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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Fired, Tired and Rehired
Author Message
Mark Flynn Offline
24/7 Briefcase Holders get their name in GOLD
The 24/7 Shot!

XWF FanBase:

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)

08-25-2023, 08:41 PM

“So… Let me get this straight…” Says a dull-toned fireman, dressed in a yellow jacket and a large red hat, holding a pen and a clipboard. “This building had been actively on fire for about fifteen minutes… And you threw… a SINGLE bucket of water at it?”

“YEAH.” Flynn squints, like that’s a dumb question. “I mean, that’s what I had.” Flynn puffs out his chest, trying to summon a certain intrepid gravitas. [orange“That’s what HEROES do, little man. They use the tools at their disposal to SOLVE the problem.”[/orange]

“So, you… threw a water bucket… at a fire. Which didn’t solve the problem. And it didn’t occur to you, at that point, to… call the fire department?”

“...Pssh.” Flynn wrinkles his nose. “Outsourcing my mission?” Flynn chuckles. “Yeah, no, absolutely. When BLUE TANGO is out on patrol for crime, I’m sure the first thing he does is pull out his cellphone and CALL A GROWN-UP.” Flynn shakes his head, sticking a thumb like, [i]can you believe this guy.

“Sir, are you claiming to be vigilante like The Blue Tango? Patrolling the streets for crime.”

Flynn blushes. “Well… I… uh…” Flynn puts on a fake smile, like he’s well-equipped to answer that question. “I’m more of a… major-ops-kind-of good guy. I don’t ‘patrol the streets, fighting petty crime’ so much as I… y’know, stop MAJOR threats! Career villains! Egomaniacal madmen flouting the law in robo-supersuits”

“Or like a large fire raging in a heavily-populated downtown area.”

Flynn nods emphatically. “Yes, exactly! Like a large fire rag-”

Flynn squints, irritated. “Shuddup.”

Standing beside an irritable Flynn, Irwin shifts the blanket he’s wrapped in, gently sets his mug of cocoa aside, and clears his throat. “Actually, Officer…”

Flynn scoffs, cutting in. “Don’t call this NERD, ‘officer’, Irmano. He’s not a cop. Firefighters don’t even HAVE RANKS.”

The fireman sighs, as he scribbles down on his clipboard. “Actually, sir, we do. There’s the Fire Chief, Lieutenant, Captain and…” The fireman points to a badge on his chest. “Firefighter.”

“PSSSH.” Flynn scoffs, irritably, 100% not about this fireman’s attitude. “That’s not a RANK. That’s a job description.”

“You mean like how Officer is short for ‘Police Officer’?” The fireman allows himself the slightest glance at Flynn.

…Whose hands start tensing and detensing at the idea of beating this man’s face in with his own stupid red, plastic helm-

Irwin coughs, drawing attention to himself once more. “Mister Firefighter, for the record? *I* called the fire department BEFORE I grabbed the bucket of water.”

“Mmm.” The firefighter grunts, continuing to notate for his report. “And…” The firefighter points his pen at Flynn. “What were *you* doing while this call was being made?”

Flynn exhales. “I was DOING HEROIC THINGS… Specifically, *TRYING* to talk out a plan with a tech billionaire about recovering his last-slash-stolen wrestling robot.”

Flynn tilts his head towards Elon Musk. Who is outside the fire engine.

Repeatedly pumping his arm.

Trying to get them to honk the horn.

There’s no one in the fire truck.

“Two… men… spoke… while fire burned behind them…” The fireman wrote.

“HEY!” Flynn barks. “Billy Shakespeare! Instead of writing your life story… Shouldn’t YOU be… doing something about… THAT?”

Flynn points behind the fireman.

At the raging fire behind them.

Yep. MuskCo is still actively engorged in an all-encompassing inferno.

A team of firefighters is currently spraying the flames with water to try and tame the wild dame that is flame.

The fireman interviewing Flynn and Irwin?

He doesn’t bother looking up from his clipboard, let alone turning around.

“Sir, please don’t question how we’re handling this fire.”

Flynn sneers. “I’m not questioning how THEY’RE handling the fire!” Flynn says, pointing toward the working, water-spraying firefighters. “I’m questioning what YOU’RE doing. There’s an ACTIVE FIRE and you’re chit-chatting! Complaining about how I HANDLED my GOOD GUY duty!”

“Sir.” The firefighter disinterestedly mutters. “A significant chunk of responding to calls is proper documentation.” The firefighter points with his pen, before adding a n-...

Adding a n-

Nope, pen’s out of ink.

…Flynn’s eye wildly twitches, at the audacity of this pencil-pushing fireman, as he juggles through pens in his front pocket…

…The fireman dabs the end of the pen on his tongue.

Then resumes writing.

“I am contributing just as much to this fire as the rest of the team. Thorough paperwork is half-the-job.”

…Flynn grits his teeth, incredulous. “Listen to me, you small, INSIGNIFICANT worm… You want to talk down to ME about how *I* handled my foray into firefighting?”

“Sir, I wouldn’t call what you did ‘firefighting’. You threw a single bucket of water.”

“*I* contributed ONE BUCKET OF WATER. That’s ONE MORE THAN YOU, BUCKO. What the FUCK are you doing?!?”

“Writing a report.” The firefighter exhales bored, as he scribbles. “Witness… was… hostile.”

“WITNESS?!?” Flynn screeches. “I AM A LOCAL HERO.”

“AT THE VERY LEAST, A GOOD SAMARITAN!” Flynn continues, offering a middleground.

Witness…” The fireman continues writing, “...Has… grandiose... sense of self-importance.”

…Flynn cracks his knuckles.

He takes a step for-


Irwin squeezes Flynn by the bicep, looking him in the eye.

“S-sir.” Irwin sniffs, fighting both Flynn’s superior strength and every fiber of his being to kowtow to his hero. “For the sake of your… heroic persona… Please don’t get into a fistfight with a firefighter…. People don’t like heroes that… firemen.”

The fireman wanders off (presumably to take more notes from other people) as Flynn reels his arm out of Flynn’s grip.

“Gahhhhhhh… what’s the point, Irwin?!?” Flynn sighs, defeated. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, checking his most recent notifications…

NEWS UPDATE: Twitter stolen from Elon Musk’s possession. Immediately increases 35% in value

“NK ran off with Twitter before I could buy it.”


“And, either through ChadGPT’s super-good-guy-tech… or *actual charisma*... He’s currently using his newfound app to turn the PLANET against me...”

Flynn exhales, as he closes all but the last notification

“Could this get any woooooooo-”

1 MISSED CALL - Agent Marie Davenport

Flynn’s eyes widen.



Irwin perks, immediately terrified from Flynn’s sudden panic.

“W-w-what is it, sir?!?”

“FUCK.” Flynn shoves his phone back into his pocket. “SHIT.” He spins left and right.

Irwin panickedly spins in place, like the sky might fall ontop of the two of them. “Sir, what is going on?!?”

Flynn grabs Irwin by the arm. “We gotta get outta here.”

“Uh… Okay! Back to the storage unit!”

“That’s the FIRST place she’ll check! No, we gotta get DEEP off-the-grid!” Flynn grasps at his temples, trying to clear his mind. “Okay, okay okay… we’re gonna have to drive to Mexico first, disappear into Guadalajara, make ‘er think we’re headed to South America… THEN, we’ll get on a plane to Siberia… Hide out in the north… Build an igloo. It’s gonna be tricky, chartering and flying on a biweekly basis back into the states to wrestle on XWF shows but…”

“...She?” Irwin’s ears perk curiously

Flynn spins on Irwin, like he’s shocked by Irwin’s continued presence. “JESUS CHRIST, IR-DAWG! YOU’RE STILL HERE?!?” Flynn grabs Irwin by his cheeks, smushing his lackey’s face together! “PULL THE GODDAMNED CAR AROUND! PRRRRRRONTO!” Flynn shoves Irwin toward the parking lo-

Then, yanks him backwards into Flynn’s chest.

Pulling up next to Flynn’s supercharged, customized Cherry Red Honda Fit…

Is a dark purple Ford Interceptor.

Irwin is so tightly pressed against Flynn, he can actually hear Flynn’s stomach drop a full fathom.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeee-IT!” Flynn mutters.

Irwin is so fucking lost right now. “...Sir… I… Could you please tell m-”

Flynn, in an incredible feat of athleticism and impromptu physics calculation, does a full forward roll, without releasing Irwin from his chest. They dive next to the fire truck, hiding behind it.

…Actually beside Elon Musk, who is still demanding to an empty driver’s seat that the horn be honked.

Flynn peers around the corner of the truck.

The Interceptor idles in the parking lot. Engine on.

[orang]“Ffffffuck.”[/orange] Flynn squeezes Irwin… “Uh… maybe… Some sort of… hot-air balloon. Or a dirigble!” Flynn blinks rapidly, sweating, as his mind runs through a hundred possible hare-brained escape attempts, each more implausible and ridiculous than the last.

“Sir!” Irwin pushes… Okay, tries to push… himself out of Flynn’s grip. It ends up more like he’s just got a hand on Flynn’s pectoral.

Flynn peers down, perplexed.

…Irwin embarrassedly puts his hand back down.

“Sir!” Irwin hisses, but with enough cognizance of the danger of this situation to keep his voice down. “What is happening?”

…Flynn groans.

“Okay.” Flynn exhales, looking over his shoulder one last time…

The car’s still there. Idling.


“Listen.” Flynn spins back towards his sidekick. “You might not know this, but I used to work for United States Government.”

…Irwin scoffs, unimpressed. “Sir, I’m your biggest fan. OF COURSE, I know you used to work for the US government.”

“Oh...Wait, Really?”

“From July 31st, 2021 to September 25th, 2022!”

Flynn regards Irwin suspiciously “...How the hell do you know that?”

“Uh, because it was on television, duh!” Irwin shakes his head. “That was, like, your big return to the wrestling ring! You and the War Criminal! Going on spy missions on behalf of the United States government! The XWF covered those stories! In VIVID detail!”

…Flynn grits his teeth. “Y’know, in retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have recorded and broadcasted[i] those… confidential government missions.”

“Yes!” Irwin marvels nostalgically! “You were an unwilling pawn in the government’s efforts to regulate and control extradimensional wrestlers being recruited by the XWF! Congress was growing terrified that the advent of extraplanar superbeings was spelling doom for the future of the United States!”

“...Yeah. Yeeeeeeeah.” Flynn blushes, recalling the many meetings he had with federal agents about the growing power of one Universal Champion and how they could possibly stop him… “Turns out ALIAS, the so-called super-bio-weapon ‘WORLDEATER’... WAS mortal the whole time… At least mortal enough to get beaten by guys like Kido and Cor’... Sure, he’s one of the greats, but I don’t know how he’d do against a nuke…”

“I mean, while we’re talking about misses, the government was afraid of Jay Omega being here!” Flynn shakes his head. “Turns out, if you just beat him enough times, he eventually just crawls over to Las Vegas and starts losing there too!”

“Actually, sir!” Irwin raises a finger, pressing his glasses against the bridge of his nose, his inner nerd overtaking his primal fear… “I’d always wondered about a plothole in your time with the Interplanetary Security and Defense…”

“PLOTHOLE?!?” Flynn gasps, offended! “We’re talking about my LIFE, Irwinner! I don’t HAVE plotholes!”

“But you do!” Irwin points at Flynn! “See, you chased ‘Robert Miles’ to that abandoned building in Louisiana… THEN, you discovered ‘Robert Miles’ was YOU from the FUTURE! THEN, you won the Universal Title and joined forces with your Future Self!”

Flynn nods. “Yep, yep, all-true. So, what’s the problem? Is it ‘How is Good Guy Flynn going to age into Evil Future Flynn?...” Flynn reaches into his pocket for a notebook. “Because, on that topic, I have several working theories…”

Irwin shakes his head. “No! You were TRAPPED as a ward of the United States Government for Life! They had you dead-to-rights after you were caught in the desert, with a flipped-over car, a suitcase full of morphine, and an amount of cocaine of cash value equal to the GDP of an African micronation!”

“...I also had two sticks of gum on me…”

…Flynn clears his throat, checking his six one more time. The car remains stationary.

“Get to the fucking point, Irmano. Once she leaves that car… We have a twelve second opening to amscray, on the ouble-day.”

Irwin peeks around the corner of the car himself…

“My point is… How’d you escape being a ward of the state?”

“He didn’t.”


Shoulder-resting against the red fire engine.

Exuding menace and strength with every fiber of her being.



A silent contempt in her eyes.

It’s Flynn’s old handler.

Agent Marie Davenport.

“...Marie. Long time.” Flynn clears his throat, trying to lean against the truck suavely. He gives her a quick up-and-down look. “You’re looking well.”

Not untrue.

“You look like shit.” She says. Not angrily or with an ounce of vitriol. Just stating a fact.

…Which, Also, is not untrue.

Flynn sniffs, turning his head to take that barb. “Ouch, but okay.” Flynn turns back toward the car… Which is still idling. “When did you figure out how to be in two places at once?”

Davenport reaches into her pocket… Retrieving her car keys. “Not before you, Mark. You and your future self, running roughshod on the timestream, making my job hell for almost a year... Meanwhile, I had to make due with what personnel I still had... She presses a button.

The Interceptor’s engine shuts off. And out steps a brick wall of a man. Almost rectangular in physique. Broad shoulders. Uncomfortable-looking suit.

Agent Redd Spahtz.

“Ugh.” Flynn groans. “You brought the dud?”

“Flynn! If you wanna talk duds.” Spahtz stews, slamming the car door shut. He walks with a huff toward the fire engine. “Why don’t w-”


Spahtz looks down.

His pant leg got caught in the car door. And ripped clean off.

Spahtz’s three-piece suit? Just became two-and-a-half pieces.

Spahtz, panicking, tries to re-open the door, to hide his shame…

Naturally, it’s locked.

…Davenport sighs. She clicks her keys again.

Spahtz throws open the door, and nestles HALF of himself inside, so only his clothed leg is outside the door, riding the side of the car like a saddle on a horse.


Flynn cups his right ear!


…Spahtz groans, cupping his own hand around his mouth. “I SAID! WHY DON’T WE T-”

“WHAT?!?” Flynn runs his index finger around the inside of his ear, like he must have some leftover wax.

Spahtz’s face turns beet red, as he stews angrily, way too far away to wring Flynn by the neck for his assholery. Flynn smiles ear-to-ear.

…Until Davenport snaps her fingers.

…He winces… Turning around.

Davenport’s eyes narrow. “You really fucked up this time, Mark.”

Flynn rolls his eyes. “Whaddya mean? The NK thing?” Flynn’s eyes widen, incredulously. “I didn’t do NOTHING! I didn’t put NK in the robot! I don’t even know how he got in there!”

“We do.”

”...You do?”

“We do. And it’s a matter of national security we either get him out… Or compromise him permanently.”

Flynn chuckles.

“Compromise, NK? C'mon, are you serious?”

Davenport’s face doesn’t move an inch. She’s always serious.

…Flynn’s eyebrows wrinkle, displeased.

“Look… Fine. NK is… not happy with me… And yes, he is an agent of North Korea. But, c’mon, we don’t need to… KILL him. He’s just being a dick, joyriding in a big fighting robot. What’s the big deal?”

“Flynn. You have no idea the full function and capabilities of the ChadGPT combat robot, do you?”

“I think it’s time we… brief you on… exactly what’s going on.” Davenport sharply eyes Flynn and… this sidekick character she’s never met before.

Irwin blushes. Sucking in his gut, trying to make his nerdy paste-white body as appealing as possible.

…Davenport doesn’t move one facial muscle.

“Why don’t we… meet back at the ISD office an-”


…One of the firemen… (the notetaker that was irritating Flynn, actually)... has finally acquiesced the billionaire, who has been standing and pumping his arm for a half-an-hour now, to blow the horn.

Elon Musk, immediately satisfied, jogs over to Flynn, Irwin and Davenport!

“OH!” He claps his hands, like he’s been invited into this conversation. “Are we having a meeting? Why leave? I have some GREAT meeting spaces in MY office! I even have a DVD player that already has Shrek 3 loaded on it. That ALWAYS gets my creative juices flowing!”

Musk points backward to the raging fire behind him.

…Flynn side-eyes the firefighter as he climbs down out of the frontseat, using the little metal ladder on the side of the firetruck. His clipboard, naturally, is still in his hands, as it has been from the moment he stepped off the truck.

“Is this REALLY the time to be honking on the horn? When there’s so much valuable PAPERWORK you could be CONTRIBUTING to?” Flynn spits sarcastically.

The firefighter’s lip curls… Flynn grins ! He must have hit a nerv-

…Nope, the firefighter’s just yawning. “Sir.” The firefighter says, covering his mouth, until the yawn is completely over. “We have… *yawn*... this situation under contr-”

…That moment, the structural supports fail.

The third floor collapses onto the second floor. And the second floor collapses onto the first floor.

The fourth floor seems to hang in the air for a moment, like Wil E. Coyote, having just enough sway over gravity’s hold to recognize its impending doom. Before it, too, crashes down.

Dust, rubble and soot are kicked into the air as MuskCo seems to collapse in a smoking explosion, like a Tesla Rocket on April 20th.

The firefighter… stands there. On his little ladder connected to the firetruck.

…With just enough decency.

To be embarrassed.

Flynn reaches over…

And snags the clipboard.

He reaches into his pocket.

And retrieves his own pen.

He scribbles…

“Did… NOT… have the situation… under control.”

Flynn slams down a period. Then, frisbees the clipboard into the fireman’s chest.

“Wanted to make sure THAT gets in your report.”

…An office.

Covered wall-to-wall in ash.

Bits of paper. Remnants of industry.

The corpse of a business.

A tool of commerce and corporate activity.

Set ablaze and left in tatters.

And sitting at the center of the rubble.

”Who else… but Mark Flynn.”

Flynn leans back comfortably against the jagged edges of what was once a support beam…

He walks over to the water cooler… Er, what’s left of the water cooler.

The base has been crushed by the brick on one side, so the whole is tilted like the Leaning Tower of Pisa…

And the tank of water on top… Has asbestos from the crushed ceiling above swimming in its murky brown liquid…

Flynn, undeterred, tips a paper cup off the side… And presses down the button…

The dying cooler slowly creaks, as if it knows this is the last time it will be used… It spits out what little it has… Including a puff of pink fiberglass insulation, straight into the cup.

Flynn lifts it to his eye, swirling it like a it’s a wine tasting.

“Oh, Madaroo.”


Flynn shakes his head, and he takes his little cone paper cup and walks over to one of the cubicles, where office drones used to pour their heart and soul into increasing the pocket depth of a man whose wealth was virtually limitless.

Flynn pulls back an ergonomic rolling chair from the desk. And takes a seat.

“Y’know what’s funny, Dye-dye?” Flynn scratches his head, as continues to admire the undrinkable liquid in the cup, rotating it in his head… Taking it in from every angle he can.

“How many people seem to get off on telling me who I am. WHAT I am.”

“A fake.”

“A villain cosplaying as a hero.”


Flynn gives the concoction another swizzle. As the liquid turns, the peppy pink glob breaks down into smaller bits of fuzz…

“Since you seem to get off… LITERALLY… on me going over XWF history. Let me remind you of something.”

Flynn turns toward the camera, venom in his eyes. Spitting angry.

“I had EVERY OPPORTUNITY to screw everyone over and go all-in on myself. If I wanted to be selfish? If I wanted to go back to the way I was? I would’ve conked Corey over the head at WarGames with that wrench and taken the easy way out.”

“Hell, I would’ve betrayed Neddliest Catch the MOMENT he hit his Ego Death on Sidders so *I* could claim a pin over the last Uni champ to beat Bobby Bourbon.”

“If I REALLY wanted to throw away this new leaf I turned over? Would I have saved those kids that Micheal Graves wanted to explode?”

“I get it, Family Madders. I really do.”

“The WORST part of me? That fuckin’ voice in the back of my head? BEGGING me to go back to the way I was and COAST to the top, riding this briefcase to easy street?”

“It sounds a lot like you, Madison.”

[i]“Give it all up.”

“Get back that briefcase and use it SAME NIGHT.”



Flynn sighs.

“But… I don’t want to do that.”

“Sure, I’d like it if people cheered me.”

“It’d be a hell ot a lot easier if people believed me that I want to fix what I’ve fucked up.”

“But, they remember who I was. And I can’t fault them for not trusting me.

“Cuz… I’m…”
Flynn shrugs. “Well, I’m NOT perfect.”

…Flynn claps twice.

“Well-spotted, Mad. I am, in fact, a profoundly flawed human being.”

Flynn sighs, nodding, as if he’s accepting the truth himself.

“I am egotistical.”

“I am… unpleasant to be around.”

…Flynn chuckles.

“Hell, I can be a real fuckin’ asshole if I put my mind to it.”

“And… *sigh*... if I ever gave myself a moment to sit down and think about it…”

“I’d really regret how things turned out between myself and my last partner.”

“Fuck… Ah, well, we’re already here. You hear that, NK? I’m sorry.”

“I know that doesn’t fix even a smidgen of what I did to you, one long year ago.”

“But, if it’s worth even a hair more than zilch to you?”

“I am sorry.”

…Flynn half-smiles at the camera, somber.

“Is this still getting you off, Maddykins? Is this still the ASSHOLE you want so desperately to join forces with? The one acknowledging his past is one backstabbing after the other and trying to be better?”

…Flynn grins ear-to-ear now.

“Y’know, back when we were partners… NK and I used to both love games. Why don’t we play one right now?”

“Let’s play Hypotheticals.”

“Now, I’m NOT the villain I once was. And, even if no one believes me but Theo…(maybe…)? I ain’t going back.”

“But. If I WAS…” Flynn salivates, with a sinister smile. Like the cat that ate the canary.

“If I WAS going to return to form… Become the DOMINANT MONSTER I used to be…”

Flynn smacks the table excitedly.


Flynn runs his boot against the ashy, dust floor… Kicking up cobwebs…


Flynn’s breath is heaving… His eyes are ELECTRIC with energy. His heart races imaging it.

Then, his smile fades.


“Big if.”

“IF… I was going to go back to being, let’s say, NOT GOOD.”

Flynn shakes his head…

He reaches into the desk.

And retrieves a single sheet of paper.

A… resume?

“Why in the HELL… would I throw in with you, Maddy?”

Flynn lifts up the cup of asbestos water to the camera.

“Listen to me: I would rather drink this POISONOUS WASTE than have my goddamned name preceded by ‘W/ Madison Dyson’.”

Flynn pours the chemical compound on the floor, shaking his head with disgust.

“Listen, Madaroo. When I was a NOT-GOOD GUY? My standards were LOW. I am talking DIRT LOW.”

“I’m talking, SUB-TERRANEAN, I allowed myself to be managed by CHRIS FUCKING PAGE, LOW.”

“Do you have any idea, in retrospect, how personally HUMILIATING it was to CARRY his fucking shit stable (and we all know it was a stable) on my back, week-in and week-out… to be treated like a mid-level talent behind losers like THAD DUKE and PETER VAUGHN.”

“And I dealt with that for almost TWO YEARS, Maddy. I wore a goddamn CCPE patch on my jacket, walking down that ramp, EVERY WEEK FOR ALMOST SEVEN HUNDRED AND THIRTY DAYS.”


“I want you to take it as PERSONALLY as POSSIBLE.”

“When I tell you, that I couldn’t STOMACH you even THINKING we were IDEOLOGICALLY ALIGNED for a GODDAMNED MILLISECOND.”

Flynn slides the resume across the desk.

“Look at this record?”

“When was your last real heyday, huh?”

“2020? A middling four-month reign ended by a Shawn Warstein cash-in?”

“2018? Riding the Engineer’s coattails, pretending to have a contributing role to the longest Universal Title Reign of all-time?”

“Let’s face it, Dyson chicken. Your time anywhere near controlling the throne of the XWF? Is LONG.”



“As evidenced by you offering your stooge Mercy as a token loss to earn my favor.”

“Sure, five seasons ago, you were the star villain of the show.”

“Now, you’re a cutaway joke.”

“Here for a week. Gone again.”

“Take over the world?”

“You can’t even take control back over Corey and get him all Engy-fied once more.”

“You’re a Saturday Morning Cartoon Villain, shouting curses and disappearing into a puff of smoke when the teenage kid pulls off your mask…”

“Revealing that you’re not really a monster.”

“You’re just an elderly business owner.”

“Dressed up like a powerful entity.”

“Trying to scare the locals into believing in you again.”

“And you wanna Palpatine me?”


“Bitch, you don’t even rule Mercy’s promo time. She’s out dating school shooters with more charisma than you.”


Flynn slides the resume back toward himself.


“IF I wanted to throw it all away.”

“Forget how I fucked up saving Lilabeth.

“How I screwed up protecting Larry.”

“How I created my own worst enemy in NK.”

Flynn picks up the paper off the desk…

“IF I wanted to go bad? One last time?”

And rips it in half.

“I think I can handle the transition myself.”

He tears the scraps into bits.

“I don’t need to be hired on by a FAILURE of a NOBODY like Madison Dyson.”

He tears the bits into shreds.

“Whose individual successes include ONE fifteen-day X-Treme Title reign. And ONE King of the XWF win.”

He tears the shreds into strips.

Flynn covers the side of his mouth.

“And if you think that trophy’s worth the scrap metal it’s made out of, I’d like to point you to Sidney King, who IMMEDIATELY after winning the Uni, lost it to Kido, exiled herself to Anarchy, got humiliated out of WarGames, then lost to me for good measure.”

“Only ONE thing makes a King. And it’s gold around the waist.”

“Corey is King… for now.”

“And you? You’re the ultimate clown of 2023. A white woman in dreadlocks.”

“Insisting she’s the future.”

“When she eminates nothing but the past.”

Flynn holds out what was Dyson’s resume to the camera… Now nothing but confetti.

He opens his hands.

And Dyson’s miniscule personal record flutters to the ground.

Lighter than air.

“...You seem a little slow in the brain, Mad. Stuck on this whole hiring me, even as I talk about what a LOSER you are.”

“So, in case you missed it? Once more with gusto?”

…Flynn bends his face toward the table.

Until his entire face is in the camera.



Flynn sniffs. He dusts his hand along the surface of the table. Clearing what dust and debris remains.

“Now that that’s done with.”

“Let’s move onto Mercy.”

“Who sounds dumb with her stupid mask on.”

…Flynn’s brow suddenly contorts into one of concern.

“Oh gosh. Is that ableist to say?”

…Flynn shrugs.

“Apparently not, if she didn’t wear it for any… medical condition. Turns out she was wearing that Hot Topic sleep apnea mask just for fashion, I guess?”

“Turns out, she can talk in a totally understandable way when she wants to.”

“Also turns out, even when she isn’t doing her sPoOkY vOiCe, she sounds like someone doing an impression of a moron.”

“Which. At this point? That might just mean she’s a moron.”

Flynn cackles… Then leans into the camera, like he’s about to explain something to a slow child.

“See, Mercy wants to claim that me making fun of her voice was somehow… inappropriate?”

“Like, I wouldn’t have noticed she sounds fucking stupid if I didn’t have some extraplanar seventh sense to see beyond the fabric of space and time.”

Flynn leans into the camera.


“Do you not realize…”

“That when you record these promos…”





“I can hear your voice. And… For a big, scary, strong-but-silent monster?”

“You sure talk a whole fucking lot.”

“So, when I say ‘your stupid voice sounds like an impression of a dumb person’? That’s ME…”
Flynn gestures toward himself. “Using my sense of HEARING.” Flynn points to his ears. “To interpret the sounds you make out of your facehole…” Flynn points to his mouth. “as words.”

“THEN, I use my BRAIN.” Flynn points to his head. “To construct ‘humorous analogical comparisons’, designed to make you feel inferior, thus lowering your sense of self-worth.”

“See. I’m trying to hurt your feelings.”

“I want you to feel small.”


“Like those gangly teenagers you stab to death on a regular basis.”

“I love that on you, Mercy. I love that the psychopathic serial murderer wants me to be careful about how I make fun of her voice.”

“See? Do you feel stupid yet?”

“Cuz that’s where I want you mentally before the match.”

“I want you questioning every choice you’ve ever made before we step in the ring together.”

“I want you regretting your walkout music, your morning breakfast, your choice in manager.”


…Flynn smiles.

“This was all covered in the hit 1977 documentary, Pumping Iron, Merse.”

“See, when I talk? I’m competing.”

“When I think? I’m competing.”

“And when I waste my precious breath to tell you how WORTHLESS you are in the wrestling ring?”

“I am calculating… I am maneuvering… I am plotting exactly the mental state I want you in.”

“I’ll break your goddamned body donw piece-by-piece in the ring.”

“And I’ll break your spirit a week before just by telling you exactly what you don’t need to hear.”

“I’m very good what I do, Merse. I don’t need to step outside the boundaries to get my licks in.”

“Do what you like, Mercy.”

“I hope you use what little control you have over what will happen. To make yourself feel better.”

“If it’s what you really want? Do what Maddy says. Eat a loss in tribute to me.”

“Or… go out there. Disobey your master. Try to win. Give it your all. Bring out every weapon and dirty trick you can think of. Fight with everything you have.”[/orange]

“If I had a choice, you’d do the latter.”

“But, either way, Merse?”

Flynn nods knowingly.


“I’ll win.”

“I won this match two weeks ago. When I got under the skin of an emotionless, soulless killer…”

“And touched a nerve.”

Flynn winks.[/i][/i][/i]
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