one:

It had surprised John Taylor considerably upon his prompt return to Chester Browne's garden that the strange old man was nowhere to be seen.

He hadn't expected for Chester to follow him or anything, but it didn't quite add up that he'd simply vanish without a trace.  After all, it seemed as though his host's only objective had been to inform him of what was 'truly' going on around him.  With the job only half done, it didn't make sense that he would just leave.

Perhaps he hadn't left, actually.

That idea was one that John could work with.  The notion that he had just received something of a revelation served on a platter got to him.  He wouldn't be able to look at himself knowing that it took an old man to figure out and assess his trials and tribulations of the previous twelve months for him.  That wasn't an experience he was prepared to live through.  With Chester (conveniently, John decided) nowhere to be seen, he had been granted the opportunity to try and work out for himself what he'd just been told.

Was his entire career - or at least his 'main event' career - the work of an outside entity and not his own?  Had he become World Heavyweight Champion and Lord Of The Coliseum purely because of 'generous' booking?  Had he been declared Wrestler Of The Year because every other candidate had been rendered void from the very start?  Chester had told him that he was being tested - that he, in fact, was the biggest lab rat of them all.  It sounded preposterous at first, but somewhere between exploding at the withered bush of a man and returning once again to the meeting place, he had started to believe it.

It was something to believe in.  If he was being used, at least it was because he'd been singled out as worth the effort.  The tests had been designed with John Taylor in mind, not vice versa.  It was better than being thrown into filler matches contending for contenderships to, at best, 'filler' titles, at least.  He'd convinced himself a long time ago that he was larger than life.  In a way, he was flattered that this Entity saw things his way on at least one level.

"CHESTER!?"  He asked half-heartedly.  In all probability, the man he was looking for couldn't have gone far.  Taylor didn't have a problem with that anymore.  Chester had left for a reason, and the fact that the garden looked as serene and untouched-by-man as ever - aside from the minute disaster area of upturned grass beside the 'table', of course - all but discounted the possibility of any sort of dramatic struggle.  Whether he was ten feet or ten miles away, the important thing was that he was indeed away.  He'd be back at some point, without doubt.  John assumed that he'd be long gone from Beaverdam by then, though.

As was the recurring theme that afternoon, some primal level of curiosity kept John there.  It was the mysterious note that dragged him up there in the first place, and it was the interesting old man's (mostly) insightful stories of conspiracy and administrative genius that kept him hooked.  To modify a cliché, he could've checked out any time he liked, but he could never truly leave.  Not without coming to terms with what he'd been told, anyway.

He spent about half an hour just walking the length of the garden, taking in the almost heavenly atmosphere attributed to by the calming, descending sun, the rows and rows of flowers and plants.  Surprisingly, it seemed to lead nowhere.  There was no sign of any buildings, roads, or even paths - other than the dirt trail he'd taken through the forest at the far end, of course.  It would've been any botanist's wet dream, but Taylor wasn't swayed by it.  He was trying to understand Chester's motives for calling him out to Beaverdam at all.  Once he opened the door for that question, half a dozen more flooded in.

Who was Chester Browne?  How was he so privy to such 'classified' information?  Why had he told John?  Why had he let John walk off without putting up any sort of a fight?  Why was he living in Beaverdam, Alberta - the middle of nowhere?  What had it been about the old man that gave John the gut feeling that he'd been telling the truth?

He didn't have the answers.  Chester did, for sure.  But the whole point of his little disappearing act, John was now coming to realise, was for him to figure it out himself.  Without Chester's help.  That afternoon, he'd been given a well of information, far deeper than even he had ever had to comprehend.  If it was true, then it was up to him to decide what to do about it, how to 'win'.  He wouldn't accept it as 'false' until he saw proof right before his very eyes.  Neither way would be simple.  He'd allowed himself to get trapped between two polar opposites in this either/or situation, and he owed it to himself to break free.

Taking a seat at the chess table, he ran Chester's words back through his mind.

Pre-planned series' of events...  Handpicked opponents and rivals...  Tough, career-defining, situations and conflicts created in a boardroom somewhere...  Biased officials...  The Screening Process...  The Linear Phase...  The Drought...

Where was it leading?

Chester had originally told Taylor that he could help him 'defeat Sincere'.  Deep down, that's why he'd come.  That's why he hadn't shrugged it off in the thick of the forest and called it a day.  He hadn't come in search of a revelation.  Had Chester not mentioned anything other than Sincere, Taylor would've been content to go on existing in ignorance.  Such a notion disgusted him, but he couldn't honestly deny it.  When he'd climbed out of his rental car at noon, the only thing on his mind was Sincere and how to overcome him.  How to truly 'best' him.  Chester knew how to do that, but Taylor had been too foolish and stubborn to sit it out and just listen.  Really, what was so terrible about simply listening to the old man's stories that compelled Taylor to physically get up and go?

After all, it pertained to John Taylor more than anybody else.  He'd always told himself that his peers were mere supporting characters, and Chester had all but confirmed that.  Even if he'd been lying through his teeth, would it have been the end of the world for him to just take it as a rather complicated compliment?

He'd been an idiot.  The key to finally proving himself had been sitting across from him not sixty minutes previously.  Now he was fucked.  He didn't know where he was.  He didn't know where his car was.  He-

He noticed something up ahead, rustling in some trees..

"Who's there?" he asked, excited at whatever it could be and the prospect of taking his mind off how careless he'd been, "Chester?"

"What are you still doing here, Lord Taylor?" the unmistakable, gravely voice replied from a distance, sounding almost uninterested.

"I came back because I want to hear more" admitted the Lone Gunman as he slowly made his way towards the general direction of Chester's apparent hiding place.  He heard a loud sigh as he closed in, humbly.

"You haven't figured it out yet?  Out here, you really show no signs of that prized knack of yours for analytical thought.  How disappointing..."

Taylor hesitated before coughing a little.  He was ready to humble himself, but he couldn't even start to consider how to do it.

Ultimately, he didn't have to.  He heard an unsettling 'twang' as the back of his head went cold and he collapsed indefinitely into darkness.

two:

Some unclear time later, his senses returned to him.  Unclear as to whether he was at all conscious, he realised that the darkness hadn't gone away.  He couldn't see a thing.  On the most raw level of instinct, he tried to scream, but it was as though somebody had removed his vocal chords.  He couldn't feel his arms or his legs.  All he could do was listen.  Muffled by something, he overheard a scrap of a conversation.  It was Chester's voice that he recognised straight away.  It was back to it's slow, pleasant norm.

"He wasn't ready..." he told whoever it was he was talking to.  Was he talking about Taylor?

"What you want us to do with him, sir?" came the reply of a distinctly younger man.  It took what seemed like a few long drawn out seconds for the man's words to finally sink in. 

Sir?

"Take him all the way back" was Chester's final order.  Taylor tried to shout out at the old man, but once again nothing came out.  He drifted away once again to the heavy sound of a motor kicking into action.