Black.

The scene opens to reveal a dark night upon a snowy mountaintop. The wind whips across the white landscape as flurries dance through the air. The chilling temperature has frozen all but the air in the vicinity of the mountaintop. In the distance, a form breaks through the darkness as it combats the cold and the wind.

The being staggers and falls into the billows of snow. A few moments pass before he or she staggers to his or her feet. It continues forward until it reaches the top. There it falls to its knees and begins to scoop away the snow. It digs for what seems like an eternity without much progression. Shakes rattle their frame as it moves on. Finally, the shoulders stop. The hands reach into the snow and withdraw a small box and lift it out of the hole.

With the box withdrawn, the hands slowly try to work it open, but the cardboard has been frozen shut. With two large blows, the cardboard breaks enough to allow the hands to reach in and withdraw what appears to be a book. The camera zooms in just enough to read the title…

The Book of the Higher Power.







The scene changes drastically as it shows a comfortable little diner in which time has not changed much from the fifties. Framed pictures of cars adorn the walls as the waitress wears a light blue dress and appears to have smoked more Marlboros than Frodo has poles. An accomplishment indeed. Within the dinner, cigarette smoke clings to the air like a parasite onto its host. A few people are scattered throughout the location with notably a small family of five in one corner with two young children and an infant. Also in another booth was an elderly couple, both smoking and waiting on their food. But the real reason for the season sits in a booth all by his lonesome with his mask across his face. His leather jacket appears worn but not old. His hands still wear the black gloves as his fingers dance along the edge of the table. A familiar humming comes from his mouth as his hat lies in the seat beside him.

“Do, do, do, do. Hello world, it’s a song that we’re singing. Come on, get happy! A whole lotta loving is what we’ll be bringing! We’ll make you happy!”

The theme song of The Partridge Family is a little dated even for Hysteria but he laughs as he wraps up the song. He notices the camera man and drums his fingers to a finish.

“Helloooooooo boys and girls and named Frodo of all ages! It’s the one, the only, HYSTERIAAAAA! Now I know what you’re thinking…. ‘Where have you been?!?! Where did The Asylum go?!?!’ Well the simple answer is this. I have been on vacation. What? Don’t look at me like that! What did I have left to accomplish? Oh righttttt, the World Title. Well after LH Harrison bitched out of the title match at Relentless, what reasoning did I have to go after it? I’m not here for petty title belts around my waist. In fact, I wouldn’t even be here right now if it hadn’t been for John Madison phoning me up.”

Hysteria quickly rolls up his mask slightly before taking a sip of his coffee that is sitting beside him. He quickly spits it out and looks at the contents. Inside the cup, a few black grains align the bottom.

“WAITRESS! Get your fat ass over here!”

The waitress gives him a ‘Go to Hell’ look as she slowly walks around the bar. She finally gets to beside his booth and rests a hand on her hip as she breathes heavily as if the trip was taxing.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

Hysteria lifts up his cup and looks at her and back to the cup a few times in succession.

“Do you see this?”

“See what?”

“THE GODDAMN COFFEE GROUNDS! How am I supposed to enjoy my coffee with grounds all in the bottom. This is repugnant and disgusting, and I demand another cup pronto.”

The rotund lady picks up the cup and takes it with her as she walks around the bar to fetch a fresh brew. Hysteria is still seething until he notices the camera and instantly perks up again.

“My apologies, boys and girls. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me, and good help is hard to find. As evident by the shitstain that was The Asylum. Yes, you heard it here. The Asylum was a shitstain. Everyone always wants to know why I would abduct people who had no will and induct them into The Asylum. Well the simple answer is because I can. Why not? While The Asylum’s numbers grew, the size of my force easily outnumbered and outsized anything Defiance or any other form of resistance could conjure up. But that’s not the real reason I did it. The actual intention of it was to acquire as many pathetic morsels as possible. Hence the acquisition of Frodo, The Violator. Gein. BAHAMAHA! That one still gets me. I gave him such a high ‘priority’ just to see how he’d react. It went well as it resulted in his eventual death. Good job bud! The Martyr was exactly what you were… expendable. Moving right on along.”

Hysteria looks over the counter as the brows furrow beneath his mask. The black ink shifts erradically on the white cloth as his impatience builds. The behemoth of a waitress notices this as she takes another drag and blows a cloud of smoke in his direction. The gloves clench in irritation. Hysteria takes a deep breath before resuming his train of thought.

“Whewww. Anyways, what was I saying? OH YEAH! Yeah, The Asylum was just to build souls for Doctor D’Ville to consume on his ascension to the top of the XWF. All except for me of course. I was his catalyst. Without me, there’d be no Doctor D’Ville running this bitch for SIX MONTHS. I brought that plague upon the XWF so… you’re welcome. ANYWAYS….”

Hysteria lifts up the hat and places it upon his head as he traces the front bill with his finger. The ink on his mask shifts to a joyful shifting circle.

“Let’s discuss this little matchypoo, I’ve got going on. I’d say we’d start at the top and work our way down but… I’m not entirely sure which opponent is the worst. Normally I’d say Tush, but he’s actually looked decent as of late! Y’know against this tremendously incompetent roster. For fuck’s sake… Peter Gilmour is holding a title. That, in and of itself, is a travesty. Back to point. Let me just randomly pick ahhh… Mason Prince!”

Hysteria stares straight ahead as the ink shifts slightly with uncertainty.

“Yeah, I have no idea. I’ve even seen his work, and I’m unsure of why he’s in this match. On one side, we have four legendary names within the hallowed… I mean hollowed halls of XWF. On the other, we have this joke, a wheel-chair ridden cripple, a whose claim to fame was disappearing a few times to the enjoyment of the audience, and a pot-addicted jerkoff whose cameraman contains more entertainment value. But before we move on along into the others, let’s look at this little video he posted a few weeks ago.”

Hysteria opens his phone and clicks open a Mason Price sponsor video as his mask twitches in the discomfort from the awkwardly filmed video. Finally it gets to a point and Hysteria flips the phone around.

“You see that?! This Faggotron 5000 is a butt-riding ass-pirate to Gator! Gator hasn’t been seen in the XWF since Relentless, and this clown is still wearing his merch as if it’s cool or something. Granted, it would be cooler than a Mason Prince t-shirt. What would the caption even be on there? ‘Mason Prince: The Prince of Cockgobbling’? But thinking that wearing a Gator jacket makes you more relevant is a mistake my good man. A mistake in which you’re soon to learn about when Hysteria caves in your skull and laughs while you cry to Mommy Prince.”

Hysteria looks over again at the heavyset woman who has literally just pulled out another cigarette to smoke as the coffee is finished brewing. She leans over the counter towards an older gentleman who is sitting at the bar. Her cleavage is showing as the man appears to be growing ill of the sight. Hysteria lifts up a thing of salt and chunks it at the bar where it skids across and hits the woman on the arm.

“Ow! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“ME?!?! You’re the one not getting me my damn coffee! How am I supposed to rip apart four with rejuvenation via caffeine?!”

The lady slowly blinks at him with her mouth agape. The image of a cow in heat comes to mind.

“Rip what?”

“Oh shut the fuck up and bring me some goddamn coffee.”

The lady turns around and slowly pours coffee into a cup and carries the cup over to Hysteria and sets it in front of him. She grunts as she turns around, still heavy breathing from the exertion. Hysteria looks at the cup before taking another sip. He spit takes again before lifting the cup up and slamming it into the ground. He clamors out of the booth with his fists as tight as possible before walking over and standing directly beside the man whom she was previously swooning over.

“Listen here, you fat piece of shit. How fuc-”

“Please mind your language. There are kids here.”

Hysteria stops mid-rant as he turns to see the family of five all looking up at him. The wife had covered one daughter’s ears as the father closed his son’s. The infant drools as it points and giggles at Hysteria. Hysteria pulls his hands to his face as an audible gasp erupts from his mouth.

“Oh my God… I am so sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you guys?”

“No, just pleas-”

“HA! Fuck you . You think I give a damn about these little runts? They probably haven’t learned anything they didn’t already know. Don’t shelter your kids… or let them be controlled by mystical masks crafted from Satan incarnate. Both are probably good options. Now shut up. Fucker.”

Hysteria turns back to the fat lady who is still gazing at him with lip drooped low.

“Now, how fucking hard is it to make a goddamn cup of Joe?! I have made plenty of coffee in my day and NEVER has it tasted that shitty and have grounds in it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that coffee! You’re just being a prick!”

Another audible gasp as Hysteria points at her.

“Did you hear that Jeffrey? Is your name Jeffrey?” Hysteria asks the guy sitting at the bar. The guy shakes his head, but Hysteria ignores it. “Well Jeffrey, she called me a prick! What a hurtful and mean thing to say!”

Hysteria hops across the counter and grabs the coffee pot. He looks into the filter and sees it hasn’t been changed in what appears to be a week. His ink flees to one side of his face as far away from the stench as possible. Hysteria looks at the coffee before pouring himself another cup. He swirls it around for a few seconds, and then tosses the contents into the face of the lady.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

The lady shrieks as she begins to cry.

“Oh don’t be a bitch. Stupid fucker.”

“Fuck-er.”

Hysteria turns to see the little baby giggling and pointing at Hysteria.

“What was that? What did you say?”

“Fuck-er!”

The father gasps as does the mother!

“His… his first word was…”

“FUCKER!?!?! BAHAMAHAHAHAHA!”

With that, Hysteria climbs over the bar and exits the restaurant with the ink sliding all around his mask in enjoyment.