Steve Sayors splashed his face with a handful of warm water and leaned in closer to the mirror above the sink to get a better look at himself. Yeesh, he thought to himself, he was a sight for sore eyes, now more than ever. Even that was putting it lightly; he was a mess. From his wild, half-combed hair to his wrinkled, coffee-stained dress shirt, to his mismatching socks and untied shoes.

He thought back to what he could remember of the previous night. Which, admittedly wasn't a whole lot aside from the fact that the self-proclaimed Social Media God wouldn't answer a single of his questions directly. Instead he'd laugh them off, or buy the intrepid reporter another drink. The only other thing that stayed with him was the fact that he woke up this morning in bed with a woman he had no business even talking to.

The rest, was a blur.

A wonderful, depraved self-indulgence.

The same whirlwind Sayors was sure Kingsley brought with him everywhere he went.

Oh right, Kingsley. The reason he was here in the first place; here being the first floor bathroom of Kingsley's office. Sloppily dressed; hungover; and a half hour late.

"You look like you had a good time last night."

Zane Kingsley III's voice came from behind Sayors, who pressed himself against the sink and tightened his fingers around the bowl, gritting his teeth. Something about the acoustics in the room, or the volume in Kingsley's voice, or the throbbing pain in his skull; something made Kingsley's voice almost unbearable. Skull-splitting.

"Surprised you even made it out here today. Figured you'd take a personal day and spend some more time with your new friend Elizabeth."

Kingsley chuckled as he examined his cuticles.

"Oh, don't take that as me not wanting you here, Steve. Quite the opposite. Come, we have a lot to discuss."

---

This is some sorta trap ain't it? Vinnie Lane's sitting up in his office, tryna figure out a way to get rid 'a ol' Luca Arzegotti before he does something that he fears will cost the company some green (ignoring the fact that when my face is on them posters, buy rates go up like three hunna percent #truth) so he thinks and thinks and thinks, and in the end comes up with the best idea he's ever had.

Get this: dude books me against Sebastian Duke's kid. Yeah, that Sebastian Duke. Shit, maybe y'all don't recognize that name without the "AHAHAHAHAHAHA" in the middle. Now, if you're wondering why this is Vinnie's foolproof way to get rid of me, you haven't been paying attention. Duke's kid is like two. I'm fighting a fucking toddler. A dead toddler. Or something. No seriously, this is what's going on.

Wait a fucking second you mean to tell me his kid has somehow become a full grown adult what the fuc---

---

"There are dark clouds on the horizon," Zane said, the grin on his face betraying the quasi-concerned tone in his voice. He settled into his chair and kicked his feet up on his desk, staring unblinking at the interviewer seated across from him, fidgeting nervously.

"I didn't ask about that," Sayors asked, his mouse-like features twitching.

"I know, Steven. But, to be honest, I get bombarded on Twitter all day regarding my employment as Luca Arzegotti's manager; that isn't news. That isn't a story you can really sink your teeth into. You're a talented man, more than anyone sees, fluff pieces are so below you."

"I don't think rumors regarding you drugging your clients are fluff."

"That's what this is about? Baseless rumors spread by jealous wannabes who will never have an ounce of the success or acclaim enjoyed by Mister Arzegotti - or my other clients for that matter - and myself. Who started that vicious attack, anyway? I bet it was Bourbon, that delusional, fat, manchild. I'm sure he's convinced that he's Luca's archenemy or some shit. But that's neither here nor there. Come on, Steven. Don't you want the real story?"

The look on Zane's face screamed: "I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you, just ask."

"Sure," Sayors muttered under his breath, propping his throbbing head up on his hand.

Zane smiled wide, baring his teeth like a hungry coyote. He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward, spreading his fingers wide atop the desk.

"Like I said, there are dark clouds on the horizon, Steven. Darker than you could possibly imagine. Are you a religious man, by chance?"

Sayors shook his head.

"Very well. Are you at least familiar with the Book of Revelation?"

"The end of the world?"

"That's the one. Don't worry, I'm going to claim the end of the world is upon us like a wild religious zealot. But, it wouldn't hurt to make people think it is."

"You want me to write that the world's going to end?"

"More or less. Don't worry, you don't have to start right away. No, you'll get a signal when it's your time. In the meantime, there are more women like Elizabeth where that came from. A whole lot more. I take care of my people, Steven."

Zane reached across the table and patted Sayors on the shoulder.

"Keep an eye on Nevada."

---

He came to as a light rainfall of dirt struck him in the face. His mouth opened reflexively - to call out, to scream, to do something - but all it accomplished was filling his mouth with warm, dry earth. The words were smothered, leaving only incomprehensible gurgling as he struggled to choke down the clump of mouth-drying dirt. The man standing over the six foot deep hole in the ground he was trapped inside sprinkled another helping on top of him.

He wanted so hard to struggle, to fight. To do anything. Yet, his body ignored every signal from his brain. He was trapped.

The last thing Special Agent John Forester saw was the smiling face of Zane Kingsley III before another shovelful of dirt blinded him.

"Should never have put your faith in my brother, Johnny boy. He might claim to be this big hero but at the end of the day? He's worse than me."