There’s a quiet shuffling in the courtroom.

Chitter and chatter among those assembled.

“Criminal…”

“Murderer…”

“Give him the CHAIR.”

Steve, like a frightened deer in headlights, would occasionally spin around toward the sound of these noises. When he did, he was met each time with cold, defiant stares.

On one side of the courtroom was the Union of Wrestling Journalists, a legion of dirtsheet-worshipping nerds desperate to glom onto any wrestling story.

They hated Sayors.

But! On the other side of the courtroom we’re XWF’s faithful fans! The ones that followed Sayors’s career in wrestling joirnalism for over two decades! Seen him subjected to torture and torment by violent, deranged sociopaths, week-in and week-out. Solely for their entertainment. To unlock the sick, twisted minds of the hyper violent narcissists that these people love with every atom of their being.

If the XWF was made of legends, Sayors was the scribe that took their godly feats and captured their thoughts, their beliefs, their hopes, their dreams, their fears… On the written page.

What they did in the ring made them immortal.

What Steve did was make the crowd see themselves in those gods.

…

Anyway, the fans?

ALSO HATED STEVE.

Turns out Claudette du Toilette, his ex-wife slash toilet paper empire tycoon?

du Toilette Paper was a major sponsor of the XWF. Since the mysterious death of the company’s CEO (allegedly at Steve’s hands)... The company started re-evaluating its position with the XWF…

And the fans blame Steve…

For the fact that the XWF’s stocks have dropped.

…

By four cents a share.

“FRY HIM!”

“CRUCIFY HIM!”

“Oh man! Like Zydeco did to Mister Natural! And then it turns out they were secretly teaming up the whole time.”

“God, I miss the old XWF…”

“BRING BACK THE XWF’S GUILLOTINE MATCHES, SAYORS!”

“THEN CUT OFF YOUR OWN HEAD WITH THE GUILLOTINE! YOU WIFE-MURDERING CUCK"

…Okay, *some* of them hate Steve.

Others… It would be more accurate to say ‘years of watching hyperviolence trained them to demand the most violent outcome whenever they’re watching anything’.

They could watch Dora the Explorer and scream for Boots the Monkey to tear Swiper’s face off with his chimp arms.


…Yup. What a crowd.

A real who’s-who of parties that have attached themselves to this case like buzzards to a crawling carcass in the desert.

Throat baking in the sun, skin scalded crimson on the desert sand.

Crawling to escape the inescapable.

The crawling is based on the body’s reflexes. To survive at all costs.

But if the man still had the capability to stop and think… He’d know.

He’s already dead.

Steve Sayors dry swallows as that thought crosses his mind.

His already weak ankles chafe against the chains binding his wrists, giving him even more of a rash than usual.

Somehow, the orange jumpsuit both makes his biceps look non-existent *and* adds forty pounds to his gut.

Sayors runs his head over his scalp, which is 30% combover, 60% flop sweat, and 10% soft spot… (His soft spot never actually fully developed when he was an infant. To this day, if someone pats him on the head, he’ll black out for several hours. Doctors say Steve shouldn’t have lived past the age of 11.)

(Both medically… and in general.)

Next to Steve, his attorney…

Some… Guy…

Some Guy?

Right, yes, him.

He shuffles his papers on his desk. A bright, ten-million-watt smile on his face. A white button-up shirt, with red suspenders and pants.

…Steve had met this man on almost a dozen occasions.

…And to be clear, Steve has interacted with murderers, arsonists, war criminals, sexual deviants, dictators… And Thaddeus Duke…

Who falls under, like… ALL OF THOSE CATEGORIES.

…And somehow, THIS man is the one he feels he understands the least.

…Steve sighs, trying his best to lean in to his attorney…

…

Unfortunately, his hands are bound in front of him. And Steve lacks both the upper and lower body strength to really lift himself without the use of arms.

…Ah! Steve gets an idea!

He wiggles his left shoulder… Then his right.

Left! Right!

Steve determinedly rocks himself back and forth in his chair! Like a turtle caught on its back!

And finally! He exits his center-of-balance on the chair!

And lands face-first onto YKW’s should-

WHAP! YKW’s lightning-fast reflexes catch Steve right on the nose!

"AH!” Steve immediately develops a nosebleed! He goes to cover his face his right hand! …Forgetting his arms are chained, he smacks himself with his left!

“AHA! STEVE!” YKW sheepishly grins as he pulls a tissue out of his shirt pocket, wiping the redness pooling under Steve’s nostrils! “MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES! I THOUGHT A GNAT HAD LANDED ON MY SHOULDER!”

…

Steve decided to ignore that.

“D-d-do you…” Steve sniffs, as YKW tosses the bloody tissue in a wastepaper basket by the Defendant’s bench. “Do you think we have a chance?”

…

YKW’s incisor glimmers. He confidently smiles!

For a moment, Steve’s heart leaps! A glimmer of hope in this flood of despair and peril!

YKW lifts his finger in the air!

“Do I think WE’VE a chance!”

…

Steve squints.

…

“Did you just… correct me with a contraction?”

“HAHA! YES!”

…

Steve rapidly blinks.

“...Y-y-you didn’t even correct me… correctly! That sentence was MORE awkward with a contraction!”

YKW scratches his head, smiling bashfully. “HAHA! I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT, STEVE! I’M SORRY! I UNNECESSARILY CONTRACT WHEN I BELIEVE I’M SUPPORTING A HOPELESS CAUSE!”

“Yes, well, I th-”

…

“...What?”

“ALL RISE!” The Bailiff barks!

Immediately, everyone in the courtroom rises!

…Except for Steve, who, again, lacks the basic leg strength to stand up without the use of his arms.

“E-e-excuse me…” Sayors whispers to YKW… “Could y-”

Immediately, YKW grabs Sayors by the collar and hoists him to his feet.

Steve nervously smiles, nodding at his attorney. “Th-th-thank you, Mister… uh… y-”

“SHHHHHHHHH!”  YKW shushes shushingly! For a moment, (possibly the first time ever since Steve met this man…)

…His smile is gone…

Entering the gallery from the back.

The judge.

Wrinkles along his forehead that betray years of deep, profound thought on the law.

A thick, bushy beard that comes with experience and patience.

With grace and elegance, he cuts through the courtroom as if drawn to the high court by magnetic force. Like he was meant to judge.

The judge sits down. And raises his hand.

“GAVEL! GAVEL!” The judge shouts, waving his arm in the air. “Be seated!”

…The courtroom’s population sits down.

…Steve scratches his head.

“...Did the judge just say… ‘gavel, gavel’?”

“SHHHHHHH!” YKW shushes before grabbing Sayors’s ear and dragging it to his smiling lips.

…Steve curiously eyes his attorney, before turning back to the judge…

…

Who is currently mean-mugging.

“What did you just say, Mister Sayors?”

…

Steve dry-swallows, immediately terrified by being questioned by any kind of authority.

“E-e-excuse me?”

“What.”

“Did.”

“You.”

“Just.”

“Say.”

…

The judge’s eye twitches as he points to his empty right hand…

“Was it about my gavel?”

…Steve side-eyes his attorney.

…YKW’s lips flatten, his face contorts, trying to desperately to communicate with his eyes, eyebrows, nostrils, facial muscles and slender cheekbones that this is a key moment in the trial

“Uh…” Steve clears his throat. “No?”

“No?!?” The judge presses. “I could’ve SWORN I HEARD YOU ASK IF I SAID GAVEL?!?!?”

“U-u-uh!!!” Steve stammers. “N-n-n-no no no!” Steve rapidly shakes his head! “I-i-i-i said… Did I budget for travel?”

…

“Which… I… uh… did.”

…

The judge nods. “Very well, Mister Sayors.”

Sayors looks to YKW, who maintains a somber expression… But nods downward.

…Steve glances down.

Under the table, YKW has two thumbs up!

The judge swings his invisible gavel through the air. “GAVEL! THE PROSECUTION HAS CALLED THIS SESSION!”

The prosecution attorney, (and Claudette’s former hired gun of a lawyer), stands at attention like a solider!

“Oswaldo Cunningham, your honor!”

“GAVEL!” The judge nods, swinging through the air, before setting aside his… nothing. “What business have you brought before the court?”

Cunningham spins in place, bowing toward the defense’s bench, where YKW and Sayors are both standing.

“At our last meeting, opposing counsel entered a not guilty plea for his client.” Cunningham spits venomously.

…YKW winks with a smile. And smiles with a wink.

(So, in total, two winks and two smiles. Wink-smile-smile-wink.)

“HAHA! YES, I DID.”

…Sayors sighs. It took him about 35 minutes for his ‘attorney’ to remember whether ‘not guilty’ or ‘guilty’ meant you didn’t do it.

Including ten minutes where he tried to claim ‘guilty’ was like ‘inflammable’ where it means itself and its opposite.

…

Sayors nods. But on minute 36, he did finally enter a guilty plea.

Cunningham raises his arm toward the judge with a flourish!

“I would like to officially challenge this plea!”

Cunningham raises a card toward the judge…

It reads ‘ONE OFFICIAL CHALLENGE...

…

(This card is recognized by the American Bar Association.)'

Cunningham flicks the card toward the Judge.

…

The Judge nods solemnly.

“I will have to review this card…”

The Judge reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a jeweler’s magnifying glasses.

…Sayors leans toward YKW.

“Wh-wh-what is an ‘official challenge’?”

YKW leans back in, covering his mouth to prepare a whisper.

“HE’S TESTING YOUR MIND, STEVE.”

…Okay. For the record? Not a whisper. At all.

“YOU CAN’T FAIL THIS TEST, STEVEN. IF YOU DO, THE DELICATE GAME FOR PROVING YOUR INNOCENCE IS LOST BEFORE IT’S EVEN BEGUN.”

Sayors dry-swallows. “B-b-but… I don’t do well under high pressure!”

…

“Or medium pressure!”

…

“...Or low pressure!”

In a flash, Cunningham sweeps across the gallery to the defense!

Sayors flinches WITH HIS ENTIRE BODY IN TERROR!

…

Millimeters from his face, Cunningham sniffs.

“I smell your fear, Sayors.” Cunningham hisses, his eyes slits as he stares Sayors down to the pit of his soul.

…Sayors is too terrified to blink.

…

“MAY THE CHALLENGE COMMENCE.” The Judge swats his nothing down. “GAVEL!”

…

……

Cunningham coughs into his hand.

“Guiltymansayswhat?”

…Sayors’ eyebrow arches upward in puzzlement.

“Wha-”

SCHWAM!

A hand cutting through the air.

Like a goalie stopping a game-winning penalty kick…

It’s YKW! His right hand covering Sayors’s mouth!

Cunningham’s mouth opens in shock! His lips curl into a snarl!

Immediately, the gallery bursts into hushed whispers!

“He blocked the challenge!”

“Did you see that? Sayors was doomed! But his attorney saved him!”

“Dammit! We almost got to see a crucifixion!”

“Cunningham almost won in a single move!”

“I was playing on my phone and wasn’t paying attention, but I'm still murmuring because I fucking love murmuring.”

…

The Judge nods, tearing up the card. “SAYORS AND HIS ATTORNEY HAVE SURVIVED THE CHALLENGE.” The Judge lifts his nothing and smacks it. “GAVEL!”

The Judge points at both attorneys, currently staring at each other in the eyes like two UFC prizefighters. “I suggest you both save this tension for the trial. TOMORROW!"

The Judge... for some reason, throws a smoke bomb on the ground.

...Then he very visibly walks out.

The Gallery fades away, whispering in hushed, excited tones for this trial.

…

But, standing at the bench.

Cunningham stares daggers into YKW’s eyes.

…

Cunningham…

“Finally.”

Allows the smallest smile to cross his lips.

“A real challenge.”

…

Cunningham turns 180 degrees.

And walks away.

…

YKW slowly takes his hand off Sayors’s lips.

…

Sayors scratches his head.

…

“I still don’t know what he said.”

---

LATER THAT DAY Steve Sayors’s holding cell

…

“Okay…” Sayors nods, spreading various pictures and documents onto the floor… “We have all night. If we pour over every scrap of evidence, we can build a defense for my case!” Sayors turns towards his attorney, sitting in the corner. “Ready?”

…

……

Sayors coughs, nudging notes on the floor with his foot.

“Mister… Sir?”

…

“Should we be… uh…”

…

“Preparing for trial tomorrow?”

“HAHA!” YKW points in the air! Steve doubles back, falling on his ass!

“WE ARE, STEVE! NOW IS THE TIME! THE BIGGEST TRIAL OF MY CAREER!”

…Steve nods, dusting himself off as he pulls himself to his feet.

“Right, sure! My tr-”

“MY TRIAL AGAINST THE XWF TELEVISION CHAMPION!”

…

“What?!?” Sayors shakes his head. “No! I mean, my trial! MY TRIAL TRIAL! Like, the LITERAL TRIAL!”

“HAHA! IT’S SO OBVIOUS!” YKW sticks a finger in the air. “DON’T YOU SEE, STEVE! YOUR TRIAL IS SIMPLY A METAPHOR FOR MY TRUE TRIAL! PROVING THAT I AM WORTHY OF THE XWF RIO DE JANEIRO CHAMPIONSHIP!”

…

“What are you talking about?!?” Steve shudders. “My life is at stake! How is this a metaphor?!?”

YKW snaps his fingers!

“I’M GLAD YOU ASKED, STEVE!”

YKW walks over to the chalkboard and starts drawing doodles!

“SEE… THIS! IS YOU!”

…

Steve squints at the… crudely-drawn circle.

“...Okay.” Steve sighs. “Fine, that’s me.”

“NO!” It’s YKW’s turn to shake his head. "THAT'S NOT YOU, STEVE."

“...B-B-But you just said that's me!”

“YES! BUT YOU’RE NOT YOU! SEE! YOU’RE THE ENTIRE XWF UNIVERSE!”

…

“What?”

“YESSSSSS!” YKW pumps his fist, drawing a curly square next to the circle. “AND IT’S MY JOB TO SAVE YOU! FROM A FOR SEEKING TO DESTROY YOU FROM WITHIN! TAKING YOUR LIFE FORCE AND SNUFFING IT FOR HIS OWN NEFARIOUS PURPOSES!”

…Steve scratches his head.

“...Okay, so, wait... if I’m the XWF…. What are you a metaphor for?”

YKW chuckles. “HAHA! STEVE, I’M NOT A METAPHOR! I’M JUST MYSELF!”

…

“W-w-wait!” Steve waves his arm through the air, pointing at the square. “Why am I a metaphor but you’re just you! That’s not fair!”

“NO, STEVE! AND WHY ISN’T IT FAIR… BECAUSE *HE* MADE IT UNFAIR!” YKW draws a picture of a kitty cat. “THE TELEVISION CHAMPION!” YKW points his chalk at Steve. “YOU KNOW WHO I’M TALKING ABOUT, DON’T YOU, STEVE?”

Steve nods. “I mean, I’ve been in-and-out prison cells, but I’m familiar with who we’re talking about…”

“YES!” YKW nods. “WE’RE OF COURSE, DISCUSSING…”



“TERRY BORDEN.”

…

“What? No! Terry Borden isn’t the Television champion!”

“OF COURSE HE IS, STEVE! I KNOW TERRY BORDEN WHEN I SEE TERRY BORDEN! AND THAT MAN IS TERRY BORDEN!”

“AN OLD WASHED-UP HAS-BEEN TRYING TO TURN BACK THE CLOCK FURTHER AND FURTHER TO CLING ONTO THE LAST VESTIGES OF HIS RELEVANCE!”

Sayors pinches the bridge of his nose.

…

“I mean… Yes. That *could* apply to the Television Champion. But, Terry Borden and Bulk Logan are two different people!”

“ARE THEY, STEVE!” YKW scoffs with a smile! “OR ARE THEY SYMPTOMS OF THE SAME DISEASE?!? THE OLD GUARD DESPERATELY CLINGING TO THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN! DIGGING THEIR NAILS INTO TITLE GOLD IF IT MEANS ANOTHER PAYCHECK PAYING FOR ANOTHER TWO HOURS OF SPRAY TANS, THREE CANS OF ROGAINE AND SIX MORE CHILD SUPPORT CHECKS TO HIS VARIOUS BABY MAMAS!”

“HE CHALLENGES ME TO A DEATH ROW RUMBLE! KNOW WHY, STEVE?”

…Steve dry-swallows. “Sir, I don’t want to think about death row…”

“BUT HE DOES, STEVE! BECAUSE HE’S THE SORT OF SNAKE THAT WOULD RATHER KILL THE FUTURE THAN DISAPPEAR HIMSELF! JUST LIKE CUNNINGHAM!”

…

“W-w-wait? Cunningham? The prosecutor?!?”

“BORDEN! LOGAN! EVEN HULK HOGAN (from 2013 XWF, who was briefly King of the XWF)!” YKW scrawls like a madman, drawing a… patent schematic for a money clip? “DON’T YOU SEE! THEY’RE ALL A METAPHOR FOR OSWALDO CUNNINGHAM!”

…

“Wait.” Steve points left… Then right… Lost in this explanation. “I’m getting… very confused. Is the trial a metaphor for your title match? Or is your title match a metaphor for the trial?”

“IT’S ALL A METAPHOR! FOR MY SHORTCOMINGS!” YKW shakes his head, squeezing his fists. “I’VE BEEN UNFOCUSED. I’VE WANDERED ON THE BEACH OF AIMLESSNESS! STRANDED IN LANDS BOTH FAMILIAR AND STRANGE! I’VE BEEN SO WRAPPED UP IN MYSELF, I’VE FAILED TO SEE WHAT I COULD BE!”

YKW POINTS AT THE SKY!

“I CAN BE A CHAMPION! I BEAT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION WILLY WHISKEY! I NEARLY ELIMINTED CHARLES N. CHANGE IN THE RADIO CITY RUMBLE! I CAN DEFEAT BULK-HULK-SWALDO!”

…

Steve tries his best to smile in the face of this madman!

“S-s-sure! Sure you can!”

“THERE’S JUST ONE THING IN MY WAY…”

…YKW sets his foot on the papers on the floor.

“MY PAST.”

…

“What?”

“DON’T YOU SEE, STEVEN! MY LOSSES! MY FAILURES! TERRY-CUNNING-LOGAN WILL ATTEMPT TO WEAPONIZE MY PAST AGAINST ME! EVIDENCE OF HOW I CAN NEVER BE ENOUGH!”

…

YKW smiles, reaching into his pocket.

…Retrieving a lighter.

“WHICH IS WHY I MUST DESTROY THE EVIDENCE!”

…Steve’s eyes widen!

“W-w-wait! NOOOO!”

“IT’S THE PERFECT ACT, STEVE!” YKW flicks the lighter, which lights in a flash. “TO ILLUSTRATE MY NEWFOUND COMMITMENT TO WINNING! LIKE CORTES BURNT THE BOATS THAT WOULD ALLOW HIS MEN TO RETREAT FROM THE NEW WORLD, SO I SHALL SET MY PAST AFLAME SO MY ONLY ROAD FORWARD IS THROUGH MY OPPONENT!”

Steve desperately dives onto YKW’s arm. “Cortes' men mutinied! Then they built new boats to go home! DON'T BURN THE EVIDENCE!!!”

“DON’T FEAR THE FIRE, STEVE.”

Drop…

In moments.

The scraps of paper light up…

Steve terrified leaps to the ceiling, clinging for dear life.

“I WON’T LET IT BURN YOU.”

YKW points to the camera, as the background behind him is consumed in smoky inferno.

“BULK LOGAN. YOU CAN SETUP YOUR PHOTO-OP STRIKE BUSTING SESSIONS.”

“YOU CAN HOLD YOUR NOSE AS YOU POSE WITH TERMINALLY-ILL CHILDREN.”

“ALL YOU WANT… YOU CAN FAKE IT.”

“BUT WHEN YOU GET IN THE RING WITH ME? TRYING TO KEEP YOUR TV TITLE REIGN ALIVE?”

“YOU WON’T MAKE IT.”

The cell begins to fill with black…

The only thing left in frame… is the outline of YKW’s face.

…

“I ASK YOU, BULK.”

“WHAT WILL YOU DO, BROTHER?”

“WHEN Y’ALL-KNOW-WHO WRAPS ELEVEN INCHES OF LEATHER AROUND YOUR SKULL!”

“SLIGHTLY DAMPS A SPONGE AGAINST YOUR SKULL!”

“THE HOOD DROPS OVER YOUR FACE.”

“AND TEN THOUSAND VOLTS OF ELECTRICITY…”

“RUN.”

“WILD.”

“ON.”

“YOU.”
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