Steve just sits there, across from me, eyes fixated on mine. He's silent, almost as if he's afraid to speak, his blinking frees me from suffering at the hands of his nonverbal interrogation. I take the opportunity to look around the room, it really is a mess. If I was expecting a visitor, I would've made sure to clean-

"So, Jessica. What are your thoughts about losing in the first of the European Title tournament, to the eventual winner, I-Evertrust?"

Did he really track me down to this place, my home, to ask me about Jessie's wrestling career? I can feel my face heating up in anger, and it looks as though Mister Sayors can notice it too. The look on his face, couples with the way he anxiously scratches the back of his neck make it rather apparent that he's rather afraid of, me? The circumstances that led to our meeting? Whichever, I feel as though I should put his mind at ease. Then again, it's kind of funny to watch him squirm in his seat.

"Steven, you should know this about me already! I'm nothing if not honorable, and I have all the respect in the world for Evertrust."

Hmm, something tells me that I'm not doing such a good job at acting like Jessie. Steve doesn't seem to mind, he's actually, smiling at that comment. An odd fellow, that Sayors man is. Looking at his mannerisms as he formulates the next question, I can sense an odd bit of, hesitation in his actions. Even the most basic, subconsciously performed movements, like the expanding and contracting of his chest as he draws and releases breath, and the constant blinking seemed forced. As if someone else is controlling him in a way...

"There's been a growing concern over your references to light this week, some viewers were curious as to what you meant by it. Would you mind answering that for them...?"

I can't help but think to myself, while contemplating the simplest way to answer the question; why should I explain it to someone who doesn't honestly care? He claims to ask the question on behalf of the viewers, who could do the same thing he's doing now if they wanted to know that badly.

"How about you ask me what you want to ask me, Mister Sayors?"

His eyes light up, and then flicker out as suddenly as the spark appeared. There's a feeling that I can't shake, something isn't right with this situation. Why would Steve Sayors, someone I know only secondhand, through Jessie's experiences with him, track me all the way down to the redacted just for an interview? No, there's more here. I just need to find a way to pry the information out of Sayors, before whatever was planned, whatever he's really here for happens.

"No no, I really am interested in your allusions to light!"

He's really trying hard to sound intrigued, not to convince me, but possibly himself. If there was one thing that I knew about him from Jessie's thoughts, it would be that he was always sure of himself, even if he was saying something idiotic. I continue staring at his face, until I'm sure I could draw it whilst blindfolded, while he awkwardly tries to avoid eye contact. Curling my hand into a fist, I slam it on the table, causing him to jump halfway out of the seat.

"I'd suggest you tell me exactly why you're here, or things will get real bad for you."

Surprisingly, he cowers in fear at the mere mention of possible physical harm. Something you wouldn't expect a professional wrestling interviewer to do. Someone must've done some real messed up things to this guy when he was a child. He decides to stay silent, turning his head to the left and perking his ear up for, silence.

"Um, well, err.."

"English, please."

He glares at me, the first time he's intentionally made eye contact throughout this entire interview. I'm getting somewhere closer to the real reason, however the more I think about it, the more unsure I am about wanting the answer. The look in his eyes, the one he's giving me as he continues this prolonged eye contact (for much longer than I anticipated) is one of confusion. Maybe, he doesn't even know why he's here...

That makes it so much worse.

"Can we just get back to the interview?"

As much I hate to admit it, I have to agree with Steve. I nod, somehow encouraging him when moments before I doubt he could even bring himself to think of the English language.

"So, your name has found its way into the Rumble match set for the next episode of Madness, your thoughts?"

Of course, because Jessie didn't actually sign up herself, and someone else threw her name into the hat. Now, I'm starting to see what she means when she calls him "The stupidest man in the history of the universe. Ever." Not as, eloquently spoken as most of her outbursts are, but true nonetheless.

"Really? I don't quite remember signing up for the event, so that's honestly a surprise! Could you be a dear, and tell me just who I am to be going up against?"

The look on the man's face, dear Light, I think he's actually buying that! I'm suddenly saddened that there exists no cameraman in this room to take video footage of the man's facial expression right now. I predict that his written piece will have little to no explanation of my apparent sarcasm, as it flew right over his head.

"Very well then. So far, the confirmed names are as follows. Shocker, Jonny Rebel, who may or may not be competing in the Rumble, as he challenged Luca Arzegotti to a match and was hoping Heyman would make it, Andrew Morrison, John Black, Dwayne 'The Long Schlong Silver' Johnson, Juan Madison, Shawn Steele, Mister Radio, Waldo, who appears to harbor some sort of attraction to you, Caliban, Red X, Peter Gilmour, Mister Satellite, Sokolov Red, and Mister Natural."

Jeez, a lot of people. I guess I should start at the top of the list, whichever direction would be considered the top, that is.

"Very well, I'll start at name one. Shocker. A man who leaves to the resounding response of no one, and returns to much of the same. The man whose list of reasons that he's superior in any way, shape, or form is smaller than the amount of times where he's been taken seriously. In what capacity should i prepare for his largely underwhelming 'offense'? Not at all, or just barely? Who knows, he might actually bring something to the table. Although that, I highly doubt."

With that, I brush a piece of hair that happened to fall in front of my left eye, out of my face. Steve looks at me, surprised about some thing that I managed to do wrong this time.

"If Rebel is so on the fence, I highly find any real reason to speak of him further, so I'll move on to John Black. However, to speak of John Black would serve to only further the illusion that anyone can speak of John Black in any form of serious light. Speaking of Light, none of the three I have mentioned would be worthy of seeing the light, much like Caliban. I however, will not offer the same offer I gave the latter out of pity, for I hold no pity for any of the three.

Moving on, we have Dwayne Johnson. A repugnant, overtly sexual oaf, who runs around with the Crimson DOng to give him any shred of credibility, as all was lost when he decided to save movie franchises. The light looks down him, and gives only a look of apathy. For that's all Dwayne deserves. An apathetic glance, followed by a dismissing wave of the palm. Go back to nibbling on the table scraps, you pathetic fucking dog.

Andrew Morrison, all filled with energy after his girlfriend went and ended their little fling. So hurt, feeling a sting of betrayal, perhaps. He refuses the Light actively, as if there exists, as if there ever existed, an offer for him. To be the bearer of bad news Andy, there wasn't. So your rants about the darkness possessing your soul, your pleas for a sanctuary in the almighty Light, consider those denied. However, your connections within the Connection... That's a matter for another time.

Juan Madison, the only thing that seems to pop up whenever someone mentions your name is a variation of the phrase 'is really John Madison.' Now, whether or not that's true is frankly irrelevant to me. I see only one thing in you. That being, hope. Possibly, someone who could see the Light. However, I cannot judge so hastily, Mister Madison. We shall see when the truth is revealed, when your identity is known to all as either John Madison the King, or Juan Madison, the man who fooled everyone. Except for me, of course, for to be fooled, one must have a strong belief in one theory or another.

Shawn Steele. A large, mammoth brute. He's capable of one thing, destroying rather than creating. The Light would be lost on he, who suffers from a brawn over brains outlook on life. However, in his prone and likely highly susceptible mental state, he could easily be pushed in favor of any cause that sounds too complex to not be right in that head of his. I will keep one eye on him, in case I ever need someone to attempt destruction.

Mister Radio. A 'soldier', one acquainted with war, no? No, you just won't do, now will you? Have you begun to realize, that through your multiple efforts at claiming anything here, that maybe what you're up against is more intimidating than whatever it is you ramble on about fighting sometime in the distant future? The Light would rather keel over, and die right there than to accept someone of your, everything into its ranks!

Waldo? To be honest, I have not heard that name until you mentioned him, Sayors. The fact that he harbors some sort of attraction to me, could very well work out in my favor...

We shall see how this turns out.

I've said all I've needed to say about Caliban. To summarize, he speaks of grandiose excursions into a land of Giants and yet, can only claim to be a descendant of one. Likely, the only living one of a long forgotten, long gone species that everyone seemed to magically forget existed until he showed up with his wild claims. Once called on this logical fallacy, he resorted to petty insults and painfully underwhelming rhetorical questions. I would venture so far as to say everything out of this man's mouth is a lie. The Light has little patience for not only those so far below the levels of basic mediocrity even, and to add in his dishonesty in a vain attempt to sound more intriguing than he actually is...

Well, let's just say it isn't a good combination.

Red X, Sokolov Red, and Mister Natural? I grow bored of speaking about them already, and I've only mentioned their names.

Peter Gilmour, who managed to not only misconstrue my gender, but claim that I'm an unimpressive rookie, despite the fact that I did happen to be in a match for the European Championship not even a month ago, at the very same event he was stuck trying to defend the UFO-A-Bunch-of-Random-Things Championship. A claim of myself being an unimpressive rookie is as asinine as a claim of you being an impressive veteran. The Light, wants nothing to do with you or your weight problems.

Finally, we have Mister Satellite. What can I say about the spaceman? That I don't respect him? That he's worthless or any of that? Well, since none of that's true, I guess I have nothing to say except that of the ones in this match, he's the one the Light favors the most, whether or not he chooses to accept the draped offer"

Steve nods, smiling even. Now, to get my answers. I stand up from my chair and motion for him to follow me, which he does without any hesitation. I lead him to the back of the room that we're currently in, far from the door he entered through. We reach another door, which I slowly open, and push him into the room before walking in myself, locking the door behind me...