Somewhere in South America

"Please, please sir, I have a family ..."

A lead pipe to the mouth cuts the man off. He spits blood and teeth onto the bare concrete floor. A single flourescent shop light illuminates the man from above. When the man seems ready to resume begging for his life, a boot to the midsection stops the words before they come. At least two ribs crack.

"The only words I wanna hear from you are the answers to the questions I ask, unless you want me to get out the car battery again."

The shaved-headed white man leans in, putting his face no more than six inches from the discolored, bleeding face of the softly weeping middle-aged man tied to the chair in front of him. The shaved-headed man speaks slowly, and without blinking.

"Two men came to this city less than a week ago, well-dressed men with DanteCorp credentials and a lot of money. What did they want?"

The man in the chair shakes his head from side to side.

"Wrong answer."

The man with the shaved head goes to a workbench, obscured by semi-darkness, and runs his fingers across the tools of his trade -- lead pipe, pliers, blowtorch, drill. His hand stops on the drill. He picks it up, brings it into the light for the man in the chair to see, pulls the trigger and lets it spin nice and close to the man's less swolen eye.

"Tell me or I will blind you."

The drill whirls closer and closer to the man's eye, until the tip nearly touches the man's cornea. The man screams.

"No, stop, I'll tell you!"

The man with the shaved head sets the drill back on the workbench and retrieves another item. He wrenches the man in the chair's head back with one hand, shoving a tape recorder next to the man's bleeding mouth with the other.

"Tell me everything."

The man in the chair does. Almost 20 minutes later, his interrogator stops the tape. He steps out of the man's earshot and makes a phone call. The man on the other end is his lawyer. They confer briefly. The shaved-headed man hangs up the phone. He sets it on the workbench and quietly picks up the drill. The man in the chair has his head down. He's muttering something through broken teeth that could be a prayer. The man with the shaved head starts the drill a few seconds early, and is rewarded by the sudden expression of wide-eyed terror from the man in the chair just before it pierces his temple.

When the man with the shaved head cuts the bonds holding his victim in the chair, the corpse hits the floor with a meaty thud, landing on top of tarps laid for the occasion. The man with the shaved head retrieves a hacksaw and arranges the body, still pondering where to make the first cut, when his phone rings again.

"Yes, Mr. Pryce?"

His lawyer tells the man with the shaved head to be at the airport early in the morning, because a private plane will be waiting to take him to Salvador, Brazil, the next destination directed by his employers.

"What's the job?"

That can wait, his lawyer says. His visit to Brazil will have another purpose.

"Another wrestling match? With TCW? I thought Stern said I'd never work in her federation again."

Pryce's political contacts apparently presuaded her to reconsider.

"Who's the victim? Could be fun. I'll be there."

Drakus closes his phone, sets it down and takes up the hacksaw again. First things first, he has some garbage to dispose of. He places the blade at the right shoulder of the wide-eyed dead man and begins to saw.

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As Drakus steps onto Brazilian soil, he is met by a reception party of TCW flunkies, led by Joey Joe Joe Shabadoo Jr., once the de facto commissioner of TCW, now reduced to doing Valerie Stern's scut work. Drakus regards Shabadoo the way someone might look at a grotesque piece of roadkill splattered across the pavement, or a particularly unpleasant pile of dogshit after stepping in it.

Shabadoo: "Welcome back to Twisted Championship Wrestling, Mr. Drakus. On behalf of Commissioner Stern, I'd like to say that we look forward to a mutually prosperous relationship ..."

Pryce is there to cut Drakus off before he insults Shabadoo, or worse. The elegantly-attired Indian attorney takes Shabadoo's hand.

Pryce: "I'm quite sure we will, Mr. Shabadoo. Now, have you brought those match tapes of Mr. Keening that I requested?"

Shabadoo: "Of course, our production assistant here has them."

Pryce pats Shabadoo on the shoulder.

Pryce: "Excellent. Please tell Ms. Stern I look forward to meeting with her for lunch tomorrow."

Shabadoo scoffs.

Shabadoo: "An entire lunch ... with Commissioner Stern ... tomorrow!? Do you ... do you even have an appointment made?"

Pryce grins.

Pryce: "Of course not, but I'm quite sure she will meet with me."

Shabadoo is suddenly silent, deathly afraid he's just insulted someone with major clout in TCW.

Shabadoo: "Sure, I'll give her the message, Mr. Pryce."

A driver leads Drakus to a brand-new SUV with tinted windows, the car to his suite at Pestana Carlton Bahia Hotel. The driver opens the trunk, then reaches for the large and heavily stuffed duffel bag in Drakus' hands. Drakus jerks the bag back, glares at the driver, then gently sets it in the trunk himself. The driver opens the door for Drakus.

Drakus: "We ready, Pryce?"

His lawyer nods. He takes the DVDs from the production assistant then gets into the back of the SUV with Drakus. They watch them on the drive to the hotel. Drakus nods when Aaron Keening finishes Subway Jack with a spike DDT, and snorts when Keening hits the elbow drop and gets the early cover on Big Bamlicious.

Drakus: "This one has heart ... reminds me of Strikmore."

Pryce: "And I recall how much you delighted in planning the destruction of Strikmore's body and soul."

Drakus: "I want them to see the world I see before I finish them."

Pryce: "And that is what makes you so suited for my employer's work."

Drakus thinks of the wide eyes as he drilled into a man's skull and nods.

Drakus: "How much fun can I have with this one?"

Pryce: "Contrary to my prior opinion, maintaining a relationship with TCW might still be to my employer's advantage, so you shouldn't subject the poor lad to anything more serious than a short hospital stay, perhaps a concussion and a broken bone or two. That much I'm sure I can smooth over with Stern, now that she appreciates what I can do for her in Washington."

Drakus: "What about the Hellfire Club?"

Pryce: "Seth has a plan."

Drakus: "I hope it involves me finishing what I started with Darkness."

Pryce: "We shall see."

The lawyer hands Drakus a file folder from his briefcase.

Pryce: "More intelligence on Keening."

The SUV pulls up to the hotel.

Pryce: "Would you like me to look after your toolbag for the time being, Drakus? You won't need it for the next few days."

Drakus: "Why leave it with you?"

Pryce: "To remove any temptation to use those tools on Mr. Keening."

Drakus rubs a hand on the front of his throat, over his newest tattoo, a barbed red serpent swallowing its own tail.

Drakus: "I won't, not on him."

Pryce: "I suppose I already have your oath on it. Very well Drakus, do as you wish. I will have other work for you in Brazil, work that will allow you to use the full range of your talents. In the meantime, prepare to re-enter the media spotlight."

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Cameras flash as TCW cheesecake interviewer Justine Lynn announces many of the participants on the card for TCW Retribution. Cameras flash as press and fans see some of their favorite TCW stars lined up on the stage. Behind the stage, TCW road agent Jason Fragg tries to keep order among the wrestlers who've yet to be announced. The presence of TCW Enforcer Bruce yields mixed results. Lord Blood's wife, Lady Fury, starts a fight between her husband and annoying hippie curtain-jerker Dax the Hipster. The rest of Blood's "Blood Clan" start trashing the place. "The Iron Cossack" Boris Drago, always too into his role as the uber-Soviet anti-American heel, takes a cheap shot at Sgt. Jobber in the chaos, then tries to fight Fragg and Jobber at the same time.

In the midst of this chaos, Aaron Keening tries to stay out of the way as he works out a new piece of music in his head. Bruce sends one of the Blood Clan flying across the room. Keening ducks the flailing wrestler, but runs right into someone else. He stares up at the taller man, dressed in faded jeans and a rumpled black dress shirt open enough to reveal the very top of a large dragon tattoo. Above it, on the man's neck, is a circular tattoo of a snake eating its own tail.

Aaron Keening: "You're Drakus ..."

Drakus: "And you must be the songbird. Can't wait to hear you scream."

And I wonder how I never got the burn...

It was a typical Christmas for a very typical Aaron Keening. A typical conversation with his typical father over typical beer began the whole return home. The same subjects where brought up and discussed, all in a typical fashion. While Will was not so against Aaron's chosen profession, that bridge was crossed a few months ago, the elder Keening still hoped his son would grow out of it and make the musical mark he knew his offspring could achieve. And Aaron's mother worried as a typical mother typically does. She would fret in her mildly passive aggressive way that TCW was too dangerous for her only child and how Aaron would never meet a nice girl of the marrying type while traveling on the road. Now that he was grown and out of the house, he knew that she, like typical mothers, wanted grandchildren she could spoil and shower with affection.

The next day, his typical extended family came over for the typical Christmas dinner and gift giving. His uncle and his father got into another typical argument over the same reasons all brothers argue. It doesn't matter the subject, each wants the other to admit they are wrong. This argument, like all the other's Aaron had witnessed last the same typical length, about ten minutes, until his grandmother, in typical fashion, scolded both her sons for fighting on Christmas day before returning to the kitchen to putter around "helping" Rebecca and Aaron's aunt Susan cook. Aaron occupied his time the way he always did at these gatherings, interacting with his two cousins, Greg and Sheila. The years of playing with toys were long behind them, so now they would do as they typically did for the past few years. Talk, have a drink, and rib on each other like only family can.

The dinner was typical off his families cooking. All the typical foods where here, as they always were without fail. And as always, everybody would eat their fill and leftovers would be still there. Then came the presents and all their typical glory. Sweaters, gift cards, gag gifts, Arizona Wildcats merchandise, microbrew sample packs, music related presents; Aaron got the typical gifts he always got. Then the typical carols would be song, the typical post gift conversations would be had, and the typical farewells would be said.

And now Aaron was back on the road heading into a Pay per view for TCW. He was standing in front of a rather large and angry looking man with the oddest tattoo on his neck. The man, Drakus, glared down at Aaron with absolute evil glee as he intimidated the smaller and less experienced Aaron.

Decidedly not typical.

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"I suppose you could call me that, I do have a gift with mus..."

Drakus cut him off with a growl

"Don't care kid."

Aaron recalled experiences from his youth with similar types. The bigger, badder, bully he always seemed to have a knack for drawing to him. Threats and intimidation were the weapons of choice, and then the ole staple, violence.

"Then what do you care about?"

A soft laugh tinted with cruelty was part of the answer, and sadly, the part that shoke Aaron the lest.

"Simply? Making sure my return is memorable. And while I would prefer a better victim to drive this point home, I'm sure even a rookie like you will bleed enough for my message."

Yup, Aaron was a bit afraid. He knew this guy's history in the TCW all too well to not be. Outside of being an absolutely brutal man in the ring, this is the same guy that sent Aaron's idol in TCW, Matt Strikmore, into a wheelchair. But summoning all the courage he could muster, Aaron would not appear frightened of this man. Show no fear, he remembered hearing that once.

"Look here Bellicoso, I don'..."

Drakus hand pushed hard against Aaron's chest, shoving the young man into the wall behind him.

"What did you call me?" growled Drakus, anger visible on his face.

"Bellicoso." Aaron responded coolly, trying his damndest to not shake with fear at the sudden attack. "Italian music term meaning aggressive, which you just proved."

"The name is Drakus, not some fucking music note. And unless you want to have me snap you like kindling over me knee, you will make sure to refer to me as such from now on. Got it?"

Aaron stared in the man's eye. Rage danced over the orbs in his shaved head, unbridled and cruel rage. Before Aaron could answer, a heavy hand settled on Drakus's shoulder. The large man spins around, ready to strike down whoever was foolish enough to touch him, but his fist stops in mid air.

"You know better than to do that Drakus." Bruce says softly, but with an edge in his voice that is easy to recognize.

Drakus looks over the chief enforcer of TCW then back over to Keening. He smirks with a viscous grin.

"See you later rookie. Maybe."

Drakus gives Bruce another look over before walking away with a chuckle. Before Aaron can understand what happened and thank Bruce for his timely interruption, the enforcer is gone to continue clean up the chaos backstage. Breathing a sigh of relief, and dread, Aaron adjusts his shirt muttering something about being glad it's still intact. Boy would his mother have a fit if the new shirt she got him for Christmas got ruined.

"Mr. Keening?"

"Huh?" was all Aaron could respond to stage hand.

"Ms. Lynn just called your name. You need to be on stage."

"Oh okay. OH!" Aaron, realizing exactly what he needed to do, ran towards the curtain, adjusted his shirt once more, before putting on a smile and heading into the flashbulbs and polite cheers. Yet his smile hid the fearful experience of just moments earlier. While he answered whatever few questions he was asked, all he could think about was how he would survive his next match.


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It took a little effort, and a couple of white lies, but Aaron finally had it in his hands. A phone number, which would lead to a call, which Aaron hoped, would help him with his upcoming match with Drakus. He took a few deep breathes as he dialed the number slowly on his hotel room phone. This would be one big phone bill, but thankfully TCW was covering the long distance, provided it didn't get too out of hand. The phone rang a few times before the opposite end picked up.

"Hello?" responded the male voice on the other end.

"Um...hi, not sure if you remember me and all, but I spoke to you once..."

"Whoa, whoa slow down. Take a deep breath and tell me your name."

Aaron did as instructed, realizing now he probably came off as nervous, which is reasonable to assume given the man on the other end of the phone.

"Aaron Keening sir."

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living, or at least I used to." was the response with humor in the voice. "But yea, I remember you. Nice, polite kid introducing himself to the locker room to mixed results. So what brings the pleasure of this phone call Aaron?"

"Well si....um, not sure what to call you honestly?"

"Matt works just fine."

"Okay, Matt. Well, I got a problem and I figured I should try to talk to you and get some advice."

"Let me take a stab at it. You're fighting Drakus and figured that since good ole Matt Strikmore has had more recent experience with the brute than I care too, I might be able to give you the secret to beating him?"

"Yea...Kind of."

"Well there really is no silver bullet against Drakus as my spine can attest."

Aaron felt bad all of a sudden. Matt Strikmore had been basically paralyzed by Drakus and here Aaron was more concerned about beating Drakus than how the guy he looked up to was doing.

"How are you doing by the way Matt?"

"Well good news is I am walking."

"That's great!"

"Yea, but the bad news is I am still in rehab from the injury. Gonna be awhile before I can get back to one hundred percent, if I even can."

"I'm sure you'll get better."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence and well wishes. So, you are really fighting Drakus?"

"Yea, at Retribution, one on one match."

"Jesus who did you piss off?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing, just I mean, damn, one on one. That's brutal."

Aaron frowned.

"Yup, hence my call. I am a little desperate."

"I can tell. Well honestly, there really isn't much I can tell you that you shouldn't already figure out."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I know you are new to this biz, but I am sure you have fighting experience right?"

"Well, I did some small MMA events and have a brown belt in Judo."

"Okay, so, based on your experience and training, what are your strengths?"

"Um...I'm pretty fast and agile."

"Short answer, but a good start. Now, what are Drakus's strengths?"

"He's huge, strong, and could probably crush my head like a grape."

Matt's laughter echoed through the phone line.

"Sorry to laugh Aaron, but that was pretty funny. And sadly accurate truth be told. So, you're fast and agile, and Drakus is big and strong. Now what does that tell you?"

"I can't let him grab me."

"In a way, yea. Okay, let me put it to you this way. In The Amazing Spiderman Issue 41, Spiderman is fighting Rhino and can't figure a way to beat the guy. So you know what he did?"

"Not really. Never was big into comics."

"Well that's a shame. Okay, let me think here for a moment. Okay, you know what a mongoose is right?"

"Yea, from Rikki-Tikki-Tavi."

"Man, you know Kipling but not comics. Oh well, yes, that mongoose. Now, it can kill a cobra, and creature bigger than it and with a very deadly bite. Yet more often than not the mongoose wins. You know why?"

"Because it's faster?"

"Sort of. Sure it's fast, but a cobra can strike pretty fast too. Really it comes down to the mongoose basically picking its spots. The mongoose doesn't really charge full bore at the cobra, no, it waits for the cobra to make the first attack then it jumps and capitalizes on the opportunity to strike. See where I am going with this?"

"I think. If I just try to counter and dodge Drakus, I can take advantage of whatever opening he leaves for me?"

"That's it. Now I am going to warn you, this isn't foolproof. Drakus is no dummy, he's a thinking brute. So make sure whatever opening he gives you you are able to take full advantage of."

"Thanks a bunch Matt, you've been a great help."

"Nah, you know this stuff already. But I guess you needed somebody to remind you of it."

"Ha...yea, I am a little muddled with the thought of this match. But thanks again."

"No problem, and Aaron?"

"Yes?"

"Watch out for his Psycho Driver. It's brutal."

"Don't worry, I will."

"Year of the Dragon, pfft. Take him down kid."

"I'll do my best, Take care Matt."

"You too Aaron."

Aaron hung up the phone feeling better about this match. While he Matt's words helped ease his uneasiness about the fight, he still knew it would be a rough go. But he always did his best, and this would be no exception.

It would also be no typical match.