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The doorway bursts open for the camera, resealing itself as the scene glides ever forwards, past long forgotten offices to the new hideout of the two men, the technological sanctuary of Steven Sol�s makeshift office. Stevie Sol has dumped his suit and baseball cap, and relaxed his shirt and yellow tie. The Jackrabbit has placed his NLW Tag Team Championship belt and sunshades aside, remaining in his black T-shirt and blue tartan long-shorts. By now the small office is becoming cramped and claustrophobic for the pair of very different individuals, and Stevie Sol has wasted little time packing things up ready for their imminent departure to Seattle for the upcoming NLW pay-per-view event.
STEVIE SOL: �So yeah, I just went into the local government�s database and removed this building from the destruction schedule. Perfect hideout, huh? A building that doesn�t technically exist! I don�t know why I didn�t think of it sooner...�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Doesn�t... exist? Ohmigosh, does that mean we don�t really exist neither? Is this all a dream, Stevieo!?�
STEVIE SOL: �Uh, I think ya� missed the point a little, �Rabbit.�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh? That�s not like me... hmmm.....�
STEVIE SOL: �...Yeaaaah.�
Stevie turns back to face his multitude of computer monitors, leaving The Jackrabbit to continue colouring in certain letters of an instruction manual using a highlighter pen.
Following his command, the monitors burst into a series of webcam feeds dotted around the office complex, each one showing a remote, lifeless part of the building. Leaning back on his chair, and putting both feet on the table, Stevie turns back to The Jackrabbit with a resigned sigh.
STEVIE SOL: �I take it you�re ready for Turbulence, then?�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh yush! Blue shorts, check. Sunglasses, check. Kneepads, check. Elbowpads, check. Boots, check. Necklaces, check. Title belt, check. See, all ready!�
STEVIE SOL: �I kinda meant... physically... mentally... you know, are you prepared to take on Southern Comfort?�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh yus, that too! I know exactly what Southern Combfeets are now. I stealed your computer and searched them... and I found out, they�re secretly, undercover, just a pair of bottles.�
STEVIE SOL: �Bottles!?�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh yesh, came up with a bunch of pictures of them in their true bottle identities. I also found out that I need to watch out for their tongues!�
STEVIE SOL: �Their tongues!? �Rabbit, I�m not..-�
THE JACKRABBIT: �But Stevieo, your Internet said that they�re lickers!�
STEVIE SOL: �Lick-... Oh, hahaaa! �Rabbit, you googled Southern Comfort... dude, Southern Comfort is a liquer! It�s a type of drink, man.�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Hmmm.... not a problem, I�m pretty sure me and Tal can beat a couple of Texican drinks. Gotsa admit, not what I expected ol� Sully to throw at us, but always knew he was a couple of screws short of a lightbulb. But y�know Stevieo, I�m thinkin� Sully might be getting desperated now. He�s runnin� out of tag teams to throw at Fusion... that�s Talon and The Jackrabbit, by the way!... He�s probsably giving us these drinks to beat at the paper viewing �cos he figures he gotsa keep the �Rabbit Fans worldwide happy enough... deep down, really deep down, Sully has just come �round to the idea that we�re keeping these here belts forever �n� ever amen.
Southern Combfeet really wanted this match, don�tchya know? They really wanted Fusion�s attenshun when we was all super-busied with Sully, and Sauces City, and the Gold Russian tournie, and Oh-Dub-Ef... and Southern Combfeet come in with their drinks and their hiccups and their alligators, and they beat up everyone�s favourite Jackrabbit. Not once, but six times. And y�know what, that does upset lil� ol� me just a bit, Stevieo. But now Southern Combfeet haves our attenshun, and we�re going to stick it right up where the moon don�t shine! �Cos moonshine is rubbish, end of story. Y�see, it�s like this: We comed to En-El-Dub to take the Tag Titles. We did it. We came to En-El-Dub to get rid of the Sauces City people. We did it. We went to Oh-Dub-Ef to deal them a nasty taste of En-El-Dub asskickery. We did it. And now we�re going to Turban-Lance to send Southern Combfeets back down to Texicus. And we�re going to do it.
Texican number one, Texican number two, Ready or Not... Here We Come! Haaaahahahahahahahaaaaa!!!!�
The Jackrabbit begins to laugh as he always does, like a mad man possessed, his head tipped back, his blonde hair flowing down his back lazily. He does not notice Stevie Sol suddenly staring, horror struck, at the main monitor in front of him. His skin has paled, his hand running through his auburn hair.
STEVIE SOL: �Shit... he�s here! Radnik�s here, Jackrabbit!�
Sure enough, cam feed #2 clearly showed the black Ford Focus of Libor Radnik pulling up into the car park before the office complex. The doctor steps out, flanked by four men in suits. Stevie, momentarily caught up in absolute shock, remains stationary; his colleague is not quite so stoic. Leaping to his feet, the Unorthodox One begins to run madly around the small office, waving his arms wildly in the air and screaming at the top of his lungs.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Oh noooooes!!! Stevie, we�re doomed! Doomed for eternities, doomed for evvvverrrrr!�
Stevie Sol turns from the screen, the window blinking �Message Sent� and he faces The Jackrabbit with a determined look on his face.
STEVIE SOL: �Quit panicking, �Rabbit. We need to think. So he�s found us... okay, I wasn�t expecting that... roll with it, we�re not beaten yet.�
With the simple command typed in, the door shuts to Stevie�s office and a clicking indicates them locking. The Jackrabbit checks the door anyway, despite the obvious outcome; it doesn�t budge. Stevie adjusts the cameras on his screen to watch as Radnik and his men enter the main hall of the complex, then furrowing his brow and adjusting his cap, his fingers fly once again over the keyboard.
On the monitor, it is clearly visible that something behind Radnik and his men has activated; a hidden panel lifts ever-so slightly and a torrent of thick, black oil splashes free; right under the feet of the five men. The three in the back immediately lose their footing, falling flat on their rear ends, and tug the others down with them. Radnik appears furious, staggering to regain a standing position and shouting furiously at the men.
STEVIE SOL: �Got �em!�
The Jackrabbit is highly amused at this unexpected weapon, and holds on tightly to the back of Stevie�s chair in anticipation of the next trick, bouncing up and down on the spot. Stevie, despite his jubilation, does not look as excited however. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head in despair.
STEVIE SOL: �I can only slow �em down, though...�
Cam feed #6 shows Radniks� men now trying desperately to dodge an entire computer desk that is swinging back and forth, from cables, in their path like a giant, makeshift pendulum. The Jackrabbit, once again, finds his hilarious, but Stevie is looking more and more frustrated, checking the timer on his taskbar. He gives a deep sigh.
THE JACKRABBIT: �More more!�
STEVIE SOL: �I don�t have more, �Rabbit, this place wasn�t built as a fortress... they�re right outside our door in just a moment, we�re gonna have to hope it holds up while I try to think of somethi- Shit!�
Stevie�s exclamation of horror relates to a small canister that has suddenly slid under the door to the office. The canister spins on the spot a few feet from where The Jackrabbit now stands, emitting a thick, grey smog into the air.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Ooooh, wassat Stevieo?�
STEVIE SOL: �Gas, you fool! Out, we gotta get out!�
The command swiftly opens the door in time for the pair to hurry from the small office room and out into the large corridor. Many of the doors to alternate offices are opened; Radnik�s men had been thorough in their hurried search. The gas billowed out behind the two escapees as they stared face-to-face with their pursuer, Dr. Libor Radnik, his eyes narrowed and a satisfied smirk on his face. His suited men look less than pleased with the oil spattered all over their once-fine outfits.
DR. RADNIK: �Please, no more idiocy.�
Don�t get smart with me, Steven.
The Jackrabbit and Stevie Sol do not move or speak.
DR. RADNIK: �The game is up.�
You let me down. You�re worthless, boy.
Libor steps towards them, always flanked by his suited muscle.
DR. RADNIK: �It�s over. Yes, you�re not getting away this time.�
Where have you gotten? I bet you couldn�t even throw a punch!
Stevie Sol�s fist connects with the doctor�s face with a resounding crack, the elder man hitting the floor on impact. The guards are slow to react.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Run awaaaay!!�
Stevie needs no further instruction, and the pair immediately flee, heading hastily towards the exit to the complex building. Radnik�s guards take chase, leaving the doctor to try shakily to get to his feet. The Jackrabbit is fast, but his companion isn�t, and the guards are soon closing in upon them. The pro wrestler looks back to Sol, and slows his pace as he sees the faster of the suits grabbing Stevie by the arm, dragging him down to the ground for his colleagues to pounce upon him.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Stevieo!�
Using no sense, The Jackrabbit immediately turns and runs headlong towards the four assaulting men, but before he can even reach the attackers there is an immense crashing behind him. The door to the office complex is flung off its hinges. �--unsafe, do not enter--� A black Mustang GT hurtles past The Unorthodox One, taking him entirely by surprise, and s0kids to a halt alongside the four suited men who finally look up from the prone body of Stevie Sol. The driver�s door swings open, and Talon steps out, a small snippet escaping from the radio. �A man was attacked today in a brutal assault, police at the sc-� The suited men get to their feet, and Talon smirks, tapping one hand on the lead piping at his waist. Stevie looks up, holding his ribs in agony, but acknowledging Talon nonetheless.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Tal!�
STEVIE SOL: �Oh, you got my e-mail.�
TALON: �Yes. Most ingenious.�
The guards have heard enough to establish whose side this newcomer is on, and immediately run at The Enigma, a brutal viciousness on their faces. Two of the four produce batons from their sleeves, and the braver of the group runs headlong at Talon. The Enigma side-steps adeptly, delivering a sudden blow with his lead piping to the man�s gut. The muscle does an unintentional somersault, landing on his back on the hard concrete.
The remaining three falter slightly at seeing this, long enough for Talon to fly forward with a Bloody Talons axe kick directly into the closest man�s face. The third beside him swings his baton haphazardly, grazing the Hunter�s arm, but he is quickly dispatched with a thunderous lead piping shot to the top of the skull, slumping him in a crumpled heap. The final suit decides against trying his luck with this dominant fighter, and begins a tactical retreat, running full speed in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for him, he is greeted warmly by a back hand slap from The Jackrabbit, dropping him to the concrete with his companions. Talon looks over incredulously.
THE JACKRABBIT: �Hywwwwaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!�
Stevie Sol visibly slaps his own forehead as Talon strides purposefully past him and towards a hastily fleeing Doctor Libor Radnik, whose nose is now gushing a thick stream of blood. The doctor tries the nearest door, but unfortunately for him it is locked and provides him no escape. Talon corners him, smiling faintly, his eyes entirely humourless.
TALON: �Radnik.�
He steps forward, and Dr. Radnik steps back until he is pressed against the locked door.
TALON: �I had hoped our previous meeting would have convinced you that the investigation of Jay was not to continue.�
DR. RADNIK: �I will not give this up, Talon. I shall have the truth of this.�
TALON: �The truth, Radnik? You wish to know the truth?�
The Enigma laughs softly, and reaches out to touch the doctor � who in turn flinches.
TALON: �Let me show you...�
The screen fades, like water washing from a pane of glass. The colours run and mingle into darkness � yet beyond, there is something. It is small, and it fidgets. It steps slowly towards us, out from the blank, ebony canvas. The greyness of its fur is almost as bright as a sun in this lightless world, but the creature seems unperturbed. Its small nose snuffling, it approaches, and sniffs, before hopping off. A tiny rabbit.
The scene pulls back. The carpet of grey now moves, and sniffs, and hops, and bounces � entirely oblivious. The sky is alight with stars � yet not, for these are no stars. Silver orbs, quicksilver memories � they hang in the sky, sedate and calm. Amongst them, lit by the silver half-light are others; orbs devoid of their memory, hanging like broken dreams amongst the darkness. As the scene shifts, one orb drips the smallest droplet of mercury to the sea of rabbits below.
There is a change. Calm obliviousness is shattered like a spell, and the rabbits rush for the droplet � a frenzied orgy of brutal movement, fighting desperately to grasp a taste. And then it is gone, the rabbits spreading once more across the empty plain, as the camera shifts to a tower. Around it, like moons around a mother planet, orbit orbs. Whole and complete � they are fat with memory. Lightening arcs from them to the tower, and the scene focuses again on the source.
It is not the tower. It is but one man. Magnificent in his mystery, he stands, arms outstretched. The smile is on his face � yet again it is cold. He does not look at the man beside him, yet at the sea that is the mind of The Jackrabbit. The broken orbs, the fat infestation of parasitic rabbits � all of these are heavy in his eyes as he speaks � the words the only sound in this broken sanctum.
TALON: �The truth.�
DR. RADNIK: �Wh-wh-...�
TALON: �What is this place? This is the mind of Jay. The broken mind of Jay.�
Talon lifts one hand, and from the ether an orb appears. Unlike the ones in steady orbit, this one is cracked. A mere cupful of silver is left within, sloshing around the bottom as it hangs above Talon. In the silver, the shadows form into fleeting half-faces, which dissolve into momentary names and shifting scenes.
TALON: �This place is what you sought to discover, Libor � whether it was known to you, or not. For as surely as night follows day, this would have been the ultimate destination of your research into a broken mind.�
Radnik stands mute, and can only point questioningly at the orb that hovers like a sinister daemon above Talon's open palm.
TALON: �And this? This is what you found, when you questioned him. The memories. The broken memories.
This is what I spent the last eight years of my life fixing, and yet you believe you have a better method. Perhaps you will let me marvel in your glory? Please, touch it. Fix it.�
DR. RADNIK: �I-... I-... I don�t, I can�t...�
The grim smile fades from Talon's face as he nods � and as silently as it came to be, the orb winks from existence.
TALON: �You are right. You cannot. And by your greed and arrogance you almost destroyed this fragile mind.�
Both hands extended to the sky, Talon smiles again.
TALON: �Come. There is much more to see.�
The orbs increase their orbit � spinning to a blur, until the tower is wreathed in purest silver. The world speeds to match, the rabbits whirling around � oblivious in their tornado. Yet the tower remains constant, and still. Radnik watches, crouched in terror against the imagined ground of the tower, as the maelstrom engulfs the world before his eyes.
Presently, the storm fades, and the world has changed. The orbs are full, and new. They hang in perfect symmetry, rank upon rank of flawless stars � casting light upon his childhood, illuminating his hopes, fears, desires.
The walls are perfect, sterile in their glowing, glorious whiteness. Every inch of the cavernous mind is visible, and vivid flashes of light shoot between the various orbs, connecting and binding them together as a whole.
TALON: �And this, Libor, is your mind.�
DR. RADNIK: [weakly] �Prep..- ...preposterous.�
TALON: �Indeed? Perhaps I might prove it.�
Talon once again holds his palm out, and an orb appears with a silent flash of lightning � full with memory, full of racing shadows; awaiting the Enigma's touch. With a flicker of a smile, Talon touches it, and blinks. The mind also blinks, the ivory walls rippling as the doctor blinks back tears from his eyes.
TALON: �A memory, doctor. But I am sure with a mind as tidy as your own, you will recall this.�
DR. RADNIK: �Y-ye--.. it hurts.�
Ignoring Libor�s response, Talon continues.
TALON: �An interesting memory at that. Almost five years old. A tearful scene � but not for you. Your mind says it all � cold and sterile. You had no knowledge beforehand that your wife would leave you over this work � and once it had happened, you barely sought to remember.
I wonder, perhaps, if it would surprise you to learn her name. It is quite apparent that you could not recall it when she left.�
DR. RADNIK: �You-- you... rogue! How dare you?!�
The smile turns fiendish on Talon's face, a finger lightly being dipped into the glistening surface of the orb � being absorbed and consumed beneath its surface. Slowly he stirs around, and the indignation and anger that kept Radnik standing was overcome by pain. His hands to his head he dropped to the floor, his eyes closed, and the world around him shimmering with empathic agony.
TALON: �How dare I? I dare because I might, Radnik. Because I am strong, and you are weak. I dare because I have the power. I do only what you wished to do to Jay � I take advantage of the animal amongst us. Yet I have the strength to maintain it.
Your headaches � have no fear, it will not be permanent. I have learnt much, and that I guarantee. Yet also, have no fear, that I could break your mind. I could shatter the connections between your memories. I could destroy the memories themselves. I could make you naught but a breathing vegetable.
It is only the morals I have been imbued with that prevent me.�
The Enigma removes his finger from Radnik's memory, which in turn disappears whence it came. Slowly the doctor staggers to his feet, while Talon watches � coldly.
TALON: �So now you see the truth, Libor. The truth that you would reveal to the world. I have shown you more in a split second than you could learn in months. I can feel how that fact angers you, in your helplessness.
However, I know more. You do not know why this truth must remain a mystery. You wish only to publish what I have shown you � where you should wish only to forget.�
DR. RADNIK: �This I can never forget. My journals from this will... I will better the world.�
TALON: �Better the world? I had not thought your mind so weak, your logic so meagre.�
The scene shifts. Garishly bright, a sequinned monstrosity, a magician stands on the stage. His assistant � clad only in what decency necessitates, and not what the coldness of the stage desires � sits in front of him, her eyes closed. She has been shown a card, and he is reading her mind. His act is flawless � his manner convincing. It has been done a hundred times before. In the audience a man stands up. His anger is palpable, and all is tinged in the redness of his rage. His hand is inflammatory � gesticulating wildly at the magnificent magician, who can but look on in shock. �Fucking mind-readers, pokin' around in our 'eads! Never holdin� a fucking secret!�
The lights have faded � the sequins gone. The magician�s naked corpse is hanging from a beam, dead and desecrated. Against the wall leans his assistant, tears staining her cheeks. She could read his mind, could feel the pain of his death � the blackness of the hereafter sucking on her sanity. She leaves the wall, a grim smile on her face, walking through the grey streets. She knows her target � the angry man with the mob-provoking hand. Eventually she can see him, the colour amongst the monotone crowd. In her rage she doesn't need to touch him, but the silver flows from his head, a torrential waterfall � and she just watches. Soon he is brain-dead, a vegetable on the floor, and the crowd look fearfully upon the assistant.
She has made some changes. She rules the roost � a couple of mind-readers help with that. The army can't get near, and the government is still loathe to bomb their own cities, so she is in control. Strong young mind-readers are bent to her will, or killed. Older ones are merely killed. Most of the norms are left alone, doing their usual toil � scared of their own thoughts, doing drink and doing drugs to numb the constant pain that she keeps them in. They hate their neighbours, they hate their partners, they hate their children � anyone could see into their mind.
In other places the witch-hunts are in full effect. The ground is thick with the fire of hate, and the fire of burning psychics; those too weak to stop their attackers � those mobbed in too much force to slay every attacker. The old powers, too, are out in force � the Cult of Apocalypse and the Cult of Knowledge; and other such ancient entities. They control not a few people, but countries and continents � their colours seeping across the atlas.
A soldier stands quietly. He will fight for his country, for the power of the norms. Thousands of his fellows surround him, and he feels unsure. Who can read his mind? Is it his sergeant? He's scared � could that get him killed? One of his friends grins at him, but the smile is odd, so he punches him. He can read his mind! He just knows it. The anger and tension thrum in him like the tautest of strings. Two hours later both him and his friend stand in front of their fellows � a final wall, and a last cigarette. For war is here, the global war � dissent not an option.
An army marches forward in strict formation. They have orders to trust each other � that none there can read their minds. Just the one man they march towards. Hatred burns in the hearts with a passion, overcoming their fear and doubt with the desire to rip this man limb from limb...
The shifting scene � stops. And there is blackness.
TALON: �The truth.�
Before Talon, Radnik has gone from being merely scared to seeming deranged. Talon's smile has not flickered, however.
DR. RADNIK: �Tr-...Tru--- truth?!�
With Stevie Sol looking on in shock, and The Jackrabbit becoming slightly bored of hopping around in one-footed �Stooping Rabbit� pose, Dr. Radnik shoves past Talon and runs in a blind panic to the exit of the office complex., entirely unaware of two dark, mysterious figures watching down on the whole scene from the roof of the complex. Talon steps forward, re-attaching his lead piping beneath his trench coat.
TALON: �Radnik, you fool. You wanted the truth � yet it was far too much for you to handle. Sadly, that feeling will become quite common in the days ahead. And yes, of course, I speak obliquely about Jack Sullivan, CW Buford, and TW Haywood.
How might I refer to you three? Three idiots, three stooges.
You wished to anger Fusion, and you have. After this, there is a lot of anger. Have no fear that it has been taken out upon the doctor. He was merely an example; a deserving example. No more than me stretching my muscles. There is a depth of hate that you do not want to feel � that no man would wish to feel. Yet you opened the sluice gates, and have only yourselves to blame.
Of Jack there is little to say. My feelings are plain, my desires are known. I say only � watch your back.
Yet of the Southern Comfort, well... That is a more plentiful field. You truly are the bumbling fools � thinking that you are big, and strong, and tough � beating on a single man, assaulting him when he cannot see you. Is that practice? Or is it, perhaps, supposed to scare us? That you can assault one of us like cowards is indeed terrifying. Of course, we quake in our boots in anticipation of fighting you. Of two fit, strong men fighting drunken, inbred louts. A match-up on paper?
Not at all.
Some might say you are the David to our Goliath � but there is no truth in that. You have no miracle on your side, no power to your being to best us. Just some lunatic desire to hate us, and to cause that same hate within us, yet towards you. You are the forgotten army, crushed by the stronger. You are the weak naturally eroded by the stronger over time. You are the Neanderthal to our Homo Sapiens.
You are, what you always are. The losers.
And us?
We are, what we always are. The champions.�
The office lays scattered, belongings thrown to every corner in a blind panic, desks overturned and computer towers knocked over, with a lone figure crouched in the middle of this mayhem. Hastily, Dr. Libor Radnik packing personal effects into a small duffel bag. Sweat mops the brow of the elderly doctor, inane ramblings spilling from his mouth, jittered movements hindering his progress. He will leave this place, leave it and never return, never face the horrors shown to him this night. Scrambling to his feet and fastening the bag, Libor hurries to the door, closing it firmly behind him and fumbling the key in the lock. It falls, and he stoops to pick it up.
�Hello, doctor.�
Straightening up, Libor comes eye-to-eye with a young man, his dark hair gelled and bleached at the top, clad in a pristine Armani suit. The man smiles at Libor, and offers a respectful hand.
�Going somewhere?�
The doctor accepts the handshake with an air of uncertainty, taking a deep breath to calm his shaking nerves.
DR. RADNIK: �...Taking a... sabbati-- cal... Who...�
�Greg Newman. We�re very interested in your work.�
Radnik is taken aback as Newman slowly releases his hand, and he looks back instinctively at the ransacked office behind him. Greg�s persistent smile makes him uneasy, and he nervously scratches the back of his neck.
DR. RADNIK: �I... I�m not sure the work... will be persisting... Mr... Newman.�
GREG NEWMAN: �Don�t worry, we know about your encounter with Talon.�
DR. RADNIK: �B...but how?�
Greg gives Libor a winning smile.
GREG NEWMAN: �We were watching you.�
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