“What… do you think you’re doing?” Future-Flynn hisses, as he closes the office door behind him.

Present-Flynn comfortably lounges in his executive office. “Raising stock value. Increasing the shareholders’ dividends. Creating COMPANY VALUE™…”

Flynn side-eyes his future self.

“What the FUCK are YOU doing for the company?”

…Future-Flynn’s eyes narrow.

“You believe some… shell-game emits… corporate strength? Calling wealthy investors, then shooing them away?” Future-Flynn slowly shakes his head back-and-forth. “Bush-league, Mark. You’re treating this… business like a… circus sideshow.”

“Psssh.” Flynn waves off the criticism. ”You telling me the average daytrader wouldn’t be intrigued by Elon Musk getting BOOTED out of XWF HQ?”

Flynn grins. “That shit’ll drive those RobinHood apes into a frenzy. They’ll be scooping up stocks like hotcakes.”

…Future-Flynn’s eyes narrow.

You’re offering to bet billions of dollars for a chess game… Where you stand to win nothing.”

Flynn thumbs his nose. “Gotta risk money to make money. If the XWF stock ticker goes up a dollar? That’s another 11 BILLION dollars in company value… The risk I’m taking is calculated.”

“Then, you are… terrible at calculation.”

“Puh-leeeeeez. You really think these fucking talentless nepobabies can beat me?!?” Flynn scratches his nose. [orange]“I’m invincible, baby. That’s the Power of the Optimal Path.”

“And the fact that your behavior… will… irritate Theo Pryce… is unrelated to your… erratic, irrational decision-making…?”

…Present-Flynn re-adjusts the pieces on the chessboard, ignoring the question.

…Future-Flynn stares daggers…

“...So-be-it.” Future-Flynn steps forward. “Choose your venue.”

Flynn’s brow raises, surprised. “...What?”

“I know the both of us. You won’t… re-direct your behavior unless you’ve been… thoroughly humiliated.”

Future-Flynn straightens his tie, nodding at the board.

“We’re going to play this game you take so much pride in. Choose your venue.”

…

Flynn exhales.

He slowly stands up… And looks his future self square-in-the-eye.

…

“Bangkok. 36 hours.”

…Future-Flynn inhales, coldly. ”Must you select a venue that requires the… private jet?”

Flynn smiles. ”You said pick a venue. Let’s go big. With how old you are, might be the last chance I get to DESTROY YOU, HAHAHA…”



…Flynn tugs on his tie. “...Tough crowd.”

“Very well.” Future-Flynn lifts his right wrist to his face. Beside his eyes, a silver Rolexx. “Synchronize watches.”

Flynn lifts his own wrist, upon which, he’s sporting an 80s Casio Calculator watch.

Simultaneously, the two press down on their wrists.

Flynn giggles. “The flight takes 26 hours… Ten hours to spare. You planning on drafting up a will before I des-” Flynn looks up.

…The office is empty.

Future-Flynn, gone without a trace.

…

“Eerie..”[:orange]

Flynn hits his intercom.

[orange]“Irwin.”

“Yes, Mister Flynn!”

“I’m sending you a list of fifteen very-specific people… I need boarding flight clearance to Bangkok, I need these sixteen people ON the plane…”

Flynn grins.

“And I need a seamstress… we’ll need uniforms…”

***

35 hours and 58 minutes later - Bangkok, Thailand

A warehouse in Bangkok. People are shouting, fingers clinging onto the walls of a cage.

Inside, a massive eight-by-eight checkerboard.

The degenerate gamblers outside the cafe throw down money…

As a fog brews from the floor…



In gold and white matching costumes, a legion of 16 men enter the cage…

And leading the charge, dressed in an all-white suit…

Present-Mark-Flynn…

A headset microphone wrapped around his skull.

“THE OPTIMAL PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH™.” He howls as a battle cry as he and his squad take the board.

The underground chess gamblers rain cash from above onto the chessboard.

Flynn pumps his fist, pacing up and down the board as his team moves into position.

“I bet you fucking DEGENERATE DREGS thought you’d just be throwing money down on an illegal chess game…”

Flynn chuckles, as he pulls the headset mic closer to his lips.

“Well, this event JUST GOT UPGRADED TO A MOTIVATIONAL PRESENTATIOM! WHAT CAN THE OPTIMAL PATH™ DO FOR YOU?”

Flynn claps once. His team, in unison, stomps their right foot.

“Introducing Flynn’s Human Chess Team…”

“As my eight pawns, we have the eight highest-ranked collegiate wrestlers on the Michigan State University Wrestling Team!”

Eight hulking brutes in their physical prime smile and wave from the front row of the board.

“As my knights, we have Igor and Yvegeny, the two most famous horse-wrestlers in all of Russia!”

Flynn leans into the hard cam. “And they’re not bad at wrestling *humans* either…”

“As my bishops, the holiest luchadors in all of Mexico… Los Hijos de Dios!”

Flynn points to the corners of the checkerboard…

“As my Roooooooooooks! We h-”

“*COUGH*.”

The entire warehouse covers their ears at the unpleasant audio experience of a very close cough IN STEREO.

Flynn’s demeanor shifts from cheesy salesman to indignantly furious egotist… His eyes scan to determine who is cou-

…

Across the chessboard.

Standing alone, in black.



Future-Flynn.

Adjusting a headset mic of his own.

…Present-Flynn glowers… Juuuuust for a second.

Then, he snaps his fingers.

“HA! You know what… My opponent is right! TIME IS MONEY.” Flynn paces off the board, shoving his finger towards the gamblers clinging onto the cage. “If you don’t VALUE YOUR TIME, NO ONE ELSE WILL.”

Flynn spins back toward the board.

“So…” Flynn smirks. “You bring any pieces? …Or are you running this game solo?”

Future-Flynn snaps his fingers.

…

Sixteen of Flynn’s Simp Section… All dressed in black t-shirts jog onto the board.

Awkwardly. Like newborn deer. Like their legs aren’t designed to move at all.

Coming to position beside Future-Flynn, is Irwin. His shirt says ‘QUEEN’.

Irwin cups his hands around his lips. “Good luck, Mister Flynn! We’re all rooting for you!”

…Future-Flynn side-eyes Irwin and clears his throat.

Irwin drops his hands and looks straight down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with every fiber of his being.

…Flynn wheezes… He doubles-over, slapping his knees, laughing.

“THIS is what you brought to challenge ME?!? A bunch of LOSERS? Still stuck on the FIRST STEP of the OPTIMAL PATH™?”

Flynn flops onto his back, slamming his fist on the stone beneath him.

…His pieces laugh as well.

In fact, most of Future-Flynn’s pieces also laugh at being called losers, (mostly so they can agree with Flynn).

The only one on the board not in some form of hysterics.



Is Future-Flynn.

Flynn scoops himself off the ground, getting his breath.

“Phew… If you were trying to get me to laugh myself to death…”

Flynn wipes a laughter-tear from his cheek..

“Bold strategy.”

Future-Flynn remains stoic.

…Flynn grits his teeth, irritatedly.

“What are you waiting for, huh? Say something!”

“White has first move.”

…Flynn exhales, betraying some irritation.

“Right to it, huh? NO SENSE OF SHOWMANSHIP.”

Flynn slaps the MSU Spartan left-of-center on the back.

“E4.”

The Spartan forward-rolls two squares ahead.

“Bourbon’s the same way…” Flynn turns on the smile, back into speaker mode. “He whined about MY Optimal Path™ match being GIMMICKY. Then, he name-dropped a bunch of 90s Nickleodeon shows… Because that’s his idea of what trash talk is…”

As Flynn speaks, Future-Flynn approaches the Simp standing across from the Spartan that just advanced. The Simp, a pasty white geek, limps forward… It looks like the short walk might have already winded him.

“E5.”



“Cuz BOBBY…” Flynn says, ignoring his opponent’s move. “Is apparently a WRESTLING PURIST. He believes in pure wrestling matches… NO SIDESHOW BULLSHIT.”

…

“This is, of course, the same guy who brought a fucking HELICOPTER to a Leap of Faith match…”

“The same man who makes stupid, low-budget parody movies as promos…”

“You’d think the guy making 2 hour, shot-for-shot remakes of TALES FROM THE CRYPT PRESENTS DEMON KNIGHT would have a sense of PAGEANTRY..”

Flynn spits on the board.

“But, no. Apparently, it’s only okay for Bourbon to have fun…” Flynn scratches his chin. “Interesting, because he’s spent the last TWO PROMOS wallowing in his own self-pity at some bus stop… instead of doing ANYTHING EVEN WORTH ONE IOTA OF ENTERTAINMENT.”

Flynn grabs the camera nearest to him and raps his knuckles on it, like he’s knocking.

“Hey, Bob-a-roo? It’s called SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT. Throw a fucking pie around or GET OFF MY SCREEN, YOU CLOWN.”

Flynn cackles… Then, notices the board surprised… Like he just remembered they were playing.

He smacks the Rusky, Igor, on the shoulder, pointing toward the pawn. Igor nods and marches to defend the Spartan.

“NC6…” Flynn spins back toward his audience. “See, What Bourbsy doesn’t understand about CHESS and WRESTLING and BUSINESS… Is they’re all games of CONTROL.”

Flynn sticks a finger toward his opponent.

“OF MASTERING THE CENTER. WHITTLING YOUR OPPONENT DOWN, BIT-BY-BIT… Until they are a HUSK… A SHELL… For you to CRUSH UNDER YOUR BOOT.”

“When I first returned, back in 2021, Bobby Bourbon had EVERYTHING. He and TK were weeks away from becoming the Longest Reigning XWF Tag-Team Champions of ALL-TIME.”

“Bob had *just* beaten Corey Smith, the #1 in the XWF Top 50, for the TV Title.”

“He and B.o.B. were running ROUGH-SHOD on the XWF… on OCW… on the ENTIRE WRESTLING INDUSTRY…”

…

“And that’s when HE crossed ME, folks.”

“I took EVERYTHING from Bobby Bourbon.”

“I took his tag-titles. NK and I went on to hold the belts EVEN LONGER than TNGB EVER DID.”

“We beat Bobby and a MENAGERIE of his partners on THREE SEPARATE OCCASIONS.”

“I threw a goddamned CINDERBLOCK AT HIS HELICOPTER SO HE COULDN’T GET A 24/7 BRIEFCASE.”

“And a year later… I won the XWF Star of the Year AND XWF Tag-Team of the Year… Bobby’s old record.”

“What did Bobby get at the 2022 XWF Awards show?”

“A parking ticket.”

Flynn stares down the barrel of the camera.

“THAT? is control. THAT? is POWER, Bobby. I’ve taken EVERYTHING from you.”

“NC3.”

“And FURTHERMORE…”

…That move seems to have snapped Flynn out of his motivational-speech trance.

Flynn glances up. Sure enough, a gangly nerd wearing a shirt that says ‘Knight’ has stepped up to mirror Igor…

…Flynn coughs.

“You left your pawn hanging.”



…

Future-Flynn’s face doesn’t move an inch.

…

Flynn smiles.

“All right. Maybe I should get a doctor to check my brain for dementia, if YOU’RE my future…”

Flynn rotates toward the crowd.

“FIRST RULE OF THE OPTIMAL PATH… When your opponent gives you a WEAKNESS… an OPENING… you TAKE IT.”

Flynn calls out to Igor.

“NxE5!”

…Igor gets down all fours… And growls like a bear.

He charges!

“...O-O-Oh fuck!”

The nerd on the d4 square tries to run but trips over his own feet… Before he can even fall to the ground, the Russian is upon him!

He scoops the nerd into the air!

AND SPINEBUSTER SLAMS HIM STRAIGHT ONTO THE MARBLE BOARD!

The crowd explodes with excitement!

Flynn takes a bow…

The simps all start clapping… (except for the one who is now getting wheeled off the board on a stretcher.

Flynn puts his hands in the air, embracing this applause.

“Nf3.” Future-Flynn utters, unphased by the crippling of his E-pawn.

…

“D-...Do I have to?”

Future-Flynn turns his head to stare at the pimply-faced goon in the ‘KNIGHT’ t-shirt. Immediately, he runs into position.

Flynn laughs.

“SECOND RULE OF THE OPTIMAL PATH… When you’re halfway up the mountain… DON’T STOP CLIMBING!”

“Igor, Nxc6!”

WHAM! In a flash, Igor does a cartwheel into a Superman punch! The pimply-faced knight collapses like a scarecrow made of wet spaghetti.

“When you SEE an OPPORTUNITY FOR SUCCESS™! Take it!” Flynn shouts into the microhpne. “Hunt it with EVERY FIBER OF YOUR BEING.”

Flynn points accusatorily at the nearest camera.

“Bobby Bourbon has a chance EVERY WRESTLER ON THE ROSTER would DREAM OF. A match with MARK FUCKING FLYNN. In the MAIN EVENT. With the BIGGEST PRIZE IN WRESTLING ON THE LINE.”

…

“And what’s Bobby doing? He’s making excuses.”

“Ohhhhhh, I just lost last week… Ohhhhh, I feel lost and adrift because people don’t like when I say the R-word in promos… Ohhhhhh, I left the company and then the company got so FINANCIALLY VIABLE that they BOUGHT EVERYONE HEALTH INSURANCE.”

“RECORD PROFITS, BAY-BEEEEEEEE™!”

“dxc6.”

The D-pawn creeps forward… Onto the square with Igor.

“...Um.” The d-pawn nerd clears his throat, obviously terrified. Uh… I’m supposed to… uh… take you… now.”

…Igor reels back a fist.

“Gyeeeeeeeeh!” The nerd covers his face, emitting a terrified yelp, much like a cornered meerkat.

The warehouse laughs.

“No prob, Igor.” Flynn calls out. “Hit the showers… Great work, we’ll take it from here.”

Igor gets tossed a towel (by one of the simps on Future-Flynn’s side) and he rubs his neck and shoulders as walks off the board.

“See, I can AFFORD to lose a resource. Because *I* control the Center. I CONTROL THE UNIVERSE. I CONTROL REALITY ITSELF.”

…Flynn side-eyes his future self…



…Flynn chews his tongue.

“But, just in case, better protect my… center interest.”

Flynn clicks his tongue.

“Yo, D-Spartan. Scoot up a square. d3.”

The Spartan forward rolls to cover his teammate diagonally.

“See, Bourbon WAS broken already… And in the lead-up to this coming Warfare, I stripped from him the last piece of legitimacy he had…. His phony reputation… as a winner. As a Hall of Legends caliber performer.”

“He isn’t now. And he never was. Bobby Bourbon has ALWAYS been a mediocre talent. A 50/50 NOBODY.”

“He’s never had the drive to improve. He’s comfy in the middle of the pack.”

“Why get better at trash talk when you can just half-assedly make references?”

“Why get better in the ring when you can just do the same fucking moves as you did EIGHT FUCKING YEARS AGO?!?”

“I could forgive a loser, Bob. As I already said, I have a soft spot in my heart for jobbers… Like you.”

Flynn winks.

“What I can’t forgive? What I WILL not forgive? A lack of hunger. Standing in the goddamn line for opportunity when you don’t have the FUCKING STOMACH to use it.”

“You’re a waste on the roster sheet, Bob. A FINANCIAL DETRIMENT.”

“Bc5.”

…Flynn glances up. A dweeb shuffles in front of the pawn that just took Igor off the board.

“Another namby-pamby NOTHING move. Without teeth. Without offense.”

…



“Fine. RULE #8 OF THE OPTIMAL PATH… If you can’t find a PATH TO SUCCESS™? MAKE ONE. AND EXECUTE ON IT.”

Flynn slaps the luchador to his left on the back.

“Bg5.”

The luchador springboards off the back of one… two… THREE Spartans! He hop-steps across his teammates, weaving through the air like a hawk… Before coming to rest, diagonally opposing the nerd-knight.

“There. I’ve pinned the knight. Move it and you lose your queen.”

Flynn turns toward the arena.

“It’s a concept called zugzwang. I use it in CHESS. I use it in WRESTLING. I use it in BUSINESS. You STRIP AWAY your opponents’ options. You take their arm, you press it against their back, you step on their THROAT. You take away all their good choices, until they’re left with bad choices… Then you eliminate the best of those, too.”

“Until your opponent has no choice… except how to fucking DIE under your heel. THEN, h-“

“Nxe4.”

…Flynn double-takes, perplexedly. As the knight-nerd sidesteps uncomfortably past the bishop…

And gently taps the front-most Spartan on the shoulder.

“You’re… out?”

The Spartan rolls off the board.

Flynn scratches his head.

“…You just blundered your Queen.”

Indeed, the luchador has a straight line to Irwin.

…



Irwin coughs nervously.

…Flynn frowns. His teeth grit. “What? Do you think I CARE about that pencil-necked geek?!? That I won’tstrike him down just because he’s devoted to me?!?”

…Future-Flynn is unmoved.

“THERE IS NO ROOM FOR MERCY ON THE ROAD TO LEGEND. IF AN OPPONENT GIVES YOU HIS THROAT, BITE THE FUCK THROUGH IT!”

Irwin is about to piss himself, when Flynn points at him!

“Bxd8.”

WHAM! Like a flash of lightning, the luchador streaks through the air, and catches Irwin with a pele kick to the skull! Irwin collapses in a pool of blood!

The luchador menacingly flexes on the square beside Future-Flynn.

“You have no Queen. You have no hope. Just like Bobby Bourbon, I’ve taken your power.”

“But Bobby… You are so low… You’re almost in the perfect position.”

“You’re so close to the bottom.”

“And once you’re there. You can climb anew.”

“The world will cheer at the NEXT ASCENT of THE GRAND POO-B.O.B.”

“THE UNIVERSE WILL CELEBRATE THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON OF THE XWF!”

“Taking his rightful place as King.”

“…You’ve given so much, Bobby. You’ve lost so much.”

“But, I need to take one more thing from you.”

“Your hope.”

“That’s what I’ve tried to do this week, Bob.”

“I’ve broken what little there was left of Bobby Bourbon. I’ve stripped you of your fake accomplishments. I’ve shown a light on your thoroughly unspectacular career.”

“And now, I’m going to beat you in the center of a wrestling ring.”

“You’ll truly have NOTHING LEFT.”

“And when you have nothing? That’s when it will appear in front of you…”

“Like the face of God.”

…

“The Optimal Path.”

Flynn smiles, basking in warm light.

“Bxf2.”

“Check.”

…Flynn looks up.

Beside him? A waving nerd wearing a ‘bishop’ t-shirt.



…Cold sweat runs down Flynn’s face.

Future-Flynn yawns.

“Your only escape is Ke2.”

…Wordlessly… Flynn scoots forward one square.

“Bg4.”



“Checkmate.”

…Flynn’s vision…

Bluuuuuuuuuurs…

***

“Time to go.”

Flynn snaps toward the sound.

He’d be sitting on the square he’d lost on for hours.

Future-Flynn extends a hand toward him.

“Your title match with Bourbon looms...”

…Flynn stares at his future self’s hand.

…

He takes it.

“So, what? This was a lesson about substance over sty-“

FWOOM!

Future-Flynn yanks Flynn up…

And drives a knee deeeeeeeep into his gut.

Flynn collapses on his side, clutching his stomach, the air driven out of his lungs.

“This was a lesson…” Future-Flynn straightens his tie. “About not forgetting your place.”

Future-Flynn walks toward the warehouse’s exit, leaving Flynn on the floor.

“It’s my belt. I just let you hold it.”