We Are Not The Same

Annihilation-CD1: Marked in Ink and Blood

Adrenaline, a tattoo parlor in downtown Montreal. A week removed from Victory IV.

When last we checked in here, Nathaniel Caraway and his friend and fellow artist, Mitch, were engaged in a nastily one-sided game or three of Killer Instinct. The Winter Wraith made quite a mess of Mitch in-game, though surprisingly without the use of Glacius.

Wink-wink.

However, this evening there’s work that needs doing. A lovely, ebony-haired lady with multiple piercings wearing a wealth of studded leather and denim, is comfortably seated in the chair. Earbuds in her ears are pumping in tunes that lull her into relaxation, her arm raised a bit for the sake of the needle. Black rubber gloves covering his hands, Nathaniel is adding some new ink to the lady’s right bicep, his intense gaze focused on his work. Over by the counter, Mitch is chatting with a brick shithouse in a biker’s kutte, the rear naming him as a member of the Blood Pack MC. Despite the man’s size and countenance, the conversation is animated and, above all, amiable.

“...so it’s been a while, man. Shit still goin’ smooth up north?”

“When the mounties keep their beaks outta our business, yeah. Getting so a motherfucker can’t even have a bonfire without some white-bread bitch getting them on the horn and causing trouble.”

“Probably thought you were a moose.”

“Yeah, a hornless moose with a pack of fuckin’ matches and opposable thumbs. You’re a dipshit, Mitchy.”

The jibe is all in good fun, the two men laughing about it. The biker has black hair as well, streaked with silver, and a beard to match. Despite the imposing visage, though, his eyes have a certain twinkle to them. Mitch grins in response.

Nathaniel’s eyes flick toward the two men, his expression blank, then they return to the task at hand. The tattoo he’s putting on the woman is an impressive piece, and certainly one that wasn’t started this evening. It seems that Nate is putting the finishing touches on. For the first time in weeks, the man actually looks relaxed. You would have no idea that he was headed into a Deathmatch with one of the most dangerous men in wrestling today or that the love of his life had disappeared without a trace weeks ago.

The biker looks Nathaniel’s way again, squinting.

“I swear I know him from somewhere.”

“What, you’ve never met Nate?”

“Nah. Remember, I ain’t around as much as I used to be. He new?”

“Nah, he just ain’t around much, like you. You know that show Afterlife, right? About zombies an’ shit?”

“Fuck yeah, man. We’ve watched the first season umpteen times. Why?”

“That there’s Miles Wright.”

The biker squints again, then realization hits and those dark eyes get wide with childlike excitement.

“No shit!”

“He wrestles, too. Dunno if you’ve seen him in the ring. It’s this new company… Pro Wrestling Excellence. Nathaniel Cartwright is his given name, but most call him Nate. Good dude. Little quiet. Mean as hell at Killer Instinct, the bastard.”

Nope, that wound is still fresh.

“That’s some crazy shit, man. Small fuckin’ world.”

At around this point, Nathaniel is finishing up his inking, tending to the last details of the piece and giving the woman’s hand a gentle pat to let her know that he’s done. As she pops her earbuds out, Rene Auberjonois’s “Les Poissons” can be heard to play before she cuts the music off.

“Already?”

Nodding, Nathaniel picks up a mirror from the nearby table and holds it proper so that she can see his work. And the smile that forms is one of pure satisfaction. There is very much a schoolgirl-like gleam in her eyes as she gazes on, rising in time to turn and show the work to the biker, obviously her paramour.

“It’s perfect!”

Brows rise and the man nods his massive head in appreciation.

“Caught your essence perfectly, Misha. Nice work, man. Worth every cent. Say...”

The large fellow comes over to the chair as Nate is clearing up his tools, doing so with precision and a bit of OCD out of habit; as such, he is able to give attention to the big man, so practiced is this ritual.

”Got something you need touched up, sir?”

”Nah, but if I do, I’ll be back for sure. You’re Nathaniel Cartwright, yeah? From Afterlife and PWE?”

Slightly unused to being recognized outside the arena, though such happenstance is steadily becoming more common, Nathaniel nods and removes his gloves, tossing them in the can.

”Sure am. Pleasure to meet you, mister…?”

His extended hand is shaken firmly, vigorously.

”Jacob Wendt.”

Nathaniel offers up a small but genuine smile.

”Pleasure to meet you, Jacob. Still getting used to being recognized, so I apologize if I look and act a bit strange.”

”Nah. Humble is good. It’s when people start taking what they are too serious that shit goes wrong.”

”That’s the damn truth. Excuse me a moment?”

Jacob nods as Nathaniel heads into the back room. While Misha admires her new ink, Jacob goes back over to Mitch.

”So, you goin’ out to the fights tomorrow night?”

”Damn right. I could do with a little action. Who’s gonna be in there this time around? That big Canis fucker still scrapping? Or that little Latin dude… what was his name? Romeo?”

”Yeah, Romeo. Way I hear it, both of ‘em are comin’. Lots of new blood, too, which means a lot of money flyin’ around.”

”Can’t resist a sure bet. Though if I was Canis, I’d retire. Can’t be a challenge for him anymore.”

”Dude’s half-bear, Mitchy. It ain’t about money. It’s about wrecking stupid assholes who think they’re hot shit. He enjoys it.”

While this talk is going on, Nathaniel comes back out. Changed into a navy tee that reads “I Didn’t Come Here to Impress None of You Motherfuckers” over his standard torn jeans and work boots, he pulls the band from his unruly hair and shakes it out a little.

”So… these fights open to anyone?”

Mitch and Jacob exchange glances, the latter replying first.

”You wanna get a look at it too, Nate?”

”No. I want to fight.”

Another exchange of glances, this time between the two other men and Misha as well, before there’s a fade out…

---

Annihilation-PR1: The Strong and the Subservient

“Allow me to state the obvious, Damian Ayla, and get it out of the way:”

...and a return to a point in the future, to a Winter Wraith who looks as though he has been put through the proverbial grinder. Bruised, a bit scratched up, bandages here and there… nothing serious, but enough to draw attention and, perhaps, concern. Not from the man himself, though. Nathaniel considers quietly, leaning against the railing of his porch, gazing off into the distance. The wounds make the Winter Wraith look a touch manic, even though his eyes are calm.

“We are not the same.”

He sniffs a little, a hint of a laugh. Flicking a few ashes from the tip of the brown cig between his index and middle fingers, he brings it up for another drag, exhaling a fragrant plume before continuing.

“Revelation of the century. But indulge me… indulge me the way the masses indulge you and your prophecies and fear-mongering. Because I assure you: there is a point. Two men of power, you and I, undefeated in Pro Wrestling Excellence, who have been nipping and snapping at one another peripherally and otherwise since the start. The first victory saw you go all the way, becoming the inaugural PWE Excellence Champion while I bowed out in the first round. From there, we’ve cut personal swaths through the roster.

And here is where we diverge.

You have done what was expected of you from the start. You have dominated. You have spread your message and kept a tight grip on your championship and your status. None have come close to forcing you into even temporary vulnerability. PWE is your world, Damian, and you sit atop it on a throne of gold and blood… Tara at your side and an army at your back. It’s true. For all your foreboding messages and wanton violence, there are those that gravitate toward you. They want to despise you, but your charisma has enthralled them. They’re locked in. And as far as you’re concerned, so is the championship and your perfect record.

You’re the king of the world, Damian. There’s not a man or woman alive who could dispute that. Some have tried, but they’ve been sent down in defeat. They might swear vengeance or even just defiance, but never within earshot or while your baleful stare is upon them. Is that a mark of respect, or is it a by-product of fear? I suppose it doesn’t matter. It is all the same to you, I’d wager. You enjoy it regardless, as well you should. What is the point of having whole world in your hands if you can’t shake things up, right? But what do I know? I’ve never been there.”

Another long draw is taken as Nathaniel straightens up and pulls something out of his jeans pocket. It looks like a folded piece of paper, perhaps cardboard. Keeping the cig between his lips, Nathaniel gives proper shape to it as he continues addressing the champion.

“In truth, I’ve never cared for such things. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I’ve spoken before on how temporary, how fleeting, glory is in this business..”

When the light hits it a little better, the paper item has a faux gold color to it… some manner of flap and slot to give it a vaguely round shape, since being folded up in a man’s pocket has put creases into it that will never go away.

“...which is a fancier way of saying that no kingdom lasts forever. Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Julius Caesar, Napoleon… all leaders of great renown and historic significance. They have many things in common, but the most important one for my money is that they all eventually fell.”

He ceases to speak, setting the manipulated-into-form object on the railing, revealing its nature: a paper crown from Burger King, crossed-out logo notwithstanding, with Damian’s name scrawled across it in black marker.

“In a business that gobbles up its past to make room for the next course, this is what your reign is worth, Damian. That is no fault of your own. Likewise, there is little you can do about it. Do not deny that you have considered this. You are too intelligent to ignore the truth. And should I defeat you at Annihilation, mine will be no sturdier. The same as you, all it will take is a spark…”

Taking the lit stick from his mouth, Nathaniel touches the ruby-red tip to the edge of the paper crown. Moments later, it is slowly burning, blackening and curling and turning to ash. Nathaniel watches in silence, puffing on the remnants of the cig, hands in his pockets. Staring. The flickering remains dancing in his eyes.

”...and you will be consumed.”

He does not turn toward the camera. The motion is more like a snap, his tone taking on an edge, the fire flickering in his eyes actually looking more intense.

”You are afraid of me, Damian. And you damn well should be.”

The faintest smile… then a fade to black.

---

Annihilation-CD2: Throw Away the Key

Calling the establishment ramshackle would be generous. For that matter, calling it an ‘establishment’ is brown-nosing a bit. The building looked to predate the Treaty of Paris for how rickety the outer layers were, with the glow from within only emphasizing how tenuous the building’s upright position was. Perhaps a mansion once upon a time, the building now stood as something of a tavern, if the sign out front was to be believed. But even that was faded and chipping.

Polished motorcycles and all-terrain vehicles were parked with relative neatness on the grounds in front of the building, with a couple brutish-looking fellows flanking the steps and the door. Not exactly a welcoming committee, but more a wall of flesh, leather and steel to keep out undesirables… i.e. the authorities and anyone with good sense. Past them the view moves, into the foyer and down a hallway past boarded-up doors and flame-scarred walls, toward a cacophony of shouts, pounding and the faint clinking of glass. Through a pair of double-doors at the end of a long hall, manned in the same fashion as the main entrance, each fellow wearing a Blood Pack kutte, we come to a massive room that is part-bar, part-fighting pit.

Barring a lengthy description of rickety tables and chairs filled with unsavory sorts and common dregs, dusty bottles of spirits almost as old as the building itself and several more brick shithouses policing the patrons, it is what you’d expect to see in an old-school action movie. The cage walls are being secured as the view pans that way. Mitch is standing by, nursing a Moose Head, watching this alongside Nathaniel. The latter is in his fuzzy-hooded coat, jeans and boots, his gaze locked on the battered metal being chained into place and the sand pit that served as the floor of the ‘ring’.

”You’re serious about this?”

”Yeah.”

”This isn’t gonna fuck you up for the match with Damian, is it?”

”Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see.”

”This is fuckin’ stupid, Nate. I hope you know that.”

A small smile forms beneath the beard and ‘stache. Nate claps Mitch on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

”Why? Because there’s no rules? Because people have died in there? It’s as simple as it gets: you fight until someone can’t stand up. Make it to the end and you walk out with… how much, Jacob?”

The big biker walks up, tapping the neck of his bottle of Moose Head to that of Mitch’s.

”Looking like about two grand on top of what was added to the pot once they realized you were taking part. It’s not like me to agree with Mitch, but I gotta ask if you’re sure about this.”

”Call it training.”

”Training? Bullshit. We might be carrying your ass out of there.”

”Mitch isn’t wrong. You better be sure. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop.”

The smile goes away. Nathaniel cracks his neck audibly, then his knuckles.

”You two need to get something through your heads, with all due respect. The fight I’m going into with Damian in a few weeks? It’s no damn different from this save for the location and the stakes. Fight till you can’t and hope that you bring the other guy down first. Except instead of a few grand in your pocket for walking out the last man standing, the prize is a championship belt and a metric fuck-ton of respect. Compared to Damian, this is a warm-up. Win or lose, I’m going to find out what I’m made of… and so is Damian when that bell rings.”

”You wouldn’t be doing this if Me-”

”Mitch, I love you like a brother…”

Nate starts, taking off his jacket and tossing it Mitch’s way. The man barely catches it without spilling his brew. He is about to retort but one look at Nathaniel makes him think better of it.

”...but if you say her name, I’m going to beat your ass. Which way to the waiting area, Jacob?”

Pointing it out, Jacob stays silent as he watches Nathaniel move off, then turns to Mitch.

”What was that about?”

Mitch makes sure Nathaniel is out of earshot, then replies.

”His girl. Up and disappeared on him. Barely a word said. He’s hurting. I feel like this is more than ‘training’. I think he has a literal death wish. Hasn’t been the same since she left. Here.”

Mitch takes out his phone and shows Jacob a picture. The biker gives a low whistle.

”What an angel.”

Putting his phone away, Mitch just nods and stares at the cage. Over the hoots and shouts, a man with a microphone, a cheap one, gets into the cage to welcome everyone to the fights. It is nearly impossible to understand him, but the purpose is clear: he gestures to the area into which Nathaniel disappeared, and two thick boys come out, entering the cage one at a time. A black man looking as though he is chiseled out of granite and a dusky fellow with tattoos sleeving each arm and a manic look in his eyes. They go to opposite sides as the man with the stick states their names before quickly exiting the cage, which is chained and locked.

A bell rings… and the bloodshed begins.

---

Annihilation-RP2: Behind the Door

”Tell me how full of shit I am, Damian. Lay on some eloquent monologue with murder in your eyes and barely-restrained anger in your tone, taking ten minutes to say the equivalent of how dare I claim that you’re afraid. Then go stand in front of a camera and try to replay that spiel word for word and make it convincing with Tara hanging on to your arm for moral support. You were unable to do so standing in front of a mirror, clutching the championship tightly, feeling for the first time concern that your meteoric rise would come to, in your estimation, an ignominious end.

Perhaps you can fool the world with your rebuttal. Maybe, if you get in front of that lit mirror again, avoiding the dark circles under your eyes and the imperceptible tremor in your voice, you can fool yourself, too. But you won’t fool me.”

Delivered via voice-over as the live camera watches Nathaniel exit his secluded home, never shown in full, and enters his 2021 Jeep Wrangler Rubicon 392, a gift to himself from his earnings through Afterlife and PWE, Nathaniel’s words are delivered firmly and with conviction. He gets into the driver’s seat, the view shifting to a side shot from the passenger seat as he turns the key, the 4WD beast purring to life.

”This isn’t about a broken bone anymore, Damian. It isn’t about how people say you treat Tara, or past grudges or any of that. This is about you and me. This… is about you relying on your history to shape your present and future. Revenge, they say, is an admission of pain. And you have not hurt me. But I have already done damage to you. The kind that does not show. The sort that you cannot prepare for.

The kind that comes from within. No wounds, no blood. But it stings all the same.”

At this point, the damage done to Nathaniel is a little lighter. Time and homemade remedies, perhaps? Truly, the Winter Wraith seems like the type to prefer natural medicines, homemade if you will, rather than over-the-counter remedies. He IS a survivalist, after all. Evidence is still there, though, even if the outcome of those fights alluded to several nights ago is still in question.

Heading down the dirt path toward civilization from his retreat, Nathaniel’s eyes are masked behind wraparound sunglasses. A black button-down and black jeans have him looking classy-casual. He even has his hair pulled back.

”For most of my life I have been taught how to read animals, their intentions and motives. There is no need to rehash my words directed at Holly Rhodes save to say that the point holds: we are all animals. Even you, Damian. A higher breed, perhaps, but a beast all the same, just like me. You are… uncomplicated. Stronger, more talented, more dangerous in the right situation… but not complicated.

And that is where the fear comes from.

You are gifted at bringing even opponents under your sway, filling them with dread, making them think things that they normally would not. Your reputation and all else helps with this. I might go as far as to say that your social media endeavors do their part to shed shadow on your messages. It does not take much for you, combining that with all else, to put your opponents in a state where defeat feels inevitable. Part of me admires that. The rest of me isn’t taken in by it. The difference? The rest treat you as if they’re watching a scary movie in the dark, then burying themselves under the blankets and praying to make it to daylight. They are suggestible.

I deal in reality, though… whipping open the closet to reveal not a supernatural beast but a vacuum and a raincoat. The horror of it all is a fun diversion. And that is where it ends. Therein lies the source of your aversion, your fear, Damian: what worked before will not work again. Not with me. I hope, for your sake, that you bring more to the table than that when the time comes. Or I WILL make your fears come true.”

The trip continues unabated, seen mostly from within the vehicle but at times from without. Nathaniel comes to a stop outside Adrenaline, which is for the moment closed. Not many folks come to get inked on their lunch hour. He pulls into the lot, parking near the front doors, and gets out of the Jeep. Leaning against the side, he looks up as the camera settles before him, speaking directly to it now.

”Annihilation is a fitting name. Everything breaks, withers, evaporates… whether by the hands of time, the ravages of sickness, the ferocity of combat… or pure bad luck. It is inevitable… just like me, Damian. Maybe Annihilation will be your night despite all else. Knowledge and determination, which I have in spades, may not be enough. I do not enjoy that idea, but I am intelligent enough to accept that it IS a possibility.

And determined enough to put all that I have, all that I am, on the line to see your reign crumble and a new one begin. Why, though, considering my complete cognizance of how my own reign would be subject to the same ravages as yours or anyone else’s? Why conceivably shorten my career, perhaps even my own fleshly existence, for a marked amount of time being considered ‘the best’? Why indeed…”

He muses for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully, then he sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. A bit of sadness seeps into his voice as he looks away from the camera.

”...because it would make her smile. Wherever she is.”

Back to the camera, Nathaniel removes his shades and points at it with them, at Damian.

”Let the hunt begin.”

Tucking the shades in his pocket, Nathaniel stares off into the distance again, waiting for something or someone, as the camera ceases recording.

---

Annihilation-CD3: Tell Me Everything

Still where he was when recording ended, Nathaniel keeps gazing off at the horizon. Perhaps he is waiting for something… or someone? The answer comes quickly as a young woman wanders into the lot from seemingly nowhere. Her face is obscured by a bat themed hoodie that almost appeared to be a dress over her lithe frame. Her legs were only covered by a pair of ripped leggings and thigh high purple boots. It does not take long for her to acquire Nathaniel’s attention, whereupon he pushes off the Jeep and walks calmly over to her, extending his hand.

”Sybil?”

She fishes her hand out from the pocket of her jacket to shake his head. Finally her head peers up at him. A coy little smirk hidden in the corner of her mouth.

”Nate. Nice to meet you. Holy shit. It’s so cold up here. Ahaha! Thanks again for offering a stray a home...”

Sybil’s curious blue eyes investigate the man in front of her with a silent sweep. The young woman has no qualms with making it obvious. And Nathaniel seems unbothered by the direct observation.

”My pleasure. Please.”

He opens the door for her and takes her hand as she gets into the Jeep’s passenger seat. Still warm from the drive up, comfort is immediate as the relatively small woman sinks into the leather seat. Climbing in on the driver’s side, Nathaniel starts it up and pulls from the lot.

”Thank you for coming here on such short notice. You can understand my concern…”

She has no issue with getting comfortable inside, Sybil sets her backpack between her knees while settling down into the seat. Her stature is always a bit surprising at first considering how tiny she appears in pictures. Any hint of a smile vanishes.

”Yeah. For someone who isn’t used to the ol’ song and dance, this must be jarring for you. Who could blame you? Some people really hide their crazy well. Mel is an amazing example of that. I wish I could just give you the location of where she might be, but I’ve been out of the loop. A fault of my own. However, the good news is that I might actually be able to help hunt that nut down.”

None of Sybil’s words seem to be malicious. Still, Nathaniel has to restrain himself just a little; he knows Sybil is closer and could get away with calling Mel such things with Mel. He… is still sensitive.

”Such a conversation necessitates comfort as far as I’m concerned. Shall we?”

Clearly he means for them to have this chat at his home. Sybil props her cheek against the back of her hand while staring out the window. Though she is new in his presence, it was as if a sixth sense kicked in to inform her to mind her tongue.

”I’ve got to ask what makes someone want to live out the middle of the woods up in one of the coldest places?”

”It reminds me of home. Also it gives me some sanctuary in a world that is becoming increasingly crowded.”

He paused, glanced her way, then continued.

”I think you’ll like it. She found it peaceful for a time.”

She offers a half-hearted smile in turn of his words.

”It’s hard to say how I might feel being away from the crowds. I’m excited to see it.”

Nate nods quietly at this, the view panning back a bit as their path turns them north, toward the wilderness…