[Vicious, ruthless, intense, evil, sadistic; I do not appreciate these labels. My actions against Mary Jane Francis were not right. I do not regret my actions, however, I do show empathy for her pain, and suffering. I did not mean for her to get involved; I did not expect to get MJ involved with my master plan. Now that the deed is done, I am quite happy with the outcome. I do not want to change the past, in fact, if I had a choice. I would have done it again. I am aware of what the possible consequences are.]

I hate it when it's dark. I try to keep that inside me to escape persecution, but in my heart, I fear the dark. A nightlight helps me drift to sleep when I rest in bed; just a dim, orange light showing some detail within my room. I do not know why I am afraid of the dark, perhaps it has something to do with my childhood, or maybe it was those lonely nights in the asylum. That brings me back…

FLASHBACK

I had just been sent to confinement after my father's murder. Even though I was broken hearted by my mother's betrayal, I couldn't stop laughing at the fact the bastard is dead. I think that might be a reason they believed I was insane, other than having my father killed. It didn't matter to me, however, my father was dead, and I was immediately plead with insanity.

I didn't know what to expect, walking down that pale colored hall, only hearing moans and a faint hint of hysterical laughing. Almost like I was entering a psycho circus. The two men in white were accompanying me down the hall, as I stagger wearing this hospital robe, attempting to keep it from sliding off. It felt like I was walking forever down that hall, and turning every corner inside of the building; I finally reached a room, where all three of us stopped. I looked to the left of me to the one man in white looking into my eyes.

Man: Wait here for a second…

After an accepting nod, I followed his order, as the other walked to the gray metal door, and grabs the handle. Before twisting, he reached into the back of his pocket, and yanked out this key; I've never seen a bigger one in my life. A clicking sound is heard multiple times as he twists it inside the lock, and the bar lock covering the handle slides to the right, past a small poll going down past the door. The man proceeds to twist the handle, and pulls the door open towards himself. I felt a grab at my left arm, and looked to see the first one giving me the cue to step inside. Once again, I followed his order.

I didn't know what to expect; I walked in to find 4 walls, completely covered in white padded walls.

"I'm not a loony!" I exclaimed to the men.

They could not change my room if they wanted to, they were just the workers. They both knew when a patient got loud, they would have to use force to get their way, even if it meant hurting the guy. They grabbed my arms harder than before, and pushed me into the cell hard. I tried to slow down from their strength, but I couldn't stop running until I collided with my dirty, bed, which was a small single mattress in a rusted frame. It was all dark, all except for a two by two inch window beyond my reach, or height. Only a glint of sun light shines through onto the floor of my darkened cell. I could not stand this already, I jumped up from my bed at which I have fallen upon, and rushed to the closing door.

"Stop!" I yelled, "Let me out! Let me out! I'm not insane, I shouldn't be here!"

The men ignored my requests, just continuing to lock the bar door for high security. I yanked on the door from the inside, and pushed it with all of my strength. Not a boulder could bash this door, I could not even dent it's surface. I fell at the door's bottom on my knees, placing my hand and head on the door. My palm felt it's cold, hard surface, as I sit there in the cold dark room.

I was in that very room for six months. I only stepped out to go to the bathroom; other than that, I had to eat, sleep, and live in there with nothing to my entertainment. Not even a book. It was more a prison than an asylum. Ever since that night, I had these terrible nightmares. Enough to make me wake up sweating.

In fact, I had a nightmare last night. I don't remember all of the details, however, I do remember vaguely. How could I forget such a traumatic dream? I was being drug down the hall like before by those same men, only this time when I got to the disturbing room, my father was sitting there on the bed, with his leg crossed. In his hand was a belt, which was rested on his lap, as he smiles at me. I remember turning into my self, only as a child. My father stood up slapping the belt against the palm of his hand.

Father: You little twit… Haven't I told you to behave?

The fire in his eyes reminded me of the past; reminded me of when he used to come home from work with aggression. He would take off his belt and beat me until I was a bloody pulp. A mere image of myself spoke in a reply of fear.

"Yes, father. I was a good boy today." I replied in my child voice.

Father: Don't LIE to me, you little fool! I don't know why you won't listen. I discipline you, and discipline you; There is just no lesson learned.

He stood to his feet, approaching my small body. I draw back with my hand covering my face, peaking through my fingers. I back up slowly as his pace continues towards me, the light from the small hole in the wall is shining on my hand. He slaps that leather belt against his palm hard, trying to intimidate me. I ran to the door! The door would just not budge. I went back to wall trying to cover my face as my father raised the belt into the air.

Father: This is for your own good, Danny boy!

I woke up then. I'm not quite sure whether those were the exact words or not, but however the nightmare went, I was trivial. Almost every night I have that dream… which is why I'm afraid to sleep without the nightlight. It, however, doesn't hurt my pride. I have an excuse for this problem, a damn good one. So it doesn't bother me to talk about it, yet for some reason, I decide not to.

The night was rough to get through, however, I prevailed. I hadn't got much sleep from the dream, I was afraid to go back. I was afraid of the past creeping back upon me like it always seems to do. It's quite ironic, I have nightmares from a place at which I was sent to for having my father murdered, and I lose in the end. My father haunts my soul every thought I have, every voice I hear, every second of my life. Just when I think I have killed my demons, the white whale of the past comes back. Everyone of us have inner demons, that we all search for. Captain Ahab had the inner demon that was Moby Dick. An obsession to get vengeance against the whale who took off his leg, at all costs. Ahab was blinded by his deep hatred towards the white whale, ignoring the welfare of his shipmates. Models consider their demons to be the fat on their body. They constantly try to prevent it from appearing, and when it does, they are relentless in destroying any trace of it. The obsession grows more powerful and stronger to the model until she begins sacrificing herself to look good. Throwing up her insides… to make her look beautiful on the outside. An obsession can drive a man insane, or to the point where he or she is over the edge; to lose control. We all have inner demons we chase our entire lives. My father is mine, the past is my inner demon.

Even after my father's departure from this world, and my life… the past continues to haunt my soul. I may be charming at moments, normal at another, but inside… my soul is dying. It is dying slowly, but it's dying. My heart is black, with a force field around it. Not letting any feeling or emotion towards anyone. So you call me vicious, you call me sadistic, you can continue calling me evil and ruthless. My inner demons molded me to be the way I am. Whether I like it, or not.

As I climbed out of bed this morning, I was extremely tired. I couldn't sleep through the day, I had people to see, places to go… well, I had people to see at least. Michael Diamond a matter of fact. I no sooner got my red slippers and robe on than I hear a knock at the door. It was only the second day in my new mansion, quite hi-tech if you ask me. The door bell sounded a little different than my parent's mansion, so it was difficult to get used to. My old friend, Eric Rayne recommended this residency after one of his friends passed on. I don't care what the old bastard's name is; his house is sensational! I rushed to the door, after walking nearly a mile from my bedroom. I could see Michael's head peaking through the top of my door, trying to see if I'm in east jabip, or lost somewhere in my mansion. That was almost the case, however, I'm doing alright finding myself around this compound. I open the doors to greet my chap, and he limps in from the porch, which looks like a well groomed parking lot. I embrace Michael, who is limping in my hall.

Michael: You don't have to secure me. If I made it up your walk-a-thon you call a porch, by myself, I'm quite sure I can get to the nearest chair.

Same old Michael Diamond I've always known. Witty and sarcastic.

Danny: Have it your way.

I could see the expressions appearing on his face. No matter how mild mannered he looked, you could see the jealousy in his eyes. It was quite funny seeing a man with such pride, he cannot stand to admit someone is better than him, even when he knows it.

Michael: It's a nice place you have here. How much was this?

Danny: Oh, I don't know. I don't handle that kind of stuff.

Michael's face lit up with confusion.

Michael: Then who does?

I had no idea, and I still don't! I just tell my agent I want to move somewhere, the next day I move in. Jo Jo must handle it.

Danny: That would be my agent, Jo Jo.

A hesitant pause from Michael.

Michael: Your agent's name is Jo Jo? Is that a nick name? A pet name?

Danny: I believe that's his real name.

I wasn't completely sure, but I have never heard anyone else call him another name. Well, other than "The Dancing Freak" Please, don't ask. He wrestles for a promotion I own in jersey called UBW. Jo Jo is quite… odd.

Michael: Whatever. The house is nice, anyway.

Danny: Jealous?

Michael: Why would I be jealous? I mean, look at the place.

Danny: What's wrong with my mansion!?

Michael notices a small blemish on the table next to him. After staring around at my furniture, he realizes a pattern of dust.

Michael: Well, for one thing. I have a butler… say, didn't we hire you a butler?

A butler? Did I hire a butler? Hmmm, I don't seem to remember me hiring anyone to do me chores, unless… oh my god…

Danny: MARK !

The scene skips to the old street of Danny Starr's residence, where mansions side by side, all but one. The small neighbor is quiet and peaceful. When in the distance a vague clattering of bottles can be heard approaching. As the sound gets louder, a man walks into the scene. After walking back out, the clattering stops, and the man walks back again. The burned rubble that remains in The Starr's destroyed mansion lays on their acres of yard. Mark Crow, who is carrying a fresh paper back of alcohol realizes that the house has disappeared.

Mark: Oh shit! What the hell is going on up in this bitch? Danny! Pat!… Billy?

Danny: I forgot all about Mark!

At this point, Michael is laughing beyond the limit of laughter. He is nearly falling off my black leather couch in which he had chose to sit on. After Michael realizes that his laughter is causing his body to thrust, therefore moving his injured leg, he stops.

Michael: Ow!

Michael grabs his legs in pain, almost as if he was faking it.

Michael: How in the hell could you leave Mark? Didn't he know about your mother's accident?

Danny: Not to my knowledge… I wonder where he is right now.

Michael: Why don't you go look for him?

Danny: Who?

Michael: Mark!

Danny: Oh, nah… he's street smart. Plus, I'll call up Jo Jo. He's got resources like a drug lord. Get me the phone, Michael.

Michael stares at me with a blank look, then looks down to his cast, which is wrapped around his leg.

Danny: Oh yeah… well, you can't get the phone anyway. The house came with this TV phone so I can see the person talking.

I swear I saw Michael's face cringe out of the corner of my eye, especially when the big screen slowly pulled down from the ceiling in front of the entire hall. As I dialed Jo Jo's number, the screen connected to his drive, and lit up the picture of a man wearing a hockey mask. He is staring away from the camera, revealing his FBI winter hat, and braided hair drifting out from the back. He looks hypnotized as he continues to stare away from the screen.

Danny: Jo Jo!

I tried to get his attention.

Danny: Hey, Jo Jo!

Michael: What the hell is he doing?

Danny: Oh, Jo Jo has this syndrome.

Michael: What syndrome?

Danny: I believe it's called Jostaritus.

Michael: That's quite odd, I must say.

Jo Jo's head turns to the camera quickly as if his delay was sped up real fast.

Jo Jo: Oh, hello. What's up Danny?

Danny: Not much, Jo. Please, tell me, how is my promotion holding up?

Jo Jo: Oh yeah… UBW is the shit, dawg. How's the softball team?

Michael: Softball team?

I direct my attention to Michael, who interrupted my conversation. I leaned to him and whispered.

Danny: The Hartford Super-Starrs, with two R's.

Michael made a silent "ah" sound, and leaned back against his chair back. I continued to pursue my conversation with Jo Jo.

Danny: The team is doing great. We're 2 and 0 for this season so far. I really don't like our pitcher… lousy Mormon. I told him to organize all of his wives because I'm sick of the cat fights on my field!

Apparently, Jo Jo is showing more effects of his syndrome. My god, I would donate my entire estate to figure out the cure for such a rare disease. Jo Jo stares off in another direction once again.

Danny: Oh, Jo Jo. If only I could donate my entire life savings to the Jostaritus fund, you might be cured.

Michael: Why don't you then?

I pause trying to figure out a good reason, but end up hesitating too long, and ignoring Michael's question.

Danny: So Jo Jo, how is Tommy Romeo doing? Is he running the business correctly in my shadows?

Jo Jo: Yeah man, he's doing well. Him and Criminal joined the HWA, yah know.

Danny: No Kidding'. Well, it was nice talking to you again, Jo Jo. The house is sensational Jo Jo, Sensational!

Jo Jo: I'm glad you like it man, and hey… good luck in your match with fury. You'll need it.

As Jo Jo laughed at his comments, I disconnected the phone line, cutting him off instantly.

Michael: Hey, you didn't ask him to find Mark.

Danny: DAMNIT!

I shook my head in disbelief. Perhaps I'm getting too old for remembrance of anything.

Michael: Well, there's always tomorrow. That is to say if you survive past Fury. What the hell were you thinking?

Danny: I didn't choose this… I was chosen. It was my fate. My destiny, to end his career!

Michael: Why did you attack MJ?

Danny: Mary Jane, Mary Jane, Mary Jane! It had nothing to do with her. How many times must I emphasize this. I had to use the only thing that meant anything to Steven Fury to get what I wanted.

Michael: Did it even dawn on you that Steven Fury hadn't seen the attack on Mary Jane Francis.

Danny: Of course he did! That's why he attacked me at the end of the night.

Michael: That was a fast plane trip, Danny. He was there before this all went down. He was staking you out before you could even PLAN an attack on Mary Jane.

The sad part was, he was right. I had never thought of that.

Danny: That's nonsense! I will end his legacy, and begin a new one at Requiem…

Just then, the phone rang. I was expecting a Jo Jo, or a FOS member by nature. I did not, however, expect the person to be none other than Eric Rayne. I picked up the phone thinking it was someone different, but when Eric's voice said "Danny" in a low tone, I knew what this was about. I felt my spine tingle from the intimidation in which Eric gives me. Other than Steven Fury, Eric Rayne is my idol as well.

Danny: Salutations Eric.

Eric: Danny, you cannot do this. You have to back out of this war you created with Steven. I am telling him the same thing.

Danny: Why Eric?

I was scared to get an attitude; I felt submissive around Eric. Almost like he controlled me completely. I never know how to talk to Eric, I just knew not to defy him.

Eric: Danny, what you did was unnecessary. I am not happy with your actions, and I think you will regret them if you go through with this.

Danny: What are you talking about? What can Steven Fury do? He's an old man, Eric!

Eric: The High Society's former members are fired up, Danny. You messed up big time with Steven. The Circle was one thing, but now this?

Danny: Listen, I don't care what anyone has to say. I know you are the middle man in all of this, but you are not involved. This has nothing to do with you! This is my destiny!

Eric: And it will soon be your fate when you step into that ring. Reconsider Danny, back out! Are you hearing yourself? You've become obsessed, and for what? What has Steven Fury ever done to you?

Danny: Nothing… and that's my point. I was never given respect when I joined the High Society. He treated me like I was nothing, and that's what he did for me. Nothing.

Eric: That's not true, he didn't know you well enough to do anything. Steven has…

I interrupted, I wasn't thinking…

Danny: Listen Eric. You cannot change my destiny; I will have my vengeance and gain the respect I deserve. This is not about you, this is not about the High Society… this is about ME and there is not a damn thing you, any High Society member, or anyone for that matter can do about it. Good day!

Eric: Alright. That's fine. You just hear this well, Danny. Your power trip is going to get your into a hole so deep, you will not be able to climb out. You need to think, and realize this isn't a game. Steven Fury has ended the careers of many people Danny, you want that on your conscience?

Danny: I too, have ended the careers of many. So perhaps this is an even duel, wouldn't you say, Eric?

Eric: You are not thinking straight, Danny. Just do what you wish, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Eric Rayne hangs up the phone to avoid any further argumentation with me. I held in my raging anger for the lack of confidence in me that Eric showed. Trying to make me turn my back on my own destiny… trying to warn me about Steven Fury? What has he ever done that I haven't? Sure, his attacks are outrageously violent, does that stop me? No. He throws a fist, I throw a mallet to Mary Jane Francis.

Danny: I cannot lose any way. I will always win because that's my nature. The end is obvious when I stand above all of the odds with my hands raised high in the air.

Michael: Along with your head?

Danny: Pardon me?

Michael: He's right… you aren't thinking straight. You're obsessed with this! You're become obsessed with Steven Fury to the point where nothing else in your life matters.

Danny: Steven Fury has been haunting my life for years. Just thinking about the rejection he left for me, just thinking about the comments he says when I'm not in the room. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about what goes through his mind on a daily bases. In order to eliminate my problems, I have to chase my inner demons.

Michael: But I thought your father was your inner demon?

Danny: He is… but that's the past. He's dead, I have caught that demon. Steven Fury is still running wild, and it's time to have my redemption. I will not sleep. I will not eat. I will not rest until I destroy Steven Fury once and for all.

Michael: Danny! Listen to me. You are being controlled by your anger, controlled by your hatred for Steven Fury and The Circle. You cannot control your dark side, which makes you turn into this. It makes you sadistic and evil, possessed for a rather meaningless achievement. What exactly do you plan to do to Steven Fury? What is your plan for Requiem? To get the pin?

Danny: Michael. My plans do not concern any friend of mine, any acquaintance, any boss, any living soul in the world. All they concern is me. However, Michael. You say I'm obsessed? You claim that I am possessed with Steven Fury?

Michael: What are you going to do?

Danny: I'm going to follow my destiny, Michael.

Michael: Would you just tell me!? Can't you give me a straight answer anymore?! You're becoming selfish and paranoid! Tell me now, or don't tell me at all.

Danny: At Requiem… I plan to make Mary Jane Francis a widow.

Michael and I stare at each other. I could tell he thought I was sick, but it's not a sickness. It's not an obsession. It's the black heart which my father force upon me. It's the internal evil in which in my father had cursed me with. I will not be the pawn is Steven Fury's sick game. He wants to play mind games with "The Sensation"? We'll see how long he lasts in my mind. I will not fail.