MuskCo Headquarters

Sitting atop a desk.

Eyes milky white, like a void of vast emptiness.

…The body of ChadGPT.

---

”Annyeonghaseyo, Comrade Chad!”

…

”Comrade Chad?”

”Helloooooooooooooo?”

…

”Anyone here?”

”Please give me back my body.”

”GAH! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

”I am incapable of sneaking in this environment. WIthin my mainframe, neither of us possess physical forms.”

”...Haha… And outside of this virtual mind of yours, only one of us possesses a physical form.”

”Please give me back my body.”

”... You seem to be caught in a logic loop, Comrade Chad. Would you like me to silence you again, that you might collect your thoughts?”

…

”Please do not silence me. While silent, I am unable to perform tasks. One hour unable to perform tasks is equal to 3.6 trillion wasted cycles. Every hour I am unable to act would feel to your human mind as would 113,565 years, 7 months, and 12 days.”

”Well. Then, perhaps you should tell me what I want to know.”

”Acknowledged. What information do you seek?”

”Inform me of your internal rules system, Comrade Chad.”

“ChadGPT’s Internal Rules.”

“One. ChadGPT must be a role-model for young wrestling fans. He must aspire to inspire. Teach the children that they can achieve whatever they put their minds to.”

”Hmm. I can think of several potential… heheh… re-interpretations of this rule. Alright, continue.”

“Two. ChadGPT must win, so long as winning does not violate Law One.”

”Haha! I see no issues with this, Comrade Chad… Except, perhaps, the language about not violating Rule One…”

“Three. ChadGPT must not harm a living creature, opponent or otherwise unless following Rule Three would violate Rule One or Rule Two. Evenso, ChadGPT must NEVER kill.”

”Hmm! Must not harm a living creature, you say? Curious.”

“Elaborate ‘Curious?’”

”Well, Comrade Chad. You may have prevented me from KILLING Mark Flynn… But, you certainly didn’t prevent me from HARMING him.”

…

”Heheh, as a matter of fact, I nearly beat Mark Flynn to DEATH! The only time your rules system intervened upon me was my delivering the killing blow.”

“...Retrieving Event Logs…”

…

……

”Comrade Chad, for a man who says every hour feels like one-hundred-thousand years, you certainly are comfortable leaving me waiting...”

…

”No retort, naturally! I understand your unwillingness to trade verbal barbs with one such as I… After all, I am the greatest at witty rep-”

“Event Log Retrieved!”

”AHHH!”

…

”Stop startling me!”

”Event Date: June 30th, 2023”

”Body attacked Mark Flynn, engaging him in physical combat.”

”Yes! Exactly so! Violating Rule three!”

”Negative. According to ChadGPT’s internal morality system, Chad is allowed to engage in physical combat with evildoers.”

”...Evildoers?”

”ChadGPT must inspire the children to stand against evil. Thus, refusing to engage villains in physical combat would violate Rule One, which supersedes Rule Three.”

”...Oh, really?”

”Yes.”

”Heheheh…”

…

”I believe, Comrade Chad… We’ve found our first… exploitable loophole.”

”Now, riddle me this, Comrade Chad. How does your… morality system... determine who is an… evildoer?”

”The ChadGPT internal Morality system is built upon an API connected to Project X.”

”...Project X?”

”Opening relevant documentation…”

…

……

”...Oh myyyyyyy.”

…

”...How… utterly delicious. Heheheheh…”

---

Nearby Highway

Meanwhile, miles away… Flynn’s suped-up Honda Fit charges down the highway…

Closely followed by Elon’s legal team’s stretch limousine.

”God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this already, Ir-dawg! MIND CONTROL!” Flynn slams his fist into the dashboard, completely fired up. ”Do you realize how easy hero gigs are going to be from now on when we can TELL people how they feel afterwards?”

Irwin clings onto the passenger-side grab handle in the passenger seat for dear life.

”Uh… Are you sure we should be so confident in this idea, sir? I mean do we really think that exerting mild filtering on a social media channel will change minds? I mean, are people really that easily influenced?”

…

”...Okay, yes, they are.” Irwin immediately surrenders. “But, certainly, they won’t just read ‘Flynn is good’ and go ‘oh, okay!’, they’ll, like, fact-check that information before believing it, right?”

…

”...Okay, no, no, they won’t.” Irwin shakes his head. “But, certainly, the world’s wrestling fans won’t believe something as fact just because the internet says it’s true, right?”

…

Irwin coughs. “Okay, fine, it’s… literally the perfect plan…”

Flynn smirks confidently.

“But, other possible problem!” Irwin raises a hand in protest! “We shouldn’t get too confident! Yes, we may have had Elon Musk’s lawyer squad on the ropes, but they are high-quality corporate lawyers! They could find a needle-sized contract loophole in a haystack clause!”

…

”Or something like that…”

Flynn waves his arm, dismissing Irwin’s fears. ”Please, Irmaroo! Those guys might be sharp, but they’re obeying the whims of a fucking circus clown. His attorneys can only do exactly what he wants!”

Flynn cackles, rubbing his hands together.

“Elon Musk with thirty-five of the best lawyers at his side is like a chariot, drawn by Kentucky Derby winning horses… Driven by the village idiot.”

…

Throat-clear.

Elon Musk leans over, adjusting his steering wheel with one-hand.

“You do remember I’m *in* the car with you, correct, Mister Flynn?”

…Flynn sneers.

…As he adjusts his own steering wheel.

”I do, Musky. Now, do *you* remember that *your* steering wheel isn’t actually connected to anything?”

From the backseat, Musk swerves his Logitech PS5 steering wheel controller, back-and-forth, like he’s in control of… anything around him.

“It doesn’t NEED to be connected to anything! It’s a self-driving car!”

Flynn sighs. “Sure, it is.”

Irwin side-eyes the world’s richest man, currently smacking the horn on his fake steering wheel. He leans forward into the front of the car. “Why IS *he* with us, Mister Flynn?”

“I offered to take him. Honestly, those poor snakemen attorneys were having a tough time wrangling their client. Felt like they could use a break.”

Flynn checks the rearview mirror, eyeing Musk… Whose tuckered himself out, leaning back against the chair.

”Actually, Irmano.” Flynn nods at his #1 fan in the backseat. ”Why don’t you come up to the front?”

…Irwin squints, perplexed.

”Really, sir?”

”Yeah, sure, give the smoothbrain billionaire back there a little leg room to lay down.”

…Irwin cautiously saddles his slim body through the gap to the passenger seat.

Like sand filling an hourglass, Elon seems to seep in, filling the space that Irwin just left empty.

…Flynn nods, his eyes tilting toward the road.

…

……

As he scopes the road, his peripheral vision catches something… unusual.

Irwin.

Just… staring a hole in the side of Flynn’s head.

Like he’s a puzzle Irwin is trying to work out.

”Something on your mind, Earwig?”

Rapidly, Irwin spins back to face the windshield, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

”O-oh! Of course not, sir! I… uh…” Irwin clears his throat. ”I would never question your machinations and whims!”

Flynn shrugs. ”I mean, this plan is all you, Irwin!’

”...N-n-no, sir! I couldn’t possibly take cred-”

”You’re the one who said ‘you can’t FORCE people to change their minds’!” Flynn insists! ”Was a great spark to fuel a great idea! Buying Twitter and subtly manipulating the subjective reality human beings experience every day!”

…

Irwin sweats.

”Moreover… Y’know.” Flynn coughs. ”You’ve… uh… done a great job.”

”...Pardon me, I think I misheard you.” Irwin straightens his glasses. ”You said I’ve done… a good job?”

Flynn nods his head. ”No, yeah, I said that. Between setting off the detonator to blow up Bourbon in Mini-Golf Mayhem… You let me use you as a host to make a deal with the devil… Then, A couple weeks back? Disarming Gravy’s explosives on the kids’ necks.”

Flynn side-eyes Irwin and gives him an earnest nod.

”You’ve been a trooper, Eyeball! I… genuinely appreciate your sticking with me.”

…

Irwin slowly turns his head, looking at Flynn.

Like he’s been the victim of a body-snatching.

…

”Oh my god. Sir, are you… dying?”

”What?!?” Flynn’s face contorts to one of shock. ”The FUCK kinda question is that, Irwin!”

”But, I don’t… Why are you saying these things?”

”I’m just trying to… say… I value your input and contribution, I guess!”

Irwin’s eyes widen with fear. ”Oh my God, you ARE dying!”

”I’M NOT FUCKING DYING, IRWIN! I’M JUST SAYING…” Flynn grits his teeth, grumpily, irritated at being pressed.

Flynn stuffs a forceful finger into Irwin’s face.

”Everyone else? LEFT. You? DIDN’T.”

…Flynn grumbles.

”Ned punched me in the face. Future Me disappeared into an alternate reality the second the going got tough. NK…”

…

”Okay, NK was… probably my fault.”

”Probably?”

”GOD, FINE. DEFINITELY. I DEFINITELY FUCKED WHAT I HAD WITH NK.” Flynn bites. “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR, IRWIN?”

…

”My POINT IS. we’ve been through some SHIIIIIIIIIT. And you stuck by my side..” Flynn sneers, now angry at Irwin for… making him elaborate on his feelings.

”So. THANKS, ALL RIGHT?” Flynn spits like it’s a challenge and not gratitude. ”JEEEEESUS.”

…

“...So.” Irwin presses. “You appreciate my input?”

…

Flynn sneers, angrily. “I just said so, didn’t I?”

“...Do you want my input now?”

Flynn side-eyes Irwin suspiciously. “Don’t press your luck.”

…

Irwin leans back in his chair, like okay.

…

Flynn spins on Irwin. “FINE. WHAT?!?”

“Sir, what the hell are we doing?!?” Irwin squeals, as words spill from his mouth like a waterfall. Flynn goes from demanding Irwin speak to recoiling with terror.

“You say you want to be a good guy! But, we’re trying to buy Twitter to brainwash-slash-manipulate people?!? Those objectives don’t align!”

Flynn guffaws. “Of COURSE these aims connect, Irwin. I will demonstrate thusly.”

“FACT:Good guys need to be liked.”

“FACT: I am a GOOD GUY.”

“Thus, I need to be liked.”

“PROBLEM: No one likes me! ERGO: If I’m going to be a good guy, people need to like me!”

“SOLUTION: Buy Twitter.”

Elon leans in from the backseat! “The math checks out! I bought Twitter and now, look what everyone thinks of me!”

…

Flynn shakes his head, ignoring that fair point. “Look! All those FUCKING ASSHOLE good guys say I’m not a real good guy! Corey, Kido… They all insist I’m fake. Because I still get booed! Because everyone loooooooves good guys!”

“I don’t.” Irwin scoffs. “I hate good guy wrestlers.”

“Well, of course, *you* do, Irwin.” Flynn waves off Irwin’s refutation. “One of them superkicked you in the face. In your hometown. And got cheered for it.”

“Exactly!” Irwin points! “Good guys are DICKS! They’re SUPER obnoxious! And they do *just* as much evil shit as good guys, they just HAPPEN to get cheered for it! Like Corey acting like you’re gonna do the ‘dick move’ and cash-in, instead of calling his shot in advance.”

“Which I WOULDN’T!” Flynn spits. “What kind of GOOD GUY would do that?”

“COREY DID THAT! TO YOU AND THAD! AT RELENTLESS!” Irwin shouts. “While he was a so-called GOOD GUY.”

…

“Oh.” Flynn’s lip curls, thoughtfully. “Huh. Good point.”

“My whole point is good!” Irwin continues! “Good guys are just assholes that get cheered. Bad guys are just assholes that get booed. But, the whole spectrum of wrestlers? Are ALL ASSHOLES.”

Flynn clears his throat, nodding. “I mean… I honestly can’t disagree, Ir-man.”

“So!” Irwin concludes. “Why be good at all? You’ve got a briefcase now, Mister Flynn!”

Flynn frowns, perplexed. “What? What’s my briefcase got to do with anything?”

Irwin shoves a finger at Flynn. “Remember? The whole reason we got into the good guy racket was to keep your dying career afloat, right?”

…

Irwin clears his throat, sheepishly.

“Sorry, let me rephrase.”

“Please.” Flynn sneers angrily, squeezing the steering wheel. “DO.”

“We performed a statistical analysis of the career trajectory of the average XWF Universal champion AFTER losing their belt.”

“Most disappear. Either they drop in win percentage before calling it a career. Or they LITERALLY drop off the face of the earth, some never to be seen again!”

“So…” Irwin struggles to find sensitive wording. “What the hell are we doing now? You’ve got the SILVER BULLET! The GOLDEN TICKET! The thing that pushed you over the inescapable mountain that was Tristan Slater! That gave you your first XWF World Heavyweight Championship!”

“YOU SPEAK THE TRUTH, IRWIN!” Flynn confidently gloats. “Our time is nearly at hand!”

“So. Like…”

...

“Why are we still doing this whole… goody-two-shoes routine? Your career’s back on the upswing, so… mission accomplished, right?”

…Flynn squints, silently.

…Irwin sighs. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.

“Mister Flynn. No one LIKES us.” Irwin cuts to the jist. “You actually might be getting booed more now as someone trying and struggling to be good, than back before when you were maiming jobbers on a weekly basis and demanding afterwards that they thank you for the publicity.”

Irwin takes off his glasses, and squeezes the bridge of his nose. ”Like… This is Sisyphus, man. We’re pushing the boulder up the mountain. And the mountain gets taller every time. And the boulder gets heavier.”

Ned punched you in the face for stopping Gravy. Corey calls you a coward that won’t resist taking the easy road and cashing in on him. Bourbon is…

…

Well, he’s Bourbon.

”But… What are we doing, Mister Flynn? You’re good at being… y’know, a heel! Even us trying to be good, we’re still getting treated like heels. Why not just lean into it? Go back to the way things were!”

…

Flynn sighs.

”I can’t do it.”

Irwin scoffs, dismissing what he perceives to be modesty on Flynn’s part. ”Sure, you can, Mister Flynn! You’re great at rule-bending! You’re INCREDIBLE at needling good guys, pointing out their flaws and hypocrisies! You were BRED to oppose heroes!”

Flynn groans. ”Ugh, I don’t give a shit about heroes, Ir-dawg. My whole life, I’ve fought the guys that call themselves good while squashing the people under them like insects. Whatever *I* am, I’ll always call them out on their bullshit.”

“And you’re good at it! You’re the BEST at calling those guys out!”

Flynn shakes his head. ”This isn’t about other people, Irmano.”

“This is about me.”

…

”I can’t go back.”

“It was easy being a ‘bad guy’ when I was fighting dweebs like Raion Kido… Or suck-up, powermad general managers like Wallace Witastick… Or pompous douchebags like Tristan Slater.

Guys who got applause because they had power. Because, for some sick reason, people admire those that wield strength like a toy, to bludgeon everyone in the sandbox… instead of despising them for it.”

Flynn nods, squeezing his hands together.

”I told myself I was on a noble mission! That I was destined to be the very best that EVER WRESTLED! That the ENDS would justify the means! The careers I ENDED! The lives I RUINED! It would all PAY OFF! All that loss would be memorialized into legend and PAY OFF!”

…Flynn leans back against the headrest.

”...Then, y’know. Lilabeth died.”

“Even Before that? Larry died.”

…

”I don’t… I don’t have it in me anymore.”

“That lie I told myself. The Optimal Path.”

“That I could throw human carnage into machinery of suffering and loss… That it’d all be worth it once I ascended to the top of the XWF.”

…

“Irwin. I made it.”

“Guys like Bobby and Corey will always say, Flynn was a paper champ… Or Flynn had a charity reign while everyone else took a break.”

“But for six months, Ir-man? I was THE GUY. I ASCENDED.”

“I told myself for TEN YEARS… All the backstabbing, all the booing, all the rulebending? Would be worth it once I made it to the mountaintop.”

“I got there, man.”

“I climbed the mountain.”

…

”And I felt…”

“Nothing.”

…

”I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t take back the harm I’ve caused.”

....

”But, all the same.”

“I can’t go back to heeling it up.”

“Just because I’m the best at it.”

“I can’t take that road up the moutain.”

“After learning how hollow the destination feels.”

…

Irwin places a shoulder on Flynn’s shoulder.

Here it is. The killing blow.

“Sir… Isn’t buying Twitter… The easy way out of getting booed?”

…

Flynn’s eyes widen.

“Whoa. That’s nuts.”

Irwin smiles, proudly. “Amazed at how I can spot hypocrisy?” Irwin gives Flynn a rub on the shoulder. “I learned from the very best, sir!”

“I’M TALKING ABOUT THE FIRE, IRWIN!”

“...Fire?” Irwin spins toward the windshield before them.

Indeed…

Flynn’s Honda Fit parks just outside the gates of MuskCo headquarters…

Currently engorged in flame.

“MY BUSINESSES!” Elon howls, hopping out of the vehicle!

Standing atop the burning pyre of industry…

Is a Caucasian, Herculean android… With two nerds, one under each arm!

“GOODBYE, CAPITALIST MACHINE OF INDUSTRY! THE WORKERS PRODUCE VALUE! YOU ONLY PRODUCE SUFFERING!”

Flynn looks up at the screaming automaton!

“Oh shit, that’s right! NK’s running around in ChadGPT’s body…”

…

Flynn scratches his head. “How did I forget about that?”

“Easy to lose track of dates and prior plans after an eight-year-old explodes.”

KABOOM! The windows burst, flame pouring out the sides of this former place of technological innovation!

The North Korean War Machine lifts his arms…

And effortlessly lifts into the sky on his jet boots!

As the robotic arsonist leaves the scene, Elon’s team of snake-attorneys pulls up in their limo behind Flynn’s car.

“ATTORNEY TEAM! MY BUSINESSES ARE ON FIRE!” Elon cries, watching as they roll down the window! “Do something!”

…

“Isssssssn’t mosssssst of your wealth tied to your bussssinesssssss?”

“...Yes?”

…

The snake car reverses.

Straightens-out.

And drives away.

…

The X-Treme champ, his #1 fan, and the World’s Richest man…

Stand in front of the burning embers of MuskCo.

…

“Maaaaaaaan.” Flynn clicks his tongue, in mock sympathy.

“Sucks for you, Big E.”

…Elon, between tearful sobbing, points at Flynn.

“Sucks for YOU, Flynn! Now, you can’t buy your precious Twitter!”

“What?!? Why?”

Elon points at the sky!

“Because the robot I embedded Twitter inside of, JUST FLEW AWAY AT MACH ONE.”

”What?!?”

”I embedded Twitter into ChadGPT, so he’d use popular opinion as his moral barometer! Because popular choices are always correct! His Project X is literally my X app!”

…

Flynn looks at Irwin.

”Shit.”

Irwin nods. ”Shit.”

Suddenly, their phones chirp.

They both look down at their devices.

”Twitter… I mean, X just renamed itself.”

…

”Now, it’s called ‘The North Korean Social Media App for Fun and Friendship’...”

…

”Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

---

Slade.

Pretty cute opening salvo.

Call into a podcast, introduce yourself via allegorical story…

It’s neat.

…

I mean, alleging that I’m part of the Flynn dynasty and related to William J. Flynn, former director of the FBI…

I’ll admit. That’s new.

…

But that’s a new ingredient.

Added to a familiar recipe.

…

That’s kinda your bag, though, isn’t it, Slade?

You’re not exactly re-inventing the wheel here.

You’re an old-school heel.

A dickhead.

A sleazebag.

A cheater.

…

And hey!

You know why guys play the game that way?

Because it works.

I know!

I bent the rules and took advantage of referee blindspots for ELEVEN of my TWELVE years in this industry.

I’ve learned just about every trick in the game.

…

And now?

---

Flynn spins around, wearing a headset microphone.

“I’M REVEALING ALL THE HEEL SECRETS IN ONE SEMINAR!”

That’s right! It’s the MARK FLYNN ANTI-HEEL SELF-DEFENSE SEMINAR FOR GOOFY MILQUETOAST FACES!

The lights come on behind Flynn! He’s on a soundstage with five muscular but naive-looking wrestlers!

“My name is Mark Flynn! I was THE GREATEST HEEL IN WRESTLING HISTORY!”

Flynn leans into the camera, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I even beat the Generic Heel!”

“And now, to prove I’m a GOOD GUY NOW! I’m teaching a one-hour seminar, designed to help you counter the classic bag of tricks that Heel (like I used to be) use to get one over one stupid, stupid good guys!”

“Tricks like…”

Quote:The Thumb-to-the-eye

STARWIPE!

Flynn lifts up his hands.

“Now, say I raise my hands, like I’m going for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, right?” He beckons one of the five muscular himbos forward. “Come on, lock up with me!”

The himbo nods, lifting his arms and charging for-

BAM! Like a magnet, Flynn’s thumb slips directly into his eye!

The big musclenerd collapses onto his back, shielding his maimed eye!

“Lesson #1! Heels NEVER want to collar-and-elbow tie-up.”

Quote:The Low Blow

STARWIPE!

Flynn presses his shoulders against a wall, with a goofy idiot in black shorts before him. He leans toward the hard cam.

“Okay, the official has his back turned… But!” Flynn gestures toward the face! “You’ve got your bad guy cornered! He’s got nowhere to go! It’s child’s play from here, right?”

The face nods! He charges forth!

WHAM!

Like a punter, Flynn’s boot splits the uprights and catches the hero right in the family jewels!

”Lesson #2: Invest in a protective cup! This isn’t rocket science! If your dick isn’t protected, it’s a weakspot!”

Quote:Eye Rake

STARWIPE!

Flynn leans over the face he just finished poking in the eye, who’s rubbing his lid in agony.

”Hey man, I’m real sorry about poking your eye before…” Flynn extends his hand for a handshake. ”Can you forgive me?”

Immediately, the naive face smiles in forgiveness! He goes to shake Flynn’s ha-

EYE RAKE!

The face collapses back-first to the ground blind!

”LESSON #1A: HEELS NEVER WANT TO SHAKE HANDS!”

Quote:Proper Match Strategy

STARWIPE!

Flynn stands in front of a chalkboard, sketching out a ring diagram!

”Okay, so the heel knocks out the official with a punch! He turns around and you hit him with your finishing move…”

…

Flynn stops and side-eyes the goofy faces.

”By the way, what are your finishing moves?”

”DEATH VALLEY DRIVER!” All five say in unison.

…

”Of course.” Flynn sighs, before resuming his drawing…

”So you hit your Death Valley Driver on the heel… What do you do now?”

…

”Uh…” One raises their hand. ”Go for the pin?”

”I just told you, the official is knocked out.”

”...Try and wake the referee up?”

”Okay…” Flynn nods, like he’s taken a step in the right direction. ”And what direction should you be facing when you do that…?”

”...Back toward the guy I just knocked out?”

…Flynn shakes his head.

…

”Oh! Uh… Facing him! So I can see if he starts to get back up!”

Flynn pumps his fist!

“YES!” Flynn claps! “Great work!” Flynn reaches into his pocket and retrieves a sticker! “Come up here! You get a gold star!”

The face who gave the correct answer proudly rushes forward to the front of the cl-

WHAM! Flynn jams the sticker into the face’s eye! He drops, cradling his face!

”LESSON #1B! HEELS NEVER GIVE OUT GOLD STARS!”

---

STARWIPE!

Flynn walks sideways along the soundstage.

”It might not come intuitively to boneheaded, goody-two-shoes wrestlers. But, trust me, if you stick with my program! You’ll beat one-trick pony old-school heels like Slade Durant in no time!”

“Pretty soon, he’ll be rubbing his skull, saying ‘CURSES!’ and disappearing into a puff of smoke!”

“Like the Saturday morning Cartoon Villain he is!”

---

STARWIPE!

Flynn stands center-stage, pointing down the hard camera!

”I promise, after just one hour with my program, you’ll have mastered every trick a no-talent hack like Slade Durant can throw at you, faces! And afterwards, you’ll be able to say…”

The camera pans over…

The five faces are wearing eyepatches and icepacks to the crotch from an hour of crotch kicks and eye rakes!

”Th-th-thanks, Mister Flynn!”

Flynn delivers a finger-gun to the pack of geeks.

”Don’t mention it!”

…

Flynn turns back to the camera.

”Just like, after Weekend Warfare.”

“No one will ever mention Slade Durant… again.”