New York, New York. So nice they named it twice. That, or a lack of imagination. But it's imagination that surrounds now, hypnotising, enthralling. As dazzling as the lights that bore into the landscape of this city of endless opportunity and lost souls. Lights that never flicker, not even once, on a world that dreams but never sleeps. Tower blocks rise into the sky, reaching for the gods but never living amongst them. Underground facilities dig deep into the ground, stretching towards the hells, but never dwelling within them. And the streets are the middle-ground, each one a trade window, each road a sales pitch. Shoes sold beside beggars, suits sold amongst rats. And the people in New York are as numerous as the vermin, and as pitiless too if one shone a torch on their souls. For behind every capitalised chance are the remains of that left behind. The victors stand tall, but tall over their victims. Kings of the rats. Queens of the filth. Champions of the people. Victors of the victims. Enter one man who knows much of being a victor, who has tasted gold and adulation. A man who has also been a victim, a mind that has been broken and probed, tortured and tormented. A man who has known triumph and defeat. A man who couldn't tell you what day it is. "So you thinks she wants me to be a-drowned!?" Ladies and gentlemen, The Jackrabbit. "A hundred percent. And no, not in custard, either." And his constant companion, one Stevie Guile. The pair are walking down the streets of New York City, unaware as everyone else of the kings of the sidewalk and the queens of the hovel. The Jackrabbit, clad in his usual attire of plaid long-shorts, his blonde hair tied up but unkempt regardless. A pair of shades conceal his eyes, a thin chain hangs from his neck. His companion, a man now known as Stevie Guile, at once out of place and perfectly familiar in his grey suede suit and yellow tie. A baseball cap should never be worn with a suit and tie; tell that to Stevie Guile, the yellow absurdity sits proud atop his head. "We don't have time to concentrate on that right now, 'Rabbit. Her time will come, I don't doubt it. For now, we've got to keep moving. He'll be expecting to find us in New York with Blood Bath kicking off this weekend.." "Oooooh yes, I's got a questions about this Bathblood. Can's you tell me, Stevieo, can's you tell me.." "No time for that. He'll be expecting us, but N.Y.C is a big place, an easy place to get lost in. We need to find some... "Oooooh getting lost, I'm lost all the times! I knows just the place for a rabbit to hole..." "No time for fun, we need to.. wait, what?" Stevie Guile is a man of truth in a world of nonsense, a regular Alice. And like the girl of the fables, even he is unprepared for the genuine wonderland that the Rabbit leads him to. "West 44th Street?" From the side of the building stares a solid stone face, its eyes hollow and its mouth gaunt. Above it, a skull, equally emotionless, yet oddly beckoning. Barring the entrance, a man dressed from head to toe in a red suit, a bowler cap ajar on his head. He is the guardian of this place, or the bouncer, depending on your perspective. "Stevieo, I presents to you... the Jekyll and Hyde Club! There's bounded to be friends.." Stevie's expression looks more than a little apprehensive, but he follows as The Jackrabbit bounds cheerily through the entrance. The doorman lowers his hat in greeting to Jackrabbit, which only adds to Stevie's trepidation. The pair enter the main hall, and the only possible reaction to the magnificent sight is.. "Yaaaaaaaaaay, boing boing!" Well okay, the only natural reaction is.. "What the hell...?" Far from being a normal bar with a bizarre name, the bar and restaurant is only the surface of this place. Around it, skeletons dressed in Victorian English clothing, top hats and gowns. An organ sits in one corner, a haunting refrain being drummed into it by a mortician in a large black hat, white ruffles at his neck and a cat on his shoulder. The customers here are few, but they are being both served and entertained by what appears to be a French butler in a suit three sizes too big for him. His accented voice is shrill, and cuts across the din of the organs. Mounted on one of the walls above the dining area is what seems to be the stuffed head of an African elephant. It is beneath this macabre ornament that another character greets them, a portly woman with what seems to be the beginnings of a beard. Despite her girth, Stevie can't help but notice that her pants are too large, held up by suspenders over each shoulder. "Ah, Master Jackrabbit my dear!" "Missus Boom!" "How many times, my darling, it's Gertrude. Gertrude K. Boom, extraordinary demolitions extraordinaire at your services! And who might be this fine specimen you've brought me, Master Jackrabbit?" "This be Stevieo, Missus Boom, Stevieo S-" A swift elbow ends the sentence prematurely, an oft-practiced tactic of avoiding his real name being given. Five long years of running have caused this man to lose his life, himself, and lose his identity. It's for that reason that Stevie Sol is dead, and in his place.. "Guile. Stevie Guile." "Well well Mister Guile, we've known a few with guile to come hereabouts, a few of your type pass through the Jekyll & Hyde.." "I'm sure, it's a .. " An unintentional pause, perhaps. "..fine establishment you're running here. I should imagine you draw a good crowd.." "Oh nonsense, Mister Guile, we've been closed down for a year now!" Stevie starts to laugh, before realising that Gertrude has hardly broken a smile. "Anyway, please excuse me, I need to go.." He shoots Jackrabbit a sideways glance. "..make a call." Nonchalant, Gertrude turns back to The Jackrabbit as Stevie moves away, reaching up to throw a bulging arm around his broad shoulders. They begin walking now, like old friends. "You've been keeping yourself busy, Master Jackrabbit?" "Oh yessums! Stevieo and The Jackrabbit... that's me!... we's been doing this crazy-fun "being on the run" thing, Stevieo's real big into that, so he mostly drags me along for the giggles, me thinks! Outsides of that, Stevieo gots me into the Outsiders Wrestling! That's where you sit outside and then you win. It's very exciting cos I beated Joshy Sleeps and then I trained my Mini-Jackrabbit to win matches. And he done that very well, just like I showed him! So now there's two of us, ha haaa!" "Oh darling, I can hardly imagine!" "Noes, it's true! In fact, we's so similar, sometimes I get confused. I'm not even really twelve hundred percent sure that this is the real Jackrabbit you's speaking to now! But this week is Bath Blood week, and that's the important times. Y'see's, Jackrabbit's in a Bloodpool match, I'm not sure what that means but methinks it's mostly about potting balls with sticks! But I does know who my face is facing! I likes to know everything about who I's beating, y'see, it seems polite, ha haaa! First there's Nurse Holidays, but his voice comes out of recorder.. yups, that's the only place it comes from! Now, I figures the Nurse has probably got his voice trapped in that recorder; which is a real dilemma, and when we've finished playing Bloodpool, The Jackrabbit will help him find his voice. Having no voice is The Jackrabbit's worst nightmare, 'cept for running outsa ice-cream or spiders being real. Uggghhh. If you asks me though, which you do, so's I answer, the Nurse being in Bloodpool could be really handy! Cos nurses make boo-boos go away, and The Jackrabbit is bound to get a whole bunch of boo-boos in a game at Bath Blood! It's in the name, don'tchya think?! So's I'll ask Nurse Holidays for a band-aid, that's the mission come Bloodpool. Oh oh, then there's some kind of gangster in there, but he's called Raygun!" "A gangster called Raygun, dear?" "That's right! Raygun Elopes, methinks. It's a pretty name, but not very gangstery ha haaa! But Raygun doesn't really act much gangstery anyways, he really doesn't say much at all in Oh Dub Eff, I think maybe he lost his voice the same way Nurse Holidays did? And Raygun mostly sits around watching telly.. not much wrong with that, Jackrabbits love watching Fox Kids!.. but I don't think there's a Fox Gangsters channel! I think after the Nurse is through healing everyone, The Jackrabbit will teach Raygun how to be a gangster.. ha ha haaaa! That's mission number two for Bloodpool! Mission number six, though, mission number six is yet another superpowered battle with Trench Metal! Trenchy and The Jackrabbit goes waaaaay back, don'tchya know?" "An old friend of yours, Master Jackrabbit?" "Oh yessum, we met in Gee Dub Oh, and he stalked lil' ol me into Icey Dub Ef, and En El Dub.. The Jackrabbit has lotsa 'Rabbit Fans worldwide, and beyond, but Trenchy must be the biggest of them all because he likes to follow me eeeeverywheres, hahaha! That's okay though, The Jackrabbit will be extra careful when dropping Trenchy on his head, that's how wonderful I be's to all my 'Rabbit Fans! Trenchy doesn't know if he's a goody or a baddy or a goody pretending to be a baddy or a baddy pretending to be a baddy, he's really about as confused as the Green Ranger when he.. "Hey 'Rabbit... 'Rabbit..." "Oh heyyyy, Stevieo, back so soon?" "Yeah, 'Rabbit do you even know what a Pool O-" "Come meet my new friend, Master Jackrabbit! Darling, you'll love her, she's positively.." "Sweet." Standing at the nearest bar and sipping on something fluorescent green is a trim girl in her early 20s, an exuberant look on her face and a youthful mischief in her eye. Truth be told, she is entirely out of place in the macabre Victorian setting, her hair dyed a number of colours ranging between pink, purple and blue, a skull on her vest-top with a bow across its forehead, a chain hangs limp from one pocket on her jeans to the other. "A real live wrestler?" "Last time me checked I was the livest!, ha haaa! You must be a 'Rabbit Fan, right?" "A what?" "A 'Rabbit Fan! You know, all those years months days where The Jackrabbit starts out with "Hey-a 'Rabbit Fans!" That's one of you, right?" "Uh sure, dude. What's with the goofy shorts?" "Oh don't start him on the shorts.." "Be nice, dear." "They's not shorts, they's long-shorts, that means they's longer than shorts, but shorter than longs, okay? And what's with you's silly coloured hair?" "Hey man, just cos I don't blend in with all them bullshit wannabes. Not like I'm the one wearing shades in a theme bar.." "I hates her." "Whatever, man. Name's Vanilla.." "Like the ice-creams..?" "Uh, sure." "I loves her!" By this point, Stevie Guile has finished scoping the place. Stevie has lived more years with the delusional man he accompanies than he ever thought he'd be able to tolerate. But the pair have been through more than even they are permitted to share, for those memories now are a precious commodity to a select few. "'Rabbit, are you sure we're.. we're safe here, right?" "Safe, dear? Safe from what?" "Rabbit, put the girl down and answer me, damnit. Does he know about this place?" The Jackrabbit has his usual blank expression, but he releases Vanilla nonetheless, who looks very glad to finally be free of the crazy man. Stevie is looking stern now as The Jackrabbit starts flicking placemats across the bar. "Listen to me, who knows about this place?" "Oh all sorts of peoples, we came here now and then and then and now, it was-..." "We've gotta go." "Right y'are, bucko! Where's we going?" "The road." "Travelling? Hey, I'm travelling too, man. Sightseeing, y'know? I bet a wrestler travels all over the place.." "We's just left Rush'Ya, and I learnt lotsa words there. I can say my name, Jackrabbitski, and your name too, Vanilla-ice-creamski, and Stevieoski and...!" "Awesome, can I come with ya?" "Yes!" "No!" The two stare at each other for a second.. "Yes!" "No!" "No!" "Yes!" "Shit, we haven't got time for this. Fine, but we're leaving now.." "I can't allow that." The large frame of Gertrude K. Boom has blocked their exit, and the three of them are now staring square into her steely eyes. Her cheerful demeanour is gone, and she backs them up to the nearest table. A murmur of confusion comes from the lips of Vanilla. "I'm afraid I can't let any of you leave this place, ever again. He has given me orders.." "Shit." Stevie and Vanilla are too distracted to notice that The Jackrabbit is no longer laughing. Or bouncing. Or even smiling. His eyes fix on the large woman, and for a moment she meets his glare head on. Nothing is spoken between the two. A silver orb flitters, just slightly, twitching out of place and knocking against another. "Get out of here, quickly, there's a fire escape behind the horse-and-cart." Stevie examines her for just a moment, but he is never one to question a blessing- at least not in the moment. Grabbing Jackrabbit and Vanilla by their wrists, he drags them from the building as quickly as he can before Gertrude changes her mind. Some mysteries, he decides, are better saved for a later time. And this time is for putting the Jekyll & Hyde behind them and losing themselves back into the labyrinths of New York City. The unlikely threesome have put four blocks between them and the bar before somebody decides to finally join in with The Jackrabbit's incessant ramblings. "I don't know what you did back there, 'Rabbit, but we n-.." "JR!? Can I call you JR?" "Nopeski.." "JR, when's your next wrestling match?" "Oooooh, it's at Bath Blood, it's the Bloodpool match.." "Pool of Blood." "That's what I said, Stevieo, no idea what's it's all about that.." "Dude, really? My brother watched one of those once, you're gonna be suspended- "Shit, don't say..." "...15 feet in the air.." * * * The cityscape swirls away, mixed and distilled through a funnel of reality, the lights that never flicker are sputtering now, the high rises are low and the street rats are swallowed by the existences they've sown. In its place, a liquid, a thick viscera of crimson that starts in a small point, and slowly, slowly, flows outwards. The taste of iron hangs in the air as its mass quickens, absorbing the concrete, the only sound a drip. Drip. Drip. Somewhere an eagle calls, but it goes unheard in this darkness. For in this moment, there is only one thing. Only this pool of blood. He lay in a pool of blood for what felt like an endless time, in that moment where the world thought he was dead. He was dead, though, not in the usual sense. Not in a way that the world could understand. There is a splash of chrome silver, and a building stretches up, that familiar place with the fire escape that runs up its side. That non-descript apartment block in that non-descript avenue. Some forty feet in the air, the roof of this building is occupied by two figures. They're shadows now, imprints of the past sworn to relive the same perilous moment for eternity. Despite their gray scale hues, the one is at once familiar and unknown. He is younger here, the shades are gone and the familiar long-shorts are replaced by a pair of jeans. The blonde hair remains though, and that charismatic smile. The world would know him as The Jackrabbit one day, would relish in the gold he would win. But here, in his ignorance, he was simply Jay. His ignorance extends to his comrade, this shadow that represents Saul, the man they'd one day call The Enigma, the man they'd call Talon. Nearly a foot taller than his comrade, the exuberance is lost on this man. His eyes are dark, his face turned up in a scowl. This a face that would strike fear into hundreds of men in a later life, for when Talon was as angry as this, more gold would indeed be won. But the price of it would be suffering. "Oh, as if, it's not like she could have loved your miserable face anyway!" "Oh you're fucking hilarious when you're drunk. Do you see me laughing? You're like a fucking child." "It was more fucking like rabbits, hah ah ha ahaa... Hahaha ha ha." There is a struggle atop this roof, a jostling that was once playful but is quickly more serious. These are big men, and they've always played hard. But only one of them is playing now. "Oh keep it up, laughing boy. We'll see who gets the last laugh." This shadow of the Enigma reaches out, his fingers outstretched, but only the very tips make contact with the other. There is a flash of silver, orbs scattered in the labyrinth of the mind, unnested from their rightful place, unsettled from their true order. "We'll see who gets the last laugh." He sees the images as they're shattered, his father engrossed in his work, his mother kisses him on the head, the whole day he once spent laying with his Tori. "It was more fucking like rabbits" A night watching the storms in Pittsburgh, a summer camped out on the beach. Beaming smiles shared with Saul, a diploma in each of their hands. "who gets the last laugh." The first day in wrestling school, the stiff clothesline, that botched body slam. "fucking like rabbits, hah ah ha ahaa... Hahaha ha ha " And the shadow of Jay begins to teeter, he's lost in the reveries now and so far from his body, standing upright is no longer a concern. His body falls sideways, tripping on the ledge that lines the roof, falling before Saul even realises what's happened. "the last laugh" "like rabbits, hah ah ha ahaa" It's a forty foot drop, the memories may be splintered but even the most forlorn of men would understand the fall, would feel the air rushing past their head, would see the sky hurrying away from them. Even the most broken of souls would feel the crunching as the concrete greeted them at the end of the journey. hah ah ha ahaa... Hahaha ha ha hah ah ha ahaa... Hahaha ha ha hah ah ha ahaa... Hahaha ha ha arrrrgh arrghhhh ha ha ha arghh hah ah haa arrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. * * * Leave that forsaken place now, abandon that forsaken time. For the night is drawing to a close in the present day, the world is waking but for the two men in a five-star hotel room, they have not shut their eyes, they have not let their bodies rest. The walls are lavish here, the curtains tied back on faux-golden hooks. The television is substantial, if not excessive, the wardrobe needlessly ornate. The lights are flickering on and off; they're not faulty, they are motion-sensitive, and one of these men is pacing quite manically. Stevie Guile has paid good money for tonight's dwellings, knowing at once they wouldn't sleep, but also knowing that their pursuers would be least likely to look in such a high class place as this. The bed looked tempting indeed, compared to the dingy motels they'd grown accustomed to. But he'll get no rest. The man pacing is The Jackrabbit, though at this time the description of "man" is being stretched to its limits. For if he is that, he is a man possessed, tearing at his hair and slamming against the walls. In one moment he trips on the bed, only to recover himself spritely and resume his velocity. "No no no no no no no, Jackrabbits don't like being in the sky, that's why they's no wings, that's why they bounce and hoppity hop, but never flying, never in the sky, not like birdies, not like eagles, rabbits are ground fish, they have legs like fish with legs, Jackrabbits stay nice and on the ground, this ground, lovely ground.." He is, at once, hugging the carpet. Stevie Guile is apparently tired of this, he has been witnessing it since the early hours, and his resigned sigh is a testament to his frustration. "You've got to let this go, 'Rabbit. The platform is fifteen feet in the air..." "Fifteen feets!? Fifteen feets!? Jackrabbits only have two feet, four feet, never fifteen feets! If they had fifteen feets we'd be calling them milirabbits or centirabbits or octorabbits or.. feetyrabbits. But they're not. Jackrabbits laugh and they smile, they don't fall, never fall.." "It's a pool of blood and guts, man. Fucking unsavoury, but CJ wouldn't sign off on this if it wasn't safe.." "Blood and guts, blood and guts.. guts and blood.. Jackrabbits hate blood and guts, Stevieo! The only blood and guts we wants to see at Bath Blood is the Nurses's.. and and Jack Gregson's! Gregson deserves it the mostest, he lost his son, which means he shouldn't really be Gregson. Jack Gregsonless. Jack Gregsonless is all distracted, so distracted that he should be the one falling! Falling all the way to the bottom. Falling for miles and miles and.. ha hahaaha, don't let The Jackrabbit fall, Stevieo, let Gregsonless fall! The Jackrabbit is focussed, The Jackrabbit isn't distracted like Gregsonless. He's not gonna be in Bloodpool just to look after Zack Perrywinkle's kiddy. Stevieo, why does Zack trust Gregsonless to protect his son? Don'tchya think he's got a bad reputation for looking after childrens already? But then.. methinks Zack Perrywinkle knows that St. Nick Perrywinkle is going to get Last Laughed onto his noggin! That's probably what it's all about, ha ha haaa! Foxie Loxie wants St Nick to beat up The Jackrabbit, which isn't very nice at all since Foxie Loxie only just started dating The Jackrabbit, does all girlfriends act this way Stevieo? Does they? Foxie Loxie is going to be very sad when the sky is falling on St Nick, cos that's the fifth mission at Bloodpool, The Jackrabbit is gonna... he's gonna..." "You're gonna push Nick over the edge, 'Rabbit. That's how you win this thing..." Stevie had hoped he could prime his liege, prepare him for the task at hand, for the only way to win his match at Blood Bath. At once he regrets it. "Oh no no no no noooo, not the edge, anything but the edge! I can't fall, Stevieo, I can't fall, I can't. I quit, I quits, let me do a Jack Gregsonless and throw the white flag in! The Jackrabbit is staying home that night, I'm sorries, I've gots to do my hair! Jackrabbit isn't in right now, but if you leave a message after the beep, BEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!" "GET A FUCKING GRIP, MAN!" The ornate cabinet shakes as Stevie Guile slams the larger man against it, his arms raised up above his head to reach him firm by the collar of his OWF shirt. "You're going to Blood Bath. You're going up on the platform, and you're throwing five other men off it. You're winning Pool of Blood, you're winning a tag team championship shot, and then we're getting the fuck out of there. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?" The Jackrabbit is silent. This usually mild-mannered man has rarely lost his temper, despite all the buttons his companion has pushed. But five years ago, a battle for life and death awakened something within him, a confrontation with the nefarious Libor Radnik forced Stevie Guile to confront his demons, relinquish the disappointment his father had lumped upon him. Forced him to take the ball into his own hand. "I'm not letting you screw this up already. We haven't run for this long for you to throw it all away on Sunday. What Talon did was a long time ago, man. And it was an accident. AN ACCIDENT! You've got to let that go, you've got to move past it. You are not the outcome of one single night, one stupid drunken brawl. You have proven yourself again and again, when everyone doubts you, when everyone ridicules who and what you are. You're afraid. I get that. Everyone has fears. Me, I fear what'll happen to us if we get caught. But I'm fighting that, Jay, every damned day I'm fighting that and you need to do the same right now. You've got two ways down; you're either coming down head first, or you're beating Jackson, you're beating Perry, and Holloway and Steel and Lopes, and you're climbing down that ladder with your hand held high. Now just... just get it together, 'Rabbit." "...beeep..?" The Jackrabbit slumps to the floor when Stevie releases him, his head tilted to one side. Stevie is breathing heavy, and shaking with the adrenalin coursing through his veins. "You've got a lot to prove at Blood Bath, you know. They'll see.. We'll see." "We'll see... who gets.. The Last Laugh.." Somewhere in the night sky an eagle calls, but it is drowned out by a manic laughter, so it goes unheard in this darkness. For in this moment, there is only one thing. Only Pool of Blood.