“Aaaaaaaaaaall right! Does everyone have their marshmallows and sticks?”

Four men sit around a campfire. Each on their own log, a square around the smoldering flame. They are surrounded by darkness, in the dead of night. The fire is the only source of light.

Each has a stick hovering over the flame, at the end of which are puffy cylinders of gelatin and sugar…

Standing over their shoulders is a man with a green felt sweater, with a hands-free harmonica holder around his neck. He smiles and looks around the silent group.

“Great! I can SEE that you all have your marshmallows and sticks even though you aren’t COMMUNICATING with me!”

“Your coworker, Corey, thought y’all might need a push to come together as a team! Fortunately, I’m a counselor here at Camp Wannapoeia and I’ve been paid asked to help y’all develop Healthy Communication! Yaaaaaaaay!”

The happy communication coach talks like a puppet on Sesame Street that even the other puppets hate.

“My name is Doctor Talker and I specialize in opening healthy lines of communication!”

“Where’d you get your doctorate?”

Doctor Talker turns his head to Centurion, who’s smirking after making his clever comment.

“Ha! Well, fella, I got my degree from the University of FEEL-adelphia.”

“What was your major?”

“...FEEL-osophy!”

“Minor?”

“...Women’s Studies.”

His voice drops two octaves.

“Hey man, can I do my job?”

Cent puts one hand in the air defensively, still smirking as his other hand maintains a flawless control over roasting his marshmallow into golden bronze. “Don’t let me stop you, Dock.”

The Doctor lets his voice lift back into his ooey gooey baby voice.

“Now, you all may know OF each other. But do you really KNOW each other? If you don’t, you’re about to! And if we’re going to know each other, we have to meeeeeeet each other! We’re going to greeeeeeet each other! I want everyone to turn and shake the hand of the person to their left. Starting with Mr. Clever over here.”

Centy sees NK to his left… And returns to toasting his marshmallow.

“Um… let’s keep it moving. You? The… soldier?”

NK turns left and lunges gracefully at Corey Smith with a perfectly executed handshake, performed exactly as was diagrammed in his American hello’s class from Central Command. His elbow bent at 57 degrees, his thumb sticking at a 36 degree angle from his fingers. He mechanically separates his fingers at small 7 degree radii, not too distant, but not leaving his fingers bunched together.

He shakes his hand up and down within a 22 degree spectrum of movement. Corey takes his hand out of robotic repetition and gives it one firm shake.

“Greetings, Corey Smith.”

“Hey, NK.”

“Fine weather tonight, eh?”

At the sheer thought of more weather chat, Corey rips his hand away from NK, who smiles, mimicking genuine human warmth poorly, before retrieving his notebook to jot down thoughts on this handshake experience.

Corey turns left to greet Alias… Who is completely mesmerized by the flame.

Corey rests a hand on Alias’ shoulder. “Hey man, you good?”

Alias watches the marshmallow at the end of the stick turn from brown to black. Its white insides bubbling and boiling as the sugar seems to consume itself from the inside… This world is clearly this way, when held to the flame. Its corruption is revealed, made apparent. Hiding its inherent chaos in false form and structure is a lie men tell themselves to sleep at night. But in truth, this is what all man’s folly is… A deceitful sugary confection, burnt inedible and fading to ash.

The Doctor makes a point. Could this random bunch of future carcasses really be described as ‘knowing’ each other?


Corey looks up at the doctor.

“Hey, my friend has a thing about... fire. Could we maybe move this to a... Stove?… or like a picture of a fire, Mr. Talker?”

“Doctor, please. I didn’t take 12 years of online classes at University of Phoenix to be called MISTER Talker.”

“I thought you went to FEEL-adelphia.”

The Doctor’s head spins back to Centy, who has smothered his perfectly cooked marshmallow into two Hershey bars. He gently presses it between graham crackers.

“I’m just saying, now I’m unclear as to your background. You’re not communicating effectively.”

Cent takes a bite of delicious s’more…

SNAP! Doctor Talker breaks a branch in half. Everyone except Alias looks up.

“New Rule!”

He holds one end of the branch firmly and sticks it into the air so everyone can see it.

“This is the talking stick. No one can talk without the talking stick. If anyone wants to speak, please wait until the holder of the talking stick has finished their thought, then please ask for the talking stick.”

“How can we ask for it if we can’t talk?”

“NO TALKING WITHOUT THE TALKING STICK.”

…

“...Haha, sorry, but you didn’t have the talking stick. Please REACH for the talking stick when you want to speak.”

NK puts away his notebook, now that he’s finished writing down the rules for the talking stick. He then holds out his hand. Doctor Talker smiles and holds out the stick, which NK takes.

“So, to restate, one must hold the talking stick to speak. Without the stick, one must remain silent and listen to the speaker holding the stick.”

Doctor Talker smiles wide. A breakthrough!

“Exactly! Very good, Mr…” He checks his class roster in his pocket. “Crim-In-Al. Someone’s been ACTIVELY listening! You’re the star pupil! Everyone could learn from your example.”

NK, with the slightest bit of encouragement, shakes his fists at his waist, raw enthusiasm for being recognized for his excellence following directions.

Centy is disgusted.

“Since you’re doing so well, how about you start us off in our first conversation game?”

“A game? Two games in one day?!?”

“Well, it’s a game in a loose sense. It’s more of an opportunity to learn about each other and go from ‘strangers’ to ‘friends’. It’s called Two Truths And A Lie.”

NK is still 100% focused on the word ‘game’.

“I demand a complete summary of the rules of this game, Doctor Edwin Talker.”

“Well, I don… How do you know my first name?”

“Upon learning you’d be among the staff at this camp, I personally read each of your articles in your monthly column of the quarterly magazine, Healing Through Feelings.”

“Oh... Neat! So, the game... You Say Three Things About Yourself, Two Truths and One Lie. And everyone around you has to guess which one ISN’T the truth!”

NK is feverishly writing in his notebook, while still gripping the talking stick…

“And what prize goes to the winner? The sweet glory of triumph?”

“Oh, um… Whoever guesses the lie... gets to go next.”

“So, to summarize, the speaker says a truth, a second truth AND a lie. Then, th-”

Cent yanks the talking stick out of NK’s hand.

“Oh my God, it’s two truths and a lie. Could you just play the stupid game so this all-girls’ sleepover can move onto ‘playing with a ouija board’ and ‘braiding each other’s hair’?”

Cent shoves the stick back into NK’s hand, then raises an eyebrow at the Doctor and mouths ‘Better?’

Doctor Talker grits his teeth.

“VERY WELL! BUT I FOREWARN YOU!”

NKWC takes turns looking into each one of his teammates allies Two Truths and A Lie opponents.

“You shall never see through my claims. I am an enigma, my truth and lies interweave into a tapestry of incomprehensibility that your inferior minds shall never circumnavigate.”

NK looks back and forth among the group, sneering sinisterly like the sinful snake he is.

“TRUTH #1: CENTRAL COMMAND NEVER LIES.”

“Oh, um, Mr. Crim-In-Al, you don’t d-”

“TRUTH #2: NORTH KOREA IS LIMITLESSLY RICH AND STRONG.”

“Mr. Crim-In-Al, you’re not supposed t-”

“AND FINALLY: THE LIE…”

NK glances both ways, like a cunning viper staring each of his teammate’s in the eye with a steely gaze, for optimal truth obfuscation.

“I do NOT enjoy the music of Karen Carpenter.”

He sits back and maintains a grim, stoic face, attempting to remain unreadable.

Cent buries his head in his hands… Then opens up his right palm.

“Aha! The first challenger, sure to fall.”

NK hands over the talking stick to Cent.

“The Karen Carpenter one.”

NK gasps, his eyes bulge, shocked to his very core.

“How did you see through my ruse? Witch! Sorcerer!”

“You said ‘and finally: the lie’.”

“...Were we allowed to not share that? I thought they had to be said in the order of the game’s name. Why would I then obfuscate them?”

“Let’s… He’ll learn as he goes.”

Doctor Talker holds out his hand for the talking stick. NK hands it over… And the Doctor waves it left...

“Corey, how about you-?”

Suddenly, the stick yanked away… into Cent’s grip.

“Doc, if I was LISTENING correctly, the winner gets to go next right?”

“...Yes, Mr. Centurion.”

“Great.”

Centurion turns directly to NK.

“#1: Your shithole country is a global embarrassment.”

“#2: You’re a joke that doesn’t belong in the XWF.”

“#3: I’m STOKED to be on a team with YOU as captain.”

Centurion tosses the talking stick right at NK’s face. It rebounds off and connects with his nose...

“Figure out my riddle, K-Pop.”

NK hits the ground, the stick comes to rest on his chest, blood trickling down his nose.

“YOU FOOL!”

A beat.

“You’ve lied twice! The rules demand two truths and ONLY ONE LIE!”

Corey nabs the stick off NK’s chest.

“Cent? For clarity? I'm the team captain.”

Cent’s eyes open wide, with a look of realization on his face.

“Oh really? That’s fascinating. Cuz I was in Tokyo when I was told I’d play on this squad… By Kim Jong-Il’s old sports minister. And he told me your fascist pal here was running the show.”

Corey looks at NK, grimacing.

“NK… Is that true?”

NK wrenches himself back upright on the log, before straightening the shoulders of his military jacket.

“Corey Smith, I assure you, Central Command must have been misinformed.”

“Uh uh… I think we already covered that ‘Central Command never lies’. So, if they were ‘misinformed’, it must have been from their primary source of intel.”

Cent sits back, grinning like he’s in heaven.

Corey sits on the stump, puzzling. He looks down at the stick in his hand and shakes his head.

“Whatever. I’ll go, I guess.”

“Um…”

“#1. I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“#2. I got the shit I dumped on #BOB for free because there’s an intersection of wrestling fans that hate #BOB and agricultural workers?”

“#3. I want to use the briefcase…”

“On me.”

Corey spins toward Alias.

“No, I’m… What?”

Alias is still facing towards the fire. Watching the flames crackle, die and be replaced with new sparks. A constantly shifting ecosystem of uncertainty, surviving by consuming all the oxygen in its space to survive.


“Alias… I don’t… We talked… I’m not going to...”

“Why wouldn’t you, Corey Smith? Alias used one to obtain the Universal Title himself.”

“Great point, Kimmy.”

“That’s why Comrade Centurion described Comrade Alias as an illegitimate Universal champion.”

Cent’s smile vanishes, now drawn into the drama instead of being a delighted fire-stoker.

“Well… I...”

“You most recently said that the true champion was ‘Chronic’ Christopher Page.”

“SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!”

All eyes turn back towards Doctor Talker, who is enraged. He takes a deep breath before straightening his handless harmonica holder around his neck.

“I know what’ll get you all to hum the same tune! A sing-along!”

Doctor Talker blows into his harmonica to set the key. D Major.

“Ohhhhhh! Row row your boat, gently down the stream! Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream! Jump in!”

No one does. Talker continues to sing the verse. As it concludes, he says “Someone, hop in!”

“Fuck this.” Centurion stands from his log and heads into the trees.

Everyone’s eyes follow him, as Doctor Talker continues singing.

“Ugh, this…” Corey sighs and heads off himself, uncomfortable with the tension in the air.

“A three-part harmony! Row, row…”

Suddenly, the fire… It just gets up and leaves, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. The darkness of the night drops onto the scene.

A voice speaks out.

“...What? What happened?”

“I believe Comrade Alias took the fire.”

“...He took... The fire?”

“Yes…”

A beat.

“I, too, shall take my leave.”

“Wait, no, hold on, someone needs to write me a check! I sold y’all the deluxe communication coaching package!”

More footsteps, with precise military timing, leave the scene.

Doctor Talker sighs… Completely in the dark.

“Welp, guess I’ll sing myself. Row row row your boat, gently down the stream…”

Suddenly, a hand drops over Doctor Talker’s mouth and yanks him into the trees...

“Merrily… merrily... merrily…”

“Life is... but…”

A scream.

***

The view is pitch black and eerily silent.

Then, a light. The flame at the end of a matchstick.

And who should be at the other side of that matchstick? Whose evil chin should be illuminated from underneath?

What diabolical demon dreams to derive decimation and dangers damsels and darling infants alike?

Who else but that monstrous maggot, that malevolent malcontent, only magnanimous when meting out malfeasance? The North Korean War Criminal.

He smiles sinisterly.

“I bet this is the first moment of relief you’ve had in a while, Thaddeus Duke.”

“I bet you’ve been watching intently, desperately. Your team is so overloaded with ego that it’s sinking under the weight of its own self-importance.”

“This is probably the first time you’ve thought… The other team isn’t getting along either… Maybe we have a chance.”

In the dim light of the lit matchstick, NK’s smile widens…

“Incorrect.”

“You’ve got a Team of Failures, Each Failing Independently Of The Whole, But Also Combining Their Failures into a Failing Team... Failing Even More Profoundly Than The Sum of Its Failing Parts.”

“It’s a model testament to Failure. Much like the United States.”

NK winks.

“Maybe you had a surge of hope when Morbid Angel had to swap out and be replaced with Comrade Centurion. Perhaps you thought, ‘At Least My Team All Made It To The Big Dance. No Last Minute Changes’...”

NK shakes his head.

“Thaddeus Duke, you were in desperate need of some change. And fate saw fit to send you none.”

“I’ll grant you, your team members have managed to speak. Congratulations.”

“But are they delivering the same message, Thaddeus Duke?”

“You’ve got Andre Dixon double-talking, promising his loyalty to two different Teams. He’s #BOB through-and-through and he’ll always have their back, but also he’s on Discontinuum and he promises they’ll win! Oh but he’s loyal to #BOB. But he won’t make it easy for them.”

“That’s confidence-inducing, huh, Thaddeus Duke? That #BOB’s Andre Dixon won’t take it easy on #BOB? Betcha if they do win, he’ll manage to make an appearance in their locker room holding up the War Games Cup with them.”

“Then, you’ve got Christopher Chaos. Bed-shitting Christopher Chaos who managed to go his own direction completely and utterly humiliate himself so much that it took off the shine from you and DOCK for teaming with this mentally-unfit macau.”

NK laughs.

“Genuinely, a macau. I’ve never seen someone parrot every Korean joke in a promo before. Clearly, Christopher Chaos prefers comedy quantity over comedy quality.”

“I mean, dog eating jokes, starving references, Kim Jong Kill Yourself… Kim Jong Il PUNS… KIM JONG IL… PUNS.”

“What I’m getting at is Chaos’ material was bad when it was just a post on a white-supremacist message board from 1997. And it’s aged like… well, like Chaos himself.”

“Then, DOCK… the most impressive session of trash talk delivered in the opening week… Aimed almost entirely at his own Team! I thought I hated Andre and Chaos, but DOCK couldn’t get through one promo without making my talking points for me.”

“Then, there’s you, Thaddeus Duke. And to your credit, you have the highest degree of difficulty. And it’s so obvious you’re trying with all your might. You explain why people shouldn’t underestimate you. That the XWF needs you.”

“I hope you silence your critics, Thaddeus Duke. I hope you are remembered as a great competitor. Because you will surely go down as the worst Team Captain in history, on selections alone…”

NK moves the match up from under his neck to his chin.

“There was only one consistent message in Dis-continuum’s promos.”

“That I am the weak link.”

“But here is the difference, Thaddeus Duke.”

“Your team is four separate chains.”

Suddenly, three other matches come alight.

And we see Alias, Corey Smith and Centurion standing beside NK.

“We are one chain. We know our roles.”

“Team Captain.”

“Universal Champion.”

“Support Player.”

NK smiles again.

“Professional Irritant.”

NK then leans to examine his matchstick.

“And while my flame may not be the most respected on my Team. While some might claim it provides the least warmth and would die the quickest on its own… When all our flames are combined…”

All four men lean down with their matchsticks…

And drop them into a fire pit. And in a flash, the entire room is filled with warmth and flame, ten feet high, roaring and brimming with life.

And the four men bask in smoldering fire.

“We are an inferno that consumes all, destroys all, turns anything in its path to ash and soot. And at WarGames, we will run through everything standing in our way until the entire structure burns down around us. A testament to dominance and a monument of cinders, memorializing what happens to those that oppose us.”

The camera tilts upward at the four men standing shoulder-to-shoulder staring into the lens… Except for Alias, who glances into the fire.

“This is a good fire.”

“Thank you, Comrade Alias.”