The Jackrabbit- The mind of Jay Ethelon was broken decades ago by the man who became Talon. He is a darker, deeper man than those days, with an undiscovered secret that has made him the victim of attempts on his life. Twisted by the abuse he has suffered, deranged but focussed by new motivations in his professional wrestling career, allies have been drawn to him- but now there is a betrayer in their midst. With Stevie gone, nobody was there to stop the Jackrabbit from unleashing his hidden abilities on Spyke, the man who tried to steal Vanilla's heart.

Vanilla- The girl who calls herself Vanilla has felt misunderstood her entire life. The Jackrabbit was the first person since her sister Cassie that Vanilla could finally feel comfortable with. But joining him on his adventures around the world hasn't been all she expected, as they have been chased and hunted by the madman Tero Haber and his mysterious Council of Knowledge. Joined by her ex-boyfriend Spyke, Vanilla was finally getting her life back on track when Spyke proposed- causing an unpredictable assault by the Jackrabbit that left Spyke not even knowing who Vanilla is.

Stevie Guile- For six long years, Stevie put his personal life aside to join the lunatic Jackrabbit on the road, protecting him from the endless organisations trying to enslave him. But when Tero Haber revealed the traitor in their midst and forced Stevie to reveal his enigmatic alliance to the Zero People, Stevie had no choice but to flee the gang for the first time in half a decade. Now alone, he seeks a legendary artifact called the Hive-Mind, something that promises to give him all the answers to his plethora of questions.

He is denial. He is the faultless flawless feeling of being without blame. He is the freedom to live without guilt, he is the clock that keeps on ticking, the sand that keeps on pouring, the sun that keeps on setting. He is a medical intern, denying culpability when he makes a mistake, signing off a paper in another man's name, letting a superior take the responsibility when another man dies. It's not his fault, he's still learning. He is twenty years old, how can anyone hold him responsible? His Mum has evicted him from the home, but that was his sister's fault. He doesn't see his friends anymore, that is their fault, they didn't work around his busy intern schedule. If they had, maybe they wouldn't have blamed him? He is a nurse. He's a man, too, but it's not his fault nobody realizes that men can be nurses. He's on probation after he arrived late four days in a row. He's underappreciated, they don't see everything he does for them. They don't realize he has two kids to take care of. And a drinking problem. If they realized, maybe they wouldn't blame him? He is the Jackrabbit. He left a man's mind shattered in a parking lot, but it's not his fault; he was pushed to the limits. It's not his fault that Dynamo beat him, that Slayer tormented him, that Talon broke him. They're to blame for all of this. They brought this down on themselves, and they brought this down on Spyke. How can the Jackrabbit be blamed for that? He is anger. He is the all-consuming rage, the fury that cures blame, the wrath that absolves fault. He is the quenching of doubt, the healing of sorrow that keeps the fighter standing, that keeps the armies moving, that keeps the revolutions rising. He is a dying woman. Punched so many times in the ribcage, the doctors have said that chances of survival are remote. At this point, even consciousness is remote. But if that dumb lout had treated her right, none of this would have happened. If he'd been there when she needed him, when her mother passed away, then she wouldn't have slept with the other men. She wouldn't have had to punish him. He pushed her into finding her passion from other outlets. She's dying now, and it's all that bastard's fault. He is an abusive husband. He punched her so many times that the doctors have written off her chances of survival. She'll probably not even wake up. But she had it coming. The filthy bitch was sleeping around behind his back, running off to sit on the cocks of other men whilst he was in the club with his buds. She deserved every punch she got. He is the Jackrabbit. He desecrated a man's mind, left him a crying mess. The fool deserved it though, for all those dirty thoughts, all the dark intentions, all his sick machinations on Vanilla. He paid EJ Slayer back for all his taunts with pain and suffering, and he paid Spyke back for trying to steal Vanilla away. He paid him back with the loss of memories; recollections that belong to the Fatemaker now. He got exactly what he deserved. He is the victims, innocent and wounded. He is all of them, all of their guiltless blameless faultless lives.   * * *   "Do you think he's in there?" I say, staring down at the motionless body on the bed. I curse myself for thinking of him as a 'body' already. He's not a body, he's my Jackrabbit. "I'm sorry, Vanilla�" the doctor says. He doesn't know the answer any more than I do. I don't think they understand what's going on with JR at all, but that's nothing new. Who does? "We've done everything we can to make him comfortable," the doctor continues. "But the scans have all come back clean. He's in there, alright, we just can't seem to get through to him. The trauma he's gone through� There's a lot we still don't understand about the mind, but physically, he's.. well, I've never worked on a man as fit as he is." "He's a wrestler", I say, and can't help the smile. "He's got a big tournament coming up, a real test of where he stands in the company he works for.." "Well.." the doctor answers. "I hope that gives him a big enough reason to wake up, Miss." He leaves me to my own devices, and I put my earphones back in, letting We Are The Crowd pulse into my mind with Never Be What You Want. JR hasn't stirred even once since they brought him in. The memory of what happened is vague; I remember screaming at him, I remember Spyke lying on the ground, twitching, I remember the parking lot lights. Why do I remember the lights? What a stupid thing to remember. The car sirens were going off, I'm not sure why, I think Spyke hit his head on one of the hoods on his way down. JR stood over him like a hungry tiger, and the look in his eyes- I've never seen anything like it, not even when that crazy Swede, Tero Haber, attacked us in the train yard. And the restaurant. And the shopping mall. That bastard doesn't take a hint, but he's really got us over a barrel now� He's got us right where he wants us, and I think JR's starting to realize it. I think Stevie realized it too, before he hopped off to wherever the hell he's gone. Spyke and Jed have branded him "Stevie Snitch", which I'm pretty sure isn't one of his many surnames, but they're convinced he's the traitor in our camp. I don't even know how to feel about that one.. JR moves. It's the first movement I've seen him make in days, and for a second I feel my heart skip a beat. I reach out a hand, and wrap it around his; it engulfs mine like a blanket. He's not even big by wrestler standards, that Doc guy we hung around with made him look tiny. But he's massive to everyone else, and my hand is like a hairpin against his. "That's it, JR. I know you're fighting this.. whatever 'this' is.." I mutter. I talk to him a fair bit, when the doctors and nurses aren't about. His vitals are all good, so I know he's in there somewhere. I don't know if that means he can hear me or not, but it's better than the eerie silence that you get in these rooms. Like everyone is so afraid of not seeming caring enough, so every word is rehearsed and forced. It wasn't so long that I was in here and JR was by my bedside, but that was just a bullet wound. They knew how to fix that. They don't even know why JR collapsed. When I'm sure that he's not really waking up, I sit myself back down. My ass is numb from this seat, and the countless hours I've spent in it, but I've refused to leave his side. It's because of me that he's in here, and it's all I can do for him right now, so I do it. I flick out my phone. There's no texts. So I idly scan the posts on Facebook. Cats. Babies. That stupid Willy Wonka meme. A picture of me and Spyke from Anaheim, the week JR beat that dumb Shark guy. I shove the phone back in the pocket of my jean shorts. They released Spyke from the hospital five days ago. I haven't seen him, it was hard enough seeing him in the psych ward. Even harder to understand. The doctors couldn't explain what happened to him. Spyke didn't recognize me at all, didn't even know my name. When they asked, he told them he met me for the first time in the parking lot when the 'crazy wrestler guy' beat him up. They don't know what happened to him. I do. The Jackrabbit happened to him. I can't explain how, but I know in my heart that JR did something to Spyke's head, made him forget. It was his way of punishing him for proposing to me. Maybe if I'd just.. If I had just been quicker to tell JR that I said no. But it was too late. He flipped out, he found Spyke, and he� made me invisible. That's how it felt, like Spyke didn't know I was there. A year ago, I'd have been glad of that. A year ago, I'd have asked someone to do the same thing to my head. But we'd patched things up.. not enough to marry the man, geez!.. but we'd patched them up enough that I could call him a friend. He was crazy to even think of proposing, after everything he put me through back home.. and JR was protecting me from that, just protecting me. He couldn't know I don't deserve protecting.. that I don't need protecting. And now it's all my fault. The old JR wouldn't have done something like this. The old JR would have found the whole thing hilarious. He'd have asked what proposalisition meant, he'd have assumed the ring was a really tiny hula hoop with a shiny rock stuck on it. He'd have tossed it up in the air and caught it on his nose. This JR took a different approach. And now Spyke.. Andrew, will need therapy for the rest of his life to understand the massive gaps in his own history. I need an explanation. I haven't been the best friend in the world for JR, but I still need to understand how this happened. Not just how, but why. Why has the Jackrabbit I know� the Jackrabbit I love� why has he become a monster? "What's going on in your head right now, JR?" I ask, and hope he can hear me.   * * *   He is the control. He is little Timmy Conway, offering a lung to his dying twin in Ward 5. Danny Conway will die without that lung, but Timmy can save him. If he can just be brave through the operation, perhaps they will walk out of here together� He is Lonny DeAngelo, he is visiting Tyrone Dominic. Lonny put Tyrone in to this bed, put the bullet into the spleen that is slowly bleeding out into his pancreas. But if he can just say his regrets, give his remorse, perhaps he can make his peace� He is Dawn Goodman, sitting by her husband's bedside. They've lived a long and happy life, Dawn and Lloyd, and she will stay by him till he breathes his last. If she just stays with him, she can support him through this. Perhaps he'll die knowing she never left him, or perhaps he'll stand; stand and walk from the bed�. He is the Jackrabbit and he can control this situation. He can speak to Vanilla, he can make her understand. He can soothe her and comfort her, and she will accept that what happened to Spyke was a necessary evil. She'll love him even more for protecting her against a wedding that would have ruined her. If he can just make her see all this from his perspective, perhaps she can walk away from this with him. Perhaps she can leave Spyke behind.. He is the depression. He is Stefan Andreasson, realizing he will never walk again. The physio has been painful, endless, and ultimately thankless. There is no point trying anymore, he will live forever with the regret that a seat belt could have made all the difference� He is James McCarthy, and this is not the news he wanted to hear. The disease has spread, a cancer rotting him alive from the inside. He fell within the 16%, and there's nothing they can do about it. He will never have children, never grow old with Katelin, he will never see California� He is Yoshinori Tanimoto, and his visit to the United States has been a nightmare. He has been a victim of prejudice and abuse since the first day. They destroyed his store, they raped Ruru, and they beat him half to death. The doctors and nurses have healed him, they're discharging him today. But he will return to more prejudice, to more abuse� He is the Jackrabbit. He has lost those who love him, he has hurt those who mean the most. He has driven friends away, turned allies against him, and been betrayed by those that held his trust. He has lashed out in anger, he has caused irreparable harm, and he will leave this place alone� He is all of them, all of their anxious, desperate, miserable lives. And he accepts this.   * * *   There's not many things Tero Haber loves about the United States of America. But he does love burgers. At first, he denied it. He was far too Scandinavian to like American burgers. Then he began to reason it out. Why couldn't he like burgers? So what if three hundred million American people liked burgers too- Liking burgers didn't mean he was on their level. It just meant he liked burgers. And so came acceptance, to the point that he was quite brazen when he said to the pimply kid in the drive-thru:- "I want a burger." He doesn't say please. American kids don't understand manners anyway. "What kind of burger?" the kid replies, and was that an incredulous look on his face? Tero knows far more important things; things that could save or endanger the entire continent; than the extent of the McDonald's menu. "Your biggest burger." He responds, calculating if he will need to undo his belt buckle to slap the kid in the face. "Do you want fries?" "I want. A fucking. Burger." Tero enunciates painstakingly for the idiot child. Why must all Americans be so ignorant and ask so many stupid fucking questions. This was why people like Tero existed, to enlighten these inbred morons. To make their lives actually have meaning, to guide them into a new age. An age where he could just type his order into his phone and the burger would be waiting. The pimply kid could go back to his mother's basement where his stepfather likely abused him. "Do you want any sauces?" Beneath the window, Tero takes the safety off his Colt. He hears the satisfying click of his driver up front, one of his many suited henchmen, responding in kind. "Does your biggest fucking burger not come with sauce?" "Well there's the special ranch sauce and the texan hot sauce, they're both in the burger, but we also do red sauce, mayonnaise, sweet chi-" "Give me my fucking burger!" He snatches the burger from the dumb brat's hand and tells the driver to put his foot down. They've barely left the drive-thru before Tero has removed the paper and shoved the gratifying meat into his mouth. "Good burger," he informs his driver, ranch sauce dripping down his chin. The driver simply smiles in the rear view mirror. He is a good man, knowing better than to add his worthless input unless it is requested. "Now that brunch is taken care of, Smith.. Is it Smith?" "It's Danielso-" "Good, do you have an update for me, Smith?" Tero asks, through a mouthful of sesame bun. "He's still in the hospital, sir," the suited monkey responds. "She's still with him." "Good, that's good." "Sir, may I?" "Yes yes," Tero waves his free hand, "Ask your inane question." "Why haven't we moved in on them yet, sir? We've known their location for days now." Tero laughs, paying no mind to the crumbs he sprays. This is a prime example of why he does all the thinking, and the monkeys carry the guns and drive the cars. This is why he is the top dog in the Council, whilst men like Smith are disposables. "Because he's exactly where we want him, doing exactly what we want him to do." "And� and that is what? ..Sir?" Tero lets the momentary insolence slide. He's come to realize that slapping his drivers causes car crashes. "Think with your brain, Smith. One by one, the bunny rabbit is tearing away his guardians. The idea with the proposal went better than we could have hoped. The only one left now is the girl, and she's one step away from being out of the picture too. All that remains is to sit, and wait, and stroll right in there when the dust is still settling." He tosses the remaining burger out of the car window. Tero Haber is sick of burgers. He is sick of America. And he is sick of waiting. But very soon the waiting will be over, very soon.. "The bunny rabbit is ours."   * * *   Twenty four hours ago, I didn't believe in magic. Sure, I've seen David Blaine and Criss Angel. Street magicians; parlor tricks, no more real than Harry fuckin' Potter. Even as a kid, I always figured Merlin was about as real as Gandalf. I've lived a crazy life for the last five years, calling myself a dozen different names that all begin with Stevie. And I've seen men do things that no man should be able to do. I've believed in imaginary towers and seen some shit that can only be explained by mind control. The image of a dozen exploding heads inside a dingy arcade, that stretches the imagination. But still, I've never believed in magic. Everything can be proven, everything is a fact. So how is it I'm stood in an invisible office block in the middle of the swamps of fuckin' Louisiana talking to a man with sixty-three different names. Oh, and he's walking on the ceiling. Jonah Colton has an uncanny way of making a man perceive whatever he wishes them to see. I doubted it at first, blew it off as those same parlor tricks you see on TV. Hey, I hear virtual reality's becoming a big thing again? But the more he shows me, the harder it becomes to doubt it. A moment ago, we were stood in a pristine office block. Now the waves are lapping at my ankles. We're on the shores of a washed out harbor, the waves are rough and the rain is worse. The drops lash at my eyes and I pull my baseball cap down over my face. If this isn't real- if this is "magic"- why am I becoming soaked? Jonah's the right way up now, at least, and I feel him press something into my hand, and with a click I open the umbrella over my head. It's yellow, matches my tie; nice touch. With my vision now shielded I can see more clearly the beach we're stood on, the cliff-faces rising up around us. I hear the rattling of chains and look up; could it be... No, the chains are attached to a precession of men, naked but for loin clothes. "What is this?" I ask, but Jonah only points. I look back to the men. They are bound to one another by thick chains around their necks, a long caterpillar of exposed men, their muscles weak, their skin loose with malnutrition. Despite the rain, their lips look chapped with thirst, their eyes heavy with tiredness. "Who are they?" I ask, lamely, as though it matters beyond the fact these men are tortured souls. "Prisoners", Jonah tells me the obvious. "They are deaf and mute, all of them. Shackled to their labor, they exist now only for the toil of their hands." Their hands are blistered. "They're not real," I decide aloud. "Is a photograph?" Jonah offers in response, and I glance again at the sorry faces. "Fine," I say, and look away as they begin to notice us. There is a look in their eyes, a look of pain, of suffering. They have struck the rocks here for quarry a hundred times over, and they long now only for release. I try to make it seem like I'm struggling with the umbrella, but the truth is that I can no longer bare to look. "So why are we here?" There is a smile on Jonah's face, despite his once-pristine suit now being sodden, his waxed hair now flattened against his pointed head. "You can free them." He offers me a key. "Ask nothing more of me, and nothing more of them, and you can release their chains right now." I don't take they key, instead looking up at the faces of the prisoners once more. Some of them have lowered their pickaxes to watch me, others have fallen to their knees. They can't hear, or speak, but they know, and they are begging. "No," I tell him, and push away the hand that bares the key. "I don't know them." Jonah doesn't seem surprised, but so far he never has. Given the things he's made me see, the questions he's asked, I don't know if the man understands surprise. Not like a normal person, anyway. He doesn't ask me to elaborate, but somehow I know he's waiting. Somehow I feel that the prisoners are too. "I don't know them, man� and I don't know why they're here. They endure hardships I can't even imagine, but their torment.. that's their own. I have no idea what shit they've done to put them in these chains, what they have inflicted on others before them. That ain't my place to judge. I'm no hero, I'm no savior. I won't let them back out into the world, not without knowing what puts them here." Jonah nods, and I think that's approval. But he seemed to approve of my solution to his last insane riddle and yet I came no closer to finding the Hive-Mind. That's why I am here, I remind myself, seeing unfathomable things, answering unanswerable questions. This man promises to give me the Hive-Mind, and from its infinite knowledge I will finally have the answers to my questions. "Very good, Mr. Guile. Then if you will not gift something upon them, perhaps you can convince them to gift something upon you..." As I look up, I notice the prisoners are eating, a chicken leg to each of them, though I have no idea where the hell those came from. They tear at the flesh greedily, and I'm pretty sure they haven't eaten in days. Maybe weeks. "How does a man convince a starving prisoner to give up a chicken leg?" Jonah states, like that's the most normal question in the world. Only it's not a question, I realize suddenly. It's another challenge. "You're crazy," I declare. "How the fuck� these men would sooner give me their toes than that meat. There's no way they'd ever�" I stop my tirade with the reminder that I need the Hive-Mind. "P-please... Hey can.." I manage to call out to them, before remembering a crucial fact. The men are mute. Reaching into my suit pocket I pull a pen and notepad out, and quickly begin to scrawl onto the first blank page. PLEASE CAN I HAVE ONE? I tap the nearest prisoner to get his attention, and he manages to glance up without ceasing his eating. His eyes scan the page quickly, and I see recognition briefly before he shoves me back to the floor. Jonah says nothing, just watching with the curious look of a cat in front of a fishbowl. For a second, it seems futile. These men are unlikely to share, especially after hearing my condemnation of their fate. And I have nothing to give them as a bribe. Even if I did, right now they'd likely throw it in my face. That's when it dawns on me. Flipping the notepad over, I begin my drawing. A thin bone, a plump mass of meat on the end. I even add a little shading. I hand the notepad to another prisoner who happens to be eating his food with just one hand. He glances at the paper, and throws it back at me. I make sure to catch it, before handing it to Jonah, the picture on the front. "There you go," I tell him. "A chicken leg, given by a starving prisoner." Jonah only nods again, the same nod. "Very good, Mr. Guile. You have impressed him very much." and I hear the clinking of chains. Before I can ask who, the prisoners are gone, along with the sand and the waves. All that is left is the notepad laid face down on the cold steel floor of a bridge. I glance up around me. The bridge is the only floor in what is otherwise a massive cavern. I make the rookie mistake of looking down, and realize that the cavern is bottomless. The walls of made of solid black lead, I recognize the bricks from the doorway we came through earlier. Before I battled the food chain with humanity. But the lead bricks are devoid of decoration, the cavern is otherwise empty, the bridge the only hint that man has ever stepped foot here. I look to my left, expecting to see Jonah beside me, but he is gone, and there is no way back. I look up and across the bridge; a figure stands there. A cloak is draped around his shoulders, patterned in overlapping white circles. Over his face he wears a mask, that covers only his eyes. His lips neither smile nor frown as he begins to cross the bridge. "Zero Person," he says, calling me by the group that nobody knows I am a part of. "Who are you?" I ask pointedly. I do not prepare for a fight, knowing I couldn't win one anyway. Not here. My shaking hand reaches out to grab on to one of the bridge supports. "I am the Hive-Mind," he says, and I blanch. "And I know that you are not the traitor."   * * *