A Window Into Everything
Scene One | Off-Camera
“Sean showed me this thing. I don’t know what it was. But it felt so real, you know? I saw us in that house. Like we used to talk about. Jimmy was still alive. Fuck, I can still feel his hand on my shoulder, you know? I could smell my brother again, for just a moment. But now it’s all I can think of. And…” Luna began to trail off.
“And there was a baby.” Alex said, like something clicked in his head. Puzzle pieces falling into place.
“How did you know that?” Luna asked. Alex looked at her, and shook his head a little.
“I put on his mask. I saw everything.”Weeks Earlier
“I need your body, Alexander. I need access to your soul. This is a big ask, I am aware. Though it is not comfortable to offer your body as a vessel for what is essentially… a god. The TRIAD can give you everything you desire, and in turn? Give me the freedom to finally be free of the shackles that these beasts have put on me.” Mors went on.
“And if I do that? What do I get out of it?” Alex asked, his head throbbing now. His brain screamed at him to leave, yet his body refused to budge even an inch.
“I will give you James. Once I’ve been freed, I’ll have power beyond the reckoning of any person this universe, or any, have ever seen. My grudge lies not here, and I am infinitely consumed by curiosity at the musings of humanity. Yet I need to be able to see it with my own eyes. Touch with my own hands. You give me freedom, and I will give you anything. I will use your body, and together? Together we will bring your friend home.” Alex turned to look at him. Looked into the eyes of the man wearing James’ face. The smile never seemed to reach his eyes.
“I’ll do it.” Alex said.
Mors nodded, the smile slipping. He pulled the mask from his robes and reached forward. Placing it upon Alex’s face.
He saw everything.
And then it went dark.
In that darkness a flash of light. A swirl of colours and shapes. Voices filled his mind. Whispers, thousands of souls asking for release. Asking to be freed. He saw infinite moments in time. Times where he accepted the mask, times where he refused it. Worlds where he was already Vita Mors. Everything flowed in and out in that moment, and everything continued on.
His hands went to his head, squeezing at his skull. His brain felt like it was going to explode, every moment another infinite possibility. Worlds where Lauren had never died, worlds where James was alive. Universes where he never became a wrestler, and ones where he never lost a match. Homeless, limitless wealth. Not just his own but that of every other person he’d encountered. Then as quickly as it all started, it stopped.
Darkness filled the space once more.
He pulled the mask from his face, and breathed deeply. His chest heaving, his brain screaming at him. Where Vita Mors had once stood, there was just an empty space. The entire office was empty. There was nobody with him. Just himself standing in that room, looking out the window into the infinite nothingness. The absence of everything. Holding that mask in his hand, he looked down at it. An almost irresistible urge to place it back on his face.
His mind struggled to comprehend everything he had just seen. Everything he had just experienced.
“It is a bit to take in, I apologise. Though no preparation in the world would’ve helped you to even mildly comprehend what was to come. Through my eyes, you see everything. Through my eyes, you can see what it is that I deal with. The infinite and limitless cosmos. Alas, such understanding and power does not come without limitation. With you, however? I may be free.” Vita Mors voice echoed around inside his mind. Soothing the thumping and pounding going on inside his skull.
“I feel like I’m already going to come to regret this.” Alex thought to himself, and now… Vita Mors. He held the mask loosely, turning around and attempting to leave it on the desk.
“You will need to take that with you, I’m afraid. Turn you off, turn me on. Like a light switch. Protect you, protect me. Stop a forceful possession, if you will. Though, I like to think of us as temporary co-inhabitors.” Mors voice came again. Swirling in his mind. His fingers tightened on the mask and he sighed.
What had he gotten himself into?
Present Day
“He’s been pretty quiet since. I haven’t put the mask back on. I’ve seen him in a few places. A few times. Whenever I think it’s just an illusion, there he is to remind me. Jesus christ, what the fuck have I gotten myself into, Lu?” Alex said, slumping against the bartop. His mind throbbing as he finishes retelling Luna what he could remember. How does one even explain something like that?
“Maybe we should get some holy water. Give you a bath in it.” Luna teased gently. Trying to alleviate the situation a little. To ease the tension of it. To bring some ease back to the situation. He appreciated it, truly.
“So, miss lady. How do you feel about dancing? I’m pretty sure these walls are mighty soundproof, and I do like to get a boogie on when I’m a few whiskeys deep with you?” Alex rubbed his face, knocking back the last of his drink. Luna beamed at him. Smiling from ear to ear.
Things were upside down. The least they could do was attempt to have a night of normalcy. Reality was there was a chance they were going to have a hard time of it soon. An unwinnable situation. What happens when The Conspiracy is on opposite ends, in the final?
Crossing off the List
Scene Two | On-Camera
“He’s a cocksure arrogant cunt that Petey boy. Busted face, near broken neck, and a half a heartbeat between losing his championship as well as being eliminated from the tournament. He learnt that I am not the weak link in any team. He learnt that when I am focused, there ain’t no one that can step to Alexander Raven. He learnt the same lesson I taught Ben Jordan. That I teach to every person, every single fucking time that I step between these ropes. That I walk down to this ring. That I stand in the backstage area and simply glower at. Everyone is learning a fundamental fact.”
“You don’t fuck with Alexander Raven.”
“But Peter just can’t admit things that don’t fall within his narrative of arrogance and bullshit. To act like he did anything but fucking survive. That he did anything but run away when the risk got just slightly too high. Petey boy, I want you to know. I heard the bullshit you spewed last week. I heard the bullshit you used to justify your inadequacies. The glass and fragile man, who hides behind passive aggression. What are you going to do when you fail next time, Peter? I think I know.”
“I think you'll pack your bags, leave and blame the world for your shortcomings. Blame everyone else because it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that the weakest link in your own life is yourself. I want you to know, I don’t blame you, Peyotr. I don’t blame you in the slightest for being a slimy, shitkicker. Just know, when the bell tolls and we come nose to nose again. Dropping you on the top of your head is going to be the least of your worries. So for your sake, Peter. Let us hope we don’t cross paths again. For your sake. I really don’t want your blood on my hands… again.”
“But that brings me to this week. To the heater team. To the team I expected might be across from the ring from me in the finals. Mark Cross and Eiley. The shadow of her former self Eiley, and the screaming for attention wannabe big man, Mark Cross. How lovely it is to see you both again. A little more recent in embarrassment for you, Mark. Eiley and myself only ever have crossed paths the one time. When they took the Mixed Tag Team Championships, and beat down myself and Luna for it. Embarrassing for us, but poetic enough. I was in a slump, and Luna didn’t need me. Hell, Luna still doesn’t need me. She’s a queen, and a successful killer in her own right.”
“And there’s nothing more terrifying than the idea that this is all going to come down to either her or me. That’s the biggest malarkey in this whole thing, and yet. It is poetic too. That us, The Conspiracy, will be the ones to determine it all in the end. The two people that everyone just beats down and rips to shreds. That they think we don’t have feelings. That we can just be insulted, over and over and we’ll just keep taking it. No more. We’re not standing for it anymore. So when it does come down to it, and it will. You can cry yourself to sleep over it Mark. You can cry yourself to sleep over it Eiley. This isn’t your game to win, but boy. It is your game to lose.”
“So let us talk a bit about it, shall we, Mark? Last time I saw you, you were trying to step outside your realm of success. Taste the field, and in turn. You ran into me. Strength Trials Tribulations. I almost ran the full gauntlet, and you? You fell to me. You couldn’t hang in that field, Mark. You couldn’t even keep up with Alexander Raven. Yet here you are, once again trying to throw your weight around. That’s all you ever come back for, right? Words of admission from your own mouth.”
“You only do the work you think is worth doing, and it is only worth doing when you get things the way you want them. Disrespect is what it is, Mark. Disrespect for me, for this business, for wrestling as a whole. You’ve won the big belt here before, in fact. You won the Blast from the Past tournament that year too. And you held the big title for less than two fucking months. Highlight of your career here. A former world champion, and one of the most forgettable. Yet, every six to twelve, you come back. You throw your hat in the ring again, and pretend like you actually matter. You throw yourself to the wolves and hope. Hope that this time it sticks. That this time, because there are no Mac Banes, or Alex Jones or Kris Ryans around to put you back in your spot.”
“Bravado is what I would call it. Over-confidence that you belong in this pool of piranha. Unfortunately for you, Mark. This isn’t your triumphant return. This isn’t your journey of proof. Your attempt at validating the horseshit you spew. Just like Peter, an arrogant little shitheel who thinks that their passive aggression and unassuming look will let you simply fly under the radar. Let you be underestimated, so you can capitalise on the shortcomings of those around you. Unfortunately for you, Marky Mark. I’ve done this tango before. I’ve seen you actually work at it. I’ve seen you attempt to raise your stock, and nothing. Nothing could be further from the truth. You seem to have this delusion currently.”
“I know a bit about delusion, Mark, but you have this delusion. This idea that you were the one they wanted to come in and take out Michael Harris. In a world of Jack Washingtons, J2Hs, Goth and Finn Whelan. Retirees like Kris Ryans and Alex Jones, and hell. Even the boy I taught a bloody lesson to in Ben Jordan. You deluded yourself into thinking that you were the one slated to change it all. In no world but that which exists in your own fucking head, were you ever going to be even an after thought in the conversation of Michael Harris. Forgettable and forgotten in the same breath. You, Mark. You’re a contender, but you’re never the guy. You’re not the one that gets sought out, but you are always seeking.”
“Seeking another step up, another way to glory. Seeking another joke to make because in joking you can hide from the truth. The truth that no matter how good you are, no matter what you do. No matter how many times you come back and try, try and try again. It always comes to the same thing. You can’t hang with the crowd of today, you get embarrassed and you walk. You walk away and you go into hiding. Then in six, twelve, eighteen months. You stick your head out again, and squawk to the heavens. Yell to the skies about how good ‘The Dragon’ Mark Cross is. You tell everyone that you are the man to watch, the future king of the mountaintop. The guy who brings the crowds and money. Reality dawns on you this week, Mark.”
“This week, you’ve got the true face of Sin City Wrestling standing across the ring from you. My career 50th match here in Sin City Wrestling. You’ve got the real person that brings the crowds. The man people pay money to see. Be it in victory or defeat, it doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that Alexander Raven is fucking indispensable in this company. You up and leave, and nobody bats a fucking eye. I ask out of my contract and I get threatened with legal action. Demands to keep me here. Refusal to simply let me walk, because the truth of it all? They don’t need you, but they do need me.”
“You know what else you need to think about, Mark? What fucking chance have you got against Finn Whelan? It’s been three years since you last even came close to being worth a damn here. Jack Washington isn’t fit to wipe the boots clean of Finn Whelan. A guy who could actually go toe to toe with the men you couldn’t even wipe the nose of. You aren’t getting any younger, you aren’t even getting any better. You just jump from week to week, hoping that something sticks. Well, let this stick, Mark. Let this stick and try not to be bogged down by the weight of it.”
“You couldn’t step to me last time we banged our heads. You can’t step to Finn Whelan. Hell, I don’t even think you could lock horns with Sean Parker or Peter Vaughn and come out looking anything less than shitheel you are. Sean’s got your number, I’ve got your number. Finn definitely has your number. So I have to ask, Mark. When you thought this was a good idea, what was running through your mind? What was digging at your heels? Truth of it? I think you’re just not sure anymore, Mark. I think you’re starting to realise that all of this is just beyond you. You want one more run of it. One more go to prove that you're worth a lick of salt in this business. Except… you get closer to the truth with each encounter. You aren’t even close to being good enough. You’re a man, who in this company? The highlight of your career is going to be being champion for a couple of months, and being one of the most forgettable members of its roster.”
“I don’t like you, Mark. I’ve made that crystal clear. I don’t think you’re half the talent you think you are, and I don’t believe you’re half the man you once were. So when that bell rings, I want you to know. That match number fifty, is going in the W column for Alexander Raven. When the crowd roars when you land a punch, or a kick. Know that they aren’t roaring because of you. They’re roaring because of me. Without me, you’re just a forgettable stand in. I’m hardest trial you face in this tournament, and the final one. Because you don’t get to beat me, Mark. You don’t even get to lace my fucking boots.”
“It isn’t all about you though, is it, Mark? No, the pretty little thing that is your partner for this tournament, Eiley. She’s the one to really watch. Young, effortless, and wildly more talented than yourself. Eiley is the one to watch here. As much confidence as I have in Calaway being able to hold her off, I’ve experienced the wiles of the Jet City youth before. Unfortunate that we never offered an opportunity to take the belts off them. A common repeated practice of malice and misdirected disdain. An attempt at punishing those who won’t submit to the wiles and corruption of Mark Ward and Christian, I am sure. Regardless, it doesn’t matter in the long term.”
“What does matter is you, Eiley. The woman so desperate to separate herself from the shadow of Mikah. Something you expound upon, over and over, yet you can’t even get through a few breaths before you feel the inevitable need to bring her up. Over and over you do it. Bring her up, talk her up and then leave yourself as a scrambling little gnat needing the admiration and acceptance of her better. Third match back for you, Miss Eiley. Isn’t that right? And every week you’ve been booked, you’ve come out and said the same thing. Over and over, you keep saying it. Mikah this, and Mikah that. This is what she did, this is what I have to distance myself from. Blah, blah fucking blah. Who are you, Eiley?”
“I need to know, because right now? I don’t have any fucking idea who you are. A scared little girl living in the shadows of those who she believes to be the world. Oliver Zahn, Kris Ryans and this Mikah. Eiley, the girl who is too afraid to be her own fucking person. The girl who cannot step to the plate because lord forbid that she has to do something without the guiding hand of someone better. Nobody cares for a reflection of someone else. Nobody cares for a woman who cannot stand on her own two feet. Nobody cares for a rambling little bitch who has no identity. You want to win this tournament? You want to redeem yourself Eiley? Step out of the fucking shadows. Step into the light. Be someone or get the fuck out of the way.”
“I have no tolerance for those who simply crumble. Another flighty little mouse who falters and falls at any level of failure. You lost the Mixed Tag Team belts, so what? Pick yourself back up and do something about it. Fight for what you deserve if you actually give a damn. Maybe that’s it? Maybe you’re so stuck in these ideas of who you could be, who you should be. You can’t even comprehend the idea of a setback. So what are you going to do, when Alexandra Calaway beats you down? What are you going to do, when you’re standing on the apron watching as I beat every shade of the fucking rainbow out of Mark Cross? What are you going to do when his lips start to go blue when I choke his bitch ass out?”
“Nothing. You insignificant little gnat.”
“Mark, Eiley. I need you to do something worth a damn. Or I’m going to go all the way to the finals, and there ain’t a damn thing anyone can fucking do about it. Maybe that’s what is needed? I am one of the only people who holds victories over our current World Champion. That’s the money match, isn’t it? Alexander Raven and Finn Whelan for the World Heavyweight Championship. Nobody wants to see Mark Cross fail again. Nobody wants to see Eiley, the woman without a personality, step in the ring to get murdered by Kayla Richards. Unfortunate for you both, really.”“I need to know something.”
“Have you been listening?”
A Video Message
Scene Three | Off-Camera
Alex had had every intention of organising a proper sit down with Calaway. They’d had their chats, the messages back and forth. For all intents and purposes they were in sync. Their matches were going well, and there was a real chance they were going to end up in the finals. Despite the fuckery with Vita Mors, despite the risk of a situation where Luna and himself were on opposite sides of the ring at the end of it all. It all came down to an unenviable situation. Despite best intentions however, the proper sit down just never came about.
First it was the internal conflict between himself and his ghostly inhabitor. Then it was him needing a week to himself. To cleanse his brain. France had been nice, but Turkey had been nice. He’d spent a week off enjoying the cats of Istanbul and pretending that his life was normal for once. No manner of apology was ever going to truly convey what he needed to get across. Yet he had to try.
Sitting in front of James’ grave, on a grassy hill, he held his phone out in front of him. He filmed the lush surroundings, the surroundings that would soon die off and wilt away. Giving way to the harsh winter that killed off the greenery that he came to hide away at. His little space away from the world. After a little stint of filming, he pressed the button to flip to the front facing camera. He was a little bit dishevelled. A little bit rundown. His beard had grown out pretty thick again, his head recently shaved at the very least.
“Sorry. I know I keep being flighty on everything. I’m existing in a difficult world. I’ve been playing with the devil, so to speak. One day, I’m sure, we’ll actually sit down. Have a drink, knock back a few shots. Not get into a bar brawl this time, maybe. I can’t guarantee anything. I thought I’d shoot this off. Pre-match pep talk.”He rubbed his face a little bit, looking up into the sky a little.
“I think we’ve got a good shot on it. Congratulations on the title win. Sore it wasn’t me, but glad it was one of us. I need you to know that I’m all the way in. Both Luna and I are. We get through this week, Sean and Luna get through theirs. The reality is the final puts Luna and I on opposite sides. I want you to know, we’ll both do anything to win. Outside the ring, that’s life. We’ll get drunk, we’ll smoke and dance and sing. We’ll party and we’ll get over it. We’ll congratulate the other and we’ll get on with it. So don’t worry. In the end, I’ll have your back.” Alex nodded a little more to himself, looking at the phone again. A slight smile crossed his face. He was tired, tortured and struggling. He was doing his best to hide it however.
“We’ll get together soon. Pre-match hype up or something. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks Ally.” With that he pressed the button to stop recording. Opened up his messages and shot the video off to Calaway. Hopefully she’d see it before they got to the arena in a few days. He turned to look out into the hills once more, taking a long deep breath.
A rush of wind, and there was a figure standing beside him. So many years of seeing ghosts he wasn’t taken aback by the sudden appearance of people. The hand on his shoulder did however unnerve him. The steel grip of one Vita Mors.
“How very quiet it is here. It is one thing to see these places from my office. To see a world through the eyes of everyone else. It’s another to be here physically. To be quieted to everything and just be able to experience it. I would like to be this free one day Alex. Together, we will be. I’m certain of it.”He just couldn’t ever be free of the mistakes of his past.
And then…
