~~Five Years in the Future~~
Lacklan Manor was once a beautiful place. Strange, true, but beautiful. The majority of the land was covered in what the eccentric occupant referred to as the "garden." It was an eclectic expanse of foreign and varied plant life, including flowers from all continents and a vast selection of trees, the owner's pride of which were the collection of cherry blossoms. Included in this "garden" was a large graveyard, which we have seen recently, featuring well-tended grass and clean cemented walks.
In the center of the land was the mansion itself. It was massive, with sprawling rooms and a labyrinth of corridors that led to opulence and extravagance. There were rooms designated for anything and everything one could think of. A room for cooking, a room for sewing, a room simply open for the coats and bags of visitors, for maps, for books, for anything and everything. A permanent live-in staff kept the place immaculate, catered to every need of the occupants.
Such is not the case anymore. While the graveyard is still taken care of, as we have seen recently, the manor is nothing but a charred mess. The victim of arson a few weeks ago, it is but a black mess, mostly unrecognizable. And this charred mess is the scene of the latest encounter between Dexter "Tragik" Love and the reporter, Kyle Leonard.
Tragik himself is walking through the mess, using a booted foot to sort through debris, searching aimlessly for anything salvageable. The reporter, wearing a long coat as to not drag his clothes through the char, fingers his horn-rimmed glasses as he observes the wrestling journalist.
"Has there been any leads as to who was the arsonist?"
Tragik does not immediately respond to the question, instead continuing to use his feet to push blackened chunks of something to the side. His head is down, his gaze upon the mess, as he responds.
"Officially? No."
The reporter cocks his head slightly.
"Officially?"
Tragik doesn't take the bait right away, again letting some silence fall as he sifts with his feet.
"I know...exactly...who did it. And the police, those morons, will never be able to figure it out. Mostly because I personally burned most of the evidence that would connect the arsonist to the crime. Well, the person giving the orders to the arsonist, anyway."
"And that person would be?"
Tragik smirks to himself, looking up at the reporter.
"We're not that far into the story, yet. If you know Lacklan's backstory, which you seem to know most of important details, you actually know who did it. But as far as our story is concerned, this education of that pathetic SIN wrestling I'm giving you, we're not up to the point where he comes back into Lacklan's life."
"Then we'll have to get back to the story, now don't we?" The reporter pulls out his seemingly ever-present pad of paper and pen, regarding his notes. "Let's see...last time we left off with a question of mine. About you being some kind of terrorist. Now, there seems to be some evidence of you...how should we say...doing some things that are illegal?"
Tragik smirks again.
"However, Mr. Love, I find far more overwhelming evidence that you were...well...not so serious, I guess would be a nice way of putting it. From your wrestling columns and things like hunting down the mascots of fast food restaurants, you...well...seemed the fool, in my opinion."
Tragik smiles largely for a second, then lets it fall, an amused smile coming to his blue eyes.
"Tell me, Mr. Leonard, have you read the Tragik Reports?"
"Some."
"I want you to think about them for a minute. Think about all the things I said. Think about all the ideas I bring up, about how just about everyone is an idiot. Or a slut. Or whatever. Think about all the outlandish things I did in those Reports, like challenging World Champions to Tragik's Rules matches, or entering into battle royals, or whatever, okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, think about all the dumb things I did during the promos Lacklan would create. I did a whole lot of dumb stuff before SIN Wrestling, stuff that has been lost to time since the FBI got involved in NEW and shut it down. But, just in SIN, I performed cock-pushups and power slides for Porkins, had a dumb running joke where no one know who Roxy Erikson was, visited whore houses and blood bars, and built a 'Strikeforce' of idiots, right?"
"Okay."
"Now, take those two things together. Take all the shit-talking in the Reports and all the dumb things in the promos. Think about the person that would do and say those things, okay?"
"Okay."
"Now think about the 'evidence' about terrorism you think you have. What kinds of things?"
"Well," replies the reporter, looking at his information, "there is talk of beating a priest with a baseball bat, with setting houses on fire, with-"
"That's enough, Mr. Leonard. Now, do you honestly think that idiot would be able to perform atrocities?"
"No, I don't."
Tragik smirks.
"That's the point. Believe you me, I've done some fucked up shit in my life..."
~~Present Day~~
Oh....oh God....God...can you hear me? Oh...oh please...help me. I need help. Oh...God...so much pain...my hand is on fire...I can't believe that psycho in the mask actually smashed it with a hammer...a fucking hammer!
OW! Shit, just talking to myself loudly hurts! Oh, God...help me, please? I've been in this room for...fuck...days? It feels like weeks. And all I've seen is some guy, some kind of butler, that brings me food, and some chick, a maid maybe, that brings me some stupid tray so that I can go to the bathroom. God, it's fucking gross.
Hey, the door's opening! Oh...please don't let it be that scary guy again. Oh please...
Shit, black coat! No no no no no no.....
Oh, thank God...it's not him. This guy is a lot smaller. Wait, didn't I see him at that club? Oh fuck, that club. I hope my cousin is okay. I wonder what he wants?
"Hey there, honeybunny."
"Honeybunny?" Oh fuck, that came out as a croak. God, I'm so thirsty. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but can you please help me? I mean...God...I'm in so much pain, I'm starving, I'm so thirsty, I don't even know why I'm here. I-"
"HAHAHAHA!!"
He's laughing? What the fuck is he laughing about?"
"You know why you're here. Lord Lacklan told you."
"Listen, I don't even know who this Lacklan guy-"
Fuck! Oh God, that hurt! He fucking punched me...oh God, my face...
"It is Lord Lacklan, sweetcheeks."
Oh God...so much pain...
"You know, the last time some hot piece of ass was in here she was chained to the wall. Lacklan wouldn't let me touch her, something about her needing to be pure, but you? You are a different story. You see, your little hero, that fucking loser Tj Jones, has skipped town. One match with Lord Lacklan and he's gone. So...well...that means your fair game. And since I just let my little sex slave go the other week...well...it's been awhile."
What? Huh? What's he doing? Why is he taking off his belt?
Oh shit, no!
We find ourselves in what appears to be the room of a child. The room is dominantly pink: The walls are pink, though the accompanying carpet is a pearly white, with the raised ceiling painted to be the sky and stars above. The room features a small desk and chair, white with carnation trim, with a dresser and large toy box similarly dressed, and a small bed, pink with white trim. And, to fit the room nicely, there is a small child sitting upon the white floor, a doll in her hand.
The child is pretty, barely more than two years old, with straight black hair falling to her shoulders, though there is a bit of curl at the very ends. Her eyes are blue, a very bright and deep blue, with fair skin that shows a hint of pink in the cheeks. She is wearing a pink dress with a copious amount of white lace, and a small pair of pink bunny slippers. The doll in her hand is odd, though: It is female, as is to be expected, but everything else is a departure from the norm. The hair on the doll is jet black and there are small silver flecks upon the dolls face, placed as if they were piercings. The doll is dressed in a white robe, made of silk, that falls past her legs.
Regardless of the doll's odd appearance, it is obviously more than enough to keep her happy. She moves the doll back and forth, bouncing her on her knees as if dancing, a song coming from the child.
"I love my Mommy..." Her voice is soft and high-pitched, the words coming out rather well-formed for a toddler. "My Mommy is the best Mommy in the world..."
She plays with her doll, her song for her and her doll alone, even as the man in black enters the room.
Jean-Paul Lacklan is as how we are accustomed to seeing him. He wears his robe, the long black tresses falling to the pearly-white carpet, his hands before him, though they are covered by the far too big sleeves which droop almost to his knees. His cowl is down, though, pulled back away from his face, his scarred head almost blending in with the overbearing pink in the room. He stops a few steps from the child, who looks up at him.
"Daddy!"
The child smiles as she gazes up at the man in black. Although the alabaster mask covers the majority of Lacklan's face, we see the edges of his lips curl into a smile. And not even the half-smirk we are accustomed to seeing upon the madman's face; this is a full-on smile.
"Hello, Sarah." Lacklan cocks his head to the side a bit. "What is it that you are doing?"
The child looks back to her doll.
"Playing with Mommy."
Unseen by the toddler, Lacklan's smile falters, his eyes falling to the doll. Lacklan lowers himself to his knees, positioning himself behind Sarah, and gently brings the child to him.
"You must never let her go, child, do you understand?" Sarah looks at him without responding, but Lacklan goes on, taking one gloved hand to run his fingers through her hair. "She was beautiful, intelligent, caring. You look so much like her..."
Lacklan grows silent as he looks at his daughter, and at the doll. Sarah snuggles closer to her father. She may be a child, barely older than two, but like most children, she knows more than the grown-ups think. Lacklan holds her tighter, until they are interrupted a moment later.
"Mm-mm"
Lacklan looks to the doorway to see the issuer of the throat-clearing. Said issuer is a woman, her face a few years shy of 30, whose make-up is rather striking and odd. She, befitting the room and child, wears a pinks blouse which features a very high neck, almost up to her chin, and a black skirt that falls to her ankles, with feet enwrapped in high heels. She carries a clipboard, held close to the chest, full of papers.
Lacklan looks at her for several seconds then, with a nod, turns his gaze back to his daughter.
"Work?" the child asks, before he could say anything, which causes the smile to creep from behind the mask again.
"Yes, child. The work of the Savior is never finished. Play with Mommy nicely."
"Yes, Daddy."
Lacklan rises to his feet and leaves the room, the woman following closely behind, leaving the child to go back to playing with her doll.
"I love my Mommy...my Mommy is the best Mommy in the world..."
~~Five Years in the Future~~
"So, moving on..." The reporter refers to his notes, absently adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses. "Lacklan had just won his first match in SIN Wrestling."
"Yep," replies Tragik, still sifting through the blackened mess with his feet. "Lacklan beat Tj Jones up pretty bad. Oddly enough, that was Jones' last match in SIN. Page fired him the next week. Something about finding pictures of him blowing little Asian boys, or something. The pictures were pretty fucked up, when I got a chance to see them. Not as bad as those pictures of Hell's Keeper getting anally fucked by the ghost of the Marquis de Sade, but still pretty bad. Anyway, Lacklan made an open challenge for the next Pay Per View."
"Really? That's kind of bold. You never know who will show up to answer those."
"Well, Lacklan was hoping a few people would. Like Morgana. He always wanted a match with her. Or, shit you never know, maybe Stevie or Creature would show up out of nowhere. Although, you ask me, he was hoping for Roxy to take up the challenge. He's always had a...thing...for her."
"Who answered it?"
To this, Tragik raises his head to look at the reporter, a smile coming to his face.
"Some fag."
~~Present Day~~
The two briskly walk down a corridor, the walls almost a blur with the speed at which they walk. The woman in pink must make large steps, almost leaps, in order to keep pace with the man in black. Before too long, they reach a door at the end of a hall which features a nameplate that reads:
Multimedia
"Tapes, my Lord?"
Lacklan looks at the door, holding onto silence for a moment.
"Tapes, Elaine."
Lacklan opens the door and enters, Elaine entering behind him, closing the door. The room is aptly names as it is filled with every piece of media equipment one could imagine. Dozens of monitors and screens, DVD and tape players, radios and stereos, and bookshelves full of cassettes and discs. Lacklan walks over to one of the shelves, passing his masked gaze of the collection of tapes.
"'Five Years Gone' is almost a very apt name." Lacklan raises one of his gloved hands and extends a finger, finding a panel which reads: Global Wrestling Entertainment. Lacklan's finger courses through a few cassettes, finally stopping on one of them. He pulls it from the bookshelf and turns.
"Almost. It has been six years since I found Creature, six years since the Sin Series with Mendez. Six years since I battled Casanova."
Lacklan takes the tape over to a machine, pushing it into an opening.
"Did you expect him to answer your challenge?"
Lacklan does not respond immediately, instead looking at the screen. The video starts, though only showing a menu, the logo of the long-forgotten federation taking up most of the screen.
"I did not. I neither expected it nor hoped for it."
"Who did you hope for?"
Lacklan is silent for a moment.
"Morgana. Although, to be honest, I did not expect that, either. I made my intention of feeling her fire known the last time I was here, and she did not deem me worthy then, so I did not expect her to now."
Lacklan pauses, taking a moment to press a button on the machine.
"I had expected someone from my past in SIN. Maybe Dan Black from the grave. Or Mr. York to step down from the high seat of 'champion' and try to avenge his loss. Maybe even someone as forgettable as ReKon, or Ayden. Maybe even...dare I say it..."
Lacklan pauses.
"Ms. Erikson."
Elaine shakes her head.
"What is with you and that whore? I-"
Lacklan rears around a takes a few steps towards the woman in charge of his PR.
"Do not call her that!"
Lacklan's voice is full of fire, full of anger. Elaine takes a cautionary step backwards, away from the madman in black, shaking her head.
"But, my Lord, I did not mean-"
"SILENCE!"
Elaine's mouth snaps shut. Lacklan stares at her a moment, eventually taking a step back towards the machine.
"Roxy is not...a whore. She is simply...misunderstood."
Lacklan turns back towards the machine, taking in the scene that has found it's way onto the screen. It is a wrestling match, the ring occupied by two men. One is Lacklan, his wrestling attire as we have always seen him, though instead of a charred mess for a head, long flowing locks of black hair fall to his shoulders. The alabaster mask is, of course, in place. The other man is, though obviously thinner and more youthful, 3-Time SIN World Champion, Casanova.
"I did not expect Casanova's response. I did not expect him to rise to the occasion, to fight me."
Lacklan watches as the two men come together and grapple, the rather large crowd popping at the first physical contact between the up-and-coming GWE stars.
"Make no mistake, Casanova is an amazing warrior. He is fast, strong, cunning. He has earned and deserves everyone accolade that has come his way. Except that he made a mistake all those years ago, the six years gone. He did not defeat me then."
The two men in the ring find themselves at a standstill, each unable to get an advantage over the other.
"He should have defeated me, then. I did not take him seriously. I mocked him. You were there, you remember."
Elaine smiles, her startlement and fear earlier forgotten.
"I do. 'A Night of Cosplay.' I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
"Indeed. I mocked him, he and the claims of his nature. He should have defeated me. He did not. And he paid for it."
On the screen, the match has come to a no-contest, the referee separating the two.
"When we faced in SIN, with my mockery gone, with my attention and focus on him, Stevie Swing be damned, he could not hold me back, he could not face the torrent of my anger."
Lacklan presses a button on the machine, the cassette tape ejecting.
"He faced my wraith and failed. Now he has risen again, his mind hell-bent upon fighting Mr. Page's word, upon fighting the regulations of SIN Wrestling. I understand his passion, I understand his desire. Unfortunately for Mr. Casanova, it may be too late for him. Had he expressed this vision sooner, had he stood beside me when I first raised the call to drive SIN Wrestling into ash, he might have found redemption. He might have found solace. It is too late now."
Lacklan pauses a moment.
"Instead, he has answered my call to fight. Casanova has made a poor decision. A very poor decision. Now, he must face the Hammer. Now, he must feel the Hammer fall, must feel the pain I shall cause, must be crushed beneath my might, as so many have before him."
Lacklan pauses again, his head falling, a sigh issuing from him.
"However..." A pause. "However, it might be that I should offer him one final chance."
Lacklan turns to face Elaine, raising his masked head to meet her gaze.
"Creature saw much might in Casanova. He saw much power, much spirit. Maybe a chance to save himself, to join my cause instead of fighting me, is in order. I want you to send him a letter. An...invitation...to dinner. We should have words on the eve of our battle, should it occur."
"Yes my Lord," responds Elaine, making a note.
"And send one to Ms. Erikson, as well."
"My Lord?"
"You heard me, Elaine. She wishes to be within SIN again...she wishes to find herself in my presence again, becoming the referee for Casanova and I...then so be it. Let her also have a chance for final salvation."
"Yes, my Lord."
Lacklan moves to leave, but then stops and turns to Elaine a final time.
"And one more. Leave this one blank, though. I will address it myself."
"Yes, my Lord."
~~Five Years in the Future~~
"So, did they accept?"
Tragik stops from rummaging through the ruined Manor, a smile coming to his face.
"Ah...that dinner. It was...interesting. And...well...kinda embarrassing for me."
The reporter cocks his eyebrow above his horn-rimmed glasses.
"How so?"
Tragik's smile turns into his more accustomed smirk.
"That is a story for another day.
Tragik turns back to his rummaging, but only for a moment, before he bends down.
"Well, hello there."
Tragik pulls something out of the rubble, a doll, wearing a white robe, though the robe is smeared with ash.
"What's that?"
Tragik keeps his eyes upon the doll.
"Something long lost, yet never forgotten. An old friend, if you will."
The reporter comes closer, taking in the doll with his eyes.
"A doll? Who did it belong to?"
"Sarah Lacklan, JPL's daughter."
"Daughter?" The reporter moves through his notes. "I'm confused here. You told me about her tonight, but I have absolutely no information on her. Where is she?"
Tragik doesn't respond at first, instead keeping his eyes locked on the dirty doll.
"She's gone. Dealt with by the same hand, in a way, as this Manor has been."
Tragik slowly rises, his eyes still locked onto the doll.
"Come on, Mr. Leanord. There is nothing left to be seen here today. Maybe I'll tell you a story or two about who this doll represents."
The two walk away from the ruined Manor.
~~Present Day~~
We find ourselves in a dark room, a room oddly lit by a purple glow that seems to emanate from everywhere, yet no where. The room is furnished by a desk and a chair, and a few oddities that shall be remembered in time. Studious SIN Wrestling fans and audience members shall recognize the study of Lacklan, a place of many interviews and promotional videos.
Currently, we simply have Lacklan sitting at the desk, his gloved hands fingering a piece of paper. He is humming to himself lightly, the particular notes too low to be picked up by the camera, his eyes seemingly locked onto the sheet of paper. However, upon closer inspection, his eyes seem to be almost glazed over, seem to be "lost," staring at nothing.
"Come..."
Lacklan's voice is low, speaking to no one, only to himself.
"Come...Casanova..."
He pauses.
"Come...Roxy..."
A pause.
"Come and dance...dine...with the devil..."
Lacklan sets the paper down upon the table, his eyes suddenly losing their glaze, suddenly filling with the fire we know so well. The camera shifts positions to see the paper, and for the first time due to the vantage point, a curious small tin. The is an envelope, as one would use for an invitation. Not surprising, considering the previous events of this evening, though the name on the front of the envelope is:
Nico Chau.
"Come.."
Lacklan reaches over to the tin, flips open the lid to reveal a series of small white tablets neatly aligned in rows, and removes one of the tablets with a gloved finger.
"Come and dine with the Hammer of God."
Lacklan, his eyes closing, places the white tablet onto his tongue.
Fade to black.