RECAP When we last saw Corey, he was questioning his future in the XWF. Still distraught over the loss of his boyfriend Christian, this has forced Corey to put some things in perspective. Does he really want to continue this violent existence, or should he instead invest his time in his philanthropy? Corey has also made a new friend, the mysterious Pan. Pan, the basis for the eponymous Peter Pan, is a real being, and actually hails from a pocket dimension known as Neverland. Corey has found himself growing closer to Pan. Pan has also offered Corey a tantalizing possibility: seeing his own future. But does he really want that? What if he finds that the nightmare future he and Lux tried to stop is still in place? Questions…questions…

The rivulets Corey made in the water cut a staccato beat against the reflected sky, bending and refracting the cerulean blue in the eddying currents of the water. He was knee deep in the pool, which had an oddly comfortable temperature. The pool itself was surrounded by the multicolored trees he had noted before, with their enchanting rainbow patterns written in the bark.



There was something of the deific about this place, a profound notion that these waters were watching God, that beyond the trappings of these trees lie the very fields of Elysium itself. It was almost overwhelming. So overwhelming in fact that Corey had nearly forgotten Pan’s presence beside him.

Are you sure?

I’m as sure as I’ll ever be. Corey’s toes clutched pebbled beneath the waters, a tactile anchor to the here and now despite the magicks working all about him. Pan brought up a wooden instrument to his lips, a strange primitive looking flute: an ocarina. Pan started to blow into the instrument but then stopped, considering Corey again. We can…

No. It’s ok. Do it.

Pan returned his lips to the reed, and soon a haunting melody blew forth from the instrument. The tones were such that Corey somehow knew they would be embroidered in his memory forever. For a series of moments, the music held solitary sway, but then, just before them, there was a stirring in the water. At first naught but a series of bubbles, but then an upswell. Corey’s jaw dropped for the sight of it, as the water itself coalesced into a humanoid form. The details filled in, a head with an elaborate headdress formed, and a lithe form with long tender arms. The eyes were last, a shocking red against the gentle blues of the rest of the manifestation. Keen eyes, strong but without cruelty.



Corey chanced a glance at Pan, and noted he had bowed his head. Sheepishly, Corey followed suit.

Hello GreatMother. Thank you for heeding my call.

My dear Pan. She reached out to him, placing a loving hand atop his head. He looked up at her reverently.

I have come to ask a favor. For my friend, Corey.

I know of you Corey. The trees have spoken your name, and the winds have brought it to me.

I um…I hope they said good things about me.

The GreatMother smiled. A friend of Pan is a friend of ours. Why don’t you tell me what you desire?

Well, I was hoping you could, uh, you could…his mind blanked.

Corey was hoping you could cast an augury on him. He wishes to see what lays ahead for him.

The GreatMother’s attention resettled on Corey. An augury is a powerful thing, Corey.

If it’s too much…

It is not beyond my power. But it may be beyond yours. She paused. I hope you have given careful consideration to this request. Mortals have made such requests of me before, only to find that they wish they hadn’t.

I know. I understand. And I’m prepared for whatever it is.

I certainly hope so. The GreatMother’s words were like a mournful song, as though channeling these past penitents who found their wishes undone. Are you ready?

Yes.

Pan gave Corey’s shoulder a squeeze before stepping back. Corey closed his eyes as it occurred to him he didn’t quite know what to expect of the process. But before he could question it any further, he felt as though he was being buffeted by a great torrent of water. He opened his eyes in shock, only to see a fathomless depth of sea with a brilliant light in the midst of it. Corey found himself moving towards that light….closer…closer….

?????

Corey awoke. His face was half submerged in a thin, threadbare pillow. With his unburdened eye, he surveiled his surroundings, disoriented by the rapid change of scenery. And a far cry it was. He saw the interior of a dimly lit, grungy motel room. The off white walls bore the yellowing of time. A worn dresser was across from the bed, the topmost drawer missing a handle. Corey pushed himself up, and became acutely aware that the changes weren’t limited to his environs. Something was undefinably different about him too. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he was surprised to find his lower half not quite as he remembered it. The differences were unsubtle enough to be shocking without overwhelming. His legs seemed more muscular, but a deep scar was etched over his right knee, and when Corey bent it a pang accompanied the movement.

What the hell….?

Standing up, he felt the pang in his knee again, but opted to ignore it as he held his arms out in front of him. The hairs on them seemed coarser, the skin more weathered. Corey spied the bathroom just ahead and rushed inside to the mirror.

Oh… was all he could stammer at the specter that stood before him. Corey was bearded, his brownish locks tumbling low over his ears and nearly to his eyes. His skin bore a sandblasted look, the passage of years leaving an indelible mark on his youth. He reached out, fingertips gracing the reflection of his face. At a guess, he was now in his late 40’s, perhaps even early 50’s.

Oh my God.

He canted his head. What stories were written in the lines that criss crossed his face? What depths of sorrow, or jubilation, dwelt in the depths of those nearly alien eyes. Corey was without the benefit of that history. An amnesiac in a body not quite his own. He turned away from the mirror and its wreckage of years, returning to the bedroom proper and spying the television set. Figuring there is no better way to get up to speed, he finds the remote and turns it on. It was already set to Fox News. A doughy white face (is there any other kind on Fox?) filled the screen.

….we go now live to our Washington correspondent Hot Blond with Jugs Model 47 for more info.

A…uh…hot blond with big jugs is now seen, with the Senate chamber in the background. She has a distinctly Stepford quality about her, with wide vacant eyes and a plastic expression.

Senator Lacklan is reportedly recovering from her “medical episode” today, where she ran to the senate floor before screeching “MEEE MEEEE MEEEEE!” into a microphone and collapsing.

Seems pretty par for the course. Corey mumbled.

It is also reported that she has stated she intends to be present for President Dyson’s State of the Union address tomorrow.

No! Corey gasped, reacting before his consciousness could ever finish processing the horror of what he just heard. No, this can’t be real….

But the president had some words for Senator Lacklan today, wishing her a speedy recovery, and promising to fight fist tooth and nail for her Save the Pigeons bill currently making its way through committee.

The doughy pasty face appears in a box next to the Stepford blond.

Is there any word on what President Dyson plans to address tomorrow?

Well Broadcaster TK429, the scuttlebut about Washington is….

Corey turned the television off, reeling from what he just saw. Heaving the remote at the wall in a rage, it smashed magnificently as he sat on the bed. Then, stricken by another idea, he reached for a mass in his pocket that thankfully turned out to be a cell phone. It was roughly the width of a sheet of paper, and had a heft that could be described as feathery. After getting his bearings on the device, he found the date:

April 23rd, 2067.

My God…. he laid back at the bed, staring up at the sickly looking brown splotches on the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to himself out loud. This is what you wanted Corey. I need to get my bearings, find out where I am.

Then, through gritted teeth, And I need to kill Madison Dyson.

Words

Boy Angie, you sure didn’t want this did you?

Hold up, let me back up a second. We’ll return to my adventures in a nightmare future momentarily, but right now I just have to speak on the person who may very well be my final XWF opponent.

Gasps all around. Sacre bleu. I pretty much spelled it out already guys, weren’t you paying attention?

*Sigh*

Angelica Vaughn. Decorated. Athletic. Kindly. Cat Lover.

Woman who definitely did not want to face Corey Smith.

I can say this with a very high degree of confidence. You see, usually when a reigning champion rolls out the red carpet for someone, that person…you know….REPLIES. But shockingly, since declaring my intention to fight Angie it has been bupkis from her camp. Which is doubly shocking considering she’s represented by Sarah Lacklan, who to this day usually can’t keep my name out of her mouth. You know what, let’s talk about Sarah. It is the pasty, bony, shrill elephant standing and dropping a deuce in the middle of the room after all.

Sarah Lacklan beat Lux when she was in the driver’s seat of my body in 2019. For those keeping score at home, that’s three years ago. And yet, Sarah references this nonstop like it happened five minutes ago. Trust me, I have the gravy train of insufferable self congratulatory text messages to prove it. Now, you could chalk this up to Sarah’s natural tendency to be the most god awful annoying human being on the planet. But I’m gonna chalk it up to her just being pretty damn smart.

Yes Sarah, a compliment for you. And it’s not even Christmas in July yet.

Sarah Lacklan knows which side her toast is buttered on. And the reason she brings up this win, even more than she brings up her actual Universal Title reign, is because she knows that beating Lux vis a vis me was the absolute climax of her career. Lux was damn near unbeatable. And Sarah was one of…like, two people to do it. Two. Making beating Lux a much rarer accomplishment than winning the Universal Championship. A title, I may mention, which was once held by Mr. Suck My Super Dick himself…

…oh, we’re still not allowed to go there, right? Right.

Anyhoo, the point is the “I beat Lux” club was a much more exclusive group than the “I was a Universal Champion” club.

So what does this have to do with us, Angie? Well, I may not have Lux riding shotgun with me anymore, but I’ve inherited her skills. Skills your friend and manager is well acquainted with. Skills your manager indirectly acknowledges every time she crows about her career defining win against Lux.

So here’s what I think. I think Sarah gave you the inside skinny on what you’re up against. And I think you want no part of it. Hence the complete lack of engagement. Hence Sarah, oddly, not wanting to bring any attention to this match whatsoever.

I think both you and Sarah know this is your match to lose.

Which is a damn shame. Because I picked you precisely because I thought you’d be stiff competition. I know about your accolades outside the XWF. How you practically ran UGWC. Grand total of seven title reigns across the pond. Damn impressive stuff. Damn impressive.

And then you showed up here and lost to Jenny Myst.

HUH.

I mean, okay, okay, you’ve righted the ship since then. But….Jenny Myst? Jenny shouldn’t have even been able to TOUCH you, let alone BEAT you. I just about shit a brick when I saw that go down. And then after nearly despoiling those pantaloons, I started to second guess my selection. Oh yeah, I had my eye on you from the moment you set foot here. But imagine my disappointment when the queen of UGWC lost to the Queen of Crap Gimmicks. I almost rescinded my offer before it even hit the table.

But I gave you another chance. And like I said, you bounced back. But now, I’m back in that same disappointed mindset. Because right now, you’re not seeming like a game Angie Vaughn. You’re seeming like you’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into this match with me by management.

Angie, allow me to give you some advice. This is NOT the time for a crisis of confidence. That skill set that Sarah went over on in the long, long ago? It’s been through three years of refinement, trial and error, and evolution. And that's to say NOTHING about what COREY SMITH has been through.

Two near career ending injuries. The first one necessitating that I relearn how to fucking walk, feed myself and piss independently. And you may think that’s a strike against me. But ask your friend Sarah about how trauma can be a motivator. Miss “Need a Cane ‘Till I Don’t”. Her legs got mauled and, to her credit, she took that pain and misery and turned herself into a fighting champion. Ditto here, girl. Ditto.

I’m sure you’ll also be might tempted to think my mind’s not actually on this match because I see the end in sight. But you’d be wrong again. Because I’ll be goddamned if I go out on a loss to someone with the passion of a geriatric ward on a Xannie bender. Not you, Angie! It’s not gonna be you! I’d talk that “L” from Alias, or Thad Duke, or Bobby Bourbon. Because those people would have earned it. But not you. Not this gormless, feckless, hypeless disappointment that I see before me.

Let’s sing it loud and proud for the lovelies in the cheap seats: YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BEAT ME.

And you won’t. I stake my reputation on it. I stake my CAREER on it. Hell I stake Sarah’s favorite pigeon on it and her wife’s fan-fookin’-TASTIC booty on it. Hey, I may be strictly dickly, but that don’t mean I can’t recognize quality on the other side of the fence, ya feel me?

Angie, despite all this, I look forward to what you have to say. I look forward to how you’re going to try and dig yourself out of this hole. How you’re going to try to convince me you have the passion and the drive to get it done at March Madness. Because at this point? I’m not seein’ it. And neither is anyone else.

2067

There was a knock at the door, drawing Corey out of his revelry of revenge. Corey went to it cautiously, calling out before touching the door handle. Who is it?

It’s me. The voice was all too familiar.

Corey opened the door, to see Pan standing on the other side. He was holding a couple fast food bags. Getting kind of paranoid in your old age, eh? I don’t blame you.

Pan drifted past Corey, setting the bags down on the dresser. Corey marveled at him. He hadn’t aged a bit. Which, while not completely surprising, was still a point that demanded merit in light of Corey’s own condition. Pan nodded in Corey’s direction. You okay?

Yeah…uh….yeah. His mind buzzed. Should he tell him the truth? If anyone would believe it, it’d be him. Actually, no. Not really. Sort of. I’m the Corey from 2022.

Pan looked confused at first. Huh?

I met with the GreatMother, and I ended up here.

Recognition dawned. You went to her for an augury. Then, he seemed somehow saddened. Oh Corey….no no… He shook his head. I’m so sorry.

Gesturing at the TV, Corey replied I already saw that Madison is president.

That ain’t half of it.

How bad is it out there?

Well, Pan scratched the back of head. I suppose that depends on who you ask. Some folks are sitting pretty. Others….not so much…

Okay, but things aren’t going well, right?

Corey, it’s….complicated.

Corey tossed his arms out in emphasis. How complicated could it be? Madison is a vile bitch! She…

She’s massively popular.

…what? Corey breathed the word, thinking perhaps that he had misheard Pan.

Her approval numbers are off the charts. The people love her. Pan casts his hands up. Her administration has curbed pollution, all but ended poverty, eradicated Covid-32….

Whoa, whoa, whoa! You’re telling me she’s made things better?!

Again, for some. The country has entered a second golden age on the back of full scale laissez faire ultra capitalism. But as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, the amount of backs that had to get broken to get here is considerable.

Corey sat down on the bed, mind desperately trying to process this. The country loves Madison Dyson. He said dreamily. Or perhaps, nightmarishly would be more apt. What the fuck is there to fight for?

They do.

So…so… he looked back up at Pan….what are we doing about it?

You mean, what DID we already do about it. I’m sorry Corey. We lost. You marshaled your allies. Thad Duke and his army. Alias. You even managed to get a hold of the Blackwaters and Jay Omega. But it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.

What happened to them?

Pan winced. Thad died, Corey.

Corey balled his fists at his sides and closed his eyes. We need to kill her.

Corey…

We need to kill her!

Corey!

No, Pan…NO!

Pan dropped down to his knees at Corey’s feet, taking his hand in his own. Corey’s anger was halted by the passion free floating in Pan’s eyes. It’s over, Corey. It’s just us. And it’s over. And I don’t want to lose you. I love you. Pan straightened up, planting a kiss on Corey’s lips. Corey, despite his surprise, found himself reciprocating. When it was over, they sat in silence for a moment.

I’m so old, Pan.

Pan chuckled. You are.

And you’re not.

Well, technically, I still have a few hundred years on you.

You know what I mean.

Pan nodded, tightening his grip on Corey’s hand. I know. But do you think that matters to me? Huh? You’re a shining light, Corey. You always have been. You're my beacon in the darkness.

I…he stammers. Thank you. He finishes the thought, lamely in his eyes.

But you’re not quite my Corey right now, are you? Mr. “Corey from 2022”. Pan nudged him. I know this isn’t what you wanted to see. But you still have me. ‘Till the end of time. Or whatever else comes first.

Pan’s sentiment was beautiful. Why then did his heart hurt so much?

I can’t accept things the way they are.

Corey, you need to look at it this way. Even if you tried to change things now, in this future…

Please, don’t try to “logic” this on me.

Just hear me out. With the knowledge you’re armed with now, you could stop Madison in the past. You could….

And then hell held sway. Before he could understand anything, Corey was on his back, choking back dust and a vicious ringing in his ears. Everything hurt. He tried to sit up, only to be met with a searing agony rifling across his chest. A broken rib. Or three. He called out to Pan. Or at least he was reasonably sure he did, but he could hear nothing save that incessant whine in his eardrums.

Through the haze of smoke and the little gouts of flame still licking the threshold, black armored men tore into the rubble of the motel room. Corey again tried to rise, buoyed by fear. But still the pain was too much. One of the men approached him, lifted a boot, and then Corey’s entire world was black.