrotumless nethers?

Oh, did we forget to mention he was bleeding extensively from his crotch? In fact, he is naked from the waist down, wearing nothing save for some industrial strength tape wound up and around his thighs and groin like a bikini bottom. The tape seems to have stopped him from suffering terminal blood loss, but he was still pallid and sweaty, with rivers of dried flaking blood painted onto the insides of his legs.

Eh, I can’t stay mad at you Naomi. You were such a help. Such a magnificent, magnificent help. His mind drifts back to the scene that had played out an hour before. Naomi, handcuffed and screaming in the corner of her bathroom while RJ, waving about a blood soaked knife as more blood dribbled from his severed penis. A penis which he was presently trying to flush down the toilet. I can’t say the same for these damnable water conserving toilets! That thing is still in there, Naomi! Taunting me! DIRTY, DIRTY THING! He spits on the floor, but the sudden movement combined with the blood loss gives him a momentary head rush. He shakes his head, eyes opening wide as he recollects his bearings.

Then, casually looking at his watch like a businessman running late for a meeting with the board, he scowls. The first shuttles full of those XWF cock suckers should be arriving any minute. It’s almost time for the dinner bell. He licks his chapped lips lasciviously as he rises unsteadily to his feet, using the bed for support and smearing handshapped crimson prints on the comforter. He stumbles his way into the bathroom like a drunkard, swaying against the door frame before pushing off of that and to the counter. The hum is still present, but as RJ cranks his ear towards the duct positioned next to the shower stall, he can faintly hear another sound intermixed with the dispassionate drone. A ragged breathing, emerging from deep within the belly of the station. It was a waiting sound. A patient sound. But, a hungry sound too.

In no time, no time at all! RJ calls out towards the vent in a sing songy tone. Do you want to hear a lullaby? But his master doesn’t reply. RJ’s face cracks perceptibly, like a dropped China doll. He feels the sting of his master's inattention. And then, his eyes settle on the crimson toilet bowl, with its plump floater of severed meat. His own personal sacrifice.

RJ turns towards the small vanity mirror. And he screams.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Corey noticed when he stepped into the station proper was how different the air was. Somehow cleaner, like it lacked the recycled tang of the shuttle’s air. The second thing he noticed was how unsure his step was. The transition from Zero-G back to gravity had been more jarring than he thought.

Still got your sea legs? Thad smiled at Corey’s side. Dolly approached on his other side.

It is a ‘beut.



Corey had been told what to expect in the vaguest of terms, but any words were insufficient. He had expected claustrophobic trappings and utilitarian design. More 2001 A Space Odyssey than Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous (In Space!).

Yeah… Corey replied drowsily, senses at the brink of overload for the sheer awesome level of innovation he was witness to. Gradually, he became aware of the human presences flitting about. Some wore pressed jumpsuits identifying them as station staff. The rest were familiar faces. His coworkers. Dean Rose was already bitching at one of the station workers. Ruby and Centurion were arm in arm appreciating the spectacle. Ned Kaye and his Avalanche cohorts formed a conspiracy off to the side all alone. And it struck Corey how profoundly strange it was to see these familiar faces in what was tantamount to dream space made real. He held his hand up, fingers probing the air, half expecting the illusion to ripple at his touch. But nothing happened.

You alright, spacy? Thad leaned into his field of vision.

Yeah, I’m cool. It’s just...a lot.

It’s AWESOME! Frankie cheered. He gripped Thad’s hand in his left and pumped his fist into the air with his right. Corey made note of Thad and Frankie’s hands together. He could only surmise how gratifying it must have been for Thad to finally have him back.

Well, we’re supposed to have room assignments. She points out one of the workers. Let’s go ask.

Dolly briefly met Corey’s gaze before plunging ahead. Things still weren’t quite status quo between them. The weight of Corey’s recent irresponsibility was still a fresh, unbandaged wound. And while Dolly was not overtly angry with him anymore, that vague coolness was almost worse. It was an unspoken rebuke. A subtle questioning look. The absence of playful banter. That small smile Dolly gave Corey when she was humoring something ridiculous he had just said. All the good things were gone. Perhaps forever. And it left Corey feeling hollowed out and adrift.

Come on, Corey! Frankie’s exuberance pulled him out of his reflection.

Yeah, come on, Corey! Thad teased, waving him forward. Corey followed the group over to the nearest staff person. Upon arrival, they’re greeted with a practiced, but warm, smile.

Ah, Dolly Waters, Corey Smith, and Thad Duke….he looks down at Frankie and toussles his hair….plus one! Corey could see Thad bristle at the man’s familiarity with Frankie. An artifact of his overprotectiveness. But he let it slide.

So can you tell us where our rooms are?

Of course! Holding up a slim tablet, his finger traces a pattern on the screen before he hands it over to Thad. Just follow these directions, it will take you to your quarters. I gave you all adjacent rooms, as per your request Mr. Duke.

Much obliged. Thad takes the tablet in hand. He jerks his head, indicating for them to follow as he started to get his bearings with the tablet. Together, they went into a nearby lift constructed of plexiglass that granted them a bird’s eye view of the station. Frankie’s face is pressed against the glass, enthralled, when Thad taps him on the shoulder and beckons for him to step back. You’re getting goobers on the glass.

Am not. He mutters.

Careful kiddo, we can’t have any biological contaminants in an enclosed environment like this. She prods with a half smile.

But, the gentle humor has an opposite effect on Corey, sending a chill winding down his spine for reasons he couldn’t quite discern. His revelry is broken when Thad announces they’ve reached their floor. Stepping out and rounding a corner, they spot a contingent of B.O.B. members in the distance. No less than Andre Dixon and the tag team champions Bobby Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles.

Ugh, God. I hope we’re not neighbors. They’ll probably blast crappy music all night and the fart gas from Bobby’s binge eating will drift through the ducts into our rooms. Frankie chortled with laughter. But again, an innocuous phrase leaves Corey feeling cold. The ducts. He spots one in passing, and breaks off from the group to get closer. It takes a moment for them to realize that Corey’s no longer maintaining the pace.

You coming?

Corey holds up a finger in response, bringing his head closer to the duct. At first, it’s nothing but the hiss of the filtration system. But then, something low can be heard just below the surface of the omnipresent hiss. A bass rumble, a sound that Corey somehow surmises is organic. He jerks his head away from the vent in shock. He doesn’t realize Dolly is right behind him now, and he spins right around into her. Easy cowboy. What’s eatin’ you?

Corey rubs his scalp as a nervous tic, running his fingers through the locks as he attempts to refocus. It’s nothing. I’m fine. I think I’m just overwhelmed.

Corey, were all overwhelmed. We’re in goddamn space.

He cracks a half smile as Dolly continues to study him. Right. I’m good. Let’s find our rooms. I gotta lay down.

Thad continues to lead the way, but they don’t have much further to go. He stops in front of a trio of rooms, pointing out their separate accommodations. After a brief conversation about a meet up time for dinner, Corey heads into his quarters.



The bedroom threaded the difference between comfort and utility. I guess extravagance can only extend so far. He mused as he shrugged off his backpack and placed it on the nearest table. He peered out into space again from his vantage point. This side of the station was pointed towards complete absence. A milky darkness punctuated by pinpricks of luminescence that had traveled years at the speed of light just to reach this very moment. Already the image being filtered by his eye was impossibly out of date, making each of those dots elderly in a cosmic sense, a notion so daunting it could make your head spin.

Corey finally turned away and went to his backpack, unzipped it, and started to withdraw his ring gear, other clothing, and personal items. Then, from a smaller pocket, he withdrew a chain bearing a silver disc. Engraved on the disc was a gaunt man traveling with a walking stick. Ringed around the edges were the words “St. Christopher Protect Us.” The patron saint of traveling. Christian had folded this into Corey’s hands just before his departure. He had explained how he wasn’t particularly religious either. A lifetime of hardship had drilled that out of him as it had so many others. But the medallion had belonged to his grandmother who loved to travel. She died at 92, peacefully in her bed. Safe travels, indeed.

Corey gripped the medal in his palm until it grew warm and it became a comforting beacon against the saturation of fear that had been building again since he set foot on the elevator. Perhaps it was just the alien nature of this entire experience. And yet, he knew he heard SOMETHING in that duct.. And that he had felt as if this whole experience was painted with a lacquer of unreality. Why had it occurred to him to check the duct?

Corey settled into the chair at the table, putting his head in his hands and massaging his forehead with the meaty part of his palms. Maybe I’m losing it again. He mused aloud. And at that moment, the bed started to seem inviting. Yeah...just lay down….

He went to it and dropped right onto the mattress, not even pulling back the cleaned sheets before sinking in and through into slumber. So quickly did he fall asleep that he failed to notice Iggy standing at the foot of his bed.



Dark blood had begun to pulse from his hairline in absence of a wound. He looked thinner too, his face nearly a colorless skull. This took a lot out of me, Corey. I hope you appreciate the chance to be a hero again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Corey awoke with a start to the sound of a gentle chime. What the…? He started groggily, only to realize it was the sound of the onboard communication system offering up an attention grabbing noise. Corey sat up in bed as a familiar voice started to speak.

Hey dudes and dudettes! Welcome to SPACE! I hope you’re all as pumped as I am! Here’s the itinerary for the day. At 4 pm, our hosts have genersouly given us the chance to go dune buggying on the moon’s surface!. RAD! First come first serve. 6 pm we got our final check in and mandatory screen for foreign substances. No juicing on the moon, that means you Sil. And then at 8 PM it’s dinner with the captain in the main dining hall.

But for right now, we have a mandatory company wide meeting in the main dining hall where our Universal champion will kick us off with some inspiring words. He pauses. Sorry about that one folks. The same chime ushers Lane’s voice out as Corey swings his feet over the side of the bed wondering how “mandatory” mandatory really was. He goes to the bathroom to splash a little water on his face before traipsing into the hall, his door sliding shut with an appropriately “science fictiony” hiss and a beep behind him. He heads for Dolly’s door, pressing his thumb to activate the intercom for her room. Dolly, it’s me. You going to this dumb mandatory meeting? But after a few moments, there is only silence. Corey tries again. Are you in there? Can you open the door? Still nothing. With a wary expression, he steps back. Is she that angry with me? He was about to move on to Thad’s room before something grabbed him from behind and pulled him back into a room across the way. Corey gasped in shock and spun around on his attacker as the door closed. Alias?!

Alias puts a finger up to Corey’s lips, silencing him. But then, he allows the finger to remain, slowly running it across Corey’s lips in a sensuous….

Dude! Corey bats Alias’ hand away.

No, we have to be quiet! It’s listening!

Corey’s eyes narrowed and his insides clutched. Alias may not have been completely sane, but this seemed to be too close to a confirmation of Corey’s own trepidation. You feel like something’s off too?

Alias snaps his fingers and points at Corey with both hands like cocked sidearms. You feel it?

Yeah. He lowered his tone. What did you mean by “it”?

Alias licked his lips nervously and started leaning into Corey in a conspiratorial fashion. Drawing his lips up to Corey’s ear, he breathily intones, I don’t know.

What do you mean you don’t know?!

Alias jerks back and goes to shush Corey again with his finger, which Corey bats away once more.

And would you please stop touching my mouth? I’m not quite sure where your hands have been.

Ok, ok. I’m not quite sure what “It” is. But “It” is HERE. I know that much! Everybody has to leave. It’s not safe!

We need to present them with more than just “something’s weird here.”

Alias taps his chin, thinking aloud. You’re right. This is the XWF. Weirdness is a way of life. But this is TERMINAL weirdness. Death, death, DEATH! He grows increasingly more animated, and this time Corey finds himself the shoosher rather than the shooshee.

I thought you said we had to be quiet?

And then, there was a chime at the door, followed by the click of the intercom being activated. Hey Corey, are you and Alias in there making out?

I wish! But then, his features harden. Wait a minute, was that Thad?!

Yeah, why…. Oh, that’s right. You hate him. Corey rolls his eyes. Look, maybe he can help us.

No! Absolutely not! He can’t be trusted!

He’s not some Great Satan!

I don’t care if he’s just a So-so Satan, he’s not coming in my room and he’s not helping! You gotta choose, Corey! Alias crosses his arms petulantly.

Oh for the love of…. Corey sighs and goes to the Comm. Yeah, Thad, I’m in here. I’ll be right out.

Are you sticky?

Corey recoils. No, ass! He looks back at Alias, who’s still standing with his arms crossed. Look, I agree with you, okay? Something’s not right. But I’m not gonna bail on Thad. Maybe you and I can get together later and…

There won’t be a later. Alias’ response is stolid. In fact, the level of his assurance is enough to send yet another cold shiver up Corey’s spine.

I’m sure there...there will be. He stammers as he opens the door.

Alias backs away, hissing at the sight of Thad.

Hey buddy, good to see you too. How’s everything going with the crazy and all that?

Vile spawn of the deceiver!

Right, right. Then, whispering to Corey. You ready to get moving before he tries to stake me in the heart or expose me to sunlight or some shit?

With one final laden glimpse at the Xtreme champion, Corey steps through the open door. He catches sight of Alias’ hurt as the door shuts, severing his view. So are we really going to listen to Page’s verbal diarrhea?

I asked Lane and confirmed it is mandatory. He threatened to dock our pay if we don’t show.

I can handle it. I’m not putting myself through that. I’ll catch you later.

A shadow crossed Thad’s features. I think we should go.

Corey looked at Thad strangely. Why are you so hell bent on attending the auditory equivalent of cock and ball torture?

Normally, Thad would have responded to the joke, but he stayed stony. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, as though the question had a multiple choice answer that bore consideration. Corey prodded him nonverbally by holding his hands out to his sides.

It would look good for us to go. Besides it’s probably not going to be that bad.

Something’s wrong. Again, there was that preternatural chill. Corey’s reply was measured. Nah. Maybe I’ll just go hang out with Frankie or something.

Thad grimaced, and in so doing he almost seemed to take on an Uncanny Valley countenance that was him and yet not him. :///

Corey reeled. What did you say?!

I said I’ll catch you later then. Thad’s smile was uneven, and his turn away from Corey was a bit too curt. Corey watched him go, and when Thad was out of sight his eyes ticked back to Alias’ door. He immediately went to the comm.

Hey man, let me in. But Alias didn’t reply. Look, I know you didn’t leave! I’m coming in. Corey pressed the control for the door and it whooshed open. Alias was not in sight. Corey went to the bathroom, which was empty. He looked under the bed. A long shot, but also empty. Alias….?

Then, his eyes settled on the duct that was flush with the floor. The face plate had been unscrewed and set aside. Corey got down on all fours to inspect it. It was indeed large enough to accommodate a grown man. But why? The correlation struck like lightning, the eerie sound he had heard before. Alias! He called into the duct, louder this time. But nothing returned to him. Ugh, Jesus. Corey rolled his shoulders and expelled a nervous breath. And then, he ventured inside. It only occurred to him after the fact that he really had no idea where he was going. Visions of a maintenance worker finding his desiccated corpse months from now popped unasked for into his head. And yet, something pressed him onward. Alias’ words. The odd sound. Thad’s peculiar response. The bounds of reality felt like they were stretching. And Corey didn’t particularly like the feeling.

He traversed the ducts for some time, often having to backtrack when he hit a dead end or the passage narrowed to a point that he couldn’t pass. Of course, there was still neither hide nor hair of Alias. Corey continued undaunted, until he rounded a corner and encountered an unwelcome sound. Fucking Page…. Corey crept up to the nearest vent cover, and saw that he had an eagle eye vantage point of the main dining hall. Chris Page was standing atop a table, surrounded by his B.O.B. acolytes. Arrayed around them were the other members of the roster here for Leap of Faith. Corey spotted Apex at their own table, Main’s eyes boring a hateful hole in Page’s skull. The Left Hand contingent was there too. But then, finally, his eyes settled on Thad and Dolly sharing a table. He was tempted to call out to them before the absurdity of his situation convinced him otherwise. So, Corey paused to watch for a moment. Perhaps a touch of masochistic instinct took over. Or…..

Chris Page says….

Quote:Blah blah blah not crushingly mediocre, blah blah blah blah blah, origins, blah blah blah blah, massive inferiority complex, blah blah blah, weed, blah, weed, blah, more weed, blah blah blah blah….. (This x40)

Corey started to feel his eyelids grow heavy, when something jolted him awake. Well, he and everyone else. A strange figure appeared at the far end of the hall singing a song.

I found my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
On Blueberry Hill
When I found you
The moon stood still
On Blueberry Hill
And lingered until
My dream came true
The wind in the willow played
Love's sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were never to be...

Now, everyone’s attention had sought out the strange newcomer. Corey looked on with mounting dread as he felt the culmination of all his fears since he boarded the station coming to light.

RJ Dyson stopped beside the contingent of B.O.B. members, who are now considering him with a combination of bemusement and unease. Indeed, he paints an unsettling picture with his blood encrusted bikini bottom of tape and bloodied bedsheet for a cape. His features were sallow and sunken, with rheumy yellowed eyes drinking in this newfound congregation. He appeared to have some difficulty staying vertical, but it didn’t seem to stop him much.

I am the Omega! Then, almost as a cheeky afterthought, he points at Robert Main. Not you. His breath is a mucuosy rattle in his throat. I am the serpent in the garden, the presage of all darkness! I am….

Who the fuck are you?! Page blurted out.

I’M TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW! RJ screams in retort. He brings his hand up, fingers perched over his thumb, and he snaps them together. The universal sign for “shut up”. Now, as I was…*urp*....saying…

Nobody puts Chris Page in a corner! Get him! He looks out at his retinue, finger stabbing at the interloper. But, none of them move. Thunder Knuckles is considering RJ with some disgust. As are Andre Dixon and Money Oswald. Miss Fury splays her hands out to her sides as if to say “not touchin’ it” and Bobby Bourbon just shakes his head “no”.

Meanwhile Thad tugs on Dolly’s sleeve and shoots her a meaningful look. He’s worried. He jerks his head towards the nearest exit. Dolly nods, and they both beat a subtle retreat.

Yeah, good. Get your asses out of here. Corey whispers. Something wasn’t right here. Not at all.

At this point, Robert Main rises to his feet, mouth opening to deliver his own hot take on the situation, when his words catch in his mouth. The man, RJ, starts reeling, reeling and laughing. His body pitches forward, almost causing him to face plant on the floor. But then, he regains his balance. All the while a jubilant titter continues to pour out of him, like a child enjoying a carnival ride. By this point, some of the others are now starting to look seriously disturbed. Lycana rises to her feet, whispering something to Marf and Thrax.

Oh, oh dear, fourth trimester….RJ mutters, his hand finding his belly and rubbing it soothingly. But Page looks like he’s had enough. He hops down and heads towards RJ with fury in his eyes. He grabs RJ’s collar and jacks him up, opening his mouth to pour out abuse when RJ gags and vomits full bore down Page’s throat! Page stumbles back in shock, hand going to his mouth when…

Wait, what the fuck was that?

….the tail end of some worm like creature is barely seen disappearing between Page’s lips and slipping into his gullet. Miss Fury looks alarmed and starts to head towards Page, but is stopped by RJ’s manic keening.

I’ll always have Blueberry Hill, everyone! Later days, lovelies! RJ’s body jerks violently. His belly, already swollen and distended, starts to bloat even further. He totters backwards, again pitching into psychotic laughter, when suddenly his stomach goes flat, like air rushing out of a tire, and an explosion of black blood displaces his taped on bikini, revealing a grotesque open sore in his crotch that is spewing out this noxious substance. Everyone starts backing away in terror. And then it gets worse.

Alongside the putrid ebon flow, long prehensile worms start billowing out of RJ’s body at an impossible pace. Sickly looking and yellowed, they resemble common parasites blown up to gargantuan size. Corey gasps in horror as the worms display an uncanny speed, racing along the floor towards his coworkers. What follows are the shrieks and hollers of the damned as the parasites climb their bodies, wrapping around them and disappearing into any open orifice they can: mouths, ears, nose, eyes.

Corey, horrorstruck, succumbs to panic and frantically starts crawling away from the scene. But then, he stops. Thad, Dolly, Frankie… He looks forward, and then he looks back. He had to choose. He had to choose.

He didn’t choose. Corey curled his legs in, resting his knees under his chin as he gave in to the sheer insanity of it all. He stayed still and wept.

Logos

Salutations fellow leapers, Corey Smith here again filming from a “vague by necessity” location to bring you another heaping helping of fiery young blood popping off at the mouth. And I’m gonna engage this soiree by asking a question: Are we at the point now where we don’t have to pretend everybody has an equal chance at winning this thing?



Oh, thank you rain soaked photogenic young man. Because if I had to spend a hot minute more pretending Thrax occupies that same amount of my brainspace as RL Edgar, I was gonna LOSE MY SHIT.

Buuuuut, we’re not starting off with R.L. Edgar. Oh nooooo. No, no, no.

Corey looks positively giddy.

I’m sorry, but was that an hours worth of patented Jim Caedus “manic and off meds full auto burst fire verbal ejaculation?!!” Somebody call a nurse and inject that straight into my veins. A beat passes. Probably a bad joke seeing as how I used to be a drug addict.

Seriously though, there are not enough “Opa’s!” in the entire Greek world to describe just how fucking excited that made me. Wow. And I know, I know we’re supposed to be all “rahhh HATE YOU” to each other but I just cannot let that go without some form of mostly not back handed praise. Of course, Jim, I don’t expect the same from you because as we all know, you are contractually obligated to go all throbbing hate boner on every single soul booked against you. And speaking of boners, was it me or was that the most sexually charged piece of trash talk the XWF has ever seen? Good lord, Jim! I know all those SSRI’s that hospital is pumping you with are probably giving you a prolific case of the limp noodle and making you mad sexually frustrated. But I got your back, man. Just pretend you’re going out into the yard to smell a daisy and I’ll airlift you a care package chock full of dick pills and a Chromebook autoloaded with PornHub premium. Hopefully that averts us from ever EVER having to think about Chris Chaos in a sexual manner EVER EVER again!

BAD JIM! BAD!

He waggles his finger with a playful reproachfulness.

So let’s take a closer look at this epic cocaine addled bender of a promo. Seriously Jim, how long have you been awake? He shakes his head. Well, at any rate, according to you I am all of the following:

A bully
A self absorbed sociopath
Dexter Bright (somehow)

Hoooo boy. Those are some spicy takes. Let’s start with “bully”. See, apparently Jim Caedus takes exception to me being mean to Chris Page. He says I should have left poor defenseless SeePeePee alone because all he was doing was acting the heel. Because that’s his job! And what kind of piece of diarrhea dump goes ham on someone just for doing their job?!

Well here’s the killshot, Jimbo. Funny you should be falling all over yourself to white knight for the guy who tried to organize the murder of your friend Robert Main. Oh, had that slipped that cataleptic head of yours? Or was he just “doing his job” and “heeling” it up when he engaged in a conspiracy to commit murder?

Wow, you ARE a shitty friend. Going to bat for the mastermind behind Robert Main’s latest neurological ventilation. Oh, but poor old Chris! POOR CHRIS! More’s the pity for the man who leads a faction with “baddies” in their name. A faction that is known for attacking people indiscriminately and just generally being a pox on the entire promotion. But apparently me shootin’ a big ol’ fat load on this asshole is enough to give Jim Caedus the vapors while Robert stands idly by regretting bringing this neuroatypical back into the mix.

And hey Jim, just who am I “thoroughly disliked by”? The B.O.B.ies? Oh hunty, I assure you I’m crying on the inside! Main? Well of course, he hates anything remotely resembling valid competition. Theo? I couldn’t rub two shits together. So long as the checks keep clearing. And for as much as Theo may dislike me he’s a savvy enough businessman to realize you don’t hobble one of your prize thoroughbreds. So you can take your cloak and dagger backstage politricks wash and shove it up that distended hooha of Chris Chaos’ that you like to go on and on about.

Seriously, what the FUCK is up with that?

You know what? I can’t EVEN right now. So let’s move on to “self absorbed sociopath”. Oh, that’s a saucy little minx! So tell me Jim, just how many sociopaths do you know who open their homes up to complete strangers? How many sociopaths do you know who turn their largesse into providing a safe haven for the desperate? Oh but Jim caterwauls about how I parade my home and my grounds in front of, who was that? Oh yeah. “People facing evictions. People who lost their businesses, lost their jobs, lost their families!”

Ya huh.

Jim, who the fuck do you think I’m providing all this help to? Because if you answered “the evicted, the jobless, and the family-less” you officially have your head screwed on tighter than Jim Caedus. Which is an accomplishment on par with going a whole 24 hour period without shitting your pants. Not that big a deal, but thanks for it all the same!

This is all just so much projection though. How completely unsurprising it is that Jim can’t fathom the notion of somebody doing something benevolent “just because”. How completely unsurprising it is that Jim would warp and twist me talking about Coreytopia (and fuck you Dolly came up with the name and I LOVE IT) into some accusation of egocentric braggadocio. You know why Jim has such a problem with all that? Because he is a rolling fuck up of a human being who has done nothing but hurt and disappoint people his entire life. Because he’s an abject lunatic who sees what I’m doing and instantly thinks “brainwashing cult” because he slovenly caters to the paranoid voices in his head whenever they so much as queef a new delusion in his general direction. God damn what a place the XWF is! You try to do something nice for people, ask nothing in return, and get branded an asshole for it. Says more about you soulless pricks than it does about me.

Oh and last but certainly not least, Jim thinks I’m somehow maybe the latest distillation of Dexter Bright. Dexter Bright, the man Jim has had “unfinished business” with for the last three years. I mean, personally I think getting your shit thoroughly pushed in twice by the guy counts as FINISHED business, but when you’re as painfully insecure as Jim you just have to keep relitigating those failures and hope for the best.

You know what though Jim? Maybe, just for you, I’ll thump my chest and draw out the darkness deep within. Maybe I’ll channel Dexter Bright so you can finally get that win that you have dwelled and obsessed over for many a sleepless night while you prayed for that gnawing empty to go away. YOU KNOW WHAT JIM MAYBE I JUST WILL!

…..

Or maybe I won’t because I am in no way, shape or form related to Dexter Bright. I mean, I met the guy. But I’m not him.

Now I’m going to need you to take hold of your tongue so you don’t go and swallow it while I batter your syphilitic brain with another chapter of the War and Peace level complexity that is my life.

There were TWO Engineers!

*Gasp!*

Yeah, I know, I know. And I’m not even going to get down on you for completely missing that. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to try to piece together my expansive life story while talking muppets fall out of the walls and tell you to burn things. And let me apologize for how grossly insensitive it was for me to not think to lead a life less complicated so Jim Caedus could better wrap his failing gray matter around it.

But I’m sure you’re just dying to know what did happen to Dexter Bright. So I’m gonna tell ya.

He’s dead, Jim. (Been waiting the entire time to say that! I know I’m a corny motherfucker…)

But yeah, Dexter died of cancer back in 2019. Kinda weird that you missed the demise of one of your bitterest rivals, but I’m sure you had better things to do like expose yourself to housewives at Trader Joes while dropping down a K-hole. But man, that must SUCK for you Jim. Knowing that you will never EVER get the chance to right the “wrong” of two of the most catastrophic losses of your entire career. I mean, I guess a sane, reasonable, confident, well adjusted man would have been able to just move on after all this time. But not Jim Caedus. Oh noooo. Because for as much as he likes to regale us with tales of all the times he railed out Chris Chaos’ axe wound, they are cut from the same pathetically insecure stock. Remember when I called Chris out in my first bit for not being able to let go of the past? Well, second verse same as the first. The fact that you’re still clutching on to “unfinished business” because you still can’t get over losing to Dexter Bright tells us everything we need to know about how Jim Caedus feels about Jim Caedus. Why else would you spend so much time wishing for Dexter to come back so you could play out the revenge fantasy you’ve fostered for three years? It’s because for you, the failures will always loom larger than the successes. And it’s why you are a painfully bitter unfulfilled man who reminds us what an overcompensating child you really are every time you launch into one of your bloated, overlong, hyperbolic, mania induced spiels where you try to shotgun every point you can think of without paying the slightest bit of attention to coherence or reality or even DIGNITY.

Also Jim, pretty sweet how you can read my mind. Iggy’s not here to say hello unfortunately. But I’m going to strongly recommend that the next time you decide to deep dive into my brainwaves, you steer clear of the Michael B. Jordan room.



Seriously though, there are just so many filthy, filthy things in there they might even make an oversexed pile of HGH like you blush. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Anyway Jim, best of luck to you in your recovery process. I know I gave you a lot of shit but I guess in the end it could have been much worse and….

Quote: Because Corey is inCoreydible and as Corey Coreyupts- uh, I mean IMPROVES, please don't eat me Lord -Coreyverything and Coreyverything beCoreys Corey, Corey Corey Corey CorCorey Cor. Corey Corey Corey, Corey Corey Cor Corey?

The shot cuts back to Corey, who is wide eyed and shaking a bottle of pills at the camera. He casually tosses them over his shoulder and moves on.

Ahhhhh, that felt like a gimme.

And while we’re on the topic of men who are textbook candidates for electroshock therapy, let’s gracefully segue onto Chris Chaos. Or as he wants to be known now, Bootlicker Chaos. Oh, that’s not quite right! Asskisser Chaos? Squanderer of Theo’s Affections Chaos? Eh, that last one was a bit clunky, but I think you get the gist. However way you slice it, Chris Chaos is back for the one thousandth time and this time he’s on his hands and knees for corporate cock and lovin’ every minute of it!

So Chris Chaos goes for the outright HACKERY (sorry Jim, it’s a good word) of some cheap gender jokes right out of the block. Yawn. Although what else can you expect from someone as bereft of a quick wit as this complete twat-mark who thought it was a good idea to stake his brilliant return on a match he has a 1 in 10 chance of winning. No Chris, despite what your childhood friends may have told you, huffing paint thinner does not make your dick bigger.

So then we got some SJW jokes, again completely unsurprising coming from a misogynist who crosses the street whenever a black guy walks down the block. And ain’t this just a pisser. Chris Chaos wants to accuse ME of not knowing who I am when he’s the one who sold his soul to the devil because he couldn’t get it done on his own. Regardless of which persona I was stuck with Chris, I never had to lick boot to get ahead. Never. So who’s the pathetic one in this equation? And then we get some Jim Caedus level projection out of you when you accuse me of running away like you haven’t busted out the hide and seek shtick hoping that “this time it would be different”; but it won’t be different Chris because you’re the same lukewarm edge lord you’ve always been who can’t stop tripping over his past failures.

Suck shit you rat faced excuse for a man sized dildo. You want to rag on me because I’ve changed? Huh. Maybe if you dumped your shitty misplaced sense of superiority attitude for once you might achieve the same level of success you had waaaaaay back in 2016 instead of flopping aimlessly around the midcard. But you won’t. Because you quite simply don’t know any better. Sometimes change is progress Chris. Sometimes change is better. And just because you think me changing into a decent human being is lame (which speaks volumes about what a scum sucker you are) that doesn’t mean I don’t still have every ounce of talent this body has developed for the last two years. Check it pissy Chrissy, since my return in October of 2020 I have yet to be pinned or submitted. I have lost one battle royale (that I made it to the final four in) and one tag team match. I have pinned James Raven, Centurion, and Betsy Granger. I ripped through the prodigy of a 6 time former Universal Champion.

And if you want to include my former alter ego’s Lux and The Engineer? The last time this body was pinned or made to submit was MARCH 2019. OVER TWO YEARS AGO. You ain’t got SHIT on that Chris and you damn well know it.

So how does it feel knowing you’ve staked your big come back on a match that has at least three people in it that are demonstrably better than you? How do you feel about your chances? Really? Because if you say you’re flush full of confidence I’m gonna say that makes you without a shadow of a doubt the stupidest person in this match. And yeah, I’m including Rel Dixon in that assessment and she willingly wants to bone Demos. You’re dumber than that. Well met, you stooge.

Caedus ain’t the only one coming for that bussy, Chris. Toodles.

Corey slaps his hands together with aplomb.

Who we got? Who we got? Oh ho. Dock. I see you broham.

So, why did I step into this mess with Thad and Doc? Well, number one, it wasn’t quite my choice. Thad HANDED me one triforce of the tag team titles. Which begs the question, if he was so copacetic with the Doc, why he felt the pressing need to get me involved. ‘Tis a mystery.

Oh wait, no it’s not. Because Doc is the kind of guy who describes his method of bonding with Duke as “not quite as healthy as others.” That’s like saying a dead man “isn’t quite as alive” as others and a severed arm is “not quite a paper cut”. How clever you were to render the regular psychological torture you dished out as a mere footnote. And that’s to say nothing for your legacy of being one of the most malevolent forces in XWF history. And you wonder why I jumped at the chance to keep an eye on you and your pretensions of benevolence?

Corey chuckles. But you know what the most intriguing thing about all of this is? That Doc D’Ville, legit legend, and one of the most feared men in the business, is out here bellyaching about how badly he was mistreated by a 19 year old boy who still has a binder of Pokemon cards. Yeah, I do! Fight me!

Doc bemoans the fact that Thad and I never kissed his ring and sung hosannah’s in his name. He has the gall to include my name and “friend” in the same sentence. Like, what the fuck kind of treatment did you expect from me, huh? You expected me to be part of your cheering section when you won that crown? I didn’t realize advanced senility was one of your arcane abilities.

I never trusted you. And what help I did enlist you for I regret to this very day. And it’s not like I’ve made any of that a secret. Why is my treatment of you such a shock? Why does it gall you so that the kid who was public about his distrust of you wouldn’t fall on his knees for you? Is your ego really that fragile?

I have an answer for that. Yes. Yes it is. Because why else would Doc have been so easily swayed by B.O.B.’s hollow platitudes and vapid ass sucking? Why is veneration so important to you that you would overlook the fact that they were using you just as much as you claimed Thad and I were using you? Or are you just that much of a rube? Have you gone that SOFT?

Ya know, I should probably address the elephant in the room when it comes to Doc and I. MayDay. Now that, THAT I will apologize for. Despite the fact that our little shoving match went both ways, I was the official. I should have kept my cool. And I didn’t. And it resulted in you having a convenient excuse for a result that would have gone the way it did even without my interference. Ohhhhh, damn it! Said the quiet part out loud.

You know what Doc? You can go ahead, and take all those feels you have, all that protracted bitching about the tag team titles, take alllllll of it, wad it up and shove it up your dusty pucker. Miss me with your victimhood, asshole. Because God forbid, after a career of manipulating, hurting, and abusing people that you should suffer a touch of indignity. Like you haven’t earned it in spades. There aren’t enough variants of “fuck you” in the known universe to encapsulate the level of “fuck” and “you” that I want to relay. And the fact that you have the chutzpah to paint yourself as some maligned innocent swaddling babe while literaly abusing Mastermind and his wife is a level of sidewise narrative hitherto unseen in my entire life.

And you know what the worst part is? The fact is that you’re gonna try to pin this shit on me. You’re gonna try to parse this as me being the cause of your hard shift back into the overt asshole you used to be. When the reality is, you never stopped being that guy. You know what did change though? The fact that a once confident, secure, legend of this business turned into the kind of guy who needs people to venerate him and eat his ass. How embarrassing!

Demos, step to the fore. It’s your turn at the gallows!

Corey throws his hands in the air and laughs.

You know, I didn’t think it would be possible to get even more basic facts wrong than Jim Caedus, but here we are. You stupid, stupid, stinky little nugget of a man.

Apparently, Demos thinks I’m just some pampered upper cruster who has never known the slightest whiff of hardship. Hmmmmm. I wish somebody would have told 17 year old me that, when I was strung out next to puke filled gutters with schizophrenics who were waiting for me to fall asleep so they could steal my kicks. I wish you would have told 18 year old me that when I was fighting for my life in the hospital, fresh off a brain bleed that almost killed me.

You don’t got a clue man. And now you wanna know why I’m challenging for a briefcase? It’s simple. Because I’ve never done it before. It’s the thrill of a new and unique challenge. And that, good sir, makes me happy. It gets the blood rushing in my ears, that sweet rush of endorphins, that stab of motivating anxiety! Joie de vivre! It is the essence of life itself. That’s why. Plus it’s a golden ticket to a shot at the best damn wrestler in the XWF today, Alias. You ask me why I wasn’t in a hurry to challenge Page? It’s basically like asking why choose premade boxed fried chicken over filet mignon? I waited for the premier dish on the menu when it mattered most. And as soon as Alias claims a prize, I’m challenging him, in friendship and honor, to the biggest most exciting fuck off match the XWF has seen in AGES.

Now as for your declaration that you’re going to rewrite the rules of the match, wellllll, good luck with that icky britches! I’m sure Theo and Vinnie are going to completely rewrite the terms of the match for a middling psychopath on a losing streak who ain’t ever drawn a dime. Because you see Demos, down here (and I mean reality, not Earth) rules DO matter! And the rule is: first one with the briefcase wins. And if I’m the one with that briefcase when all is said and done, and you try to bum rush me, I promise you I will introduce you to the face of God via the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt in your life. And you know I can do it, too.

Demos, the only one that’s been humiliating you is YOU. For god sakes, get your shit together before you shame yourself even worse.

Now, Corey looks a little crestfallen.

I take no pleasure in moving on to my next opponent. Despite the criticism I leveled at him in my last shout out, RL Edgar is the only other guy in this match that isn’t a complete asshole. He’s not! And, you know, I’m not the kind of guy who tries to read too much into a man playing the quiet treatment. I’m certainly not the kind of doofus who has a history of equating “number of segments shot” with “chances of winning the match” *Jim Caedus*.

But I can’t help but wonder if I caused this silence of yours RL. Did I cut too deep? And make no mistake, this isn’t a victory lap. The rest of these dickheads can get sucked right out into the cold vacuum of space for all I care, but I actually DO care about what happens to you. Granted your choice of running buddies is...errmmmm…not what I would have chosen, I never made it a secret that I liked you.

So, I guess, what this is is a request: Come back to us? Be a full and dedicated piece of the most ground breaking match the XWF has ever had. And, ah shit, if you ARE taking what I said to heart….Corey sighs. I’m not gonna roll back my words because I was speaking the truth. MY truth. MY perspective. You may have a perspective rendering mine incorrect. Maybe you are better than I think you are. I’d love for that to be a real, tangible possibility. Truly. But I guess we won’t know that until you try and bring your A-game to Leap of Faith.

Although it may not seem like it, you are the participant in this match that takes up most of my thinking on it. The insult parades from the perennially insecure? Who gives a shit, eh? But you? Your cut from different cloth. Your a normal dude. Mostly. And that’s what I like about you. You get angry when needed. You’re humble when it’s not needed. You have a family that loves you. And I would be lying if I said that that didn’t appeal to me on some level.

So for you, I think you strike that balance between having the most to win and the most to lose in this match. If you win, you prove the naysayers like me wrong. You belong here. You’ve arrived. But if you lose? What does that mean for the rest of your career. Could you reach the top of the mountain without a briefcase? And what happens if you get hurt? What happens to your family? This isn’t some blase mind game. They’re the real honest to God things I think about when it comes to you. Because, and I know you’re going to fucking hate this, I’m a little afraid for you. And I’m not just talking injuries. I’m talking about what losing this match does to you. Does it mean the end of the line, riding off into the sunset with the fam? Can you be content with leaving it that way? Or will it always gnaw at you, haunt you like a phantom passenger asking “woulda, coulda, shoulda”.

I’m not going easy on you R.L. I can’t, the prize is too important. Moreover keeping the prize AWAY from certain people is equally important. My heads going to be posted on a swivel at Leap of Faith, and don’t think for one second that I’m not going live fire when you’re in my field of vision.

But think about what I said.

*Woof*

And thus I’ve left the least for last. The also rans. The people who technically have a chance at bringing home the bacon like I technically have the chance of growing a super dick rrrrrrriiiiiighhhht….NOW!

Corey points at his crotch, and then looks dissappointed.

Eh, it’s okay, woulda shat all over my argument anyway. But yeah “Not Trax”, Rel, Money, Sil. A big old lumpy sack of low odds. Actually, Sil might have had a shot of avoiding the lumpen brigade, but with his silent stance and overt fealty to Chris Chaos, clearly he’s accepted his role as stooge supreme.

Look. Guys. It’s nothing personal. But my feelings seem to be pretty damn close to universal. Been talking to a hell of a lot of oddsmakers lately, and, hooooo boy the force is not strong with these ones. Incidentally though, the best odds seem to be on Doc winning the whole thing so maybe fuck all you guys anyway.

He waves a middle finger at the camera playfully.

N-E-Ways, look at the bright side. You’ll always be able to stay you were in the background at the most stacked, exciting, Leap of Faith match of all time. Bring a sign, so mom knows it’s you. I bet your folks, or in Thrax’s case Hellpriest who did the summoning, are going to be so proud of you all.

Look at that. You’re there. You’ve finally made it.

You’re the background noise of the XWF.

As for the rest of you, keep those personal attacks coming! Anything to distract from your complete inability to say shit about my dominant record or in ring ability. Which, in the end, is all that really matters. Even in Zero-G, you lose to ME.

Corey looks to the side and then back at the camera, bearing an awkward expression. Yeah, that wasn’t uhhh….what I thought it would be. Good we try that again?

UGH! This thing is already long enough! We’ve been here for days!

Okay, that’s being overdramatic. And hey, you guys didn’t seem to have any issue going the distance for Caedus’ spot!

He had better drugs.

Of course he did. A shake of the head. Of course he did….