The Slaughterhouse logo flickers in glowing neon.
Everyone else may have been released last week, but Darby Sorrow wasn’t that fortunate – he was released only unto Sigil. He sits in a chair, tied to it, beaten black, blue and bloodied. Sigil stands over him, a bloodied towel hanging from his belt.
He takes off the towel and wipes his hands.
“For all you know, there’s some kind of magic number,” Sigil growls. “Even a cat only has nine lives.”
“Who are you, Sigil?” He brazenly asks. “Do you belong to the Red Skull Order, is that it?”
The Collector vehemently shakes his head.
“Oh, I’m looking at a much bigger picture than that, kiddo. I’m not here on behalf of any order. I’m here for myself.”
Sorrows once laugh now turns into a dastardly cackle.
“What’s so humorous?” Sigil asks with a tilt of his head.
“This song and dance could go on forever, don’t you see? I’m never going to tell you where it is and you’re never going to kill me. There is no magic number, collector. Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
That seems to anger The Collector, who turns away, shaking his head.
“You told me to be creative, do you remember that?” He asks, looking back slightly. “Well, just remember that you brought this on yourself.”
He walks away, exiting the room.
Darby doesn’t hesitate, he snaps his wrist, breaking free of his restraint. With blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, he storms towards the door.
The Warden’s Office.
Warden Johnson is sat behind his desk, appearing deep in thought as one of his orderlies enters the room.
“The new patient is awake, sir.” The orderly says.
“Good.” Johnson says, standing to his feet.
The Warden walks around his desk to a recessed video screen.
“He has been stripped of what he came in with.” The orderly continues as Johnson punches up an image. “As per your request, they have been put in the vault.”
The patient is laid out on the cold floor of his cell, still unconscious. The screen gives away little, but he seems to be a white male.
“On second thought,” Johnson begins. “I’ve got plans for our new patient. Move Patient Zero’s effects to Mez’s holding cell.”
The orderly seems surprised by this command, but nods. The Warden’s teeth show as he grins at his underling’s confusion.
“You don’t need to understand, just to obey.” He follows up.
The orderly scurries off, not needing to be told twice.
With Patient Zero still unconscious, the Warden presses a button on his video wall, bringing up the cell of Mez himself. The behemoth is in his usual state of being restrained, with the television in his cell laying dormant.
“Mez, I’ve a familiar exercise for you.”
The masked patient’s television turns on to show the cell of Patient Zero. No response from Mez, who appears to be in a world of his own.
“We will see if Patient Zero can do what none have before.”
Mez ignores the Warden, his eyes locked on the screen, filled with bliss.
No matter what song plays in his mind, his eyes are fixed on Patient Zero.
Tranquility Lane, Kenny is back here from the asylum but he doesn’t know why.
“Do you know what I like about action figures, kids?”
The speakers on the TV blare out these words as Kenny Freeman mouths along to them. He has seen this episode of SeeSaw’s Toybox enough to recite every word.
“You can bend them to your will, you can make them perform any task you please, the tasks those pesky parents pretend are perturbing.”
SeeSaw grabs two G.I. Joes and makes them pretend to shoot each other.
“We can make them fight each other, we can make them destroy each other, we can make them destroy anything.”
SeeSaw marches to a workshop where he has constructed a slingshot out of the rubber bands in various G.I. Joes and their limbs as stands.
“Not our normal toys, no, but I did say we could bend them to our will.”
SeeSaw plucks the rubber band like a guitar string.
“When we bend them like this, we can have a lot of fun and like I said destroy anything or anyone.”
SeeSaw grabs a balloon with a picture of his critics on it, he puts a dart with a groove in it against the rubber band and pulls.
As the dart pops the balloon, one in real time hits Kenny’s chair.
“Ah, so close, maybe next time I’ll get a bullseye, how have you been friend?”
Kenny spits at SeeSaw
“Now, now, is that any way to treat your host? I hope you enjoyed the show as much as other people your size did.”
“It’s stupid, A slingshot made from G.I. Joes? You can just buy a slingshot you know? If that’s the toys you create, no wonder you barely have any followers, ugly face plus bad content equals no clout, my dude.”
SeeSaw is seething but he breathes and calms down.
“You’re right, you’re right which is why I made new toys for the toybox, let me show you…”
SeeSaw unties Kenny to show him the workshop but Kenny low blows him and runs away.
Kenny stops to breathe for a second and pulls out his phone.
“Shit, shit, I need to get an Uber quick to make the show before he sees me.”
THE JUDGE VS. LUKE STORM
The power of the Judge will be on display here tonight, against a man who has been on one hell of a ride lately. Luke Storm looks to continue his winning ways!
Luke Storm starts with a head full of fire, taking the fight to the powerhouse. FLYING SINGLE LEG DROPKICK HITS THE JUDGE! He is send staggering back first into the turnbuckle. Storm charges at him again… JUMPING ENZIGURI! The Judge lumbers forward from the impact and STORM TAKES HIM DOWN WITH A CHOP BLOCK!
Luke Storm revels in the cheers from the fans as he climbs the turnbuckle. THUNDER! THE MOONSAULT- NO! THE JUDGE GETS HIS KNEES UP AND LUKE STORM LANDS HARD! Both men make their feet at nearly the same time. Luke Storm charges in again BUT THE JUDGE CATCHES HIM WITH A HUUUUGE LARIAT!
The Judge picks up Storm and SLAMS HIS HEAD INTO THE PERFECT STORM’S! ANOTHER HEADBUTT! ANOTHER! A FOURTH! Storm’s body falls limp and the Judge drops him with a GORILLA PRESS SLAM! The Judge covers for the pin… ONE! TWO! NO- STORM KICKS OUT!
The Judge picks up Luke Storm, setting him up. HE’S GOT HIM IN POSITION! RESTORATION POWERB-NO! LUKE STORM SLIPS OUT THE BACK DOOR! Judge turns around, swinging an arm for a Clothesline but STORM CATCHES HIM! LIGHTNING STRIKE! THE SUPERKICK STAGGERS HIM! DOWNPOUR FOLLOWS IT UP PERFECTLY! Luke Storm covers for the pin… ONE! TWO! THREE!
The Judge’s power nearly turned Storm inside out, but Luke proved too much for the Powerh0use tonight! A nice victory for the Perfect Storm!
“THE STORM KING”
He had decided he would place the crown on his own head. And that’s exactly what he did.
Coronation of the self. He had earned this. He, and he alone.
He didn’t need any help. Now, least of all.
Luke Storm sits at the center of the ring. Seated on his throne, his crown atop his head, he surveys his kingdom.
Then the Storm King rises to his feet. Against the red velvet backdrop, he raises both arms, screams.
The crowd screams back.
It feels real. Realer than real, more perfect than a movie.
But what happens next, he doesn’t see coming.
A black shape cuts through the air. It’s silent and swift.
Storm goes down with a sickening thump as the shape obliterates him.
The shape is Redwing, and he has come for revenge.
His armor is dark crimson, almost black. Storm is crumpled on the ground. Redwing stands up in the ring. He tears down the backdrop, topples the throne. The crowd is roaring again, booing this time. Redwing can’t hear them. He can’t even see them.
All he sees is a murderer that has been crowned king.
Slowly, Redwing stalks across the ring. Luke Storm stirs. He’s nearly to his feet when Redwing is upon him.
Storm looks up at the encroaching monster.
“Redwing,” says Storm. Blood drips down his forehead. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
“Liar!” bellows Redwing. “You took everything from me!”
He raises his fist.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone!” Storm yells. “I lost my wife, too. I understand, man! You’re not thinking clearly. I won’t fight you, I won’t fight a broken m—”
He’s abruptly cut off as Redwing’s fist contacts his face.
Then so many, no one can count: snowflakes in a blizzard.
Blood begins to flow, soaking into the mat.
It splatters sickly, coating Redwing.
Redwing stands up and eyes the red gashes spilling blood from Storm’s face.
He screams in madness.
Then Redwing brings his boot down again and again. Thundering stomps.
Blood flows and flows.
The crowd descends into chaos. Distraught fans are rushing the ring, security is charging in. Paramedics are hurling down the ramp with a stretcher.
Storm would bleed out any second. Redwing was sure of it. And now, he had to go.
He raises his arm.
A grappling hook soars out, and The Red Knight flies up into the dark rafters above.
The camera lens is red, information flying all over the screen as the camera quickly jerks left and right, viewing the room, technology lining the walls. Finally, the camera rests on the technician from last week, and without warning…
Lunges at him.
We switch to another view to see that were were seeing through the robotic eye of none other than X. The metal mercenary has his hand wrapped around the poor technician’s throat, the life leaving his eyes as X presses down.
“No no no, X. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The mercenary turns around, his eyes locked on Mark Gouldern, the mogul smirking as he looks down at his gauntlet, obviously having some kind of control over X for now.
“Now, before you ask just why you should stop, I have but one word for you.”
A chuckle comes from his lips as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tiny USB drive.
X stares Mark down, letting go of the technician who scrambles to his feet and flees the room. X turns to Mark with a sneer and approaches him.
“What information do you have, Gouldern? Do you know where I came from?”
He shakes his head.
“Of course you do. You made me, didn’t you?”
Mark merely nods his head.
“Well, I did quite a bit, X. As far as you’re concerned, this flash drive has everything you need in it and more. You just have to do as I say and be a good little doggy if you’re ever going to learn more.”
X narrows his eyes, seemingly foaming at the mouth, showing a wide range of emotions as he stops himself from pouncing.
“I will listen to you, but nothing more. But before we talk, tell me this. Why did you take me here? What did you do to me?”
“Simple, X. I had to make a few upgrades. So I guess I should say, I made you better. As far as I’m concerned, you’re X 2.0.”
The scene fades to black as X stares down Mark, the tech mogul pocketing the flash drive as he speaks to the cyborg.
Imperium. BEG and Mark Gouldern sit in a position of power, both behind one side of a large mahogany desk – a banner reading ‘Money, Power, Glory’ takes pride of place behind them on the wall. On the other side of the desk, we find the third member of the newly formed faction, Alton Whitlock.
“Let me be very clear.” Green states, a dastardly grin forming on his lips. “I own you.”
He leans forward, eyeballing Whitlock.
“You do what I tell you, when I tell you.”
Whitlock glares back for a moment, before his look softens almost defeatedly. Green notes the look on his face and continues to drive the nail home.
“The only reason that you are still able to be here is because I saved your ass. You had nothing and came begging me for help. Money makes the world go round, and as the one who funds your campaign, that means I make yours go round. It means you are obliged to carry out certain… tasks.”
Whitlock looks upon the two men across the table from him for a long time, then nods at BEG.
“If you want to be able to still be here to chase down whoever gave you that scar, you need me. Don’t forget that.”
BEG stands, moving over to Whitlock’s side of the desk. He sits himself upon the edge of the desk, positioned so that he looks down on the Candidate.
“I’m pulling the strings here. Tonight, we have a pressing matter that requires your urgent attention and absolute dedication.”
Whitlock sighs, even before he hears what the task is. Green glares at him again until his look softens once more.
“You need to go and guard the entrance to the Slaughterhouse. Darby Sorrow does NOT make it into the building tonight. You will make that so, by any means necessary. And if I was you, I’d hurry up about it. He should be here any minute.”
BEG stands once more, pointing a hand at the doorway as if to order Whitlock out of his sight.
AESOP & BANZAN VS. MEZ & REDWING
TAG TEAM MATCH
The Indestructible Mountain joins forces with the newest entrant to the Slaughterhouse to take on the permanently psychotic Mez and the newly psychotic former “hero” Redwing, just one week after they fought for the TKO championship – can they get along enough to pull out a victory?
Banzan and Redwing start as Banzan reacts calmly to Redwing’s flurry of stiff punches. Eventually Redwing hits a stronger roundhouse punch that shakes the cobwebs out of the former world champion, who comes alive, taking up the Tiger stance and using pure power take back control. Banzan lifts the Red Knight over his head into a fallaway slam which sends Redwing rolling into the corner, where Mez tags himself in viciously.
Mez storms the ring and takes Banzan off his feet with an explosive clothesline. Mez runs towards him again and goes for the ANARCHY! NO! Banzan rolls under the Lou Thesz press and tags in Aesop. Aesop hits Mez with an arm drag, followed by a quick belly to belly suplex. Aesop pulls him up again but gets a headbutt to the face for his troubles.
Redwing blind tags, salty after the earlier tag from Mez. He runs at Aesop, who turns and slaps him across the chest with a back hand chop. TWO OF THEM! Double the damage as Banzan had the same idea. They glance at each other but don’t have much time to think as Mez charges them. Double hip toss over the top rope takes him out of the equation.
Redwing bounces off the ropes and runs at Banzan, who once again launches Redwing into the air. This time the Red Knight lands on Aesop’s shoulders, perfectly placed for a big ELECTRIC CHAIR DROP. The former World Champ and the newcomer both drop a big elbow to Redwing’s chest. Aesop, still the legal man, lifts Redwing and slams him back down with THE GIFT! A HUGE CRUCIFIX POWERBOMB! AESOP PINS! ONE! TWO! THREE!
The disharmony between Mez and Redwing should have been the obvious talking point, but a talking point nobody saw coming is how easily Aesop and Banzan worked together, the storyteller and the monk seemingly singing from the same hymn sheet this week!
Static fades to a video SeeSaw is posting on Twitter, he’s making sure Freeman sees this.
In SeeSaw’s workshop, we see SeeSaw working away on some G.I. Joes.
“I’ll show him some clout, I’ll show them all some clout, if a catapult won’t suffice, I’ll make it really nice!”
Bits of plastic are flying around as SeeSaw is carving into a red cobra figure.
“Pyro with real flame throwing action!”
SeeSaw presses on the back of the toy and flames shoot out of the lighter he put inside.
“What will Joe do as he’s caught in the barbed wire of Nam?”
SeeSaw makes a barbwire trap filled with classic G.I. Joes, his hands are dripping with blood.
“They’ll get out and celebrate at home of course!”
SeeSaw straps fireworks to the Joes and launches them everywhere.
“That is they make it home at all!”
The Joes break on the floor on impact.
“These Joes will be my army when Kenny and I play in the world’s largest toybox!”
SeeSaw shows a model of a toybox over the Slaughterhouse ring, the top is lifted so we see some toys but we can’t make them out.
”This army is just the beginning of the fun, friends, and when I introduce the rest of these toys, you’ll see why I put the laughter in slaughter.”
SeeSaw walks outside and a single snowflake falls on his tongue as he’s laughing.
The cold night air gives a chill, enough to see your own breath in front of your face. Alton Whitlock stands outside the entrance to the Slaughterhouse in the cold. He blows warm air into his hands to try and warm them.
Here he waits for Darby Sorrow to arrive. So he can stop him from getting inside.
And he sure doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself.
“Look at me. Reduced to nothing more than an errand boy for BEG.”
He looks out into the darkness. Nothing.
“I’m more than this. But what can I do? He’s right… I need him. I need his funds or this is all for naught. Just grin and bear it. The ends will justify the means.”
He shakes his head, letting out a grunt of frustration.
“I hope they do. Because the means are killing me. Stop Darby Sorrow… Do your dirty work. What’s next? Massage your feet and feed you grapes? Kill a man? Where does this stop?”
He balls his fists, a snarl forming on his reddened face.
“He’s the only chance I have of finding the asshole who attacked me. Without his money…” He draws a deep breath and exhales, the sentence trailing off with his breath. “Sure. I’ll be your errand boy, for now. Stop Darby Sorrow. Right now, that’s all that matters.”
So, he waits.
STRAIGHT VS. BOCAMO VS. FREEMAN
TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
Will the Blood King reign supreme? Will Monty outplay the King? Or will Kenny tweet out a victory?
DING! DING! Straight and Freeman both charge at Obasi and begin beating him down in the corner, looking to eliminate the big man early on. Kick after kick, punch after punch the Blood King falls to the mat. Both men step back when Straight quickly grabs the Freeman! COMMERCIAL BREAK!
The Emerald Flowsion drops Freeman on his head when Bocamo bursts from the corner with a massive shoulder block that sends Straight crashing hard into the corner. Obasi ignores the downed Freeman as the Blood King charges across the ring! GREETINGS FROM AFRICA! Straight gets crushed in the corner by the African King.
Kenny gets back up to his feet and sneaks up to the middle rope with his phone in tow. He watches the Blood King and once in perfect position, snaps a picture. The Blood King looks confused as Kenny Freeman flings himself off the ropes catching Bocamo’s neck and crashing to the mat. PROFILE PICTURE!
NO! Obasi catches hold of the Keyboard Warrior mid-flip and lands a suplex of his own, driving the spine into the mat hard. Kenny rolls out of the ring as Straight runs in for a clothesline. The Blood King ducks and quickly catches the Straight Shooter around the neck! THE SUFFERING! The Blood King strangles the life out of Monty as the bell sounds his victory!
The Blood King lays claim to the Game Show as he makes Monty suffer defeat.
“WELP, GARY IS A SHITHOLE”
The Gone Fishin’ sign remains posted outside the only remaining viable road in town.
But upon his return to his fair city, Junkrat is surprised to see a brand new building erected right next to the capitol building.
On the marquee, it reads:
“Straight Shooting Productions.”
As Junkrat approaches the building, he sees the smiling face of a rage-filled man standing outside of it.
“Howdy, neighbor!” Monty exclaims, a twinkle in that eye of his.
Junkrat gestures to the building, “The hell you doing moving into my fair city without a permit?”
Monty smiles, “Welp, Gary is a shithole. Anyone can see that. The Mayor is doing nothing to boon the economy, just sitting around and playing… What is it?”
“Willybiters,” Junkrat replies.
“And I’m sorry, but what is Willybiters?”
“It’s…” Junkrat trails off. “It’s what it sounds like.”
“Really?” Monty exclaims. “Because it sounds like a man sitting around and trying to bite his own willy.”
“…It’s what it sounds like,” Junkrat repeats.
“Right,” Monty says. “Well, I’ll just cut to the chase Junkrat. After you destroyed my studio like a true asshole, I was obviously in need of a new one. Additionally, this town appears to be in need of a new mayor.”
“A NEW MAYOR!?!” Junkrat screams!
“Yes friend,” Monty smiles. “A new mayor. Now, not only have I built a brand new, state of the art studio right by the capitol building, but I’ve erected housing for my new studio audience. A Mayoral Runoff election will happen in two weeks.”
“Run off and suck my balls, Straight!” Junkrat yells. “I’m the mayor. I always will be the mayor. You? You’ve erected a studio illegally in my fair city and I demand you make haste and un-erect it, before something else gets erected, something huge that you can’t handle.”
“…Is that a reference to your willy?”
“No!” Junkrat screams. “For once, it’s not!”
Junkrat walks up to the capitol building, opens the door, walks in, and slams it behind him!
Monty smiles, “See you at the debate next week!”
Junkrat opens a window and yells back. “Fuck you! I’m a master debater!”
“THE RED KNIGHT”
I’d kill a million more if it would bring them back.
Redwing is covered in blood. Luke Storm’s blood.
Snow is falling in the city. From his perch on the roof of the Slaughterhouse, he watches each flake crash to the ground. The wind blows at his cape. The world is silent, sound muffled by the coating of snow.
A world he used to want to protect; a world worth saving.
Not any more.
All he feels is pain. His mind is numb with the static of fury and sorrow.
Redwing looks down at his hands. They’re bleeding too, his blood mixed with Storm’s.
An ambulance sits, engine idling, beneath him.
He’s waiting to see the corpse, to see that cowardly killer in a body bag. He needs to know that his mission has succeeded.
Will there ever come a day where my dreams are not haunted by their screams?
Even with Storm in his grave, will I ever know peace?
Beneath him, a door opens. Voice shout to clear the way.
Redwing sees him: Luke Storm, laid out in a stretcher, eyes closed, wrapped in hurried bandages, his entire body stained red.
Then he sees the bag of blood being pumped into him intravenously.
The Storm King lives.
A fan calls out. Words of encouragement.
Slowly, Luke Storm raises his fist, triumphant and unyielding in the falling snow.
It is then that Redwing realizes what he must do.
If the murderer refuses to die, then I will twist the knife of vengeance.
As the ambulance drives away, The Red Knight leaps down from his perch and disappears into the darkness.
SEESAW © VS. SCRIMSHAW
The Slaughterhouse Championship is on the line tonight as the the old captain Scrimshaw takes on the champion, SeeSaw!
The bell rings, and SeeSaw and Scrimshaw begin circling each other, neither man willing to give up an immediate advantage. Scrimshaw offers out a hand for a test of strength! SeeSaw accepts. Scrimshaw extends his other hand! SeeSaw accepts! BUT BOTH MEN SEND A BOOT INTO EACH OTHER’S GROIN! DOUBLE LOWBLOW!
Both men writhe around on the mat, but Scrimshaw is able to manage his pain sooner and get to his knees! Double axehandle from Scrimshaw to SeeSaw! Again! Again! Again! But SeeSaw reaches out and grabs Scrimshaw by the throat!!! SeeSaw quickly moves to his feet!!! CHOKESLAM FROM SEESAW TO THE SALTY SEADOG!!!
And now SeeSaw is ready to whoop ass! He lays a couple of boots into Scrimshaw before lifting him up and irish whipping him into the ropes! BIG BOOT!!! NO!!! Scrimshaw ducks beneath, bounces off the other side as SeeSaw spins around! FLYING FOREARM TO SEESAW’S THROAT!!!
SeeSaw staggers backwards! Scrimshaw charges at the clown, so he lifts up another big boot attempt! SCRIMSHAW CATCHES HIS FOOT!!! SEA SERPENT’S STRIKE!!! THE DRAGON SCREW LEGWHIP!!! NO!!! ENZIGUIRI FROM SEESAW!!! HE QUICKLY REACHES HIS FEET!!! STRETCH ARMSTRONG!!! SCRIMSHAW HAS NOWHERE TO GO!!! HE HAS NO CHOICE!!! HE QUITS!!!
SeeSaw’s first Slaughterhouse Championship defense is successful! His long arm is raised in victory!
“FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE”
The small chattering of rodents fills the air as the asylum’s newest patient awakens from unconsciousness.
He coughs violently, turning and vomiting into the corner of his cell.
“Patient Zero.” A voice calls over a loudspeaker installed in the cell.
The patient wraps his arms around himself, trying to stop his shivers.
“Wha… Wher…” He mutters, trying to force his mouth to cooperate.
“My doctors have some very potent sedatives for our more dangerous patients, my friend.” Johnson offers. “You will find that your long term memory is lost, your short term memory is fuzzy, and that’s not to mention the physical effects.”
Patient Zero staggers to the middle of the cell, looking at his hands like he’s never seen them before.
“Welcome to Mirror Lake Asylum, Patient Zero. You’ll find the accommodations lacking, I’m afraid.”
“Why am I here?” Zero croaks out, trying to regain use of his vocal chords.
“You are here because you belong here. But if you successfully complete your treatment plan, then you will be back on the streets soon enough.”
“Who am I?” The patient asks.
“Who you were yesterday isn’t important. Who you will be tomorrow is what I’m concerned with.”
Patient Zero shakes his head, trying to move his limbs and gain a semblance of control.
“To that end, your treatment will begin immediately.”
The cell door opens.
“The ghosts of the past haunt of us all. To earn your freedom, you must discover the truth of yours. Only then, will you be able to move forward. The most dangerous of my patients have been released into general population. You must fight for what you desire. Should you fail… Well, you’re already as good as dead. Good luck.”
Patient Zero walks to the threshold, knowing he has only one chance at freedom.
Can he survive the Asylum?
The Tiger’s Nest.
Standing atop a nearby hill overlooking the compound the machinery whirring in the distance, though none of it seemed to be doing anything than making noise and tarnishing the once serene atmosphere. Banzan almost seems saddened as he looks down on it, an enraged glare on his face that could set a man ablaze with rage!
Purple plumes of smoke.
Banzan slowly turns his head to the source, The Judge walking out, his form glowing with a slight purplish sheen. He places a hand on Banzan’s shoulder, forcing him to look forward.
“They have abandoned you, Banzan. The men who raised you, taught you everything that you knew. All crushed by Mr. Greene’s greed and wealth. Sad, isn’t it?”
The monk’s glare once again is directed towards The Judge, the armored man unmoving.
“You know nothing of what you speak. I am their leader, they have merely temporarily lost their faith in me.”
Judge nods his head.
“Would you too, not lose faith if your leader allowed this to come to pass?”
Banzan’s seething comes to a stop as he begins to ponder this, finally nodding his head.
“I would never be able to trust my leader again.”
“Exactly. And so, I left you to think about what I said. You need an army, and these men, they are the key to your success. The artifact I promised will do so much for you. It will cleave the machinery from this earth and free them of Greene’s control.”
Judge points forward, nudging Banzan forward.
“Go on, regain their trust. I will stand by your side. Tell them what you can, what you will do. Take those men…”
Banzan begins to walk forwards, towards his men with renewed vigor, the words of Banzan echoing from the hill behind him.
“… and tear Scrimshaw asunder.”
The scene fades out as The Judge disappears once more in a plume of purple smoke.
“A SHOVEL FOR YOUR THOUGHTS”
Alton Whitlock waits by the door, arms folded. The minute it opens, he’s going to pounce and ensure that whoever comes in, isn’t Darby Sorrow.
When that time does come, he leaps into action, Clotheslining a poor member of the production team to the ground. In a panic, he rushes to check on them.
“I’m so sorry,” he groans apologetically. “I thought you were someone else.”
Suddenly, the sound of steel on skull echoes throughout the backstage
Alton Whitlock rolls his eyes and immediately collapses, landing face first on the concrete floor.
The camera quickly pans out, revealing a bloodied Darby Sorrow stood there holding a shovel.
He grimaces, trying to decide whether or not to hit Whitlock again.
And he does, slamming it down on the back of his head one more time for good measure. If Alton isn’t concussed, he couldn’t be seriously injured.
One thing is for sure, he won’t be making it to their match later tonight.
But do you know who will?
Darby fucking Sorrow.
And he’s a man on a mission.
IMPERIUM VS. X & DARBY SORROW
TAG TEAM MATCH
We have a handicap match between Imperium and the team of Darby Sorrow and X! Wait! There’s no sign of Alton Whitlock! Gouldern and BEG are wondering where their partner is! Darby smirks and charges! A double dropkick knocks them off the apron!
DING! DING! Darby doesn’t stop and hits a suicide dive on BEG! He’s still going! He charges the stairs, jumps off them and hits a tornado DDT! He tosses Gouldern back in the ring and makes a cover! One…Two…Gouldern gets the shoulder up! Darby climbs the top rope! He’s going for the coffin drop!
No! BEG Pulls the leg out! Darby crashes to the mat hard! BEG drags Gouldern to their corner and tags himself in! BEG waits for Darby to get up! He kicks the back of the calf forcing Darby to kneel! CHIP OFF THE OL’ BLOCK! He hits the running bulldog!
BEG makes the cover! One…Two…kick out by Darby! BEG tags in Gouldern! Gouldern starts stomping away on Darby! He pulls him up! He lifts Darby and plants him with an elevated DDT! Darby is spiked by PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE! Gouldern covers! One…Two…Darby kicks out again!
Gouldern backs up, he’s loading up the superman punch! He charges Darby who rolls under it and hot tags in X! X levels Gouldern with a lariat! He knocks BEG off the apron with a forearm shot! X is waiting for Gouldern to stand up! LOW BLOW! BEG slid in and hit a low blow on an expecting X! X is down to a knee and DISRUPTION! Gouldern hits the Superman punch and covers! One…Two…Three!
Imperium prove their dominance! Even without Whitlock, they have defeated the impressive team of X and Darby Sorrow!
After that incredible match, Darby Sorrow has slid to the outside and regained possession of his shovel.
He slips back into the ring just as Alton Whitlock angrily stumbles down the ramp. His head is wrapped in a bloodied bandage after that horrendous blow he received earlier by Sorrow.
Here comes Mark Gouldern and BEG!
Gouldern leaps into the air, looking for the punch!
SHOVEL TO THE FUCKING HEAD! SHOVEL TO THE HEAD IN MID AIR!!
Green immediately spins him.
SHOVEL TO THE HEAD!
OH SHIT, DARBY SORROW IS BURYING IMPERIUM!
HERE COMES WHITLOCK, PLEADING WITH SORROW.
“Enough!” he begs. “Enough of this.”
He reaches out to grab the shovel but Sorrow pulls it back.
SHOVEL TO THE SKULL!
Darby Sorrow is going fucking ballistic!
The fans are roaring with approval as Security rush towards the ring at the behest of Sigil and The Butcher who appear on the entrance ramp.
Each officer that dares get close enough gets a shovel to the head and goes down like a sack of shit.
Sorrow, dispatches officer after officer until Sigil and The Butcher are left unattended.
His eyes meet theirs and suddenly, it’s on.
Darby runs and baseball slides out of the ring, chasing both Sigil and The Butcher backstage as the fans roar with approval.
Enough is enough.
Darby Sorrow will take no more.
“UPON THE HIGH SEAS”
The wind howls as rain pelts the deck of a boat seemingly made of stone. Runic markings cover the mast and are painted onto its sails. And the figurehead on the bow?
A wolf’s head.
The boat sails at impossible speeds for a sailboat, and behind the wheel stands Scrimshaw. The Blood Fang snarls as he moves through the waters, only breaking from his concentration as The Judge appears from behind him.
“You cannot run from your fate, Scrimshaw. I need you to do as told, to collect your men and butcher Banzan.”
Scrimshaw looks back to Judge, almost annoyed at his words.
“Oh I heard ya, ya sneaky bastard. And I’m callin’ the pack to join me once again. But I’m not doin’ it for you, I’m doin’ it for him. For the damned serpent who leads us.”
He looks out at the ocean, taking a shaky breath.
The Judge nods his head, watching as the ship passes through the water seamlessly.
“I see. Then why are you heading towards the cave, Scrimshaw? Your men are not there.”
The pirate chuckles, looking at Judge with a near condescending grin.
“Oh aren’t they? You don’t understand, boy. The cave is where we were born in the blood of the serpent. It is where our souls go when we perish, and the place our spirits forever call home.”
The boat careens into a rock in the ocean, shattering it as Scrimshaw speeds up, the Judge forced to brace himself on the railing.
“I’m not going there because I don’t want to follow Xerath’s orders, as much as I don’t. I’m going there because to call all the wolves to one place.”
The Judge seems to be barely holding on as Scrimshaw’s boat flies towards the cave entrance.
“You gotta ring the dinner bell.”
With that, he enters the cave, the Judge flying from the boat, disappearing into a puff of smoke as Scrimshaw docks. He leaps from the boat and lands on the cave floor, walking towards the treasure room.
And as we cut to the outside, staring at the eerily quiet cave. A sound is heard.
A blood curdling howl erupts from the entrance.
And as it rings through the air, the scene jumps from place to place. Man after man in places all over the US are seen looking towards the Eastern seaboard.
A hunger in their eyes.
Her name is Scarlett Storm, and she can’t wait for her daddy to come home.
It’s a snowy night. The babysitter fell asleep an hour ago. She’s passed out on the couch in the living room.
Scarlett is in her bedroom. She has already taken her pills and cleaned her room, just like her dad always told her to.
She sits cross-legged on her bed, doing what she always does before she goes to sleep. Playing with her toys.
In one hand is the princess. She wears a beautiful pink gown; her hair is shining and golden, just like Scarlett’s.
On her lap rests the queen. The queen reminds Scarlett of her mother, whom she misses very much, every day. She is beautiful and strong and her hair is long and golden, just like the princess, and Scarlett, too.
On the other side of the bed is the knight. His armor is dark and his body is huge, hulking. Scarlett thinks he used to be a good knight, once upon a time, but then something happened. Something that changed him: and he’s not so good any more.
In Scarlett’s other hand, though, is her most favorite toy of all. It’s one of her dad, from one of his movies. She can never remember which. He’s been in a lot, and her dad says most of them are too violent for a young kid like her, but he still lets her see a little bit here and there.
In her stories, her dad always saves the day.
He’s the king, after all.
No matter what, he protects her.
But in this one?
A dark shape watches her from the doorway. Scarlett doesn’t see him. She’s too busy playing.
The shape moves slowly, silently, across the room.
He’s an inch away when Scarlett finally sees him. She gasps in utter horror.
Her toys scatter across the floor as The Red Knight’s arms scoop her up.
She tries to scream with all her might, desperately tries to call for her father, the one who can always save her.
But a gauntleted hand is over her mouth. No sound comes out.
Scarlett’s heart thumps in her chest. She struggles helplessly. She doesn’t understand.
But Redwing does.
He knows exactly what he must do.
He knows exactly what Luke Storm deserves.
He carries the young girl through the hallway and out the door, into the falling snow.
JUNKRAT VS. SIGIL
THE MAIN EVENT
An explosive two-month feud that took place throughout the universe seemed to end in a hasty arrangement between Sigil and Junkrat’s future proginy, the Spacerats.
And now, here in the Bone Yard, an unforgiving, wooden ring surrounded by an unholy steel cage, this rivalry gets its final chapter.
DING! DING! Sigil immediately moves in on Junkrat and nails him with a series of shots to his midsection! Left, right, left, right! Junkrat can do nothing to stop Sigil’s precision, accuracy, and viciousness! Finally, he whips Junkrat into the ropes! Junkmaster Flex bounces off the ropes and catches a kick to the gut!
DDT ONTO THE WOODEN RING! JESUS! SIGIL SPIKED JUNKRAT!
SIGIL MAKES THE COVER!!!
Junkrat kicks out, and though no one can see it, something in Sigil’s demeanor suggests he smiles behind that mask of his.
Sigil climbs to his feet and lifts Junkrat to his. With a swiftness, he tosses Junkrat over the top to the outside of the ring!
THUD! Junkrat’s body collides with the pavement!
Sigil cosmic leaps to the outside and grabs Junkrat by what little hair remains on his head, dragging him up to his feet!
He slams Junkrat’s head into the steel cage!
NO!!! Junkrat puts his foot on the cage and blocks it! He sends his elbow into Sigil’s gut!
FAME-ASSER ONTO THE CONCRETE!!! JESUS CHRIST!!!
Junkrat lifts Sigil up!
HE THROWS SIGIL LIKE A DART INTO THE STEEL CAGE!!!
Junkrat reaches under the ring and pulls out several steel chairs, tossing them all around.
He picks up one of the steel chairs and then pulls a grenade from his belt!
He waits for Sigil to get to his feet…
What is he doing!?!
Sigil stands up!
JUNKRAT TOSSES HIM A GRENADE!
SIGIL CATCHES IT AND JUNKRAT SWINGS THE STEELCHAIR AT HIM LIKE A BASEBALL BAT!
BOTH MEN FLY IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS AND COLLIDE WITH THE STEEL CAGE!!!
That was dumb as hell and it was patently Junkrat!
Both men are very, very slow to recover.
Eventually, it’s Junkrat who climbs to his feet first. He groggily moves to the nearest steel chair and picks it up.
BUT SIGIL APPEARS IN FRONT OF HIM! FINITE INTO THE STEEL CHAIR, SENDING IT STRAIGHT INTO JUNKRAT’S FACE!!! JUNKRAT FALLS DOWN!!!
Sigil grabs Junkrat, forces him up to his feet, and rolls him into the wooden ring. Junkrat is nearly up to all fours!
Sigil slides a chair into the ring! Right underneath Junkrat’s face!!!
CURBSTOMP BY SIGIL ONTO THE STEEL FUCKING CHAIR!!! BLOOD BURSTS OUT ALL OVER THE CHAIR AND THE WOODEN PLANKS OF THE RING!!! SIGIL MAKES THE COVER!!!
SIGIL HAS WON!
NO!!! JUNKRAT KICKED OUT!!!
Sigil furiously pounds the wooden planks beneath him, a far different demeanor than what he had during the last near fall!!!
Sigil drags Junkrat by his hair again but this time bends him over his knee back first!
LONG ROAD AHEAD!!!
JUNKRAT COUNTERS WITH A JAB TO SIGIL’S THROAT!!!
Junkrat, wearing the crimson mask, blood dripping off of his face to his chest, reaches his feet and hits Sigil with a chop across the chest!
HE FOLLOWS UP WITH THE CONCUSSION MINE RIGHT ONTO THE BLOOD SOAKED STEEL FUCKING CHAIR!!! HOLY SHIT!!! THE TILT-A-WHIRL DDT!!!
JUNKRAT MAKES THE COVER NOW!!!
NO!!!! SIGIL KICKS OUT!!!
BUT IT’S JUNKRAT WITH A WILD LOOK IN HIS EYE!!!
He grabs the steel chair up from the wooden planks of the ring and looks at Sigil.
“One for every single me you killed, mate.”
ONE CHAIR SHOT!!!
JUNKRAT KEEPS GOING!!! AGAIN AND AGAIN AND A FUCKING GAIN HE HITS SIGIL WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!!
At some point, Junkrat, the audience in attendance, and even Sigil loses count of the amount of chair shots Junkrat hits Sigil with! Thankfully Sigil’s mask protects him from almost certain brain damage and irreparable facial harm!
Junkrat tosses the chair on Sigil’s body, and then moves to the top turnbuckle.
THE FUCKING RIP-TIRE!!! JUNKRAT NAILS IT!!! JUNKRAT FUCKING NAILS IT!!! THE BOWLING BALL STYLE 450 SPLASH!!!
HE NATURALLY MAKES THE COVER AS HE LAYS SPRAWLED OUT OVER SIGIL!!!
Junkrat has done it! He has picked up the victory over his nemesis Sigil! What a moment for Junkrat!!!
NOOOOO!!! SIGIL’S FOOT SOMEHOW FOUND THE ROPES!!! THE MATCH FUCKING CONTINUES!!!
Unbelievable!!! Both of these men have been beaten to an absolute pulp!!
There’s not much left in either of their tanks! But Junkrat, blood covered, and Sigil, bloody himself, both slowly begin the ascent back to their feet.
From one knee, Junkrat sends a punch to Sigil!
Sigil sends one back into Junkrat!
Junkrat gets to his feet! He punches Sigil again!
Sigil reaches his own feet and punches Junkrat!
Sigil! Sigil! Sigil!
IT’S ALL SIGIL NOW!!!
With a series of precision strikes, he beats Junkrat into the turnbuckles!!!
FOR THE COLLECTION BY SIGIL!!! HE IS BEATING THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF JUNKRAT!!!
He whips Junkrat across the ring to the otherset of turnbuckles!
Junkrat collides into the turnbuckles and bounces off of them, using the momentum to take Sigil down with a lariat!!!
Both men hit the wooden floor of the ring!!! Both are totally exhausted!!!
As both men begin climbing to their feet, everyone, the competitors included, seem to realize that whatever happens next will likely determine the end of the match!
Junkrat swings wildly at Sigil!!!
Sigil ducks and wraps Junkrat up from behind!!!
THEY COSMIC LEAP!!!
THE TWO MEN BEGIN FALLING OUT OF THE FUCKING SKY AND DOWN TOWARDS THE RING!!!
JOURNEY’S END!!! THE GERMAN SUPLEX!!! IT’S FUCKING OVER!!!! SIGIL KEEPS THE BRIDGE!!!
Finally, this saga has its final chapter. Sigil takes the victory over Junkrat in a penultimate match between the two rivals.
“GODS OF WAR I”
In the past…
The hot sun beats down on the dry, arid landscape below. Not a single cloud offers cover to the African people who live below.
The village is a small one, inhabited by around two hundred people. The nearest water is several miles away and the well is constantly under threat from government troops who aim to fill it with concrete to cut off much needed supplies of the guerillas that seek to overthrow them.
Standing before a small gathering, in a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, is Luke Marshall.
“And he said unto me, thou shall go to the BEAUTIFUL land of Africa and spread my good word. Tell the people that my son shall RISE once more and offer them SALVATION!”
Beneath his boot is a stack of rice sacks. His audience are captivated and eager to please.
“And to those who accept my word as gospel you may provide them with SUSTENANCE!”
The gathered crowd smile and cheer, clapping their hands and stomping their feet so hard that the ground begins to shake.
As the applause ceases the rumbling grows louder. Grains of rice vibrate beneath Luke’s feet and the crowd scatter, screaming and howling, scooping up their children and slamming doors behind themselves.
Over the horizon a fleet of jeeps flank each side of a solitary tank which speeds towards Luke, skidding to a halt. The turret of the tank eases slowly forward to the unwavering forehead of Marshall.
The hatch opens and a young, fat African dressed in a government issued uniform pops his head up. He is younger, but unmistakably it is Obasi Bocamo.
“God does not come he’ah. He ‘as long since forsaken this land. You should leave now, white man.”
Marshall looks around at the soldiers hanging from every window of every jeep, each holding an AK-47.
“Jesus says MAKE ME.”
“So be it.”
He disappears back into the tank, the hatch closing behind him.
A loud bang and a blinding light fills the hot, bright land.
“911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?”
The Butcher is in a panic backstage. He hired Imperium as protection and on most nights, that might’ve just been enough.
But tonight, after months of torture, Darby Sorrow is a different kind of animal.
He’s barricaded himself in his office as The Gravedigger approaches from the outside. He casually taps on the glass with his shovel.
“You can waddle but you can’t hide, you fat piece of shit,” he growls angrily. “So how about you let me in and we turn this into the Slaughterhouse proper.”
The Butcher paces, his cell phone in his hand.
“Sigil, where are you?” He demands to know. “He’s at my door.”
Suddenly, he vanishes.
His shadow no longer resides on the opposite side of the door. It’s barricaded by The Butchers desk but the glass window shows no signs of Sorrow.
OH MY FUCKING GOD!
DARBY SORROW JUST CAME DIVING THROUGH THE GLASS PANEL OF THE DOOR HEAD FIRST!
HE JUST DOVE THROUGH THE GLASS AND INTO THE ROOM!
HE BOUNCES OFF THE DESK AND HITS THE FLOOR, GLASS EVERYWHERE!
THE BUTCHER FALLS BACKWARDS IN SHOCK!
AND DARBY SORROW… THAT PSYHOTIC SON OF A BITCH… GETS BACK TO HIS FEET WITH GLASS STICKING OUT OF HIS FACE!
“W-wait!” Begs The Butcher. “Let’s t-talk about this?”
Darby collects his shovel off the ground, grimacing.
“You people think you can do whatever the hell you want, don’t you!?” Shouts Sorrow. “We’ve talked enough. It’s time someone shut you the fuck up.”
Sorrow steps forward with his shovel when The Butcher interrupts.
“He’s going to get your son,” The Butcher announces. “Please, just listen to me. Sigil has gone to find your kin.”
That stops Sorrow in his tracks.
“What?” He demands curiously.
“You weren’t talking and he needs that item, Darby. He’ll do anything to get it from you.”
Suddenly, with that information at hand, everything has changed.
And it changes again.
“Freeze!” Yells a loud voice, belonging to a police officer now stood at the door with his gun aimed at Sorrow. “Put down the shovel, get on your knees and interlock your hands behind your head.”
The Butcher now stands, scoffing.
“We’ll see you in prison, kid,” he chuckles. “Maybe the thought of what we’ll be doing out here whilst you’re in there will be enough to change your tune.”
Darby looks at the cop, then at The Butcher and laughs.
“Eh,” he growls. “I’m done playing by your rules.”
The sound of bodies falling to the floor is the last thing we hear.