Once, this was his life. But that was before he was saved. The memory hangs in the air, a silvery orb absorbing the light, a lone item in a void. It tilts and turns, but the monochrome is consistent throughout. The sound of laughter is like thunder, echoing around and around, a manic shrill. All other noise has fallen within it, this laughter has swallowed it all. The silver orb splits suddenly, torn clean into four equal parts. Four equal silver rabbits, that roll and tumble and fight and then shatter, their disembodied limbs melting down into a single puddle, a colorless pool. The laughter stops short. Within the puddle is a house. Not just a two-storey house, not just a garage and a sunroom. Not just red bricks and white panels, and not just one of the nicer houses in upstate Philadelphia. This is home. And this is a homecoming. It has been weeks since he last set eyes on this driveway. The mailbox is full, which would have concerned Jay Ethelon. Jay's mother would have pored over the countless gas bills. Jay's father would have engrossed himself with the newspaper. There seem to be four newspapers here now, though. He doesn't care, he is The Jackrabbit now. He takes two more steps up the pathway; the front lawn has overgrown. This would have concerned Jay Ethelon; Jay earned a few bucks by mowing the lawn, every dollar counted to a student. Money means nothing to him now though, he is The Jackrabbit. He reaches the porch. His instinct is to grab the door handle, thrust it open, bound inside. A homecoming. Instead he walks around the building, hugging to the red brick, moving to the sunroom. The memory flickers, just a moment, and inside the house are two figures. A man and a woman, a mother and a father. Jay's mother and father. The former is curled into a ball against the chest of her husband. At first, he suspects they are hugging. The warm embrace of a family home, a healthy happy family home. Jay's family home. He is The Jackrabbit now, and he is distracted by a cricket. It chirps and chirps, perhaps he could chase it, chase it into the trees, laughing and wailing. The woman is crying. He probably knew that all along; her body is shaking heavily against the man, her tears staining the shirt he wears as he holds her firm, but the moisture in his own eyes is apparent too. Jay Ethelon's parents are crying, and that would have concerned Jay. But that was before the fall last month. He is The Jackrabbit now. "It's been nearly four weeks.. four weeks�" "He'll be back, Annabelle.." "We can't know that.. We can't.." He presses his hands on the glass panel at the sounds of their voices. They don't look around, but he can almost feel them, almost feel another time, another place. He can feel their sorrow, he knows their loss. The cricket still chirps, though, and he gives it a glance. Perhaps he could catch it and tear off its legs, one by one, see how long it still chirped for. "Four weeks, Bruno! And they said not to expect�" "He'll be back, he's just being a teenager.." "But what Saul said.." Saul. The name resonates, the cricket now forgotten. Saul was Jay Ethelon's concern once. The best friend that understood him, the best friend that stuck by him and took him for what he was. The best friend that saved him, and the best friend that betrayed him. Saul is The Jackrabbit's concern now. "I just want my little Jayjay back.." "I know, and we will." It's something he can't give them anymore. Jay could have given them everything they wanted, saved them from this sorrow, this misery. But Jay Ethelon was gone now. Now there was just.. this. The Jackrabbit. He could save them from that, at least. And he turned his back, walked the other direction on that pathway. Walked the other direction to find Saul. The silver puddle reforms, the orb that was originally lost, silver and unblemished. A single man bears witness to all that goes on within. "JR... Jay, are you crying?" The silver orb disappears. "Me? No.. Noooo ways, Jackrabbits never cries, dont'chya know?! How's about ice-cream?!"                 *                *                 *                 The ice-cream tub sat on the arm of the couch; Neapolitan, though only the chocolate remained. JR had taken the rest. Vanilla preferred chocolate ice-cream. This had surprised The Jackrabbit, given the name. But she'd explained it in basic terms. "Women just love chocolate, JR," she'd told him, "It's in our make-up." Of course, he'd inspected her face after that; she should have seen that coming. She was beginning to understand him now, but he still took her by surprise on occasion. She liked that in him. The laptop rested neatly on her stomach, her head reclined against the plush pink cushion. Something inane crackled away on the TV, but she wasn't really paying it much mind, her focus drawn completely to the same Facebook feed she'd checked a dozen times this evening. "Ugh, clever cats.." she muttered, rolling her eyes and dragging her finger down the touchpad. She didn't understand Western society sometimes; perhaps, she decided, that's why she travelled so much. Jackrabbit had already taken her across seas, and she'd be heading to Nebraska for the first time in just a few days. That was what was so special about Jackrabbit. He wasn't like the rest of society. He was different. Sure, he was annoying at times. But then, who wasn't? Most of her old friends had annoyed her; even her ex-boyfriend Spyke some of the time. But Vanilla saw Jackrabbit's annoying nature as something of a facade; like the facade she'd lived in her teenage years, hiding something. Hiding something not only from the world, but from himself. There was another side of JR, a side that perhaps only she'd glimpsed; a passion, she decided. Not just for his wrestling, where at times being the very best wrestler in OWF seemed to be the only focus the man had. But a different passion, a passion for those close to him, those he cared about; those he loved. ****CASSIE IS ONLINE**** WEAREWATCHING The message blinked up in the bottom right of the screen. For a moment, Vanilla hovered the cursor over the pop-up. Should she click it? It was rare for her big sister to be online, what with all the travelling she did. But she faltered, and the message faded into the desktop. What would she even say? Should she greet her with a hearty "Hey sis, long time no speak!"? Pretend like nothing had happened between them? Or should she get right down to the meat of it, hash out in a long PM about all the hurt Cassie had made her feel, how she'd abandoned her little sister in a time of need; and then hastily log off. The Jackrabbit would never abandon Vanilla. She'd known him for such a little time, but somehow she knew it. Given half a chance, she didn't doubt that Stevie would let her wake up in a motel someplace to find them both gone. But JR wouldn't let him. Not her Rabbit. For the first time in her life, Vanilla felt like there was something.. someone.. in her life that would give without ever expecting anything back. Her family had been one big clusterfuck of failed expectations and misplaced values. Spyke's crew.. she'd loved Spyke, at least she thought she had. But Spyke's love came with conditions; it came with sex, booze, and drugs. But JR and Stevie took her under their wing, let her into their (admittedly weird) world, without ever asking for anything back. JR didn't look at her and expect success and a 2.5 kids nuclear family. JR didn't look at her and expect a fuck and a half ounce. JR looked at her and expected� Well, JR didn't really have expectations of anyone, she mused whilst casually deleting her Farmville app. Only of himself. That was the whole point. He expected to become Tag Team Champion, she recalled. And he expected to beat that freaky Talon guy and his new stooge, that half-wit Wilson. She'd asked JR which one of them was more deluded; the crazy philosopher with no social skills, or the charismatic nut-job that wanted to save the world by beating them to a pulp. Turns out the answer was simple. JR didn't know what 'deluded' meant. But those were his wrestling expectations. He was a different man inside the ring. The first match she'd seen him in was Pool of Blood. She could remember her first thought clear as day; 'wow, I didn't expect him to look that good with his shirt off'. She couldn't remember ever seeing him working out, after all. But then she'd seen the real Jackrabbit. Not the crazy laughing madman that everyone else saw, but the driven, fierce competitor that threw other people around like ragdolls. The warrior that felt no pain, that overcame every obstacle thrown at him, that outshone every.. expectation. The Jackrabbit would never be a normal man, Vanilla knew. But she had never been normal either, never needed or wanted to live a normal life. And JR, he had saved her from that. He had picked her up when she was most down, and spun her around like a big brother.. no, not like a big brother. Like something else. Like a... Hey. It's been a while. WEAREWATCHING The message popped up on the screen, and Vanilla nearly knocked the ice cream over in surprise. Had Cassie actually decided to message her? She glanced at the screen name on the message window. "Spyke!?" That was the last person she'd expected to see a message from. REWATCHINGWEAREWATCHINGWEAREWATCHIN Maybe we could meet up sometime? INGWEAREWATCHINGWEAREWATCHINGWEAREW                 *                *                 *                 "JACKPOT!!!!!!!!!" Three 7s line up perfectly, flanked on all sides by cherries and bells and lemons. The celebratory whooping is met by the sound of a klaxon-like jingle, and an animatronic voice that sounds over and over, "WINNER! WINNER! WINNER!" A car is reaching 200mph on a winding highway, and beside it a space ship orbits Mars, lasers firing out of twin arc cannons. Two pre-teens battle for their life against the impending zombie horde, whilst their kid sister dances like a 90s pop-star. Eclectic noises pair with lights that flash in an epileptic's worst nightmare, except where the bulbs have burnt out- left to sit dead for years now. Somewhere nearby, a stuffed toy falls from a claw for the eighth time. At the slot machine, The Jackrabbit is looking thoroughly disappointed that his reward is a seemingly endless stream of tickets rather than the welcoming clatter of coins. Clad in blue plaid long shorts and an official OWF Shock And Terror t-shirt, a golden title belt loose across his shoulder, his appearance is as unchanged as that of his companions on this outing; Stevie Guile, the man with the infinite collection of yellow hats and ties, and the even less likely Doc Holloway- stoic and unengaged near the entrance in his usual brown vest. "TICKETS!? TICKETTTTS!? What does I want with TICKETS!?" "Chill, 'Rabbit. You know what tickets mean, right?" "Hmmm... my turn to buy meats and cheeses?!" "No, man. Tickets mean prizes!" "But I LOVE prizes! However did they know!?" "Must be psychic, man. Must be psychic..." Stevie looks for a reaction, but The Jackrabbit is no longer listening, already he is pushing past coin machines to find the prize stall. Stevie follows slowly behind. Idly, he picks up a plastic gun at House of The Dead, and fires off a couple of imaginary rounds at a four-headed demon with bloody tentacles that demands he inserts more coins. Doc remains unmoving at the entrance, arms folded- he had no intention of coming here when they set out. "I gotta go with Doc on this one, you know� I still don't see how an arcade is, in any way, a good preparation for one of the biggest matches of your career, 'Rabbit." "Preparation? Who saids anything 'bout preparations, Stevieo?! Arcades be FUN! Y'see, that's where your friendly neighborhood Jackrabbit has the advantage at Shock And Pterodactyls.." "Fun? Your secret weapon against your longest and greatest foe is.... fun?" "Presactly! Now you're starting to get it! Y'see, Tal has never been the happiest chap'ums. Lucky for Tal, he always had a Jackrabbit to show him all of the funnest things in the whole wide world, like Power Rangers and marshmallows! Or marshmallow Power Rangers! Oh my giddy ants, can you imagine the awesomeness.. Mighty Marshin' Power Rangers! Hahahaha! Saban, make it be!" "Well, you know I'm only even going along with this because you've been through some crazy shit lately; God knows you need some downtime! CJ seemed intent on throwing you to the wolves these last few months, what with Pool of Blood and Altitude O in back-to-back pay-per-views. Not to mention the Jailhouse match in between.." "Yeah, but who winned all those matches right there, Stevieo? Who?" "Well technically the Jailhouse was a d-.. Me me me me me me! The Jackrabbit, that's who! There's a reason for that, Stevieo. It's because of fun! Tal has always sat around in his big dark tower, talking to all his stuffy cultalites with their crazy philosophisms and prophesizers. Well now he's got the least-funnest cultalite of them all, with 'The Savory' Adam Willies. You know why The Savory Willie doesn't have a shot in chances against the likes of The Jackrabbit? Because The Jackrabbit doesn't need no saving! That's his shtick, right? Willies likes to save people. Threedumb Kids need saving from the evil governments, cos they's always getting into fights and battles and people die and I think it's all because they all want a pussy when actually there's a bazillion pussies in the world�. and rabbits are totally cooler anyway, hahahahaha!! And.. Adam's twin brother Dave Willies needed saving because the only person in all the world that liked Dave was... well, Dave. He was definitely the best in the world at that, right? Well, The Jackrabbit doesn't need saving because I's the happiest dude in all the world, with not a care to be cared about." "'Rabbit, man� you've got a crushing fear of heights, a psychotic arch nemesis trying to destroy you, a tag team partner that has more in common with Clint Eastwood with a toothache than he does with you, and a string of suits trying to hunt you down like an animal for god knows what reason, and that's not even to bring up your mental condition and..." "Yeah, but aside from them things, not a care to be cared about! The Savory can take the week off and maybe he should spend it on saving himself! I reckons Adam sits next to Tal thinking he's his beeeest friend, like Tal reaaaally loves him. Thinking like he's the new Jackrabbit on the block! But he's no Jackrabbit, if he was The Jackrabbit, I wouldn't be The Jackrabbit, and I am The Jackrabbit, I would know, so he can't be. And that's logic for ya, kids! And you know the most importantest thing? Cotton candy." "What?" But The Jackrabbit has turned his back as the withered old stall attendant passes over the candy in exchange for a fist full of crumpled tickets. The wrapper falls in pieces to the floor, a handful of the fluffy pink sugar immediately between the Unorthodox One's lips. "What I really doesn't get is why Tal had to go and do it all in the first place? Wasn't Fusion enough for his big fat head? Was he really so jealous of my pretty face and my awesome shades that he had to go and smash my head in with his likkle pipes, Stevieo? Tal; I's tried to make this work, I really did. We had something special, Tal. Something that couldn't be replaced. Except how I replaced you with the Cowboy Doc and you replaced me with The Savory Willies. Besides, I got cotton candy now, yayyyy! But with less regards, we coulda talked about all these conunundrums like grown gentlekids. But instead, you got all gloomy. And for what, Tal? FOR WHAT!? I's the most innocentest person in all of the OWF, a likkle shiny nice guy in a world of hateful monsters. All of the lockerrooms have psychoticpaths like RedDeadEmption and ATaxiCar and.. and.. Sleepy Winters! Monsters and ghouls and looneytics, oh my! But Tal, you had to paint a big red and blue and yellow bullseye on the Outsiders' Favourite Neighborhood Jackrabbit! Well you picked the wrong fight, bucko! Well, it was the right fight, cos you wanted to fight lil ol' me, and now you got it� but it was the wrong fight 'cos it's a fight you can't win! Ha ha haaaa! It's a fight against the dudey that ruined your career in Gee Dub Oh, hoo-ha! It's a fight against the dudey that carried you in his backpack in En El Dubyou, hoo-ha! And it's a fight against the greatest Tag Team Champeeno that Oh Dub Ef ever did see, smell, and hear, hoo-haha ha haaaa! And you know what, Tal, this time it's personal! Well, more personal than all the other personal times! And no amount of Adam Willies are going to save you from that, Tal. I knows Tal still loves The Jackrabbit the mostest, y'know Stevieo? Jackrabbit is his real bestest friend, and when it comes to being The Jackrabbit, I'm the best at it, hahhaaa! So you best get plasticising on your laughing, Savory. They don't call me The Laugher for no reason. They don't call me The Laugher for any reason, in facts! But if they called me The Laugher, it'd be cos I laugh better than Adam Willies; and when it comes down to the old Jackrabbit, that's me, vs. the new Jackrabbit, that's him- I hopes you's keeping up!- it's gonna end up the way it always ends up; The old Jackrabbit always gets The Last Laugh! Hoo-ha!! Hahahahahaaaaaaa!!! Take that, Pac-Maaan!!!" "I... I think you're playing that wrong, 'Rabbit." "No way, I prefers playing as the ghosts, there's way more of 'em!" Rolling his eyes, Stevie moves towards the arcade entrance where Doc awaits them, looking out at the grey storm clouds settling overhead. Once, this would have been Stevie's way of subtly hinting that he was ready to leave. But he has spent so long in the company of the one they understate as 'Unorthodox', and he has spent five years of his life knowing that subtle hints will be missed entirely. In truth, all hints will be missed entirely. He'd shout "I'm leaving" at the top of his lungs if he felt even that would be noticed. It wouldn't, though. Like a five year old in a supermarket, Jackrabbit would allow himself to be left behind entirely. And perhaps in 20 minutes, when he'd ran out of quarters, Jackrabbit would notice that Stevie was gone. Doc hasn't moved from the entrance, and Stevie folds his arms and leans against the wall beside him. "Not your idea of a fun day out either, huh?" he says to Holloway, but he receives only a glance from the much taller man. Stevie sighs, knowing there's no sane conversation to be found here, either. No conversation at all, in fact. God help him, sometimes he even missed the conflicts with Talon when Fusion was still in one piece. Reflexively, he reaches for the inside pocket of his creased grey jacket. There are no smokes there; there hasn't been for years now. In fact, it's been so long since he even reached for that pocket. But he knows things are changing; the equilibrium is shifting. He'd hoped that signing Jackrabbit up with the OWF would stop it, would let things go back to how they were. Hadn't everything been easier when they were in NLW? The so-called Enigma had ruined any hopes of returning to those days, though. He notices something out of the corner of his eye. Just briefly, somebody was watching him from a car as it rounded the corner across the street. Somebody wearing shades... in storm weather. Quickly Stevie bursts back into the arcade, just in time to be grabbed and thrown against a wall by a man in a dark suit, a hand muffling his cries. "Don't move a muscle." He couldn't, even if he'd wanted to. The man in the suit is stronger than he is by far, he can feel the tendons squeezing against his neck. He acquiesces to the demands without a fight, wondering silently if Doc Holloway might have heard the commotion. Stevie has never been a fighter, his father had never let him forget that fact. From his prone position, Stevie watches the man left in the arcade who is a fighter; who has always been a fighter. The Jackrabbit is battling back three of the suited goons, his fist literally crushing one of their pairs of shades into their face. He hiptosses Suit Number Two into the third, and they go down in a heap. Stevie almost chuckles at the sight of this man-child in plaid long-shorts tossing around men the same size as him like they are pop tarts. He winces then, realizing that the analogy is probably exactly how Jackrabbit is imagining it in his own head at that moment. The OWF Tag Team champion now has Suit Number One in a tight headlock, whilst his boot is on Suit Number Two's throat. But Suit Number Three carries a taser, and he drives it deep into to the ribs of his assailant. Jackrabbit fights to maintain consciousness, but his limbs are no longer in his control, and the arcade lights are dizzying as Suit Number One, now free from the headlock, brings back a fist to swing at his target. A massive clothesline to the back of the skull sends Suit Number One to the floor, and Doc Holloway finally enters the fray. Before Suit Number Two can even realize what is going on, Holloway has grabbed him from behind and dispatched him with an improvised Half-Nelson Slam, bouncing his head violently off a quarter-dispenser. Suit Number Three has abandoned The Jackrabbit in favor of the bigger threat, and Doc narrowly avoids a shocking taser shot of his own. Spinning around with the grace of a man half his size, Doc wraps the cord of a nearby plastic gun around the throat of Suit Number Three, disarming him deftly before launching him full-force over his shoulders. Doc reaches down to his Tag Team Championship partner, trying to drag him to his feet, but he hasn't accounted for Suit Numbers Four, Five or Six. Overwhelmed, Doc falls to the sheer numbers, taking repeated shots to the head and neck. Still pinned in the corner, Stevie gives an audible sigh. "Well well, looks like we caught a rabbit in a hole, boys! And a cowgirl to boot!" Stevie recognizes the voice before he sees the man. That arrogant whine, with a slight lisp. Over the suited man's shoulder he just about makes out the rounded face, the greasy hair parted in the middle. Tero Haber. Clad in a loosely fitting t-shirt and baggy chinos, Tero is completely out of place at the head of a mob of suits. "You should know better than to doubt me," Tero quips as though reading Stevie's mind, his accent only very slightly betraying his Nordic heritage. "How do you call it? A game of cat and mouse.. it was only going to last so long, eh?" And he laughs a hearty laugh, giving The Jackrabbit a nudge with his foot; only to flinch away hastily when The Jackrabbit shows signs of life. "Surely you both knew that you couldn't keep dodging the system forever. Surely you didn't think we wouldn't catch up to you eventually. It's time that you boys got in line and realized your place in the grand scheme. You are quite literally resisting the inevitable. And the inevitable, by its very nature, has a way of catching up. We always have a way of catching up." Tero has made his way over to Stevie, and he stares him deep in the eyes for a moment, making sure to keep the suited man between them "Alright, get this one in the truck. The bunny, too. That other one is an ant that doesn't realize its living in an ant-farm even when the lid's taken off." He gestures to Doc. "Squash it." Suit Number Five removes a silenced hand-pistol from his jacket, and Stevie's eyes go wide as it is pointed at Doc Holloway. He squirms to look away; he has seen grim things in his time travelling with The Jackrabbit; many of those grim things have been regrettably caused by himself and his companion; but this is something entirely different. A live execution to the haunting sound of "WINNER! WINNER! WINNER!" Despite himself, Stevie can't help but note that a silenced gun isn't so silent from close distance. The sound is more akin to a thud, and the sound of an exploding head is like a smashed watermelon. He brings himself to look around, struggling against the forearm at his throat. Doc Holloway is alive, still grounded but very much intact. But then� Suit Number Five is a bloody mess on the ground, the pistol limp in his twitching fingers. Stevie steals a look at his companion, but The Jackrabbit's stare is frozen, almost like he is sleeping with his eyes open. The rest of his body is entirely unmoving. The next smashing watermelon takes Stevie by surprise, he hadn't noticed the suited goon release him from the wall, nor had he noticed him take his own pistol and put it to his own head. The shock of the claret splashing him in the face wakes Stevie from his daze. Somewhere in the background he hears "What the fuck-" but he is too busy screaming at the top of his lungs. It is pure instinct that drives his words as two more watermelons smash beside him. "Doc, Rabbit, we've got to go, we've got to go, Rabbit, we've got to go!" Looking back on it, he would surmise that it was instinct too that drove Doc Holloway to scoop The Jackrabbit into his arms as they shouldered their way out of the arcade. He would remember hearing the screams of children over the sounds of Dance Dance Revolution, the sounds of police sirens over the din of a klaxon-like jingle. Somewhere in the madness, he would recall seeing Tero Haber shoving past them to the fire exit. But most of all he'd remember the sight of three zombie-like Suits, lined up liked a firing squad, three more exploding heads, and the sounds of The Jackrabbit laughing. Just laughing.                 *                *                 *                 Tears stain Stevie Guile's face, his hands shaking as he thumbs the numbers on his cell phone. He'd washed the blood from his face and hands three times now, but his grey suit was quickly becoming brown. He never knew blood turned brown when it dried. He drops the phone the first time, and it rattles around in the sink. He scoops it up quickly to his ear just in time to hear the voice on the other end. "Hi, yeah, it's Stevie." A pause. "Yeah.. we.. we had another situation. No, it.. It didn't go to plan. Nothing went to p-plan, Jed. We couldn't have� nobody could have.." Another pause, but Stevie is shouting now, his voice echoing around the cubicles. "They all died, damn it! THEY ALL DIED!" He collapses to the floor, his legs have gone weak but he manages to keep the phone to his ear. "I'm calm.. sorry, I'm calm. It's just.. I'm coming to see you, Jed. I need you.. I can't carry this on my own anymore� and I'm.. I'm scared."