4A: Afraid of the Dark

In the dark of the night. I edge forward into the unknown. The devil’s on his throne. He sets it all alight as he sets his sights to me.

To me.

In a hushed state. The door closes behind me and leaves me stranded on my own. All hope abates. Though the curtains are open, the light from outside decides to leave me alone to my fate. With memories of skulls and bones. The creepiest of crawlies carry their omens across the blackened stone floor to me.

To me.

In a locked cell. Caged and cuffed by a dream to atone. The walls enclose. I fumble my way through the room. Searching like a dog for a bone that could carry me through to the next day. Maybe a home? All I get is a fright. My heart thuds away. Racing in flight from the hellscape of life, but the demons they make chase. They’re always there, a reminder of yesterday. Haunting. Hunting. Shrinking the world and brandishing a knife to me.

To me.

In the end of it all. I saw the peak before the fall. And the ghosts, they call from the well. Rebelling from the place I had tried to hide them away. They go bump as I crawl across the bodies on the floor to my little hidey hole. I feel so small. Ungrown. The stories those carcasses would tell are damning to me.

To me.

In my ‘happy place’. Tucked away in the recesses of the hotel of my brain, where they get to stay for free. Why do they do this to me?

To me.

---

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4B: Nothing

The party is over.

I allowed myself to believe it were true. If just for one second, there was peace. Is that so bad a thing to want?

The lights in the room barely work. A dim, flickering glow does its best to touch every corner and crevice, but for the most part it fails. I can relate to it'd futility. But what other option does it have? What other option do I?

Peace.

Allegedly.

I tell myself that’s what I strive for, but peace for whom? The world, or myself? Am I actually helping? Have I ever?

The universe is in my hands.

But I did that for me. Not them. I’m not the saviour.

BUMP.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I smack the side of my hip on the edge of a… a what?

I look down. Nothing’s there.

I look forward. Nothing’s there.


The struggling, tiptoeing light reaches across the walls of the roomcorridor.


A flash of its reflection winks upon a glass surface. A mirror. I scurry towards it, though I know not what I’m expecting. When I glance upon the silver-backed soda-lime, I see it.

The Nothing.

“Hi!” my own face enthusiastically chirps to me.


Panicked, I startle backwards, near-tripping over…

Nothing’s there.

In the mirror.

Nothing’s there.

“You should probably watch out for that!” I call back to myself from beyond the other side. I glance down to the ground and see… nothing.


“You okay, bud?” My mirrored-self asks. Mouth agape, I look back to it.

Fucking nothing.

“What is this?” I - the ’real’ I - ask the mirror. I hear…

Fucking nothing.

Part of me almost feels like I should be used to this by now. The unknown. The…

“Fucking nothing.”

“Fucking nothing.”

“Fucking nothing.”

“Fucking nothing!”

“Fucking nothing!”

“Fucking nothing!”

“Fucking Nothing!”

“FUCKING NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?”

Mirror-me is nothing.

As am I.

“Over here!” calls Dolly Waters from another mirror.


“Dolly?” I ask, as I skid to a halt after racing over. “Wait, how do I know it’s you and not Graves?”

“Do I look like Michael Graves!?” Mirror-Dolly spits from behind a pink, black, and white mask. It rebounds back and multiplies, over-saturating her.

“Kind of…?” I reply.

“Fuck you! Thank God I went to Corey fer help instead of you!” the Maybe-Not-Dolly rolls her eyes in a totally-Dolly way.

“Dolly?” Corey Smith calls from behind a mirror of his own.


I turn to face him as nothing stares from one mirror to nothing in the other.

FUCKING NOTHING!


“We’ll get through this,” Corey tells her.

“We better,” she warns. Her not-there eyes fall upon me. “No thanks to you! Where were you?”

“Yeah, man,” Corey agrees. “Where were you?”

“I…” I start to explain myself but nothing comes.

“Where were you?” Thaddeus Duke joins in from another mirror, just a few feet from Dolly’s.

”That wasn’t there before.”

That wasn’t there before.

“Jinx, buy me a Coke!” the other-me shouts from down the hallway.

Whipping to Thad with a glare in my eyes, I see that he is FUCKING NOTHING! Still, a small droplet of salt-water trickles down his cheek. Corey sobs. Dolly…

Dolly leaves.

For good.

“Where were you?” asks little Frankie Duke, from the same mirror that Thad had occupied. Tears well in his eyes as his arm raises, strained from the weight he carries. In his hand, the hair of his new father intertwines around his fingers.

It’s Thad’s head.

Blood drips from its severed neck.

“Where were you?” he says again, with a hidden meaning behind his tongue.

“I didn’t…”

“Where were you?” asks Louis, just a little down the hall.

Short-breathed, I leer towards him. Inside the mirror, his nothingness sips from a dainty teacup, emblazoned with the head of a medusa and trimmed in a glimmering gold. A small, blonde girl bounds into the scene and leaps up upon his lap. He kisses her upon the forehead and stares death towards me from behind the nothing of his missing eye. A home-cooked meal is placed before him by a loving wife.

“Where were you?” he repeats.

“Где ты был?” Morbid Angel adds from behind another mirror, as he bends over the bathroom sink and injects a syringe into his buttocks.

“What the fuck is this?” I say into the nothing.


I flee down the hallway.

“Where were you?” asks Chris Page as he stands at the altar, staring down the aisle. Solace Tatum glides between the pews, clad in ivory with a tail held high by her maid of honour, Miss Fury.

“Where were you?” Solace asks, looking nervously at the pointed rifles that encircle them.

“I don’t even fucking know you!” I growl at her and turn away. Before my eyes the hallway stretches forward.


I stumble onwards. The light perseveres at the same pace. Like lianas creeping along older branches, each mirror it touches upon blossoms into another offence to reality.

“Που ήσουν?” Atara Themis falls into the arms of Shawn Warstein yet again. Doomed to repeat. Clad in black, they gather around an open grave. An intricate, phonebox-shaped coffin lowers from a crane. Uneasily, it is guided into the hole in the ground, past a thick grey tombstone. Etched into its face:

BETSY JEANNE GRANGER
05/05/96 - 06/10/21

“Where were you?” James Raven asks.

“Where were you!?” I scream back. “You did FUCKING NOTHING!”

“You weren’t there,” my mirror-self teases.

“I’m not fucking listening!” I tell the world. With my hands over my ears, I try to block it all out. The hallway extends once more, never-ending. I roar as I break into a sprint and hurtle myself down the path. It keeps stretching and stretching but I keep running and running. “I’ll reach the end, you fucking cunts!”

SMACK!

I reach the end, you fucking cunts. It comes out of nowhere and I run straight into it. I ricochet from the wooden wall and sprawl across the floor. I look up and see a mirror yet again.


In its reflective pane, I see it. The Nothing.

Chris Chaos raises the Universal Championship in the air.

“Where were you?” he asks through a grin. He casts his eyes down to where a version of me lays at his feet.

I push up from my own.

“No!” I bellow, banging fists against the glass. “That can’t happen! Not yet! Not yet!”

BANG! goes my fist.

BANG! BANG! BANG! SMASH!

The glass shatters, scarring my hand.


The image shatters, scarring my mind.


In my mind....

Fucking nothing.


“What is real?”

---

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4C: Trick or Treat

“Oh, that was as fun as I imagined,” an imp of a man says from underneath a golden-horned crown that radiates in contrast to his pitch black throne. His feet rest, one crossed over the other, atop a large desk carved from the world ash itself. I stand before him, chained to the walls of the oval-shaped office.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, not even bothering to inquire as to how I got there. I already know.


“Nothing too harmful, I promise,” he winks. “I just wanted to have a little bit of fun before everything really gets underway.”

“Eris?!” I accuse, recalling the woman from atop the hill.

“You wound me!” Mockingly, he places his hand over his heart and feigns injury. “Discord? Strife? She’s good at what she does, I’ll give her that, but it’s all so… limiting. Where’s the fun, you know?”

“Who?!” I demand, as I yank against the chains.

“Think bigger!” As he answers, his lips separate into a smile that reveals a set of jagged teeth. His eyes flash an ice cold blue before the edges of his face soothe once more and his teeth blunten. “Or don’t, doesn’t really bother me either way. Whatever. You can relax though, vinur, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then what do you want?” I repeat, still struggling against my bindings.

“Just to sow a little chaos is all.” He shrugs. “It’s what I do.”

“I’m tired of chaos,” I spit.

“That’s what they all say,” he chuckles. “But you’ve got to admit, it was a hell of a ride to see that ego of yours at play at the party. And then the fear when you were forced to look upon yourself? It’s so good to know the kind of person that you truly are, don’t you think?”

“That’s not who I am,” I say, barely loud enough for him to hear me.

“Oh brother, you don’t even know who you are.” He pauses, lingering a gaze upon me. Once more I wrench against the chains. With a grinding clank, they pull clean from the walls themselves. The impish man at the desk in this oval-shaped office raises his eyebrows as if he’s almost impressed. “Oh boy! This is going to be such a hoot to watch. Just a tip from a pro, though, watch out for the king! See ya, big fella!”

“Wait, what does that mean!?” I call out, but it’s too late. In a blip of green light he vanishes, leaving me alone in the oval office. Behind me, the holes in the wall turn to cracks. With minds of their own, they run along the walls in infinite directions. The very foundation begins to crack.

In a similar green flare, I am spirited away.

Though he’s not there, I see his smile with those pointy little teeth.

I stand upon the lawn as the White House falls apart behind me.

“What’s a little bit of chaos, just this once?” I say to myself.

---

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4D: Consistently Inconsistent

“Fuck it, let’s go again.

I’m still trying to make sense of all of this shit. This whole burning in flames and then emerging from them, I still don’t really have a good explanation for it. I’ve told my story and I’m sticking to it, regardless of whether any of you cunts believe it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s all I've got for now. I know what I felt. Then. And now.

I’m feeling something different now, kids. You might have already noticed something about that. I did my darndest to avoid the f bombs and all of those nasty sort of words last time. Chris Chaos put me in such a damn good mood! But now… fuck that shit. That moment has passed, and me? I’m a bit impulsive. Some might even say unstable. I prefer… ‘consistently inconsistent’. If I’m happy, then I’m happy. If I’m sad, then I’m sad. And if I feel like my back is against the wall… I bite.

This feeling, this unclear purpose that drove me to the Universal Championship to begin with, it’s back on my mind and pushing me into a corner. I don’t know the answers. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like I know the question. But it’s led me this far, and there’s no fucking chance I’m going to stop now.

But as the winds of change blow me in this direction and that, I know that sometimes I say one thing and then say another. I’m usually pretty open about that shit if I get called out on it, but since Chris doesn’t seem to want to play, let me take the road least-travelled and fucking do it for him.”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “You asked me how it felt to be a champion. My honest answer is that it’s a relief. It makes me feel like what I’ve gone through has some sort of meaning. For all I know, that could be the furthest thing from the truth, but you asked me how it ‘feels’. And it feels... I feel… hopeful.”

“Hope… fucking ’hope’? I’ve got to jump in here before that gets misunderstood. It’s not a lie, per say, but fuck me if I think someone like Chris Chaos thinks I’m fucking hopeful about beating him. No. Hell to the fucking no! I’m going to shove my hand so far down that cunt’s throat that I’ll be able to crush those tiny little balls of his with my bare hands after they retreat up inside him any time he sees Jim Caedus. Let me be crystal fucking clear: any hope that I’m feeling is pointed squarely towards my own future. I’ve been riding this goddamn rollercoaster with a bit of a blindfold on, and am taking it on faith - as much as I hate that word - that eventually I’ll find what I’m looking for. That’s hope.

It makes me a bit curious though, Chris. What are you hopeful about? Ah, who am I kidding? This whole fucking deal with you linking up with Theo Pryce, that’s all about hope, right? You’re hoping that somehow, someway, people are going to sleep on you like Louis did in days gone by. And that… that’s your chance to wriggle your worthless fucking ass back into relevancy. But that’s a fool’s hope. Your greatest accolade came from beating Peter fucking Gilmour, and rest assured, the days of Gilmour, Gabe Reno, and Chris Chaos as Universal Champions are fucking over. I’ll stand atop a mountain and scream my opinons about Chris Page or Thaddeus Duke through a fucking megaphone, but I would take them in a fight over you and your ilk any day. So now you grasp at the last straws of hope you have left. And when Theo realises how much money he’s fucking haemoraging through his investment with you, all hope will be gone. Maybe then, we can finally end the running joke that is your existence.”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “You can call me a gimmick, Chris. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but miss me with them words, boy.”

“Now, those words of yours may pack about as much punch in them as your career has credibility (that’s fucking nada, by the way), but I’d still love to break this little gem down a bit further. I’m a gimmick, right? Why is that? Because at times I’m a little kooky? Oh fuck man, you got me! I must be making up the whole detained by force in a hospital for ten years. Such a fraud. Except… not. Maybe it’s my name, or lack thereof. That must be a gimmick, right? Surely I go home to Ma and Pa’s every Thanksgiving, load up on turkey and pretend that Uncle Ralphie isn’t a racist old lech, right? Maybe it’s the fact that I’m willing to put my body on the line and do whatever it takes to survive that makes me a gimmick? It couldn’t possibly be the case that there are people out there who, when determined to get the job done, actually do what it fucking takes to do it. Nah, that’s just a gimmick. Real people take handouts, don't they Chris?

Uh oh… I said handouts! I won the Universal Championship by using my 24/725/8 briefcase! That’s just another handout! Except that I earned it. Unlike you. But the nature of the cash-in, with fucking flames shooting out of every-which-where and the entire goddamn moon ablaze - THAT is a fucking gimmick!

Only in your world, Chris. I don’t need to be able to understand it to know that it happened to me. But big things don’t happen to people with your gimmick.

Should we go there? How many walls of the fragile Chris Chaos greenhouse should I bust down? Let’s just start with the big one, that which you try to define yourself by: chaos. You want to be known as the guy who’s drawn to macabre and the loathsome. Dead bodies, car crashes, and explosions. Snuff films and scat videos, that’s your jam. But that’s not chaos, my dear. No, that’s a little bit fucked in the head - takes one to know one! - but it’s not chaotic. See, chaotic is not knowing why you’re doing what you’re doing, but fucking doing it anyway. It’s not about moaning about someone ‘stealing’ the Universal Championship, it’s about throwing a fucking spanner in the wrench of people’s precious status quo.

Hi, BOB!

You want to talk ‘chaos’, well welcome to my fucking world where the irrationality of emotion seems to reign supreme. You’re not about chaos, Chris. That’s a fucking gimmick. You just want everyone to respect you, and you think by making yourself out to be some sort of merciless monster that it’ll do the trick. News flash, cunt, you’re not Louis, no matter how hard you fucking try. Nobody fucking respects you, Chris, because the moment that bell rings, you can’t fucking cut it. That’s how we know it’s a gimmick, man! Because you don’t bring that fire with you. You’re the kind of guy who is happy throwing up distractions for Sil Frigida (who I guess had some of that bed-shitting rub on off on him?) to take out Jenny Myst, but in that ring… you fucking fizzle out. You know what that makes you, Chris?

You’re the fucking Baphomet.”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “But it does make me feel validated for everything that I’ve been through. I’m talking beyond The Baphomet, The Left Hand, and my own scarred right. Before I even returned.”

“The reason that I’m motivated beyond my struggles against The Left Hand, is because believe it or not, Chris, I actually agree with you. The Left Hand was never a serious threat to the XWF. I could argue that they were a bit more of a serious threat to me personally but even then, that’s not what drives me. Admittedly, there’s a lot I’m still learning about that group, beyond its cunt-faced remnants here.

Hi Lycana!


Hi Marf!

Oh… hi Geri…

There are unfettered strands that seem uniquely relevant to me, and I'm still trying to figure all of that out. But as far as their threat level to the XWF? All sizzle, no steak. Shit, it wasn’t until Lycana finally put them behind her that she began actually experiencing success. Maybe you should find a sex cult you can quit so that you can become successful too, bud. Because for all The Baphomet’s talk, he just couldn’t back it up when push came to shove. Just. Like. You. You’re all talk.

It’s your legacy.

It’s what you’re known for.”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “Go ahead and call Chris Page a greater champion than I’ll ever be. I’m kind of cool with it, to be honest.”

“Shit, if no one else is going to call me out on this, I might as well do it myself. I’d hesitate to call that statement a lie, per se, but it’s at the very least a half truth. It’s not the comparison of Page to me that’ll get my goat. I think I’ve already made myself pretty clear that I have no interest in the glory, the ratings, and the cash money side of things. I’ve got my own thing going on. But saying ‘Chris Page’ and ‘great champion’ in the same breath is like saying ‘Chris Chaos’ and ‘doesn’t have crabs’. It doesn’t make a lick of sense! We’re talking about the guy whose first defence was against Big fucking D! Yeah, what a great champion. Do I even bother to mention John Black? Holy moly, Page must be super amaze-balls to have beaten him! Jesus, the only way it could be any worse for him is if he had to defend against people like Barney Green and fucking you!

Sorry, not sorry, Thad.

Way to shoot yourself in the fucking foot though, Chris. If Page is better than me on his worst day, then what’s that going to say about you when I paint the White House red with your fucking blood?”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “If Corey… (yadda yadda yadda) ...wanted to rip this away from me before my job was done… (yadda yadda yadda) ...I’d start the fight again. Que será, será.”

“That’s my promise, right there, Chris. You’re out here trying to stir shit up and make me keep an eye over my shoulder, but you just don’t fucking get the kind of person that I am. I go FORWARD. I keep fucking going. If Corey wanted to cash-in, I’d pick myself up, dust off these shoulders, and start swinging for the fucking fences all over again. Hell, I’d have a rematch too, and you bet your fucking ass I’d be wanting to take it. I’ve uh… I’ve kind of been looking for an excuse to roll around with Cor’ for a while now, if you catch my drift. I suppose you think that’s when he’ll stomp me dry, right? I guess you haven’t been listening to him then.

You probably should, you know? Listen, that is. If you actually think you have a chance of walking away as Universal Champion, then you might want to keep both an eye and an ear on the guy with the briefcase. You know… like you’re trying to warn me about? If you had, you’d know that Corey Smith thinks that I’m the greatest wrestler in the XWF today. He’s wrong, I’m barely even a wrestler, but it’s what he’s said, nonetheless. He even said it before he won that briefcase so the chance of smoke and mirrors is minimised. I guess you’re giving away your hand though. If you’re not watching what the next Television Champion is doing…

Hi again BOB!

...then you’re not really taking your own chances here very seriously.

Corey says he wants to wait before he claims his shot against me. But if it’s not me… yeah, I think he’d be coming a lot fucking sooner. Be glad though, Chris. Firstly, that’s not happening. It’s just fucking not, so don’t worry about. Secondly, even if it did happen, which it won’t, now I’ve actually given you the heads up!

I’m just speeding up the process for you.

You’re welcome.”

(06-16-2021, 12:52 PM)ALIAS Said: “You’re welcome.”

“Know what? Fuck it. No you’re not.

You are not welcome.

Not here. Not anywhere.

You’re sure as fucking not welcome for any advice that I’m giving you. Do you want to know why?

Because it’s all been said to you before!

I feel like I’m in fucking Groundhog Day, except instead of being awesome like Bill Murray, I’m Thaddeus fucking Duke! God fucking help me but I’m raking you over the fucking coals just like he was. Just like Corey and Jim did last month. You say one fucking inane little monolgue and I’ve got ammo in the tank for days. Fuck you, Chris. You’re incapable of learning. All that hot air before Leap of Faith about how you’re going back to your old ways, NOBODY FUCKING CARES! The only person who thinks that Chris Chaos’s old ways are in any way something to be intimidated by is Chris Chaos himself. You’re not one of the best to ever do it, you were the fastest kid at fat camp. You like to talk about appearances, right? Well in this analogy the other kids grew up and started hitting the gym, while you started hitting the ham hocks by the fucking crate full. Metaphorically of course.

The world has moved past you, cunt. You’re desperately searching for anything that can make you relevant in the new world, but with every scrambled step you take all you do is waste oxygen, and that, my friend, I mean literally. This is fucking rinse and repeat. You get rinsed, and then it gets repeated and you get fucking rinsed again by whoever is next. It doesn’t matter if you’re ‘Chris’ or ‘Corporate’; if it’s 2016, 2021, or anywhere in between; you’re the same pathetic piece of shit that you’ve always been.

Yin.

Yang.

'Do you think it will hurt, Chris fucking Chaos? Hitting the water from that height? Surely it has to feel like concrete…'

I guess what I’m saying is…

Jump off a fucking bridge, Chris.”