Majestic cup match

(Triple Threat(one fall to a finish) House of Horrors match)

A cage, weapons, TI, Drakus and Deadzone...A true formula for chaos and bloodshed. Drakus has been impressive as of late, TI is a true legend and Deadzone a definate up and comer.

(Stipulations: A match with many weapons suspended from steel chains around the ring, with a side of a steel cage attached to a side of the ring.)

The breeze feels good on their faces. The drinks cool their insides. The feeling of refreshment is matched only by the feeling of accomplishment. Aboard one of Shadow's extravagant vessels, the members of Infinity drink in their success in between swallows of champagne, beer, and various vodka incarnations.

There are a few extra passengers on board: some of the North Atlantic's finest and loveliest. Highone licks his lips as he steals a glance at some of the goods offered by the one on his lap. Shadow leans against the bar, enjoying his associates enjoying his resources. Hardy discreetly refuses one voluptuous number's advance. Even though she's a working girl, she can't help but let a little hurt show at being rejected. But for Hardy it was necessary.

Even as the liquor and lust flows so naturally, Shadow feels it necessary to stop the proceedings ever so briefly. He turns down the music and steps into the midst of them.

Shadow: Gentlemen...another fine event the other night!

Sounds of celebration arise from the group as DeSean and Hardy each raise their glasses and drink. Highone just wants a taste of what she's got under there...

Shadow: I would say that it's amazing what we've accomplished as a group, as well as what we've yet to accomplish. But really...is it that amazing? True, our talent is amazing, our resources, the amount of championships...but given our individual histories and now what we've already done in the short time that we've been together, it is amazing....but not surprising. It is incredible...but expected. We've broken the mold as far as the traditional faction goes. We are the elite, and ONLY the elite. No low-level flunkies, no 'young guns' that we can 'put over'...

DeSean coughs. Shadow looks at him for a moment. Hardy shrugs. The Technician has a point.

Shadow: Okay...we've got a young gun...but we know what he's capable of and that's why he's here!

More shouts of celebration as Hardy drinks again. Highone...just wants...a taste...Hammer simply stands an observes, much more reticent to engage in revelry.

Shadow: The point is, gentlemen...that this tournament belongs to us. There may come a point where the only ones left standing are Infinity and we will have to choose among our own who will take that Majestic Cup and that title shot. That's an excellent problem to have, as far as I'm concerned! Cheers!

Further shouts as the group toasts and drinks once again. Grinning, Shadow steps back toward the bar and turns the music back up.

It is at this moment that one of their two absent members appears for the first time. The silver paint glistens in the Atlantic sun. Wherever he goes, he tends to stick out like a sore thumb, and on a boat full of people dressed for this warm summer day, a man in all black does that.

TI steps to the bar and orders a martini. Shadow looks over at him and pats him on the back. TI is incredulous that he'd do so, but accepts that in the life of a faction there are a lot of pats on the back involved. It's the least of his concerns.

Shadow: Glad you finally made an appearance. You're part of why this group can celebrate today.

TI: "And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream."

TI looks toward his companion and sips from his martini. Shadow nods, impressed.

Shadow: Yeah...exactly.

TI: Do you have anything for me on these two yuks I'm facing this week?

Shadow: I have a more complete portfolio downstairs, but the cliffs notes read like this: one's stuck in the early part of last century and the other...

Shadow trails off. TI snaps his fingers and brings back the eye contact.

TI: The other...what?

Shadow: I'll just say the other may be close to your own heart. Look, the file is downstairs. I'll get it to you. In the meantime, have a few more drinks! Relax!

TI: I don't drink to relax. I don't drink to celebrate. I simply drink because I can. Because I want to.

Shadow: That's...fucked up, in a way.

TI: It is, isn't it? And yet, what is the rest of our group doing right now? Nuzzling a whore's tits, that one drinking underage, not denying ourselves anything, not lacking for anything...and why? Only to celebrate, as if these actions are special or unique, something these men won't do again tomorrow? Or is it because they can, because something is there in front of them and they find no reason to deny themselves, to take these things in moderation or to withdraw completely?

It's fucked up, Shadow, but it's what we're all doing. Imbibe because you can. Screw because you can. Smoke because you can. Fight and take and fondle and destroy, all because you and I can. There's no other reason, no higher purpose for it than that.

Shadow: But there IS a higher purpose, my friend. Glory. Glory in our accomplishments and glory in and of ourselves.

TI: But at what price, glory?

Shadow: Any price. We can afford it.

TI leans in. Shadow thinks better of backing away and keeps his eye contact lest he insult his black-clad partner.

TI: We can afford it...but regardless, glory has potential to break the bank.


___________________

Back in New York, all those months ago on an evening getting ever later and later, The Insomniac's hand went right for his drinking partner's throat, but he was caught at the wrist. TI's palm met the bartop with a loud thump, inviting a few curious looks from other patrons. His breathing was heavy, his teeth clenched. The other man's grip tightened. TI locked eyes with his adversary, a fiery malice growing hotter in the depths of his corneas.

The other man leaned in so that only the painted one could hear...

Man: Listen...I expected that reaction. I get it...

TI: You don't get SHIT...

Man: I GET...that this is a sore subject for you. It is a wound that keeps getting ripped open, that never has a full chance to heal because so many choose to pick at it. I'm the latest to do so. But here in this place with so many others to see...it's not proper. You're a theatrical being, I know...but what if I told you that your wound could be properly sewn up? What if I told you that I could help you stitch it up, straight and with no scarring?

The man tested his protagonist's anxiety level by ever-so-slightly loosening his grip. The Insomniac made no move. The man loosened a little more, and a little more, until the two of them were back in their chairs at the bar.

For a very long time, TI kept both hands on his glass, staring into the formation of ice peeking out of a bourbon sea. He thought about drowning in it. He thought about rising above it. He thought about seeing through it, dimly at first and then more clear.

Without looking up, he spoke.

TI: Who the hell are you?

The man gave the side of his nose a rub before turning back toward The Insomniac. Now we were getting somewhere. Now perhaps we could truly begin. He looked over this man with all his layers, his past actions and the causes and effects that had brought him to a hotel bar at midnight. Once the man gave his identity, things were set into motion. Perhaps we could move beyond rage into the series of questions and answers that would bring this sleepless lunatic to his proper role.

It was time.

Man: Insomniac, this is a beginning for you. For you to ask who I am is to ask what I'm about, why I contacted you, and why you're sitting here right now. My name is Jeremiah.

TI: "For I know the plans that I have for you..."

Jeremiah smiled.

J: Exactly.

As The Insomniac began his nightly prowling around the island, he made sure to breathe deeply. The cool night air on this land should tell him something. What could he smell? What could he feel? There are moments when one may be able to gauge his surroundings, the environment into which he's stepped simply by breathing. Perhaps this particular night he would feel anticipation from his foes, a sense of fear or uncertainty. In this moment, there was no stench of conspiracy on his nostrils, no twitch of jealousy in his lungs, no ripple of tension on his skin. He only breathed the salty air and felt the breeze off the ocean.

TI began his stroll. He felt no hurry in seeking out his opponents. These were two men with something to prove...they'd probably seek him first. His was a position of defending the mountain from other climbers...in this case, without championships. This was more about reputation.

It always had been, ever since The Insomniac had begun barrelling toward the 411 World Title years back. His reputation put others on the defensive, had been a challenge to others in itself...a challenge to make their own on his. It was the reason Infinity asked him to join. His very presence could inspire something.

And now...here were Deadzone and Drakus. They were familiar to each other, but not to him. Meanwhile, he was already familiar to them. It might not seem fair to some. To TI...well...he just kept on strolling through the streets of his latest temporary home, hoping to get a better read on what was in store for him.

The boardwalk was almost deserted. Either people were waiting for the nightlife to truly kick in or they simply weren't interested. He found the latter hard to believe in the middle of summer. Perhaps in this particular part of the island the freaks came out later. He'd merely benefitted from a head start.

TI approached the railing and took in the sound of waves crashing onto the sand, the surf retreating back and the fizzle of bubbles. A few feet to his right, a young dark-complected couple also took in the evening air. TI observed their gestures toward one another, the fresh love that promised protection and security, the idealism contained in an embrace, the dreams unspoken in a kiss on the forehead.

TI: You know...a long time ago, I was in a three-way...

The couple reacted with almost identical sideways glances. The Insomniac notices this and chuckles at their prudishness.

TI: Not THAT kind of three-way. I mean a triple threat match. Not this most recent one where I ripped those two numnuts apart like tissue paper...I mean one where two guys really had something that they wanted me to know about them...their passion, their heart...it showed.

The couple moves on down the boardwalk. TI notices, but he wasn't really speaking to them anyway. He speaks into the night, into the ocean. Perhaps he can seal it in a bottle and have his opponents find it before they drown.

TI: These two...didn't get me. They ripped off line after cliched line about being the best. They figured they could get me riled up with their best 'Yo momma' bullshit, dick and fart nonsense. I quoted Thoreau to them, they responded with Dr. Seuss. No seriously, they literally did that. I didn't know whether to be insulted by their lack of understanding or their thinking that this is only about wrestling, only about trash-talk that's only worth anything if it helps buy you a win. What will this new pair bring? What will they offer? What are their goals?

TI continues down the boardwalk, tapping his cane on the wood before making the transition to concrete and brick, on into the city. It was time to get his questions answered...

But first, he had a call to make.

The boardwalk was filling up now. Bands were doing soundchecks, people ordering drinks. Newlyweds meandered up and down looking for the place to spend their evening. TI was only looking for a phone. He finally spotted one near a bench occupied by a few dudes, obviously looking for the stars of Girls Gone Wild. TI let out a sigh as he deposited his money and dialed...

Voice: Hello.

TI: Where is he?

Voice: Who the hell is this?

TI: It's The Insomniac, motherfucker.

Voice: Oh, sorry, TI. I've been a little preoccupied with my own problems. Some asshole blew up my boat...

TI: No piece of you has died. Get over it. Listen up. Where are the two hapless ones I'm facing this week? Surely you've got someone tailing all our cannon fodder.

Voice: Oh yeah...hold on, lemme put you on hold and place another call.

TI rolled his eyes as the line clicked and he listened to silence. The meatheads on the bench had been eyeing this strange character's outfit. Who wore all black in the Bahamas? TI notices them noticing him and grins. They start whispering to one another and the one stands to approach. This would end up being their entertainme-

The first meathead suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by the throat thanks to the handle of TI's cane. The other meathead took a few steps forward.

TI: Tracheas are delicate things, my friend. Are you sure you don't want to just crawl under a beer bong this fine evening and forget that you ever made this stupid decision?

The meathead on the ground tries to speak, but the most he gets out is a garbled mess. TI lets up and the meathead scurries backwards and leans against the bench. He's helped away by his friend, who mutters some obscenities about 'this freak.'

TI: "Lord, what fools these mortals be."

The line clicks back on.

Shadow: TI?

TI: What do you have for me?

Shadow: A bar near the stadium. Deadzone. Freya's in the area, too.

TI: Is that the token chick?

Shadow: Yeah.

TI: Mm. Don't care. What about the other one?

Shadow: I haven't checked in with that source yet. Just the one. You want me to-?

TI: Nah. This'll be a good start. Now go play with your dinghy.

TI slams down the reciever and begins his walk. Luckily he hadn't wandered too far from the stadium to begin with. As he walks he continues to take in his surroundings...it's pretty much what you'd expect in this area...tourist hell. People just married and on their 50th anniversary, college and high school trust fund groupies with their parents' credit cards, all sorts of shirts with idiotic references to drinking. This, too, was because they could...but it wouldn't last. Theirs was a life of finitude under the philosophy that 'tomorrow we die.' TI sniffed the air again and inhaled the cloud of despair around him. He felt a trace of sadness for them...but buried it quickly. He'd deal with that later.

Ahead of him was the resort that Shadow told him about. As he walked in, he collected the usual looks from the clientele. However, it was only the figure at the bar that he wanted.

TI: What's up, Sherlock?

Deadzone looked over and flinched.

TI: Relax. I love causing scenes, but now is not the time. Let me ask you a question, since you're obviously a little nervous. What are you going to do this week that will knock my black socks off?

DZ: What?

TI: What will you do over the next 4-5 days that is going to sew up this match for you? I'll give you a hint: it's not pissing your pants.

Deadzone knew about this. He read about TI's penchant for words. His fist began to close into a ball.

TI: Careful. Do you know how to use that thing?

DZ: Listen, fella. I've been reading up on you. I know how this part works. Ya come in here, swagger around and insult me, and ya think ya got me beat. Lemme tell ya something though...ya wanna roughhouse, I can fuckin' roughhouse.

TI: Really? Looks like you already lost a fight with a glass of beer. What makes you think you'll do better against me?

DZ: 'Cause "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

TI raises an eyebrow and faux claps.

DZ: Don't gimme that crap, fella. I mean it. Ya know how I know I can beat you? 'Cause you bleed, just like everyone else. You'll hit the floor I knock you with a chair to the head. You'll wince in pain I choke you with the ring ropes. Your Shakespeare'll be all garbled I knock your teeth out. Screw your mind games. I got two soupbones says they don't mean shit.

TI: They'll mean all the shit in the world, and the stench will suffocate you to the point that I only have to push you over. The chick who did this to you doesn't have anything on ME.

DZ: "There is nothing I love as much as a good fight."

TI: Hm. Roosevelt is two for two.

DZ: And I'll be one for one against you.

TI is visibly impressed by the brass balls on his technicolored opponent.

TI: You'll be a fun one. I can see this'll be a no-bullshit kind of week.

DZ: That depends...how much more bullshit can I expect from you, fella?

TI's demeanor now darkens considerably. He leans in real close and speaks almost at a whisper.

TI: I appreciate that you're willing to go toe to toe with me. Not many have really shown that and made me believe it. But you think about this...you know my traits, my tendencies, my moves, my accomplishments. You've read them and you've memorized them. But how much good would reading about waltzes do you if you've never actually danced with your own demons, let alone someone else's?

TI steps back and looks into Deadzone's stern, now unflinching eyes.

TI: "Of much study is a weariness of the flesh." You ever heard that one?

With that, TI takes his cane off the bar and makes his exit.

Deadzone's fist doesn't unclench for another ten minutes.

NASSAU, BAHAMAS

A night breeze rustles through the palms. Drakus stands on his hotel balcony, staring out into the darkness. Even with the lights of the city in the distance and the sounds of people on the streets and beaches below, he feels alone and hidden. Out of habit, he looks over both shoulders to be sure. Finally, reassured of his solitude, Drakus allows himself a smile of self-satisfaction.

Memories of breaking RDV's neck and stringing up Stan DeVille give Drakus his reason for grinning. When he first heard what was at stake in this tournament, Drakus vowed to himself that he would use his hangman match to make a statement to the whole lockerroom. He succeeded beyond his expectations. The human wreckage in the ring put them all on notice, let them all see exactly what's waiting for anyone who stands between him and his destiny. He didn't just win the match, he destroyed two men. And that was only the beginning.

Eyes closed, feeling warm wind on his face, Drakus still hears the hotel room door open. His hands tighten on the balcony railing, muscles tense, until the voice of the visitor relaxes him.

Pryce: "Isn't it a bit dark in here?"

His attorney turns on the light. Mr. Pryce has a metal bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne inside. He holds it up for his client.

Pryce: "Something to celebrate your first step toward ultimate victory."

Drakus takes the glass offered to him.

Drakus: "The pleasure was all mine."

Pryce: "I'm quite sure of that."

The champagne is sweet. Pryce's next words are sweeter.

Pryce: "DeVille is gone."

Drakus: "Dead?"

Pryce can't help but chuckle at the distinct lack of concern or empathy in Drakus' tone.

Pryce: "No, I meant it quite literally. He's disappeared, nowhere to be found. I'm told our new commissioner is more than a bit put out by his unexpected absence."

Drakus: "He ran ... good."

Pryce: "One could come to that conclusion."

Drakus: "I know he ran. Heh, some devil, one little taste of death and he turns tail."

Drakus drains the rest of his champagne.

Drakus: "So, who's next?"

Pryce: "You know me too well already ..."

From his attache case, Pryce produces a thick folder.

Pryce: "I've compiled a complete dossier on your opponents."

Drakus: "More than one?"

Pryce: "Two opponents, like your last match. And this will also be one fall to a finish."

Drakus runs a finger across the surface of the folder, anticipating the contents, eager as a child on Christmas eve.

Drakus: "Stipulation?"

Pryce: "See for yourself."

The first page of the folder is the official memo, printed on brand new Twisted Championship Wrestling stationary.

Drakus: "Yessssss ..."

The memo reads: "House of Horrors match: A match with many weapons suspended from steel chains around the ring, with a side of a steel cage attached to a side of the ring." Drakus is grinning from ear to ear when he looks up at his attorney.

Drakus: "Did you do this for me, Pryce?"

Pryce: "I sincerely wish I could claim responsibility. However, this is sheer luck -- perhaps even divine providence."

Drakus: "It's perfect."

Pryce: "And the opponents?"

First, Drakus zeroes in on a name he knows too well -- DeadZone. The name brought back bitter memories of defeat. The little shit made him look bad in his return match at Bedlam, then cost him a shot at the Bleeder title thanks to Stallion's interference. The Mancini family has already paid for that little stunt with blood, but so far Drakus hasn't had the pleasure of making DeadZone scream in agony until his voice gives out. Now his audience wouldn't just be a dimly-lit room, the way it had been with Jaguar. No, DeadZone's mutilation will be live and in color for the whole world to see. What happened to RDV and Stan DeVille will seem like sweet mercy in comparison.

Pryce: "I'm sure there's not much more you need to know about DeadZone. The other man, however ..."

The Titanium Insomniac.

Drakus: "Infinity again."

Another humiliation to avenge. Too bad it wasn't the Technician himself, but one pompous fool is as good as another.

Pryce: "Don't confuse this one with Mr. Blackwell. Unlike the so-called 'Technician,' Mr. Hoffman is an accomlished competitor. He was world champion of 411."

Drakus: "Yeah, was ... gettin' old now."

If Drakus' experiences in the penal system had taught him anything, it was that inflated reputations don't count for much -- they just scare away the weak-willed ones. An old dog can survive for a while on respect won from long-ago battles, but sooner or later a younger, meaner dog comes along. When that happens, history doesn't matter, only tooth and claw.

Drakus: "He loves to talk, doesn't he?"

Pryce: "That certainly seems to be the case, if his diatribe at Endgame was any indication."

Drakus: "Maybe that's all he is."

Pryce simply shrugs. The attorney casually strolls across the hotel room, to the balcony, and looks outside. He glances back at Drakus, raises one eyebrow, and speaks in a deliberately offhanded tone.

Pryce: "By the way, I think you should know that several men have been following you since you arrived in the Bahamas."

Drakus' fists clench, crushing the dossier in his hand. His nostrils flare as he turns to make eye contact with Pryce.

Drakus: "Who ... were ... they ... working ... for?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Titanium Insomniac opens the door to his hotel room. Something crunches under his boot. The Insomniac raises his cane, using it to turn on the lights. The first thing he sees is a man, dressed like a typical tourist, lying face-down in a bloody heap on the room's floor, covered in broken glass from a picture frame, which now lies in pieces next to him. A glance toward the partially open bathroom door reveals a second man, sprawled in the bathtub, his reflection visible in the cracked bathroom mirror. Several bloody smears mar the white tile. The shower curtain is broken in two, discarded on the floor.

A heavily muscled, tattooed man sits on Titanium Insomniac's bed, hands folded, as if waiting to catch a bus. But the hands are stained red, and they clutch a slightly dented fire extinguisher. The rude visitor stares at Titanium Insomniac.

Drakus: "These are yours."

Titanium Insomniac: "You just can't find good help these days."

Drakus: "The next ones you send won't get off so easy."

Titanium Insomniac shrugs.

Titanium Insomniac: "They're disposable."

Drakus: "I know."

The cane is still raised, ready to be swung.

Titanium Insomniac: "Is that all, or have you come to tell me that you're the best of the best, you're going to kick my ass, etcetera?"

Drakus: "Your wife died, daughter too."

The hint of bemusement in Titanium Insomniac's voice disappers.

Titanium Insomniac: "Better men than you have tried to ..."

Drakus cuts him off.

Drakus: "There was this girl. I was still a kid, stupid. She made me think I could be happy. We were gonna be together forever like in a movie ... then somebody caved her skull in. I got home that night, expected she'd be waitin' for me. Instead I found her lying there on the floor. I knew she was dead right away, even before I saw all the blood. It was the way she was laying, see, it just wasn't right, wasn't natural. I didn't do CPR, didn't call 911 for a good five minutes. I just stared, tried to make believe it wasn't happening. Her chest wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing. When I finally got up the nerve to touch her, she was already starting to get cold."

Drakus stops, tightens his grip on the fire extinguisher.

Drakus: "She was the last good thing, maybe the only good thing. I wanted to kiss her goodbye, at least ... I just couldn't do it. Her face ... wasn't much left that still looked like her. I think I threw up, but I don't really remember."

Titanium Insomniac: "Should I find myself moved to tears by the pathos of it all?"

Drakus slowly stands, cradling the fire extinguisher.

Drakus: "At first everybody thought I did it. I never, ever laid a hand on her ... but everybody looked at me and saw a guy who could do a thing like that to the girl he loved more than anything in the whole world. They looked at me, and they saw a murderer. Even after all the witnesses and evidence that said it couldn't have been me, I still got those looks. So, Mr. Insomniac, what do you see when you look at me?"

Titanium Insomniac: "Another sad story, one more verse in the endless litany of human suffering. Pity it doesn't make you special, and it doesn't mean a damn thing. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Drakus takes a step forward.

Drakus: "It means something for you. I can see it on your face, even through that makeup of yours."

Titanium Insomniac: "Ah yes, that's all rubes like you see when they look at me, but they soon learn to rue their poor judgement."

Drakus takes another step, hoists the fire extinguisher higher.

Drakus: "I don't care what you say ..."

Titanium Insomniac: "Ah, that makes two of us."

Drakus: "... because I know you."

Titanium Insomniac: "What you know wouldn't fill a post-it note."

Drakus' lip curls, baring his teeth.

Drakus: "I know."

Both men are within striking distance of each others' weapons. Neither says a word, each waiting for the other to speak, or to attack first. Titanium Insomniac considers his options, methods of attack, possible outcomes. He keeps the cane raised, but turns aside and bows slightly, making an "after you" gesture with his free hand. Drakus cocks his head to one side, snorts, and walks past Titanium Insomniac, out the door. A few seconds later, Titanium Insomniac hears the extinguisher hit the carpeted floor. He cautiously peers into the hall, watching Drakus go for a few seconds, then looks back to the unconscious, badly beaten men in his hotel room.

The former world champion steps over the debris, kicking away pieces of broken glass. He picks up the hotel room phone and begins dialing.

The other end rings once.

The Insomniac once again surveys the unconscious lackey near the door. The trail of blood began to seep into the carpet. There is still no movement from him, although some stirring and moaning can be heard in the bathroom. TI guesses that it had only taken the one shot from the picture judging from there only being one concentrated place on the floor around which the shards had fallen. And a fire extinguisher...one is all it ever takes. Anything after that indicates malice, perhaps even pleasure.

The other end rings twice.

TI begins to recount the conversation: the tattooed man's coldness, his indifference toward violence, whether he felt any sense of loss, his insistence that he "knows" TI. Shadow's words on the boat creep back into active memory: "The other one...is close to your own heart."

The girl. A tragedy. It alters your life. It alters your psyche.

The Insomniac knows something about that. That's why Drakus told him.

The other end rings for a third time and finally someone picks up.

Shadow: Hello.

TI: I've got two of your flunkies on my hotel floor.

Shadow: Which two?

TI: How the hell should I know their names? They're the ones who were tailing the sociopath.

Shadow: Is it messy?

TI: I'm gonna be charged for the carpet stains, but we don't need to call in a cleaner, if that's what you're asking. You obviously don't screen these guys for their expertise in stealth.

Shadow: So...do you understand what I meant now?

TI: Yes. A tale of woe that gives way to anger. A flair for violent examples and a bunch of accompanying threats and a raised fist. He actually reminds me of someone else I know, except this one doesn't have the same sense of loyalty or heart that underlies it all. This one is a warship without a rudder. A missle with no target. He's dangerous and pathetic at the same time.

Shadow: If you don't mind me being blunt, I know someone else who used to be that way-

TI: The less you speak, the less ignorant you'll sound. Get someone to come over and pick up your garbage.

Shadow: One more thing...my associates trailing Deadzone caught a little bit of audio between him and a Mr. Pryce...

TI: Pryce?

Shadow: The closest thing Drakus has to a rudder.

For a long moment, The Insomniac doesn't speak. His eyes immediately come to understanding, and something within them catches fire. His lips closed, his tongue runs over his front teeth pensively.

Shadow: TI.

TI: Where are they now?

Shadow: They disappeared into Pryce's hotel room a floor below you, but now they've already headed in separate directions. Deadzone said something about the resort. No one followed Pryce.

TI: Probably saved one of them a broken neck. Call my cellphone with the audio they picked up.

The Insomniac sets the receiver back in the cradle and turns to find the flunky from the bathroom leaning against the doorjamb rubbing his head. The other is just beginning to stir. TI steps over the picture victim and opens the door. Stopping, he turns to the conscious one.

TI: If I were Shadow, I'd fire you. But I'm not Shadow, and you're lucky I'm leaving or I'd do what The Insomniac would do. Follow?

The flunky nods, exasperated. TI shuts the door and makes his way down the hall, putting on his earpiece as he does so. This is much different than the leisurely stroll that he's been enjoying up until this point. The game has suddenly changed. The cane doesn't twirl or tap against the wall; it is gripped like a staff in preparation for havoc. He couldn't be sure about what he suspected, but given that this all seemed to come back to reputation for him and given the relative low spots on the totem pole his opponents occupied, he could take a wild stab...something Drakus probably knew all about.

The Insomniac steps into the hotel lobby and in five steps he is out onto the street. His phone rang and he immediately presses the Send button. Onlookers are taken aback by both his pace and his appearance. He sees none of it...only his target as he listens.

The door of the resort bursts open. The size of the scene TI makes upon entering is enough to draw attention from the majority of the room. Visibly distressed, TI marches up to the counter and grabs the bartender by the lapels.

TI: Has there been a guy in here, big, maybe carries a magnifying glass?

Shaking, the bartender just shakes his head no. TI lets go of his shirt and shoves him back toward the bar. He takes a look around for himself. There's a roomful of people now wondering about their own safety, but Deadzone is not among them. Cursing under his breath, TI turns back toward the bar.

TI: If I can't beat someone up...I'll simply indulge myself to dull the senses. I want a full unopened bottle of your finest bourbon and a shot glass.

The Insomniac slams a pair of $100 bills on the counter as the bartender rushes to the back. TI drums his fingers nervously, still checking out his surroundings. Deadzone really isn't here. Shadow needs better flunkies.

The bottle is set in front of TI with a glass. TI grabs it by the neck and twists off the cap, immediately taking a long pull before filling his glass. After the first shot, he slams the glass on the counter and looks around again.

TI: Dammit...where the fuck is that guy?

Variations on this scene repeat for the next 20 minutes before Deadzone finally makes an appearance at the door. He notices TI nursing a nearly empty bottle of bourbon and witnesses the latest gulp and slam. DZ approaches cautiously. TI's eyes widen at the sight of his opponent finally showing up.

TI: HEY...therre hee is!

DZ takes a seat a few stools away, hesitant to settle in too securely. TI sports the dumbest grin he's ever seen, but he won't tell him that.

TI: One of my bigg badd addverssariesss. Eckssept NOW...you got a BIG promlem! I'mm gonna sso dick you over, you'rre gon' wishshsh you juss drop outta mmatch!

DZ and the bartender share a look. Most of the clientele is now trying to ignore the loud painted guy and enjoy their evening. How much longer before he gets thrown out, anyway...?

There is a little more confidence in DZ's look now. This guy is obviously not in a condition to step up to him...plus he just got some insurance a little while ago.

TI: Yoo...yoo...Pryce...

DZ's face flushes a little. How'd he know about that?

TI: Pryce...Pryce...see, Drakus...an me...hee came up to me juss a lil while ago...my room...Pryce ssaid, 'Wee hass ssome common ground...hatred of'...no, hold on...'annoyance'...ann once heez incappacicititate...I won hessititate to ridd yoo...rid himm...but yoo...yoo think...stoopidhahahaha...

The hair on DZ's neck bristles. TI downs what little is left in the bottle and tries to stand. Stumbling, he grabs onto the bar and contemplates a bowl of peanuts for a few moments before grabbing his cane. A rather large bouncer comes up from behind and puts his hand on TI's shoulder to help lead him to the door. TI takes a slight detour, wandering toward DZ.

TI: Lissen heer, Zedzone...you're fucking toast. 'No need to feer but isself is feer'...or...whatever...cuz iss gonna take more than too usstart punks to beet me...ASSOLES!!

TI lets the bouncer walk him to the door. The big man opens it for TI, and in a sudden fit of anger, TI grabs the back of the man's head and slams it into the unflinching steel.

TI: DON TUTCH ME AGAIN!!!

TI takes a bow before disappearing into the night, leaving DZ to contemplate his drunken ramblings.

TI would stumble away from the resort a few blocks. He would stagger against walls. He would trip over a cat and kick it into the road. He would yell at gawkers and cane a telephone pole for stepping out in front of him. He would come to rest against a mailbox, steadying himself for a few moments before continuing his stumbling journey, cursing that cab service wasn't very abundant in this part of town.

He would keep stumbling. Stumbling. Stumbling.

Then progressively straightening up.

Slowly evening out his steps.

Flattening out his shirt and checking himself out in a storefront window. Satisfied, he would look back down the sidewalk and the way he came with a content, fully aware smirk.

TI: "Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives genius a better discerning."

With that, TI would stroll into the night, twirling his cane and whistling '100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.'

AFTER HOURS IN NASSAU

From a distance, binoculars follow an unusually large man stumbling through the streets of Nassau. He nearly falls, steadies himself on some well-anchored object, then starts again, mumbling and cursing. After almost ten minutes of this, Titanium Insomniac's gait begins to steady. The former world champion checks his reflection in a storefront window, straightens his shirt and strolls on at a leisurely pace, twirling his cane as he goes. The sudden change provokes a knowing smirk from the watcher.

"Very clever, this one."

The sedan with tinted window creeps along the road, keeping its distance while trailing Titanium Insomniac. From the backseat, the watcher ponders what action to take next. The driver and bodyguard in the front passenger seat are both armed -- all it would take is a word, an order, to neutralize this threat, eliminate this obstacle. In a city like this, a country like this, who would notice one more body?

"Pick him up."

The driver speeds up, passing his intended target. At the end of the block, the car suddenly swerves onto the sidewalk, cutting off Titanium Insomniac. Both passenger-side doors open, revealing a well-dressed man in a light brown suit with an attache case at his side in the back seat and a hulking bodyguard in a leather jacket now pointing a chrome-plated automatic at Titanium Insomniac's chest. The well-dressed man pats the upholstery of the back seat.

"Please, join us."

Titanium Insomniac's cane stops swinging. It doesn't take more than a second to deduce the mysterious assailant's identity, but his purpose is far less clear. One thing is certain, though -- athletically gifted as he may be, he isn't fast enough to outrun a bullet. The best strategy is to go along for the time being, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Titanium Insomniac: "Mr. Pryce, I presume?"

Titanium Insomniac settles into the back seat, one eye on the bodyguard whose gun follows his every move.

Pryce: "Would you care for a drink, Mr. Hoffman?"

Drakus' attorney offers Insomniac a cut crystal highball glass and gestures toward several bottles of high-end liquor. TI shrugs slightly and pours himself a bourbon.

Titanium Insomniac: "Very civlized of you."

Pryce: "I do apologize for the method of our meeting, but I confess a certain urgent curiosity."

Titanium Insomniac: "About what?"

The car seems to be heading into the slums of Nassau. The bodyguard in the passenger seat is half-turned, facing the back. The pistol rests on the crook of his arm, aimed at Insomniac. Pryce flips through his attache case, finally producing a manilla folder. He flips through it in silence until finding the information he seeks.

Pryce: "Your dossier. Ah, here it is ... EKCW champion, 411 king of the ring winner, 411 world champion. Professional wrestling isn't my chosen profession, but even to an outsider that is an impressive list of accomplishments. It raises a question -- why return? With all you accomplished previously during your career, having already reached the pinnacle of your profession, what would a man such as yourself have to gain by such a risky proposition?"

Titanium Insomniac: "I think I made myself clear at Endgame."

Pryce: "Yes, something about humiliating people, deflating their sense of entitlement. Well spoken, but not an answer to the question at hand."

Titanium Insomniac smiles.

Titanium Insomniac: "You find it hard to believe that I'm just here for my own amusement?"

Pryce: "In my experience, there's always a more ... compelling underlying motivator."

Titanium Insomniac leans towards Pryce.

Titanium Insomniac: "Why are you here? Did that inhuman wretch hire you to do his thinking for him?"

Pryce: "Drakus has a path, a destiny before him. It is my task to ensure that nothing interferes with that destiny."

Titanium Insomniac: "Even him?"

Pryce nods.

Pryce: "Quite so. And you sir, you pose the most significant threat so far to Drakus' progress. His opponents to this point have been, how shall I say, rather simplistic in their thinking. And you, Mr. Hoffman, are anything but simple."

From the dossier, Pryce removes a paperclipped bundle of photocopied pages -- handwritten notes and typed reports from the desk of Dr. Scott Daniels. Titanium Insomniac flips through the documents briefly, chuckles and hands them back to Pryce.

Titanium Insomniac: "I wouldn't bother trying to explain any of this to Drakus, it might give him a headache."

Pryce: "Certain similar events in your backgrounds have given my client quite a bit of insight into your mind, Mr. Hoffman. It would be a mistake to confuse forthrightness with stupidity."

Titanium Insomniac: "You're wasting your time. Drakus thinks he knows me, but I promise you I know his mind better than he does himself. All of this scheming on behalf of his 'destiny,' he'll ultimately tear it all down. He'll destroy himself, if someone else doesn't do it for him first. His kind doesn't know any better."

Pryce: "And do you know better?"

Pryce takes another file from his attache case and hands it to Titanium Insomniac. The label on the file says "Shadow."

Pryce: "Since Drakus' encounter with Mr. Blackwell, I've been studying Infinity. The others are no threat to a man of your intellect and abilities -- but this one would make you all his servants if you allow it. The information in that dossier is just a taste of what he's done, what he's capable of, and what he ultimately desires. I suggest you study it closely and consider carefully the viper's nest you've entered."

Titanium Insomniac holds up the file.

Titanium Insomniac: "And what do you want in return for this?"

Pryce: "Nothing. I can, however, furnish additional intelligence of a beneficial nature if doing so would also be to my advantage. You'd be well advised not to rely solely on the scraps handed down to you by Shadow. His methods are, as you can attest by now, somewhat shoddy, and his motivations match his alias."

Titanium Insomniac: "I'll consider it."

Pryce: "And if I demanded an answer immediately?"

Titanium Insomniac: "I am not bound to please thee with my answers."

The bodyguard give Pryce a questioning glance. Pryce leans back, rests a hand on his knee and makes an almost imperceptible gesture. The bodyguard whispers something to the driver, who pulls over at the next corner.

Pryce: "Another time, then. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Good night, Mr. Hoffman, and sweet dreams."

Titanium Insomniac grabs the bottle and takes his leave of Mr. Pryce, swinging his cane as he makes his way back to the hotel through the worst neighborhoods of Nassau.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MORNING

Drakus and Pryce sit across from each other in the hotel cafe, enjoying an early breakfast. Neither man has much to say. The only sounds at the table are Pryce turning the pages of his newspaper and Drakus loudly chewing as he wolfs down his steak and eggs. Finally, Drakus breaks the silence.

Drakus: "I saw Titanium Insomniac last night."

He expects to get a rise out of Pryce with that statement, but the lawyer barely looks up from his New York Times.

Pryce: "I know ... so did I."

Now it's Drakus who starts to turn red.

Drakus: "You went to him?"

Pryce: "Not exactly. We had a little chat, and I made him an offer."

Drakus: "Waste of time. He won't roll over that easy."

Pryce shakes his head.

Pryce: "It was nothing like that. I was merely trying to determine what motivates the man, and how deeply his ties to Infinity run."

Drakus: "And?"

Pryce: "He remains enigmatic. But even so, all men experience doubt and desire certainty. He may try to dismiss our conversation as simple intimidation, but I suspect he can't ignore the truth in what was said."

Drakus: "Sounds too complicated."

Pryce: "Certainly not as direct as brutalizing Shadow's lackies and depositing them in Titanium Insomniac's hotel room. Give my approach some time to bear fruit. We'll see which method achieves better results."

Drakus: "I'm not backing down from that smug ..."

A fast-approaching man cuts off the rest of Drakus' statement. He grips his steak knife, white-knuckled, as a man in a fedora steams toward their table.

DeadZone: "We gotta talk!"

Drakus stands, the knife still in his hand, though he barely realizes it. His eyes are wide, veins throbbing, on the verge of mauling his hated former partner right there in the cafe.

Drakus: "Talk!? You're never gonna talk again when I ..."

Pryce folds his newspaper, stands and puts a hand on Drakus' shoulder.

Pryce: "Drakus, please, wait ... what is it, DeadZone?"

DeadZone: "Insomniac, the resort ... I saw him! He was drunk, and ... and he knew, he knew all about what you said to me last night! How did he know!? Did you tell him!? What kinda game are you playin' anyhow!?"

Drakus turns to his attorney.

Drakus: "What the hell is he talking about, Pryce?"

Facing two hostile wrestlers, Pryce suddenly finds himself at a loss for words.

"What the hell is he talking about, Pryce?"

(For several moments, Pryce was silent, his eyes shifting from Drakus to DeadZone as he was. Soon, he opened his mouth to speak, but only a few muttered grunts came fro it.)

Mr. Pryce: I.....Er.....I.....uh.....

DeadZone: I'd better hear some answers before I pop you one, you little weasel!

Drakus: (For the first time glaring at DeadZone) Don't talk to him that way before I crush your throat.... (A pause, he turns to Pryce, speaking in a calm, though at the same time annoyed voice) Pryce....How did Titanium find out about you speaking to DeadZone?

Mr. Pryce: I.....I don't know.....I.....I took every precaution possible.....I didn't see anyone following me from the room....and when I went into the room with him....I didn't see anyone following us then....

Drakus: You check for any "bugs" in the room?

Mr. Pryce: Twice.....I didn't see anything like a bug at all....

DeadZone: Then the only conclusion is that you probably snitched to him!

Mr. Pryce: What?!? No! Never! I spoke to him yes, but I never once mentioned our conversation!

DeadZone: You spoke to him?!?

Drakus: (Without looking at DeadZone, though speaking to him) Go.....now....

DeadZone: I'm not about to let this little freak go scot fre....

Drakus: (Roars) Go! Now! Out of my sight!

DeadZone: (A pause, he frowns and nods) Fine....Fine...... (He points at Pryce) But I'd better not hear you said something to Titanium or one of his buddies about our convo, ya hear me mac?!?

(Pryce can only silently nod as DeadZone heads off and Drakus leads him into their room for the time being.)
************************************************************************

(In their hotel room, Pryce sat silently at a nearby table as Drakus stood near the window across from his bed. It was several tense seconds, tenser then usual between the two of them. Finally, Pryce slowly opened his mouth to speak.)

Mr. Pryce: Drakus.....I.......You know I'd never put you into any sort of situation where you'd be in danger....

Drakus: Relax Pryce.....I know you didn't squeal to anyone....

Mr. Pryce: You.....You don't agree with DeadZone?

Drakus: Forget that scum! (Silent, then, he speaks) Titanium probably wasn't as drunk as DeadZone might have thought.....Hmmmph.....I have to hand it to him......He is one smart fellow...

Mr. Pryce: What are you getting at?

Drakus: My scenario? One of his lackeys very discretely managed to follow you and DeadZone the night you two discussed our..... (A trace of disgust in his voice) Teaming up.....to knock Titanium out of commission in the match..... (Back to normal) He went back to Titanium and told him all of the information he got.....and he decided to play more mind games with Dead by pretending to be drunk while "Revealing" this information....

Mr. Pryce: If this is what you'd come to, conclusion wise, why don't I just call DeadZone's room, and we can straighten all of this....

Drakus: (Turns around and roars) No!

Mr. Pryce: No? But why?

Drakus: The only, very small reason I was even *considering* making an alliance with him was to knock Titanium aside in this match.....before I took care of him myself....But now with all I may know....and with that little punk accusing you of being a rat.....I don't even want to be in the same room with him again....I'll take care of Titanium myself...

Mr. Pryce: Going by Titanium's strengths, that may not be wise to....

Drakus: (Cuts him off) I'll take care of him...myself.....and DeadZone too....

Mr. Pryce: You're willing to take the risk of two wrestlers giving you a beating? It could be hard to get a win out of it....

Drakus: I am...
************************************************************************

(DeadZone's hotel room had a similar mood to it at the moment, a mood of apprehension and of anger. Pacing around and muttering to himself, DeadZone palm stuck a nearby wall in anger and muttered out loud before speaking.)

DeadZone: I knew that little weasel was no good! I knew his whole deal in the back of my mind all along! He told Titanium everything, and *he* and Drakus were gonna take care of me! Ooooooh, what I'm gonna do to that Pryce when I get my hands around his neck! *And* what I'm gonna do to Drakus and Titanium as well!

(He knocked aside a broken lamp from the side table, watching it smash to the floor with a thud as, suddenly, there was a soft, slow knocking at his door.)

DeadZone: Oh, what now huh?!?

(Heading over to the door, DeadZone gets right up to it and speaks)

DeadZone: Who the heck is it huh?

(There is no answer on the other side. DeadZone raises a curious brow for several seconds, then, he speaks again.)

DeadZone: What gives huh?! You knock on my door, then won't answer me when I ask who it is?!? I want to know now!

(No answer comes yet again. Finally fed up, DeadZone opens the door, where a familiar, black and silver face painted future opponent of his stands.)

DeadZone: For the last time, I want to know who..... (A pause, he stares at Titanium, then backs up a step) You again?

(To be continued)

Jeremiah led The Insomniac through the front doors of the hotel. TI admired the even temperament of his associate, yet grimaced at how easily he'd been countered back at the bar.

The man had done his homework on TI, yet from the words he'd used and the manner in which he'd defended himself...this wasn't Jeremiah's first assignment of this nature. Or was it an assignment? Perhaps more of a freelance job, or a personal interest. Whatever it was, TI wasn't about to grow too relaxed, though he guessed that Jeremiah wasn't expecting him to. One shouldn't expect relaxation after bringing up the lowest moment in a man's life. That would be folly of the worst kind.

Jeremiah opened the door of a black Lincoln and with his hand invited TI to step inside. The two shared a look, Jeremiah's features much softer now. He'd obviously moved past the earlier incident. J nodded as if to signal that this would be a friendly car ride. TI had been in the back of a lot of cars, and a nod wasn't going to ease his doubts. However, his curiosity as well as the potential opportunity for retaliation pushed him forward and he unceremoniously slid into the seat. Jeremiah shut the door, walked around the back, and joined TI in the backseat. Jeremiah caught the eye of the driver in the rearview mirror and they pulled away from the curb.

The two sat in silence for quite a few blocks. Jeremiah absently picked at a cuticle with his thumbnail. The annoyance creeping back in, TI had his arms folded and watched the city pass out the window.

TI: (without looking over) Usually these types of things happen as we drive.

A puzzled look appears on Jeremiah's face. He shifts slightly toward TI.

J: 'These types of things?'

TI: These meetings. Seriously, this isn't the first time and probably not the last where I'm invited into a dark-colored car, maybe offered a drink, someone wants me to be his friend, and then I'm offered a briefcase full of money. And what's the job? I need to intimidate somebody, I need to steal something, I need to do such-and-such at a wrestling show...and the money isn't the only thing. No, there's insurance. So my kneecaps get threatened. Or my head, my internal organs, my life, my reputation...appeal to my loyalties, my past, my addictions for some additional leverage. Then you let me out in a few blocks with some sort of final cryptic threat and a 'We'll call you,' and I'm on my way. Well, so far we've checked off the 'be your friend' part and appealing to my past. And I actually have an account in Switzerland now, so if you could just wire the money there-

J: I assure you that this isn't that type of meeting. No part of your being will be threatened by what I am offering. In fact, there's no job, no consequences, and no money. Your history has yielded a high amount of distrust, which is understandable but still unfortunate. I am asking you to trust me, though...if only for a few hours. And after you've heard what I have to say we'll let you off at any corner you like, threat- and call-free.

The Insomniac remained silent for a long while. The only sound to be heard was the smooth running of the tires over asphalt and the occasional passing of oncoming traffic. The driver sniffed. TI leaned his head against his hand, his arm resting against the door. Jeremiah seemed genuine in his assurances, although TI thought he had good reason to remain distrustful. There was, of course, a way to lessen that, and that was to ask the obvious question. TI looked back toward his host.

TI: When do I get to hear about who you represent?

Jeremiah smiled as if he'd been waiting to be asked.

J: That part might be a little too complicated to go into right now. However, we are a group who take an active interest in people like yourself.

TI: Who are people like myself?

J: People who have suffered a loss that has transformed them emotionally. People who have yet taken that loss and converted it into an energy and opportunity for themselves. People with the sort of disposition that can be used. People who have been chosen by their circumstances and their decisions and yet at the same time were chosen before those circumstances and decisions even materialized. This car ride and what follows is the latest in a chain reaction for you, the latest ripple on the pond. It started before the night of your accident and will continue long after. In fact, calling your accident an 'accident' is a misnomer.

TI went for the throat once again. The driver flinched and Jeremiah signaled to pull over.

This time, however, Jeremiah made no effort to curb the attack. TI's breathing was elevated, his adrenaline winding his fingers tighter like a clamp. Jeremiah deadpanned at his attacker.

J: I am going to tell you the truth about your life, Insomniac. Your rage, your sleepless wandering, the wall you've built around yourself...you can look back and see how you got here.

Some events were in your control, others were not. But all of it has caused you to tear at my throat. But frankly, you're an idiot for doing so. I'm about to fill in some holes for you. Do you really want to end here, before you hear it all?

TI: I want you to stop your cryptic Platonic bullshit and tell me straight out what you want with me.

Jeremiah pointed at TI's hand clutching at his throat. Exhaling roughly, TI released. Jeremiah nodded to the driver to continue on their course.

J: What we want, Insomniac...is for you to realize why you're really here and who you really are. Nothing more.

TI: And who the fuck am I?

J: A product of your past...

TI rolled his eyes.

TI: No shit.

J: ...a champion...

TI: Former champion. I've given that up.

J: ...a liberator.

TI: A what?

Jeremiah smiled and turned to watch the scenery. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. The driver would steal an occasional glance back at their passenger and chuckle. He chuckled, because that's how the conversation ended every single time.
___________________

The Insomniac surveys the scene just behind Deadzone, trying to get a feel for the room. DZ shows signs of equal parts surprise and suspicion. TI simply smiles broadly. DZ's face darkens. TI rests his cane against his shoulder leisurely, as if he'd just taken a jaunt through the park. He can't hide how proud he is of the reaction he continues to get from this one. DZ leans against the door to help bar TI's entry. This shouldn't last longer than it has to.

DZ: So...walked it off, did ya?

TI: Yep. Feeling much better today. You look like you're ready to jump on the offensive.

DZ: Of COURSE I am, the moment I saw your painted up face. Always the clown, ain't ya? Always have to be messin' around, trying to get a rise outta people, trying to show them up. Well, no more of that, pal. I'm takin' you AND that tattooed psycho down.

TI tries to take a step into the room, and DZ steps up. He won't win this battle, not tonight, not ever again. TI yields, admiring the man's gumption. He means business, visibly fed up with the week's shinanigans.

TI: Now...I haven't laid a finger on you all week long. Do you really think I'm going to suddenly switch gears and try something physical this close to our match?

DZ: Hey, tensions rise, fella. Plus, seeing as how you think you know something about me and Drakus, I got a right to be more protective of my space and my self.

TI: Hm. You have a point. I mean, what I know...the very thought of this basically starting out as a handicap match...if I were me, do you know what I'd do? If I were me, and I'm not, but if I was...I'd be pretty pissed. I would be SO pissed, in fact, that I'd want to try to even the score before the match. I'd want to cut one of the ones conspiring against me down a few pegs...maybe break an ankle, cut the brakes in his car, give him food poisoning, steal all the towels from his shower. Yeah, I might do something like that if I were me--but that's all hypothetical. Crazy talk, really. And of course that's only if something like that were truly possible.

The Insomniac takes a moment while DZ's face starts to turn first a light, then a few shades darker shade of crimson. TI picks a piece of lint from his shirt, loosens up his shoulders a little, and resting his hands together on his cane. DZ takes another step forward without eliciting a response from TI.

DZ: Your threats ain't gonna move me, buddy. In fact, you been talking an awful lot this week. This is the third time I run into you, and you ain't had nothing to do but talk. Well, I'm through talking. I won't have much to say in a couple days. I'll just let my actions speak for themselves.

TI: Do you know why I'm so confident, Deadzone?

DZ: Gee, I wonder if you'll tell me.

TI: I talk because you and I both know that I can back it up. My reputation isn't some bygone fairy tale. You know it. You were watching the monitor last week when I trashed a military-trained weapon and a divinely inspired bodyguard. What the FUCK makes you think that I'm the least bit worried about a junior woodchuck detective and a guy who beats up hired help for shits and giggles? What makes you OR your new little friend think that Titanium Insomniac is nothing more than words and overblown myths? If you were any sort of REAL detective, you'd know in your heart of hearts that I am as real as they come. Here I am standing in your doorway and you're shitting your pants about what I MIGHT do to you. That's proof enough for you and your boyfriend that I'm the genuine article. I'm the welcoming committee from Bedlam and I'm dragging you back with me by your fingernails to help run the goddamn post office.

So think about my reputation. Think about how I built it, about all the bricks and mortar I used from so many souls before you. Ask some of the other guys on this roster. There aren't many left, but they know for themselves. This is as real as it gets. Your buddy doesn't believe it yet, but he will soon enough. This I promise both of you.

TI's lips have curled into a snarl as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. TI slips one into his mouth and clicks open a Zippo lighter. Taking a few puffs, TI glances at the hall ceiling. He looks back at DZ and smirks.

TI: Face it, Deadzone...when it comes to knowing me...you're incredibly wet behind the ears.

As if on cue, the floor's sprinkler system kicks on, immediately beginning to soak both men. Neither one flinches much. They simply give each other the type of stare that might freeze the water if they held it for too long before TI begins his departure. DZ slams the door and attempts to regroup.
_________________

The evening breeze is a little colder on The Insomniac's skin than usual, helped along by his damp clothing. He hadn't bothered to change before leaving the hotel. The cavalry of fire trucks and ambulances would be along soon anyway and while TI would normally have enjoyed the shouting match that would have ensued when the false alarm was discovered, he'd rather air dry while observing the Nassau nightlife.

There was a second motive for his evening walk. He expects it to arrive any moment, although he's surprised that it hasn't pulled up already. Surely Drakus' slimy sidekick would want to follow up on his attempt to create division among Infinity. What an interesting choice, pointing Drakus at the group. Perhaps the ship did have a rudder...the new question, then, was did it have enough artillery to make a mark?

Finally, the familiar car pulls to the curb, with the familiar front window rolling down and the familiar automatic cracked out of the familiar bodyguard's hand by a stiff cane shot to his wrist. An attempt to produce a backup weapon is foiled by a second stiff blow to the man's elbow. TI throws open the rear side door and pulls the cane back against the bodyguard's neck as he sits down next to Pryce.

TI: Your boy doesn't hold a monopoly on fucking up the hired help. That's the first thing that you need to tell him.

Pryce, though somewhat shaken, regains his composure in the hopes of talking himself out of this scenario.

Pryce: Mr. Hoffman...

TI: The second thing that you need to tell him is that that name is a dead name, and your attempts at formality only make you look and sound like a bigger tool than you probably really are.

Pryce: Mr....Insomniac...

TI: That's fine.

Pryce: ...you don't think that it's really just the three of us on this street, do you?

TI: And I'm guessing that even if I do severe bodily harm to you and get away with it...they won't care that much.

Pryce: Ultimately, no. But in the meantime, they are charged with taking precautions against such happenings and thus you have no less than two high-powered rifles aimed at your forehead. I would suggest against any further extreme activity on your part lest they have to use them for their intended purpose.

TI: You really are a piece of work.

Pryce: I'm hesitant to take that as a compliment.

TI: The other night you're advising me against some of my associates, and you need all of this shit to help along that neanderthal?

Pryce: Far from a neanderthal, Mr. Insomniac. Plus we have only his best interests at heart.

TI: Right. So long as he plays ball with you.

Pryce: He will.

TI: How can you be sure of that?

Pryce: We offer him certain resources that he could not otherwise afford...because he is an asset to us.

TI: Until his value takes a nosedive.

Pryce: That won't happen.

TI: It will. I'll help.

Pryce: You should be more concerned about Shadow.

TI: Shadow and I are not friends. We are business associates. If business goes sour, I cut loose. That's how it's always been. You act like he'll put a knife in my back when he's best man at my wedding. You know how this works, Pryce. Drakus is an asset to you. You only care about him insofar as he produces results for whomever you represent. If that runs out, he gets strung up. Surely he knows that.

Pryce: I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of our arrangement. However, I do know that he will continue to produce. It's what he does. It's why we chose him.

TI: Sounds familiar.

Pryce: Exactly. Once you cease to be valuable to Shadow-

TI: Not Infinity, asshole...

TI finally releases the hold on the bodyguard in the front seat. The big man immediately supports his wrist with his other hand as he gasps for air. TI steps out of the car and leans down to meet Pryce's eyes again.

TI: When are you, Drakus, Deadzone, your higher-ups going to realize that you can only hide behind your connections, your false notions of power for so long? One day you will. One day you'll see it.

Pryce: And then what, Mr. Insomniac? What do you purport will happen then?

TI: Then?

The Insomniac looks back down the road toward the arena where this conversation, the hotel sprinklers, his drunken act, the two flunkies on his floor and Drakus sitting on his bed, Deadzone sitting at the resort, the boat all culminate and give way to something new at the same time. He looks upon that and grins knowingly.

TI: Then you'll be liberated.

With that, The Insomniac shuts the door and waves to the lawyer, choosing to walk the opposite direction of the car. He twirls his cane, stopping to give a passing pay phone or fire hydrant a tap. He walks aware of the snipers' continual gaze until he rounds the corner and into the anonymity of the city. He prefers to be unknown for the night. He'll switch to a more grandiose style in a matter of days.

(A house show seemed like the place where no fighting of any sort would take place. Drakus, DeadZone, and Titanium would be too busy with matches to really confront each other....right? wrong. That night, just a few days before Havoc, Drakus was currently in the ring, having a match, one he considered a warm up for before his triple threat match. On this particular night, Drakus had a preliminary wrestler as his opponent, so things weren't much of a problem for him. In fact, he was slaughtering the poor dope all over the ring. Finally, one Psycho Driver later, the match was mercifully over as he covered his now unconscious opponent, and the ref slapped his hand on the mat.)

"1.......2.........3!"

Ring Announcer: (As the bell rings) Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match at seven minutes, three seconds with a Psycho Driver.....Draaaaaaaaakus!

(Drakus smirks and raises his arms in victory, though the sudden sound of big band music soon erases his smirk and lowers his arms. Slowly, out comes DeadZone, his eyes fixed squarely on Drakus, walking with a purpose towards the ring. Drakus, without hesitation, shoves his downed jobber opponent out of the ring with his foot, then motions for DeadZone to come into the ring, shouting "Come on!" as he does so. DeadZone quickens his pace and heads into the ring, and finally, the two square off as the crowd goes wild. The referee of the match from before tries futilely to keep these two apart, but he is only met with a shove to the mat by Drakus for his troubles. Both men are ready to come to blows, when all of a sudden, the first strains of "Come with Me" by P. Diddy fill the air as the audience cheers louder. Out slowly comes Titanium Insomniac, smirking as he does, and holding a microphone in his hand.)

Titanium Insomniac: Look what we have here? Tsk, Tsk, how very barbaric....and pathetic all at the same time...

(DeadZone and Drakus, now for the time being forgetting their fight, both motion for Titanium to get into the ring to fight. As he gets closer to the ring, Titanium smirks and speaks again)

Titanium Insomniac: What's that? You'd like me to come into the ring to join you? Well....I don't know, you two seem to have an agenda already.....why don't you beat each other up....and I'll just watch hmm?

(Again, Drakus and DeadZone, more separately then as a team, motion for Titanium to come into the ring. Titanium simply rolls his eyes and speaks again.)

Titanium Insomniac: It's very sad, don't you think folks? I've got these two worked up all over me....and I barely had to lift a finger to punch them....all it took were mere words and....Boom! I've got them in a tizzy!

(Titanium slowly slides into the ring and stands up. Now, with all three future opponents in the ring together, the crowd begins to buzz heavily, anticipating a brawl at any moment. Both DeadZone and Drakus square off, ready to go, but Titanium merely continues to smirk)

Titanium Insomniac: Oh, so you just assume I'm here for a fight huh?

DeadZone: (Grabs a second mic from the ring announcer and speaks) I'm through with talk Titanium! Now fight like a man once and for all!

(Drakus says the words "So am I!", though without a mic, he's not audibly heard. As DeadZone drops his mic and prepares to fight, Titanium, silently the whole time, shakes his head and wags his finger at DeadZone)

Titanium Insomniac: Oh please.....why should I waste my energy on you two right now? We'll have plenty of time to get it on at Havoc...

(Titanium takes a step over to DeadZone and pokes his chest with his finger once)

Titanium Insomniac: If you want me to be quite honest with you....DeadZone....I really don't think of you as much of a threat.....

Crowd: Ooooooooooh.....

Titanium Insomniac: Quite frankly....You simply just got lucky by coming this far, if you ask me....

(DeadZone's familiar anger ever since he started dealing with Titanium slowly bubbles onto his face, and he moves a step forward.)

Titanium Insomniac: I'd like to see you try and punch me.....

(DeadZone rears his fist back to punch, then, for a reason only known to himself, he lowers it)

Titanium Insomniac: I figured as much....

(Titanium strides past DeadZone and over to Drakus)

Titanium Insomniac: You're no better then him you know....you think just because you beat up a couple of lackeys....you're automatically the guy to beat huh?

(Drakus frowns and goes to deck Titanium, only for the now appearing Mr. Pryce, along with a few refs, to hold him back.)

Titanium Insomniac: It figures you'd have that lawyer of yours hold you back.....Typical....

(He smirks and heads out of the ring as Drakus tries to follow, still being restrained by Pryce and some refs.)

Titanium Insomniac: It's quite a shame....This actually seemed to be shaping up to be a somewhat decent, even fight....but after all that's happened between the three of us....I'm starting to think it's gonna be a cakewalk for me....

(Drakus and DeadZone frown angrily as Titanium, smirking, continues)

Titanium Insomniac: I'd be well prepared to lose if I were you two gents....heh....see you at Havoc....

(Slowly, "Come with Me" fills the speakers again as Titanium smirks and waves to the two men, walking into the back as he does. Back in the ring, DeadZone sighs angrily and exits by himself as Drakus is led out by Pryce and a ref or two. There was no doubt about it, these three men were certainly ready for a fight come Havoc.)

"Son of a whore!"

A chair flies across the lockerroom, startling nearby wrestlers as it slams against the wall. Several local independent wrestlers, not used to Twisted Championship Wrestling's volatile backstage atmosphere, scatter in search of a safer place to lace up their boots. But the obscenity-spouting man takes no notice, continuing his tirade. From behind, a hand falls on his shoulder, causing him to stop.

Drakus: "Pryce, calm down."

The normally buttoned-down attorney shoves his client's hand away. His features are twisted into something ferocious, something Drakus barely recognizes.

Pryce: "I should have had that smug cocksucker executed when he was at my mercy!"

Drakus stares at Pryce, dumbfounded, unsure what to say. He can barely believe his prim and proper lawyer's sudden outburst, not after all the times Pryce urged him to restrain himself. Pryce yanks the cell phone from his jacket pocket and begins punching in a phone number.

Pryce: "Ten minutes, they can be here in ten minutes ... Hoffman doesn't leave this arena alive!"

Drakus yanks the phone from Pryce's hand.

Drakus: "No."

Pryce comes toward his client. Odd, he seems taller, more imposing.

Pryce: "Give that back, Drakus ... this is for your own good!"

Drakus stares down Pryce. He doesn't answer the lawyer's challenge, just shakes his head.

Drakus: "Not like that."

Pryce: "Fine, fine ... we take him to a nice, private place, and you can cut his tongue out! I won't stop you this time!"

Drakus: "I don't want to finish him that way."

Pryce snarls his reply.

Pryce: "Why not!? Don't tell me fair play suddenly factors into your decisions!"

Drakus takes a step toward Pryce. The two men are practically chest to chest.

Drakus: "No, I want people see. I want them to see me doing it, every last second of it. I want destroying him to mean something."

Pryce: "What if he beats you? Why should I take a chance!?"

In a split second, Drakus' hand is on Pryce's throat. He squeezes.

Drakus: "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Now I want you to shut up and calm ... the ... fuck ... down."

Pryce gurgles as Drakus tightens his grasp on the lawyer's throat. Finally Pryce nods. Drakus releases his attorney, who takes gasping breaths and massages his neck.

Pryce: "That was ... unnecessary ..."

Drakus: "Calmed you right down, didn't it?"

Pryce coughs and chokes when he tries to speak again.

Pryce: "Hoffman ... Insomniac ... he humiliated me ..."

Drakus: "So what?"

Pryce's lip trembles. He's clearly holding back a snide response. That gives Drakus some satisfaction.

Pryce: "He will try to ruin all of my ... our carefully laid plans, and for what? Sheer spite. He said as much to me. Everything depends on the outcome of this tournament, and that preening egomaniac is bound and determined to destroy it to prove some asinine pet theory about human nature!"

Drakus pauses, then measures his words carefully.

Drakus: "That shit doesn't matter. Let's get one thing straight, Pryce ... it might be your master plan, you doing whatever you have to do to help me behind the scenes, but when I step into the ring and that bell rings it's just him and me, understand? And I wanna do it out there."

Pryce: "But your forgetting something, Drakus ... it won't just be you and him."

Drakus: "DeadZone."

Pryce: "Do you see? Do you see the uncertainty, the danger this match presents?"

Drakus nods in agreement.

Drakus: "Then I guess we'd better make sure that plan of yours works."

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DeadZone takes his trenchcoat off the hook, sighing heavily to himself. He came so close, almost had it out with that psycho Drakus in the ring, but instead Titanium Insomniac showed up and treated them both like a couple of no-account bums. But he'd show 'em both up in the end. You don't have to be the biggest guy, or the one with the most experienced to win a fight like this. Nope, all you've gotta do is keep your eyes open, look for your spot, and be ready to take it when it comes. One slip up, that's all it takes, and a smart guy who's there to take advantage. DeadZone puts on the coat and looks himself over in the lockerroom mirror.

DeadZone: "And I'm that guy. Bet your bottom dollar."

Still, it would have been nice to knock that loudmouth's block off. DeadZone regretted hesitating the minute Titanium Insomniac left the ring, that same cheeky little smile on his ugly painted mug. Shoulda just done it. Why the hell didn't I?

DeadZone: "Get yourself together, he's gettin' to ya."

Pryce: "You're not the only one."

DeadZone turns, fists raised, taking a defensive posture. Mr. Pryce stands at the lockerroom door, his client behind him.

Pryce: "Our mutual problem has done an excellent job of getting under everyone's skin. The question remains -- how do we deal with this problem?"

DeadZone: "You sound like you already got a plan, poindexter, so why don't you just spit it out?"

Pryce: "May we come in?"

DeadZone: "Sure, take a load off."

DeadZone steps back as Pryce and Drakus enter, keeping some distance between himself and his bitter enemy. The tattooed ex-convict stares DeadZone down without blinking.

DeadZone: "OK, what's the score?"

Pryce: "As I said before, it would be to your advantage and my client's if the Insomniac were to be swifty dealt with at the outset of the match. After what just occured, that should be beyond dispute. If the two of you were to act in tandem, you could ensure that he would be incapacitated, and then have only each other to contend with. We've come to offer a truce and finalize our arrangement."

DeadZone raises an eyebrow.

DeadZone: "Me and big gruesome working together? Word is he doesn't like partners."

Drakus growls.

Drakus: "Don't like smartasses either, boy."

DeadZone: "Hey, you came to me, so put a muzzle on it or take a hike."

Pryce nods.

Pryce: "My apologies ... emotions have been running high today. But I assure you, Drakus is willing to put his past animosity aside for the greater good."

DeadZone: "Swell, but I think I need to hear the big guy say it himself."

Drakus snorts and tilts his head.

Drakus: "What do you want me to say?"

DeadZone cracks a smile.

DeadZone: "Say you want ... no, say you need me to be your partner at Havoc."

Drakus shares a look with Pryce, who wordlessly urges him on. Drakus is red-faced.

Drakus: "DeadZone, I ... I need you to be my partner at Havoc."

The second part of the sentence comes through gritted teeth.

DeadZone: "Well ain't that a kick in the head."

Drakus: "It will be ..."

Pryce: "Drakus, please. So, there it is, do we have an agreement?"

DeadZone: "How 'bout a handshake to seal the deal?"

DeadZone spits in his palm, vigorously rubs in the saliva and offers his hand to Drakus, all with a goofy ear-to-ear grin.

Pryce: "Go ahead, Drakus."

Drakus sneers at the outstretched hand. Clearly shaking it is the last thing he wants to do.

DeadZone: "Yeah, c'mon buddy, what's the hold up? Pals, right?"

Drakus finally reaches out. He grabs DeadZone's hand, clutching it so hard that DeadZone almost recoils, but then eases up and shakes his future opponent's hand. Pryce breathes a visible sigh of relief. DeadZone's grin returns -- until Drakus pulls him close.

Drakus (softly): "You better hold up your end, or else ..."

DeadZone: "Save it, I heard it all before."

Drakus: "I don't need to tell you."

With his free hand, Drakus pulls a wad of Polaroids from the back pocket of his jeans and hands them to DeadZone.

Drakus: "Take a goood look. Either we put down the loudmouth together at Havoc, or the next time you're alone in the dark I'll be comin' for you, and what's in those snapshots won't be half of what I do. Got it, partner?"

He releases the handshake. DeadZone looks down at the pictures. The first is a fairly close shot of a puncture wound in a man's leg. The rest are worse -- jagged cuts, ugly multicolored bruises, obviously inflicted with a lot of brutality -- and relish. The last is a picture of a badly bruised, swollen face. It takes a few seconds for DeadZone to recognize it as Paul "Jaguar" Mancini.

Drakus: "That's not even half of what I can do with the right tools once I get started. Insomniac at Havoc, or you later."

DeadZone hands the Polaroids back to Drakus.

DeadZone: "I get the picture."

Drakus refuses to take them back.

Drakus: "Keep 'em, I've got a whole lot more."

DeadZone reluctantly puts the photos in the pocket of his trench coat.

DeadZone: "I guess it's good to know you're already aces when it comes to weapons."

Drakus: "Just follow my lead out there. We do this right, and what's left of him won't be making speeches anytime soon."

DeadZone: "Fine by me."

Pryce: "Very well, it appears our business is concluded. Until Havoc ..."

Pryce shakes DeadZone's hand, and hands him a business card for good measure. The lawyer and his client leave the lockerroom. But before going, Drakus turns back and shoots DeadZone an icy glare with an unmistakable meaning. DeadZone waves.

DeadZone (under his breath): "One slip up, gruesome ..."

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THE MORNING BEFORE HAVOC

Titanium Insomniac swings his cane as he takes a morning stroll through the streets of Nassau. These solitary outings are a perfect way to clear one's head after a late night out with his fellow Infinity members. The early morning air brings things into focus, especially his upcoming match -- not that it concerns him greatly. If experience has taught the Insomniac anything, it's that blinkered fools will always be undone by their own foolishness. A wise man need only be prepared to benefit from their ineptitude.

He strides through the hotel lobby, relishing the stares of the dull-minded multitude. However, someone is waiting for him, a familiar face in recent days -- Drakus' unctuous sidekick, the lawyer Pryce.

Pryce: "Good morning, Mr. Hof ... Mr. Insomniac."

Titanium Insomniac: "Ah, Pryce, did you bring your snipers with you today?"

Pryce fakes an amused grin at his jibe.

Pryce: "I am alone. Call it a show of good faith."

In a heartbeat, Titanium Insomniac's cane is pressed to Pryce's throat.

Titanium Insomniac: "I prefer to call it a case of very poor judgement."

Pryce raises both hands in a gesture of submission. His attache case dangles loosely from one hand.

Pryce: "Please, this will only take a moment of your time."

Titanium Insomniac lowers his cane.

Titanium Insomniac: "Good, that's all the time I have for underlings. Speak."

Pryce: "Yes, you are a popular man. I regret that we could not come to an arrangement. But I wanted to give you one more file ... a gift from my client and I."

Titanium Insomniac nods, and Pryce retrieves the file from his briefcase. Already, Insomiac is bored with this interaction. He's quite certain of the file's contents -- a veiled threat of some kind, perhaps even a crude attempt at blackmail. Probably not worth opening.

Titanium Insomniac: "Is that all?"

Pryce: "Yes. Goodbye, Mr. Insomniac."

Titanium Insomniac: "Hence, rotten thing."

He prods Pryce with his cane, pushing the lawyer aside. Without another glance, Titanium Insomniac leaves Pryce behind. He sets the file down on the hotel room table and forgets about it for several hours. Later, as morning gives way to afternoon, he notices it sitting there. Bored, waiting for another call from Jeremiah, Titanium Insomniac opens the file. Photos spill out onto the bed. He picks one up.

The black and white image is a medium shot of a badly damaged car lying upside down in the grass, body crumpled and windows smashed. The matted hair and bloody face of a woman can clearly be seen. Titanium Insomniac picks up another photograph -- this one a close up of a child's toy pony smeared with what must be blood, lying on the asphalt next to a skidmark.

Titanium Insomniac crumples the picture in his hand. With a gesture, he scatters the others off the bed and across the room before storming out, cane clutched in one hand. Some of the photos are still fluttering to the floor as the door slams shut behind him.