THE EPILOGUE
AFTER THE FINAL STAND

Go to Danny Starr

 

With Danny Starr in custody and charged with a plethora of heinous crimes such as murder, attempted murder, extortion, among others, SINN International hastily granted Ron Royalty the rights and ownership of the HWA and immedietly worked to distance itself from Danny Starr and the High Society.

The "smoking gun" USB Tommy Romeo was given by Erin Wallace and Kevin Conner had enough incriminating evidence to carry the entire High Society swiftly through criminal judgement despite an army of lawyers.

Mary Jane Fury, Brandon Kayros, Steven Fury, Tony Gold, Scarlett and Jared Sengir, Johnathon Keeper, and Corwin Havens all charged for their crimes to the full extent of the law and separated to be placed in state prisons throughout the United States.

The Terabytes of surveillance and hacked intel found on HS servers and StormCorp forfeiting it's own data to free itself from association exposed the members of the High Society for a century of high profile crimes, human trafficking, drug running, terrorism, assassination, political espionage, and the list went on and on. All were given only 100 years less for coming forward to expose Danny Starr for the murder of Eric Rayne, despite their pledge to support the High Prince. It was over.

Danny Starr now rots, isolated, in a prison cell in Hartford, CT.

Danny had to live with his regrets, and his failure to quell the monster within in himself. He would often wake up from a deep sleep, remembering Jenn while she was still alive or Cass and Michael when they were young, but upon waking would remember what he had thought was the right choice and how his choices have lead him here.

A part of him wanted vengeance against those formers colleagues. Another part of him wonders if, now that the entire story was out, if they would see that he wasn't the bad guy after all... but then, he remembers the harm he had caused. He remembers the deaths and heartbreak that came from his decisions.

On the day Danny Starr was arraigned for the murder of Monica De Lioncourt and Eric Rayne, Ron Royalty gave a speech at the mass funeral for HWA's own Brooklyn, Kevin Conner, Hollywood D, Morgoth, Bigg Money, and Fudge. He spoke of a man so lost in his ways that he could no longer tell the difference between wrestling and reality. A man so paranoid that he let his inner darkness block the any light from his sense of morality.

With the surviving members of the HWA in attendance, now with a communal sense of brotherhood and togetherness, HWA Owner Ron Royalty reminds them that Danny Starr had set out to destroy the HWA... to erase it's memory from the minds of men, but his failure was that the very threat only brought them together as one. And, from Danny Starr's obsession with making HWA non-existent, now, the HWA will instead be Immortalized.

And with that, Ron Royalty presented the members with HWA Infinity; A memorial for the HWA Past and Present. A memorial that would be forever standing, free from tyrants and destroyers- free from corruptors and defilers. It would be a place for all of HWA and it's fans to remember and relive the HWA and all of it's glory.

Like a beacon to return to in months, or in years, the HWA Infinity would exist as a place to be forever honored, so it may remember that it was once threatened by dark forces but remains, has remained against the test of time, and will remain as the Last Fed Standing.

When the memoriam ended, the HWA members went their separate ways in life, but will never forget their final stand where the HWA became theirs once again.

Diamond Mansion
Hartford, Connecticut

Steam filling up the mirror in the bathroom, you hear water splashing against the wall. Pictures of the well-groomed Starr-Diamond family lining the back of the marble vanity in the bathroom. The water stops suddenly as a hand reaches for the pale pink towel hanging on the rod by the shower. Cassandra Starr-Diamond steps out of the shower, wrapped tightly in the towel as her wet brunette curls hang down her back. She sits at her vanity, staring at the reflection before her. Her hand reaching to the bruise covering most of her left cheek and eye. A lovely reminder of where her brother knocked her out during the HWA event One Night Stand. Although the event was more than 2 weeks ago, the shiner that remained was unmistakable. Cass spent many hours and days since the event, contemplating how things had gotten so far out of control. Her brother, the man that raised her and saved her from their abusive father, almost had her and Michael killed, the once feared trio, destroyed from within. Her trance interrupted by her cell phone ringing, she jumps, startled by the sound. She looks down and see`s it`s Laura calling. Cassandra had promoted her best friend to VP of Strategic Growth at her and Danny’s company “Starr-Diamond Enterprises”. She takes a breath, most phone calls since Danny`s arrest haven`t been desirable.

Cassandra Starr- Diamond:” Hi Laura, what do you have for me?”

Laura Hamilton:” It`s not good Cass, we just had two more investors back out this month”

Cassandra slams her hand on the vanity, knowing that eventually, Danny`s misgivings would catch up to their business.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond:” Did you tell them, what we had discussed? Her voice raising

That my brother has nothing to do with the business anymore, it`s solely run by Michael and I?”

Laura hesitates

Laura Hamilton:” Cass, anything with the Starr name is trashed. They don`t want anything to do with Danny or his family. I am doing everything I can, but I need you and Michael. We have a stake holder meeting coming up next month and I insist that you and Michael attend’

Cassandra grimaced and agreed.

Laura Hamilton:” Cass, I can`t imagine how hard this has been on all of you. How is Shawn handling this, he has always looked up to his uncle. “

Cassandra Starr- Diamond:” He is having a real hard time Laura. He doesn`t believe it, he doesn`t believe his uncle could be capable of such heinous acts. Michael and I keep trying to explain it to him but, we are having a hard time understanding it ourselves.”
Cassandra visibly getting more angry

Laura Hamilton: “Cass I don`t…….

Laura couldn`t finish before Cass cut her off

Cassandra:” You know, even as kids nothing would satisfy him. Why does this surprise me that in his career, he would need to fuck over all his friends and family, just to what…feel ahead? Run a dynasty? He could have had Michael and I killed if Evan Blane didn`t jump in to save us.

Laura Hamilton:” You two were always so close Cass, how did it come to this? Did you guys just not talk at all, you had no idea?
Cassandra:” Laura, he fell off the map…Michael and I tried to call him, but clearly we were too late. I wish, we had reached out sooner” Cass`s voice softening

Cass looked down at the small picture tucked in the corner of her vanity mirror. A young picture of Danny and Cass, Danny with his arm around his little sister. Cass smiling up at Danny. He always had her back; how could she have failed him. How could she not have been there when he needed her.

Her eyes filled with tears, reminiscing over the times that were not so complicated. Choking back tears, she remembered she was still on the phone.

Cassandra: “Laura, I have to go, I will be in touch about the meeting”

Cass ended the call and placed her phone down as she continued staring at the picture, at this point not able to hold in her tears anymore. She missed so much about the “old days”. The parties celebrating the FOS victories, the HWA events where they dominated most titles. The days in which the Starr name was feared, not disgusted. How their world has changed; and not a member of the family was spared from Danny`s actions. Cass can hear Michael wake up in the middle of the night, nightmare plague him. Shawn, who should be getting ready for college, worries daily about the treatment of the uncle he admired. Scarlett, caught in all of this, never got to meet her uncle, but her stubbornness and tenacity certainly has all the Starr charms.

With a knock on the door, Cass looked over to see who was there. Diamond standing against the doorway flashing his million dollar smile aware, his wife, once again was taking her time. She looked down at the time on her phone, and back up at Michael. Giving him a half smile.

Cassandra: We must go huh?

Michael: Unless we are turning this into a Zoom memorial, and in that case, I would recommend at least changing out of that towel. Don`t want to rile up all the boys.

Cass rolling her eyes

Cassandra: Ya, ya, I’m going.

Michael walked behind Cass seeing the picture of her and Danny on the vanity. She looked up at him, sadness in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her kissing her gently on the top of her head.

Michael: We will get through this Cass, I promise.

Cass smiled as she stood up from the vanity chair, heading to the bedroom to change. Today, the Diamond Starr family had to head to the memorial service for the wrestlers lost, prior to One Night Stand. A solemn occasion for sure. What the days and months hold for any of the wrestlers that night, only time will tell.

2020
Grand View Memorial Park
Los Angeles, California

Michael Diamond stood off to the side of the cemetery, watching from a safe distance at the proceedings before him. Ron Royalty had gathered the HWA survivors in one final gesture to celebrate their victory over the High Society, as well as honoring those tragically caught in the crossfires of what was officially being referenced as “World Wrestling Warfare”. As Ron unveiled the effigy, those in attendance did what best befit them in this situation; clap their hands, shed a tear, or hold each other close. Like most of his time spent in the HWA, Diamond was on the outside looking in. From the moment he, Cassandra, and Danny had arrived – from the very beginning that the FoS was born – the trio felt entitled to everything the HWA had to offer, and they made no qualms about letting the world know it. This attitude didn’t sit very well with most in the locker room or backstage and they had made many enemies along the way. Still, had they been wrong? In what was meant to be the HWA’s final moment, there the three of them stood once more – center of the ring, Ron Royalty and his precious wrestling federation bleeding out. Michael closed his eyes as he recalled the last few moments; his long overdue confrontation with Danny, his attempt to reason with the man he always saw as his brother, Cassandra being put in harm’s way, watching as his wife fell to the mat, struck by the very sibling that had always protected her from such atrocities. This last memory made Diamond grit his teeth together and his fingers clench tightly into a fist. Everything was a blur then; Michael not even remembering slipping the diamond knuckles over his fingers, nor remembering throwing the straight-jab that connected square with Danny Starr’s jaw. Michael wasn’t sure if he had ever punched someone as hard as he had in that moment, his knuckles still red and sore. In that moment, with one devastating blow, the FoS had died… and the HWA had survived.

As Diamond flexed and relaxed his hand, he felt the warm embrace of his daughter’s fingers intertwine within his own. Michael looked down at Scarlett, a smile on his face. She seemed to have an intuition about her, almost like a sixth sense; she always seemed to know when a member of her family was hurting and just what to do to make it right. The Diamond-Starr family had shown up in style today, Michael wearing a standard black overcoat, dark grey pants, black polished shoes, and a solid blue tie with dark sunglasses. Cassandra, too, had dressed up for the occasion… wearing a long sleeve black and paisley printed mesh body-con dress, complete with a black woven summer floppy hat with a wide pleated brim and purple-tinted sunglasses. His wife had made sure their children would look presentable as well; Shawn wearing your standard black pants, black dress shirt, black dress shoes and red tie while Scarlett was adorned in a black fitted, knee length, satin dress with a mesh yoke top, complete with a sweet off-white pearl embellished head band. The family watched from afar as the commemoration concluded, the group turning on their heel to leave… everyone except Michael.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: Michael…?

Michael Diamond: You three go ahead, I’ll catch up.

Diamond didn’t give his wife a chance to question or argue his intent as he proceeded further onto the grassy field, his target in sight. Though some had made their quick departures, a majority of the wrestlers and staff had remained behind; paying their respects to the dead or conversing amongst each other of the recent happenings. Michael made his way up to Erin Wallace, ignoring the fact that she was deep in the middle of conversation with Tommy Romeo.

Michael Diamond: We need to talk… now!

Much like Cassandra, Diamond hadn’t given Erin much say in the matter as he grabbed a hold of her arm and led her away from the crowd. There wasn’t really anywhere concluded and secretive the pair could go without all sort of manner of watchful eyes on them; the HWA survivors behind them, a pair of cameramen and reporters in front of them, and Michael’s family off to the side.

Erin Wallace: (pulling her arm free) That’s enough, Michael!

Diamond warily looked around, knowing that – somewhere out there, “The Huntress” and her new protégé, Ruby, were patrolling the perimeter… ensuring the continued safety of his family and all those in attendance today. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene, but he needed answers – answers that Erin Wallace had not been very forthcoming about leading up to the event.

Michael Diamond: (accusing) Did you know?

Erin Wallace: Did I know…?

Michael Diamond: I’m not playing these games anymore, Erin… did you know about Danny?

Erin attempted to regain her composure as Diamond removed his black shades, his blue eyes piercing her soul.

Erin Wallace: I knew… bits and pieces.

Michael Diamond: (stating matter-of-factly) So you lied to me.

Erin Wallace: I didn’t…

Michael Diamond: (interrupting) You told me he was dead!

Despite Michael’s best efforts, he had not kept his composure and his voice carried a little louder than he would’ve liked. A few of those that had gathered at the memorial turned to see the confrontation, the cameras and nearby reporters following suit; like vultures, they looked ravenously at what could be the next “big scoop” in this constant and ever developing story.

Erin Wallace: If you’re asking me if I knew that Danny Starr was impersonating Eric Rayne, the answer is “no”. But you know I could turn this same round of questioning on you, Michael. I mean, Danny was your best friend after all…

Diamond cocked his head to the side, looking at her in disbelief.

Erin Wallace: I’m just saying, one might find it hard to believe that for almost ten years you’ve been “searching” for him and you… what… never found a single trace? Not ONE fucking inkling of where he was or what he was up to? I mean, you and I both know who you really are…

Michael Diamond: Careful Erin, that sounds almost like a threat.

Erin Wallace: (defiant) I’m not scared of you Michael; maybe I should be, but I’m not. I have nothing left anymore, your “friend” made sure of that.

Michael swallowed hard, knowing very little of what she had endured over the past few years. She and Romeo had fought against the High Society, unbeknownst to them that the “High Prince” they did battle with was not “The Final Degree”, but – rather – “The Sensation” in disguise. Diamond’s resolve was beginning to wain and Erin could sense it, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

Erin Wallace: Just answer me this Michael, did I get Kevin killed?

Michael Diamond: What? Why would you…?

Erin Wallace: Did MY trusting YOU get him killed!? You had the address, Michael; I gave you the location! And then less than twenty-four hours later…

Erin’s voice trailed off, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Michael recalled the memory of meeting her in Florida as he investigated the death of his former tag team partner, Fudge. She had known his secret identity then, a question he hadn’t even bothered to ask the “how” to… so caught up in this hurricane of death and destruction swirling around the HWA and its members.

Erin Wallace: What did you do Michael, hmmm? Did you go running to Danny with the information I gave you, serve up Kevin Conner on a silver platter like a “good little soldier”!?

Michael Diamond: Erin, I know that you’re hurting…

Erin didn’t afford Diamond the chance to finish his thought, her hand slapping across his cheek. All eyes were on them now, cameras flashing in the distance.

Erin Wallace: What kind of “Hero” are you!? You could’ve saved him, Michael; you could’ve stopped all of this! But you knew all along, didn’t you? You knew it was Danny and you let it happen, just like you always did. So what... now you’re trying to just cover your tracks? You think because you knocked Danny out and helped Royalty win that it absolves you of your sins? If I find out that you had something to do with this, any of this…

Michael Diamond: I’m sorry about Kevin, really… I am, but you are not thinking clearly, Erin. I had nothing to do with any of this and as you just stated, I was the one who saved the HWA. Your grief has clouded your judgement and you are embarking on a fool’s errand, searching for something that you will never find.

Erin Wallace: Maybe, maybe not; I’ll let the truth speak for itself.

Erin turned to walk away but Diamond had his hand around her arm once more, keeping her in place. Her eyes went to his forceful grip, before returning his look.

Michael Diamond: I know I have no right to ask this of you, especially now. But I need you to not share what you know about my “extracurricular” activities… to anyone.

Erin straightened up, a coy smile forming on her lips.

Erin Wallace: I’m not sure I know what you mean…

Michael Diamond: I know you have the file, Erin; the one I gave to Samantha Morgan all those years ago.

Erin Wallace: Ah, yes; the one that reveals you as some sort of aspiring vigilante? Must say, it was an interesting read…

Michael Diamond: That file wasn’t meant for you, or the world for that matter…

Diamond turned, looking back over at Cassandra and his family, remembering all that he had confided in Samantha Morgan. At his time of death, Samantha would’ve followed the instructions listed and contacted “The Hunter”, prompting him to reveal to Cassandra all the truths Diamond had hid from her for all these years; secrets that were laid out in vivid detail in the confidential file that Erin Wallace now had in her possession.

Michael Diamond: My family has been through enough, Erin… please, I need you to promise me that you’ll keep the file, and my secret, safe. If you ever had any feelings for me…

Erin defiantly pulled away from Michael’s grip.

Erin Wallace: If there’s anything that I’ve learned from this event, it’s that justice will be served… sooner or later. Danny Starr is paying for his sins and, one day, you’ll pay for yours… whether you like it or not.

Turning on her heel, she left Diamond behind as she walked back over to where the rest of her HWA family was waiting. Michael took one last look at the statue that honored the fallen, the sun at its apex in the sky, shining brightly down on it and casting a long shadow across the cemetery. Diamond looked at the shadow, watching as it seemed to stretch out across the grass, almost as if it were extending a hand towards him, longing to pull him into the darkness. As always, Michael knew how to escape death; whether by luck or skill, he always seemed to find himself as the “last man standing”. It was a gift and a curse, at the same time. Diamond didn’t know what the fallout would be from Danny Starr’s actions, but he knew no one was going to be left unscathed… least of all those that knew him best. Michael placed his sunglasses back on and looked back over at his own family, realizing that the only way they would get through this was together. The FoS may be dead but their legacy will live on.

State Capitol
Hartford, Connecticut

Nightfall set on the city of Hartford as all was quiet outside the State Capitol, the secret headquarters of the High Society. What once was a building that was always closed off to the public for various reasons now was an active crime scene, law enforcement agencies of all types wanting a crack at the secrets that lay within. Michael Diamond knelt down on the rooftop overlooking the Capitol building, watching as a group of officers stood guard outside while another hauled boxes of evidence from the scene. Diamond wore his “Primordial” ninja attire once more, not really expecting to encounter any such resistance but feeling it best to at least be prepared, in case he ran into any such complications. The armor, which had felt like a second skin to him all those years prior, felt bulky and heavy on his person. He glanced down at the bracer on his left wrist, watching as the elemental orbs swirled around with various colors, inviting him to draw upon their power. How many times had Michael promised himself that this would be “the last time”, only for some other disaster or event force him back into action? Cassandra had argued against this course of action but Diamond needed to see it for himself; he needed to understand.

Things had been non-stop following the events of One Night Stand, Michael being escorted from the arena into a police interrogation room, where he spent the next few hours trying to explain what he did and didn’t know about anything and everything. The encrypted files that Kevin Conner had unearthed – the very same that had cost him his life – had all sorts of incriminating evidence, some with video footage of truly heinous acts. What Diamond hadn’t realized was that when all hell had broken lose during the main event, the camera’s had remained rolling. Social media took over as fans witnessed the chaos that ensued inside the Staples Center. Murder… mayhem… madness. Despite it being the final match of the show, the PPV buy rates skyrocketed and #HWA became trending number one worldwide. As the police tried to sort out the real from the “fake”, Michael seemed to be lost in a daze at the nights events. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Danny following the conclusion of the show, wondered if maybe he was being held in this very same precinct. He had so many things he wanted to say to him – so many questions to ask, none more pressing then the obvious “why”. Diamond swallowed hard as the officers showed him video of Danny Starr impaling Eric Rayne with a sword. Michael could, when he needed to, hide his emotions very well… but he felt a slight smile creep across his lips, if only for a moment. Diamond tried to rationalize the murder; believe Danny was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. The video of him strangling that woman, however… Michael had no words; no excuses. It only got worse from there, the footage and evidence piling up, linking Danny to every single one of the HWA deaths that had occurred leading up to this event.

Diamond blinked away the memory, realizing that reminiscing about those moments would do him no good. His focus went back to the guards outside the State Capitol, realizing the two pairs were now engaged in conversation, giving him the opening he needed. Michael had never stepped foot in the building himself and, as such, had no memory in which to draw upon. This – usually – made what he was about to do extremely dangerous but Diamond felt like he had studied the schematics of the building thoroughly enough that he shouldn’t end up inside a wall. Closing his eyes, he focused on the onyx orb within his gauntlet as black smoke enveloped him. With a “whoosh”, Michael had disappeared, as if the darkness had simply swallowed him whole. In an instant, he was inside the building, kneeling before a large set of wooden doors on the 6th floor. One of the doors was propped ajar as voices could be heard from within. Using the power of Locke’s translocation had, in the past, left him woozy and sick but his years of training had allowed him to get a better handle on his motion sickness. However, it had been quite some time since Michael had drawn on that power and he could feel his stomach begin to churn. Diamond was forced to choke down the bile that was rising to the surface as he managed to slip behind the door as a pair of officers walked out, another box of incriminating evidence in their hands. Danny Starr had made worldwide headlines with all of his misdeeds and, no doubt, was about to be the “belle of the ball” for some hot shot district attorney. Michael watched the policemen disappear out of sight and waited a few moments longer, listening for any other voices or movement from within the chamber. Sensing all was quiet, Diamond slipped past the double doors, entering into the prison that had been Danny’s home for over a century.

Michael wasn’t sure what he was expecting; maybe some sort of secret chamber where they performed blood sacrifices. Instead, he saw what looked like a state-of-the-art office space, complete with a wall full of monitors. From this vantage point, Danny could watch the world pass him by, suffering in silence… a king without a kingdom. As Diamond slowly walked around this room, he envisioned Danny standing before the High Society, defiant, volatile, and threatening to burn the world down. How, then, did he become one of them? There had to be something Michael wasn’t missing, some stone left unturned; a piece of the puzzle missing. It was never this simplistic with Danny; there was always “more than meets the eye”. Diamond’s gaze went to the High Society emblem on the wall, the golden shield with the lion crest, one sword noticeably absent. For a moment, Michael wondered if the blade that remained was the very same that cut down Eric Rayne or if the steel had turned to liquid scrap metal when it had pierced “The Final Degree’s” chest, burning in hell along with its victim. Diamond maneuvered to behind the desk, allowing himself to sit in the chair that Danny had sat in it for all these years; playing the puppet master and pulling all the strings. Michael did a full turn in the chair, his eyes going over the wall of screens once more, before falling on an item that was on the desk. The picture frame laid face-down, as if the memory of the person encapsulated within was too much to bear. Diamond tentatively grabbed it and turned it over, a slight smile forming across his lips. Michael didn’t know what he had hoped he would find in this futile endeavor but, one thing was for sure, if there was ever a chance at giving Danny Starr his opportunity for redemption, it would start with this. Voices from the hall caused Diamond to look up in a panic, seeing the ever encroaching luminescent glow from the officer’s flashlights. As the door opened, Michael closed his eyes and braced himself once more, disappearing into a veil of black smoke, the office chair left spinning in his wake.

 

“Grimjack fought back the tears as he held up a clenched fist in solidarity to his backstage brethren, sending a clear message to the remaining High Society members that the HWA would not go down with a fight. On this night, at HWA One Night Only: The Last Stand, Grimjack had cemented his legacy.”
….

3 days after the event

….

Grimjack had been in a tough situation. HWA represented his legacy. Danny Starr had somehow set up a series of matches between HWA members between Starr’s lackeys and the winner would decide who owns HWA, Starr or Ron Royalty. That might not have seemed to matter as much if not for the fact that it was literally a life or death match. Grimjack was only there because his friend Kevin Conner had been gunned down in cold blood and he was determined to get to the bottom of this. Upon finding out it was Danny Starr, it all made sense. The score of matches stood at 3-0 when they drug Grimjack out after having attacked him with poison before he even got in the arena. Now against some guy named Tony Gold who he’d never heard of, the risk was that with a loss in this match it would all be over before it even got to the final match of Starr versus Royalty.

Grimjack was down and seemingly beaten when someone he least expected to come to his aid did just that, Michael Diamond. They were never friends but not enemies either exactly. They both had investigated what happened to Danny Starr towards the tail end of the HWA in what was now seemingly an entire different millennium completely. A well timed Diamond Cutter gave Grimjack the opportunity to slap on the Six Second Magic, completely dislodging Gold’s arm out of the socket forcing him to tap out. Despite taking a beating and suffering a concussion Grimjack hadn’t felt so alive in fifteen years. Nothing was more fitting that later when during the match between Ron and Danny a woman named Mary Jane attempted to low blow Grimjack only to find he wore a metal cup. Lo and behold and he had become quite tolerant of mary jane over the years.

Despite ultimately winning control of the HWA back for Ron Royalty, it felt like a hollow victory. Good men such as Nate Hartman and Trystan Wolfe still ended up with serious injuries. Grimjack himself was still recovering from injuries but he knew he got off easy compared to others. One thing he was used to in life was pain. He’d been through a lot, lost his entire family, lost everything but now had a sliver of hope back. He’d enjoyed fighting as part of a team. Tommy Romeo, who was a minor mid carder at the time Grimjack remembered being in the HWA, had really saved everyone’s bacon and became a leader of the fight against Starr. Grimjack respected the man almost as much as Ron Royalty.

At the funeral, Ron gave a nice eulogy speech but Grimjack had a hard time paying attention. There were still loose ends taking up space in his brain. Why was it that Kevin Conner was meeting with Zack Tyler at the time he was killed? If anything, Grimjack would have expected Tyler to be in league with Starr, just like that scumbag Ryan Maxem. So maybe he was and he had sold Conner out to Starr. Maybe Tyler was behind all of this. A conspiracy theory making it’s way on the dark web suggested that Ryan Maxem planted evidence to make it look like HWA members were a terrorist cell with bomb making material. If it was false and Conner was innocent, did that mean Tyler was innocent as well? It didn’t add up. Tyler was still alive and in federal custody, but it looked like he would get off with evidence the feds were gathering from Danny Starr. This deserved looking into later. For now, Grimjack decided to retire back to Pleasant Jack’s, the ironically named bar that he owned in LA.

Later, in the establishment just mentioned, we see drink sliding across the bar. A hand catches it and we see it is Tommy Romeo’s.

Tommy: Thanks, is this Jack?

We see it was Grimjack who slid the bar down to him. The bar is empty besides these two. It’s a shame as it’s a nice place, mahogany everywhere. Some reggae music plays over the speaker behind the bar.

Grimjack: Yep, Jack Daniels, clean. I have better stuff but I thought this might be more fitting, at least for the first drink of the night.

Grimjack pours himself one.

Grimjack: To the ones that couldn’t be here, some for good reasons, others for not.

Tommy: Amen.

Grimjack: Well I guess my sixth sense was right. Guess this is the end of it though.

Tommy: I guess.

Grimjack: Did you talk to the cops? They came around asking me questions, CIA too. Starr was involved in some shit I guess. I didn’t tell them anything but that’s only because I don’t actually know anything. Just that someone was targeting my friends so we had to take them down.

Tommy: It’s fine to talk to the police and the CIA. I’m the one who arranged for them to show up. Erin and I knew all along Danny Starr was behind this, we set him up. We just had to smoke him out, get him to make a wrong move and expose himself. He could have just kept assassinating us but instead we got his sense of superiority to set up a pay per view event where we were able to fight him on a level playing field. Well, somewhat level.

Grimjack: Level enough. Well you sure thought of everything. So what are you going to do next?

Tommy: Not sure. My house was destroyed and I blew out my knee. I can’t wrestle anymore but it’s all I know. Well that and running wrestling companies.

Grimjack: Will you start a new one?

Tommy: Can’t, not without any seed money.

Grimjack: Damn I’d help out but I can’t afford to give you anything besides these free drinks. I sunk everything I had into this place and if you couldn’t tell business is slow. You know it’s basically bull shit, we saved the world really, and we got paid nothing.

Tommy: You’re damn right! Hey though, were you thinking of getting back into the business? You sure put on a submission clinic on that guy Tony Gold, I think you still got it.

Grimjack stops and looks at him, having not even thought about this possibility. But it was the true the action that took place at One Night Stand had reinvigorated him. And it was true he needed money. Once independently wealthy after an inheritance from his father, Grimjack had squandered it on a life traveling the world, enjoying exotic drugs and super models and adventuring in combat sports which did not pay very much in return for the toll it took on his body, which was also difficult to insure. It was a young man’s sport. He’d very likely take a lot of losses and get wear and tear on his old body at a time when it didn’t recover like it used to. Some of these guys seemed like they never aged, or had magical powers. Grimjack thought he had them once but he sure was weakened by the years. But maybe knowing those limitations would mean he’d fight more methodical, on the ground, shoot, like he should have all along. No more running half cocked into battle against odds you can’t win.

Grimjack: You know Tommy, that’s a good idea but I need to take a little time off after One Night Stand, I’m not too injured but still need some time to heal the old body. But I’ll never say never. You know, back when I ran the HWA for just about a year, that was the most successful I’d ever been in life, financially and otherwise. Despite it being in a bad place financially at the start and needing to put on events in backyards, albeit backyards of mansions.

Tommy: I know a little something about backyards, trust me.

Grimjack: Yeah I guess you were running one a lot longer than I ever did. So is it still in your blood?

Tommy: Yeah but it’s hard to get back involved in the business, broke. In body and wallet.

Grimjack: Ever think of managing?

Tommy: Well yeah, Evan Blane is still trying to make a go of it, I was thinking of representing him. There is a new federation he was thinking of trying out for.

Grimjack: Ok well there you go. Now keep me in mind for this “Romeo Management” company you’re starting haha. I know who will represent me for my big “comeback” anyway! Hahahaha!

Grimjack starts belly laughing at the thought of it and Tommy is smirking too but both men seem to be pretty serious in all actuality. Grimjack stops laughing and just looks at the drink in his hand, comprehending the experiences that led him to this point. Anyone watching from afar might think they’re a couple of crazy guys but Grimjack knew that if anyone got up close they would recognize them. The events at the arena were broadcast live on television into millions of homes. They were back in the news, everyone knew what happened. He knew it was crazy to be thinking of getting back into a business like that, where people can and did just get killed. But you have to do something in life, and why not live on the fringes? Why not risk it all, all you have is your life in the end and aren’t you just risking it all, by going insane, if you don’t fight thru the brambles toward you dream life?

Tommy: You ok there Grim? You look like you have something on your mind.

Grimjack: Sorry yeah I guess I was just thinking of what happened again. Conner, and all these other guys, gone. I wonder if they’d have any regrets, doing what they did.

Tommy: People were getting taken out one by one, they didn’t have a choice. Neither did we.

Grimjack: Another year, more gone. This is for those who couldn’t be here.

Grimjack starts pouring his whisky out onto the bar. Not caring about the mess as it’d be easy enough to clean later, the symbolism more important.

Grimjack: That was for them. Also for me. Jack, you’re nice, nice but it’s time to go top shelf.

The scene fades out on the revelry.

Later that night Grimjack is alone behind the bar in the alleyway having a smoke. Feeling a bit drunk. He looks up at the starless sky. He thinks about all that just happened. He thinks about the loose ends and what he might do in the future. After such unbridled violence was unleashed in him after so many peaceful years adrenaline levels were still elevated and he was on edge. He wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet tonight. Grimjack decided to go for a walk.

He almost felt like he had a skip in his step. He would have skipped if he wasn’t aware of the cars driving by and what they might think if he drew attention to himself. Not that he was any kind of famous person, but he was once and he had been in the news again just a matter of days ago because of the goings on at the Staples Center. Grimjack almost laughed at that, not a literal laugh out loud but the notion in his head was funny, that he had been at ease at a life in the shadows, barely scraping by with a small living. And now he was thrust into the spotlight in such a way that he had to worry what people thought again. But it wasn’t out of some sort of misplaced egotism, no, it was out of respect. Because there were others involved and if he acted like a clown it might make them look bad. There was no need for it. He thought of Michael Diamond.

. . . .

Trent Brown: It’s Michael Diamond! Michael Diamond’s coming to Grimjack’s aid!

Keith Kincaid: How did he escape Maxem’s trap!?

Diamond ran down to ringside, grabbing at Brandon’s leg. Kayros turned to see what was happening as Michael, using Brandon’s leg, swung him off the apron. Kayros fell as Diamond leapt up, catching him in his freefall with an RKO.

….

Diamond had really saved Grimjack’s bacon. Grimjack was losing badly in the match due to Brandon Kayros’ constant interference. Grimjack remembered really feeling like all was lost until he saw Diamond running out. He always liked him, they weren’t friends but they sure weren’t enemies either. When Grim was in charge of HWA Diamond seemingly was always the champion, either him or Syren, whom also was there that night and had a lot of respect in the mind of Grimjack. Boy was Grimjack now glad he never tried out outright screw Diamond out of the championship back then. It was the High Society. They had killed both men’s close friends. Grimjack’s friend Conner and Diamond’s friend Judge. At One Night Stand it felt like the old kinship was rekindled but on another level. Doing business together is one thing but fighting for your life together is another story.

Thinking back to Conner, the USB device he discovered is what blew open the whole story to Tommy Romeo. But where did he get that usb. Maybe Diamond knew something. He had a family relationship with Danny Starr, some sort of schism took place but Grimjack never questioned it. Not his business. But maybe it couldn’t hurt to ask him. If he could find him. Who knows where he went after all that. He probably wanted to be left alone. They all seemed to be mentally exhausted. At the funeral, Grimjack had tried to go up to Ron Royalty to ask him how things had been but he seemed eager to head back to England. Can’t blame him. Suddenly though, thinking of Ron gives Grimjack Deja Vu. He is reminded of the last thing Nostradamus said to him before he left his bar the day of One Night Stand.

….

Grimjack: It was odd that that song Purple Haze played right before the match . . . wait a minute . . . I should have known David Jackson . . . if he is behind this . . . Ron Royalty’s step brother . . . I wondered how he ever got control of the HWA but . . .

Nostradamus: There is a lot you missed after you left the HWA.

Grimjack: It doesn’t matter. I know enough. If he has something to do with this I have to warn the rest of the HWA’s old roster. They’re all targets now.

Nostradamus: You have to retake control over HWA and from there you can take control of the-

Grimjack: Shut up! It doesn’t matter!

….

That was the last he had seen or heard of him. His imaginary friend. This must have just been a brief relapse back into his childhood psychosis. It was a traumatic situation anyway, old friends and coworkers all showing up dead and a guy named Rayne mocking you over the internet about it. But he had gone and taken care of it and all the moments since then had been blissful, you’d think if evil spirits or demons were to haunt you they would do so most of all in a cemetary during a funeral. But not a peep. If it was all just imaginary it sure was funny that it led him to meeting up with Tommy Romeo and Evan Blane who were coincidentally at the Motel 6 camping out before heading to the Staples Center. If Grimjack hadn’t headed to the arena with Tommy and Evan, who were packing heat, he may not have survived. And the entire HWA may have been lost to Starr if Grimjack wasn’t there. It felt serendipitous.

If it was real maybe he should somehow try to get Nostradamus to come back so he could ask him questions. But if it was just a figment of his imagination could Grimjack really rely on pure happenstance to figure the rest of this out. He could just continue retirement life. But he had done all this because they killed Conner. Leaving loose ends untied is how you end up getting shot. He’d forgotten all about HWA 15 years ago but it still ended up coming back to bite him. Well it almost did but they were killing ex-HWA guys, the pattern was clear, he was going to end up on the list if he just ignored that. Rayne, or he should say Starr, wanted everyone to show up to the arena to take them out with ease. It was a trap but when you know you’re walking into a trap you have an advantage. But why? What was so important about the HWA? Was it just personal, Starr wanted to take out Diamond? He had some sort of corporate empire and everyone thought he was dead but he threw that and anonymity away just to mess with a federation that was already dead since 2006?

Grimjack is snapped back to reality as he was crossing a crosswalk when a typical rude LA driver beeped at him.

Grimjack: Fuck off!

The car beeps again and tries to sideswipe him but Grimjack dodges it and moves out of the way. Then the car just drives off. Thinking of how close he was to a catastrophic injury or worse, Grimjack stops and leans up against a building for a second. Best to stop for a moment. What was he thinking swearing at the guy would do? A car beats a man every time, no matter how strong the pedestrian is. But maybe Grimjack hoped the rude guy would get out of the car. Maybe he was fixing for a scrap. He missed the rush of a good fight. He wanted to rip this guy’s arm out of his socket, just like he did to Tony Gold. What did Trent Brown call it? The “Grim Reaper” A great name for a finishing move for sure. It was the six second magic. An old japanese move. Brutal yet efficient.

Ripping an arm out of it’s socket is beneficial for a few reasons. It usually makes a guy submit right away. If not and the hold is broken, the man is injured and hampered for the rest of the match. But lastly, if a tough guy does refuse to tap out, usually the ref will call the match anyway in order to spare the eyes watching it from being traumatized. It’s almost more painful for those watching at home than for the one going through the actual visceral pain. Almost. It’s something one will never forget. Tony Gold and numerous mercenaries never will forget it. Tony Gold . . . maybe he knew something. He worked for Danny Starr. He must be locked away in prison now. That was too bad, in prison with a broken arm. But he chose his fate.

It was a lead, at least. Grimjack started the long walk home. Tommy blew up his Range Rover so he’d be doing a lot of that for awhile.

2020
Diamond Family Manner
Hartford, Connecticut

A Month After HWA: One Night Stand

Michael Diamond sat in his study, looking over the letter in his hands, his eyes tracing over every word. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to do this but he had been left with no choice; this seemed to be the only way that he was going to be able to get his words across. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to resort to such measures, taking a pen to paper, just in the off-chance that this message fell into the hands of its intended. This whole thing was infuriating, enough so that Diamond felt the urge to crumple up this piece of paper and start again; something he had done already a half-a-dozen times already. He had to be careful, had no idea who would be reading these words. How do you tell someone the things you need to say, without saying what you really need to? Michael slipped the note inside the envelope, sealed it shut, and heaved a sigh. It had been a month since HWA: One Night Stand, and his back still gave him the occasional spasm. Memories of being thrown around the ring like a ragdoll by Steven Fury haunted his dreams, no more so then the death and destruction that followed afterwards. Even with his superior genetic makeup providing him with accelerated healing, there was still some things that even he couldn’t recover fast enough from. Diamond tasted the whiskey sliding down his throat, didn’t even recall his hands closing around the glass, nor bringing it to his lips. Most days he seemed to find himself daydreaming; either of better times or, usually, trying to understand the “why”. No matter how many times he tried to rationalize it, understand it, he couldn’t seem to fathom what all had actually gone down. It felt like a nightmare, like the kind of dreams he would experience when he was trapped underground in the secret laboratory of the Pearl Fusion Corporation. Maybe he was still there? Maybe he hadn’t ever really escaped and this… this was just another extended version of the simulation he was being subjected to. With a shaky hand, Diamond’s fingers wrapped around the diamond-shaped decanter, pouring the sweet, bronze liquor into his glass. Everything reminded him of Danny, even this. When had his “brother” bought him this exquisite gift, was it when they first got into HWA? No, that doesn’t seem right… it was when he and Cassandra had celebrated their first Tag Team Championship together. The memories overwhelmed him once more, the tears welling up behind his eyes.

Michael Diamond: (under his breath) Damn you…

Diamond placed the half-filled crystal glass down on the edge of the table as he pushed himself up from the desk, scooping up the letter and slipping it into the inside-pocket of his double-breasted overcoat. The sound of a dish breaking down on the first floor drew Michael’s attention away from the study. Taking a breath, he proceeded out of the room, into the hallway, and down the steps. He was in no hurry to get to the scene of the “disturbance”, taking in everything about his childhood home as if he would never see it again. As he arrived at the bottom of the steps, he was greeted by his soon-to-be nine year old daughter, Scarlett. She held a doll in each hand, innocently having the pair carry on a conversation amongst themselves.

Scarlett Diamond-Starr: (still playing with her dolls) Mom’s in the kitchen, packing up the last of his things.

Michael smiled to himself as he tussled with Scarlett’s hair, always amazed at how she seemed to know what he was thinking; answering the question before it was even spoken.

Michael Diamond: We’re going to be departing soon, Scarlett… do you have everything you need?

Scarlett paused for a moment to think about the answer, before looking up at her father with a “did you really just ask that” look on her face.

Scarlett Diamond-Starr: I’m not the one you need to worry about; Shawn still can’t find Scandrix.

Michael Diamond: He is pretty good at playing hide-and-seek. What about you; you have Tanil?

At the mention of her name, the pink creature poked its head through the opening in Scarlett’s backpack, looking around excitedly as if she was going to get a treat. Tanil and Scandrix – like Diamond – were a genetic “accident”, these pets created by Rose Calhoun during one of her many scientific experiments on animals. What started out as a simple rabbit was now a full-on abomination, closely resembling the alien breed of “Stitch” from the popular Disney movie. Rose had kept this mistake a secret from him for quite a while, worried that Michael would shut down the whole operation if he were to discover just what she had done. One day, when Diamond was doing a walkthrough of the Prism Research facility with his daughter, Scarlett had been drawn to a secluded area of the building, finding the two experiments in a lab. Truth be told, at the revelation of these genetic freaks, Michael had been ready to do exactly as Rose had feared and close down the whole program… but watching his daughter interact with these Yaize’s – as Rose called them – was enough to remind him just where he had come from. Scarlett didn’t care that they looked unlike anything she had ever seen before, wasn’t scared at their outward appearance, she only saw two animals in need… wanting to be free from their prison of never-ending experiments and tests. He knew that when his daughter met his eyes with that pleading look that he was going to have another one of those “awkward” conversations with his wife. Michael blinked away the memory, gently patting Scarlett’s pet on the head as Tanil softly purred in response.

Michael Diamond: Why don’t you go see if you can help your brother find his wayward friend?

Scarlett rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders, reluctantly doing as her father commanded while Michael turned his attention to the kitchen. Walking in, he saw Cassandra on her knees, delicately picking up the shattered remnants of what had once been an expensive porcelain plate, mumbling a string of obscenities under her breath.

Michael Diamond: I thought we had decided that we would let Shawn pick out his own dining set?

Cassandra looked up at Michael, biting her tongue as the frustration of her clumsiness overtook her.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: You and I both know; these college kids have no taste when it comes to dinnerware. He`s a “Starr” after all, that used to mean something. I want him to have the best, especially when we are not around.

Scarlett popped around the corner to see both of her parents talking.

Scarlett Starr-Diamond: Mom, you know Shawn`s going to just be eating pizza rolls and ramen noodles right? He doesn`t need china, he is going to need a diet plan.

Scarlett giggled to herself as Cassandra raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips, noticing Michael also laughing at Scarlets quip.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: You two, always two peas in a pod. Scarlett, don`t you have things to do?

Cassandra pointed to the door and Scarlett rolled her eyes as she scurried back out of the kitchen.
Cassandra Starr-Diamond: Speaking of things to do before we leave Michael, the lab called where we got our blood taken after One Night Stand, I guess something happened with your sample and you need to go back and give another one.

Michael frowned as he walked over to the nearby window, watching as the crew of workers loaded the last of Shawn’s things into the moving truck. Diamond had missed most of the younger years of Shawn’s life and now, here he was, his son on the verge of going off to college. Time seemed to have flown by these last few years, Michael foolishly believing that he’d have all the time in the world to make up for the time he had lost. Like most things in their life these days, this was just another “new” thing that the family had to get used to.

Michael Diamond: I still don’t get why the authorities felt the need to take blood samples, did they all think we were hallucinating the whole thing? I don’t think even Grimjack’s special concoction could make the whole world bear witness to the events of One Night Stand.

Diamond felt the familiar vibrate of his phone going off as he pulled it from his pants pocket, seeing another unknown number calling, and immediately dismissing it. The pair had their fair share of calls these days, mostly in relation to wanting to comment on the events that took place at the HWA PPV. If it wasn’t some meddling reporter looking for their “big break”, it was representatives of their many businesses, both professional and philanthropic, looking for direction on what to do next. A black cloud had been cast over their name; their legacy. It was as if they were like the fucking Titanic and everyone was abandoning ship.

Michael Diamond: I’ll message Rose; have her send over another of the diluted samples. Can’t afford to have another Idolatrous incident on our hands…

Michael’s voice trailed off, yet another memory too painful to relieve. Sighing, he turned away from the window and back to his wife.

Michael Diamond: You really think this is the best thing for us?

Getting off her knees, Cassandra made her way over to her husband, putting a hand on his cheek in an attempt to reassure him.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: Michael, what has ever been the “best” for us? I mean, really. Between what you have been through in your past, what Shawn and I went through. I got shot for goodness sakes. Then we have all this drama with the HWA and Danny… yes, everything is a mess. However, we still have two beautiful children. What is “best for us”; is being together as a family. Despite everything, Shawn gets to live his dream at Boston College, and we will be close by. I know change isn`t easy for your Diamond. The reality is, with everything going on we have a lot of uncertainty coming our way. I am certain; being away from Connecticut for a while will be good for us.

She kissed her husband, smiled, and winked at him as she went back to her packing.

Diamond half-smiled, doing his best to remain positive and upbeat about all of this. Shawn had received an extraordinary opportunity with Boston College, accepted under a full scholarship in part due to his athletic excellence on the football field. Michael had been pleased that his son had paved his own path, not following in his parents footsteps of pursuing a wrestling career. Still… every crack of pads grinding together; every clash of helmets colliding, Diamond could feel his breath catch in his lungs. Nothing made him more proud, nor gave him more anxiety, then watching his son play the game that he loved to play. His thoughts inadvertently went to Danny once more, wondering if the day would ever come that he’d be able to see his nephew the same way that Diamond did. Cassandra broke Michael from his gaze by placing a box full of kitchen flatware into his arms. The suddenness of it all made Diamond almost drop the whole thing, to which Cassandra’s eyebrow perked up.

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: Don’t you even dare, Diamond…

Michael reaffirmed his grip on the box as he nodded his head, letting her know that he had it. Diamond led the way out of the kitchen as Cassandra followed on his heels, the couple meeting their kids in the main landing. Shawn had a duffel bag swung over one shoulder while his blue Yaize, Scrandrix, sat perched on his other.

Scarlett Starr-Diamond: (nonchalantly) Look who I found…

Shawn Starr-Diamond: (seeing the box of kitchen dinnerware) Mom, I thought you were going to let me…

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: Don’t you even start, Shawn.

Scarlett Starr-Diamond: (sticking her tongue out at her brother) Told you.

Michael Diamond: You ready to go, Shawn?

Shawn Starr-Diamond: Yeah, I think I got everything…

Shawn shifted uncomfortably, as if wary of proceeding further.

Shawn Starr-Diamond: (nervously clearing throat) You know, you guys don’t need to come with me…

Cassandra Starr-Diamond: (interrupting) Nonsense, it’s barely an hour drive away…

Michael Diamond: Especially the way you drive.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes in response as Michael sheepishly smiled back at her, deciding this being the best time to exit out the front door to place the last box safely away in the moving van. His wife followed close by, facetiously threatening something about “making him walk” the distance. Scarlett trailed after her mother, her dolls safely placed back in her backpack as she clutched Tanil close to her chest. Shawn took a moment to glance around the eerily quiet Diamond Mansion… a place his father had spent his entire life in. He had seen it a few times when he was younger, prior to discovering that Michael was actually his father. He had been a guest then, now he was a resident. He had lived half his life here in this place; this was his home. His eyes traced over every inch of the front foyer, as if committing it to memory. His gaze eventually fell onto a framed portrait of his parents with his uncle, the picture hand-painted by renowned French artist Sébastien Sharp. The trio was frozen in time, encapsulated beautifully within the canvas, a memento of a time that was simpler. The painter had captured them perfectly, Danny’s eyes burning bright with ambition, even then. Shawn made note of how his parents seemed lost in one another, while his uncle stood off to the side, almost as if he was standing in their shadow. Hearing his parents call for him broke him from his trance as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and proceeded out the door, absentmindedly forgetting to close the door behind him. Turning on his heel, Shawn cast a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, before lifting his hand and concentrating on the door. Almost as if a gust of wind suddenly blew through the mansion, the door jolted forward, slamming shut, the lock twisting on its own from the inside. Shawn snickered to himself as he skipped down the front steps, moving to join his family before they started on their next adventure. Back in the mansion, in Diamond’s study, the half-filled glass of whiskey had turned over from the unnatural breeze that had swirled inside the house. The liquid slowly trickled from the glass onto his desk, forming a line that crept to the edge and over it, staining the carpet a dark crimson.

A cab pulls up in front of Tommy Romeos home and he steps out, paying the driver and closing the car door behind him. In his driveway the blue mangled Dodge Dakota still sits taunting him. His lawn overgrown, a pile of trash from the fire still in front of the carport.

Physical therapy three times a week has become his routine after Maxems’ attempt at sending him to the grave. He limps up the walkway in his right hand a cane that clicks against the ground with every step, struggling up the stairs and opening the storm door. wrestling the carribeaner holding his keys off of his belt loop and opening the door.

His dog is there to greet him but the house otherwise empty. Walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge to find it empty except for a couple of Coronas and a few slices of leftover pizza. He grabs a beer from the fridge and the slices of pizza making his way into the living room, also a complete mess. Tommy had fallen into a depression after the adventure he embarked on ended.

He came home to find the bill in the mail for the rebuilding of his home after the fire and was in no way capable of paying it. Unable to work and Unable to claim disability he had spent all of his money gathering the HWA superstars and ensuring Danny Starrs trip to prison. Tommy was ruined, what justice had cost was everything. He sits down in his recliner and flips on the TV unable to bring himself to actually change the channel he sat there watching the Office for the 10th time through.

He begins to cry sitting quietly sobbing alone as his phone Vibrates in his pocket. Pulling it out and seeing it was Evan Blane he sets the phone down on the table next to him and stands up, walking towards the bathroom but instead finding himself gravitating toward the basement instead. Taking each step slowly it had been a rough day at therapy and every step was excruciating. On the way down he grabs an extension cord hanging from a nail on the wall and carry’s it with him. He could hear his phone vibrating from the living room but Tommy had made up his mind.

Arriving at the bottom of the step he walks over to his guitar picks it up then plugs the extension cord into the wall then unravels it until he could reach the amplifier. He plugs the guitar into the amp and then the amp into the extension cord and flips the power switch to on. A loud buzzing is heard before he can turn the volume down a bit and sits down on a folding chair. Tears still in his eyes he begins to play the intro of Never Too Late by Three Days Grace.

About half way through the first verse The d string breaks and whips up smacking Tommy in the face enraged he throws the guitar across the basement and yanks the extension cord from the wall. Throwing it up into the rafters of the basement looping it twice, he then steps up onto the folding chair ties the other end of the cord around his neck and kicks the chair out from under himself. Outside of the house a concerned Evan Blane has arrived to check on his friend who has been ignoring him for weeks. Evan knocks on the door but there is no answer, he checks the handle to find the door unlocked and decides to enter and give Tommy a piece of his mind.

Blane calls out from the doorway "Tommy? You here?"

From the basement Evan hears the loud crash and then a thud.

Blane calls out again "Dude. I'm not trying play hide and seek. I just wanna talk."

The house is silent other than a repetitive creaking noise, no response from Tommy.

Blane, who is now visibly annoyed, calls out one more time. "Last chance before I come down there and get you. Remember what happened to the last person that pissed me off."

Still no answer from Romeo. As Evan approaches the basement the creaking sound gets louder and louder.

Blane cracks his neck and his knuckles as he opens the basement door as he calls out "I am opening the door and if you are down there there's going to be hell to pay."

The sounds of a struggle can now be heard in the basement. Tommy bleeding from where the guitar string had hit him in the face swings back and forth fighting to reverse his choice as life begins to fade from his eyes.

Blane rushes over and tries to free his friend from the extension cord. Frantically looking he remembers his pocket knife he has started to carry after everything that happened before the Event. Blane cuts the cord and rips the sleeve of of his shirt to help put pressure on the wound.
"What the fuck! Why would you do this!" Blane screams at Romeo.

Struggling to recover, his throat closed from his own weight being supported by his neck Tommy gasps for breath then Let’s out a deafening wail and begins crying like a child.

“I have nothing Evan! I’m ruined! I’m going to lose my house! I’m disabled! I have no way to support myself! ALL THAT WORK! ALL THAT WORK I DID AND HE STILL WINS!” Tommy sobs uncontrollably now sitting on the cold basement floor. “What’s the point? What’s the point of carrying on if I have nothing to live for?”

Blane slaps Tommy in the face and says "Snap out of it! He didn't win. You can still live your life, only life he's living is a controlled one by the federal government and from what I know of the federal penal system, it is not fun. He's lucky that they shut down Guantanamo Bay. He's considered a terrorist."

“I don’t care what they consider him. I considered him a friend. What did that get me he took the UBW from us he took my house from me and he tried to have us all killed Evan. Almost succeeding on multiple occasions. You may be able to just move on in your life but I can’t my leg is fucked it will never be right again i have spent months doing physical therapy. The pain is still there with every step. With every step I am reminded about the betrayal that caused it.”

Blane looks at him sympathetically, "Hey. I know he took it all from us, He "was" our friend. When someone tries to kill me on multiple occasions and in two different companies I kinda move on. I know you took the brunt of the hit. Docs said you'll make a recovery in a few months. You have to want to make the recovery. If you need money, I can float you some. I still get residuals from my sponsorships and what I have from my time in the FoS."

Tommy lays flat on the cold floor his head thudding as he does. “Evan I don’t want your money. I want my life back. I want to walk without a cane. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet without having to rely on others. I want to be able to walk out my front door and not be worried that someone is waiting to beat me to death. I want to be able to leave my dog at home without fearing I’m going to come home and find her disemboweled. I have nightmares Evan, every night I wake up in a cold sweat. The doctor told me it would take time but I’m done. I’m done living in limbo waiting for things to get better. I need them to be better now before I fucking crack!” Tommy begins to laugh “Oh wait it’s too late for that.”

"Hey look at me." Blane starts in to Tommy's eyes. "We are safe. No more troops at our doors, no more gun fights, no more senseless killing. High Society is gone and so is Stormcorp. You are as safe as your going to be. Lets get you patched up and lets go get a sandwich or something." Blane reaches his hand out to Tommy, hoping he takes it.

Tommy extends his hand out to Evan. “Fine but I’m fucking picking the place this time.”

Blane chuckles, "I guess thats fine. My only stipulation. I'm driving and I'm paying. No ifs, ands or buts about it." Blane pulls him up and puts his arm around his friend.

Tommy belly laughs “Motherfucker have you seen my truck? I can’t argue with that.”

Two months later....

The engine of the Dodge roars to life for the first time since California. A smile spans the entire length of Tommy’s face. After his suicide attempt Tommy with the help of his friends had laid out a plan for moving forward in life. He had started pushing himself at physical therapy. Waking up and making his bed every morning. The small task which may be nothing to most people seemed to help him start every day off right. His attitude had changed constantly having something to move towards was exactly what he had needed all along but somewhere along the way he had lost his way. Tommy now walking cane free slammed the hood of the pickup shut and moved to the drivers side door. Hopping in and backing it out of the driveway. Putting it In drive and slamming his foot down on the gas. The light weight of the bed allowed the truck to spin tires for a good 30 seconds before the rubber caught pavement again and off he went. The dogs head out the back window tongue hanging out as the wind caught her face.

“Where to doggo?” He said to her “We can go anywhere.” Tommy had found new purpose in life he was living for himself and nothing was going to stand in his way.

2020
Dignity Health Hospital
Los Angeles, California

A Few Days After HWA: One Night Only…

Tristan Wolfe’s eyes slowly opened, blinking as he tried to see his way through the darkness. He lay on the hospital bed, his body rigid, his mind disjointed. He tried to recall where he was and why he was lying on this uncomfortable mattress. Sounds of faint beeping from a machine off to the right of his bed caught his attention, but as he tried to turn his head to see what the source of the sound was, he was frustrated to find that his neck didn’t respond to his commands. Tristan swallowed hard as he closed his eyes, the last few moments of the main event washing over him. He remembered Syren in the ring, Danny Starr stalking after her; he remembered trying to stop him, throwing himself into harm’s way; Tristan was in the air then, falling to the mat, a “snap” the only audible thing he remembered hearing as he blacked out. The memory of his neck breaking was enough to send a jolt through Tristan’s entire body as he instinctively tried to lurch forward, but his body remained still. He was breathing heavy now, his nostrils flaring as his eyes darted this way and that. Tristan wanted to scream out but his voice seemed to catch in his throat. Confused, disoriented, he could feel his blood pressure rise – the machine nearby mirroring this very sentiment as the beeps came in faster and faster. A female hand pressed against his then, a sensation he could barely feel – as if a breeze of wind just passed over his skin. Tristan looked to his right, expecting to see a familiar face – but not the one that greeted him.

Skye Wolfe: Hey big brother… how are ye feeling?

Tristan forced a smile across his lips as his eyes stayed locked on that of his younger sister, the tears welling up in his eyes. Again, he tried to turn his head so as to see her better, but his neck remained stubborn – refusing to acquiesce to his demands.

Tristan Wolfe: I feel…

Tristan’s voice trailed off as he didn’t quite know how to answer that question – not yet anyway.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy… is she okay!?

Skye Wolfe: She’s fine Tristan; she’s okay.

Tristan breathed a sigh of relief as another face emerged from the shadows, this one he recognized as his older brother – Angel.

Tristan Wolfe: Angel… what are ye…?

Angel Wolfe: (interrupting) Ye didn’t think I would let Skye come by herself, did ya?

Tristan Wolfe: But if ye’re both here then…

Skye Wolfe: (finishing his thought) Don’t worry Tristan, Syren is with Niahm right now at the hotel… they’re safe.

Tristan’s lips quivered as the tears flowed freely now. Embarrassed by his emotional outburst, Tristan moved his hand to wipe away the tears… only his hand remained by his side. The relief he had felt for his families safety now turned to panic and fear as he watched his siblings exchanged glances.

Tristan Wolfe: W-what’s wrong… why can’t I move?

Skye Wolfe: Tristan, maybe we should wait until the doctor’s…

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting) Why can’t I feel your fecking hand on mine!?

Tristan’s gaze went to his sister’s hand atop of his, focusing his efforts on trying to simply will himself to reach up and squeeze her fingers between his. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, his heart racing once more. Angel took a step closer to the bed, drawing Tristan’s attention.

Tristan Wolfe: What’s wrong with me!?

Skye Wolfe: (pleading) Angel…

Angel Wolfe: (abrasively cutting his sister off) He deserves to know.

Tristan’s breath became ragged and fast as he stared at his brother, a man with whom he had fought in countless battles together; a man that knew what it was like to be bed-ridden in a hospital bed, with nothing but your mind to keep you company. Tristan’s mind was racing a mile a minute now, all scenarios on the table. He tried to focus on Angel’s words, hear them as clearly as the pounding in his head would allow him to.

Angel Wolfe: The initial diagnosis isn’t good, Tristan. Yer neck’s broken, a few of your spinal vertebrae cracked, they don’t know the extent of the nerve damage until they do a few more x-rays. Surgery appears to be…

Angel’s voice faded away as Tristan’s eyes floated up to the ceiling, the remainder of his brother’s words falling on deaf ears. He had asked for the truth, and it was worse than he had hoped. The earth could’ve reached up and swallowed Tristan whole at this very moment and he wouldn’t have even batted an eye, so lost deep in thought was he this very moment. Wave after wave of emotion rushed over him, drowning him – forcing the air from his lungs. The tears, again, streamed down his cheeks as his sister’s face forced her way into view, her hands going to his cheeks as she leaned over the bed.

Skye Wolfe: (wiping away her brother’s tears) Tristan…? Tristan…!?

Skye, worried, looked over to her eldest brother as Angel repositioned himself around the bed, drawing closer to the left side of their wounded sibling.

Tristan Wolfe: (defeated) I’m not deaf, Skye; just… paralyzed.

Skye Wolfe: We don’t know that, Tristan! Don’t think that way!

Angel Wolfe: There’s still more tests for them to run…

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting) Does Sy know…?

Tristan tore his gaze away from the ceiling long enough to see how his siblings reacted. He knew, just by the looks on their faces, that the answer to that question was “yes”. Was that why she wasn’t here now; because she knew that their life together had just changed once more? His heart beat faster as anger and rage began to consume him. He had done this for her – because she had wanted this; yearned for this! She had gotten herself into trouble and who knows what “The Sensation” would’ve done to her if he hadn’t intervened. Yet he did, he got into the ring with a man he had no business being in the ring with, an HWA Hall of Famer with years of experience inside the squared circle. He vaguely remembered getting in a few shots before his lights were turned out and, seemingly, his life was changed forever.

Tristan Wolfe: Ye mentioned mah daughter…

Skye Wolfe: Yes! She’s here, Tristan; she’s in Los Angeles.

Angel Wolfe: Ye dun’t have to worry Tristan, I took all the necessary precautions. Syren and Niahm are safe, I promise. I wouldn’t be here if I thought any different.

Skye Wolfe: We can have her come see you…

Tristan Wolfe: No!

Upon Tristan shouting, Skye backed away, the machines beeping at such a frequency that he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest next. He struggled to get his breathing in check as Angel stood beside his fallen brother, gripping his left hand within his. As Tristan relaxed, the machines quieted down as Skye looked away briefly, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Tristan Wolfe: (looking to Angel) I don’t want her anywhere near me; she shouldn’t have to see me… not like this, anyway. Promise me, brother.

Skye looked to Angel in that moment, giving her eldest brother a look of “you better not” but whether he caught it or not, she would never know.

Angel Wolfe: I promise; but when you’re ready…

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting) Did we at least win?

Angel shook his head at how quickly Tristan dismissed his daughter while Skye gripped Tristan’s right hand within hers once again.

Skye Wolfe: Yes Tristan… the HWA won; you did it… all of you.

Tristan Wolfe: (downtrodden) I hope it was worth it.

Tristan let a single tear fall down his cheek once more before his face turned to one of stone, void of all emotion.

Tristan Wolfe: Ye two should go home…

Skye Wolfe: (interrupting) Feck that, we just got here…!

Tristan Wolfe: (continuing on, ignoring his sister’s words)… and take Sy and Niahm with you…

Angel Wolfe: (trying to reason with his brother) Now hold on, Tristan…

Tristan Wolfe: (finishing his thought)… there’s nothing else left for you here.

Skye and Angel exchanged looks as Tristan felt the anger rise to the surface once again, the stone façade chipping away like egg-shells, leaving behind nothing more than fire, hate, and rage.

Tristan Wolfe: Go! Now! Leave me alone! I don’t WANT you here! I don’t NEED you here!

The shouting was enough to draw the attention of the night nurse on duty as she walked in, watching as Tristan berated his siblings; the two slowly inching away from him with each word that he screamed.

Tristan Wolfe: Get out! Both of you! Get the feck out of here!

The nurse ignored his screams as she went over to check Tristan’s vitals on her screen. He was at their mercy, unable to move, his only control of his body was his voice… which even then didn’t seem to carry any weight. Skye and Angel huddled over in the corner as the nurse tried to calm her patient down.

Tristan Wolfe: Don’t touch me! Don’t fecking touch me! Just get out! All of you! Get the feck out!

He had never felt so helpless, trapped in his own body, his own limbs refusing to let him get up and walk out of this room; or to throw a punch at the nurse who ignored his request; or to throw something at his siblings, who just stood in the corner, looking at him like he was some crazy person. The nurse, un-phased by this aggressive outburst, simply applied a sedative to his IV. The last thing Tristan wanted to do was sleep but the drugs did their job and his eyes began to feel heavy. He looked to his brother once more, mumbling something about a “promise” before the slumber abruptly took him.

A few weeks passed as Tristan remained in his frozen state of being, unable to move or feel. Outside the never-ending rotation of doctors, surgeons, nurses, and physical therapists, none of his friends or family had come to see him since that one night. He feel guilt over that but also a sense of inner peace; he didn’t want people to see him this way – didn’t want them to remember him like this. His thoughts often went to his wife and daughter; how he’d never get to hold them again in his arms, spin them around in the air. Tears formed behind his eyes but he did his best to blink them away, realizing just how much he missed his family. He had been told that his wife, Syren, had been here for the surgery and for the time he had spent in recovery after, but he when he finally awoke there had been no trace of her. Everyone had been so upbeat and optimistic, telling him what great progress he was making and how hopeful they were he would walk again… but Tristan was stubborn, impatient. He felt useless, not even being able to get his toes and fingers to wiggle on command. He had regained some sense of mobility in his neck, allowing him the option to at least turn his head slightly to each side, but that was about all he could “hang his hat on” these days. This day simply seemed like another day of staring out the window for Tristan, until… that is… he showed up.

A tall, muscular, African-American man walked into Tristan’s hospital room, knocking on the door before announcing his entrance with an over-enthusiastic “good afternoon”! Despite the man wearing normal hospital scrubs, Tristan had never seen him before. The man brought with him at least a half-dozen balloons, each brightly colored and obnoxiously shaped, forcing Tristan to do his best to look away.

Tristan Wolfe: Just leave ‘em on the desk with the others.

The man paused for a moment, looking over to where Tristan was referring to. Sure enough, a table had been set up to receive all manners of gift baskets and “get-well-soon” wishes, but all that stood atop it was a pair of flowers long since void of life; their petals all scattered to the wood and the stems leaning over the edge, as if attempting one final crawl to safety before – ultimately – perishing.

Man: Well… that’s depressing.

Tristan Wolfe: Don’t bother cleaning them up, I like the smell.

Man: … of death?

Tristan scrunched his face in annoyance as the man placed the balloons next to the rotting floral arrangements, before turning back to his patient with a wide smile on his face. He walked over to Tristan, grabbing his right hand within his and shaking it vigorously.

Man: It’s so good to finally meet you, Tristan; I’ve heard so much about you! I’m De’Andre Rhodes… but my friends just call me “D”… or “D.R.”… or, occasionally, “Creed”. That last one doesn’t make too much sense – and it’s a LONG story – but if you stick around for a bit, I may just tell you.

Tristan did his best to remove his hand from this obnoxious man’s grip but he struggled to do so, his fingers betraying him once more.

De’Andre Rhodes: Say… you got quite the grip on you, are you trying to break my hand?

This prompted Tristan to try even harder to break free but, still, to no avail. De’Andre simply laughed to himself as he placed Tristan’s hand back down, giving it a few pats as if he to say “it’s okay buddy, you’ll get me next time”.

Tristan Wolfe: (annoyed) What do ye want!? Unless you’re here for more blood… or to tell me how “great” I’m doing… I’d like to go back to my regularly scheduled programming of “watching the world pass me by while I lay in this fecking hospital bed”.

De’Andre Rhodes: Hmmm, yes… that does sound like an interesting time. And I will let you get back to it very shortly, just wanted to…

De’Andre’s voice trailed off as he moved to the foot of Tristan’s bed, picking up his chart and examining it thoroughly. His words had hung in the air and caught in his throat as Tristan waited for the sentence to finish, to which it never did. Rhodes nodded his head up and down as he read the diagnosis, mumbling “I see” and “fascinating” a few times, before putting the chart down and looking back to his patient.

De’Andre Rhodes: Tell me… do you consider yourself a “lucky” man, Tristan?

Tristan Wolfe: Ye tell me doc, I’m lying in a fecking hospital bed… unable to feel anything from the fecking neck down.

De’Andre Rhodes: Yes, very true… and very unfortunate. But you see, I think today is your lucky day.

Tristan Wolfe: And why is that?

De’Andre moved around to the edge of the bed, standing beside Tristan now.

De’Andre Rhodes: Because I’m going to give you your life back.

De’Andre moved his hand into his coat pocket, producing a small vial of green liquid. Tristan looked at him quizzically as Rhodes seemed to get lost in the tiny serum in his hands, looking over it with awe and astonishment.

Tristan Wolfe: Sorry… am I supposed to be impressed?

De’Andre Rhodes: Oh, I know… it doesn’t look like much, Tristan. But believe me… this little guy packs quite the punch.

Hearing his words, and how genuinely passionate De’Andre spoke of this “miracle cure”, Tristan began to do something dangerous; he began to hope.

Tristan Wolfe: I don’t remember seeing your face before…

De’Andre Rhodes: Oh I’m not with the hospital; consider me a… outside consultant.

De’Andre winked at Tristan as he moved closer to his IV, examining it thoroughly as he began to shake up the tiny vial in his hand. Without waiting for approval, Rhodes began to unfasten one of the medicine drip bags and move it off to the side. Tristan’s hope was now replaced with anxiety and terror. After his injury, he had often wished for death; felt like it would be easier this way then to have to live the rest of his life in a wheel chair or to have to be constantly nurtured by friends and family. But now that death was here for him, he wanted to live; he wanted to fight. His eyes nervously went to the emergency button next to his left hand, but his fingers still refused to move. Rhodes sensed the Irishman’s trepidation as he looked over to see him struggling to reach the “magical wand” that could move his bed up and down, turn the TV on and off, and – most importantly – call for assistance. Tristan’s fingers twitched, he felt them glide over the plastic remote, before the device fell out of reach, dangling off the side of the bed. His eyes went back to De’Andre, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh.

De’Andre Rhodes: I realize how this must all look to you now, Tristan but I assure you… I’m not here to kill you. I promise… I’m just trying to help.

Tristan Wolfe: (growling) I didn’t ask for your help…

De’Andre Rhodes: Very true, YOU didn’t ask for my help – your WIFE did.

De’Andre finished mixing his concoction within the saline solution as he placed the bag back up into place. Tristan could do nothing now but watch as the green liquid slowly began to drip down the IV, making its downward descent towards his arm. He wasn’t ready to quit, not yet; he focused as hard as he could, if he could get his hand up, rip the IV out, he would be saved. His body betrayed him as it refused to respond to his mind. He still had his voice though…

Tristan Wolfe: Nurse? Nurse!?

De’Andre Rhodes: Oh yeah, don’t bother… I asked them to take an early lunch break. I needed this little meeting to stay between you and me, Tristan. See… what I’m giving you isn’t exactly “FDA approved”.

Tristan Wolfe: What is that shyte!? What are you doing to me!?

De’Andre grabbed one of the doctor stools with wheels and rolled it over so he could sit beside Tristan, watching as his magical mix began to reach Tristan’s arm. Rhodes seemed to be in a trance as he observed it reach the end of its destination, slipping into the bloodstream. Tristan knew that what’s done was done now; it was all over for him. He refused to quit, sweat covering his forehead as his fingers managed to close into a fist; he would get off one good punch before death took him. A smile crept across De’Andre’s face as he saw just how quickly his serum was working, his eyes returning to look up at Tristan.

De’Andre Rhodes: What I gave you, at least the official name, is P.R.E.o.L.-6. It’s been a pet project of mine for a few years now and I, unfortunately, can’t guarantee results as we’re still in the very early stages of testing. But I’m very hopeful that this will be the right “stuff” and if it is, and this takes off, well… patent pending, I hope to call it “Creed’s Cure”. Got a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?

For an assassin, this guy sure liked to listen to the sound of his own voice. Tristan wanted nothing more than to reach over and grab him by the throat, strangle the life out of him so he could, at least, take his killer with him. It was at that point, however, that he noticed his fingers had clenched into a fist. De’Andre smiled again as Tristan’s furious and tense demeanor seemed to relax and lighten, instead turning to shock.

Tristan Wolfe: W-what…? W-where did you say y-you were from…?

De’Andre Rhodes: Technically, I didn’t… but the company I work for is known as Prism Research. It’s based out of Hartford, Connecticut… but I got my own little “home office” in Miami, Florida.

Tristan Wolfe: And what you just gave me… y-you said… it was called…?

De’Andre Rhodes: P.R.E.o.L.-6.

Tristan Wolfe: A-and that stands for…?

De’Andre Rhodes: Prism Research’s Elixir of Life…

Tristan Wolfe: A-and the number…?

De’Andre Rhodes: Well… we’re kind of on our sixth version of it; the last five didn’t really work out the way that we had hoped. Also, totally unrelated question, you don’t have any heart issues… right?

And, now, the panic was back as Tristan turned his head and stared at De’Andre, his eyes wide with fear once again.

De’Andre Rhodes: I’m kidding, of course… about the heart issues thing, I mean. The other five versions of the drug though, yeah… they didn’t quite meet our expectations. But I’m feeling really good about this one…

Tristan Wolfe: And Sy… she knew all of this!?

De’Andre Rhodes: Oh yes, of course. We went over everything with your wife and your doctors following your surgery; both sides agreed you were an excellent candidate for this trial.

Tristan, as best as he could, took all of this new information in. Again, there was hope; a chance for him to come out of this as the man he used to be. He had been resigned to his fate as a paraplegic; had already begun to cut everyone out of his life so that he could suffer and die alone with his misery. Now, all he felt was guilt and remorse. He had been weak; let himself be defeated physically… mentally… emotionally. Syren hadn’t given up on him though, even when – in his moment of weakness – he had wanted her to. A tear fell down his cheek as he knew that, if this actually worked, he would have a lot to make up for.

Tristan Wolfe: So… how long… I mean, when will we know if it worked?

De’Andre Rhodes: I’m not going to lie to you, Tristan; you’ve still got a long road to recovery. But, for now, let’s take it one day at a time. Now then, what’s say we try that grip of yours again.

Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas
2020- 5 Weeks After HWA ONS

Syren raises a hand in farewell as the car kicks up dust on its way away from the ranch. She turns back to the interior of the barn, her eyes lingering regretfully on the ring. She wished she was able to get in there and really show her students a thing or two, but she was going to be sidelined for quite a bit longer than she had anticipated. Luckily, her reputation was enough to keep them coming to her and that helped fund her struggling little home. This particular one, showed quite a bit of promise as well as natural ability. The ruby haired girl had an air of strength about her... she would do well if she could harness that inside the squared circle.

She had turned to training after returning to Texas, knowing there would be a lot of large hospital bills arriving on top of everything else. Add in the modifications that were needed on the house and it all became a bit overwhelming. Her gaze automatically shifts to the men scurrying around, moving at a swift pace to get everything Syren had demanded done, on the deadline she had set. Her body shifts slightly awkwardly into action, her motions mildly hindered by the brace that encased her leg from thigh all the way down to nearly her ankle. She always had to focus as to not hyperextend, in her usual purposeful gait, although the brace definitely helped with that.

The doctors had wanted her to have surgery to repair her partially torn ACL. Her immediate reaction was to shut down that idea posthaste, her irrational fear of hospitals spurring her to look at other options instead. They had warned her it was her best chance of healing enough to occasionally return to high impact activity but... she still refused. Thus, here she was, all braced up and attending physical therapy three times a week. That was where she had met Krystal Rhodes, otherwise known as Galaxy, her therapist. Over the course of their time together, she had learned about Kystal’s past as well as about her husband and his research. That had started some wheels in motion, that would hopefully start turning things for the better for the Wolfe family.

As she carefully moves up the steps to the front porch, her sharp gaze takes in the construction of the ramp, eyes taking in every detail to be sure it was getting done right. She nods to herself as she continues on, satisfied with the progress being made. Everything looked like it was on or ahead of schedule. She leans on the doorframe of the newly made up bedroom on the main floor of the house. She had had everything taken from the master bedroom upstairs, and brought down to fill this room so it would feel like home, and be perfect for when Tristan came home. Her breath catches at the thought, a wave of pain washing over her.

It was her fault, what had happened in that ring. She had gone after Danny Starr with no thoughts of the repercussions of her actions. She had been cornered coming out of the shower, collared and leashed, humiliated, and dragged around by the man. One she had called a friend so long ago. Her vision had been as if he was a red flag waved in front of an enraged bull. She had seen him turning his attention to Erin Wallace and never second guessed herself. The satisfaction of seeing Starr’s flesh flaying open as she laid into him with the chain... that had died a quick death once he had gotten his hands on Tristan. It had been, admittedly, quite stupid to go toe to toe with a wrestler of his caliber, and she would have much rather it had been herself and not Tristan who had suffered the consequences. After all, she had about forced the issue of even going to the event.

Regrets. She had many. Her actions had changed the course of their lives once more. But there was some hope. She glances at the clock on the wall. And speaking of hope, she had to get on the road and get to her physical therapy appointment. Luckily, she pretty much had a standing agreement with a certain Uber driver, and within minutes her ride was waiting for her. She gives Niahm a quick hug, promising to play with her as soon as she returned. She slides into the backseat with a sharp twinge of guilt as she looks back up at the house at her daughter, flanked by Angel and Skye. She felt like she was hardly around to give Niahm the time she so desperately craved. The little girls world had also been rocked by the events of the last few weeks. She was missing her father terribly as well. Syrens chin sinks to her chest as tears slip down her cheeks.

Syren sighs, leaning her head back against the wall, slowly bending and straightening her leg trying to ease some of the discomfort in it after her session. Krystal Rhodes, blond ponytail bobbing as she tilts her head, watches with a concerned look on her face. Her voice lacks some of its usual bubbliness as she finally just gives in to her thoughts. “You look tired, have you been pushing yourself again?” her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. Syren sheepishly smiles, and shrugs a single shoulder before answering. “You know how it is, I’ve got to train in order to be able to afford everything.” Krystal shakes her head, pursing her lips in displeasure. She knew better than to lecture Syren though, the other blond was as stubborn as any patient she had ever met. Instead she walks over to grab her chart, starting to compare the results of the day to other notes she had written down.

“You know, De’Andre says your husband is doing even better than expected.” The words are tossed casually over her shoulder. Syren sits up straight at the mention of Tristan. A smirk firmly affixed on her face, Krystal turns around. “If you want to know everything, you need to go over to the hospital and get some diagnostics done so we can see how you're healing up.” A scowl immediately crosses Syrens features, but Kyrstal lifts her finger and wags it at her. “No, you do that, and I will call you tonight. If I call over there and you no showed again, I won't tell you anything.” Syren growls a little, then slumps back against the wall, looking balefully at her therapist turned tormentor. “You drive a hard bargain.” Syren acquiesces, nodding her head to indicate her agreement with the arrangement. A pleased grin lights up the older womans face and her cheerful demeanor returns as she shuffles her charge out the door and towards the hospital building next door to the medical center.

Syren sat on the table wondering why hospitals insisted on taking blood about every time you walked into one. Insert joke about vampires here. They seemed to have a thing about collecting bodily fluids to test before they even tested you for whatever you were there for. She huffed out a sigh. She hated hospitals and was ready to bolt out the door. Her fingers drum out an impatient little tune until the door opens and a familiar doctor walks in. The same from the night the terrorists had broken into her home and done a number on her and Tristan years ago. They are both still for a second, staring at each other. Finally, he shakes his head. “Do I even want to know what you got yourself into this time?”

Syren chuckles, surprised. She shakes her head negatively. “No, probably not. Its quite a long story.” The doctor taps his finger on his lips, as he reads out the list of her results. His eyebrows shoot up as he hits a certain line. He raises his gaze to hers as she feels her body fill with concern. Now what?! She watches his mouth part as he speaks to her once more. “Before we get you in and get the imagery done on your knee, Im going to make the wild assumption that you, once again, had no idea that you’re pregnant?” She sees his mouth forming the words. She hears them. But her mind goes totally blank except for a dull buzzing in her ears. A sense of déjà vu crashes over her and all she can do is laugh helplessly, almost maniacally.

The doctor eyes her with trepidation. “Ill take that as a no.” He jots down a few lines and then lays the clipboard on the table, and goes over to pay Syren on the shoulder, wondering just what he should think about her. He helps her up wordlessly, and leads her off to get both her knee xrays done, as well as a sonogram to check the progress of the little surprise. Once done, he sets her back out towards her Uber, hoping she has the presence of mind to make it home alright.

Syren can only sit, listening to the Uber driver chatter away as they travel along the highway headed back to the ranch. Her mind raced a mile a minute. Was this the way it was always going to be? The rollercoasters of things that just never seemed to stop? She glances down at the familiar sonogram pictures. They had marked her as around 5 weeks, meaning that oh so fateful shower during One Night Stand had to have been.... she bites her lip to prevent herself from laughing once more. Well, if nothing else... their lives were never boring.

That night, she gently tucks Niahm in, quietly slipping out of the room into the quiet of the hallway. She had fulfilled her promise to play with her daughter, although playtime lately consisted of more coloring and puzzles than the rough and tumble fun or horseback riding that the duo usually preferred. Syren makes her way down the stairs to the new location of her bed. She sighs. The house wasn’t quite a home without Tristan here. She missed him more than she could ever put into words. The combination of his harshly worded direction as well as the heart pounding fear of hospitals had kept her away from him all these long weeks.

She had been there during his surgery and recovery, but he had not awoken. She had stood by him, brushing the locks of hair from his face as tears streamed down her cheeks. She had known, instinctively how frustrated he would be with his diagnosis... so she had plunged into research, desperately seeking as many opinions and options as possible. Much seemed lost, until she had started talking about her career and injuries with Galaxy. Her husband... might just be the key to a new ‘normal’. From all accounts, the phone call tonight had lifted her spirits for a brief while. He was doing better than anyone could have hoped. She wondered if he knew she would have been by his side regardless of anything. She liked to think so.

She had wanted to call, to visit, to bring their daughter... but Angel had refused, telling her that Tristan didn’t wish contact in any way with either of them. So she had obliged, with the exception of that one time when he wouldn’t have a clue. Soon though, he would be home. Her stomach twists at the thought of it. She was both elated, and nervous. How would he react? Did he blame her for everything? Only time would tell.

 

2020
Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas

 

6 Weeks After HWA: One Night Stand

The early morning sun was beginning to peaks its way through the clouds as the normally humid Summer air began to dip into a brisk, Fall-like, breeze; a precursor of the season’s changes that would soon be upon us. The non-descript white van pulled into the ranch, stopping just short of the house. The driver’s side door opened as a large African-American man ducked his head out from the van, squinting against the brightness of the sunrise. The passenger door followed suit, as a petite blonde woman stepped out, immediately going to the back side of the van, sliding the door open and pressing a button. A loud “whirring” sound can be heard, cutting through the quiet daybreak as a panel slides out from the van, Tristan Wolfe sitting comfortably in his wheelchair. Tristan surveyed the scene before him, the wind blowing the dust up into the air, almost creating a fog-like atmosphere. He peered through it, seeing a newly designed ramp by the front door; another reminder of just how much had changed. He had been working rigorously with his personal caretakers, De’Andre “Creed” Rhodes and his wife, Krystal “Galaxy” Rhodes, on getting back onto his feet after his devastating injury, suffered at the hands of “The Sensation” Danny Starr. Tristan had been convinced he’d never walk again but now, three weeks after his initial meeting with De’Andre, the experimental treatments had given him back almost full range of his hands, arms, and neck. With Krystal, he pushed himself in their physical therapy sessions to the point where he could see the muscle definition in his arms once more. Apart of him had been eagerly awaiting this reunion; another part was anxious to see how it all played out. Loud “banging” could be heard from their state-of-the-art barn design, which was used more as a training facility than anything else. Krystal rolled Tristan off the platform and began wheeling him towards where the noise was. For a moment, he looked back at the van; contemplating if he should simply just roll back in and let them drive away to anywhere that wasn’t here. That option was taken off the table almost immediately as De’Andre had pressed the “recall” button and the platform was lifting back into its place. Feeling Tristan’s eyes on him, De’Andre simply winked at the Irishman, as if secretly wishing him “good luck”. Tristan let out an exasperated groan as he turned back towards his destination, Krystal pushing him forward. Inside the barn, the air felt cool and the noise reminded Tristan more of a gym than where animals would be housed. That was by design, of course, as the couple had used this space to stay in shape… in addition to prepare for their return to the HWA. Syren had started this “reunion tour” a few years prior to Tristan, her love for wrestling never having really diminished over the years. And now here she was again, standing against one of the corners of the ring, watching as two of her students practiced basic grapple holds. Every so often, Syren would chime in with a few words of instructions for her pupils; otherwise she seemed to just be relaxing against the turnbuckle, her right knee lazily draped over the middle rope. Krystal rolled Tristan to the side of the ring as he tried to ignore the looks from the other students outside the squared-circle, some doing workout and cardio routines while others were sparring with the body bags. Tristan tried to wrap his mind around what all he had missed during the past month and a half. He knew the world wouldn’t stop spinning just because of his injury, but this seemed like he had woken up in an alternate dimension completely; barely even recognizing the place he had called home for over five years. Krystal knelt down, putting the brakes into place on his wheelchair so he wouldn’t roll away; almost as if she could sense his overwhelming urge to just spin around and “make a run for it”. She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and went over to speak to a few of the students about their form while Tristan looked up, his eyes locking with Syren’s for the first time since One Night Stand.

Syren stifled a yawn behind her hand as she carefully watched the techniques of her students. Late nights awake worrying over things beyond her control combined with all the new pregnancy hormones running rampant through her body made for an exhausting combination. Add in the fact that she was refraining from caffeine and well, she was barely managing not to lay down on the mat and take a nap while it shook around her. She bit back a sharp rebuke as the crimson haired girl was unnecessarily rough with her partner, acting in frustration, instead offering up more sage advice. It wouldn’t do to start taking out her moodiness on the students.

Part of her mood should be arriving soon. The biggest reason she was so out of sorts this morning if she was being truthful. She cast a glance towards the large barn doors, open to catch some of the fresh air of the pleasant morning. Tristan was coming home today, and she was nervous. She didn’t recall a time she had felt so out of sorts. Anytime he had come back from being away for a long period, he had just sort of reappeared into her life. She had had no time to work herself up into the nervous wreck she was right now. The thought that she had done this to him pounded through her skull, over and over again viciously ripping apart her tenacious hold on her presence of calm.

She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep lungful of air, trying to settle herself once more. She opens her eyes to the pair of women she was coaching watching her with concerned expressions. She flashes an encouraging smile, waving her hand in the air to indicate that they should continue on with practice. Her palm immediately goes for her right knee as she lowers her hand. If only she wasn’t still in this damnable brace, she could really be in there, showing them what she meant instead of just shouting the words. She flexes her leg slowly, absentmindedly. The latest tests she had done had shown she was making progress with her healing but she still had a way to go before she was back to where she could wrestle.

IF she got the clearance to wrestle once more. While the doctors and Galaxy were optimistic about her getting there, she was feeling impatient. Not only that, they were cautioning her to reduce the amount of impact on the knee once she was healed, as once the ACL tore there was a very good chance it would do so again. How could she possibly not fly through the air? That’s what she did – what she lived for, even if it was just showing her skillset to these young hopefuls. Her fingers brushed gently against her abdomen. She was going to be sidelined even longer than she had expected to, on top of her busted knee. Her lips twitch. For this reason though, she would gladly take a break from her place in the sky.

A bright blond ponytail across the ring captures her attention. She recognizes Krystal. But if she was here... that meant. Syren straightens as much as her position will allow, gaze skittering all over the barn until it collides with her husbands. Her heart gives one large painful thud before stopping, as if a huge fist was wrapped around it, squeezing. Her lungs seize up, and everything around her ceases to exist, except the man who sat on the outside of the ring. It seems like ages pass, although in reality it is only moments. She sucks in oxygen, realizing she had been holding her breath this entire time. She turns her head to tell the pupils to keep going, not even knowing what words actually came out of her mouth.

She carefully climbs from the ring, not dropping to the floor like she was wont to do, but carefully lowering herself to a seated position, and gently allowing her feet to touch the floor. Shaking, she makes her way on unsteady legs over to where Tristan was waiting, wishing desperately that they might have done this in relative privacy, at least the moment of seeing each other for the first time in over a month. Her heart raced an unsteady race in her chest as she stops before him. She swallows around the lump in her throat, battling back her nerves. How would he react? Did he hate her? She had no idea. She felt like everything was riding on this one moment. She tentatively reaches out and touches her fingers to his.

Syren: Welcome home Tris....

Tristan had watched her gingerly step from the ring to the apron, before sliding down before him. He knew she had damaged her knee in the ladder match with Scarlett Rayne-Sengir, but I don’t think he quite understood just how much. Of course he had been told about the progress of her rehab from De’Andre but seeing it for himself was an entirely different story; the brace a visual confirmation of her recovery, much like the wheelchair was for him. Tristan was a veteran, trained for the type of combat that had suddenly besieged them a few weeks ago. Here the two were – a soldier and a wrestler – both broken versions of themselves.

He felt her fingers brush against his and had to close his eyes for a brief moment, reveling in their touch. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t even had an inkling that her hand was on his, much like the moment he had shared with his sister in the hospital. It was a bizarre thing, to be able to see something like that but not physically feel it at the same time; like watching it happen through the eyes of someone else. Like it always did, the feel of her skin on his sent his blood afire. He tried to settle his breath as his heart raced faster. At that instant, none of what had happened from this moment to the last time he had seen her mattered. Tristan instinctively went to try and kiss her, forgetting of his situation. He lurched forward, nearly falling from the wheelchair. Her grabbed for anything to stabilize himself as Syren’s arms found their way around his body, holding his downward descent. She gently placed him back into his chair as his face flushed red with anger and embarrassment.

Tristan Wolfe: (avoiding her gaze) Thanks, Sy…

Syren was loathe to release Tristan’s body once she was sure he was safely ensconced in his wheelchair once more. Not because she thought he would take a tumble from it, but because she had craved nothing more than to touch her husband in so long. She had forgotten what a comfort it was to wrap her arms around his torso... If she shifted her head just a little more, she would be able to hear the steady thump of his heart. With true regret, she slides back letting the warmth of his body slip from her arms, leaving them feeling bereft.

Seeing him looking away from her cut her to the core. She too, glances to the side, her gaze catching Krystal’s, who was watching the exchange from the ring now, having stepped in to lend her own advice to the wrestling students while Syren was occupied. Shooting a look towards the clock, she gives a barely perceptible nod, but Galaxy is swift to understand. With the sharp clap of her hands, she pronounces them all done for the day.

The students all cheerfully chatter as they gather their things together, all looking over towards Syren who pastes a good-natured grin on her face. She waves a farewell at them, offering affirmation that they were all doing an amazing job and she would see them in a couple days for more training. In a whirlwind of laughter and motion, they are gone... through the barn doors and off to the rest of their days. Krystal hesitates at the door, trying to give Syren a reassuring look, before she – too – steals away to find De’Andre.

Syren is left alone with her husband. She shifts her body once more to face him, her arms going around herself as she levels her stare on him. She scrutinizes, trying to read his mind. Did he blame her for what happened? Most likely. It was, after all, her fault all this had happened. If they had just stayed home, they would have been in much better shape physically. If they had even been able to keep their home, if they had been able to get the deed back from the Sengir’s another way. If if if if if... there were so damn many of them. What was done was done, and Syren had to live with that. She breathes out, a soft exhale as she closes her eyes. Might as well get it over with.

Syren: I’m sorry Tristan…

Tristan had watched Syren’s pupils all collect their things and mingle with their teacher in silence. He started to wonder if this was their life now; her working to support the family while Tristan sat on the sidelines. Of course he had been told that his job with the Texas Rangers was there waiting for him, even now. Raenia’s words echoed in his head when he had called his sister earlier to let him know he had arrived back in Texas. “I’m sure they could find something for you to do” meant all the paperwork Tristan could handle, which – if past experiences had taught him anything – would not be very much.

As the two were, finally, left alone, Tristan forced himself to look up at his wife as the words left her lips. He had expected as much; at one point feeling like she owed him much more than an apology. It took him awhile to get through his grief and misery revolving around his current predicament. In fact, he may’ve never recovered if it wasn’t for De’Andre and his “miracle cure”. It had given Tristan hope again, and he wouldn’t have had that if Syren hadn’t been still supporting him from afar. She had somehow managed to find this man and bring him and his experimental trial into their lives. Syren had never given up on him, even after he had given up on himself.

He was tempted to open his mouth, do the standard “for what” response, but he didn’t need to ask that question; he knew what she was implying. Tristan grimaced from the pain of his legs not responding, as he wanted nothing more than to rise up out of this chair, grab her face in his hands, and kiss her like he used to. The passion would take over them then and everything would be okay, just like it always was. Only, everything seemed different now…

Tristan Wolfe: I feel like I should be apologizing to you, Sy. Back at the hospital, I didn’t mean to shut you and Niahm out, I was just scared. I didn’t want either of you to see me like that. They told me you had been there for my surgery though…

His voice trailed off, remembering what the doctors had said… how Syren had sat patiently in the waiting room during his entire operation. How, afterwards, she would sit beside him in his hospital room for hours before finally departing, leaving before he would wake, the only trace that anyone had visited being a small arrangement of flowers left on the table.

Tristan Wolfe: I thought it was the end for me, Sy. I thought it might be better if you didn’t… I mean, if you weren’t…

Tristan bit his lip and fought back the tears building in his eyes. He swallowed, unable to find the words that he had practiced over-and-over again in his head on the van ride home.

She holds her breath as he opens his mouth and speaks… the words, not the tirade that she was expecting. She knew her husband was a proud man, and the feeling of being incapable of doing what he once was must gall him. She knew, if placed in the same position he was, she probably would not be quite as gracious as he was being towards her. She would be spitting venom in every direction, mad at the world. Her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she rubs her upper arms in a nervous gesture. Tears sting at her eyes. She didn’t deserve this man, with everything he had gone through and done, all for her. Always for her.

Syren: How could you ever think I’d throw in the towel on you? On us?

The words are whispered, incredulity coloring them. She gives a hushed laugh, no traces of humor in it. She had been expecting, even prepared for, vitriol and hatred from this man. To find him already appearing so forgiving of her, when she had not yet forgiven herself was a humbling experience. She shakes her head slowly, moving forward and awkwardly sinking down into a crouch before Tristan. Her knee gave a mild protest at her balancing her weight that way, then subsides, a product of much work during physical therapy. There was a time that if she hunkered down, there was no way she was balancing without something to hold onto.

Syren: I didn't think you would want to see me.

She steals a glance up, looking deep into the face of the man she loved. Her head tilted slowly to the side, maintaining her gaze on his face, drinking in every beloved line like one starved of food then placed before a buffet. Looking was never enough as she slid one hand up and over his, placing her palm atop his before wrapping her fingers around his.

Syren: We’ve missed you.

Her words hit home at that point, Tristan intertwining his fingers within her as an exasperated gasp of air leaves his lungs; as if he had been holding his breath this entire time. He sniffs back the tears, forcing a smile from his lips.

Tristan Wolfe: I missed ye too, Sy.

Tristan squeezed Syren’s hand to emphasis her name as it left his lips, showing her that he wasn’t completely broken and that he still had some strength left in him. He could sense her uneasiness, probably expecting to see more of his Irish temper than this somber, remorseful side of him. Truth be told, all he had for weeks was his rage; angry at everyone and everything whether they deserved it or not. Being mad had allowed him to mask the pain that he was in, but he had wasted enough time on all of that. It had been six weeks since he had been able to see his wife and his daughter and now, with all the progress that he had made, he was finally able to be where he wanted to be. Nothing else but that mattered.

Tristan Wolfe: I didn’t know what to think, honestly. From my experiences, injuries like this… they’re life changing, and not just for the individual involved. I didn’t want you and Niahm to have to suffer through that.

Tristan thought back to his time with the Elite Task Force and how many times he would be in and out of their infirmaries. At the time, his wounds had never been as serious as the comrades around him, some missing various appendages or bleeding internally. He remembered a particular instance when they wheeled in one of his fellow soldiers after a rocket had exploded near his location, the force of the impact having sent the soldier crashing into a nearby wall, his spine shattering on impact. It wasn’t so much the visuals that Tristan remembered, but the whimpering from the soldier as they told him that he was paralyzed. This memory faded away, forced out by Danny Starr as he lifted Tristan up into the air, holding him there as if to taunt Syren of the impending doom of her husband. Tristan crashed down onto Nate Hartman’s spine, further damaging “The Phenomenal One” while, at the same time, breaking his neck. The “snap” of bone breaking was like a gunshot going off, sending a jolt through Tristan’s whole body.

Tristan Wolfe: It was my fault you were in that position Sy… if I had just stayed in the locker room, waited for ye, then Danny would’ve never…

Tristan looked to his wife’s face then, a single team having managed to find its way to freedom as it streamed down his cheek.

Tristan Wolfe: I’m sorry I failed ye…

Syren: Suffer?!

The word bursts through her lips like a bullet she is unable to stop. She gapes at him, truly dumbfounded that after it all, he had thought that his wife and daughter would be the ones suffering because he was paralyzed. She didn’t care about that at all, at least not in the way Tristan was thinking. She was incredibly thankful that he was alive. Getting slammed on his neck at that velocity could have very well killed him instead of just breaking his neck, and she was painfully aware of that fact. The sight of it had nearly shattered her, the sound... his words bring her sharply back to the present. She shakes her head vehemently.

Syren: No, don’t ever blame yourself Tristan. Never. If you hadn’t done what you did, maybe it would have been me he dropped. You saved me out there. You didn’t fail...

Her voice fades into nothingness as she gives in to her desires, stiffly moving off her haunches, to slide onto Tristan’s lap. Her arms go around his neck, gently clutching him to her as she buries her face into the side of his neck. A set of tears drop from her own eyes, her wayward emotions getting the better of her once more. These damn pregnancy hormones. She freezes. She would have to drop that bomb on him as well. An internal war breaks out within Syren. One side telling her it was far too soon to tell him, neither the time nor the place. The other side screaming that he would be overjoyed and that it would uplift the spirits of their reunion.

She quietly sits back a little, without falling off of his lap. She brings her hand up to his cheek, mimicking the very move that he used on her countless times before. She offers him a tremulous smile before being unable to keep her eyes locked onto his. She nervously wrings her hands together. Everything was already all over the place, a giant bonfire... why shouldn’t she just toss this right on the top of the blaze? The Wolfe family always seemed to find their way out of the crazy tangles they found themselves in. And she also didn’t want to withhold anything from him if she didn’t have to.

Syren: There is something Tristan... that I do have to tell you. That happened at One Night Stand. About the... umm, shower?

She stammers to a stop. It was too late to call it quits now. What could she say? That she had had an absolutely fantastic time up until the time she had been cornered by Danny Starr? Just praise Tristan’s prowess in that particular field? Definitely not... she had to push forward, get it all out. There was no turning back. She struggles to form the words, to gently break the news to him. But in true Syren fashion, she plunges head on into the heart of things, words failing her.

Syren: I’m pregnant.

Having Syren in his lap was usually a good sign of something promiscuous to come. This time around, Tristan wasn’t entirely sure if he was “in the mood” or not, all feeling and sensation below his waist having not completely returned. He tried to focus on her words and ignore the insecurities about what may or may not be happening below the belt, but they rattled around in his brain. Was this her way of testing him to see if he was “up to the task”? And if he wasn’t, would that change things between them? Their lust and passion seemed to always be at the center-stone of their relationship. And though he was sure they could adapt and move past that, was it something either of them wanted?

At that moment, he could sense the silence around him. He looked to Syren, her gaze piercing him, her ears waiting for his response. It took him a moment to recollect what she had just said, so lost deep in thought was he. As he allowed himself to go back a few moments in his mind, the words slipped from her lips in such a way that Tristan felt the sudden urge to sit down, forgetting that he was always – and, potentially, forever – sitting now. Tristan careened his neck to the side as his eyes scanned back and forth, as if he needed to remind himself of just what had happened in the shower. That memory, as well as this sudden revelation, was enough to bring a smile to his lips as he looked back at his wife.

Trisatn Wolfe: Yer pregnant…!? And yer… sure!? I mean, we always tried after…

Tristan’s voice caught in his throat as he wasn’t sure if bringing up the tragedy of a few years ago was the right time, at least not with all the other shit swirling around them in this maelstrom.

Tristan Wolfe: But… it’s… I mean… we’re gonna have another baby?

His hands left her side as he placed them on her face, holding her head close to his, the tears that overwhelmed him now no longer the tears of sorrow but of pure happiness.

Long moments stretch as Tristan just sat there. Syren began to grow concerned that she might have broken her husband with this new revelation of yet ANOTHER change coming to their lives. This wasn’t new, either everything was absolute chaos or total calm. There was no in between for the Wolfe family it seemed. They did seem to handle their rather adventurous life with more aplomb than most would. At least she had thought so, except this news about a second child coming seemed to have been the straw that broke the camel's back for whatever reason. She is contemplating on how to do a full system reboot on him when he finally seems to shake free of his trance.

His smile tore through her with all the force of a tornado. She felt her tense muscles finally give way in relief, her stuttering heart returning to its normal pace. She can't help but beam back at him, this child being a beacon of light in a very unsure existence. After the loss of their unborn child... they hadn't exactly taken any precautions, but had just come to accept that Niahm would be their only child after nothing else had ever happened. Obviously, the universe had a very unusual sense of humor when it came to Syren and Tristan Wolfe.

Syren: Yes... Yes I'm sure.

She gives in, and closes the gap between them, her lips finally laying claim to Tristan’s for the first time in over six weeks. All the pain, worry, and emotions swirled together intensifying the kiss, until she clung to him almost desperately, as if worried he was a mirage that would disappear the moment she opened her eyes. With regret she releases his mouth, resting her forehead against his, eyes closed, just taking in a deep lungful of air, breathing in the essence of this amazing man.

She is about to speak once more when the very faint sounds of hoof beats catch her attention. She lifts her head, carefully listening. An adult's indiscernible voice followed by a soft trill of laughter confirms what she had been thinking. Niahm was also an early riser, usually enjoying riding her pony while her mother trained the students in the barn. Typically, Skye or Angel would keep half an eye on things until Syren was done, nobody having any true concerns because Hank was such a babysitter type, and would come out to join her daughter before they went in for breakfast once she was done with her morning class.

She had no idea Tristan was coming home today, and would be absolutely over the moon to see her father. She had asked almost daily about him and going to see him in the hospital. Syren had struggled coming up with answers and reasons why they couldn’t go, to placate their tenacious little girl. Now though, he was here. She makes a gesture towards the door of the barn, lips curving upwards as she looks into Tristan’s eyes yet again.

Syren: There’s someone else who is going to be very excited to see you.

It took a moment for Tristan to truly hear his wife’s words, his world completely consumed by this new revelation, in addition to having her kiss on his lips once again. He heard the commotion then, the sound of gravel crunching underneath the heavy weight of his daughter’s favorite animal. His brother’s thick Irish accent cut through the air then, drawing a few more laughs from Niahm. Awkwardly, Tristan did his best to hold Syren against him with his left hand as he moved his right hand down to release the brake on his wheel, before switching hands and freeing himself completely from his immovable state. He was still getting the handle of using this thing himself and with the added difficulty of his wife sitting on his lap, it took Tristan a few times to get himself turned around and positioned towards the front of the barn. By the time he had finally managed to relocate himself the way that he wanted, Niahm was at the barn entrance, a look of shock on her face.

Niahm Wolfe: Daddy!?

Tristan choked back the tears as he smiled cheerfully at his beautiful girl. The weeks away may’ve very well been an entire lifetime as she – like everything else about this place – seemed different. Niahm, herself, had gone through her own trials and tribulations when this whole “World Wrestling Warfare” started. The memory of the video message from Abrianna played through this head, taking credit for poisoning his daughter’s beloved pony. He wondered if Abrianna knew that by performing her vile deed, she had put Niahm’s life in danger. She easily slid off the side of her horse, no longer wearing the cast that Tristan had last seen her in. In a moment, she was in his arms then, embracing both mother and father in a familial hug. He wrapped his arms around both his wife and daughter as tight as he possibly could; were he full strength, he probably would’ve been suffocating them with his embrace. As it were, they breathed normally, overjoyed to be reunited once more. Angel nodded to his brother and led Hank away from the entrance, giving them some privacy. Niahm was the first to pull back from the group hug, looking over her father and his new “accessory”.

Niahm Wolfe: I was so worried…

Tristan Wolfe: (placing his hand on her face) I know it baby girl, I’m sorry for that. But I’m okay now; and this… (motioning to the wheelchair) … this is just a temporary thing, okay love?

Niahm wasn’t very convinced by his words, crinkling up her face in worry and looking upon him like he might as well have just been a stranger off the streets.

Tristan Wolfe: But look at ya, I swear you’ve grown… what… at least a couple inches since I’ve last seen ya. What has yer mother been feeding ya, eh?

Syren’s lips tilt up at the corners as she can't hold back a smile at the joyous reunion. The look on Niamh's face was absolutely priceless as soon as she laid eyes on Tristan. She slid an arm around their daughters' shoulder and pulled her close, giving her an amused smile before returning her gaze to her husband.

Syren: Everything and anything. She's going to eat us out of house and home, I think.

Niahm laughs, knowing her mother's words were true. Syren shook her head in mock despair. She literally had no idea where she put it all. She was very active, but still... she packed away just as much as an adult did and still stayed thin as a wisp. She had taken a keen interest in watching her parent’s matches from the past, especially after all the craziness that had gone on. Syren didn’t think Niahm really grasped everything, and tried to keep her as innocent as possible. The world was a harsh place, and their daughter had experienced far too much already at the hands of Abrianna.

Syren grits her teeth. Especially at the hands of Danny Starr and the High Society. He was behind Abrianna's motions anyway. She was just another lackey in his pocket doing his bidding with no regard for anyone else. She tries to shake off her feelings of anger, focusing instead on what’s going on in the now. Everything else had been handled as much as it could be… who knows what the future would hold. For now, the family was back together and growing. With much healing to get through on all fronts. She gives Niahm a little nudge, getting a mildly confused face in return. Syren raises her eyebrows and the six year olds eyes widen. She dashes off in a fit of giggles, then returns within moments, skidding to a stop once more in front of Tristan.

Niahm Wolfe: I made you this.

She extends her hand, with her offering, a handmade card with her palm print on it. Glitters and hearts festoon the entire thing, while in child-like scribble it proclaims ‘I love you Daddy’.

Tristan’s smile had never been brighter, holding the card in his hand as he traced his fingers across the paint outline of his daughter’s palm print.

Tristan Wolfe: Wow… I love it… best “welcome home present” I could’ve asked for, well… second best.

Tristan quickly reached out and grabbed his daughter before she could squirm away, pulling her in close and giving her a barrage of kisses on her forehead and cheek. Niahm laughed and playfully pulled away, wiping away the marks of affection from her father as Tristan turned back to his wife, a teasing smirk on his face. He tilted his head in the direction of their daughter, as if silently asking Syren if “she knew about the baby”.

Syren watched the actions of her husband and daughter with a subdued smile, which belied how much her heart felt like it would burst in her chest. Niahm had missed her father more than he would ever know, and seeing the two of them finally reunited was an absolute joy. Just having Tristan home again, their world... as crazy as it was... seemed whole once more. There would be an adjustment period for sure, but they would get through every little twist as a family. She caught Tristan’s head tilt and frowned slightly, until the reasoning behind it dawned on her. She gave a slight head shake to the negative.

She hadn't wanted to break the news about Niamh's impending sibling until Tristan had been told first. She didn’t think that their daughter would be too upset, she occasionally inquired about the possibility of a baby brother or sister, but had seemed to accept the ‘maybe someday’ as the answer. Syren had never really known how to respond, especially after their tragic loss and it just never seeming to happen again after. With all the innocence of youth, Niahm had just fluttered onto another subject entirely afterwards, much to the relief of her mother who wasn’t ready for any ‘whys’ this early on.

Returning to the present, she tilted her brows upwards, projecting her own silent question at Tristan, wondering if he thought now the proper time to tell her.

Tristan nodded his head in acknowledgement, this injury teaching him one thing at least – life was precious and he was going to live every second to the fullest, from here on out.

Tristan Wolfe: So I’m absolutely starving, all I’ve had to eat for the past few weeks was hospital food…

Tristan made a “disgusted” look at his daughter, sticking out his tongue at her as if he could still taste the less-than-desirable meals, which drew a slight chuckle from Niahm.

Tristan Wolfe: So what’s say the three of us go inside and you and I whip up some of those famous chocolate chip pancakes you love so much?

Niahm Wolfe: But Daddy… are you even able to cook anymore…?

A few weeks ago, a question like that would’ve had the capacity to break Tristan completely. But today was a new day and he was hopeful for whatever the future might bring.

Tristan Wolfe: Well, I don’t know… I might need some assistance. You don’t happen to know of any smart, cute, seven year olds that would be up to the challenge?

Niahm Wolfe: Dad… I’m six, not seven.

Tristan Wolfe: You are!? Are you sure!? You’re too tall to be six years old. Hmm, well… I think you have to be at least seven years old to cook in the kitchen but I tell ya what, you can help me mix the chocolate chips into the batter, how about that? And then I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t burn the pancakes.

Niahm Wolfe: You mean, like last time?

Niahm glared at her mother accusingly, as if the memory had scarred her for life. Tristan simply laughed it off as he looked back over at Syren, who shifted uncomfortably in his lap from the reminder of the one time that she nearly burnt down the house while cooking breakfast. Though, in all fairness, Tristan was just as much to blame for “distracting” his wife from her normal morning routine.

Tristan Wolfe: What do ye say, love? Feel like getting your hands dirty?

That day would live on in infamy it seemed. Whenever anyone saw her mixing up the batter for pancakes, they enjoyed poking fun at her for her, granted rather serious, mishap. Normally, she didn’t have an issue with things burning, but when Tristan came around and things started falling towards their natural tendencies when the two were together... well, that was a pretty damned good excuse if she said so herself. But it wasn’t like she could tell Niahm the reason why the pancakes had ended up blackened and the smoke alarm had started shrieking. She cringed at the memory of flinging all the windows open, trying to shoo all the smoke outside. Her cheeks turn pink and she clears her throat.

Syren: Of course we can make pancakes.

She slips off Tristan’s lap and frames her daughters face with her hands, giving her a playful smile.

Syren: And I promise they will be as perfect as they can be this time.

Niahm Wolfe: Let's go!

She frolics towards the house, leaving Syren to push Tristan along behind her, using the ramp for the first time since its construction. Syren assists Tristan through the newly widened door of the house, quickly leading him down the hall to the new master bedroom to show him. They couldn’t tarry too long because an impatient blond whirlwind demanded they hasten to the kitchen. Once there, the family settled into their normal routine, almost as if nothing was different about the morning. Tristan made the batter, letting their daughter stir the chocolate chips in (with extra for good measure) before passing the torch to Syren. She stood over the griddle, wielding her spatula under Tristan’s watchful eye as promised, producing perfect golden brown pancakes flipping them off into a tall tower that Niahm proudly carried to the table that Syren had set while the batter was being made. As they settled down, pouring the thick, rich syrup over the steaming pancakes, Syren catches Tristan’s gaze on her. She nods. There was no time like the present, right?

Syren: Niahm? Daddy and I have something we need to tell you...

::4 months after the event::

Evan is found sitting on a rooftop looking at the skyline of Philadelphia, as the sunsets in a cloudy sky. In his hands he holds a partly consumed fifth of Jack Daniels, thoughts playthrough his mind from years past, culminating to the end of the One Night Stand. Blane replays the final parts through his head, how could he? How could Danny do those twisted things? Picking off former HWA members one by one? How could use the guise of Eric Rayne to try and eliminate people he once called friend?

Another memory flashes through his head, Danny being lead away from the ring with Blane standing in it. “I trusted you. You were my friend….. How could you do this to US!” Blane screams and hurls the bottle towards the buildings across the street.

People on the street below look up at Blane who waves them off as he walks back towards the ladder to the street.

Blane gets in his car and heads to back to Royal StriKING MMA, where he was hosting a striking camp for the members of the gym.

Blane walks in and waves at Karl as he heads towards the locker room.

Blane changes his clothes to his workout gear and starts warming up on the heavy bag. Lefts and rights into the bag. Thud. Thud. Thud. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. Harder and harder, Blane slams his fists in the bag and unknowingly, tears rolled down his cheeks during the beatdown he was giving this heavy bag. In Blane’s head all he could see was Danny.

Blane punched and punched until he felt punched out. Blane wiped his eyes, stepped back and shifted his stance and launches his back leg towards the heavy bag with a heavy roundhouse kick that echoed through the building. Blane looks up from the floor after the kick and noticed that the whole building was staring at Blane. “SHOW’S OVER!” Blane shouts at the gym, as he grabs his towel and heads to the locker room.

Blane sits in a corner and tries to clear his mind and head of Danny’s betrayal, but all he could picture was him controlling the Stormcorp soldiers, and Blane beating the hell out of one and Saving Cass and Michael. Blane sits there for a bit until Karl comes in and finds Evan sitting there, “Are you ok man? Do you want me to cancel the camp?” Karl asks very concerned for Blane.

“Karl, thanks for asking. You know in the last four months, you are the only one who has ask. Yes I am ok. After stopping my “friend” from committing suicide because of everything that has happened, I am ok. Even though I also was almost killed by the hands of someone I used to call “friend”. I AM FINE.” As Blane said that his fist slammed against one of the lockers. Karl looks at Evan disturbed by what he had heard, he replies “Well, the students are here, should be begin?”

Blane stands up and shakes out the funk in his head, and heads out. Blane stands in front of 30 or so students and starts the camp. During the camp, Blane has the camp spilt up in to twos to work on striking and takedowns transitions for strikes, Blane signals to one of the students to come over to demonstrate the takedown. The student walks over and Blane sizes him up and takes him down and posts up to strike from side position when he looks at the student and sees Danny Starr’s face.

Blane blinks his eyes and begins raining fists down on the person who he thinks is Starr. It takes 3 students to pry him off, Blane blinks his eyes again and sees it was just a student. Feeling great remorse for his actions Blane gets up and rushes back to the locker room and grabs his things and leaves.

Blane heads back to his apartment and just sits in shaking his head in silence, trying to figure out how that happened. He saw Danny’s face on the student, and he just wanted to decimate him. The hatred and anger for Danny right now has overtaken his every thought.

How can Evan move on from this trauma? Everything he has done for Blane, through HWA or UBW. Everything that Blane has in his life Danny has tainted it. Any fame or accomplishment has Danny’s DNA in it. Blane shuts off his phone and just sits.

A month passes and no one has heard nothing from Blane, he stopped going to the gym or going to Royal StrikING or anywhere. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK can be heard throughout Blane’s apartment. Emerging from the darkness, Blane heads towards the door grunting. Blane looks through the peephole and meets the gaze of Karl from the MMA gym. Blane unlock the door and opens it.

Karl looks at Blane, in his robe and looking like shit, and says “Man, what the hell is going on. I have been calling you for the last 3 weeks non-stop. What the hell happened! You beat the piss out of a student, and just up and disappeared. What the hell is going on!”

Blane looking unapologetic says “Nice to see you too. Please come in and berate me more.”#148;

Blane brings Karl into the apartment and fixes Karl and himself a cup of coffee and adds a nip of whiskey in his own cup.

Blane looks at Karl who is looking uncomfortable sitting in Blane’s apartment, Blane sighs and tells Karl everything that happened. Karl who looks concerned clears his throat and basically tells him he needs therapy. Blane chuckles and agrees.

Karl face changes and remembers that he had a message from a friend of his left at the MMA gym “Oh some one left this at the gym for you….”

He hands Blane a postcard from Tommy.

It says “Hey. Just set up shop in Marlton, NJ. Not gonna wrestle for a bit looking to manage now. I have an opportunity and I think you will do great in. I have been in touch with others. Call me.”

Blane’s eyes light up, which causes Karl to be taken back by this new excitement. Blane stands up and turns his phone on for the first time in almost a month. When the phone boots up, he gets bombarded by notifications which causes Evan to chuckle to himself as 40 voice mails pop up. Blane swipes them away and walks to his bedroom and leaves Karl sitting by himself. Blane taps his screen a couple times and Holds the phone to his ear and hears the words of his friend, “I have been waiting for your call.”

 

The highway seems to loop eternally, Danny suspects, confused why he feels exhausted despite always sitting. This transfer was a welcome break from nothingness despite the circumstances of pending doom, and yet, sixteen hours is more dreadful than the looming threat of assassination ordered by what, he could only assume, was the inevitable consequence of crossing Alicia Sinn.

“Is that the same cactus?” Danny mutters to himself, his only audience, looking up to see a dark cloud hovering above the desolate desert biome he is carried through. It’s a dark cloud that, up until now, had only figuratively accompanied him, now evidence that the road isn’t a loop, but maybe limbo itself.

With this time to do nothing but grow disdain for the redundant orange and brown palette he’s forced to stare at from behind a plastic window of a “meat wagon”, he’s given the options of sleeping again or reflecting on the stomach curdling events that brought him to this torn leather seat in the first place.

It was over for Danny Starr. It should have been over a long time ago but he was given a chance to right his many wrongs, and like an entitled creature of empty will, he couldn’t help but return to his darker nature and amplify it’s worst aspects. He knew he deserved nothing more than to rot away in- BUMP, the bus hits another abrupt pothole causing his nerves to spike in irritation. No more smooth sailing. That ship had sailed.

He wonders why, in spite of his obvious wrong-doing, he still only feels resentment towards the victims of his scorched earth approach to settling what had been a plethora of misunderstandings and miscommunications. If only context had been set before him, perhaps things could have ended how they started, with justice being served, the HWA being avenged, and old friends being reunited to live happily ever after. This is a reality that certainly could have been, but Danny knew he had lost himself in thoughtless revenge, consumed by the over-cast of absolute power. It was true, the old expression, and Danny Starr had been corrupted absolutely.

“ETA?” Danny speaks out so the marshall can hear him, “Any clue?”

“Listen Dan, I hate these long ones myself.” The marshall responds in a southern draw, not treating him like the scum the rest of the world sees him as.

“Danny.” He corrects him, “Nobody calls me Dan.”

The marshall laughs, “Well, I could call you by your new name but that’s too many numbers to address a man. I like to keep things simple, especially on these kind of commutes. Hope you don’t take offense to that.”

Danny sits back, staring back out of the window.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Danny submits, looking back up at the dark cloud as it begins to open the sky for sunlight to peek through. Danny’s eyes, slow to react, feel the daggers of sharpened rays of sun stab his vision as if God himself was wielding the light and punishing him for even attempting to gaze towards the heavens. Danny’s eyes squint as he turns from the brightness.

“Hey, look man. I’m just busting your balls a little bit,” The marshall says, “A little bright for you?”

“It’s the sun.” Danny returns sharply, unable to use his handcuffed hands to block his face.

“Here.” Danny sees the marshall is extending his hand with sunglasses to offer.

“I’m fine.” Danny dismisses him.

“Take em’.” The marshall says, “They were left behind, you might as well use em’.”

After a moment of pause, Danny reaches out the best he can, but the marshall laughs.

“Shit, sorry about that, Dan, here.” The marshall opens up the arms of the glasses and carefully places each side over Danny’s ears, positioning the glasses on his nose properly.

“You keep em’.” The marshall says, returning to his upright position.

Danny looks back out of the window and realizes that some light is beaming through a large portion of the right eye’s lens.

“Yeah, it’s got a broken spot there, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.” The marshall says.

“What are you, a fan?.” Danny scoffs, “Thanks.”

“Everybody knows Danny Starr.” The marshall smiles with a wink.

Danny leans his head against the window, thinking to himself, “everyone knows Danny Starr.” A cactus similar to the one the transport had passed before passes again. If this is eternal recurrence, Danny wonders, would he be happy? Is he destined to live this life again and again and again forever? Relive the abusive father and a weak mother… love and lose his sister and best friend… love and lose Jenn and Monica… destroy redemption and end up in shackles, only to die alone, and repeat it all over again. He sees a shadow casting over the arid sand but when he looks up for a cloud he only sees a vulture circling above.

 

TUSCON, ARIZONA
ARIZONA STATE PENITENTIARY

 

Hours after receiving his new sunglasses, the prisoner transport arrives later than expected, the lone prisoner being transferred is guided into check-in through metal detectors.

“Dan Starr!” An officer shouts.

“Danny.” Danny corrects him, holding his arms out as he is frisked.

“How about I call you shit face?” The same officer responds, “I don’t know how they treat pretty boys like you in New York, but this is Tuscon. You just pale enough to pass as a china doll, except for that shit face.” His eyes narrow as if disgusted by Danny’s appearance.

“Dan’s fine.” Danny acknowledges, his eyes drop to his badge and finds himself startled to read “M. Diamond.”

“You failed us…” Danny hears Michael’s voice.

“What..” Danny is taken aback, looking back up at the officer in confusion.

“You deaf?” The officer asks, “I said… helluva commute… glad you found us.”

Danny looks back at the badge to see “M. Dimartino”.

“Oh, yeah… yeah long trip.” Danny attempts to collect himself.

“You know what?” Officer Dimartino begins, “I think I prefer shit face.”

“Yeah, whatever you want.” Danny submits.

“This ain’t the playground, Starr. You better toughen up or these boys are gonna eat you up.” The officer says, “Ah, I see here you've been targeted. They want you in suicide watch but they also don’t want you targeted. Man, you really are a pretty boy, ain’t ya?” He reads over Danny’s files.

“What can I say?” Danny asks, “I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Yeah, looks like you are.” the officer says, his eyes falling down as he reads, “Too bad none of that shit matters in here. But, it looks like we gotta abide by what the pretty boy needs by this judge’s request, so… give him the dirtiest cell we got, as long as he’s got a camera in his face the whole time. I’m gonna pretend I don’t see those sunglasses, shit face.”

“You can take them.” He says, “They aren’t mine.”

“Look, I don’t care.” He says, “ain’t much you can do with sunglasses. Get out of my face.” The officer stamps his confirmation into the prison and he is dragged out and onward towards his new home, a 6x6 box with no windows, no natural light, and a single bed with no sheet to hang himself with. Not even a place to hang himself from.

The door shuts with a clank and an obnoxious buzzing seals the deal, locking him inside. He grabs each of the cold metal bars and grips them hard, trying to transfer his stress somewhere, anywhere else but from within him. He closes his eyes in a standing meditation, slowing down his breaths into long drawn out sessions to calm his anxiety. It seems to be working but as he acknowledges its success, his mind conjures memories of gun fire, or the sounds of his computer clicks, or the final gagging noises from an asphyxiated Monica. The latter thought scares his gripped hands loose from the bars and he stumbles back sloppily in search of the stiff bed. He falls on it, holding his chest as he begins to panic.

He sits up, still holding his chest. Misguided. Still playing the victim. He looks up and out of the corner of his eye notices a camera fixed on him, a red light illuminating as it surely records his every moment. He remembers when he was on the other side of this exchange. The wall of screens like he was Adrien Viedt, monitoring cellular devices and GPS tracking. Commanding a small army of mercenaries and hiding behind a hologram of another man. Too much power for one man and in the end, it is he who is being monitored, tracked, and commanded. His freedoms are prohibited; His rights are limited; His individuality stripped and his legacy stained forever as a murderous elitist.

 

A WEEK LATER: LUNCH

 

The chatter. The sideways looks. The eerie fog of notoriety. It wasn’t the infamy that brought everyone’s attention to Danny, but his tone deaf misunderstanding of that very fact. What he thought was awareness of his reputation was actually disdain for his privilege. Mistaking the eyes upon him as prey observing a predator was quite the opposite reality, but it isn’t out of the ordinary for someone like Danny Starr to misinterpret this truth, his true disease has always been the superiority complex of white affluency.

Even now, as a high profile felon, he is blind to the special treatment he is provided, numb to the differences between He and They, even as they stalk him from the outside world of the havenots. He, believing he is more valuable, only sees their mockery as jealousy and their attention as fandom.

“Look at this guy! Danny Fuckin’ Starr!” A fellow inmate jests at Danny as he stands in line to receive lunch. The inmate is hispanic, which Danny notices immediately, and although he is in the same clothes, eating the same food, living the same standard, it’s easy for Danny to dismiss him completely, mostly ignoring his existence despite his comments.

“This guy thinks he’s a king or some shit.” Another inmate jokes with an accent Danny assumes is of African origin, but he’s actually Haitian. It doesn’t matter to Danny, to him, it wasn’t about the skin color as much as the assumption that he is just a criminal, even though Danny was now too. The outlier, a man of wealth, forced to live among the lesser. This was a mistake in many ways, to Danny, there was a great difference between He and They. The mistake was the false belief he was different, or even better, to begin with.

Danny moves along, filtering out the remarks from around him, feeling shielded from their bullying as the prison-assigned prison officers surround him like his own personal secret service. This is to protect him from the assassination that befell the other members of the High Society, but to the other inmates, it was an entourage of special treatment. To Danny, it wasn’t even noticed.

“You got your own boys in blue, eh Starr?” An inmate in the line prods, “Figures.”

Danny ignores him, a tattooed criminal, older than he is and takes notice of what the food options were to expect in a short time. As he moves, the guards move as well. He notices the prisoner’s before him all receive the same portions on their plates. A scoop of mac and cheese, a half turkey sandwich, a plastic cup of juice. It reminded Danny of a child’s lunch and showed visible disgust about it that was noted by one of the guards.

“Don’t worry, Dan.” The guard says. Danny never took notice of his name and when he looked down he saw “C. Rogers”

“About?” Danny asks.

Officer Roger’s just winks, and when it was Danny’s turn to receive his lunch, Roger leans forward.

“Hey Doug, get my man here an extra scoop of the mac.” Officer Rogers whispers.

Doug looks at Rogers suspiciously, then shrugs, scooping another portion of Mac and Cheese to add to Danny’s plate.

“For real, man?” An inmate is outraged, followed by everyone who learned of the second scoop beginning to

“I know I better get an extra scoop…” one demands, “What the fuck is that shit?” another yells, the chattering becomes noisy and annoying to Danny as he is moved from the line with his extra food and seated alone away from the other population of inmates.

The chattering continues beyond his removal, but eventually dies down, giving Danny a sense of relief that the attention is finally off of him. He looks down at his food, never even wanting one scoop let alone the extra one and contemplates whether he even has an appetite to begin with. He looks around, seeing Officer Rogers and three other officers posted around him, far enough to give him privacy, but close enough to act if someone threatens him. He looks back down to his lunch and grabs a plastic fork, poking the top of the bread of his sandwich to test it’s quality. He is suddenly startled by a commotion in the distance.

“Fuck your mother!” A skinny white man with a northern accent flips his tray and another man stands up to confront him. A fight ensues quickly to the entertainment of a great number of inmates that are watching. As guards rush to break up the fight Danny can’t help but find the skinny man conjuring memories of those he had employed to do his bidding during his reign of terror the last decade. People that were institutionalized like Flames, or in a prison like this one like Abrianna. Those who commit crimes on the outside like Ryan Maxem, or those who spent their life under the law’s thumb like Randolph. Randolph, being the first domino to Danny’s downfall, in many ways was to blame for everything that went wrong shortly after his employment.

“Don’t worry, Dan.” Officer Rogers assures Danny.

Danny leaves his fork on the sandwich, trying hard not to remember his interactions with Randolph, but all he can see is the carnage that ensued that night at UBW. A “master-plan” that would surely leave Romeo undone spiraled far from Danny’s control into something that Danny didn’t expect or even want. It was a monster he had created and lead to a great deal of horror that he couldn’t put back into Pandora’s box. What appetite had potential had now diminished completely.

Danny felt his stomach churning as images of blood and violence re-enter his mind. He remembers the promises he made to Randolph in their agreement. To Danny, this deal was broken the moment Randolph pulled out a rifle with rubber bullets, and any business was surely finished after Randolph began his vicious murdering of Fat-man and Ian Claire… but to Randolph, it wasn’t finished. The deal had been broken and he felt Starr had owed him the resolution to their agreement: immunity. Something that Danny couldn’t provide him now if he wanted to.

Nevertheless, Randolph was in prison, and now, so was Starr. Their deal had been broken, there was no love lost, but what’s done was done. There was no point in getting stressed about it, yet Danny couldn’t make the sick in his stomach go away. Lunch wasn’t going to happen today.

 

A WEEK LATER: LAUNDRY

 

The most work Danny had done in his life had been done in the ring. It was truly all he really knew when it came to a career. There was Starr Enterprises, but that work had always been handled for him and eventually became Cassandra’s to do with as she pleased. Danny had no interest in real estate, only the status of being the name that was associated with it. Now, the name didn’t carry the same status and Danny often wondered how much damage he had caused his sister, nephew, and niece by being associated with him and his criminality.

Work, manual labor, and community service: Concepts lost to Danny, but now, he is forced to do all of the above. He is assigned to laundry for bedding, and at home laundry was his to do, but the idea of cleaning or even touching these animals' linens disgusted Danny.

Half-heartedly, Danny pinches the very edges of sheets and pillow cases, some stained with feces, semen, or dip-saturated saliva, and pulls it piece by piece into the trolley until full. Once the trolley had been full, he was supposed to roll it down to the laundry department and throw them from the trolley into the machines with the proper amount of detergent. Danny was exhausted even thinking about the steps, and would typically stand back and allow the friendly guards surrounding him to do the jobs for him when they would graciously volunteer.

Most days, Danny would be able to relax, reading a local Tucson newspaper as his private security managed the dirty linens, filling the trolley, and moving it to the washing machines and loading them in properly doused with the right amount of detergent as was expected.

As Danny hides in the laundry room, reading a newspaper, the guards work beside him, sometimes even joking with him or discussing local events he would find interesting from his reading material.

“They say the election was rigged.” Danny reads out loud, “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You think so?” Officer Grant asks, “They didn’t find any evidence though.”

“Ah. You must be a democrat.” Danny suggests.

“Nah, but you gotta be able to prove it before you say it’s true.” Officer Grant says as he throws the last sheet into the machine, grabbing the detergent and twisting off the lid.

Danny just laughs.

“What’s funny?” Officer Grant asks with a smile, pouring the detergent into the machine.

“Truth and justice.” Danny turns the paper, “Enough money and you can define that however you’d like.”

The officer doesn’t say anything at first but then smiles. “You’re right.” Officer Grant submits, The officer slams the machine door, startling Danny to look up at the corner of the ceiling, where he ganders long enough to notice a cobweb. He is reminded of the spider that inspired his attack on Eric Rayne what now seems like a lifetime ago, but as he analyzes it, he realizes there is no spider or any bugs trapped in it. No predator… nor prey.

“You’ll die here…” Danny hears the officer ask, turning his attention away from the ceiling and to him.

“What?” Danny asks, his brows lowered.

“I said… “You like beer?” The officer asks, holding out a glass bottle of yuengling to offer Danny.

Danny laughs, looking back into the newspaper. “Right…”

The officer persists, re-offering it, “I’m serious, a man should be able to have a cold one once in a while. Come on, man. Nobody will know.”

Danny lowers the newspaper, he does want it, but resists. He thinks of his father and what he had created by surrendering to the bottle time and time again. He thinks of the pain that the bottle had caused his sister and Michael and himself. He resists it, but the salivating starts, he hasn’t had a drink since everything fell apart. Just a sip would quench the insatiable desire, but in truth, he knew it wouldn’t.

“Nah, I don’t think.” Danny lifts up the newspaper again.

“One beer ain’t gonna hurt ya, Dan.” The officer pressures him, and as Danny lowers the paper again, the officer winks.

“You guys insist on calling me Dan, why?” Danny asks, uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Mr. Starr.” The officer’s bottle retreats back, “Old habits die hard.”

Danny realizes the officer is genuine and feels a bit silly being so critical about the simple name alteration, and puts his hand up.

“It’s fine, Dan’s fine.” Danny says, “I’ll take the drink.”

The officer smiles, cupping the top of the bottle, and peeling off the metal cap. He extends it back out to Starr and he grabs it, lifting it, “To life in prison.”

“Oh, and in case you’re worried about it on your breath…” The officer reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag with a black powder inside.

“What is that?” Danny asks, returning after the first swig to chug it.

“It’s charcoal…” Officer Grant says, “It ain’t pleasant… but you swoosh some of that in your mouth after the drink and nobody will get a whiff. I keep it on me for times like these.”

“You walk around with a bag of charcoal in your pocket?” Danny jokes, returning the bottle to his mouth.

“Only at work.” Officer Grant smiles back, handing it over to Danny.

 

THAT NIGHT: TV HOUR

“I'm Margaret Brennan in Washington and this week on FACE THE NATION, conspiracy, corruption, and murder. Not the typical words you would associate with the world of professional wrestling, but in 2020, all those words and more became everything people would soon be saying. Legendary professional wrestler Danny Starr, of Hartford, CT, committed, what experts are calling, an ‘extraordinary reign of affluent domestic terrorism’ under the guise of billionaire philanthropist and industrial mogul Eric Rayne using military grade artificial intelligence. What seems like the works of a James Bond villain, this surreal act was only part of a string of out of this world events that would lead to the lifetime imprisonment of a once cherished member of the wrestling community…”

“Man, we can’t get away from this clown anywhere.” An inmate says, others join in chiding Danny who is sitting in an area of the room isolated from the others. Of course, guards surround him, and the show goes on.

“Put somethin’ else on!” An inmate shouts.

“Yeah, put on ESPN.” Another contributes.

A small but stocky inmate stands up and moves to the television, turning the channels until it reaches Sports Center. They are discussing the politics of the NFL, appeasing the group of inmates, to Danny’s disapproval.

“You can tell them you were watchin’ that, Dan.” Officer Shyrock leans in and says to Danny.

“I’m good.” Danny says.

“Craig, I don’t know what you’re smokin’ but sports just isn’t the same after this past summer.” says Steve Levy.

“That’s true, Steve.” Craig Bengtson says, “Even if it is Sports ENTERTAINMENT, it begs the question could “Danny Starr” happen to the NFL?”

“Jesus christ!” An inmate bursts out, “You fuckin’ kidding me?”

The same small inmate stands up, heading for the TV again, switching the channel one by one.

“I bet he’s feelin’ all kinds of Sensations where he’s at!”

Next channel...

“CTN stocks rising again after distancing itself from Danny Starr…”

Next channel…

“Tonight, on local news… Something wicked this way comes… after fears of assassination, Danny Starr has been transferred too close to home for some in the Tucson area…”

“This is nuts…” An inmate says, turning to Starr, “This guy gets special fuckin’ treatment and we gotta sit here and watch him during our TV hour? This is fucked up man.”

“Sit down, Jose.” A guard bares his teeth,

“Nah, FUCK that.” Jose becomes increasingly aggressive, refusing to sit.

“You want to go you know where? Again?” the same guard stands up, grabbing his taser at the side. For a moment, it seems Jose considers rushing him, but sits down, protesting to himself.

“Just put on world news.” Officer Davis suggests, “Danny Starr is an American topic.”

Another inmate stands up, flipping the channel to ABC World News that has already started.

“...Believed to be the sole actor in the killings of the group’s members. With five dead, two missing, and one being transferred to a high-security state prison, the High Society was recently an unknown private club of some of the wealthiest and prominent in media and energy. People like Steven Fury and his wife Mary Jane were found brutally murdered in a safe house awaiting trial, Johnathon Keeper, revealed recently to have been involved with high-profile under-aged sex trafficking, was found dead in a visitation lobby while serving 35 years. Corwin Havens, exposed for driving under the influence leading to vehicular homicide found dead in isolation during his prison sentence. Tony Gold was found dead in his apartment out on bond. Scarlett Rayne Sengir and Brandon Kayros both missing and the common thread between all of them is this man.

William Keen, who authorities apprehended in Italy, refuses to answer to anything but the name “Baphomet” as he is the leader of an underground cult called “The Left Hand.” Some might remember the name from the events of 2007 where, live on television, the Circle Television Network went into dead air after one of the cult members led an insurrection on the broadcast. It was short-lived, but at the time, it’s assumed that none other than Danny Starr had been running the CTN under the guise of billionaire philanthropist and energy mogul Eric Rayne.”

“Fake news..” Danny mutters, “He didn’t have billions. And why do they keep saying he was a philanthropist.”

“Keen was apprehended at a wrestling event where he was cited for threats of violence against some of their roster, and suspected in the assassination plot of the High Society members. He is currently awaiting extradition to the United States where he will be tried, and if convicted, could face the death penalty in Texas. We will surely keep you updated when more information becomes present.” Says David Muer.

“TIME!” A guard calls out to the dismay of the entire room.

“Man, what the fuck… that hour shouldn’t count!” An inmate protests.

“It was the Danny Starr hour!” Another yells out, “Even that last shit ended up talkin’ about him.”

As procedure, the other inmates are forced to exit first, and when they are cleared out, the guards will escort Danny out safetly. Only, tonight, when the last prisoner exits, the guards stop Danny before he can leave his chair.

“Don’t worry about it, Dan.” Officer Davis says with a wink, “Prison rules is you get an hour of uninterrupted television. Those guys wouldn’t shut up so you can take another hour.”

“What?” Danny asks, “Really?”

“Yeah!” Officer Reynolds waves him to stay seated, “We got you.”

Danny nods, almost smiling, prison isn’t that bad. He already expected special treatment, but he was becoming comfortable with his entourage, and it was clear that they felt about the other animals the same way Danny felt about them.

“What do you wanna watch?” Officer Davis asks, moving toward the television.

“Fine right where it’s at.” Danny says, sitting back against his chair and propping his feet up on an empty chair in front of him.

“We’ll be back after this.” David Muer says.

The first commercial is an advertisement for a cellular phone, nothing special, but the song that was chosen for the background stabs Danny in his stomach. That sick feeling comes back and his hand moves to brace it as he feels his anxiety climb. The song, “The Search is Over” by Survivor can be heard playing and the images blur, the music slows down, and Danny’s mind goes dull as he thinks about the girl he had once found and lost.

He remembers her curled brown hair swaying over her bare shoulders, swinging like a pendulum over the thin dark straps of her midnight blue dress as they share their first slow dance. The song that played as their eyes refused to break it’s intimate gaze only solidified their feelings for one another. The lyrics telling their story as their bodies embraced, their hearts fluttering as much as their stomachs, the melody caressing their souls and for the first time, Danny didn’t feel like the monster. He didn’t focus on his anger or his hate or his need for control, instead, he was open to new possibilities. He was willing to let go of conviction and direct it towards love for the sake of love itself. His path leading to then was a rampage of toxic masculinity and the thirst for power but in that moment, what was missing from his life had been found… his search was over.

“It’s your fault.” Danny hears Davis say.

“What did you say?” Danny turns to the officer, irritated.

“It’s your call…” Davis repeats, “You want another beer?”

“No… no, i’m not feeling well.” Danny says, holding his stomach.

“You want to head back so you can rest?” Officer Davis asks.

“Yeah, I think so.” Danny says.

The walk back to the cell is solemn, his stomach hurts from the stress of revisiting the ghost of Jenn Copelin, and the idea that his connection to Eric Rayne led to her death. He always blamed himself for the car malfunctioning, but in truth, Eric was responsible and yet, Danny now blamed himself for that.

He gets to his cell, and nearly falls to the floor as the anxiety weighs down on him.

“You okay, Dan?” Officer Davis checks, “You almost stepped on your sunglasses.”

Danny, now on the bed, looks down at what the officer was pointing at.

“It’s fine.” Danny says, laying on his back, “They’re broken anyway.”

Danny lays back, holding his stomach, and curling over to his side. He hears the door to his cell lock and the foot steps of Officer Davis and Officer Reynolds weaken as they leave his block. Lights go off and, as the sole prisoner in his block, gets a quiet, uninterrupted sleep.

He dreams of happier moments. He dreams of childhood with Cassandra without the demons of their abusive drunk father, or their overbearing mother. He dreamed many dreams that night, not once a nightmare, but of some of the happiest times in his life, from winning the Last Man Standing tournament, to mocking Fred Durst. He dreamed of Mark Crow and Kory Storm swimming in their makeshift swimming pool in his backyard, being served lemonades by Jenn. He dreams of Monica’s smile and of Eric’s poker nights. There was potential for happiness that was buried inside of his nostalgic memory, but reality and the problems of life had squandered the potential at every turn. In the dream world, there was no jealousy or hate… even Ron Royalty had a place in Danny’s subconscious that was warm and friendly. Memories of Tommy lighting up to find out he was worthy enough to run his company, or Evan’s big heart always there to support Danny and the FOS. He dreamed of Sawyer’s growth and even a memory of Sett and he sharing a laugh or two. Moments when he smelled Marijuana coming from Grimjack’s locker room, and sharing an unwanted party tray with Syren and Tristan when they were the only ones early to a show. In another universe, there was potential for these happy moments to multiply, but this universe just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe, somewhere out in the cosmos, exists a place similar to this world where Danny and Cassandra were still close, or Michael and Danny were a team into old age, maybe even a place where his father was a good man and his mother was his best friend.

 

THE NEXT MORNING

 

An abrasive and unwelcome brightness disturbs Danny right through his eyelids, he rolls his face away, squinting to sustain the darkness, but then his ears are attacked by approaching footsteps echoing with each foot, closer and closer until he recognizes Davis voice, “You got mail.” followed by the sound of a thick plob to the surface on his side of the bars. The footsteps walk away as quick as they came, and the faint sound of the security door at the end of the hall opens with a squeal.

“Thanks…” Danny musters the words through a well rested yawn, rolling over and fighting to see through the glare of the oppressive fluorescent light above him. He squints his eyes to resist it and sees a white envelope with STARR written across the back in black permanent marker.

He rolls himself out of the bed, his shoes still on from his early bedtime, and collects himself before reaching down to grab the letter. He evaluates both sides of the envelope and when he sees the address on it, he is shocked, pausing in time to question its validity. After a moment of trying to process it, he tears open the envelope and slides out the folded paper that is inside. He unfolds it and a picture of Jenn, his beloved, falls from it and onto the floor. He looks down between his legs at her face and realizes it’s the picture from his desk back at the High Society headquarters.

“How…” Danny wonders for a moment and then thinks to start reading the surprising letter from his old friend.

 

Danny,

I know you’ve refused visitation and so I’m forced to resort to other means of contacting you. Such a simple concept… writing a letter to a friend; almost foreign to me now because of the way the world operates. We live in a digital age, but I don’t have to tell you that… do I? When the HWA closed down, all those years ago, it seemed as if our sins had come back to haunt us. For four years, I paid for mine inside a secret underground laboratory, tortured every day. I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember feeling that I “deserved” it. You and I, we became vile and disgusting human beings. We let the power get to our ahead, made ourselves believe that we were above reproach. It wasn’t until we ventured into the GWA together, when we were shown just how weak and insignificant we were, that I changed. I saw the change in you too; you were humbled and you were in love. Jenn Copelin brought out the best in you and I hadn’t seen you that happy since your sister left. Cassandra leaving, that was my fault… I never admitted that, not even to myself. I could’ve done something – anything – to make her stay, but I let fear dictate my decisions. Just like the night Jenn died, I could’ve saved her life, brought her back to you, but I chose not to. I know you know what I am… the “freak” that I’ve become… and I wish I had been the one to tell you in person. Maybe if I had trusted you, I wouldn’t have been trapped in my purgatory as long as I was. Maybe if I had trusted you, I could’ve been there at your side when you finally took down the High Society. I know the things that you’ve done, Danny – and in society’s eyes they may be “unforgiveable”… but you are – and always will be – my brother, and I will never turn my back on you. The road to redemption is not an easy one but you’ve walked it before and, with me by your side, you will walk it again. For ten years Danny, I looked for you… I never gave up on you then, I’m not about to start now… whether you like it or not. When you’re ready, I’ll be here… waiting…

Salutations,

Michael Diamond

A tear drops on Michael’s name. Danny lowers the letter to his lap so he can put his hands over his face in torment. He realizes he became the same thing he thought he was fighting. He had ruined his redemption, He collects himself, and sees the picture on the floor. He reaches down and retrieves it, holding it under his face as new tears begin to blur his vision.

He misses her. He misses Michael and Cass as well. He misses his family. He had to at least tell them how he felt once and for all. On suicide watch, writing letters was restricted but… Danny knew he was in with the guards.

“Davis!” Danny tries to call out, but his throat fails him. He clears his throat and tries again, “DAVIS!” But no answer.

“REYNOLDS!” He calls out, “Can I get a pen and paper!”

Nothing.

“Where are they…” Danny wonders.

He stands up, both Michael’s letter and Jenn’s picture fall to the floor next to the broken sunglasses. He moves, listening to any activity as he gets close to the bars, grabbing them and trying to peek at an angle between them to see as far right or left as he can, but can’t see entirely.

“Weird…” Danny says.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound startles Danny and his cell door unlocks, jerking his hands forward as it opens freely. He is confused, going no further as the door swings open, and still nobody comes.

“Officer Grant?” Danny calls out, wondering if shifts had changed and his other officer guards had come in by now. Still nothing. He looks up and the camera is facing him but the red light is off. He peeks his head out of the cell and sees an empty block, all the camera’s in their normal positions, all with their red lights off.

He walks out slowly, cautiously wandering further and further from his cell, unsure of what is happening. He sees at the end of the block, the security door is wide open, with the shoulders of two prison officers on the opposite side of the doorway as if they are guarding each side.

“Reynolds?” Danny calls out again. This time, the officer on the right side turns his face enough that Danny can recognize it’s Davis.

“Dan… you got two minutes before those cameras come back online!” Davis calls back with a hint of urgency in his voice, “Make it quick!”

Danny tries to rationalize his words, but there’s only one option. This is it. This is Danny’s chance to escape this imprisonment. His pace quickens as he rushes towards the open door, the light of his dark tunnel is right there and freedom, is once again, in his grasp. He remembers what he had said to Grant, “Truth and Justice are defined by those who could afford it!” He can’t help but smile as he gets closer to his exit.

His eye on the prize, he doesn’t react when he first hears the commotion behind him, and before he can, he is stopped short from his escape by another grabbing him, forcing a sharp object to his throat. He’s confused as he feels the point touching his neck, no longer free to move forward, being held against his will.

“They weren’t talking to you, Starr.” The man’s voice speaks right into Danny’s ears, “Not everything’s about you!” With sudden realization, he recognizes Dan Randolph’s unmistakable voice, and before his fear can enter his thoughts, a sharp and excruciating sting begins at his neck and tears across his throat to the other side. A throbbing sensation consumes every ounce of attention and he is released to stand free, but only interested in lifting his hands to his open throat. He feels the warm blood flow over both of his hands and to the floor as the throbbing enters each side of hsi skull, feeling his head grow lighter and lighter, it becomes more like a constant state of deja vu as he tries to say Jenn’s name but can’t flex the muscles needed to produce even a syllable of it vocally. He sees Randolph drop the weapon in front of him as he falls to his knees, watching him exit, and the police he indulged rush in and lock the door behind them. Davis lets Reynolds lock up while he approaches Danny, leaning down and grabbing the weapon off of the floor where it was dropped. Everything is a dream now, even as both officers grab his arms away from his bleeding throat, he is without fight as they drag him back to his cell and toss him to the floor. Davis then tosses the sharp object down next to him as he gurgles and trembles on the floor. He struggles to do anything as the cell door is locked with him inside, dying in a puddle of his own crimson mess. He crawls like a sloth, reaching desperately for the next inch of floor in front of him, but there’s nowhere to go. With a final heartbeat, he lands stomach down, one hand over Jenn’s picture, the other over Michael’s letter.

 

“Breaking news on this Thursday morning,” Lester Holt interrupts the morning show, “It has been reported from Tuscon State Penitentary in Arizona that Danny Starr has committed suicide and is confirmed deceased despite being under suicide watch. Investigators have confirmed that Starr had managed to inflict fatal injuries to himself using the shards of a pair of sunglasses that were said to have been smuggled in illegally. More on this as information becomes available.”

 

BACK IN TUSCON, AZ

 

The cell is swarming with police and federal investigators as Danny Starr is rolled out on a gurney passed Officer Davis, Reynolds, and Grant. As he is rolled out of the building at the check in, the three officers watch out of the window as he is loaded into an ambulance. A door opens up and in walks Officer Dimartino to join the guys.

“Ah, shit face is no more, eh?” Officer Dimartino jokes.

“Looks like it.” Davis responds.

“Ah, well.” Officer Dimartino shrugs, the other three turn to face him.

“On behalf of the dark.” Officer Dimartino lifts his left hand and so do the others.

“On behalf of the dark.” The three officers say in unison before separating to continue the rest of their work day.