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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
"Mark Flynn Dies Violently" Ch. 1
Author Message
Mark Flynn Offline
24/7 Briefcase Holders get their name in GOLD
The 24/7 Shot!



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(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)


#1
01-12-2024, 11:32 PM

“Awards are inherently bullshit.”

“Know why? Because it IMPLIES that the artist is INFERIOR to the critic.”

“It implicitly validates those sitting in judgment of the guy who GOT OFF HIS ASS AND CREATED.”

“Riddle me FUCKING this. How many great movies did the inventor of the Academy Awards direct?”

“Zero.”

“Know how many so-called accolades these bullshit awards get?”

“None. Know why? Because these ‘awards’? Are not worth the GOLD-PAINTED TIN that they make the trophies out of.”

“And yet, the industry imbues this… *importance* on awards.”

“When a fucking ACTUAL wrestler receives an award, it implies that the award somehow GRANTS IMPORTANCE on the award-winner's work.”

“That somehow the AWARD gives VALUE to the WORK.”

“...Know what gave that work value?”

“The fucking BLOOD and SWEAT and TEARS poured into that work.”

“The ANGUISH. The pure HUMAN SUFFERING that went into the act of BRINGING SOMETHING NEW INTO THE WORLD.”

“365 DAYS OF PHYSICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL TORMENT, PUTTING YOURSELF THROUGH BIWEEKLY ATROCITY TO ENTERTAIN MIDDLE AMERICA.”




“And you think a fourteen-inch tall golden idol? With a plaque on it that some intern had to google my name to spell it correctly?”

“Dictated by a ‘review board’ of has-been wrestlers who NEVER competed at my level?”

“And KER-IT-ICS who never had the CA-JO-NES to get in the ring themselves?”

“That pack of cackling jackals?”

“Is supposed to *recognize* my achievements in 2023?”

“THEY get to call ME the best of 2023?”




“No.”

“I refuse to give you that power.”

“You don’t have the RIGHT to measure the VALUE of what the GIFT I’VE GIVEN to the ARTFORM that is professional wrestling.”

“I don’t give ONE SINGLE RED SHIT from your DISEASED, IMPACED BOWELS!... What you people think of me. Whether or not you GET what I do in that ring.”

“Fuck your award.”

“Fuck your ceremony.”

“And…”

“FUCK.”

“YOU.” 




Flynn clears his throat, lowering his notecards back into his tuxedo’s coat pocket.

“Thoughts? Honest opinions?”



The camera pans to the man beside Flynn, his number-one fan, Irwin.

…Visibly sweating through his waistcoat.

“…Uh.” Irwin hesitates… before dry-swallowing, nodding with a weak smile. “Passionate! Definitely… passionate!”

Flynn nods. “Exactly what I’m looking for, Irmano. Positive glowing feedback with NO NOTES!”



……

“I do actually have two no-“

“TWO NOTES?!?!?!!? FFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK.” Flynn furiously tears off his suit jacket and throws it onto the floor. He stomps it once!

Twice!

Punts into the air…

It flops up!

…And back to the floor.



Flynn grits his teeth. As he reaches down and pulls his suit jacket back on…

It now has two clear shoeprints… One on the right side of the chest. The other on the left shoulder.

“Say it. And I will do my best not to PUNCH THROUGH YOUR FUCKING THROAT.”



Irwin sniffs. “How very kind of you, sir.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Flynn starts to reel his arm back…

“Point one.” Irwin begins, raising a finger, trying to buy himself just enough time to avoid a throat-punch. “I feel it’s… wise to consider… uh… the larger context of your… position.”

…Flynn squints. “How d'ya mean, Ir-man?”

Irwin bites his lip. “Do you… uh…remember last year’s Year-End XWF Awards? When you won 2022 Superstar of the Year?”

“Yeah?”

…Irwin coughs. “Do you remember… the speech you gave after you won that award?”

…Flynn scoffs, shaking his head. “Irwin! That speech is ANCIENT HISTORY! Who could even *remember* th-”

“You had it tattooed on my left buttock.”



“Because you said it was a historically significant speech and it needed to be saved for posterity.”



“On my pos-”

“On your posterior. Obviously.” …Flynn exhales. “Well, we don’t have to look at the... tattoo, I’ll just take your w-”

“And I quote!” Irwin has already lowered his dress pants just enough to capture the upper half of his pasty white ass.

In his hand, he has a little pointer stick like a college professor pointed at his buttock.

Quote:”This award DEFINITIVELY PROVES… THAT I AM THE GREATEST WRESTLER WHO EVER LIVED. And if any of you were better than me in that ring? YOU WOULD HAVE WON THIS INSTEAD OF ME.”



Flynn snorts. “Yes, wel-”

Quote:”LOOK UPON MY AWARDS AND DESPAIRE! FOR I AM BECOMETH UNDENIABLE.”

“Okay, fi-”

Quote:”AND IMMORTAL.”

“OKAY, JESUS. I GET IT.”



“Okay, but! I said all that… when I was a…” Finger-quotes. “Bad guy!”

“Now? I’m a GOOD GUY.”

“Ipso facto… I don’t GIVE A SHIT what people think of me now!”



Irwin gently clears his throat again.

“Sir. I hate to correct you.”



[white“But… You did spend most of your matches this year begging the XWF Universe to not boo you. To acknowledge that you were a good guy.”[/white]


“I can’t imagine someone giving… ‘more shits’... as to what people think of you.”



…Flynn takes a deep breath.

“Okay. FINE.” Flynn pulls the notecards out of his coat pocket, alongisde a ballpoint pen from his sleeve. “So, maybe… maaaaaaaaaybe!” Flynn points the pen accusatorily at Irwin. “We pare down some… SOME!… of the ‘go fuck yourself’ language in my acceptance speech.”

“Right. So…” Irwin tries to clear his throat… But, at this point, he’s had to do it so many times he’s actually out of phlegm to clear. Instead, he just accidentally hums.

“That sorta neatly segues in my… second note.”

“OHMYGOD,  THE SECOND NOTE.” Flynn is about to tear his jacket off all over aga-

“I-I-It’s not about the speech!”



“Per se…”

…Flynn slides his jacket back onto his shoulders, still irritated, but somewhat intrigued by this criticism in riddle form.

Criddlecism, if you will.

“It’s just… The fact that you wrote an acceptance speech…” Irwin stammers, trying to find the most careful route to wade through his psychological minefield.

“It’s just… Are your… expectations... appropriate?”

…Flynn squints. “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout, Irwin?”



“You wrote an acceptance speech for… The 2023 Annual Hero Awards… Best Good Guy of the Year… correct?”

Flynn nods with a smile. “Yes! Finally, we’re on the same page!”

…Irwin nods… And dry-swallows.

“Right. See, the thing about that is… You know…”

“That you weren’t… um…”

“Nominated for that award.”




“I mean. You know that… right?”



……

“PSSSHAHAHAHAHA.” Flynn guffaws. “Whew, Irwin. You almost had me going there!”

…Irwin grits his teeth, trying to smile… But clearly uncomfortable with Flynn’s already tenuous grasp on reality.

“Of COURSE, I’m winning that award!” Flynn reaches into his pocket, retrieving… a golden, embossed letter. He jabs at Irwin, like a secret weapon, designed to perfectly deflect Irwin’s crazy idea. “Why ELSE would they send me this invitation to attend the Hero Awards?”



“I mean, seat-fillers, maybe?”
...
"Or... a trap?"
Flynn shakes his head. “NAME ONE GUY MORE WHO DID MORE GOOD IN 2023 THAN ME!”

Flynn raises one finger. “I stopped a bank robbery in Tokyo with Ned Kaye!”

“You also… sorta, kinda… planned that bank robbery.”

A second finger. “I prevented the War Criminal from turning international social media into a Communist Dictatorship!”

“...Buuuut, you only really stopped him… *after* he stole your briefcase…”

Third finger. “I SAVED THOSE CHILDREN FROM MICHEAL GRAVES’ HEAD EXPLOSION BULLSHIT!”

…Irwin sighs.

“You also… *ahem* consumed the souls of four up-and-coming Battle Creek wrestlers as a capitalist Venom monster, accumulating power, kidnapping innocent proxies for your opponents into pocket dimensions, where you feasted on their essences to accumulate strength.”



Now, it’s Flynn’s turn to clear his throat.

“Yes. Correct.”

“But! I did those things while I was a BAD GUY.”

“I am a GOOD GUY now.”

“We’re at the GOOD GUY AWARDS! The GOOD GUY AWARDS shouldn’t consider things I did while I was a BAD GUY! It’d be like keeping a guy out of the baseball hall of fame because he had a gambling addiction! It’s IRRELEVANT!”


“…Mister Flynn, the example you came up with is literally a thing that’s happened.”

[Image: Pete-Rose-1985.jpg]

“I spent all of THIS PAST YEAR, proving, without a TRACE of a DOUBT, that I am the GREATEST GOOD GUY THAT EVER LIVED! WAY BETTER THAN EVERY OTHER CHUMP IN SPANDEX WHO HAS THE AUDACITY TO CALL HIMSELF A HERO!”



“Um… Can I add a third note, Mister Flynn?”

“A THIR-”

…Flynn’s right eye twitches.

“WHAT???”

“...Maybe keep your comments at a volume… where the other ceremony attendees… can’t hear you…”



See.

Flynn and Irwin are sitting dead-center.

At the 2023 Hero Awards…

Surrounded by tables of wrestlers, superheroes, vigilantes, statesmen…

‘Good Guys’, all.

Staring daggers at Mark Flynn.



Flynn leans into Irwin’s ear, whispering.

“You think they heard that?”

…Irwin slowly nods… Embarrassedly pulling up his pants, after realizing he’d had a quarter of his ass out the last few minutes.



“Eh.” Flynn shrugs. “S'Probably fine.”

Screenshot-2024-01-12-at-11-25-03-PM



“Awards, huh?”

“What a crock of shit.”

“You wanna talk about my year?”

“You want me to try to sum up my 2023 in a neat little bow? For your awards consideration?”

“I went on an undefeated streak for EIGHT STRAIGHT MONTHS.”

“I was the FIRST, LAST AND ONLY X-TREME CHAMP TO DEFEND MY BELT THROUGH WARGAMES.”

“I beat Dock AND Mercy… Two of the most fearsome monsters in the history of WRESTLING.”

“On BACK-TO-BACK SHOWS.”



“That… *was* 2023 for me.”

“I held the Universal championship.”

“I scored a 24/7 briefcase.”

“I pinned more former Universal champions in the last twelve months than most competitors beat in their ENTIRE CAREERS.”

“Dock. Vaughnie. Corey. Bobb-o. Sidders. TK. Kido.”

“I fuckin’ RULED THIS COMPANY… EVEN AFTER I LOST THE BELT.”

“WITH AN IRON FIST.”



“And all of a sudden.

“Back-to-back weeks.”

“Mark Flynn.

“Eats two straight losses.”

“...And in come the critics.”

“Saying I’m done.”

“Washed-up.”

“The PAST.”



“Gotta be honest.”

“It’s starting to feel like I don’t have a place around here.”

“That the boys in the executive suite don’t know what to do with ol’ Mark Flynn.”

“Last month? At Fire & Ice? What an absolute fireworks show!”

“A NONSTOP THRILL RIDE!”

“Madness GM (and war criminal) Thad Duke battling Madness’ biggest star, Sean Parker.”

“XWF’S MONEYMAKER THUNDER KNUCKLES BATTLING THE KINGSLAYER, THE UNCROWNED KING, ISAIAH KING… For the Universal Championship.”



“Also.”

“Let’s toss Mark Flynn into a tag-team with Bobby Bourbon.”

“And just… see what happens, I guess?”

“Why would we come up with an ACTUAL IDEA to SHOWCASE MARK FLYNN?”

“Why would we treat ONE OF THE MOST DOMINANT UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONS OF THE MODERN ERA… like he’s an ACTUAL FUCKING ATTRACTION?”



“And yet… The big names aren’t interested in eating a loss, I suppose…”

“Chris Page isn’t kicking down Theo’s door to get his arm broken by Mark Flynn.”

“No one is telling Denzel Porter they want to be humiliated against the GREATEST WRESTLER WHO EVER LIVED at a crossover mega-event.”

“And so… here I am.”



“Maybe it’s my fault.”

“I don’t fit neatly into one of management’s neat little boxes.”

“Throw me one the mic against one of these so-called ‘faces’...”

“And they talk about is what a CHARLATAN that I am.”

“I gave Zay-zay and Ned a LIGHT DUSTING.”

“I fucking CLEARED MY THROAT. Gave them a GENTLE COATING OF WHAT I’M CAPABLE OF.”

“To push them.”

“Because I don’t get paid to tell my opponent how great they are.”

“Nobody wants Mark Flynn promos where he talks up what a good man Nedders is.”

“I DO WHAT I’VE ALWAYS DONE. I SPEAK THE TRUTH.”



“And Ned starts saying this and that…”

Flynn’s back to his old bad guy ways…

“What happened to the NEW Mark Flynn? Unky Mark Flynn? Mark Flynn spent eight months trying to turn over a new leaf, but he didn’t handle me with kid gloves… Mark Flynn is EVIL AGAIN!”



“But, when I go up against a heel? A villain? A fellow lowdown no-good-nick, the kind of bastard that Ned said I’ve become?”

“…I’m not a good guy.”

“I was NEVER a good guy.”

“I’m doing all this… For myself.”



“Doesn’t matter how many children I save. Doesn’t matter how many megalomaniacs I foil. Doesn’t matter how hard I push to make myself better.”

“I’m a BAD… GUY.”

“Hell, I can’t even call myself THAT anymore! The bad guys hate me too!”

“There’s no going back now.”



“Where does Mark Flynn fit?”



“Well.”

“Lemme remind you bozos one more time.”

“I started down this road. Breaking the arms of loudmouth egotistical morons like Tristan Slater.”

“Shutting up self-aggrandizing psychopaths like Raion Kido.”

“Fighting against the establishment. Overthrowing the fucking boardroom’s will of a shiny, happy corporate champion, willing to punt a guy in the throat because he wears black tights instead of blue.”

“Good guy? Bad guy?”

“Hero? Villain?”

“Spare me.”

“In this industry? You might as well put half the roster in Pepsi jackets and the other half in Coke coats.”

“Most of you treat your moral code like a brand endorsement.”

“Just Smile.”

“Slogan.”

“Collect Paycheck.”



“The fact the XWF can’t find a spot for me?”

“The SINGLE GREATEST TECHNICAL WRESTLER WHO EVER TIED-UP COLLAR-AND-ELBOW IN A GODDAMNED WRESTLING RING!?!”



“I’m used to it”

“I’ve had to seize the gears XWF mechanism EVERY SINGLE TIME I WANTED TO OPEN A SPOT FOR MYSELF.”

“I had to THRUST MY HANDS INTO THE GEARS… TWISTING AND GNARLING MY FINGERTIPS INTO GROTESQUE, BLOODY STUMPS… TO FORCE THE MACHINE TO GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVED.”

“I HAD TO SHOCK THE WORLD AS ROBERT MILES TO EARN A SHOT AT TRISTAN SLATER.”

“I HAD TO WIN THE CANNABIS CUP! BEATING THE GREATEST TALENT IN ALL OF WRESTLING, ACROSS EIGHT DIFFERENT COMPANIES, TO EARN A CONTRACT AND FORCE MYSELF INTO MAIN-EVENTING RELENLTESS.”



“No one ever handed me SQUAT.”

“I had to fight tooth-and-nail for every scrap of territory, every brick in the wall that is MY LEGACY.”

“…And I forgot that. For a minute there, I forgot the score.”



“Well. That’s not happening again.”

“Mark Flynn.”

“May be… a GOOD GUY.”



“But I’m done.”

“Being a Nice Guy.”




“SCUZI! REAL HERO COMING THROUGH!” Flynn shoves over a 5-foot-tall sidekick, cutting to the front of the award catering spread.

“Oh man…” Flynn grins, as he picks up a small little fried tortilla, filled with cream cheese.

“Part chimichanga.” Flynn turns it over, admiring it. “Part churro. Part burrito.”

Flynn holds it to his nose, sniffing.

“Whoever invented this? Is the SECOND-GREATEST HERO who ever lived.”

The heroes behind Flynn grumble and seethe…

As he grabs six or seven chimichurritos…

With his fingers. Eating them one-by-one.

The line disgustedly starts to clear out… As Irwin sweats beside Flynn.

“Mister Flynn… should we really be making… MORE enemies at this event? You already aren’t on great terms with the… hero community.”

Flynn scoffs. “Please. I told them exactly how FAKE they really are. GREAT! Now, they’ll understand why THEY LOST when I ACCEPT MY AWARD FOR BEST HERO!”

Flynn barks backward at a gaggle of three or four heroes who are okay enough with germs to wait out Flynn’s diatribe.



Flynn sticks another chimichurrito onto his plate…

…And sticks out his ass, bumping the plate of remaining chimichurritos… Onto the floor!

“WHOOPS.” Flynn shakes his head, smiling. “Cluuuuuuuuumsy!”

…The remaining heroes fume!

…Irwin sighs. “Sir! Please! This room is FULL of potential threats.”

“And I don’t care what ANY ONE OF THEM THINKS OF ME!”

“Entering the building!” Calls out a voice over the intercom!

“NED KAYE!”



…Ned stands in the entrance, beside a guy in a tux whose job is to announce people’s entrance.

He looks very uncomfortable, but waves with a crooked smile.

Fellow heroes walk up to greet Ned. A number of hero enthusiasts ask for pictures, a couple journalists try to lob questions.

Despite the fact that Kaye is too humble to want anything close to this level of attention?

Clearly Ned’s crowd.

…Irwin rolls his eyes.

“Ugh. Heroes…” Irwin sighs. “I suppose we should say hello, Mister Flynn?”



“Mister Flynn?”

Irwin spins around.

No trace of Mark Flynn.

Irwin scans the room, perplexed.

But all he sees is the catering table, the tray of chimichurros on the floor, the toe of a wrestling boot, the table le-…

…Wrestling boot.

Irwin pulls up the sheet.

Flynn hisses like a cat!

“Mister Flynn! Get out from under there!”

“YOU GET UNDER HERE!”



Without hesitation, Irwin dips under the table with Flynn.



“Why are we under here?”

“SHUDDUP!” Flynn shushes.

“...Do you want to not see Mister Kaye?”

“I want YOU to STOP TALKING!”



Flynn tries to peek through the tablecloth…

“...Is this because Mister Kaye said you were turning evil again?”



“And you’ve spent this whole evening *intentionally* pissing off other heroes?”



[white“And you DO care what Mister Kaye thinks of you?”[/white]

FLYNN GRABS IRWIN BY THE COLLAR!

“LISTEN HERE, Y-”

“Mark?”



Flynn covers his mouth… And Irwin’s mouth.



“Mark. I can see your boots.”




Flynn rapidly tugs his boot under the table.



Ned pinches the bridge of his nose impatiently…

Before reaching down and peeling up the tablecloth.

“Mark, I wanna tal-”


“FOUND IT!” Flynn leaps up behind the table, with… something? Pinched between his fingertips!

“Found what?”

“Irwin’s contact lens!” Irwin slowly peels himself off the ground, as Flynn shoves… nothing into his hands. “He… uh… lost it! Under the table!” And I was helping him find it!”



“Like a good guy would!”

“...Isn’t Irwin... currently wearing glasses?”

…Irwin quickly pockets his glasses.



Ned sighs.

“Mark, I was hoping we could talk ab-”

“NEDERICK.” Flynn cuts in, raising his snack plate to Ned’s face. “Have you tried these chimichurritos? They are a CULINARY MASTERPIECE.”

…Ned peers down at them… He reaches to take o-.

Flynn drops the plate. “Oh, no! Uh, not these! You want ‘em fresh! And… some ASSHOLE!” Flynn points at the plate on the ground! “Dropped the last batch!” Flynn shakes his head. “Dis-GRACEFUL! Ned, sit tight, I’ma head to the kitchen! Have them whip up a fresh batch! DON’T FOLLOW ME! NO ONE FOLLOW ME!”

Flynn skitters off like a crab, sideways, behind double-doors that read ‘Staff Only’.



Ned glances at Irwin.

“Hey!” Ned tries his best to be friendly. “How are y-”

Irwin immediately walks away.



Ned sighs.



You know what’s a real laugh riot, though?

Dock.

Bringing in a second voice.

And acting like he’s breaking new ground.

He’s innovating on a level no one ever imagined.



He’s got a whole SECOND PERSON in his promos!

Who could have ever thought of that?!?



Except, y’know.

Abbott and Costello.

Laurel and Hardy.

Martin and Lewis.

…It’s not.

…It’s not even…



Sigh.

Look.

I take credit for a lot of shit.

That’s… let’s say, questionable.

DEBATABLE! That’s a better word.

I have taken credit for some… CONTROVERSIAL things.



But these motherfuckers are out here.

Thinking that they’re copying me.

For having a DOUBLE ACT in their promos.

A STRAIGHT MAN.

And a FUNNY MAN.

The fucking latest innovation in humor from the futuristic year of NINETEEN-THIRTY-FOUR.



And yet, both Dock and Bobby act like it’s my calling card.

Having a sidekick.

Like it’s proof that Flynn can’t carry a story on his own.



Of course, if you wanna watch a story with just one character…

You could also go back and watch Christian Andrews promos.

Holy shit, that dude loved sitting in a room and… thinking quietly.

About his past!

Alone!

RIVETING TELEVISION!



That’s what I’m dealing with here.

I’m sharing a ring with two fellow XWF Legends.

No doubt. Bobby and Dock are two of the BIGGEST ICONS to ever wrestle in an XWF arena.



They’re also have just enough braincells between them to rub two together.



I gotta admit, though.

I let Bob down.

I tried to be a good partner.

…My entire career. As a five-time tag-team champion.

I’ve been called a dictator.

That I basically force my partners to wrestle my way.

And with Bobby?

I tried to follow his lead.

I watched what he was doing and did my best to complement it.

I tried to be what he wanted me to be.

A supporting act.

Second banana.



And what happened?

Bobby choked our tag-title run on DAY TWENTY-EIGHT.

The shortest reign of my career as a tag wrestler.

What a fucking embarrassment.

And, yeah… Ned pinned Bobby.

But don’t forget.

My knee put his ass down for the count.



It goes back to what I’ve said.



I tried to play support.

I tried to not overshadow.

I LET MYSELF BE IGNORED.



I tried to change my style to fit what other people expected of me.



I tried to fit what everyone else told me I should be my entire career.



I tried to hide myself from the world.

And I will never let that happen again."




Irwin peeks his head around a corner in the kitchen… A phone to his ear.

“It’s very strange, Miss Tote!” Irwin calls into the phone… He lifts up a tablecloth. Then shakes his head. No one under there.

“I could feel his heartrate… We were surrounded by almost a hundred men and women, wanting him dead… And his pace was steady as a rock!” Irwin opens up a cupboard… Empty.

“Then, Ned Kaye walks in… And it’s like I’m having a heart attack!”

“Fascinating.” Tote’s voice pours like honey into Irwin’s ear. “This parasocial phenomenon reveals Flynn’s innermost fears. His constant, erratic behavior may be viewable now through a lens of biometric data.”

…Irwin looks at a pot on the stove.

…He thinks about it.

…He shakes his head, smiling. To cartoony.

“Well, I wish this heartrate thing came with a GPS tracker so I could figure out where he went…” Irwin backs out of the kitchen.



…..The moment, the door closes.

The lid pops up.

And Flynn crawls out of the pot.

(After years of training, he can fit himself down to the width of a drainpipe, much like a common sewer rat.)

…Flynn sighs with relief.

…He slowly crawls down out of the pot and down to the floor.

When the kitchen door opens!

Flynn gasps!

…It’s!



A large trenchcoated man. Where a human head *would* typically be? Entirely covered by a large fedora.



Flynn double-takes.

“...Sorry.” Flynn waves. “Are you… two children doing the overcoat bit from the Little Rascals?”

…The trenchcoated… figure? Weaves across the room. His feet seem to glide across the floor toward Flynn.

Flynn squints suspiciously

“Weeeeeir-”

WHAM! SUDDENLY, FLYNN IS COLDCOCKED! Flynn is decked backward toward the stove!

“WHAT THE F-” Flynn grabs his jaw… The figure reels back his fist lackadaisically… (maybe drunken kung fu style?) and swings again!

Flynn rapidly reaches behind him…

And blocks the fist with a hot pan!

THE FIST SIZZLES!

…And the figure does not react to the temperature!

Instead he swings once m-

FLYNN REELS BACK!

AND SLAMS THE PAN AGAINST THE SKULL OF THE FIGURE!



The figure drops to the floor… His trenchcoat…

Seems to…

…Fly off his body… Fluttering like a leaf.

…And slip under the kitchen’s door.



“Weird.”

Flynn ignores the jacket’s departure and kicks his defeated attacker’s foot.

“Okay, pal.” Flynn leans over his attacker’s face, the fedora still covering his visage. “This your bag? You attack guys in kitchens? Or is this a personal thing?”



Silence.

Flynn lifts the hat off his face.

“LISTEN, FRIE-”



Flynn’s eyes widen.

“What the…”

…Pale white skin.

Sunken eyes.



This man’s dead.

And… looks like he died…

Hours ago?

“...What the…”

Flynn looks where the jacket just disappeared off to.



And sees through the window of the kitchen door.

A staff member.

Staring at Flynn.

Before running away.



Flynn looks down.

Realizing how he must look.

Standing over a dead body.



…..

“Shit.”









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