February 22nd, 2022 Somewhere far away from The Facility

A hotel window overlooks an open heath, stalks of grass dancing as the breeze ran through them, nearly bending them over before the air achieves an eerie stillness. The hotel is disconnected from most anywhere, only a small line of parked cars and a dirt road to the building indicating any civilization for several miles. The sun gleams through the window, illuminating a few of the rooms of this hotel, its existence a seeming void of those unfortunate enough to decide to stay in its walls. A rural limbo. A flyover purgatory. Walking up to the window is one Dante Cormack, more commonly known as The Custodian. He steps up to the sill, a cup of tea in one hand and a curled palmful of letters in the other. He adjusts his monocle as he sits, tossing away letter and letter until one catches his eye. A request of a file from his former calling. He tears the envelope open peering inside and sees a single name, one that makes him tremble with an emotion he doesn't fully comprehend.

Marf Swaysons.

The Custodian takes a sip of his tea, glancing out at the setting sun as the world outside seems to become more still by the second. The more the name reverberates in his head, the more the meeting with the investors begins to fade from his focus. And where once his shaking was masked under a veil of inner fury, his next trembles were more that of... anticipation. Like a knife reserved for the back of an old friend.

Meanwhile at The Facility...

Darcy Ellis puffs a bit of air, blowing a strand of hair out of her face before it quickly falls back into place, rendering the entire effort useless. She rolls her eyes somewhat while she adjusts in the head chair in the Main Operations Observation room. While The Custodian was out of town, she was left in charge of the day-to-day operations of the project, an honor she had no real interest in taking. In fact, she had kicked back every simulation she could to a later date, having repeatedly vocalized her objections to the use of these personality training programs on a living being. She ultimately knew that for better or worse, she was going to have to run one of them, however that could be averted for a few days more. The Chameleon didn't seem to mind, but it was always hard to tell with them. She had tried, in passing, to learn more about TC-01, but every safeguard that could have been placed before The Custodian departed had been, in a rather secure fashion, too. The price of her curiosity and devotion to "morality" was an intense lull in productivity and a lofty boredom.

So, Darcy blows the strand of hair away again, awaiting its familiar drop back onto her cheek. But things rarely got to be that simple for large amounts of time at The Facility. Her tiny bit of hair moves the side of her face, an artificial gust pushing it aside and messing her already untidy hair. She peered to the side to see that the AC had just been switched on, by its side with a remote her coworker, Douglas Donohue. He gave her a slight smirk, pleased to get her attention. His winter coat is on, so he likely is looking to leave sooner rather than later, but not without one final action.

"You ruined my concentration; I hope you know that."

Douglas places the AC's remote on one of the shining, silver desk surfaces that The Facility seemed to be drowning in.

"Well, I figured you could use some cold air to remind you you're not dead with how you've been sitting on that chair the past few days."

Darcy rolls her eyes, clearly not too interested in whatever lecture she was expecting sooner than later.

"We have to get it in there soon."

There it was.

"You know damn well why that's a bad idea, Dougie."

She glares at him, a passive animosity in her words, not for Douglas, but someone she really couldn't talk back to too much without risking sacrificing something huge. Donohue shrugs, ignoring her frustrations to the best of his ability.

"It's also our job and I know "damn well" that you have a good reason to keep yours."

"Maybe, but that doesn't justify any of this."

His head tilts slightly as he walks towards the door, having finished his shift, an exhausted sigh leaves him while his words linger in the air.

"If it bothers you that much... you know where the door is."

It shuts with a flat thud, many different mechanisms inside the door preventing an overbearing noise, instead leaving an empty space where that sound would have filled nicely. Darcy rests her cheek upon a knuckle, readjusting her glasses as she stares at the blank monitors, the door to the Simulation Chamber gazing at her intently as her eyes fall upon it. It was a state-of-the-art brainwashing tool, in her view. A giant box where a group of people decided they could try to play God to "smooth out" the problems people had. Like a disgusting social eugenics. It left an awful taste in her mouth, and she had considered just going to her room in The Facility for the night, but a curiosity overcame her. She presses a few buttons on the chair's control panel, knowing the code to summon The Chameleon, although slow to perform the taps due to being so unfamiliar with inputting it. After a short while of waiting, her boredom is temporarily solved. The Chameleon enters the room.

"Is it time?"

Darcy sighs, shaking her head while flapping her hand quickly, nervous to vocalize anything to them. It was still difficult for her to really speak to them. The reflective mask. The voice that sounded like a mix of everyone she had ever heard speak and simultaneously an impossible collection of vocal tones sewed together. The calm demeanor in the face of such a brutally sterile environment. They were an anomaly, for sure. A scary as hell one in most circumstances. Still, she was fairly certain they weren't going to harm her.

"Oh? No, no! I-uh... I was just... wanting to talk... with you... now..."

Each pause caused a greater diminishing of her certainty that they wouldn't harm her, enough to the point where her voice began to shrink.

"If that's alright."

The Chameleon sits down, pulling up a plain chair next to the rather large and imposing seat of The Custodian where Ellis sat.

"What do you want to talk about? Has there been any issue with my performance?"

She gulps, shaking her head quickly past the point of being awkward as she rejected the possibilities outright.

"Absolutely not! Quite the opposite, in fact! You've done nothing but repeatedly impress the people who really matter."

She gives a half-hearted smile, uncertain how to convey appreciation for them, especially given the lack of a face.

"Then what do we need to speak about?"

Her eyes drop to the floor as she struggles to find a good way to approach the subject.

"I just thought it might be nice to talk in general..."

The Chameleon leans forward in their chair, resting a hand on their chin.

"Don't you have coworkers to fulfill that kind of social need?"

They had her there.

"I guess, but they and I don't really talk much outside of business. Except Dougie, but he's kind of a prick."

The Chameleon gives a distinctly inquisitively look despite the inability to emote.

"I mean that in a loving way."

Despite her earnestness, the defensive quality to her tone certainly didn't help her case entirely.

"I was under the impression that trying to make friends with "the subject" was frowned upon in your fields."

Two for two, geez.

"To be fair, the people in my fields don't exactly deal with intelligence that isn't explicitly artificial most times."

The Chameleon seems to soften slightly, accepting her reasoning.

"So, you just want to chat?"

She nods, calming a bit herself. It was weird to talk into a warped reflection of herself, but she was acclimating.

"Alright. How is your sister?"

Her jaw drops as she stared into where their eyes likely sat, shocked.

"How the hell do you know about her, too?!"

The Chameleon raises a hand, the elbow resting on their knee as their wrist twisted.

"I overhear things. I know there's something wrong with her. And I also am aware that you have taken on this odd job primarily to support her."

Darcy's head falls forward somewhat, her eyes pointed straight at her feet, the large chair succeeding only at making her feel smaller.

"Yeah. She's my big sis and I've always tried to give back to her when I can. We had a rough home life when we were younger and without her, I wouldn't be half the woman I am. I just... want to do right by her."

It hurt to admit it usually, but there was a novel pain in speaking to the person she had chosen to continue unethical behavior towards for the betterment of her older sister. She was glad they had no eyes because she knew the glare would burn a hole clean through her right now.

"So, you're trying to look out for her now that the roles are reversed. What's wrong with her?"

Darcy struggles to speak the next few words.

"She's-uh... she's got cancer."

The Chameleon nods, a soft understanding to their movements.

"What kind, if I might ask?"

It took her a moment to concentrate on the question, let alone pull it from her mind, an unease growing in the pit of her stomach.

"Melanoma. It's a kind of skin cancer."

"Really? That's interesting."

Darcy's expression becomes more confused, nearly offended by the callous delivery of their words.

"What...?"

She was about to let them have it when The Chameleon elaborated, easing Darcy's shortsighted temper with a relatable melancholy.

"I lost someone to melanoma before. I'm very familiar with it."

She twists the seat towards them, reaching out a hand to comfort them. Even a faceless person could hold pain. Even a nobody could be understood through what they lack.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

The Chameleon stays put, turning away from her slightly, uninterested in the comfort she attempts to provide.

"It's in the past. I'm not that person anymore anyways. But you have a chance to help your sister. To give her more chances. That counts for something, I think."

She didn't know exactly how to respond, stuttering a bit under her breath.

"Th-thank you..."

The Chameleon stands up, uninterested in letting the moment linger. They make a careful, deliberate walk towards the door of the Simulation Chamber, placing a hand against the icy, reflective steel.

"When are you going to start the next simulation?"

She gulped, deciding that she might as well be honest to them.

"I don't know. Hell, I don't know why you even want to go in there! It's pretty freaky."

The Chameleon chuckles, a sound that deeply unnerves Darcy more than she cares to admit, her fingers gripping her thigh somewhat in shock.

"It's not so bad. The worst part is stepping out of it."

She frowns, surprised by their words.

"What do you mean?"

"In there, even if I'm the worst person around, I still get to be someone else. But when I get back on this side, I'm still just me beneath it all. For right now, at least."

The Chameleon glances at their reflection in the door, seeing only and infinite mirror, their concentration broken by the soft words of Darcy Ellis.

"Why are you so convinced that's a bad thing?"

The Chameleon gives a weak chuckle, one more chilling than the first as it seemed intent on trying to make themselves laugh. But no one was laughing.

"Because I know who I am."

Later in the Simulation Chamber

Come on, step inside
And you will realize
Tell me what you need?
Tell me what to be?
What's your vision you'll see?
What do you expect of me?
I can't live that lie

In a dark room, our anomalous avenger sits upon a chair styled in a raised, left hand, the palm acting as the seat portion. They look forward, the dark void around them desperate to reflect off of their mask yet adding to the paradox in a single striking image. They seem overjoyed, a welcome hubris in each movement of their hands and adjustment of their body.

Now lookie here! You know, I had wanted more fitting competition to squash underneath my boot, like Alias for example, but instead I get saddled with a man whose name would be synonymous with sloppy seconds if anybody fuckin' remembered it! How long have you coasted off of the success of others, Marf? Sure, you broke out finally, but that was circumstantial at best and a pinch of luck at worst. It's fitting that you got the most volatile, unreliable belt in the XWF because all of that summarizes you perfectly, now, doesn't it?

You're not a good hand, nor a left hand, you're a bum hand, shithead! Desperate for use, but too damn weak to do anything worth a damn. Sure, I could go on and on for hours about how you are the XWF's professional second fiddle, but I think all of that would be a tiny bit of a disservice to you. You're not just all that, you're also the X-Treme Champion, one who had to climb over a veritable dirt mound of "hardship" in order to get that belt. Great job, you beat the kinds of roster filler that deserve to pad Anarchy for time! You know what you didn't do? Impress anybody in the fucking slightest! You get chance after chance to step out of the shadow of greater wrestlers and you go for easy wins and tender meat. Marf would never dare throw a challenge at Alias' feet because he doesn't think he could beat him! Don't you get it, idiot?

That's what held you back! Not wolfwoman, sure as hell not the southpaw coalition! It was always you wanting the easy way to get to a win. To aspire to beat the Bing Bong Twinz instead of the Bastards! I'm surprised you haven't trademarked "the easy way out of a given situation" as "the Marf Method" for how often and consistently you seek to straddle the line of acceptability. I look into the hearts of my opponents to find something special in each one of them, but there is nothing like that in you, Marf. Any remnant of it was long beat out of you by whatever leader you chose for that weekend.

You're looking for new purpose? Find a different job because you do not have the spine, initiative or talent to cut it as one of us! Every gift you've ever had was squandered, every opportunity wasted unless you had someone dragging your sorry ass to a better outcome! But the infuriating thing isn't that all this happened to you, but that you were okay with it! You had no aspirations being anything more than an errand boy and now you wear a championship around your waste and expect a hint of respect? Not happening!

Respect is earned through blood in these ropes, and I will extract the respect right out of your veins. No one's coming to save you. Hell, you're too busy moping around the country to save yourself. You want a piece of X-Treme, Marf? I'll carve it out of your fucking body. Your chances of winning this match died the second you accepted becoming a bit part in the story of your life. I'm just suitable replacement casting.