“This way!”

“You have no idea where you’re going!”

“Of course I do! All vaults are in the same spot, it’s fuckin’ predictable.”

Dolly and Flynn dash down the hallway, Myst is still over Flynn’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, mesmerized…

Catching glimpses in hallways of clone-human carnage… At every turn, the security luchadors are being absolutely devoured by the replicant cast of Match Game ‘76.

Myst wipes a tear of pure pride from her eye.

“It’s just how Bonnie would want her genes to be passed on.”

“Flynn! We’ve bin down this hallway before! Let’s find a map ‘er somethin’.”

“I’ve infiltrated AND escaped the goddamn Bureau of Interdimensional Affairs. I know where secret vaults are in bullshit buildings like this…”

As they turn the corner, Flynn puts the brakes on…

“And it’s right… HERE!”

Flynn points dramatically ahead!

…

……

At a velvet painting of the movie poster, Thir13en Ghosts.

…Dolly side-eyes Flynn impatiently.

Myst gasps! “Wow! We found it!”

…Looking the wrong way. It’s difficult to tell if she’s actually enthused or mocking Flynn.

Either way, a moment later, Flynn has dropped her to the ground with an oof.

“Welp, great job, Mark. Ya did it. I’m sure this is the secret behind their capitalistic hypnosis… A poster promoting Matthew Lillard’s third worst movie. Why the Hell is this even in the BastardNet Studio?”

“I mean, Bobby and TK love shitty movies. They did a whole homage for that mediocre Tales from the Crypt movie. Why wouldn’t they have this?”

“...But to hang it up on the wall? Like it’s a prized possession. That’s weird.”

…Flynn strokes his chin.

“You’re right. This is it. We found it.”

…Dolly glares at the side of Flynn’s head.

“Fuckin’... Ex-scuz me?”

“I’m telling you, Dolly. I know three things when investigating a secret facility…

The stairs behind the secret door in the dining room where the villain delivers his monologue always lead to the docks, where you’ve got a fueled-up speedboat for dramatic escapes
The villain always stops to deliver one last clever line standing directly below his glass chandelier, which you can shoot the chain of to drop on him
The facility’s EASTMOST wall is always where the secret door to the hidden vault is located!”

Flynn smashes his hand into his fist with pure determination.

“It’s a fuckin’ science, Dolly! Somehow, this IS the door to the vault…”

“Well, are you sure this is the eastmost wall? Cuz there’s nothing here but a movie poster…”

“...Well, maybe it’s along a different part of the wall. Like… uh… This corner here.”

“If it was the corner, then it wouldn’t be on the eastmost wall, now would it?!?”

“Look, it’s definitely… AROUND… this wall! The rule is foolproof!”

Myst scoots back up to her feet, as Flynn and Dolly bicker…

“How foolproof is your eastmost wall rule if it has exceptions?!?”

“It’s not an EXCEPTION! It’s just… a… bendy bit!”

“Bendy bit? Is that a technical term for when your rule doesn’t work?”

…Myst extends her arm outwards…

And presses her hand against the poster…

“Waters, if you don’t SHUT U…”

Both Flynn and Dolly spin toward…

A glowing white light…

Suddenly, the letters in 13 ghosts shine… Glimmering like diamonds…

THIR13EN GHOSTS

…Despite the initial magic of the glimmering lights, Flynn is still muttering…

“What a stupid movie title…”

Dolly agrees with a biting chuckle.

“Well, okay, the thing is shining. What do we do now?”

“Well, it’s clearly some kind of riddle or combination. The hard part was getting the game to present itself, now we just solve it.”

***

BREAKING NEWS

[ref]“BastardNet was one of the most successful streaming studios in entertainment until ...”

“If you’re not sure how to fill in the blank, law enforcement isn’t either. There’s currently a standoff between police, responding to numerous calls about some sort of outbreak on the premises and the security team who refuses to let them in! We… Wait, we’re getting word that… There’s a number of naked… Yes! A number of naked Charles Nelson Reillys are… DEAR GOD, THEY’RE SLITHERING OUT OF THE WINDOWS LIKE SNAKES! AND CRAWLING FOR LAW ENFORCEMENT!...”

“DEAR GOD! THERE ARE SEVEN NAKED BRETT SOMMERS CLIMBING AND WRITHING ON THE BASTARDS’ ANIMATRONIC WAVING STATUE OF BOBBY BOURBON!”

“...Well, that leads neatly into tonight’s top story… Is it the EndTimes? And if not, how the fuck isn’t this the EndTimes?”[/red]

***

…

Despite Flynn’s comment earlier about the only thing being left to do is solving this conundrum with the shining letters, nothing’s been done since that comment.

Flynn’s just carefully checked his left… Then, his right… Then stared at the painting…

…

Then after a count of three, he repeats the dance over again.

Except for this ritual, no one had made a move in the trio.

…

Finally, Jenny does. Involuntarily, her nose wrinkles. She turns it upwards, like something changed in the air. Some… unfamiliar… smell.

…

“...So?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we… uh… What are we waiting for?”

…Flynn strokes his chin.

“Well, usually, with a puzzle like this, there’s some kind of… uh… ticking clock.”

“Ticking clock?”

“Yeah, y’know. A slowly enclosing laser… Or a platform dropping into a tank of sharks… Or spiked walls closing in. Y’know, classic spy stuff.”

“...Well, I don’t see any of that.”

“I know. Which makes me wonder if we’re missing something.”

“I mean, if we can’t see the ticking clock, shouldn’t we solve the puzzle BEFORE the clocks starts ticking.”

Flynn tsk-tsks. “Amateur move. You start solving the puzzle, you get right to precipice of the solution… You announce it out loud! Then, WHAM! Boulder!”

Dolly’s mouth is agape in disbelief. “A boulder?”

“A BOULDER.”

“A boul-der?”

“It HAPPENS!”

“In an office hallway?”

“...Okay, that was an ancient aztec jungle. But, my point remains! You want to IDENTIFY the danger, THEN proceed.”

Myst takes another deep sniff. “Does anyone else smell industrial-strength hairspray?”

…

Flynn’s eyes start tearing up is how much the hall suddenly reeks like hairspray. “Oh God. Is that what that is? Smells like burning rubber to me.”

Dolly covers her nose, disgusted. “Oh je-HOS-ephat, what IS that? It smells like a goddamned nail boutique at a Nascar raceway all of a sudden…”

Myst takes two more big, unbothered sniffs. “It’s methylene chloride. It used to be a propellant in hairspray formulas back in the 70s.”

“Oh sheeeeee-it! I remember! The FDA banned that stuff because it was carcinogenic! The poor members of the cosmetology union…”

Dolly shakes her head… And something behind them catches her eye. She stops in her tracks…

“Okay, maybe that’s the ticking clock? It’s not quite toxic gas… But, I mean, based on your story, it’s not NON-toxic. Like, maybe we get exposed to 70s hairspray and we’ll get cancer in 20 years… Very cheeky.”

…Flynn rotates his head toward Dolly. But Dolly is frozen in place.

…Flynn turns his head to follow her gaze.

…

And beads of cold sweat run down his face.

…

Crawling before them… Is a pack of one-dozen naked, semi-feral Richard Dawsons.

Each with an immaculate helmet of hair. Each has a hairspray can clenched tightly in each of their right hands…

The same way chimps might pick bugs out of each other’s manes… The Dawsons will occasionally spray a waft of the stuff from a can.

A shake and a spray into the back of each other’s heads…

The cans are…

Drenched in blood.

…And in one of their left hands, is a bloody luchador mask…

“It’s a hunting party.” Flynn mutters.

Dolly quietly shhhhhhhs, lifting a hand into a fist.

The drove of Dawsons hasn’t noticed them yet at the end of the hall. They sit at a junction… In one direction, the trio. In the other… more doors. Distance.

Flynn glares ahead. Dawson seems to look right past him…

…Or just short of him.

“Clyde always had terrible eyesight…” Myst chirps.

“Shhhhhhhhhh.” Dolly squeezes her fist, agitatedly, shaking.

“Bonnie had to keep his glasses in a case so he wouldn’t lose th-” In a flash, Flynn’s hand clasps over Myst’s mouth… Myst doesn’t even protest. She just keeps sharing her fun facts with Flynn’s hand.

“Can they smell us?” Flynn whispers as softly as possible.

“With all that hairspray, I think they’ve burned out their sense of smell.”

…

Dolly and Flynn stay as still as possible… Watching this hairspraying tribe wander…

“Did you know Richard Dawson died of cancer?”

Dolly glares at Flynn without moving her neck. “...Jesus Christ, Mark.”

“What?”

“Too. Fuckin’. Soon.”

Flynn squints, clearly angry, but still doing his best to restrain his volume. ”How can a fact be too soon? I didn’t say the cancer had anything to do with the hairspray. In fact, you did.”

“A comment made in poor. Fuckin’. Taste.”

Flynn exhales. ”I’m just saying… I always thought it was cigarettes.”

…The Dawsons… Spray a few more clouds into the air…

…

Then, one Dawson starts to slink in the opposite direction of the trio… Dolly’s shoulders relax.

Flynn exhales…

As Flynn breathes his sigh of relief, Myst glances downwards. As if she’s noticing that her mouth is covered for the first time.

Her hand flips upwards and…

SMACK!

She smacks Flynn’s hand away.

…

Dolly’s eyes widen.

Flynn’s bites on the knuckle of his hand… Before his gaze turns upward.

…The rearmost Dawson’s neck twists upwards… And he croons to the sky.

The rest spin 180 degrees back toward the trio… Beating their chest and howling in dominance.

The one closest to them breaks into a sprint.

“Gah dammit.” Dolly steps forward. “Flynn! Ya got yer tickin’ clock! Now, Get that fuckin’ door open.”

…You can tell that the angsty teen in Flynn’s soul wants to immediately retort with ‘don’t tell me what to do’... But, instead, he rushes backwards, resting his hands on the painting…

“Okay, let’s see here…”

Suddenly, Jenny creeps up beside him.

“Did you know that even though Bonnie & Clyde were famous for bank-robbing, they preferred to rob funeral homes and small stores?”

Flynn grits his teeth, eyeing the puzzle.

“Where the fuck… How the fuck… Why the fuck would the Bastards pick this picture as their lock…?”

The feral Dawson leading the charge, sprints forward on all-fours, his hairspray hand leaving a cloud of mist like a train spewing smoke…

He howls out, his brother Dawsons harmonizing with his battle cry!

He char-

RUNNING WATERS ACROSS THE SKULL OF THE CLAN LEADER, RICHARD DAWSON!

…

For a moment, the struck Dawson hangs in the air… Like his body was knocked out so hard, it forgot to fall.

…

But eventually, gravity does the job for him…

…The Dawson–and his hairspray bottle–fall mangled to the ground…

…

And that kicks off the rest of the Dawsons breaking into a charge.

“Flynn!” Dolly calls over her shoulder. ”How much more goddamned time you need!”

“Thir… 13… eeeeen…” he continues muttering, running his fingertips along the confusing lettering of the movie poster

GAW-DAMMIT!

Times run out, at least for Dolly anyway. The feral pack of naked Rcihard Dawsons have enclosed her, but not without a fight.

The young brawler leaps into the air. She slings her left fist out, spinning it directly into the chops of one of the Dawsons while simultaneously turning and kicking another in the bridge of the nose.

This carnage sends the pack of Dawsons into a state of further caprice and mania.

“THE BLANK IS PRIIIICE! THE BLANK IS PRIIIIIICE!”

They begin groaning out in unison

An elbow bashes Dolly in the back of the head and she falls forward into a faceful of hairspray. The burning in her eyes hurting way worse than the elbow a she shrieks out

FLYNNNNN!

Almost like he’s jolted out of a trance, Flynn jerks back just in time to spot Dolly taking nearly an entire industrial sized can of hairspray to the dome.

You just gave her cancer! You animals! Flynn screams at the Dawsons with a genuine blend of fear and pain in his tone,

But Dolly chokes through the toxins, and brings her hands up to choke another attacker, taking it down and kicking a few more on her way,

To hell with the cancer! she coughs, They’re gon-!

Dolly’s words are lost as naked Dawson climbs on her back and locks in a rear naked choke,

“THE BLANK IS PRIIIIIICE!”

“-when Bonnie had the opportunity, she would convince Clyde to spare-”

“SHHHHH-SHUT UP, JENNY!”

Flynn shoves the entranced Myst to the side, and starts to double-back to help Dolly

She’s up to her feet, slinging around the Dawson on her back, knocking it into several of its cloned brethren. Dolly bashes the Dawson back into a wall, its head splits open, while its body goes limp and slides to the floor.

Dolly spots Flynn moving toward the pack,

NO! she shouts between parrying attacks from the clones, JUST GET THE GAWD-DAM DOOR DUDE! I’VE GOT THIS!

Flynn rapidly starts palming the painting. Myst stands over his shoulder spewing Bonnie & Clyde fun facts.

“There’s gotta’ something here I’m missing!”

“-that sheriff who went missing? The one that Bonnie and Clyde posed with? Did you know that he was really a crooked lawman?”

Flynn’s eye twitches, before his neck snaps in Jenny’s direction,

“No, Jenny! I had no clue. THANK YOU for bestowing upon me such otherworldly wisdom on a couple of two-bit criminal lovers who ran amok during the infancy of American law-enforcement capabilities!”

“Clyde loved Bonnie…”

“THE BLANK IS PRIIIIIIICE”

The feral Dawsons continue to chant, as another has climbed Dolly’s back, strangling her again.

She’s fighting valiantly, but as Flynn’s eyes dart back to the confrontation, he sees that it’s devolved into an almost cartoonish scene. Dolly’s arms and legs flying in and out of an opaque cloud of hairspray mist. They’re beginning to overwhelm her when a different sounding howl emanates from down the hallway,

“I SAY THE BLANK IS RIIIIIIIIGHT, DICK!”

A fully nude 1976 Bob Barker clone emerges from the dissipating cloud of hairspray. A sparkling glimmer on the edge of his perfect canine,

“No… NOOOOOOO! It can’t be! You’re not supposed to be here!”

Flynn’s frightened, almost tearful plea echoes down the hallway,

“‘SAY, BOB!” - “‘SAY, BOB!” - “‘SAY, BOB!”

The Dawson clones begin greeting the Barker clone while scuffling with Dolly. Bob Barker’s gaze folds over with viscous intent as he marches toward the battle. Dolly’s eyes go wide in a moment of clarity, despite being choked into near unconsciousness. She pulls back the forearm across her throat just enough to shout at Flynn:

M-m-MATCH GAME ‘76! Err- she takes another face full of hairspray, but fights through, THE DECEMBER THIRTEENTH EPISODE! FEATURING BOaaa-

Another punch thrashes her head back into the submission choke. Her face is turning blue now.

Flynn’s hands are grasping the air on either side of his head in frustration as his eyes scramble around an imaginary equation in his mind, as he tries working in Dolly’s inexplicable, encyclopedic knowledge of Match Game ‘76.

”Thirteen… thirteen… THIR… 13… EEEEEN”

As he turns back to the movie poster,

“Many people dispute Bonnie’s actual age, and believe her known birth certificate was a forgery. It’s more likely that she was about 13 when she met Clyde, and died at age 19. But Clyde loved Bonnie so much. It was a selfless love that he gave his life for, and Bonnie loved Clyde all the same.”

Flynn’s eyes pop out of his skull,

“EUREKA!” grabbing Myst’s shoulders and shaking her with excitement, “Jenny, who does Bobby Bourbon love?!”

“SAY, BOB!” - “SAY, BOB!” - “SAY, BOB!”

The Dawsons welcome Bob Barker into the battle, as the clone of one of Hollywood’s most revered badasses begins teeing off on Dolly’s forehead with a series of precise jabs. Her head flings around like a speed bag,

Bouncing - “SAY, BOB!” - Between- “SAY, BOB!” -Each- “SAY, BOB!”

In a moment of desperation, just on the brink of her vision blurring for good, Dolly reaches into her pocket and feels her cigarette lighter. She shifts her head just enough for the next Bob Barker punch to connect with the Dawson clone choking her from behind.

“SAAAAAY! BOB!” It howls out in anger, leaving enough room for Dolly to slip from the hold.

On the ground she spots one of the cans of hairspray. Quickly she ignites the lighter, transforming the outlawed hairspray can into a makeshift flamethrower. She raises the flame up directly into Bob Barker’s face as it melts away in a gruesome scene. Barker groans out in agony as he dies a horrendous and painful death. Dolly begins to do a 360 with the flamethrower, and immediately with each point of contact, the heads of the Richard Dawson’s are engulfed in fire. Clearing a path for Dolly to walk back towards her comrades.

”BOBBY BOURBON! BOBBY BOURBON LOVES BOBBY BOURBON!”

Flynn quickly taps the letters to the title, (using the o in Ghosts as a 0).

1 - 3 - 0 - 1 - 3

Or

B 0 B.

“So fuckin’ stupid, I almost missed it.”

Suddenly, the Thir13en Ghosts painting splits in half vertically and the wall opens!

Flynn slides in, Myst skips behind him, as Dolly pedals backwards, still firing the makeshift flamethrower for the last of its fumes…

The Dawsons gather as close as they can without getting burnt… As the door closes before them. They helplessly beat the door… But our trio is safe.

***

…Dolly spins, mesmerized by the endless wonders inside the Bastards vault.

TK’s Unreleased Country Music Album: “Baby, I’m a Bastard and You’re a Horse and I’m Drunk and It’s Saturday Night”.

Pallets full of boxes Bobby’s Bits, the discontinued bourbon-flavored children’s cereal.

Charlie’s Money Management Book about Passive Income Strategies for the Actively Incarcerated called “Making Dollars While Doing Dimes with Your Ol’ Pal Nickles.”

“Holy shit!” Dolly says, aghast by how filled to the brim this vault is with terrible ideas.

Even worse than the average Bastard’’s idea. And that’s saying something.

…In the light… A glimmering object catches Dolly’s eye. She gasps…

…She looks both ways.

“Don’t touch anything!”

Dolly stops in her tracks.

“Why?”

“Cuz thieves lose their hands in these here parts!” Myst says, holding onto the metal of the vault door like a monkey bar, her feet dangling in the air.

Flynn steps carefully over a stack of Jim Jimson dolphin-fighting exercise VHS tapes. He side-eyes Dolly suspiciously. ”This vault could be booby-trapped or something stupid…”

“I WASN’T GONNA…”

…Flynn shakes his head, and keeps carefully traipsing.

…

…Dolly quickly scoops the object off the ground. She giggles.

“Booby-trapped, my ass.”

Her sticky fingers tuck it into her pocket.

Despite the petty theft boosting her morale, Dolly glances up, shaking her head…

“How the hell are we supposed to find the capitalistic hypnosis technology in this fuckin’ landfill of bullshit? It could take days… WEEKS, even! Maybe MON-”

“Found it.”

As Dolly turns, Flynn jogs back up, closing a briefcase. He snaps his fingers and delivers a thumbs up.

…

“...Whaddya mean, found it?”

“...I mean, Found it. What word is confusing you? I, Mark Flynn. Located and Obtained. ‘It.’ as in the thing we’re here for.”

Dolly scratches her head. “But how?”

“The Villain’s Crown Jewel is where it always is in the villain’s vault. Surrounded by gold on a shining platform.” Flynn tilts his neck backwards.

Dolly looks behind Flynn. Indeed, there’s an empty platform behind surrounded by piles of doubloons like it’s fuckin’ Aladdin up-in-here.

…

“Wow. You found the capitalistic hypnosis?”

“Yup.”

Dolly glances down at the briefcase.

“Can I see it?”

Flynn glares, locking the latches on the case.

“Are you kidding me? NK took one look at this thing and was immediately driven mad with BARGAIN MADNESS. There’s no chance. We’re treating this like a Medusa head. No one’s looking at it!”

Dolly exhales… But sees Flynn’s point. NK might be the only wrestler who’s a bigger socialist than she is… She shrugs.

“So, mission complete?”

“It’s not complete until we’ve escaped and… that might be a problem.”

Indeed, Waters and Flynn rotate to look outside the paned glass-window… And see the place is overrun with 1970s celebrity rage zombies.

“...Welp. What about that speedboat?”

“What?”

“You said the villain always puts some escape stairs out to the dock with a fueled-up speedboat.”

Flynn sighs. “That would be true… if we were in the villain’s dining room. We’re in the vault.”

“Well, what escape routes does the villain put in the vault have?”

“I dunno. They always run back here, shoving gold in their pockets, muttering ‘damn you’ to themselves… Then they get shot when the hero catches them here.”[/oranfe]

“...Ah.”

…

Well, guess we’re goin’ through the zombies then-

She picks up one of the hundreds of Cleveland Indians signed baseball bats in TK’s collection,

-just wonderin’ if these are flesh eating zombies, or the brain eating ones? If it’s the former, we’re gonna’ need to find some armor, er sumthin’

Flynn exhales, pondering the question. [orange]”They eat flesh, obviously.”

Dolly squints, curiously… Whipping the bats like they’re nun-chucks to test their weight and balance… ”How the Hell is that obvious?”

“Because if they think the year is 1976, then the only public concept of zombies ate flesh. George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead came out in 1968 and those zombies didn’t eat brains. And Dawn of the Dead didn’t come out until 1978.”

“Fine. But, are they beholden to zombie tropes at the time they believe it is? Or current zombie tropes?”

Flynn scoffs, like that’s a ridiculous question… “Of course, we’re talking about 1970s zombie tropes. How can they embody zombie behaviors that weren’t even part of their cultural zeitgeist?” He’s in the middle of grabbing a Playmobile 2by4 that Charlie Nickles wrapped barbed wire around. It’s got a smiling cartoon Nickles delivering a thumbs up. This was definitely a banned children’s toy.

“Mebbe because they’re brainless zombies! Who cares what their mental picture of a zombie is?”

“GUYS! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!”

…Flynn and Waters, clearly not emotionally ready to stop arguing about zombies, find it in themselves to pull away…

“Whatcha find, Jen?”

“Probably a brand of spaghetti sauce that TK tried to hawk… Chef Boyar-TeeKay.”

“Even better! A getaway car!”

“...There’s a car up here?”

“…How the hell would we drive it? We’re on the third floor.”

Flynn and Waters turn the corner, following Myst’s voice.

Myst excitedly dances, looking through glass.

“Well, thank Bonnie it’s one of those flying cars!”

…

“Flying cars?”

Myst slams her palm on a big red button on the wall.

The wall parts open…

…

As does the roof…

And as the glass parts…

We see something familiar to XWF fans…

Bobby Bourbon’s helicopter.

The same one he flew at Leap of Faith.

…

Flynn and Waters look amazed.

“Holy hell! This is our ticket outta here…”

Flynn grins… Then, gets an irked looked on his face, like he’s somewhat bummed they don’t get to fight their way through 1200 more zombies…

“It’s not a speedboat, but it’ll do…”

Flynn rubs his hands together. Dolly does the same.

“Okay, I’ll fly.”

…

“No. I’ll fly!”

…

Dolly lifts a fist.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

Flynn nods.

They press their fists together, ready to shoot.

…

Then a third fist joins them.

They both look up at Myst.

And a cold sweat runs down both their faces.

Myst smiles, eager to throw.

“Okay…”

“ONE…”

“TWO…”

***

“OH GOD, PULL UP! PULL UP!”

“WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeee!”

Bursting upwards, up and down, like a skipping schoolgirl, the helicopter bounces through the air…

Flynn, just like he was cradling the tailpipe of the bus earlier that day, is clinging onto his seat in the back like a koala around a eucalyptus tree.

“WhydidntIpickpaperWhydidntIpickpaperWhydidntIpickpaper…”

“WHERE DID YOU LEARN HOW TO DRIVE?!?”

Myst looks over her shoulder and winks.

“I watched a documentary!”

Waters sits in the copilot seat, also clinging desperately to not be tossed from the copter.

“…All right… pull ‘er up and head out…”

“Not yet.”

“What?”

Myst pulls up the controls… The copter ascends…

…At the top of the BastardNet studio…

Is a waving animatronic Bobby Bourbon in a navyblue single-armed wrestling singlet…

…Dolly’s eyes widen.

“Jenny, what are you doing?”

Flynn calls from the back! “What’s going on up there?!?”

“WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!” Jenny presses the controls forward!

The helicopter heads right for the 40 foot tall mechanical Bourbon!

“JEEEEEZUS JENNY! PULL UP! PULL UP!”

Forty feet away…

“FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Twenty feet away…

…

THEN, AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND, JENNY CUTS HARD LEFT…

The chopper slips out of the way of the smiling Bourbon animatronic…

…

But its rear propeller hits something!

The chopper bounces rockily… Myst and Waters both dive onto the steering wheel and pull up with all their strength!

The helicopter starts to tilt left… FLYNN CLINGS FOR DEAR LIFE AS THE WHOLE CARGO FLIPS NINETY DEGREES…

…

Until finally the chopper levels off.

…Dolly breathes a sigh of relief…

“What the Hell you do that for, Jen?”

“Take a look.”

Dolly peeks her head behind the chopper…

…The animatronic Bourbon… has been beheaded… It’s circuits whirring, its lights dimming… Bobby’s big fathead dangles upside down at his neck hanging by thick wires… Oil and electricity spewing out of his freshly-made neckhole.

…

Dolly smiles.

“Yeah, a’ight, that was worth it.”

The chopper flies into open airspace… Exiting the parking lot area…

Leaving BastardNet studios a fiery inferno. Smelling like ash, carnage and a FUCKTON of hairspray.

Myst checks the skyline, verifying her altitude…

And that’s when she sees it.

At the top of the security booth, as they flyby. Surrounding by fire.

A Betty White clone kissing a Richard Dawson clone.

Myst is held in astonishment.

Dolly side-eyes Jen.

“You okay?”

“Bonnie and Clyde. In this crazy world. They found each other.”

That second, behind the chopper, Bourbon’s head-wires snap…

And the animatronic’s skull falls to the Earth…

THUD!

***

The three stand on the beach, the chopper’s engine slowly coming to a stop…

“Well, Jen-Jen, I guess th-”

Before Flynn can even say goodbye, Myst just seems to pick a direction and walk away.

Flynn rolls his eyes, but before they can finish their rotation, a hand rests on Flynn’s shoulder- startling him

Worried she’s not gonna’ show for Warfare?

”Last time Jenny and I teamed together, we beat the #1 contender for the tag championships in like 28 seconds. Not worried at all-”

Dolly nods and smiles at the wandering Jenny as she can just spot her ahead. Jumping into the air and clicking her heels before fading entirely from view.
”- if anything, I was most worried about you-”

She cuts him off,

I didn’t want to work with you.

A bent, smirking look of incredulity washes over Flynn’s features,

WHAT?! After what you did to NK- I wanted to break yer’ goddamn neck.

You know… I’ve never seen someone who cares so deeply for this profession and the people in and around it, and then constantly sacrifice their own legacy as a wrestler.

I don’t know what that means.

What it means is that I’ve seen you lead others by the hand up to the mountaintop, only to coronate THEM while you turn around and start over. Every. Single. Time. 

Ain’t that I ever meant to do that, it’s just- - - my-

-your time is coming, kid.

We’ll see. she smiles, But in the meantime, you can bet yer’ ass I’ll be at Warfare.

This paints a devilish glow over Flynn as he can genuinely sense that Waters means business, and he knows wrestling well enough to know that spells trouble for anyone in the ring.

There’s an awkward pause, like Dolly has totally bought-in and ceded leadership to the appropriate party, and is waiting for further instructions,

So… what’s next?

”Your job is done, Dolly. Great work. I’ll take it from here.”

Wow, of ALL people, and after EVERYTHING we just went through… I would’ve thought you’d learn how to work as a team.

I know, but we did the hard part: we retrieved the stolen artifact. Only thing left now is boring science. And then, bam, NK is back, MY team is back.

You know, fer’ a neurotic asshole, it’s actually pretty sweet that you’d do all of this for NK, ya’ big softie!

Flynn absorbs a punch to the shoulder from Dolly, scoffs, and walks away.

Dolly takes a moment to reflect on her pal, NK and smiles. She reaches in her pocket for the item she stole from the BastardNet vault, but instead she produces something else from another pocket. She studies it;’s surface with a loving nod

One helluva’ fiend indeed, Comrade.





Perhaps we’ll find out later what she took from the vault in her vigilant moment.

***

”Bobby Bourbon is a former Universal Champion. He’s one-half of the most legendary tag-teams in wrestling today. And he’s been to every Red Lobster in the continental United States.”

Flynn clears his throat, glancing down at his notes.

“Oh, yeah. Also, he was the President.”

“But, clearly, his most prized achievement is his status as one of the most dominant competitors in WarGames history.”

“WarGames is a two-round, team-based elimination. For one night a year, the single-minded every-man-for-himself rat race that is a wrestling company shifts gears to reward cooperation, collaboration and teamwork.”

“Considering those things, it’s no surprise that Bobby Bourbon would be prideful of his status as an elite WarGames competitor given that he is one of the most-famous tag wrestlers in wrestling history.”

“And true enough! I did my research. Bobby has the RECORD for most Lifetime WarGames eliminations: SEVEN!”

“With such an incredible record, it makes sense Bobb-o would have… high expectations of his teammates…”

Quote:”Ozzy, why the fuck did you draft me, or a team, if you couldn't handle the heavy lifting and the responsibilities of being in charge? Ho-lee-fuck, this guy has all the leadership skills of a basket of butterfly shrimp.”

“…And push his teammates to… give their all.”

Quote:”Welp, I will say, you're probably a better option than Marf.

Hey, Marfy boy! How are you doing? Man, it'd be cool if you cut a promo, or represented as a member of the Brotherhood of Bastards someday, anything really, because you sure as fuck haven't done anything around here since the Trump administration and even then, you weren't doing much of anything.”

“What else do you expect from the Sultan of Smacktalk?… When discussing his TEAMMATES?”

“Still, Bourbon must be great at WarGames right?”

…

“Except…”

BOBBY BOURBON HAD FIVE CHANCES IN FOUR YEARS AND NEVER WON WARGAMES Directed by Mark Flynn

“The year is 2018. Bourbon’s debut WarGames! The kick-off to his legendary WarGames career!”

“How does he do?”

“Well, he teams up with Gilmour, Neville Sinclair and our own Jenny Myst! Against Phantom Panzer, Gravy, Finn Kühn and DOCK!”

“Despite facing an XWF legend in Dock, Bourbon held his own, and eliminated Finn Kühn! However, He was the only member of his team eliminated first round.”

“You figure that’s it for Bobby, right? Believe it or not, Bobby’s first WarGames? He was on TWO TEAMS! He and Bearded War Pig took on Team APEX!”

Flynn claps his hands excitedly. “I’m sure this is where we see Bobby bloom! After all, Bastards vs APEX is a favorite among nerds to debate who would win? Well, I’m pleased to tell you that Bobby and War Pig…”

Flynn checks his notes.

…Then, he frowns.

“Got fucking swept?”

“Yup, APEX fucking CRUISED over Bobby. Then, they cruised over Bobby’s first team to win the whole thing.”

…

“BUT! That’s just year one! We’ve got other years to review! Surely Bobby will go all the way one of these years!”

“In 2019, Bobby had two whole eliminations! He pinned Deacon!”

…

“And Sam McPherson!”

…

“You might be noticing a trend here. Bourbon gets eliminations. Buuuuuuut, he sure gets them pinning the trash-tier competitors in these matches.”

“This is a phenomenon we call…”

Finger quotes.

“STAT-PADDING.”

“It’s when an athlete, instead of contributing to his team’s victory, he hustled for meaningless interactions to make himself look more impressive to stats-nerds.”

“You ever see a point guard steal a rebound when his teammate already had the ball? You ever see Cal Ripken Junior take off his adult diaper to take a quick strikeout, so he’d keep his most consecutive games with an at-bat?”

“Bobby Bourbon is the stats-paddingest motherfucker in WarGames history.”

“And, yes! For the third time, Bobby got dumped in the first round, this time by the transcendentally mediocre Tony Santos.”

“But his team won! After almost dropping a 3-on-1 advantage, somehow the #1 XWF in the Top 50 found it in their power to… pin Tony Santos.”

Flynn shrugs.

“Still! Bourbon’s team might win the whole thing this year!”

…

“Except in 2019 they didn’t have a finals, so… Nope.”

“This brings up to 2021! Bobby’s breakout year! He scored three eliminations! Impressive, right?”

…

“Wellllll. One of those eliminations was against Reggie Estrada…”

The screen flashes with Estrada at WarGames being pinned by…

TK?

And Bourbon is on top of him.

Flynn rolls his eyes.

“Stat. Padding. Mother. Fucker.”

“Bobb-o, did you really need the extra force to take out Reggie FUCKIN’ ESTRADA?”

…

“Then, he pinned Lycana and Betsy Granger! The Impossible Entity!”

“A team that never came close to sniffing the tag titles.”

“But, for the first time in his wrestling career, Bourbon survived the match! Bobby made it all the way to the WarGames finals! And he’s legendary for his WarGames eliminations! Surely, he’s the most dangerous man to have in the finals!”

…

“Except Bourbon fuckin’ CHOKED.”

Images flash across the screen. Bourbon throwin weapons into the ring, catching Dolly’s diving elbow to the heart, then getting pinned.

“In his first WarGames, Bobby didn’t JUST get zero eliminations. He went out FIRST! A humiliating underperformance.”

“But, now that he’s gotten within a hair’s breadth of the mountaintop, clearly, this will humble Bourbon! Focus, Bourbon! Perhaps, he’ll finally dig deep and find the heart of a champion… And the will to be a teammate.”

Flynn pays her heart, warmed by the very idea.

…

“Or Bobby would cut a promo shitting on his teammates for sucking… Get rewarded with two XWF Legends… And still get WRECKED by Latina Submission Machina’s ragtag team.”

“Sure, Bobby got one elimination… against the over-the-hill Unknown Soldier.”

“But, then he got choked out by Mercy and ate yet another loss.”

“CHECK MY FUCKIN’ MATH. Bobby, legendary WarGames competitor… has ONE finals appearance. And ZERO finals eliminations.”

“Does he have the record for most eliminations? Yes. Seven.”

“Does he also have the record for most WarGames appearances? Yup. FIVE.”

“Bobby averages a perfectly mediocre 1.4 eliminations per WarGames match. To compare, my green-as-gooseshit student? Has an average of THREE ELIMINATIONS PER MATCH! DOUBLE BOURBON’S STAT!”

“So, what’s the common thread here? What’s the takeaway?”

“Bobby Bourbon is a ball hog. He’s a selfish teammate. He’s the common problem child on six different losing WarGames teams. He’d rather build a trophy case out of false individual accomplishments than actually shed his ego for the good of his teammates. He’s the egotistical problem child on FOUR different losing WarGames teams.”

Flynn leans in like he’s sharing a secret…

“And four different losing Bastards tag team challenges.”

“And somehow, everyone else is the problem. Marf, Cholo, Oswald, TK, Page, Powers, Chuck, Barney… TK…”

“Bobby is a goddamn poison to whatever team he ends up on. And he’s the weak link we’ll be exploiting on Wednesday.”

“Chuck? Already Beat him. He’s so out-of-touch with reality, he’d rather pretend the punch doesn’t exist than move out of the way.”

“TK? A non-factor. He believes so hard that if he keeps playing sidekick, his meal ticket will stop fucking up and carry his ass back to the top. Like he expected Dolly to at the Margarita Mix.”

“But, Bourbon? Bourbsy? King Bourbon?”

“He’s the weak link in the chain.”

“And the tenuous link of Bastardly egos? It’s about to break.”

Can we all just agree that we need to award Flynn with a pulitzer, or an Oscar, or SOMETHING for that documentary masterpiece? Search yer’ feelings my friends, you know it to be true!

Ain’t a doubt Bobby’s the weakest link in the Bastards…

…and it’s pretty much the point I’ve been trying to make all along.

I’ve been fully transparent about my capabilities as a professional wrestler. I believe my shortcomings have been well documented, discussed, deliberated, even daydreamed over when Charlie is all alone and rubbing away at his own shortcomings. I’ve lost more matches than I wished I had’uv over the years. Ask any of you shallow jerks in this industry, and it’s all been said dozens of times over. For the bits that aren’t dressed up by pricks like YOU, I own it all:

Lethal Lottery 4
March Madness 2019
Leap of Faith 2021
War Games 2021

…the list goes on my friends…

Shitting the bed against Thad? Stung like a mother fucker.

Knowing that I let the Universal Championship slip through my fingers at the Cannabis Cup? There’s not a waking moment where I don’t regret my miscalculations in that match.’

Call it trash. A flake. Call me a shitty wrestler all you want. Maybe I am, maybe I’m just the epitome of suck… whatever it is you want to think I am boys, just remember:

Bobby Bourbon has been pinned by that, TWICE.

The mighty shit pile of the XWF, the sultan of stubbornness, the titan of toxicity…the unmovable, the un-schoolable, Mr. spittin’ petered flames, cause his choppy-ass raps ain’t smooth- - - Roberto Bourbon has been put down by yours truly two definitive times, in singles competition, in a team oriented contest, shoulders to the mat- 1, 2, 3.

And how many times has Bobby returned the favor?

Not a goddamn once’st.

The most recent time we danced together, just a couple of months ago, I cracked his fucking skull with my knee and pinned him clean 1, 2, 3, AGAIN. Only we all know that it didn’t count because some ref spotted Calypso’s simultaneous pin over fill-in-the-blank of the THUGS. But there again, for the little loser you’ve painted me as- It’s gotta’ suck deep down knowing that Bobby hasn’t been able to leap this hurdle. Gotta’ make ya think, huh?

The only ways Bobby has approached me in the ring, are the same ways he’s approached me recently… out of desperation and fear. In the two contests he won that I was involved in, that’s exactly how it went down. Scrambling to cover Peter Gilmour after I knocked his ass out, only winning the right to go lose on WildCard weekend to Jenny’s soulmate. Desperately keeping me blocked in the corner of the ring while TK eked out a pinfall over Hector Malvado.

Other than that? It’s been a knee smashing his dome, or an elbow collapsing his chest.

TK’s got a straight up win over me, Bubby. One I WILL be returning the favor for, but it’s still one more than you’ve ever been able to muster.

Even Charlie is at least nil with me in the ring, though the whole world watched me tear him into shreds at the Cannabis Cup. That match left him so shaken he didn’t even show his face for WarGames. But at least he’s avoided having to answer that question definitely until now.

Bobby Bourbon on the other hand knows where he stands, knows what’s at stake, and as Mark Flynn so ELOQUENTLY pointed out:  knows all about his own shortcomings. That’s the most rotten part about Bobby, how fake he is, that’s what makes him a bastard in the ad hominem, and not the “Bastard” he paints himself like it’s a net-positive quality. Because everything I mentioned about the losses he owns against me, are the specific reasons WHY the little dickwad skirted my challenge weeks ago.

Instead of accepting the challenge like man, he made excuses and then ambushed myself and Vita. Though, in keeping up with appearances, like a the pair of poo-dunk cheap pops that they are, Bobby and TK went ahead and decided to blow their rainbow laser load during a run-of-the-mill attack during a wrestling show. You two think I’m the least bit worried about feeling that move now? I felt it through Vita, THROUGH a goddamn pane of glass. Way to steal the show boys, a cheap ass attack, for a cheap ass pop, during the Bastards BIG “return” to Warfare, to make a BIG deal out of little ol’ me. But good fer’ you both, fuckin CLOWNS. I’mma fuck y’all up on Warfare, capeesh? Then me and Vita are gonna’ put yer’ asses down once and fer’ all at Relentless.

See, once TK showed that he could beat me in a straight up fight, only then did Bobby’s bravado come oozing back to the surface, like some venereal disease. ONLY THEN did he want a piece of Dolly Waters. The cliche’ villain, indeed. Bobby Bourbon is so on the nose about being a coward, you’d might as well paint his snout yellow. The words: indignant, or belly-aching bitch are also synonymous with Mr. Weak Link. Mr. stick in the Bastard’s spoke.

It’s all out in the open, bucko.

Yer’ the lame mule that TK and Charlie have hitched their already wobbly wagons to, and we’re gonna’ exploit you for everything that you are. A coward, a fake, a whiner, a no good, toxic fucking bully who sacrafices his “freinds” to bolster his image. A wrestler who’s 0-2 in scoring pinfalls against the “waste of afterbirth” in Dolly Waters. Eat shit.

For all of Bobby’s hurt feelings over me pointing out what a sobbing little cock sore he is, would you like to know how many times he’s called me a “coat-tail-rider”? Pretty much every time he’s recorded a promo against Dolly

The Motherfucker.
The Baddie.
The Bastard.
The-i-cant-wrestle-without-being-in-a-faction STOOGE that is Bobby Bourbon, is angry because I have friends. Jesus. You’re remarkably pathetic.

Why does it bother you so bad, Bobby?

I think it’s understandable to call out a whiny little bitch when the opportunity presents itself- HENCE why it comes up so often against you, but why do my personal relationships get under yer’ skin so bad?

You try to credit my friendships with Corey and Thad as reasons for whatever success you think I’ve had, and yet the first time you and I wrestled when you had to scramble to steal MY win from Gilly, back then Corey Smith was still living in a dystopian future, and Thad and I barely knew one another. And when I put yer ass down in 2019, Thad wasn’t even in the XWF, Corey was still possessed by Lux, and speaking of Vita, she was my rival.

C’mon baby, I thought you were better than this. Please don’t EVER insult me again by claiming that you’ve somehow inspired the way I dress down chumps like you on the mic. That accusation is WAY more offensive than anything I’ve said about TK or yer’ shortchanged, short-bus riding fanbase. What’s most sad is that you lie to them for a living, and they buy the shit hook, line and STINKER. Cheap rubber bait with the scent of rotting protein. That’s what yer’ “mastery” of disputation amounts to: some dusty prepackaged wad of latex hanging on the shelf of a dive-bar’s fish bait section. The old sailors ain’t buying it tho… we all know that yer’ trash ain’t even getting nibbles from the minos anymore. That’s what oversaturating a market with hot garbage can do.
   
And yet you peddle all those overused catch phrases, and any semi-sexually related form of edgelord insult as clever, or racey, or cool. You lie to these people, you tell them I’m nothing. That I don’t warrant a response. Bobby, I know you might get offended by this, but yer’ moving slower than a sprinter in the Special Olympics. It was YOU who first came barking at Dolly Waters, wuddun’t it? Who’s a self-important little prick again, by the way? Bobby Bourbon was fine and dandy with me and TK teaming up in OCW

-and yes, you CAN acknowledge the existence of a company that YOU once held the tag titles of, no half-baked acronym needed, fucking Bobby couldn’t keep the OCW out of his vacuum bag of a mouth this time last year, now he’s being euphamestic about it- 

But once I asked TK for a match for the Xtreme Championship, which I never got because the Bastard’s stood by while the offspring of one of their own pinned his ass, THEN Bobby went at me… it almost felt like he got mad that I wasn’t lining up to be a full blown ally with his Bastard brother when we literally joined a tag tournament together that would’ve resulted in us facing off had TK not shit the bed again. Sultan of smacktalk my ass. Yer’ a fucking reactionary, and Flynn pointed it out in several different examples before me:

Seven eliminations means best WarGamer EVER 
Turning on teammates the moment they don’t meet your expectations
Getting OFFENDED that “afterbirth” challenged his partner to a one-on-one

…being such a thin skinned twerp has always looked bad on you, Bobby. Yer’ knee jerking does no favors outside of keeping Charlie alert while he’s sucking you off.

You wanna know how I know that Bobby Bourbon respects Dolly Waters?

Besides me pointing out how he ducked me out of fear.

Besides me replaying words, not in some other lifetime, nah, LITERALLY less than a year ago, when he admitted that Dolly Waters has bested him despite my size and sex

Besides him thinking he’s responsible for the way I talk on the microphone like he was a prouder poppa than Milli Vanilli’s producers…

BESIDES the entirety of B.O.B, ESPECIALLY Bourbon, damn near throwing a parade when Graves possessed my body and joined yer’ crew…

You wanna know what I found in the BastardNet vault?



It’s so special to me, because I know it’s so special to you. Dolly Waters is the best card in Bobby’s deck. You can consider this my act of vigilance, my double strike. Busting you up on Warfare before busting you up at Relentless.

And the best part about it all? It’s that deep down Bobby knows it’s coming, and he’s fucking terriffed of the prospect. Dolly deals double damage, indeed. All the big plans the Bastards had for Relentless, trying to usurp Flynn, and or NK, out of their rightful spot in the Universal Title match? He knows that I’ve been the foil to that rinse-and-repeated terrible idea of the Bastards all along.

“ I mean I don’t even know what you guys want from me. Do you all know where I stand on this. You all know that Charlie chose to give me the keys to his chocolate factory because he knew not only am I a rising star, but he thought that he was going to look better by comparison. He thought that I was going to bring shame to that title like he bring shame to human existence. Instead what I did was I flipped it on him. I used the name that he chose, I gave it a personality, and I made it a talking point. He held the belt for a long time, sure, but I Did something he could never do. I actually made it matter. He was on cruise control, only beating good opponents, every full moon, but I was thrust into the heart of the main event against top-tier talent And I didn’t disappoint. Ratings game baby. Ratings game. I have taken my lumps around here, no question. I have stepped up to face some of the best competition on the planet, and I’ve beaten some of them, but I’ve also lost. I have one major matches, and I’ve lost major matches. Either way you better goddamn, believe that I will be competitive. People are nervous that they have to face me. When I am on a main event, my competitor knows that there is a chance that they could get meat on any given day. Whenever Charlie goes up against main event competition, it’s like booking a vacation he just can’t get the job done. Time and time again he has shit the bed like a nursing home patient And like an intimate little child continues to run back and demand more shots. How many more shots is it going to take to finally put this dog down? I think we have the solution to this nickel problem. The three of us are going to come into this match and absolutely dominate. We are putting icing on this cruelty cake, and we are finally going to slam their faces into it once and for all.

I get it I really do. A lot of people here. Don’t like me. A lot of people here. Have personal issues with me that go outside of the wrestling ring. I’ve done a lot of people wrong. One thing I have not done is embarrass myself inside the ring. One thing I have not done is whine and complain when things don’t go my way. I’ll be absolutely honest and tell you that not a whole lot has gone my way, but I always scratch and claw and fight. I don’t hide behind the establishment like Bobby Bourbon or behind team members who don’t even like me like TK. I step up to the plate and I get it done on my own. Dolly and Mark both agreed to this match. They both wanted to link up with me, because they know my heart, my fight. They both know that if they had to face this match with any of the three of you, they may as well just take some time off until Relentless.

We are three completely different personalities, but we have found a way to be cohesive and make it work. You are three of the same personalities and so far you have done nothing but embarrass yourselves. They say opposites attract. I guess that’s a true statement. I also guess that it’s true when they say that you can’t always get what you want. Mark wants Charlie gone. Dolly wants a bigger cup size and I want ice cream. None of us can have what we want right now, but there’s always a solution to every problem! I can simply go to the store and buy ice cream with my handsome ex WF salary. Dolly can you put gelatin inserts in there to pick them up a little bit. Mark can finally take his pound of flesh on warfare. You can’t always get what you want but nobody says that you can’t go take it.

I don’t need to get all fancy with my insoles and come up with clever and creative things to say anymore. There’s really nothing left to say. Now it’s about fighting and proving who the real dominant trio is. I think the three of us become good friends through all of this and I really do feel that I can rely on these two whenever I need anything. Can you guys rely on each other? Does Bobby think that Charlie is not pulling his weight? Does TK care about anything? Does Charlie have the testicular fortitude to tell Bobby that he’s being a whiny bitch and that he wants to take the reins from here on out? I guess you guys have a lot of questions to ask about each other. The three of us, we know our roles, and we know who we are. Tomorrow night we are going to be the ones with our hands raised when water goes off the air. We are going to be the ones real going into the biggest pay-per-view of the year with momentum on our side. You are going to be the ones laying flat on your back’s with egg all over your face, although something tells me that the two of you wouldn’t have a problem with that.

***

Flynn slips back into his Honda Fit.

He exhales, sliding the briefcase onto the passenger seat.

“Nice kid.”

His fingers open the case.

And he sees…

Not the Capitalism Ray.

…No blueprints, no plans…

Just a briefcase full of cash…

Specifically, the $15,000 that Charlie Nickles stole from him.

Flynn grins.

“Baaaaaaaad judge of character.”

Flynn goes to put the Fit in drive and glances in his rear view mirror, damn near having a heart attack.

Jenny is in his back seat, Cheetos dust on her face and lips and an orange stained cell phone in her hand.

”Hi Marrrrkkk.”

His first response was anger, but he knew in her fragile mental state he had to tread lightly.

”Jenny, what the fuck are you doing in my car?!

She took another Cheetos puff out of the bag and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly. She wiped her hands on the seat below her, which made Flynn cringe.

”I needed a quiet spot to make a phone call”, offering a Cheeto puff in his direction.

”Cheeto?”

He slaps the Cheeto out of her hand, and it hit the carpet of the floor below her. This too made him cringe.

”A phone call? In my car? And just who the fuck was so important that you had to come to my car to call them?

Jenny giggles, stamping her feet and clapping.

”Every Bonnie needs her Clyde……”

She laughs again and eats another Cheeto puff. Her crunching makes him cringe with each one.

”Get out of my car.”

Jenny shoots him a look and opens the door, shutting it behind her. She left the phone on the seat. Flynn sighs, reaching back and grabbing the now greasy, orange dust covered iPhone off the seat. As he rolls down the window to tell her about the phone he happens to glance it, and the name on the screen made his eyes burn.

“Chaos.”

”Goddamit”