It was dark. He didn't care though. What did matter if it was dark? He had his sense of smell still. He could taste the wind, he knew where to go. They might turn the lights off on him, but he was still there, prowling and screaming. He knew the rage � it tasted good. It tasted like blood, red and sickly � and oh so moreish. And he hadn't had it for... too long now. But he could get it again, he knew that. He was strong. He was the hunter. He was what prowled in the night, in the darkness just below the light. With a howl to the wind that was barely human, he set off at an easy lope. The giddy heights of the steppe were before him, and he couldn't wait. The scene fades in from the darkness. It focuses on a carving, hewed deep into the wall � ancient, yet different somehow from what was before. It is a simple scene � a phoenix rising in radiance from an embattled field, flame spreading from its wings and engulfing all in its wake with its beneficence. The scene zooms closer, and the phoenix is not of that ilk � yet an eagle, gloriously golden in its black stone hew, a king amongst birds. A noise causes the scene to shift. A glow makes the eagle truly golden, as both Talon and Eliza walk into sight. The former carries a torch, its flickering glow sending shadows screaming from it, before rushing back as the faintest of breezes carries the flame away. The latter has her arms crossed primly in front of her, her dark green dress almost lost in the shadows, her dark brown hair pinned neatly away. ELIZA: �Perhaps I'm not understanding you, Talon. Why are you dragging me down to the cellars?� TALON: �Hardly dragging, mother.� Eliza sighs, ever-so-softly. ELIZA: �Why are we coming down here, Talon?� TALON: �Why not tell me, mother?� Unable to see the smirk on Talon's face, Eliza sighs again. Her tone becomes slightly petulant � of one victimised unduly. ELIZA: �I've told you... I don't like doing that to you.� TALON: �Exactly. I had an epiphany while I hunted Prome.� ELIZA: �Oh?� TALON: �I learnt you were to be trusted.� He was resolute. It went against his every principle to not be; never give up, never quit. He had always been judged for his work, also criticised for being different; going against the norm. Not matter what the society, be it back home or here now, he was critiqued. This time it would be different. This time he was on to something... those long hours of study, those many methods of testing, they had proven so much of his beliefs to be true. Something was out there to be found. And as he entered his Focus, the black vehicle that would be his chariot, he was setting out to find it. The stream of consciousness gives way to an unfolding scene, a dimly lit room, the only sight an expanse of lifeless offices, the only sound a rodent somewhere in the distance, the only smell that musty scent of old, unpolished furniture, damp wood and rotting steel. Suddenly, light bursts on and the offices become lit up. Two men stand in this large open space, the smaller in his grey suit and yellow tie, baseball cap lazy on his head, and the larger in his black T-shirt and tartan longshorts, his shades over his eyes and his gold-plated championship belt around his waist. The Jackrabbit, one-half of Fusion the NLW World Tag Team Champions, looks a little perplexed at this new hideout, whilst Stevie Sol, his rescuer and aide, seems somewhat more enthusiastic, thoroughly glad to be back in this unusual complex building. STEVIE SOL: �So, what�d�ya think?� THE JACKRABBIT: �Hmmmmmm... I still thinks a bouncy castle woulda been coolerer...� STEVIE SOL: �Oh, well you would! Follow me, I�ll show you my main room...� Fortunately for Stevie, The Jackrabbit seems entirely unphased by his colleague�s claiming of an office room in an abandoned complex block. Stevie eventually stops at a door, its surface seemingly more dust-free than the others, and nimbly he twists the handle one way, then the other, then back again two more times... a lock is heard from inside. STEVIE SOL: �Key-less lock... gotta turn it a certain pattern to open it. Neat, huh?� THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh yus, so where�s the key for it?� STEVIE SOL: �What? No, I just..... nevermind, �Rabbit.� Stevie gives the door a dramatic shove open, revealing an unsurprising room filled with high-tech gadgets, computer monitors and towers, laptops and consoles and chipboards lining every available desk space. This room seems more tightly backed with cables, wires, and absurd machinery than even his current place of residence, though here much of the technology is badly outdated. This doesn�t seem to bother Stevie, however, as he immediately hops into the nearest chair, its cover looking as old as much of the rest of the building. STEVIE SOL: �Oh man! This stuff is exactly how I left it when I moved out of home and headed up north... shit, I�ll bet it still boots up properly as well.... yeah, look at that!... Timeless, some of this stuff... �Rabbit, check out the start-up screensaver on this one, I made that when I was like... ten, eleven...� THE JACKRABBIT: �Finger-hole finger-hole-finger.� The Jackrabbit has no interest in boot-ups or screensavers, however, and has busied himself with the important task of trying to fit more than one finger into the hole in a DVD-R disc. Thus far, however, he is failing. The light approached. It felt almost forbidden � and that felt good. One of the fruits he couldn't touch � couldn't taste. Locked in a cage forever, and ever, and ever and a day. No light, little sound � no fights. He was sick of it. Sick from withdrawal. Sick of running in the dark places. He knew the tower was up ahead, bathed in sunlight � in a world thick with prey and slick with blood. The laugh started � he couldn't check it, and he didn't care. It echoed around, a deep booming laugh � not the rabbits' high-pitched hysteria, but the low laugh of the beast, of the hunter, of the predator. This would be fun. Eliza stops dead � the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. Some of the worry that she hadn't realised she'd been carrying began to fade. Her arms slipped to her sides, more casual � finally at home, instead of just intruding in Talon's. ELIZA: �You finally realised?� TALON: �Yes. Perhaps it was so hard because you disguised it so well � but an echo of a memory told the truth.� Now the joy is apparent on her face, yet still her curiosity is constant. ELIZA: �Which memory?� TALON: �Talanacao.� For several moments Eliza stops dead, before hurrying to catch up with Talon as he descends the spiral staircase. ELIZA/TALON: �I'm so sor-- It was necessary.� TALON: �I understand, mother. My body was broken, my mind was weak. You realized what I was. I was no hostile mind forcing your son from his body � I was your son, just fractured into psyche's. Talanacao was the only one with the strength of rage to stand up again.� ELIZA: �I... I know, but I'm so...� TALON: �I know. It was what needed to be done. I was not so weak that I could not reassert myself � and there is no jackal like Greg Newman to keep Talanacao in control.� Eliza nods slightly, to herself, following Talon. The Enigma has one hand on a wooden door � one of the towers many cellars. ELIZA: �Who was he?� TALON: �Newman? Scum. A petty man who sought to make profit from the subjugation of others. One of many that I have beaten in my time. And one of many that I will continue to break. Take no question of it, there are few I would not break, and those that I must fight at Turbulence are no exception. Southern Comfort seek to fight with Fusion. CW Buford and TW Haywood seek to fight the Tag-Team Champions. Seemingly they also choose destruction over life. If that is how it must be � then that is how it shall be. They are not the only targets to break, however. For another wishes to assault me � a mere man attacking the statuesque figure of a hero for modernity. Jack Sullivan, I name you. You have wronged me � hardly a surprise considering what you are. You are no better than Newman, the lowest of the low who believes that money gives them power � that a position makes them strong.� Talon smiles faintly at Eliza. TALON: �But you can have no doubt that he will get all that he is owed, tenfold.� He was eager. Too eager almost, but he had been patient this far and he would not give out yet. Too much rode on this, as he did in his chariot. Past the suburban lives of the uneducated, the unendowed, the unknowing majority. One day his knowledge would be theirs to admire, but that day was not yet realised. He would realise that soon, though; very soon. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into his lap once, and it would do so again. They would not elude him forever. This would be his time. With his computers all set up and running now, multiple systems whirring to life side-by-side, Stevie Sol is more than content with their new location. His fingers fly over keyboard after keyboard, booting up computer programs that he hadn�t used in years. His pro-wrestling counterpart seems somewhat less content, bored now with the disc that had provided him a temporary distraction, and is now systematically dissecting a motherboard, component by component. Stevie turns around just in time to dodge a projectile processor chip. STEVIE SOL: �Hey, quit that! That could be important, y�know!� THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh don�tchya� worry, Stevieo, I�ll build you a new one! It�ll be bigger, faster, strong... I can rebuild it, I haves the technomology!� STEVIE SOL: �Sure, but not so much the intelligence, eh? Listen, you�re gonna have to be real careful with the stuff in here, we could be holed up in this place for a while... we�ll hide out until we need to leave for Seattle for Turbulence...� THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh, I likes Turban-Lance.. that�s when I gets to beat up Southern Combfeets, with Talon, right? Yeah, that�s gonna be a blast...!� STEVIE SOL: �Yeah, well I�m sorry you ain�t gonna get much chance to train for it, �Rabbit, but...� THE JACKRABBIT: �Nonsense, child! I�ll find plenty of fun ways of training, I�ll pick up stuff and throw things...� STEVIE SOL: �You�ll do no such thing, thank y-� THE JACKRABBIT: �And I can bouncy bounce on your chairs and tables, it�ll be fine! Besides, how much training can one Jackrabbit really need against a bunch of Texicans? It�s not like them�ll be doing any training anyways, they�ll be too busy gettin� all dizzy up on their funny-coloured Ribena... I�m telling you that stuff�s mouldy, methinks... or they�ll be worrying �bout them polimitics in their stupid voices... �Y�all git wot I�ma thunk�n, Stevey?� STEVIE SOL: �Was that really your best attempt at a Southern accent..?� THE JACKRABBIT: �I know, Tal always used to say I shoulda been an actor, but I decided to do pro wrestlin� instead!� STEVIE SOL: �How come?� THE JACKRABBIT: �So I could drop Tal on his head... uhm, long story! No need to panic, ARGH!, �cos me and Tal� are bestest buddies and Tag Team Champeenos of the Wooooorld now, so the only head-droppin� we�ll be doing is them Sorethroats...� STEVIE SOL: �Rednecks..� THE JACKRABBIT: �No thankee, I�ve eaten. Anyways, short story long is, Fusion�s gonna be walking into this paper viewing as champs, and we�ll be walking out of this paper viewing as champs. Which, if my mathematicians is right, means we�ll be winning. Right?� STEVIE SOL: �....Right, �Rabbit, right..� THE JACKRABBIT: �Ah good, just checkin�... �cos let�s face it, Stevieo, �Southern Combfeets always get the Last Laugh� just don�t have the same ring to it!� The Jackrabbit somehow manages to fall off his chair whilst laughing, but this doesn�t seem to bother him as he continues the hysterics on the floor. Stevie looks almost bemused, but only for a moment, turning swiftly back to the string of code rolling down three of his computer monitors. It loomed before him. A pillar of darkness against the sky. Above it burned the sun, fierce and hurtful to his eyes � glorious in its intensity. The desire is strong in his breast, thumping with the beat of his heart like war drums echoing across the plain � the rhythm of life, the tempo of blood. The doors are tall and strong, yet the moor that surrounds it is his home. The growl reverberates deep in his throat, spreading from his toes to his stomach to his throat � unleashed in a horrific roar. He bounds forward, sprinting the distance, and both hands connect hard with the door, with an echoing crash. ELIZA: �So what are you going to show me, Talon?� The ghost of a smile on Talon's face broadens. TALON: �Proof of my own knowledge, Eliza. That perhaps I know of things that you do not.� His hand presses hard against the door, which swings open with the slightest of creaks. TALON: �Unlike me, perhaps. Yet I realised that I was being observed. Consistently, and constantly. And I had little enough idea how, let alone how I might stop them. So I returned their observation � safe in the knowledge that the observation would change myself, and them, and in doing so would grant me the knowledge of how I was observed.� The image focuses on Eliza's look of shock, before slowly panning into the room. TALON: �The tactic was successful � yet not, I think, without their help. For some reason I have not yet fathomed they wished me to observe them. The method of observation is far too alien for me to understand, yet I learn. In time, I will observe what I wish, instead of what they wish me to see.� In the centre of the room, out of place in its dark Luddite surroundings, lit by torches on wall sconce's � is a computer. On its screen can be seen a variety of windows, various newsgroups and forums and blogs � loading seemingly at random. A closer examination shows certain words highlighted, appearing automatically as each new window loads. Knowledge. Power. Sight. Thought. Memory. Opinion. And a thousand variations on the effect. TALON: �Have you an idea what it might be, mother?� The image starts to dissolve � the picture begins to run, as a distracted look crosses Talon's face. Like blood red droplets running down the lens, the image fades and dissolves into a pool of nothingness. Momentarily, as the words shift in their dissolution, the message �We are watching you� forms, yet then is lost amongst the multitude of meaningless phrases. The look of shock is frozen into a rictus on Eliza's face, yet she manages to mutter a single phrase. ELIZA: �The cult of knowledge..� He laughs again, the horrific sound echoing through the sunlight. The door is opening � the fight is joined. The joyful sound fades to a growl as the figure leaves the tower � it is the Enigma, and he is not pleased. Talanacao crouches onto his haunches, and begins to circle, the exhilaration high in his mind. Talon merely watches. With the speed of sight Talanacao launches himself at Talon. Yet infinitesimally slowly he approaches, flying through the air with the grace of a tiger. Talon merely reaches out and touches him, and Talanacao drops frozen to the floor. He roars in anger, the sound deafening, and Talon points at him. The ground opens, and he is gone. There is merely Talon, smiling. TALON: �Fade, Talanacao. Drop back to where you belong.� He knew they were getting close now. The data he had found told him this with certainty. The rolling sands on either side, the unbreathable air, the stretching grey road. He recognised them from satellite footage, he could almost feel the proximity becoming smaller and smaller. Soon he would put an end to this mindless goose-chase; soon he would be vindicated. All the answers would be his, all the credit, all the acclaim. The black chariot rode on, covering the distance, and somewhere in the distance he sees a car-park. The screens blink with life, Stevie Sol still tapping away at the multitude of keyboards around him. The Jackrabbit is behind him, his head bobbing pointlessly up and down as the computer code scrolls down each monitor, and Stevie Sol swats at him to make him stop distracting him. Bypassing various security programs, Stevie finally breaks into a grin and turns to his colleague. STEVIE SOL: �Okay, forgot about that firewall... Cracked it. Right, you watching this? This is fuckin� cool, man...� He taps into a screen, typing into the yellow command prompt: /LIGHTS 0 WE The lights in the room, and in fact the entire block of offices around the pair, go out, plunging them into absolute darkness. The Jackrabbit gives a brief squeal, before a few more keyboard presses return the luminance to the building. Stevie is grinning from ear to ear like a schoolchild showing off his new toy. THE JACKRABBIT: �Ooooh oooh, who turned out the lights!?� STEVIE SOL: �That�s not all I can do... watch this.� Again Stevie returns to his keyboard, this time entering a new command. /DOOR MROOM 0 ARE Without warning, the door to Stevie�s room slams itself shut via an electronic hinge, a clicking indicating it locking itself. The Jackrabbit jumps around, startled, his fists raised in defensive stance, but upon realising it was just the door closing, he can do nothing but laugh. THE JACKRABBIT: �Hahaaa! I wasn�t scareded, Stevieo... I was just worried for you, hahahaa!� Stevie joins in for a moment, before turning hastily back to his computer upon remembering another old trick he installed. He begins tapping away again, this time entering in: /CAMSETSIX 1 WATCHING Onto Stevie�s main monitor screen, a number of webcam windows appear, each one showing a different part of the interior of the complex building they now sit in. The Jackrabbit bounds over to the screen, looking in awe at all the different images, each one showing a new unmoving room. STEVIE SOL: �What can I say? I was paranoid. Hell, I didn�t even trust these comps...� He taps away again, this time having gotten a confused expression out of The Unorthodox One, who�s eyes are slowly wandering back to the abandoned DVD-R disc. Stevie types smoothly: /POWERDOWN 1 YOU As soon as he strikes the enter key, every one of the computer systems in his room lose power, their respective monitors going a stark black. Stevie spins around to face The Jackrabbit, a wide grin on his face, and completely unaware of the dark letters �WE ARE WATCHING YOU� sprawled momentarily across every screen. STEVIE SOL: �Impressive, huh?� He laughs, the sound of his voice echoing around the vehicle. The building is here, right before him exactly as he had seen in his files. The car park stretches out, the abandoned office complex rising behind it. He climbs from the driver-seat now, exhilaration high in his mind. For a moment, he merely relishes the sight. He begins the brisk walk towards the building, this final moment before the upcoming capture, this redemption of sorts. He smiles, an awkward smile, for he knows this is his best chance at reclaiming what should have been his; what was stolen from him by the meddling hacker. �Building deemed unsafe, do not enter without permit.� Behind this door, within this unsafe building, were his dreams. He enters. DR. RADNIK: �You�re mine at last.�