Imagine...


Darkness. Just a pitch black void, stretching as far as the eye can see and spanning in every possible direction. Perpetual and endless. At least, that's what perception mandates. Confusion sets in and with it, comes curiosity. What is this place? Where am I? Is this what you see and where you go after death? Did I die? Who am I? That last question is probably the most startling and baffling of them all. But then, there's a light, tiny at first, it grows at an exponential rate. Expeditiously traveling, it engulfs every bit of the dark abyss and overwhelms your sight. Then snap (Like a rubber band.), it snatches you with it and takes you on a whirlwind ride, out from the pit of nothingness.


Swiftly senses return, you gasp for air and surge into an instant, upright sitting position. Once again... snap (Lets go with fingers this time.), reality returns and everything comes crashing chaotically, along with it. Except nothing seems familiar or even remotely triggers, the tiniest hints of a memory, regarding your location or what you're doing there. Other than the fact that, it's either a room meant for medical procedures or a laboratory of some type, intended for testing and research. Neither of which give any peace of mind, especially when the aspect of ignorance on the reason for being there is factored in, with the added bonus of an entire team of people in lab coats. Simply put... you awaken in an instantaneous state of intense shock.


This was how Griffin MacAlister woke up and these were his first memories, after getting into a car with Maxwell Maximus.


Brows furrowed, he shook his head and tried to make sense of things, when such a thing was all but lacking. He remembered signing a contract and leaving the Cook County Department of Corrections. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky and then he got into a car with Maxwell. An immaculately polished, pristine, black, 2004 Enzo Ferrari. Maxwell adjusted the mirror, started the car and after that, the rest was a total blank. Griffin had zero recollection of what went down between that moment and waking up. So what did happen and where was he now?


"Good morning, Mr. MacAlister."


A chipper voice pulled Griffin's focus from his internal crisis and placed his sights on a nondescript, white guy wearing a lab coat, with brown hair and black framed spectacles. The man smiled in an eerie, unnatural way. Fake. Like he was about to deliver a sales pitch on a late night, infomercial. Griffin raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so the man cleared his throat, uncomfortably and looked at a clipboard that he brought up from his side.


"Well, it looks like everything is in order and you successfully made it past phase one, in the procedure. Which is extremely excellent news because that means, we can advance forward to phase two. Not many others can say the same, this early in the program. *snorts* If they can say it, at all. You're something special, Mr. MacAlister and don't you forget that friend."


"Nah... nah, nah. Wait up, hold on a second. First of all, I ain't your friend and second, I dunno jack shit about a procedure. I don't remember what happened prior to wakin' up here... how I got here or where I even am. So before you go passing out them gold stars of achievement, how about you start filling in some of those blanks for me. Whaddya say... lab coat, can you do that solid for me or do I have to break that clipboard over your skull, force feed that cheap, clip-on tie down your throat and find someone else?"


"Fascinating."


The man in the lab coat, retrieved a pen from his pocket and began furiously scribbling something on his clipboard as he spoke aloud. In a very excited tone.


"Subject seems increasingly aggressive. Significantly more than what was ever recorded before from previous, surveillance footage."


Bam! The clipboard clattered loudly against the wall, after it was yanked from the man's hands. By Griffin. Who appeared to be, far from pleased. He also didn't seem to give any fucks about the loosely tied hospital style gown, giving a full access shot of his ass to the whole room and all the people that were scurrying around in it.


"Answers. Now."


"Certainly."


Laughing nervously, the man adjusted his glasses.


"I'm Dr. Fier and you're in my laboratory. My testing facility. Where my team and I, conduct experiments, collect data and carry out certain measures for specific requirements, intended for the program."


"Okay. I'll rephrase the question. Where are we specifically on the map? As in the exact location or coordinates of this entire place, not where we are inside of it."


Another eyeglass rearrangement.


"That information is actually classified. For now, at least. However, I can tell you that we're underground."


"Underground?!?!"


Skepticism radiated from Griffin's eyes.


"We're in a base of operations, underground. Where all the subjects are held until the final phase of the procedure is complete. Until that point is reached, I'm afraid you are not allowed access to any more information other than that."


"What if I wanted to leave?"


"That isn't permitted either and also happens to be in direct violation of the contract that you signed."


Flashes of the contract that Maxwell had Griffin sign, flooded Griffin's thoughts. A contract that he didn't precisely read before signing but signed, nonetheless. All in the name of freedom, ironically.


"What would happen if I did it anyway? Just said fuck it, walked out the door and left?"


"A breach of contract? Oh now, that's something I strongly, wouldn't suggest. Think about it. We're in a subterranean stronghold. Even if you kick my ass and manage to escape the laboratory, there are highly trained guards, right on the other side of the door. I know because I stationed them there. Fully armed, these men will unflinchingly, take you down by any means necessary. All in the name of preventing the risk of exposure. You are nothing more than collateral damage at this current phase of the procedure. Due to you being a liability to the entire organization, should you find an exit and a way to the surface. Your very existence would compromise it and there are a strict set of protocols, that were devised and put into place to protect its infrastructure, long before you arrived. To put it bluntly, when termites threaten the woodwork of a building and bring promise of the roof caving in, the issue is dealt with well before that happens. You're a massive termite in this story and you can and will be exterminated. Without hesitation."


Suddenly, Griffin felt very sick and weak in the knees, all the rage and frustration was quickly replaced by an intense sensation of nausea and a desire to sit down. Stepping back on unsteady legs, created by the bewildering disorientation of the situation, Griffin dropped into a sitting position. Straight onto the floor. Missed the bed entirely. But that was the farthest thing from his concern at this juncture.


"Are you okay? Do you feel ill? I'm asking because it might be a reaction of some kind and if it is, this problem needs to be addressed, pronto. Lest run the risk of severe consequences. Maybe even deadly ones."


"Oh it's a definite reaction, alright but I doubt you can do anything about it. I've already started suffering the consequences and I have a feeling, things are only going to get a helluva lot worse. Here on, out."


Griffin gazed up with defeat, from his place on the floor.


"Isn't that right, doc? From your personal perspective, tell it to me straight, if you were sittin' where I am, right now. Wouldn't you diagnose that to be an accurate assumption?"


Then laughed when Dr. Fier gave a shrug as an initial reply to his inquiry and started stammering out a barrage of generic statements contrary to Griffin's assessment, along with a few shallow words of encouragement. Griffin tuned everything out as soon as it came tumbling from Dr. Fier's mouth and instead, chose to continue snickering, all the way through it. What else could be done in such an impossible, outlandish scenario? Right?


"Fuck. I'm an idiot and now, I'm screwed. No use in crying about it, might as well accept my fate, what's done is done, right? And that's all there is to it."


"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."


Griffin hoisted himself off the floor and gave a smirk.


"So... doc, tell me about phase two and is there any chance, I can score some pants? The nether regions are startin' to get mighty chilly."

---

"Alright. Wednesday Night Warfare. Triple Threat Match. Amjetkun Socio, Chris Chaos and Griffin 'The Mechanic' MacAlister. Chris Chaos is putting his shot at the Hart Title, on the line. Winner of the fight gets a match with the champ in the second edition of Warfare, after March Madness but if Chris wins, he must make a challenge, right there on the spot or basically... he can fuck off and forget he ever even had a shot to begin with."


"I feel like I was accidentally put into this fight. Clearly, this was a match far better suited for Peter Gilmour cause well, he'd take it seriously and get all riled up about it. Whereas, I find this to be a great opportunity for a laugh, at Chris Chaos' expense of course. See, while a fight with Centurion would be loads of fun, I think it would be way more entertaining to let Chris win, just so I can watch him fall flat on his face, during a match that he... desperately, needs to win. Cause he craves the attention and notoriety so bad, it's like a sustenance for survival with him. Me... I don't give a shit, I get into the ring for the love of stompin' motherfucking skulls in and causing a scene. Yeah! Make some noise and start a ruckus! Some good ol' fashioned, ultra violence! That's what I'm all about! It's what I've always been about and folks know this to be true about me. It is common knowledge."


"Meanwhile, Chris Chaos will wither away and die if people aren't focused on him. So I'm going to help shine that spotlight on Chris and grant him the gift of what he desires most, above all else. Attention. Hell, I'll even offer up my services and inspect each and every camera, in order to make sure, they're all in top notch, perfect, operation. Gotta have 'em ready when Chris shits the bed, so they can focus, nice and close on his tear stained face as he runs his hands, wildly through his own hair. Collapsed on his knees, in the center of the ring. Sobbin' and stuttering, like a little kid that tripped and dropped his ice cream cone on the ground."


"Wh-why aren't I-I g-good enough? H-how d-did I f-fail."


"Aw man, that's gonna be solid gold, right there."


"You're welcome in advance, internet."


"Don't get me wrong, I still plan on beating the ever lovin' shit outta dude but I have zero intentions of walking out with the prize and neither will Socio. Not on my watch."


"Sorry Cent. We'll clash like titans at another time. Drop by my shop, we'll smoke a blunt and figure it all out. Bring that Geri Miller by too, she seems like good people."


"On to Amjetkun Socio. Well, on the last edition of Anarchy he lost to Zane Norrison, that was pretty god damn, priceless. No offence to Zane, I consider him a friend and I got nothin' but mad respect for everyone's favorite zombie, still the guy could fit inside one of Socio's pants' legs. More than comfortably too. That shit would be loose as fuck on Zane and yet, he defeated that roided up, ginormous, mountain of man. And then, he shoved a midget up Socio's asshole! Christ. How destroyed is Socio's anal cavity, right now? When he shits, does it all drop out at once? Kablaam! Is there wind tunnel action going on down there? When he hangs out with Vita, does she put her ear up to his ass, so she can listen to the ocean? Inquiring minds, want to know."