Post by Jet Somers on Sept 23, 2017 2:12:00 GMT -5
The envelope had arrived the morning after the go home Synergy, and Sherry gives it barely more than a cursory glance and a perfunctory shrug before dropping it onto the coffee table where Jet was sure to see it when he got back from the clubhouse. She retires to have a luxurious mid-afternoon bath, and is therefore blissfully unaware when he stomps into the house a half hour later.
Spying the envelope, Jet notices his name carefully lettered in the most overwrought calligraphic script he'd ever seen.
He ponders, bemused, at the unorthodox fold of the envelope, and the red wax seal with an even more elaborate "L", then shrugs and opens it. From inside, he extracts a a thick, glossy card, with gold foil lettering addressing him:
Jet Somers,
You are cordially invited to attend a team-building weekend at Lacklanland prior to Outlast. Come as you are, by any means of conveyance. Your every need will be seen after.
Regards,
Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan
Jet allows his brow to furrow in amusement, but shrugs and pulls out his cellphone.
Sherry: Your every need, eh?
She pokes him in the small of the back playfully.
Jet: I don't think thats what they meant, Sher.
Jet grins sheepishly, folding her into his arms.
Jet: Besides, it's a team-building thing. Jase is going to be there, and I just know I'm going to wind up babysitting him.
----------
Sherry picks at the blue blanket thrown across her lap as she reclines on the couch. She studies her phone, her eyes flicking up to the television every few minutes. A voice that sounds vaguely German recites from the speakers. Her red locks are piled up on her head in a lazy bun, and she has her reading glasses on.
Jet walks in from the kitchen, balancing a tray with two tall mojitos, a bowl of veggie chips, and a tupperware container with homemade french onion dip. He sets the tray on the round coffee table before them.
Sherry: Ooh!
She claps her hands together once and leans forward, dropping her phone onto the table beside the tray. Jet snatches up the remote.
Jet: Have they started yet?
Sherry, a mouth full of chips and dip, shakes her head.
Sherry: Mmm-mmm. Only Hans doing this spiel.
Jet presses the volume up and settles in with his drink as the camera switches to Lucy Wylde.
Lucy: I’ve got a lot of faith in this kid, I think she could win the entire thing. Maggie Lockheart.
Sherry: Oh, I like her.
Jet shrugs as Hastings begin ranting.
Sherry: You don't?
Jet: I don't have an issue with her. Lucy was obviously hoping to make a statement, though, making her the number one pick overall.
Sherry: Maybe it's a nod to the influx of female talent this year. You've had, what, eight women join the roster in the same number of months? UGWC is changing, and putting Maggie at the front of a tournament where everyone has an equal chance to become the top champion is a huge gesture.
Jet: Only, that's not why she picked her.
Sherry: No?
Jet: Maggie Lockheart freaking worships Lucy, because she's the first person who really paid her any attention. Once Wrestlestock was over, she could have faded away, but it seems like Lucy had to bring in her own support system to fill in what she wasn't getting within the company.
Sherry: What about Baal?
Jet snarls his response.
Jet: Replaced her with what he really wanted.
Hastings: There have got to be a dozen better names than that, you could have taken Zane, you could have-
Ooley: Hamstrings selects Bane. Next.
Jet bursts into laughter, and Sherry can't help but smile.
Jet: I can't believe that idiot just accidentally chose Zane. Someone with a sick sense of humor must be watching these two, because their pairing is hilarious.
Sherry: I thought you liked Zane?
Jet: I respect the guy, and he's way better as a lone wolf, but I know better than anyone how advantageous springboarding off Donovan Hastings into a World Championship reign can be. It's what made me.
He thumbs the volume up again as the camera pans to Eden Morgan.
Eden: I can’t go anywhere without my driver, can I? Ichabod.
Jet rolls his eyes in exasperation. Sherry's mouth twitches, but Jet puts a hand up.
Jet: Just... don't.
She leans back, deflated.
Rydell: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Taking it old school here, I’ll have Phrixus Deimos.
Jet: Typical Rydell. He's pulled this act for years. Try to squeeze respect from someone who can't stand you like blood from a stone. When Deimos inevitably dismisses him, he'll try to drum up a meaningful feud out of it, all the while swearing that the only thing he cares about is becoming the World Champion. The way he attaches himself to people who'd rather not waste their time, he's like...
Sherry smirks.
Sherry: A virus of life?
Jet fixes her with a glare that says he can't believe she just made the pun.
Vines: Dave Rydell selects Phrixus Deimos, that brings us to Sarah Selena Lacklan.
The camera catches a peek at Sarah’s paper, which already looks like something of a road map, with several items crossed off. She blows a kiss and gives a wink to Lucy.
Lacklan: Jet Somers.
Jet's head cocks to the side, and he blinks a few times. This obviously couldn't have been ore unexpected.
Sherry: So much for Killian picking you.
Jet: Yeah, but... this is good. Lacklan has made quite the imprint the last few months. A Wrestlestock Cup holder picks a former Outlast Champion? She's smart.
Sherry: Because she picked you, that makes her smart?
Sherry's tone is teasingly incredulous.
Jet: She's smart because she's obviously done her homework. I'm impressed.
The camera has been on Killian King for the last few minutes as he complained about his drowsiness.
Killian: Rogan.
Sherry: I guess if he can't have you, he has to take your partner?
Jet shakes his head slightly.
Jet: No, I think there might be more to it than that. Wait and see who else he picks.
Jet leans forward and plucks a chip, popping it into his mouth as he watches with earnest interest. He nods in approval as Chaos makes hsi presence known with his usual aplomb.
----------
The two motorbikes roar into the rest station outside Tuscaloosa on Highway 11, dropping the biker salute at the three retreating riders just on their way back out to the open road. The trio drops theirs in response, and Jet Somers and Jason Ingalls watch them go as they park.
Jase: You gotta piss?
His smirk belies his playful contempt for his road trip partner.
Jet: No, gotta book a hotel.
Jase's face falls.
Jase: You mean you didn't plan lodgings for us, Sacagawea? I thought you had this entire thing plotted?
The Cooperative Champion favors his Outlast teammate with a rueful smile.
Jet: I had to change my flight last minute because someone wanted a male-bonding trip, remember? I'm literaly flying by the seat of my pants here.
Jase shrugs as he turns to watch a young couple walking their corgi around the dog park.
Jase: You didn't put up a fight.
Jet: Got it. Holiday Inn in Northport.
Jase raises an eyebrow.
Jase: Really?
Jet: It's college football weekend, we're lucky the Tide are in Nashville or we'd be sleeping in the woods back there.
Jase scans the edge of the trees, and shrugs, then turns as Jet dismounts and walks toward the brick building.
Jet: I have to piss.
---
A few minutes later, Jet is running his hands through his hair as walks back, and he catches Jase smirking in the direction of a gray Kia Sorento. As he follows the gaze, Jet sees a young man checking his watch repeatedly as he lets out one exaggerated sigh after another while he leans against the car. A pretty brunette paces around behind the SUV without direction, desperately calling a name Jet can't make out. Tears stream down her face.
Tossing his mop of hair in their direction, he looks at Jase questioningly.
Jet: What's going on?
Jase: Fuck if I know. Let's get to Northport. I want a burger before we turn in.
Jet: Five hours, and we're back on the road, got it?
Jase salutes.
Jase: Got it, Chekov.
He laughs uproariously as they gun their engines and start to ride away. As they pass, Jet watches the young woman collapse into sobs right in the traffic lane, and the man roll his eyes before making his way over to retrieve her. Jet shakes his head as he faces forward again, trailing Jase out of the parking lot.
----------
Vines: Mr. King, we need your selection.
Killian: CJ Wylde.
A smile breaks across Jet's face as he theory gains traction in his mind.
Sherry: Care to share?
Jet: If you think Sarah is smart, watch how Killian fills out his team. Brilliant.
Sherry: I'm not getting it. He's picking guys he can't stand.
Jet: Wrong.
Sherry: You think he likes Rogan and CJ?
Jet: You're wrong. How he feels about his teammates is irrelevant. Their feelings are what this is about.
As the camera returns to the Red Queen, Jet leans in, anxious to find out who he'd be working with.
Lacklan: SO many names. Let’s go with Jason Ingalls.
Sherry: Oh no...
Jet: Aw hell...
Rydell: Jessica Mathis.
Jet doesn't even register Rydell's pick as the realization of Sarah's second pick sinks in. Jason Ingalls, another soul he honestly tried to save, lost to the chaos. Jase is a symbol of all of Jet's failures coming back to kick his ass, and partnering with him is going to be one of the biggest hurdles of this tournament.
Jet: First Rogan, now Jase. Making partners of enemies is my M.O., I guess.
Sherry: You did well with him at In Your Hands. And I'm sure you'll surpass whatever the Court gives you next week. You're the world's greatest partner, everybody knows that.
She favors him with a flirtatious wink, and they both grin as Eden makes her selection.
Vines: Eden Morgan selects Quentin Barnes. Lord Hastings, it is your turn.
Jet: Now that's a pick I could get behind for her. Had she picked him from the start, I think Eden would be in one of the most advantageous positions so far.
Sherry: He helped her a couple years back, didn't he?
Jet: Yeah. Unlike most of the men she bats her eyelashes at, he wasn't obsessed with her. It was more of a fatherly thing with Barnes. He's the perfect choice for someone who'll fight tooth and claw to get her to the main event, and then get the hell out of her way.
Sherry: You think he'll lie down for her?
Jet: No, but he'll let her and Baal settle it. Because his brother will ask him to.
Sherry: Smart choice.
Jet: It would be... if she hadn't picked Ichabod first. That completely negates Barnes.
Hastings: Hold on, what just happened?
Vines: Donovan Hastings selects Alan Wallace.
Hastings: What? Why?
Sherry: You know, you said years ago that he'd become a joke, but I didn't really see it until now.
Jet: Still though, if it's true that Alan's back, that's a hell of an ally to have... and a hell of an opponent for the main event. Killian trashed him because he hasn't been the warrior he once was ever since Travis Roberts dethroned him. If he's back, that means he's ready to prove Killian wrong. I've got to keep my eye on him.
After a lengthy pissing contest, the draft is passed to Lucy.
Lucy: I think in the spirit of friendship, I’ll be bringing my best one. JC.
Sherry lights up, and kicks a foot into Jet's thigh.
Sherry: Round three?
Jet: I doubt the thought even crossed Lucy's mind. It's just another ass-kisser. I'm sorry, but for all the traction she's gained since she's been here, Lucy isn't impressing me lately.
Sherry: She's the Cross Hemisphere Champion, Jet. She defeated Holden Orson and Jason Ingalls at the beginning of the month, one week after defeating your captain!
Jet: Oh, I'm not doubting her in-ring abilities, Sherry. Lest you forget, she's beaten me more than once.
Sherry: Then why the shade?
Jet: It's her choices. Both of the Wyldes came in with momentum never before seen with new acquisitions. Sure, Eden can say she chased him out of the company, but do you really believe the way he and Lucy were at each other's throats didn't have something to do with it?
Sherry: Yeah, but...
Jet: Lucy chased CJ Wylde from the company, not Eden. Then she threw in her lot with one of the most unsavory members of the roster, and attempted to start an affair with him... to what end? And now, intead of solidifying a first year that rivals that of Eden's, she blows it all away to bring in outsiders who'll be sure to talk her up and shield her while she tries to close the distance between her and Gabriel in the worst way possible.
By this point, Chaos is back in the booth discussing the second round picks.
----------
As Jet signals for Exit 18, Jase catches sight of the city sign and twists the throttle to catch up. He signals for Jet to take the shoulder and leans in to pull up close to him.
Jase: The hell are we stopping for? We're less than a half hour from Hartford!
Jet looks surprised.
Jet: We're not staying in Hartford, we're staying in Meriden.
Jase looks off down the busy commercial highway, then turns back to seach Jet's eyes. Suddenly, he smiles, the look full of mischief.
Jase: Alright, Jet. Let's stay in Meriden.
Jet hesitates.
Jet: Behave yourself.
Jase's only answer is for his smile to widen even further before he speeds off ahead of Jet.
---
Jase, having kept the lead up the whole way through town, pulls confidently through the rolling chainlink gate as it slowly opens. Jet trails a few yards back. They pass a row of more than forty bikes parked in a line outside an extensive Quonset hut set on a vast seal-coated asphalt lot.
They pull into the end of the row and shut off their bikes, and Jase looks around as he pulls in a breath of air.
Jet: This place is huge!
Jase looks surprised.
Jase: First time at the Meriden Clubhouse?
Jet continues to scan the empty lot that stretches out for several acres behind the hut. Overly-wide lanes run in between dozens of parking spaces, and tall sodium-arc pole lights are set up every fifty yards or so. The poles are lined with wireless security cameras.
Jet: Nate and I didn't get up this way when we were Nomads.
Jase surveys the yard with approval.
Jase: It's an auto auction. First Thursday of the month, every space is full, and it's crawling with bidders.
He points east.
Jase: There's a shop about a mile further down, bigger than this one.
Jet looks back up the length of the hut.
Jet: What's here?
Jase shrugs.
Jase: Offices. Records. And the clubhouse, of course. Should we let them know we're here?
Jet is immediately suspicous of Jase's eagerness, and steps past him.
Jet: I'll take point.
---
Ross: He's not welcome here.
Carter Ross, the hulking, half-black Vice Presieent of the Meriden chapter of the Devil's Most Wanted, meets Jet at the door, his tiny but tough as nails Sgt-At-Arms Russ Carter backing him up. Jase stands outside the door, barely able to stifle a grin.
Carter: Fuck are you smiling at, prick?
Jase can't contain himself.
Jase: Carter Ross? Russ Carter? Did Jim do that on purpose?
Carter moves past his VP, but Jet steps into his path.
Ross: You vouching for him?
The two seargents stare dagger at one another, one clean shaven from crown to toe, the other a poster boy for volumizing hair treatments, each one daring the other to make the first move.
Jet: We just need a place to crash a few hours. I'm not asking you to do anything for him. But you're gonna leave him alone while we're here.
Carter: And why the fuck would we do that?
Jim: Because if you don't, I'm going to send your ass down south and you can explain to Cypress and Chad why you're not letting their Sgt-At-Arms through the door.
Jase: They'll at least give you a shack to sleep in.
As the president of this chapter walks in from their Church, Jet's surprised at his age. He seems to be in his sixties, his cut still the classic denim style, his skin weathered and beaten. His deep voice moves through the room at a tenor that resonates off the corrugated metal walls. When Carter doesn't back down, he steps behind the bar and leans forward.
Jim: And you won't be riding, Russ. We'll have to strap you to the bed of the rollback, because you're not going to be able to walk for about a week.
Jet can't miss the way Carter's eyes suddenly drop, the ghost of a memory darkening his countenance. He backs off, taking a seat at the bar and sulking as he refuses to take part in the rest of the conversation.
Ross motions for the pair to enter, and Jase tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Ross growls at the disrespect, but Jase has already moved on.
Jim: Carter, take him to his room. Now.
Without another word, Ross grabs Jase by the elbow and ushers him toward the door.
Jase: Take your hands off me, you fucking Neanderthal.
Jet: Jase!
He spins to glare at Jet.
Jase: Fuck off, Somers. I'm not the fucking clown show here to entertain these bastards, and I'm damn sure not a sorry ass prospect to be manhandled.
Jim casts a hard look at Jet as Jase shakes his arm free. Jet watches with horrified fascination.
Jase: I'll walk myself, you caveman. And if you put your hands on me again, I'll make sure to burn fucking place to the ground.
Jet hears a cocking sound, and turns to see a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun leveled across the surface of the bar. Jase looks down at it and smiles.
Jase: That don't scare me too much, boss. I wouldn't waste the lead on someone like me.
With that, he turns and strolls past Ross and out the door. Ross turns to look at his president, who nods, the unspoken order to follow Jase to his room.
Jim: I don't much care for you bringing him here.
Jet doesn't take his eyes off the rifle until Jim puts it away.
Jim: If Cypress wasn't such a good friend, I'd have turned you both away at the gate, consequences be damned.
Jet nods solemnly.
Jet: I understand. I'm sorry to have darkened your door, but I need him.
Jim: For your wrestling show?
Jet: That's part of it, yeah. But it's a lot bigger than that. You'll just have to trust me on that one.
Jim: If there's any more trouble tonight, you can get back on your bikes and ride for Worcester.
With that, the president walks out from behind the bar and beckon for Jet to follow him deeper into the clubhouse to be put up for the next few hours.
----------
Rydell: I am, actually. Hayleigh Fear
Jet laughs.
Jet: Chassie's daughter on one side and Zane on the other? That could be interesting.
Sherry: You're going to have to explain to me all the Covenant connections sometime. Jez tried once, and my head was spinning. Now we have a second generation?
Hastings: Travis…
Jet shoots forward.
Jet: Yes!
Ooley: Sharp. Fantastic. Next.
Jet: No! Argh. I was kind of hoping he wouldn't get picked.
Sherry: Yeah right. You two need to bury the hatchet.
Jet: Right in his face.
Sherry rolls her eyes.
Sherry: How many years did you two run the company? Three? Four? Neither of you have been the same since the TPW breakup.
Jet: I've competed for way more championships.
Sherry smirks at Jet as he crosses his arms and nearly affects a pout.
Eden: She’s got a mouth on her, but her drive is what impresses me. Olivia Price.
Sherry watches as Jet unfolds his left arm to raise his palm in confusion.
Jet: I just don't understand her anymore. Next?
Lieberjosch: What happened to your cat?
Killian: What cat?
Jet: Did he have a cat?
Sherry: Yeah, he was petting it earlier, when you were congratulating yourself and him on the brilliance of his drafts.
Jet: I didn't even see it.
Killian: KvK.
Jet's jaw falls open, his eyes going wide.
Jet: I did not see that coming.
Sherry: I thought you had his team figured out.
Jet: I had the reason for his picks figured out, but even I didn't think he'd go that far.
Sherry: So, you want to let me in on his strategy?
Jet: They all have a reason to hate Eden. Klaus and CJ are well documented malefactors.
Sherry: And Rogan?
Jet: If he hurts Eden, he hurts Baal. Rogan's been biding his time going after Baal, and I'm betting that's top on his agenda, if not the main reason for his return.
Sherry: I thought they were friends?
Jet: Ichabod has taken that spot.
Jet says this last as an aside, seeing that Lackan is about to make her final pick.
Lacklan: The person who I trust in this business more than any other...the light of my life...my wife...Mackenzie Michaela Grey-Lacklan.
Jet: Excellent. They're tag team champions in another organization. Having her on the team pretty much seals us as the most cooperative team there.
Sherry: Even with Jason?
Jet: Well, he was the most recent champion before me...
Lucy: Gabriel Baal.
Jet throws his hands up.
Jet: What a fucking genius... He's going to eat her alive.
Sherry: At least she didn't pick one of her adherents.
Jet: Oh, she thinks she did. She's going to get a wake up call when she finally realizes Eden has completely eclipsed her in Baal's attention.
Sherry: Well, that's the team you're up against. You think your team has a chance?
Jet gives her a Kubrick-smile.
Jet: I think Lucy eliminated herself for us. We're in the main event, guaranteed.
----------
Their heads are rocked back as they coast the last hundred yards of the concrete driveway to the gate. Even at the distance they're viewing it, the Lackan manor is impossibly palatial. The cupolas, spires, and grotesques soar into the clouds, and there's no telling how far into the distance the house stretches. An older, portly gentleman in a cap exits the gatehouse and approaches.
Gateman: Masters Ingalls and Somers?
They both nod absently, their eyes unable to meet his as they continue to roam over the facade of the home. Nonplussed, he hands each of them an envelope.
Gateman: Please proceed through the gate, and turn south on Enjolras Lane. I would request that you walk your motorbikes so as not to disturb the menagerie or mar the concrete. You'll find the motor-stable there, and you can park before entering the house via the south wing entrance. You can't miss it, gentlemen. Please enjoy your stay.
They each nod absently as they push their bikes via the handlebars through the retracting iron-wrought gate. It slides silently to the left, then moves back into place as the gateman takes up his post once more.
Their awe begins to subside somewhat as they walk, and without the din of their engines, Jet and Jase begin to feel the weight of the silence. They'd not spoken a word since riding out from Meriden, but Jet knows that Jase didn't miss the assembled ranks of the entire club lining the fence to watch them go. It wasn't a fair farewell--it was menacing.
Jet clears his throat.
Jet: That last stretch wasn't so bad.
Jase: Nope.
Jet: I'm glad we rode up together. It's important that we coexist peaceably. Working with Rogan has really illustrated the benefits of maintaining a business relationship with someone you don't really care for.
At the mention of the Engine of Cthulu's name, Jet watches Jase's visage carefully, expecting some sort of reaction, if not an angry outburst. Instead, Jase begins to hum tunelessly without meeting Jet's look.
Jet: By the way, for what it's worth, I'm really sorry about what happened with Quinn.
Jase gives a crooked grin and watches as a flock of peacocks prance by on the immaculately manicured lawn, each fan of their feathers causing a rippling sound in the otherwise still air.
Jase: I'm not.
It comes out in a lazy drawl, and he looks over at Jet, a hint at some dark knowledge in his eyes. Feeling a cold dread like ice water down his spine, Jet deliberately faces forward and pushes a little harder on the handlebars. Soon, they come to a crossing point in the drive.
Jase: You ever seen a house with it's own streets?
Jet shakes his head as he looks up at the signs. South, as promised, is Enjolras Lane, while north is Eponine Way. They turn in unison and make their way toward the distant "motor-stable."
----------
"Frankly, Gabriel, the shit you're pulling with Eden makes me sick. I don't know how you got her to forgive what you did to her, or forgive what you did to Nate, but you amount to every other sweet talking, falsely honest prick that thought he could manipulate the Ice Queen into being his arm candy with a kick.
"I tried to warn you off. I really tried. I hope you'll remember that when Eden finally wakes up and smells the scent of your game. A good World Champion would have studied his history before tempting fate. I could gleefully relate multiple tales of men who've tried the exact same scheme you're desperately trying to execute right now, and I wouldn't blink when I explained the fate you'll soon share with them.
"If you've seen an Outlast tournament before, then you know what's in store next week. You're the walking clay pigeon, and it generally takes nothing short of a miracle to start and finish the night as the World Champion. Based on your actions, I suspect you already feel the gravity of that position. You've maneuvered your way into the trust and alliance of a plethora of legitimate threats, but as the days fall off the month, the sunny part of your reign comes to an end. You've cornered yourself by wearing your heart on your sleeve and your cards on your hat.
"It's hurricane season, Gabriel, and you're a Caribbean Island. Your comeuppance is coming from every direction, it's coming repeatedly, and you're going to be a disaster area that keeps taking your beating before relief efforts can even get started.
"Did you think being the Jorah to Eden's Khaleesi would keep her from taking back that title? Did you think standing in the hole CJ left in Lucy's heart would endear you enough to stop her career-making rise? Did you think spiriting the only thing he's ever really loved away would weaken Killian to your assumed dominance? Did you think capitalizing on his hubris would quail Donovan and make him think twice about coming for you again and again? Did you think stealing away with that championship was noticed by Sarah on the night she captured the UGWC stratosphere's appreciation? Did you think your disdain would sway Dave's determination to reinvent himself?
"I know it was your hope and dream to have the type of influence on this business that would never be forgotten, back when you ruined my friend Moss's exit. Your group preached a revolution that would change the face of the industry forever. What did it amount to? Another shaky faction that fell apart the moment it's members didn't see eye to eye, proving the whole sham wasn't greater than the sum of it's parts.
"What was your mission statement about veterans? We were tyrants buried new talent? What your alleged brilliant mind failed to consider was that there was a reason people like me are the pillars of this company- we persevere, we succeed, and when we fall, we climb back up. We push to our goals unshakably, and when you look back over the history of the UGWC, you see certain names pop up over and over. Our names, because we stay and fight, we're always a threat, and we're always here.
"Your first reign has been a dream come true for you, I'm sure. But, as every interim champion before you will attest, there are always a few names there at the edges of your fantasy, ready to drag you kicking and screaming back to reality. Our reality.
"This world belongs to the cornerstones like me, and that championship belongs to fighters like me. Not because we say it does, but because we prove, over and over, with fists and elbows, with kicks and stomps, that we deserve it.
"You can Twitter banter all you want, but come the final bell at Outlast the only trend you'll remember is the parade of faces of better competitors who were forced to remind you who's game you were playing as they smother you in the nonstop barrage we battled one another to earn the priviledge of bringing down on your doorstep.
"Outlast is going to end with a better, more deserving champion. The odds are insurmountable that it will be one of the veterans you lied about putting out to pasture. It might as well be me.
----------
Jet is making an honest effort, but the evening gown the young valet is wearing lays against her curves so perfectly, it continues to draw his gaze downward as she flows down the staircase toward a heavy, oranately carved set of double doors. When they've drawn close enough to make out the frieze, Jet's attention is instantly captured.
In stark relief, the scene depicts a holy figure, and Inquistor, armed with a staff topped with a cruciform, pointing a righteous finger toward a gathered, naked mass of sinners. From around him, several robed and armored crusaders advance on the sodomites, enacting his fiery justice.
Jet: Jeez...
Catching his admiring eye, the tiny redhead smiles knowingly.
Valet: Jean-Paul Lacklan was quite fond of his murals.
Jet: I guess so.
He runs a hand nervously through his hair, almost wishing Jase were still here so he had a reason to exercise some machismo. They had been separated after entering the south wing, each set given directions to follow a separate valet into a hallway in the labyrinthine cellar. There, they would be tasked with making their way to a common meeting room, where refreshments and fellowship would be had with the rest of the team.
As the valet throws open the doors, she gestures for Jet to enter the hallway, where a warren of head-height passages are laid out before him. Just inside the entrance, she walks up to a side door, and gives a smart rap then wrinkles her nose firtatiously at The Wild Card before shutting him in.
Jet raises an eyebrow, then shrugs and begins to make his way into the maze. He stops, however, when the same side door opens, and four men walk out. Three of them carry stringed instruments, while the fourth pushes a heavy floor cart. They're each dressed in three piece tuxedos, and they barely nod to him before they begin. The cellist climbs onto the cart, while the guitarist and the violinist take up posts flanking him. They begin a smooth concerto as Jet shakes his head and turns to walk down the aisle. They keep pace, the fourth man helpfully pushing the cart that the cellist sits upon.
As he reaches the first T shaped juncture, Jet is presented with two photographs. To the left, Eden Morgan. To the right, Killian King. He ponders for a moment, the accompanying music actually helping him to think. Finally, he makes up his mind and turns right.
As he continues, Jet has to make decision after decision. Some are obvious; Zane Scott vs Donovan Hastings-- he quickly turns in Scott's direction without wasting time. Others aren't as certain; JC vs Jase-- it's at least five minutes before he finally chooses Ingalls. Some crosspoints have three or more choices, multiple paths without a correct path revealing itself to him.
His mind works, the riddle not taking form in his head. What was the point Sarah was trying to make?
After what seems like hours, Jet finds himself at the center of the winding puzzle, the openings of at least eight other paths leading to the same spot. The mobile orchestra waits at the opening, their playing finally ceased. Turning around and around, he's beset on all sides by the realization that it didn't matter which path he took, this is where he'd wind up. He finally walks to the dead center of the maze, and sees a photo lying face down.
Narrowing his eyes, Jet kneels down, but he already knows who's face will be on the other side. The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place in his mind.
The draft, three years after it's inception, had finally achieved the most random spread of teams since the birth of Outlast. In the past, it had been all about established teams fighting to get as many of them into the main event as possible in order to overwhelm the current World Champion. Everyone liked to preach about working together to get there, then rib one another about 'not taking it easy' should they all get there. It's fluff, really, a fluff the tournament finally has a chance to outgrow. The point of the maze was that none of the choices in the tournament truly matter. Support your team, betray them, eliminate at random. No one is in a more advantageous position than anyone else, despite where they were placed in the hierarchy. All paths should lead to the world champion, and anything distracting the competitors from that will keep them from Outlasting.
Jet turns the photo over, and is greeted by the smirking visage of the Serpent. His eyes go wide with hate, even though he's not at all surprised.
Sarah was right to choose Jet. He has more than a few scores to settle with the Engine of Cruelty, and nothing will sway him from that focus. Not this time.
The Red Queen drifts out of a random pathway, regarding Jet with a dangerous smile. Her crimson party dress sways as she approaches him, heels never making a sound on the lightly carpeted floor. She doesn't look down at him as she passes, but puts her hand out to rake nails across his shoulder blades. He looks up, refusing to startle.
Sarah: The others are waiting.
She walks away, only pausing to look over her shoulder.
Sarah: You're totes gonna love my caterer, Jet, I've got the yummiest hors d'oeuvrs. Come on!
Jet climbs to his feet, and follow her into back into the maze.
Spying the envelope, Jet notices his name carefully lettered in the most overwrought calligraphic script he'd ever seen.
He ponders, bemused, at the unorthodox fold of the envelope, and the red wax seal with an even more elaborate "L", then shrugs and opens it. From inside, he extracts a a thick, glossy card, with gold foil lettering addressing him:
Jet Somers,
You are cordially invited to attend a team-building weekend at Lacklanland prior to Outlast. Come as you are, by any means of conveyance. Your every need will be seen after.
Regards,
Sarah Selena Grey-Lacklan
Jet allows his brow to furrow in amusement, but shrugs and pulls out his cellphone.
Sherry: Your every need, eh?
She pokes him in the small of the back playfully.
Jet: I don't think thats what they meant, Sher.
Jet grins sheepishly, folding her into his arms.
Jet: Besides, it's a team-building thing. Jase is going to be there, and I just know I'm going to wind up babysitting him.
----------
Sherry picks at the blue blanket thrown across her lap as she reclines on the couch. She studies her phone, her eyes flicking up to the television every few minutes. A voice that sounds vaguely German recites from the speakers. Her red locks are piled up on her head in a lazy bun, and she has her reading glasses on.
Jet walks in from the kitchen, balancing a tray with two tall mojitos, a bowl of veggie chips, and a tupperware container with homemade french onion dip. He sets the tray on the round coffee table before them.
Sherry: Ooh!
She claps her hands together once and leans forward, dropping her phone onto the table beside the tray. Jet snatches up the remote.
Jet: Have they started yet?
Sherry, a mouth full of chips and dip, shakes her head.
Sherry: Mmm-mmm. Only Hans doing this spiel.
Jet presses the volume up and settles in with his drink as the camera switches to Lucy Wylde.
Lucy: I’ve got a lot of faith in this kid, I think she could win the entire thing. Maggie Lockheart.
Sherry: Oh, I like her.
Jet shrugs as Hastings begin ranting.
Sherry: You don't?
Jet: I don't have an issue with her. Lucy was obviously hoping to make a statement, though, making her the number one pick overall.
Sherry: Maybe it's a nod to the influx of female talent this year. You've had, what, eight women join the roster in the same number of months? UGWC is changing, and putting Maggie at the front of a tournament where everyone has an equal chance to become the top champion is a huge gesture.
Jet: Only, that's not why she picked her.
Sherry: No?
Jet: Maggie Lockheart freaking worships Lucy, because she's the first person who really paid her any attention. Once Wrestlestock was over, she could have faded away, but it seems like Lucy had to bring in her own support system to fill in what she wasn't getting within the company.
Sherry: What about Baal?
Jet snarls his response.
Jet: Replaced her with what he really wanted.
Hastings: There have got to be a dozen better names than that, you could have taken Zane, you could have-
Ooley: Hamstrings selects Bane. Next.
Jet bursts into laughter, and Sherry can't help but smile.
Jet: I can't believe that idiot just accidentally chose Zane. Someone with a sick sense of humor must be watching these two, because their pairing is hilarious.
Sherry: I thought you liked Zane?
Jet: I respect the guy, and he's way better as a lone wolf, but I know better than anyone how advantageous springboarding off Donovan Hastings into a World Championship reign can be. It's what made me.
He thumbs the volume up again as the camera pans to Eden Morgan.
Eden: I can’t go anywhere without my driver, can I? Ichabod.
Jet rolls his eyes in exasperation. Sherry's mouth twitches, but Jet puts a hand up.
Jet: Just... don't.
She leans back, deflated.
Rydell: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Taking it old school here, I’ll have Phrixus Deimos.
Jet: Typical Rydell. He's pulled this act for years. Try to squeeze respect from someone who can't stand you like blood from a stone. When Deimos inevitably dismisses him, he'll try to drum up a meaningful feud out of it, all the while swearing that the only thing he cares about is becoming the World Champion. The way he attaches himself to people who'd rather not waste their time, he's like...
Sherry smirks.
Sherry: A virus of life?
Jet fixes her with a glare that says he can't believe she just made the pun.
Vines: Dave Rydell selects Phrixus Deimos, that brings us to Sarah Selena Lacklan.
The camera catches a peek at Sarah’s paper, which already looks like something of a road map, with several items crossed off. She blows a kiss and gives a wink to Lucy.
Lacklan: Jet Somers.
Jet's head cocks to the side, and he blinks a few times. This obviously couldn't have been ore unexpected.
Sherry: So much for Killian picking you.
Jet: Yeah, but... this is good. Lacklan has made quite the imprint the last few months. A Wrestlestock Cup holder picks a former Outlast Champion? She's smart.
Sherry: Because she picked you, that makes her smart?
Sherry's tone is teasingly incredulous.
Jet: She's smart because she's obviously done her homework. I'm impressed.
The camera has been on Killian King for the last few minutes as he complained about his drowsiness.
Killian: Rogan.
Sherry: I guess if he can't have you, he has to take your partner?
Jet shakes his head slightly.
Jet: No, I think there might be more to it than that. Wait and see who else he picks.
Jet leans forward and plucks a chip, popping it into his mouth as he watches with earnest interest. He nods in approval as Chaos makes hsi presence known with his usual aplomb.
----------
The two motorbikes roar into the rest station outside Tuscaloosa on Highway 11, dropping the biker salute at the three retreating riders just on their way back out to the open road. The trio drops theirs in response, and Jet Somers and Jason Ingalls watch them go as they park.
Jase: You gotta piss?
His smirk belies his playful contempt for his road trip partner.
Jet: No, gotta book a hotel.
Jase's face falls.
Jase: You mean you didn't plan lodgings for us, Sacagawea? I thought you had this entire thing plotted?
The Cooperative Champion favors his Outlast teammate with a rueful smile.
Jet: I had to change my flight last minute because someone wanted a male-bonding trip, remember? I'm literaly flying by the seat of my pants here.
Jase shrugs as he turns to watch a young couple walking their corgi around the dog park.
Jase: You didn't put up a fight.
Jet: Got it. Holiday Inn in Northport.
Jase raises an eyebrow.
Jase: Really?
Jet: It's college football weekend, we're lucky the Tide are in Nashville or we'd be sleeping in the woods back there.
Jase scans the edge of the trees, and shrugs, then turns as Jet dismounts and walks toward the brick building.
Jet: I have to piss.
---
A few minutes later, Jet is running his hands through his hair as walks back, and he catches Jase smirking in the direction of a gray Kia Sorento. As he follows the gaze, Jet sees a young man checking his watch repeatedly as he lets out one exaggerated sigh after another while he leans against the car. A pretty brunette paces around behind the SUV without direction, desperately calling a name Jet can't make out. Tears stream down her face.
Tossing his mop of hair in their direction, he looks at Jase questioningly.
Jet: What's going on?
Jase: Fuck if I know. Let's get to Northport. I want a burger before we turn in.
Jet: Five hours, and we're back on the road, got it?
Jase salutes.
Jase: Got it, Chekov.
He laughs uproariously as they gun their engines and start to ride away. As they pass, Jet watches the young woman collapse into sobs right in the traffic lane, and the man roll his eyes before making his way over to retrieve her. Jet shakes his head as he faces forward again, trailing Jase out of the parking lot.
----------
Vines: Mr. King, we need your selection.
Killian: CJ Wylde.
A smile breaks across Jet's face as he theory gains traction in his mind.
Sherry: Care to share?
Jet: If you think Sarah is smart, watch how Killian fills out his team. Brilliant.
Sherry: I'm not getting it. He's picking guys he can't stand.
Jet: Wrong.
Sherry: You think he likes Rogan and CJ?
Jet: You're wrong. How he feels about his teammates is irrelevant. Their feelings are what this is about.
As the camera returns to the Red Queen, Jet leans in, anxious to find out who he'd be working with.
Lacklan: SO many names. Let’s go with Jason Ingalls.
Sherry: Oh no...
Jet: Aw hell...
Rydell: Jessica Mathis.
Jet doesn't even register Rydell's pick as the realization of Sarah's second pick sinks in. Jason Ingalls, another soul he honestly tried to save, lost to the chaos. Jase is a symbol of all of Jet's failures coming back to kick his ass, and partnering with him is going to be one of the biggest hurdles of this tournament.
Jet: First Rogan, now Jase. Making partners of enemies is my M.O., I guess.
Sherry: You did well with him at In Your Hands. And I'm sure you'll surpass whatever the Court gives you next week. You're the world's greatest partner, everybody knows that.
She favors him with a flirtatious wink, and they both grin as Eden makes her selection.
Vines: Eden Morgan selects Quentin Barnes. Lord Hastings, it is your turn.
Jet: Now that's a pick I could get behind for her. Had she picked him from the start, I think Eden would be in one of the most advantageous positions so far.
Sherry: He helped her a couple years back, didn't he?
Jet: Yeah. Unlike most of the men she bats her eyelashes at, he wasn't obsessed with her. It was more of a fatherly thing with Barnes. He's the perfect choice for someone who'll fight tooth and claw to get her to the main event, and then get the hell out of her way.
Sherry: You think he'll lie down for her?
Jet: No, but he'll let her and Baal settle it. Because his brother will ask him to.
Sherry: Smart choice.
Jet: It would be... if she hadn't picked Ichabod first. That completely negates Barnes.
Hastings: Hold on, what just happened?
Vines: Donovan Hastings selects Alan Wallace.
Hastings: What? Why?
Sherry: You know, you said years ago that he'd become a joke, but I didn't really see it until now.
Jet: Still though, if it's true that Alan's back, that's a hell of an ally to have... and a hell of an opponent for the main event. Killian trashed him because he hasn't been the warrior he once was ever since Travis Roberts dethroned him. If he's back, that means he's ready to prove Killian wrong. I've got to keep my eye on him.
After a lengthy pissing contest, the draft is passed to Lucy.
Lucy: I think in the spirit of friendship, I’ll be bringing my best one. JC.
Sherry lights up, and kicks a foot into Jet's thigh.
Sherry: Round three?
Jet: I doubt the thought even crossed Lucy's mind. It's just another ass-kisser. I'm sorry, but for all the traction she's gained since she's been here, Lucy isn't impressing me lately.
Sherry: She's the Cross Hemisphere Champion, Jet. She defeated Holden Orson and Jason Ingalls at the beginning of the month, one week after defeating your captain!
Jet: Oh, I'm not doubting her in-ring abilities, Sherry. Lest you forget, she's beaten me more than once.
Sherry: Then why the shade?
Jet: It's her choices. Both of the Wyldes came in with momentum never before seen with new acquisitions. Sure, Eden can say she chased him out of the company, but do you really believe the way he and Lucy were at each other's throats didn't have something to do with it?
Sherry: Yeah, but...
Jet: Lucy chased CJ Wylde from the company, not Eden. Then she threw in her lot with one of the most unsavory members of the roster, and attempted to start an affair with him... to what end? And now, intead of solidifying a first year that rivals that of Eden's, she blows it all away to bring in outsiders who'll be sure to talk her up and shield her while she tries to close the distance between her and Gabriel in the worst way possible.
By this point, Chaos is back in the booth discussing the second round picks.
----------
As Jet signals for Exit 18, Jase catches sight of the city sign and twists the throttle to catch up. He signals for Jet to take the shoulder and leans in to pull up close to him.
Jase: The hell are we stopping for? We're less than a half hour from Hartford!
Jet looks surprised.
Jet: We're not staying in Hartford, we're staying in Meriden.
Jase looks off down the busy commercial highway, then turns back to seach Jet's eyes. Suddenly, he smiles, the look full of mischief.
Jase: Alright, Jet. Let's stay in Meriden.
Jet hesitates.
Jet: Behave yourself.
Jase's only answer is for his smile to widen even further before he speeds off ahead of Jet.
---
Jase, having kept the lead up the whole way through town, pulls confidently through the rolling chainlink gate as it slowly opens. Jet trails a few yards back. They pass a row of more than forty bikes parked in a line outside an extensive Quonset hut set on a vast seal-coated asphalt lot.
They pull into the end of the row and shut off their bikes, and Jase looks around as he pulls in a breath of air.
Jet: This place is huge!
Jase looks surprised.
Jase: First time at the Meriden Clubhouse?
Jet continues to scan the empty lot that stretches out for several acres behind the hut. Overly-wide lanes run in between dozens of parking spaces, and tall sodium-arc pole lights are set up every fifty yards or so. The poles are lined with wireless security cameras.
Jet: Nate and I didn't get up this way when we were Nomads.
Jase surveys the yard with approval.
Jase: It's an auto auction. First Thursday of the month, every space is full, and it's crawling with bidders.
He points east.
Jase: There's a shop about a mile further down, bigger than this one.
Jet looks back up the length of the hut.
Jet: What's here?
Jase shrugs.
Jase: Offices. Records. And the clubhouse, of course. Should we let them know we're here?
Jet is immediately suspicous of Jase's eagerness, and steps past him.
Jet: I'll take point.
---
Ross: He's not welcome here.
Carter Ross, the hulking, half-black Vice Presieent of the Meriden chapter of the Devil's Most Wanted, meets Jet at the door, his tiny but tough as nails Sgt-At-Arms Russ Carter backing him up. Jase stands outside the door, barely able to stifle a grin.
Carter: Fuck are you smiling at, prick?
Jase can't contain himself.
Jase: Carter Ross? Russ Carter? Did Jim do that on purpose?
Carter moves past his VP, but Jet steps into his path.
Ross: You vouching for him?
The two seargents stare dagger at one another, one clean shaven from crown to toe, the other a poster boy for volumizing hair treatments, each one daring the other to make the first move.
Jet: We just need a place to crash a few hours. I'm not asking you to do anything for him. But you're gonna leave him alone while we're here.
Carter: And why the fuck would we do that?
Jim: Because if you don't, I'm going to send your ass down south and you can explain to Cypress and Chad why you're not letting their Sgt-At-Arms through the door.
Jase: They'll at least give you a shack to sleep in.
As the president of this chapter walks in from their Church, Jet's surprised at his age. He seems to be in his sixties, his cut still the classic denim style, his skin weathered and beaten. His deep voice moves through the room at a tenor that resonates off the corrugated metal walls. When Carter doesn't back down, he steps behind the bar and leans forward.
Jim: And you won't be riding, Russ. We'll have to strap you to the bed of the rollback, because you're not going to be able to walk for about a week.
Jet can't miss the way Carter's eyes suddenly drop, the ghost of a memory darkening his countenance. He backs off, taking a seat at the bar and sulking as he refuses to take part in the rest of the conversation.
Ross motions for the pair to enter, and Jase tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Ross growls at the disrespect, but Jase has already moved on.
Jim: Carter, take him to his room. Now.
Without another word, Ross grabs Jase by the elbow and ushers him toward the door.
Jase: Take your hands off me, you fucking Neanderthal.
Jet: Jase!
He spins to glare at Jet.
Jase: Fuck off, Somers. I'm not the fucking clown show here to entertain these bastards, and I'm damn sure not a sorry ass prospect to be manhandled.
Jim casts a hard look at Jet as Jase shakes his arm free. Jet watches with horrified fascination.
Jase: I'll walk myself, you caveman. And if you put your hands on me again, I'll make sure to burn fucking place to the ground.
Jet hears a cocking sound, and turns to see a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun leveled across the surface of the bar. Jase looks down at it and smiles.
Jase: That don't scare me too much, boss. I wouldn't waste the lead on someone like me.
With that, he turns and strolls past Ross and out the door. Ross turns to look at his president, who nods, the unspoken order to follow Jase to his room.
Jim: I don't much care for you bringing him here.
Jet doesn't take his eyes off the rifle until Jim puts it away.
Jim: If Cypress wasn't such a good friend, I'd have turned you both away at the gate, consequences be damned.
Jet nods solemnly.
Jet: I understand. I'm sorry to have darkened your door, but I need him.
Jim: For your wrestling show?
Jet: That's part of it, yeah. But it's a lot bigger than that. You'll just have to trust me on that one.
Jim: If there's any more trouble tonight, you can get back on your bikes and ride for Worcester.
With that, the president walks out from behind the bar and beckon for Jet to follow him deeper into the clubhouse to be put up for the next few hours.
----------
Rydell: I am, actually. Hayleigh Fear
Jet laughs.
Jet: Chassie's daughter on one side and Zane on the other? That could be interesting.
Sherry: You're going to have to explain to me all the Covenant connections sometime. Jez tried once, and my head was spinning. Now we have a second generation?
Hastings: Travis…
Jet shoots forward.
Jet: Yes!
Ooley: Sharp. Fantastic. Next.
Jet: No! Argh. I was kind of hoping he wouldn't get picked.
Sherry: Yeah right. You two need to bury the hatchet.
Jet: Right in his face.
Sherry rolls her eyes.
Sherry: How many years did you two run the company? Three? Four? Neither of you have been the same since the TPW breakup.
Jet: I've competed for way more championships.
Sherry smirks at Jet as he crosses his arms and nearly affects a pout.
Eden: She’s got a mouth on her, but her drive is what impresses me. Olivia Price.
Sherry watches as Jet unfolds his left arm to raise his palm in confusion.
Jet: I just don't understand her anymore. Next?
Lieberjosch: What happened to your cat?
Killian: What cat?
Jet: Did he have a cat?
Sherry: Yeah, he was petting it earlier, when you were congratulating yourself and him on the brilliance of his drafts.
Jet: I didn't even see it.
Killian: KvK.
Jet's jaw falls open, his eyes going wide.
Jet: I did not see that coming.
Sherry: I thought you had his team figured out.
Jet: I had the reason for his picks figured out, but even I didn't think he'd go that far.
Sherry: So, you want to let me in on his strategy?
Jet: They all have a reason to hate Eden. Klaus and CJ are well documented malefactors.
Sherry: And Rogan?
Jet: If he hurts Eden, he hurts Baal. Rogan's been biding his time going after Baal, and I'm betting that's top on his agenda, if not the main reason for his return.
Sherry: I thought they were friends?
Jet: Ichabod has taken that spot.
Jet says this last as an aside, seeing that Lackan is about to make her final pick.
Lacklan: The person who I trust in this business more than any other...the light of my life...my wife...Mackenzie Michaela Grey-Lacklan.
Jet: Excellent. They're tag team champions in another organization. Having her on the team pretty much seals us as the most cooperative team there.
Sherry: Even with Jason?
Jet: Well, he was the most recent champion before me...
Lucy: Gabriel Baal.
Jet throws his hands up.
Jet: What a fucking genius... He's going to eat her alive.
Sherry: At least she didn't pick one of her adherents.
Jet: Oh, she thinks she did. She's going to get a wake up call when she finally realizes Eden has completely eclipsed her in Baal's attention.
Sherry: Well, that's the team you're up against. You think your team has a chance?
Jet gives her a Kubrick-smile.
Jet: I think Lucy eliminated herself for us. We're in the main event, guaranteed.
----------
Their heads are rocked back as they coast the last hundred yards of the concrete driveway to the gate. Even at the distance they're viewing it, the Lackan manor is impossibly palatial. The cupolas, spires, and grotesques soar into the clouds, and there's no telling how far into the distance the house stretches. An older, portly gentleman in a cap exits the gatehouse and approaches.
Gateman: Masters Ingalls and Somers?
They both nod absently, their eyes unable to meet his as they continue to roam over the facade of the home. Nonplussed, he hands each of them an envelope.
Gateman: Please proceed through the gate, and turn south on Enjolras Lane. I would request that you walk your motorbikes so as not to disturb the menagerie or mar the concrete. You'll find the motor-stable there, and you can park before entering the house via the south wing entrance. You can't miss it, gentlemen. Please enjoy your stay.
They each nod absently as they push their bikes via the handlebars through the retracting iron-wrought gate. It slides silently to the left, then moves back into place as the gateman takes up his post once more.
Their awe begins to subside somewhat as they walk, and without the din of their engines, Jet and Jase begin to feel the weight of the silence. They'd not spoken a word since riding out from Meriden, but Jet knows that Jase didn't miss the assembled ranks of the entire club lining the fence to watch them go. It wasn't a fair farewell--it was menacing.
Jet clears his throat.
Jet: That last stretch wasn't so bad.
Jase: Nope.
Jet: I'm glad we rode up together. It's important that we coexist peaceably. Working with Rogan has really illustrated the benefits of maintaining a business relationship with someone you don't really care for.
At the mention of the Engine of Cthulu's name, Jet watches Jase's visage carefully, expecting some sort of reaction, if not an angry outburst. Instead, Jase begins to hum tunelessly without meeting Jet's look.
Jet: By the way, for what it's worth, I'm really sorry about what happened with Quinn.
Jase gives a crooked grin and watches as a flock of peacocks prance by on the immaculately manicured lawn, each fan of their feathers causing a rippling sound in the otherwise still air.
Jase: I'm not.
It comes out in a lazy drawl, and he looks over at Jet, a hint at some dark knowledge in his eyes. Feeling a cold dread like ice water down his spine, Jet deliberately faces forward and pushes a little harder on the handlebars. Soon, they come to a crossing point in the drive.
Jase: You ever seen a house with it's own streets?
Jet shakes his head as he looks up at the signs. South, as promised, is Enjolras Lane, while north is Eponine Way. They turn in unison and make their way toward the distant "motor-stable."
----------
"Frankly, Gabriel, the shit you're pulling with Eden makes me sick. I don't know how you got her to forgive what you did to her, or forgive what you did to Nate, but you amount to every other sweet talking, falsely honest prick that thought he could manipulate the Ice Queen into being his arm candy with a kick.
"I tried to warn you off. I really tried. I hope you'll remember that when Eden finally wakes up and smells the scent of your game. A good World Champion would have studied his history before tempting fate. I could gleefully relate multiple tales of men who've tried the exact same scheme you're desperately trying to execute right now, and I wouldn't blink when I explained the fate you'll soon share with them.
"If you've seen an Outlast tournament before, then you know what's in store next week. You're the walking clay pigeon, and it generally takes nothing short of a miracle to start and finish the night as the World Champion. Based on your actions, I suspect you already feel the gravity of that position. You've maneuvered your way into the trust and alliance of a plethora of legitimate threats, but as the days fall off the month, the sunny part of your reign comes to an end. You've cornered yourself by wearing your heart on your sleeve and your cards on your hat.
"It's hurricane season, Gabriel, and you're a Caribbean Island. Your comeuppance is coming from every direction, it's coming repeatedly, and you're going to be a disaster area that keeps taking your beating before relief efforts can even get started.
"Did you think being the Jorah to Eden's Khaleesi would keep her from taking back that title? Did you think standing in the hole CJ left in Lucy's heart would endear you enough to stop her career-making rise? Did you think spiriting the only thing he's ever really loved away would weaken Killian to your assumed dominance? Did you think capitalizing on his hubris would quail Donovan and make him think twice about coming for you again and again? Did you think stealing away with that championship was noticed by Sarah on the night she captured the UGWC stratosphere's appreciation? Did you think your disdain would sway Dave's determination to reinvent himself?
"I know it was your hope and dream to have the type of influence on this business that would never be forgotten, back when you ruined my friend Moss's exit. Your group preached a revolution that would change the face of the industry forever. What did it amount to? Another shaky faction that fell apart the moment it's members didn't see eye to eye, proving the whole sham wasn't greater than the sum of it's parts.
"What was your mission statement about veterans? We were tyrants buried new talent? What your alleged brilliant mind failed to consider was that there was a reason people like me are the pillars of this company- we persevere, we succeed, and when we fall, we climb back up. We push to our goals unshakably, and when you look back over the history of the UGWC, you see certain names pop up over and over. Our names, because we stay and fight, we're always a threat, and we're always here.
"Your first reign has been a dream come true for you, I'm sure. But, as every interim champion before you will attest, there are always a few names there at the edges of your fantasy, ready to drag you kicking and screaming back to reality. Our reality.
"This world belongs to the cornerstones like me, and that championship belongs to fighters like me. Not because we say it does, but because we prove, over and over, with fists and elbows, with kicks and stomps, that we deserve it.
"You can Twitter banter all you want, but come the final bell at Outlast the only trend you'll remember is the parade of faces of better competitors who were forced to remind you who's game you were playing as they smother you in the nonstop barrage we battled one another to earn the priviledge of bringing down on your doorstep.
"Outlast is going to end with a better, more deserving champion. The odds are insurmountable that it will be one of the veterans you lied about putting out to pasture. It might as well be me.
----------
Jet is making an honest effort, but the evening gown the young valet is wearing lays against her curves so perfectly, it continues to draw his gaze downward as she flows down the staircase toward a heavy, oranately carved set of double doors. When they've drawn close enough to make out the frieze, Jet's attention is instantly captured.
In stark relief, the scene depicts a holy figure, and Inquistor, armed with a staff topped with a cruciform, pointing a righteous finger toward a gathered, naked mass of sinners. From around him, several robed and armored crusaders advance on the sodomites, enacting his fiery justice.
Jet: Jeez...
Catching his admiring eye, the tiny redhead smiles knowingly.
Valet: Jean-Paul Lacklan was quite fond of his murals.
Jet: I guess so.
He runs a hand nervously through his hair, almost wishing Jase were still here so he had a reason to exercise some machismo. They had been separated after entering the south wing, each set given directions to follow a separate valet into a hallway in the labyrinthine cellar. There, they would be tasked with making their way to a common meeting room, where refreshments and fellowship would be had with the rest of the team.
As the valet throws open the doors, she gestures for Jet to enter the hallway, where a warren of head-height passages are laid out before him. Just inside the entrance, she walks up to a side door, and gives a smart rap then wrinkles her nose firtatiously at The Wild Card before shutting him in.
Jet raises an eyebrow, then shrugs and begins to make his way into the maze. He stops, however, when the same side door opens, and four men walk out. Three of them carry stringed instruments, while the fourth pushes a heavy floor cart. They're each dressed in three piece tuxedos, and they barely nod to him before they begin. The cellist climbs onto the cart, while the guitarist and the violinist take up posts flanking him. They begin a smooth concerto as Jet shakes his head and turns to walk down the aisle. They keep pace, the fourth man helpfully pushing the cart that the cellist sits upon.
As he reaches the first T shaped juncture, Jet is presented with two photographs. To the left, Eden Morgan. To the right, Killian King. He ponders for a moment, the accompanying music actually helping him to think. Finally, he makes up his mind and turns right.
As he continues, Jet has to make decision after decision. Some are obvious; Zane Scott vs Donovan Hastings-- he quickly turns in Scott's direction without wasting time. Others aren't as certain; JC vs Jase-- it's at least five minutes before he finally chooses Ingalls. Some crosspoints have three or more choices, multiple paths without a correct path revealing itself to him.
His mind works, the riddle not taking form in his head. What was the point Sarah was trying to make?
After what seems like hours, Jet finds himself at the center of the winding puzzle, the openings of at least eight other paths leading to the same spot. The mobile orchestra waits at the opening, their playing finally ceased. Turning around and around, he's beset on all sides by the realization that it didn't matter which path he took, this is where he'd wind up. He finally walks to the dead center of the maze, and sees a photo lying face down.
Narrowing his eyes, Jet kneels down, but he already knows who's face will be on the other side. The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place in his mind.
The draft, three years after it's inception, had finally achieved the most random spread of teams since the birth of Outlast. In the past, it had been all about established teams fighting to get as many of them into the main event as possible in order to overwhelm the current World Champion. Everyone liked to preach about working together to get there, then rib one another about 'not taking it easy' should they all get there. It's fluff, really, a fluff the tournament finally has a chance to outgrow. The point of the maze was that none of the choices in the tournament truly matter. Support your team, betray them, eliminate at random. No one is in a more advantageous position than anyone else, despite where they were placed in the hierarchy. All paths should lead to the world champion, and anything distracting the competitors from that will keep them from Outlasting.
Jet turns the photo over, and is greeted by the smirking visage of the Serpent. His eyes go wide with hate, even though he's not at all surprised.
Sarah was right to choose Jet. He has more than a few scores to settle with the Engine of Cruelty, and nothing will sway him from that focus. Not this time.
The Red Queen drifts out of a random pathway, regarding Jet with a dangerous smile. Her crimson party dress sways as she approaches him, heels never making a sound on the lightly carpeted floor. She doesn't look down at him as she passes, but puts her hand out to rake nails across his shoulder blades. He looks up, refusing to startle.
Sarah: The others are waiting.
She walks away, only pausing to look over her shoulder.
Sarah: You're totes gonna love my caterer, Jet, I've got the yummiest hors d'oeuvrs. Come on!
Jet climbs to his feet, and follow her into back into the maze.