Recap A couple months back Corey enlisted the help of Tommy Gunn to rescue a young man named Malcolm, who Corey’s former malevolent persona The Engineer had manipulated and recruited into being a back up housing should anything ever happen to Corey’s body. After The Engineer’s death, Malcolm had been held against his will by cultists of Aiwass. After rescuing Malcolm, Corey offered him refuge. But Malcolm was justifiably ill at ease with Corey. They have yet to have a serious conversation about what came between them….until today.

Christian closed the door softly behind him and looked at Corey, who was doing his best impression of a nervous wreck and nailing it. He says he’s ready.

Corey nodded, but took no further action.

Sooooo, are you going to talk to him?

I’m not sure I’m ready. He looks at Christian plaintively. There’s not exactly a “Making Amends With the Guy Your Previous Personality Indoctrinated Into a Cult….For Dummies.”

Christian smirks a little. No, I suppose not. But we both know not everything in life comes with a guide.

Yeah, I know. He breathes the words out with resignation. Corey starts to move towards the door when Christian surprises him with a hug.

You got this. He kisses the side of Corey’s head. Your compass always points towards the good.. You know what to do.

They part and Corey faces the door once again. He lets himself in, and then closes it behind him just as silently as Christian did.

Malcolm looks at Corey, trying to restrain a deer in the headlights expression. He's seated on his bed, headphones about his head. He brings them down to his neck before addressing Corey.



Hey.

Hey.

Malcolm tugs a bit at the headphones around his neck. A nervous gesture that didn’t really serve a purpose, but gave Corey an opening all the same.

What are you listening to?

Kid Cudi.

Oh? He’s really, uh, really good.

Yeah. Malcolm shifts on the bed and his eyes tick towards the window. Helping me not to get so anxious I barf right now.

Corey was left in that awkward expanse of not knowing whether that was a joke. He suddenly realized he was still standing, which could be seen as intimidating, so he pointed to a nearby chair and said, Do you mind?

You own everything here.

Yeah….I...do…. He drifted off before taking a seat. Then, surreptitiously trying to wipe the sweat from his palms on his shorts, Corey scrambles for how to proceed when Malcolm surprises him by beating him to the punch.

I know it wasn’t you. Not really. He’s no longer staring out the window, but he’s not looking at Corey either, instead affixing his eyes on his phone that’s propped up against his curled up legs. But it’s still hard, you know? A pause ensues. I told your boyfriend I was afraid of you.

Corey winces. Look man, I….

That was a lie. The climate in the room transforms and Corey abruptly finds that he and Malcolm have locked eyes. I was afraid. At first. But that’s not what I’m struggling with now.

So, what did you lie to Christian about? I don’t understand.

How I feel. About you. He gestures dismissively at the air, indicating something in the abstract. About The Engineer. Malcolm’s lips form into a tight line. Something’s roiling down deep. I….I think I fell in love with that monster.

Oh…

He works his jaw nervously, but remains eyes on with Corey. I see now how stupid that was. I know I was being used. I know it. But he never hurt me. And back then, clearing such a low bar was enough. Not being actively abused was enough. A tear escapes his left eye, and he wipes it away quickly with his palm. And now, when I look at you, all those confused, pathetic feelings come roaring back….

It’s not pathetic. Corey offered hopefully.

Yeah it is. He smiles, but it’s severe. So now, everytime I see you, I feel….he trails off. Corey waits patiently for him to finish. I feel this stew of love and betrayal and shame. And then, I feel guilty because I know, in the end, even though it was YOUR body, none of that is actually your fault. That’s MY shit. Not yours.

No. Corey shakes his head. I allowed The Engineer to happen. My weakness let that thing in. I bear more responsibility for that than you realize.

Malcolm doesn’t have a response for that. Maybe he’s unconvinced. Either way, he takes the reins again, but changes the subject. Thank you for letting me stay here.

Corey smiles genuinely. Of course. And you can stay as long as you need. Anything I can help you out with, just say the word.

Another wrought pause, as though he’s debating something internally. I signed up for a vocational class. Car repair. I’ve always liked cars. He cringes a bit. That sounded stupid.

No! No, that’s GREAT! He enthuses. I’ve got a whole garage for you to practice on. In fact, the Tiburon has been making this weird knocking noise.

I don’t know what I’m doing yet. He smiles self consciously. Then, another course correction lands. Are you going to tell Christian what I said?

About…? Corey knew, and felt bad inwardly for playing dumb.

About how I feel about seeing you. He’d probably be mad, right?

I don’t know if “mad” is the word, but yeah, maybe let’s keep that on the DL. Corey offered, still not quite sure if he fully grasped the roiling brew of emotions Malcolm was feeling.

It doesn’t bother you? Malcolm again found something very interesting in his phone. We had sex. Sort of.

Corey grimaces, conceding that that was both factual and uncomfortable. I mean, given the circumstances…. He chanced a look at Malcolm. I don’t think it bothers me. I wasn’t at the wheel.

Oddly, Malcolm looks almost hurt by this for some inscrutable reason. But he rallies quickly. Right. He bites at his bottom lip, worrying it. I’m glad you’re not bothered by it. But I’d still hate for that to get between you and Christian.

The words landed hard, ginning up fresh anxiety. Can I be so sure Christian wouldn’t be pissed? He settles on a simple declaration with a less than solid foundation. It won’t.

Okay. Malcolm responded simply. He smiles nervously and catches Corey’s eye again. He seems to really love you. Christian, I mean. He chuckles at himself reproachfully for stating the obvious.

Yeah. We’re pretty solid. We share a lot of the same guilt complexes and we both love shitty Hallmark Christmas movies. Corey smiles, letting Malcolm know it’s okay for him to do so as well. Anyway, dinner bell’s about to chime. You joining us?

It was Dante’s turn to cook tonight.

The statement is self explanatory. So, pizza night?

I already ordered. You and Christian are more than welcome to have some.

Corey nods. I’d like that. Then, pumping his fists like a hyperactive grade schooler, PIZZA PARTY!

Just a word of warning though, it’s half spinach and half mushroom.

You’re a monster. Corey winked and headed to the door to let Christian in.

LATER

Corey is by himself in the manse’s rec room, pool cue in hand as he eyeballs a challenging shot. With a burst of motion and the clack of polished resin meeting more polished resin, he sinks one of his targets, but the other rebounds off the wall just shy of the corner pocket. He points at the ball angrily at first, but then twists it into a smile. Room for improvement! Then, placing the cue down on the table, he turns to the camera.

Speaking of “room for improvement”, Andre! My man! Big, big ups to you for proving me wrong. See, I thought you weren’t very bright. And in my last promo, I gave you the option of admitting you’re shook or defiantly declaring yourself to be “un-shook” and looking like an overconfident, insight-less ass. You took the third path and said NOTHING AT ALL.

Ooof! Bravo! It was a rout! Boy do I have organic free range egg on my face.

And ya see, I’m not one of those people who hops to assume that a silent opponent is an ineffective opponent. I mean, there’s plenty of reasons you may not have had anything to say about our match:


Severe IBS!
Got distracted binge watching Charmed!
Mandatory B.O.B. company picnic!
An awkward erection!
Rendered comatose by errant farts from Bobby Bourbon!
Losing a basketball came to Uncle Jay on purpose to protect the sanctity of his childish, fragile ego!
You a shook ass bitch….oh wait, we WEREN’T assuming that…*ahem*....
Trying to parse the symbolism in an Alias promo!
Baby Mama drama!
Got a cat!
Got two cats!
An infected toe nail!
You a shook ass bi-UGH, AGAIN?! My bad!
Steroids!
Became a Q Anon supporter!
Your cat had kittens!
Celebrating PRIDE!
...while also trying desperately to stifle latent homosexual thoughts!
You a shook ass….OH STOP IT!

Corey throws his hands in the air, looking frazzled. It just keeps sneaking in there! But look Andre, no matter the reason for keeping mum, I just want you to know that I think you made the best possible choice. Because nothing you had to say would have halted the cosmos-level inevitability of me winning the TV championship anyway!

That title and I have history. Very strange, indirect history, but history nonetheless. And to me, the TV title is more than just the red headed stepchild championship of the XWF (although that’s probably not true anymore, thanks Internet title!). It means something! And isn’t that true of ANY championship? That the meaning inherent in that big awkward mass of leather and steel isn’t intrinsic, but given meaning by the person who holds it?

When Lux had that title, she backed down from no one. Hell, she even called out some of the best in the business to challenge for it! Nobody really took her up on it because apparently they don’t watch TV or something, but the fact remains. Lux CARED. And I’m gonna CARE too. I want the TV title to be the most baller, exciting belt on the airwaves. And I’m gonna do it by calling out some of the biggest names in the XWF. Now, I’m sure some of them will turn their noses up at the “mere” TV championship. But some might just take the bait. And I’m gonna focus on people I’ve never faced before, brand new, never before seen contests poppin’ off every night on Savage!

So that begs the question, what were YOU going to do with YOUR reign? Aside from praying to God every night that I wouldn’t step back in your lane. Huh? Were you going to have this much vision? Were you going to pump this much concentrated thrill into the eyeballs of the XWF fanbase? Nahhh, probably not! You were probably just hoping for another decent, but largely boring, reign as a stepping stone to the next best thing. But Andre, for you, I don’t think there is a next best thing. At least, not while you’re in B.O.B. Think about all the people there who have more clout than you. Miss Fury, herself. Them No Good Bastards. Dolly *snrkt* Waters. Chris Page. Dude, when it comes time for B.O.B. to proffer up their best and brightest to go after those money championships, you won’t even be an afterthought. Warming the bench next to Money Oswald looking like a couple of pathetic sad sacks. And calm down Chris, I’m only considering you “best and brightest” because you did win a Universal Championship. Even though every weakness I saw in you was confirmed when you pasted your bed with greasy old man shits against Lycana.

Now's the part of the promo where I walk back some of the grrr and make some concessions. Andre, I don't think you're bad at this. You're certainly not next level though, like Main and Dock (that felt dirty), and Raven (when he cares), and Thad Duke, and the real Dolly Waters, and Jim Caedus, and Big Preesh. You ain't at those levels, you know that. And until you cast off this B.O.B. albatross about your neck you're always gonna be a glorified "Vincent" consigned to doing the bitch work like cleaning up the puke TK sprayed all over the hotel walls or mopping up Ozzy's tears. You will never be allowed to reach those levels because the pecking order is set and you're just another slab of beef turned cannon fodder aimed at whoever Miss Fury and Chris Page decide to fuck with next.

My advice? Butch up and be your own man. I do it all the time. It’s pretty sweet. You’re not obligated to play second fiddle to anyone and I don’t have to spend a single second in the same room as Thunder Knuckles. But I reckon you’re not gonna take my advice. Whatever. I can say that I tried.

Oh, and incidentally, you don’t need to worry about me drafting you for War Games. I like my team members a bit more….polished. You got some work to do, buddy! And I just know you’re gonna be feelin’ “some kind a way” about me after Savage and I just don’t need that kind of negative energy, ya feel me?

Anyway, see ya soon! And please wash thoroughly after completing B.O.B. latrine duty.

Corey waves to the camera as the shot cuts.

Eyes In the Dark

A silent shadow stood witness just outside the manse, settling deep into the night like a second skin. And he watched. Watched the happy faces. The laughter. The contentment.

They were having a bonfire outside, a roaring conflagration into which the little ones plunged sticks with marshmallows until their unweathered skin could stand the heat no longer. Lawn chairs were strewn about, each one playing host to one of Corey’s wayward souls, one of his beloved “weirdos”, one of his lost.

But the Whisper wasn’t there for them. He was there for him He was there for Corey Smith.

Almost as if responding to a cue, Corey stepped through the back door, shouting jubilantly at the crowd as he displayed a haul of more marshmallows and Hershey Bars. The closest children ran to him, playfully trying to snatch at the goodies, and Corey responded in kind with a playful monstrous roar that “scared” the children back a few paces.

Malcolm followed in his stead. For Whisper was well acquainted with Malcolm as well, and a laceration of a smile appeared beneath Whisper’s mask. Treachery confirmed. .

The interloper watched Corey take his place in one of the clusters of seats, sliding into conversation with the practiced ease of the grandstander that he was. He passed along the sweets to one of the older children without looking, giving those in front of him his full attention. Just then, Christian, loverboy, approached Corey from behind, surprising him with a hug and a kiss to the top of his head.

Whisper drank it all in, breathing the happiness like soiled air. It left a bitter tang. Scenes of devastation exploded in his mind’s eye unbidden. Just as it always did. Just as it always would. Broken soulless bodies. Fire. Blood streaming through rifts in the dirt. The cold steel of pilfered heavy weaponry in his tremulous child hands. Those accusing eyes. He tamped it down, sent the visions back into those hellish tropical forests buried down deep in his psyche.

It was time to go. He could tarry no longer. Already he had risked exposure. But he had to see him. He had to.

He had to know what he was going to have to kill.