By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden.

Echo's.

Voices.

300,000 of them to be exact.

A mass of humanity like none seen before. All coming together for one goal, coming together for one message, for one objective.

Victory

Victory over oppression. Over politics. Over hatred and bigotry. But mostly, victory over something they disagreed with. 300,000 people coming together for nothing more than to smoke, drink, have sex, listen to music and….get what they want.

But right now…...nothing. Empty. A void.

Shadows loomed from the smattering of trees around the perimeter of this large field.

Faces of anger, bliss. Disappointment and utter euphoria. The air smelled of smoke.

But right now…...nothing. Empty. A void.

Each step was on pins and needles, as if the ground was a mishmash of mush. Was it grass? Was it mud? Was it even real?

He continued to take steps, the hazy crowd seeming to get further away with every step, as if he would never reach them.

Abandoned cars were parked for miles abound, sitting in the same spots they have now for 52 years. Tents were set up housing everything from medical supplies to funnel cakes, the same as they were back then on that life-changing weekend. A tribute to the days when the music filled the air for what seemed like eternity, guitar riffs and drums with the soft hum of a singer leaking their pain through a microphone. Echoes.

Memories.

Nostalgia.

Music has always meant so much to him. It had always been a way for him to escape from his life for a few moments, from his responsibilities and his stress.

Oh the stress.

There must be some kind of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief

In a time when Americans were deeply divided on everything from traditional societal structures to foreign wars, three days of peace and music seemed to be exactly what the world needed. He thought about the world now, and the world he had immersed himself in. The United States was as divided as he had ever seen it. The XWF was a social structure that wasn’t much better, with a hierarchy that seemed to favor those who were elite and shoved those less fortunate to the side.

Man, how that sounded familiar.

Turbulent times lead to drastic actions. On August 15, 1969, one of the most celebrated music festivals in history took place in a field in Bethel, NY. What followed was beyond anything anyone could have predicted. The cultural phenomenon no one foresaw transformed an ordinary field into a historic landmark where legendary performers played to more than 450,000 people. Unimaginable mud and unforgettable moments transformed Woodstock Music and Art Fair into a cultural rallying cry for an entire generation. On August 1st, 2021, WAR GAMES will take place at this historic landmark and will become more than anyone could possibly predict. A field of peace will become a field of blood, and the war will finally come to an end. New allies will be formed, new enemies will be made, and a new era will arise from the smoldering ashes.

Voices.

Hundreds of thousands of voices. His head turned towards the stage.

Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm
I know, it's been comin' for some time
When it's over, so they say
It'll rain a sunny day
I know, shinin' down like water

His shirt began to stick to him, his hair matted to his skull. His skin was slick. Each step was heavy, as he had to pull his foot out of the mud each time, only to put it back in and repeat. Redundancy has become his strong suit.

Something propelled him to sit down, Indian style, in the ever growing mud. His eyes flickered to the misty but empty stage.

A sound from the past shook him out of his stupor. A guitar riff, and a faint roar of half-a-million. As the guitar strummed, he suddenly felt a warm sensation come over him despite the chilling drizzle.

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
Comin' down on a sunny day

He had seen the rain, and often times the sunniest of days were the times when he got soaked the most. He remembered the times when he felt as though the flood gates were open. He rained on parades, ruined people’s days. Uprooted their plans. He became a giant pain in the ass.

Yet somehow, they loved him for it.

The stage in front of him became a shapeless mass, and a simple blink shot him lightyears away. He was sitting now in the back seat of his mothers car as she argued with the man she was currently ignoring him for. He looked out the window at the other kids, as they played and laughed, chasing each other around and pushing each other with light-hearted bliss.

When they weren’t arguing, they were snorting something that looked like sugar. He remembered the pig noises as their heads came up from the dash, and the heavy breathing that followed. Some days he would pray for the rain, because she hated driving in it. She would stay home, and he could watch old cartoons on a fuzz-ridden, cracked television screen. He always seemed to pray for the rain because she liked to sleep on rainy days, something about the sound.

Yadda, yadda.

He looked back up from his sneakers and he was in his room, looking at the poster of the Playboy Bunny of the Month he had above his bed (she was actually the bunny-of-the-month almost a year ago, but he never updated the poster. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?)

There was a loud crash outside his room. It startled him and he jumped up. He emerged into the hallway to see his mother, laying there with the dining room server draped around her, glass all over the floor.

“Mom!” His voice was distant, as if he was yelling into a canyon. His first response was to help her up. Deadweight in his arms. Her speech was incoherent babble. The needle was still stuck in her arm.

He carried her to the car, through the rain storm. The puddles filled his shoes as he set her in the passenger seat and strapped her in. In the process, she had thrown up, and it was now running down his torso.

He sat outside the ER, puffing on a cigarette. He watched the rain for a while.

Yesterday, and days before
Sun is cold and rain is hard
I know, been that way for all my time
'Til forever, on it goes
Through the circle, fast and slow
I know, it can't stop, I wonder

He held up the trophy. They had won the state title. His teammates held him above their heads, and he blinked through the tears and the raindrops up to the misty seats in front of him. His eyes scanned the concourse.

She was nowhere to be seen.

He looked up to the sky, into the light grey ocean above him. The tears streamed down his eyes. He had done it. He had accomplished the goal he set out to accomplish in the beginning of the year, earned himself a scholarship, and made sure that his future was secure.

But what was it worth if she wasn’t there to see it?

Why had he prayed so hard for a rainy day?

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
Comin' down on a sunny day

The field was beginning to fill up again, and people began to sing along like a cult chanting their dirty deeds. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they believed in every syllable with every fiber of their being.


Suddenly, he was in a crowd, there were people all around.

None of them had faces.

Just blank silhouettes with holes where their faces were supposed to be. Hundreds of thousands, gathered around. Their faces didn’t matter. They were all the same, in some way. He was the same in so many ways. Nameless, faceless, just part of the crowd, the ever growing maze of flesh and bones.

As he made his way through the crowd, he felt eyes on him.

ALL the eyes on him.

Every time he looked it was still the blank, expressionless void.

Turn head back forward, and eyes piercing like daggers.

It was enough to drive a stone statue to drink.

Is this what molly felt like? MDMA? Shrooms? Is this what it felt like to be in Woodstock?

Or was this his own personal hell?

Both?

Turning his head towards the dagger eyes stabbing the side of his head for the umpteenth time, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

It was the charred, burnt face of DOCK. And next to him was the normal face of DOC. They made eye contact before the figure faded away.

Shaking his head, he looked back at the stage.

The Grateful Dead was humming a tune.

Most of the cats that you meet on the street speak of true love
Most of the time they're sitting and crying at home
One of these days they know they gotta get going
Out of the door and into the street all alone

A shadow caught the corner of his eye like a catcher mitting a fastball. 4 seamer, painting the corner.

He turned and saw Thaddeus Duke staring at him. There was a smirk on his face.

He turned back to the stage, then back to Duke. But Duke, like Doc before him, was gone.

You're sick of hanging around, you'd like to travel
Get tired of traveling you want to settle down
I guess they can't revoke your soul for trying
Get out of the door, light out and look all around

Sometimes the lights all shining on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long strange trip it's been

He knew right then and there what he had to do. DOCK and THAD, arguably his two most formidable nemesis’s over the past year and a half, had just given him the nod. Given him the guitar, told him to play a tune.

He knew right then that he would do whatever it took to make it to the main stage at Woodstock, and at the end of the night, when the smoke clears and the crowd stumbles away, he would be the last one left.

A memory along the watchtower.


Kaleidoscope colors danced around him, his body wasn’t his own. He was fully engulfed in what this place meant, what this event meant……


He awoke to blackness, with only a cloaked hand in his vision, stretched out towards him.


"When my name was drawn and my team was assigned, trust me I was just as shocked as all of you were. I already know what went on in the War Room.


Sigh.


Facepalm.


Collective Eye Roll.


I know that I, for one, dropped my water bottle on the floor and stared, mouth agape. There was no time to be angry, however. Only time for blessings.


You see, DOC is a KING. And I don't just mean the tourney win, he is a member of the infamous KINGS. Thaddeus is the nephew of Theo Pryce and a former Universal Champion who has bested me on every turn in recent memory.


One may think that this was a ploy, it was fixed, it was egg on my face, right? Lets put one over on ol' Chaos, the perennial punching bag, and laugh him out of the building.


I look at it much differently. I get a chance to stand alongside greatness and make magic happen. I get a chance to show the world that I am the best in the world at what I do. Rise to the occasion. Prove the doubters wrong.


And who do we go against? Team Corey. Mr. Briefcase. Mr. Gonna Steal a Title because he can't win one on his own. Let’s be real, Corey, you've always been the smartest little pole smoker of the bunch. No matter what persona you embodied, you always found a way to be one step ahead. I applaud that. But I know the real you. Sure, calculated, precise, but the biggest snake in this business. Smile in your face while twisting the knife in your back kinda dude. Dude? Is dude acceptable to use in 2021? I digress. It's your own team and you aren't even the best member of your own team. Hell, I'd take Morbid Angel in a one on one match against you. I know that eats you.....I know you have to be the best. Pretty boy with the world in his palm but a fragile self image because...lets be honest....You couldn’t even make a homo erectus. Despite those young boy pubes that got stuck to your face and a hairline that's retreating faster than Iraqis in a Kuwaiti oil field, you're still just a child. You don't know WHAT the fuck you believe yet, or what you’re truly capable of. Truly a shame. Eventually, Cor, your insecurities will catch up to you. You probably constantly wish you were a girl so you could bring home a large black boyfriend to really fuck with daddy, huh?


And North Korean War Criminal? Who? Is this a joke? Look....Who cares what you are, just stay the fuck away from my dog. Your from the North right? You have that certain beaten down, starving look. You look like a person who's been stuck in a sex traffic jam for a majority of your life. You're the weak link on your team. You're the one who is inevitably going to let your team down. You're a joke now and you'll be a joke then. I have made a career out of exposing frauds like you. Kim Jong Kill yourself, I am not even worried about you.


"Morbid Angel...big dude, imposing figure…..Holy man hands! I'll bet your brother’s pecker looks tiny when you grab it with those things!.....Satan called. He said he, like your parents, doesn't want you. You had this whole satanist mantra because that's what'll upset your Christian Reformed parents the most. What a REBEL. Now you’ve found the light because everyone has seen what a no talent hack you truly are. No wonder Shane recruited you so heavily. He feasts on the weak. You’ve stood tall against all who have judged you so you can judge everyone else by telling them to, like you, praise Jesus. WHAT A REBEL. Like your team captain, you’re confused. You don’t know who or what you want to be. But, unlike him, every embodiment of you sucks donkey taint. You do this all the time, show up out of the blue and expect us to care what you have to say-we don’t and never have--and do nothing for a few months and then disappear again for years until you get bored of being mediocre at home and decide to be mediocre here again. You’re stepping into the ring with giants, you’re walking with legends, and come War Games, your newfound “God” can’t even save you.


Prepare to be equalized.”

Chaos lays in the darkness, staring up into the black eternal void, unable to move anything but his eyes. In the distance, a small flame ignites before a cherry red glow of the burning end of a cigar. And then a second. The two figures puff and the cherries burn bright as they advance forward.

”What do you think?” Doc asks as he and Thaddeus comes into view.

”He’s not ready,” Thaddeus says as he looks down at Chaos. The motionless one-time nemesis looks to seethe with rage toward the XWF’s arrogant golden boy… if he could move.

Behind Doc and Thad, Andre Dixon comes into view. ”He ain’t shit.”

”It’s hard to believe this is the same man that beat us once,” Thad says after a puff.

”Once,” Doc emphasizes. ”He’s been a beaten dog since.”

”He’s become his own worst enemy. I know what its like being one’s own worst enemy.”

”How did you get passed it?”

Thad turns his head slowly to look at Doc. ”I started seeing my shrink.” Doc in turn, gives Thaddeus his famous grin. ”There’s not a lot of time Doc… either he tanks early and its just us...”

”As it should be,” D’Ville interrupts.

”Or we give the man a crash course and he gives us some glimpse of the Chris Chaos of old.”

Thaddeus takes a puff of his cigar before handing it backward to Andre Dixon. Andre takes a puff.

”It’s time for our session,” D’Ville says toward Thad. The young man hesitates, but nods his confirmation. Doc then gives Dixon a nod. Dixon steps forward and pulls Chaos up before placing him over his shoulder. As he turns, he jams a syringe into Thad’s chest.

”Fuck!” Thad cries out. ”That one hurt,” he says as he pulls the syringe from his chest and looks at it a moment before tossing it to the ground.

Looking up at Doc, ”This one feels diff...” Dixon leans down as Thaddeus Duke falls forward unconscious. Andre lifts him up over his other shoulder. With Dixon carrying the unconscious Thaddeus and Chris Chaos, Doc D’Ville leads DisContinuum into the darkness.