"You've seen the clouds. You've seen the cornfields. You've climbed those steps and looked out over the landscape. You've seen his birth. You've been with him this whole time, you've known his every trapping, his every pitfall. You've met him at every juncture. And then you lost him. But here he comes..." A flicker. Past the clouds, as they evolve four limbs. Past the corn, as a hundred elongated ears crop from it. A flicker. And for a moment, there is only the laughter. Hysterical laughter that goes on and on and on... "And on and on. You act so dirty, you call yourselves so clean. You're voyeurs, glorified and celebrated, but voyeurs all the same. You feed on him, but be assured, I've come to learn that he feeds on you too." The darkness spins, and for a moment there is the flash of flame, a roar of fury. Then the fire is gone, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colour. The nauseating rainbow throbs for a moment, and then the darkness again, and still the laughter. "Do you take pleasure from your incomprehension? Do you watch in wistful wonder? Do his feats and failures feed your foolish fancies? Hah, maybe. You've known him from the very beginning of it all, like a brother, right? Like an adopted son? Tell me, does he inspire you? Does he intrigue you? The rabbits are everywhere now, the only thing in sight. These lagomorphs crawl and tumble over each other without a mind. They're gnawing on the backs of one another, their buck teeth tearing into the fur, ripping at the flesh. But they don't seem to care, they're all the same here. And they all have red eyes. "I suppose you know what to expect from him, right? You all saw Determined, you've seen his kind around here before, right? I suppose you've stood by the revolving door a thousand times, held it open for a thousand hapless fools? Greet, defeat, repeat. But the way I see it... well, you're all kidding yourselves." Somewhere in the background, an eagle. It's shrill cry pierces the skies, and the rabbits scatter. Left standing, alone on the roof of a desolate building is the shadow of a man. From his silhouette its apparent that he's in a suit and tie, with a conspicuous baseball cap at an angle on his head. "But hey, what do I know? I don't really know him. But then, how can you? Hell, he doesn't even know himself. Open your eyes. God, open your minds. And if you can comprehend him, you're a better doctor than the doctor was. You're a better man than me." The voice is barely audible now, there is only the laughter. Laughter and the echoes of dozens of fallen foes, heads cascaded off the canvas, shoulders pinned to the mat. Matches won, tournaments fought, gold collected. The man's dishevelled suit is gray, his tie a distinct daffodil yellow. Oddly, the baseball cap matches only the tie. "Ready or not... Here comes The Jackrabbit..." "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaheyyyyyyyya 'Rabbit Fans! Long time no chitterchatter!" From behind the silhouetted man steps another larger figure, the shadows vanish to reveal clearly his long matted hair, golden blond under the early setting sun. A silver necklace and a T-shirt that reads "Outsider Wrestling Federation." Beneath this, a pair of hands, usually pale but black now with some unknown residue, and a pair of blue plaid long-shorts. "No no no no no no, up here, silly!" Dark lenses sit on his nose, ebony shields obscuring where eyes should be. "I see you've already met Stevieo?" "Stevie Guile. How's it going?" "Well well well, long time with none of the speakings! The Jackrabbit.. that's me!... hasn't jibberjabbered with you Rabbit Fans in... oh goodness, maybe weeks!?" "Years, Rabbit. It's been years, man." "Years!? What in the orange sky have we been doing all this time?!" "Well, I don't think this.." "Ice cream! You're absopositvelylutely right, Stevieo! We ate ice-cream! Scoops and scoops of ice cream, vanilla and chocolate and mint and rhubarb, brocolli, orange, spinach and banana, popc-..." "We can't stay long here, Rabbit..." "Sssshushushush Stevieo, I's catching up with old friends here, don'tchya know? So as I was saying, I hasn't chatted with you in must-be-weeks! Don't worry, we'll change that now, you'll see! Stevieo has got me into this Outsider Wrestling place... what a strange name! What's an outsider anyways? Someone who likes to sit outside? I likes to sit outside, so I's a perfect fit! ah ha haaaa haaa! If that's how you win stuff, The Jackrabbit is gonna win 'em all, cos I sit outside better than anyone in this whole place! Except maybe this Joshua Sleeps..." "Joshua Wakes." "Does he? Well does he wake outside? Cos that's what this all be abouts... Make notes Stevieo, must ask Joshy if he sleeps outside at Addition..." "Addiction." "There be countzillas for that.." "Counsellors..." "Oh Em Gee, where!? Quick, run Stevieo, ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!" And The Jackrabbit runs. And he runs. And runs. And runs. Around and around. And ultimately he collapses from the dizziness. There is a spinning, a nauseating inertia. The yellow of Stevie Sol's cap becomes a burning sun, twirling in an azure sea. And The Jackrabbit passes out. * * * * A hut in a void, the lone object in a lost region. Its boards have held together for the best part of a decade, weeds crawling their way up each of its four walls. This is the Hut of Hardcore, the long-time home of The Jackrabbit, a battered memorial to his long career, and yet a relic too of the past, the hardcore bouts he once endured with unfeeling, the abuse he once took without consideration. The hut ripples, and from it bursts wrestling ring after wrestling ring, one golden, one deep sea blue, another draped in blood red. Gold belts fall from each ring, clattering noisily into the void. They lie forgotten in an expanse of fields stretching out, some falling amongst thriving fauna and wildlife, the others amongst a world that is dead and barren. Overhead, an eagle shrieks. The Jackrabbit skips through this expanse, this land of black and white, of life and death. He is flanked some way behind by the man once known as Stevie Sol, his hands tucked firmly into the pockets on his suit jacket. "I've been a-thinking.. I know you say I don't but I knows I sometimes do... Do you think the ring will still be square?!" "I'm sure the ring will still be square, Rabbit." "So does you thinks it'll still have four corners!?" "Didn't I just.." "..-do you think there'll still be a bell?!" "How else will you know the match is over?" "'Cos I'll have dropped Joshy Sleeps on his head, silly! Then he really will be sleepsing, ha haaa haa! Do you thinks they'll remember lil' ol' me, Stevieo? It's been must-be-weeks since I last gotta play in a wrestling ring, could be everyone's forgotten all about me! Joshy'll know me though, he'll know come Addition time. He'll know he's a little warm up for Jackrabbit, you see.. that's what I reckons. Except that I's really not all that cold anyways.. maybe Joshy'd make a better cool-up! That's what you are to me, Joshy, you're a cool up! And once you're done cooling me up, the Oh Dub Ef will know all about what The Jackrabbit can do. That's what they said, right Stevieo? They want to see what I cans do..." "Yep, that's what they said.." "Well, I'll tell 'em right now! Save poor Mister Sleeps the trouble! The Jackrabbit... uhmm..... can skip. I can skip a lot! Probably more than Joshy can, I reckons! And The Jackrabbit can dance, too! Not the fantango, but I can do opera, gangster-style! Aaaand I can do a great handstand, just watch...." He handstands, he falls, but to The Jackrabbit a fall is inconsequential and not entirely unexpected, so the rant continues unabated. "Other things I can do are eat custard, eat ice-creams, eat pizzas. I can also spell "happyfunsunshine", which is something that I's betting Joshy doesn't do! He's got a bit of gothy look to him too, you know like one of those Marilyn Monroe fans! Gothy Joshy, ha haaah! I reckon he doesn't see much sunshine at all, which if you asks me, which you obviously does, so I obviously answers, that makes Joshy a pretty rubbish Outsider. But your friendly neighbourhood Jackrabbit loves a bit of sunshine. Perhaps you'll see some sunshine when you're staring up at the sky, Gothy Joshy! But don't be fooled, 'Rabbit Fans.. The Jackrabbit can do so many other things too! I can juggle a bottle and then catch it. Well, I catch it on my head at the moment, but I's working on that little trick with Stevieo's help. And I can have fun! That's what Addition is all about, folks. The Jackrabbit and Joshy Sleeps having some fun. Oooh ooh, and laughter. Oh goodness, I can laugh you know? Gosh, Mister Sleeps, if The Jackrabbit loves anything more than wrestling and ice-cream, it's laughing. I'll laugh as I beat you, Gothy Joshy. I'll laugh and laugh. And you may even laugh too, I'll teach you, it's easy. Ha ha ha ha ha ha, it's just like that. But laugh all you like, the one thing that The Jackrabbit does better than any other, is get the last one. Why? Because The Jackrabbit... always gets The Last Laugh! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! "Rabbit..." Ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" "Hey, Rabbit..?" "What is it Stevieo? Can't you see that I's laughing over here?" Stevie doesn't respond, but he's pointing. The shaded eyes of his companion follow his finger, comically at first, but the look of mirth uncharacteristically disappears in an instant. Laid out before the two men is the burnt, charred remains of wood, hundreds of planks now collapsed in on themselves where once there stood four walls and a roof. Amongst the ashes, the remnants of a past inside the squared circle. Melted trashcans and chairs, scorched STOP signs and ladders. And in the middle of it all, the dull glint of gold is faintly visible under all the soot. These are the remains of multiple championship belts from wrestling promotions across the globe, the belts now as defunct as the companies from which they came. "My hut..?" "I'm sorry..." "You did it!?" "No, I just.." "Who did it, Stevieo? Who burnt down Home!?" "I.. we need to get back on the road, 'Rabbit. We're not safe here." "The road? Which road, there's just so many!" "I... I don't know. He knows all of our sanctuaries, all of our next moves. We'll head out to Russia early and find somewhere to hole up." "Ohhh, you and your holes. Aaaaaalways with the holes..." * * * * Flicker. A motel room. Flicker. Any old motel room. Flicker. No different from the last, no different from the next. The man now using the alias of Stevie Guile is sat in this motel room. He pays no mind to the paint cracking on the walls, to the bed that is no thicker than plywood. He is alone now, and as deficient as the dwelling may be, it is a momentary solitude. "Of course.." The phone is pressed firm against his ear, his other hand tapping away feverishly at a laptop. He's on borrowed time; the wall sockets don't work in here. "That's all I know at the moment. He's started wrestling again." "Yes, well he didn't take much convincing. He's always thrived on the focus it gives him." "Of course, he's just downstairs grabbing a soda." "No, don't panic, I never take my eye off him, he barely takes a breath without me knowing about it first." Static.