July 3, 2023
County Morgue


The room is an antiseptic glimmer of pallid yellow light. Appropriate, given that it’s a morgue. In it, a tired looking middle aged man with a paunch and an ill-fitting white lab coat is hovering over a desk, scribbling out some kind of paperwork. The door opens with a creak, drawing his attention. A plainclothes detective walks in, female, with a bearing that broaches no shit.

Ah, detective…

Frank, brass told me you had something to show me. And that I’d probably want to see it in person.

Yeah. It’s definitely one for the record books. Give me a moment.

The forensic examiner goes to the collusion of frigid racks on the far side of the room and opens the door, withdrawing a corpse on a gurney. The detective approaches, taking note of the grisly slash wound that opened up Duncan Light’s throat.

The cause of death is, as they say, cut and dry. It’s the identification that may be a problem.

Yeah, we’ve run the name Duncan Light. We got three results. None local. Two of them overseas.

Well, more so than that… He picks up the corpse's hand and turns it over for the detective to inspect. Look closely.

The detective does so, peering at the hand.. Finally her lips part in a small showing of surprise. The fuck….he has no fingerprints.

Right. He drops the hand back down again. And I couldn’t detect any of the tell tale scarring of someone who has removed them deliberately. This man was simply born without them.

The detective shoots the examiner a curious look. How is that possible?

Hell if I know. There’s no precedent for it.

So what you’re telling me is that we have a quintessential John Doe here?

Better start putting his face on milk cartons, detective.

The detective scowls, before leaving the room wordlessly.


July 17
A Hotel Two Miles Out From Coreytopia

The hotel room is a reasonable accommodation, but free of the kind of garish opulence you might see out of the usual jet set. The sun has just started to peek over the horizon, and Pan can tell his lover has been awake all night. Nestling close to him, and wrapping an arm around his bare abdomen, Pan plants a kiss on the back of Corey’s wild mane born of tossing and turning.

Did you get any sleep?

None.

I’m sorry.

Corey doesn’t reply. Instead, he grabs for his phone on the nightstand and opens up the text messages. Breathing a small sigh of relief he speaks. Cara and her kids found a place.

That’s good.

It’s not good. They shouldn’t have had to in the first place. Corey tossed his phone onto the table and turned his embittered mien towards the ceiling.

I don’t disagree with you hon. But I don’t want you to judge yourself too harshly.

Corey pressed himself up to a sitting position, eyes scanning the auburn light trickling into the room. How can I not? I was out prancing in an XWF ring while my home burned and my people were put in danger. Pan, I retired to devote myself to THEM. My ego brought me back to the ring and now look what’s happened. Now they’re all homeless and the county has condemned the commune.

Pan put his hand over Corey’s, giving it a small squeeze. You can rebuild. They can come back.

You don’t get it! Corey swung his legs over the side of the bed abruptly and went to the window, his slim form cutting a dark frame against the mounting light. It’s my fault this happened…!

It’s whoever did it’s fault.

But I wasn’t where I was supposed to be! Corey slaps his bare chest for emphasis. I was supposed to be retired, with them. Leading my community.

Honey, I get what you’re saying, Pan empathized. Then, with a more wary glance, he continues. What are you going to do when you find out did this?

I’m going to annihilate them. Corey pinched his fist together, expression beset with a rage threatening to boil over.

Don’t let this take you to a dark place.

I’m already there.

No. Don’t let them.,..

I have every right to be angry! Corey wheeled about to look at Pan, stopping short when he realized he had shouted. I have every right to be angry. He repeated, in a calmer but wavering tone. He opted to change the subject. Not only do I have my home to worry about, but I have you to worry about too.

They wouldn’t have released me on my own recognizance if they seriously thought I did something wrong. Pan shook his head. What happened to Duncan was a tragedy, but I did it in defense of you and Joachim. In the eyes of the law that has to mean something.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. Corey retorted bitterly. The only reason they cut you loose is because they don’t know what the hell to do with a man of no nationality who says he’s from a fairy tale.

Corey may not have meant it that way, but the words were biting. Pan looked away. I’m sorry. I know this is a bad time.

Corey didn’t reply right away. Instead, he hastily reached into his bag, withdrew a t-shirt and some jeans, and pulled them on. I’m going downstairs to get some coffee. You want some?

No thanks.

But Corey was already halfway out the door. 

July 3rd
County Morgue

Duncan Light’s prostrate form is still on the gurney. Frank, the examiner has his back to him as he completes some work on the laptop before him. He fails to notice the slight twitch to the corpse, as though something from within has started to stir. The momentum inside the corpse continues to build, until finally it’s in the throes of full on ecstatic trembling. The sound finally draws the attention of the examiner, who looks on in shock.

What the fuck?!

And that’s when the black cloud explodes past Duncan’s chapped lips, forming a swirling maelstrom of minute forms like Biblical locusts. Frank starts to stumble backwards, headed for the door as his mind struggles to process the alien horror before him. The maelstrom lunges for him, and before he knows it he’s engulfed, with the minute forms entering his every facial orifice, ears, nose, and mouth. And all he hears is buzzing. All he thinks is buzzing. All he knows is buzzing.

And then…silence.

But all is not well. He knows something is deeply wrong. It’s evident in an electric tingle racing up and down his spine, in a dull muscle ache that starts to wrack his body, forcing him to seek solace and balance against the wall. And then, of course, there is the woman who simply wasn’t there before.

At first, she appears out of focus, like a nearsighted person struggling to see sans glasses. But as he continues to peer at her, she attains sharper and sharper focus. Until she appears as flesh and blood as he.

Who….who are you?



I am The Engineer. I am now in possession of you. You will heed my directions.

The voice seems to echo from without and within. Frank can somehow FEEL the voice emanating from his own brain. An experience at once confounding and horrifying.

What do you mean you’re in possession of me?

I don’t have time for this.

The man’s mind started to scream. He clutched his head in agony, feeling as though something was primed to burst out from behind his eyeballs.

Listen. Observe. Obey.

Okay….okay! Frank pleaded. Just make it stop!

Insolence welcomes only pain. As do idiotic questions. She pauses, waiting for the man to recollect himself. You will help me find Corey Smith.

All he could do was nod and choke back the nausea that had threatened to overtake him.


July 17th
Coreytopia, Florida

Give it to me straight. What are we looking at Neil?

Corey stood outside a truck that advertised itself as Stormer and Son General Contracting. The man sitting behind the wheel, Neil, is turned to face Corey, a laptop open on his lap as he runs the numbers. Finally, with a sigh, he places the laptop beside him on the dash.

Corey, it’s going to be an investment.

Just tell me. Corey allowed some impatience to leach into his voice. He had known Neil for quite some time now, having employed his services to turn the opulent mansion into it’s present state. But this was not the time for minced words.

It’s just an estimate, but I think you’re looking at at least a million dollars. Tentatively.

How long?

Without seeing…

How long? Corey interrupted stolidly.

Based on what I’ve seen so far, you’re looking at at least a couple months.

Neil, I have people who are homeless NOW.

You told me to give it to you straight.

Corey opens his mouth to speak, and then abruptly closes it. I did. He concedes.

I can get rolling within the week if I can get approval from the county.

Do it. Whatever it takes. 

With that and a cursory nod, Corey turned his attention from Neil and to the apocalypse that was his home. Roughly three quarters of it were untouched save by smoke damage. The rest was a total or near total loss and would need to be rebuilt. Being in a rural area as he was, the emergency response time had been slow. 20 minutes too slow. Corey could only imagine the fear and frustration his residents must have felt, wtaching their home burn down before their very eyes with nothing they could have possibly done to halt it. At least no one had been seriously hurt.

Corey walked up the path to a side door of the manse. It was blockaded with yellow caution tape which Corey ripped down without a parsing thought. Stepping into the home, his nose was beset by the lingering smell of soot and burnt wood. He made his way towards one of the damaged sections, a common area which now contained naught but the skeletons of furniture and a large screen TV that was now molten plastic slag. In his mind’s eye, Corey could picture the happy times in this room. Christmas, with the children running about, some of them excited to have toys to share for the first times in their lives. Birthdays too. And just thoughts of himself and his current and past loves, curled up on the couch and sharing something as mundane as a Netflix and chill night.

All of it lost to the fire.

Before he realized what he was doing, his fist found the nearest wall and he started hitting it, and hitting it, and hitting it, obtuse to the mounting pain in his knuckles, oblivious to the blood and cracks starting to form in one of these prized undamaged walls.

When Corey stopped, he gingerly unfolded his hand, a sicker, baser part of himself feeling satisfied by the pain. Feeling like he deserved it for not being there. For choosing championships and celebrity over his people and his home. He noticed his knuckles starting to swell and went to the kitchen, one of two that had been mercifully undamaged and turned on the tap, forgetting that the water had been turned off. Cursing quietly, he went to the fridge and pulled out an ice tray, with ice that had maintained its form despite the lack of power for want of anyone opening the freezer since that fateful evening. Applying a piece of ice to his wounded knuckle, he leaned up against the counter and closed his eyes, concentrating on the throbbing pain before continuing.

You’re going to think me distracted. You’ll be right.

It takes a moment for you to realize Corey is addressing the all seeing eye of the camera.

You’ll be right. He repeated, with some sadness in his voice.

But there’s rage there too Thunder Knuckles. Plenty of it to go around. Plenty for YOU. And while as far as I know you had nothing to do with what happened to my home, I’m going to take every bit of THIS out on YOU.

Why?

Because you have it coming.

Because you’re a piece of shit.

Because somehow, someway you provided a service, or simply “serviced” someone to get this main event match when you haven’t done shit of any importance in over a year.

April of 2022. That’s the last time you held a title. And unlike me, you’ve been a pretty consistent presence in the XWF. But it boggles the mind how you get this opportunity. You haven’t touched the main event in ages and yet here you are, opposite me in the card when I can rattle of 5 names with ease that deserve this spot more than you do. In fact, I think I’ll do so:

Raion KIdo
Dolly Waters
Mark Flynn
Isaiah King
Bobby Bourbon

Yeah, I’ll throw it to your boy. Even though he in turn threw away his last Universal title reign to a dehydrated beef stick.

I mean, where the fuck is Isaiah? Stuck in that Leap of Faith match where he only has a one in six chance of not completely wasting his time? Isaiah, take it from someone whose won one, the match is a bitch and will probably shave at least a couple years off your career.

Why isn’t Isaiah King in this match?

Oh…oh, oh, oh….don’t take this for a second to mean that I sweat TK. The whole world knows I don’t sweat TK. Hell, TK’s mid card ass knows I don’t sweat TK.

But above all? You don’t deserve this. Not one bit. I mean, can any of you even IMAGINE Thunder Knuckles as the face of the XWF? He couldn’t even handle Make A Wish, you think he’s gonna be some brand ambassador?

It’s laughable. It’s fucking laughable.

And we haven’t even gotten into the heart of the matter. Talent: I have it and you have it but in lower doses.

Anybody see Thunder Knuckles beating Alias? Raion Kido? Either of them? I mean even Raion in his dumpster state of being would clown you all the way back to OCW. You know that, you know that.

Speaking of OCW, you fucked up your chance at the big belt there too, did you not?

And it’s going to be just the same here. Face it TK, I’m faster than you, more technically proficient than you. I’ll kick the flesh right off your face before you can even push that bulbous body into throwing a haymaker.

And hey, you know what I haven’t even addressed yet?

Yep. War Games. The place where the entire world saw me pay you off to betray your team. Ooooh yeah, let’s analyze that shall we?

Number one, you took that cash payout because you know you had no chance of beating me. That way ol’ TK could look like he was going down on his terms and not Corey’s. And I wanted you to have that. I wanted you to have that delusion. And moreso, I wanted to prove you’re still the craven coward you always have been.

What kind of MAN takes a payout like that? Huh? What kind of MAN? No man at all really. Just a trumped up facade of manliness that’ll lay down in a heartbeat for a couple bucks so he doesn’t have to say “I failed”.

But make no mistake TK. YOU FAILED. You failed to defend your integrity. You failed to defend your place in the War Games match. You failed your partners. And most of all YOU FAILED YOURSELF. And you have no one, NO ONE, to blame but YOU. Savvy? Is this sinking in yet? I could have walked all over you like a carpet but I chose to pay you off so you could HUMILIATE yourself, and you took that bait hook line and sinker like I knew you would. You’re like the world’s dumbest capitalist automaton. Money goes in and self abasement comes out. It’s incredible. God, you suck. You suck so hard.

And now, because I’m already pissed off, I’m gonna run a train on your skull with my right foot. I’m going to punish you for being a joke. I’m going to punish you for being a coward. And I’m going to punish you for being a waste of space mid card scrub that’s gone absolutely bumfuck nowhere for the last year.

Fuck you Thunder Knuckles. Fuck you and the Bobby Bourbon you rode in on. .

Alright, I’m done.

Just then, Corey gives a little start.

Actually, I’m not done. I have to name the stipulation, don’t I? Okay. I got one. You can only win by submission. We all know how technically proficient TK is, shouldn’t be a problem. Heh. I’m gonna lock you in the End of Ages till you shit your pants. Can’t wait.

Okay, NOW that’s a wrap.

The all seeing eye of the camera is closed and Corey is once again left in his decimated home. Alone. He looks down at his split knuckle, closing his fist to allow the pressure to build and the blood to trickle out. He watches it spatter on the floor, each little pool a manifestation of the, yes, blood, sweat and tears he put into this commune.

And each a little recrimation for letting it slip away.