"Hello, and welcome to Flight 150. Please sit back and enjoy the current in-flight movie as we head towards our destination."

The screens in front of the passengers filled with snow for a few moments before sound crackled in through the headphones and the screen blinked on as "No Country For Old Men" began with the opening credits.

And Matt was lounging back in his chair, eating peanuts...and not watching the movie. He had his fresh copy of Blue Beetle in his hands. Issue 25's description read: 'Light-years from home, Beetle fights for control of the Scarab in a spectacular last stand against the Reach — and the World's Greatest Heroes have his back!'

"Can hardly wait to read this-"

Out of nowhere, a black, gloved hand reached down, and plucked it out of Matt's hands. The guy whirled around angrily. "Hey, that's MY comic, man-"

Inferno tilted his head slightly, cat-eyes staring a hole through his opponent...just before he grabbed the comic book between two hands, and ripped slowly and deliberately through it before violently tossing the remains in Matt's face. Then his hand found Strikmore's shoulder, and FORCED him out of his seat, tossing him onto the ground. He began to advance on his fallen opponent.

"Inferno!" Matt declared, rolling to a standing position. He knew this was going to happen sooner or later, and was glad to get it out of the way. He took one look at Inferno, and-

Ran away.

"Police! Help! Psycho on the loose!" Matt declared, running down the isle, looking back on occasion as the gigantic masked man plodded after.

"Ahh! Violence!" screeched an old lady. The distressed voice suddenly made something go off in Matts head, and he turned back towards the advancing man...

"Stop right there, villian, or I'll have to use force!" Matt put his hands on his hips, standing there as if he were an impenetrable brick wall. The advancing monster stopped right in front of him, with an air of 'Wtf?' in his gaze, even though his actual eyes could not be seen.

"I'm warning you, villian, you have 5 seconds to surrender!" He put up his index finger. "One..."

Inferno's hand snatched out like lightning and bent the finger, causing Matt to groan in excruciating pain before his other hand landed a stiff right hand to his forehead. His eyes quickly went back to normal as he realized where he was, knocked onto the floor, and he rubbed his head in pain. "Ugh, that's going to leave a nasty bruise..."

Inferno continued his advance, just taking his time much like a serial killer: he knew he'd get Matt eventually. Matt grabbed onto one of the seats desperately, trying to pull himself up, he reached more, and grabbed...something. Some kind of bag...he didn't care what it was, he just threw it at Inferno's face!

Crackle-crack.

"HEY! Those were my peanuts!"

A bag of peanuts had smacked into the front of Inferno's mask. He paused for just a moment, before stalking after Matt once more.

"Sorry!" was all Matt could say...in desperation, he reached for something else...his hand now found the handle to an overhead luggage compartment. The monster drew near...just as he pulled it open.

He dove out of the way as a ton of hand-luggage dropped all over Inferno, hitting him in the head several times and almost bringing him down to the ground, but he just stood there, staring at Matt. His arms were shaking a little...anger was rising in his body.

"Take that!" Matt yelled, and stole another bag of peanuts. He bit into one before grabbing one after another and bouncing them off Inferno's forehead, some of them crackling on impact. He tossed as if they would somehow get him to stop, obviously, they didn't. He just grabbed another bag, tossed it at Inferno, and ran.

"Quit stealing our stuff!" yelled somebody. Unfortunately Matt wasn't paying attention, and he grabbed the wrong thing. A stiff, wooden object, he readied to strike Inferno with it...

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, SONNY!" Matt's eyes met the angry eyes of an old, balding man, whose hand grasped the object--a cane--and took it right back.

"Er...I'm really s-"

"You young people have no regard for your elders!" yelled the old man, pointing his cane straight at Strikmore's face. "How DARE you steal a poor old man's cane, you whippersnapper!"

"I-uhm...really didn't mean-"

"When I was young we knew a thing or two about respecting our elders, it's a crying shame that youths like you just run around stealing stuff from helpless seniors like myself! What does a youth like you need a cane for anyway when you have all the newfangled-"

"Mr, this is a bad t-"

"-'medical science' and all that, you'll probably still have working legs at my age-"

Suddenly, Inferno spun him around, and his face met with the last bag of peanuts Matt had tossed at him, there was anger coursing through the monster's whole body as he ground the crunchy snack all over his face.

After a good 15 seconds of this, Inferno tossed the broken peanuts to the ground and shoved him to the ground.

Matt groaned, and crawled his way, away from Inferno. He reached out, grasping the food cart a flight attendant was pushing. Without thinking, he quickly got on the other side of it, and pushed it as hard as he could into Inferno!

Dishes shattered into a hundred pieces as they hit the ground simply from the velocity, the cart itself smashing into the masked stalker and finally knocking him to one knee. Strikmore took this opportunity to run for it, with Inferno scrambling after him after a few seconds.

Matt was waiting by the bathroom stalls, watching the growling monster just charge towards him. He had a plan--a dumb one--but at this point, he'd try anything. As Inferno drew near, he grabbed the door handle...and flung it open, moving out of the way out of the last second. Inferno charged right into the bathroom stall...and Matt jumped on him, shoving his face into the disgusting toilet before he could react! Matt reached out, and flushed the toilet.

Inferno flailed around for a moment as the suction yanked on his head, fluids washing over his mask...a few seconds and then it was over, he pulled his head out, and his mask was...dripping, with blue sanitizing fluids.

Matt actually smiled a bit. "Maybe you could be wrestling's next 'Blue Meanie'!"

Inferno's hands found his throat at last, and took him to the ground. The jokes disappeared from his head immediately as he felt a life-threatening situation clamp down on him in less than a second. He was running out of air, he was about to suffocate.

Then oxygen filled his lungs back up as quickly as it left, as four pairs of strong hands yanked the masked man from him, trying to restrain him. It took a while, but eventually, they had him pinned, hands cuffed behind his back hastily. The monster growled and stared a hole through Strikmore, reminding him that it wouldn't end here.

"Thanks, guys," Matt said, giving the sky marshals a thumbs up. "I didn't know what I'd do if you hadn't shown up-"

They grabbed his arms and put them behind his back violently. "H-hey! What's the big idea?!" he shouted. "Why are you arresting me? I didn't-"

"Several passengers told us you were stealing their stuff," said one officer.

"An old man told us himself that you took his cane. From a poor, innocent senior citizen!" said another other, appaled. "Bastard. Hope you rot."

"You're kidding me!" Matt yelled, as the sky marshals dragged both of them away...

*Put two different men in the same situation, and it's amazing to see how the two paths compare. From as simple a start of saying hello compared to saying nothing, the results spin out exponentially. To say the situation would be entertaining is a matter of taste, but certainly interesting. Take, for example, two men that find themselves newly confined to shackles and law escorts. Let's watch.*

*Police offices aren't really as exciting as television shows make them out to be. The people at the desks do a job, like everyone else. They chat over coffee. When the boss hangs up from his heated phone call, they suddenly need to use the restroom. Weekend plans are discussed, and the sales contests of their children are peddled. And like every office, there are moments of excitement and spirited arguments. However, there are moments where that all goes out the window, and you realize there's no job quite like this one.*

*The doors fling open with men of uniform shouting their arrival. Red faced and sweating, they drag their screaming catch step by step into the tiled hallway. Inferno hollers to nearly voice-cracking volumes, likely just a snapshot of what the car ride was like over from the airport. Behind him, almost an after thought at this point, is Matt Strikmore. He has someone on his right side, who is honestly paying more attention to Inferno, planning his actions should he somehow break free. Matt looks around the police office, and nods to those that care to pay him eye contact. The tug of war between the officers and Inferno seems to be a standstill as they try and force him into an interrogation room. Inferno's head is seen buck harshly back as he nearly convulses his resistance.*

Matt: If you want to go help your buddies, I swear I'll stand right here. You can even tell me where to stand if this spot is no good.

*The officer looks back and forth between the ruckus and Matt.*

Matt: I swear. Not an inch.

*The officer nods quickly and rushes to the fray. Matt, true to his word, moves not a muscle. After finally managing to muscle Inferno into the room and chained to a chair, the officer returns to Matt with disheveled hair and a small trickle of blood on the corner of his mouth.*

Matt: Ouch! He manage to clip you?

Officer: It was someone's elbow, that's all I know. He'll be getting the blame though. Thanks for being slightly more cooperating.

*The officer winks while running his sleeve across his mouth.*

Officer: Now if you'll follow me, we have some questions to ask you.

*Matt follows the officer through the halls, his hands cuffed behind his back. They pass the room holding Inferno, and all Matt can make out is silence followed by howls of anger.*

Matt: What are they doing to him?

Officer: Questioning him on what happened on the plane. Probably a few shots at why he's acting up as well. Hopefully you react a bit better.

Matt: Polar opposite, man. Anything you want to know.

*The officer opens a door and it's a sparse room. Two chairs, one table. The officer gestures for Matt to take the seat facing the door. Matt wriggles for a bit, trying to get a comfortable position with his hands behind the small of his back.*

Matt: No two way mirror?

Officer: Television ruined all the fun tricks.

Matt: Ought to hang some portraits with the eyes cut out.

Officer: Old tricks get some new life, eh?

*The two men chuckle as we cut to Inferno's room. There are three officers in the room, with two outside the door. The lights aren't dim, like you'd think. Just standard 60 watts. Inferno has his head back, looking at the ceiling. The sinew of his arms flexes every few seconds, testing the restraints, but he seems to have stopped thrashing.*

Officer: Would you mind telling me what you were thinking about when you attacked another passenger?

*The only response is a slight laugh played over a cough.*

Officer: OK, how about explaining how you got on a plane with a mask? All passenger's are ID'd. No way you made it past security with that on.

*Inferno twists his head over to the officer, still lopped over the back of the chair. His eyes nearly smile.*

*Back in Matt's room.*

Officer: OK, walk me through this, Matt. Why were you fighting on the plane and stealing luggage?

Matt: It's just like the statement I made on the way to the car. I was a paying customer on that plane, that can be proven. I sat down, and not two minutes later, Inferno attacked me.

Officer: His alias is Inferno?

Matt: I'm assuming it's an alias. No one names their kid Inferno. No one not famous, at least. Anyway, Inferno just starts wailing on me and choking me. Fight or flee kicks in, and I choose flee. There's not exactly much room on a plane, and I know I'm going to run out of room, so I start throwing things at him. Anything, really. I guess I was hoping to slow him down till someone official showed up, but he just kept coming. It was kind of like Frankenstein or something.

Officer: And the luggage?

Matt: Just ammo. The peanuts weren't doing anything, so I went for something heavier. Look, am I in trouble here?

Officer: Let's keep talking.

*Back in Inferno's room, the officer is now red faced.*

Officer: This isn't some movie! I ask questions, you give answers! No lawyer is going to come busting in here telling you to not say another word!

*The door opens.*

Security officer: Sir, we have someone here representing this man. Says her name is Izumi.

*Inferno laughs.*

Officer: So Matt, do you know why you're here?

Matt: Some sort of zero tolerance deal, I'm guessing. I mean, I can understand that I was part of some "disturbing the peace" thing. And that everything that happens on a plane is super serious these days. But in my defense, I did retreat away from the cockpit. I'm sorry about the juice cart though.

Officer: How long are you here in Rio De Janeiro?

Matt: Few days, then I'm gone.

Officer: Look, I can tell you didn't mean any harm in your actions. However, I can't just let you go. Since you're only here a few days, would you agree to be monitored?

Matt: Dude, you can put a camera in my shower if it gets me out of here. I get a cut of any web-casts though.

Officer: Just check in when I tell you, and we should be able to avoid that. Waterproof cameras are out of our budget.

Matt: Awesome. Thanks a lot. Out of curiosity, what's going to happen to Inferno?

*Back in Inferno's room, Izumi has just finished explain what exactly Inferno does for a living.*

Izumi: He meant no harm to any other passengers, as was clear. Ask anyone else on that plane, he didn't touch them.

Officer: And the one passenger he did attack?

Izumi: As I explained, they are opponents. Inferno is... somewhat overly competitive and impatient. Outside of Matt, was there any testimony of him touching anyone else or their property?

Officer: He sure as hell touched my co-workers! It took six of us to subdue him!

Izumi: He misunderstood. He didn't know why he was being held. He didn't think he had done anything wrong.

Officer: I'm not buying it. If he'd cooperated, we might be able to agree on something. But no way I'm letting him walk away free and clear after the way he treated my men. Besides, I'm betting Mr. Strikmore would have no problems pressing charges on him.

Izumi: I see. May I be excused for a moment?

Officer: I've no problem with you going away.

*Izumi bows her head slightly and exits the room just as Matt is passing by, rubbing his wrists now that the cuffs are off. He does a double take when he seesIzumi.*

Matt: Shoe girl? Small world! Sorry about that, and sorry about running out so fast. Kind of wish I missed my flight now.

Izumi: Matt... I work with Inferno, and I've a proposition for you.

Matt: You work with Inferno? Seriously? There's gotta be better jobs out there.

Izumi: My time for joking is gone. I need you to drop any charges against Inferno. I believe I can get him out of here if you do so.

Matt: And the reason I shouldn't? I mean, he attacked me, completely unprovoked.

Izumi: Be that as it may, I'm sure you understand TCW's policies regarding employees and law enforcement. Commissioner Stern will be most displeased, all on the eve of your return.

Matt: It is a bit of a bad step off point...

Izumi: I can make sure no one finds out about this incident, but only if you agree to drop charges. I can do nothing if official charges are drawn.

Matt: OK, fine. But, I want one condition. Someone is on him all hours of the day until this match is over, because there's no way he doesn't try this again.

Izumi: That is... most disagreeable.

Matt: So was getting punched in the head.

*Izumi turns to the officer.*

Izumi: Would this satisfy your needs?

Officer: He'll need to be bused out of our city and flown out the moment his business is done. He will not fly out of our airport.

Izumi: Then it is done. Thank you. Matt, no one will know.

*Izumi turns on her heels and re-enters Inferno's room.*

Matt: So I just call this number every six hours?

Officer: That's it. You'll also need to call right before boarding the plane.

Matt: Thanks a lot for your help. I really appreciate it.

Officer: No problem. We don't like jailing innocent people. Just stay on top of calling in, and you'll be set. Take care.

*With our experiment at an end, we see the difference the choices made make. One man walks out alone, and one with two escorts. One will spend the days at phone's length, and the other at arm's length. The sun sets in as Matt steps out onto the steps leading to the police building. It will soon rise with new choices to be made, and the consequences in their shadow.*

The first person we'd observe today was none other than Matt Strikmore. Some say he'd done absolutely nothing wrong, that all of his actions were in pure self-defense. Others would say he's a rotten no-good cane-stealing whippersnapper. Whatever the case, all he had to do was call the police every six hours like a good, law-abiding citizen. That was the deal, and he seemed to be dealing with it pretty well...

Tomorrow he had an autograph signing. It'd be the first time he'd seen his fans face to face since he left..and they'd all be wishing him good luck. He needed it. He needed every ounce of strength, mentally and physically, to overcome the obstacle that stood in his way.

But for now, it was relaxation time.

"Finally! Blue Beetle issue 25," Matt said, flipping open his new copy. This time, there'd be no masked, murderous men ripping it up.

As if on cue, he felt his cell-phone vibrate in his pocket. He checked the number--it wasn't from the police...nor was it from anybody he even knew! Curious, he pressed the button to answer...

"Hey, who's this?"

"Hi Matt!" said a voice on the other end.

"Hey, shoe girl! What's up?"

"Oh, you can call me Izumi," her voice came, chuckling. "Nothing really much actually. An officer's got Inferno taken care for now, so right now I'm updating my website. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine, just reading a comic, chilling," Matt said. "By the way...how'd you get my number?"

"I'm good at gathering information, but err...are you sure you're alright?"

"Why?" Matt asked.

"Well..." she began, "Inferno attacked you, after all. I've seen what he can do to people...you're lucky you got away uninjured. Are you sure you're okay?

"I should be fine, yeah, Inferno just hit me a little hard..." Matt said, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, about that..." Now a low, serious voice..."Look, I wanted to apologize for Inferno. He's...a bit, unhinged. If I wasn't stuck with this job, I'd have said ‘go ahead, lock him up'." Izumi sighed. "You're going to have to face him in the ring. It's not a game to him. He's like an animal, protective of his territory."

"What are you doing?" Matt suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing to yourself?" he asked. "You're managing someone that mentally unstable...someone who a reputation for attacking people-like me. You're putting yourself in danger—it's only a matter of time before he attacks you."

"I don't have a choice," Izumi said. "Like I said, this is the job I'm stuck with. In fact, to be honest...I'm rooting for you in the upcoming match."

"W-wha?" Strikmore blushed, nearly dropping his phone. "You want him to lose?"

"Oh, he could use the humility, but it more has to do with wanting you to win, Matt," Izumi said. "Just think...this whole fed, it's full of crazies. Guys in masks, gothic guys with facepaint, gangsters, were-err, all sorts of psychos who ‘live their gimmick'. Inferno, Dante, Bam, Darkness, Drakus, a whole sea of them...but among them, you stand out as a diamond in the rough. A real person, for people to relate to."

"I do?" he said.

"You do," Izumi answered back. "And you can continue to stand out. Show them you don't have to be a freak to get far in this fed. Show them you can be...normal, and still win."

-----------------------------------

The second person on the agenda today was a masked, dangerous man...notorious for attacking his opponents before his matches, even on airplanes. Many times he'd gone unpunished for it...this time, he wasn't so lucky.

Inferno sat on the bed of his hotel room, eyes glued to the TV. On it was footage of a certain wrestler...

Strikmore grasps at the shocked Hawthorne and launches a Pendulum Backbreaker, raising the challenger up and uses a painful Electric Chair drop on Hawthorne. As Hawthorne writhes around in pain, Strikmore bounces across the ropes and leaps onto Hawthorne, thrusting an elbow onto Hawthorne's gut.

Cain: Oh look at that, the champ's on fire now.

Tex: The tables have turned on Hawthorne, just moments ago he had this very open match won. Good GAWD that gut must be really tenderized today!

Strikmore pulls Hawthorne up, he is barely standing on his own two feet. Focused, the Transcontinental Champion grasps Stephen Hawthorne's Left Limbs and hoists them onto his Shoulders. The crowd is screaming for it:

MOREY'S PIER PLUNGE.

Hawthorne remains lying on his belly, blood dripping onto the Canvas, Strikmore turns Hawthorne and goes for a cover:

1


2


3!!!

The bell rings, and the Transcontinental Champion has his belt returned to him. Strikmore lifts the belt proudly above his head, soaking in cheers by the crowd.

"It won't be so easy with me, Strikmore..." Inferno droned. "I won't even need a steel ramp to put you out again..."

Guarding the door out of his room was an officer. He was called Ed, a simple name, with a simple job at the moment that he intended to do his best. His small, blue eyes stayed focused on the masked man the whole time.

The tape ended, and Inferno removed it, quickly replacing it with another, cueing it up to the next Strikmore match.

Inferno's mask turned on the officer, before turning back towards the TV... A pause, before he spoke..."Hit me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Punch me."

Ed shook his head. "I will not."

Inferno's cold voice replied. "Why not?"

"It is not my job."

"Are you afraid?"

"No." Ed said. "Why would I be?"

"Because I could break your neck with one hand, in one second." Inferno said, casually.

Ed's hand tensed up. "That would not be wise. You'd be arrested and charged with murder."

"And what would it matter to you?" Inferno said. "In the end, you'd still be dead. Gone. Your soul vanished into oblivion. Are you afraid to die?"

"No..." he said.

"Then hit me, if you are not afraid."

"I still won't..."

"Then you are a liar." Inferno said. "You're not afraid to die, but you still will not strike me. That seems rather backwards, doesn't it?"

"I am not lying!" Ed yelled.

"Then PROVE IT!"

"DAMN YOU!" Ed's hand struck out, hitting him square in the mask. Inferno's head turned with the blow, remaining in that position for a second, before it snapped back, and his hand seized the officer's throat.

The moment he'd struck that blow, he wished he could have taken it back. It was too late, the cold gloved fingers were around his neck, and he was being pushed into the wall...the cat eyes of Inferno's mask stared right into his, and they were filled with pure terror.

Just then, the sound of Matt's head being driven into the steel played from the tape.

Tex: He's dead! By God, he's dead...

And so too would Ed be. He shut his eyes...

The fingers tightened...

...then let up.

Ed stared at the monster. Why wasn't he dead?

He waited ten seconds, before he heard his answer. A low noise, coming from within Inferno's throat...it was faint, but slowly it grew...

A laugh.

Inferno released the officer and threw his head back, simply laughing at his humiliation.

*The alarm goes off, the numbers 6:15 blaring red across the room. Matt groans loudly and lifts his head off his pillow, trying to determine if this is actually happening or just a lousy dream. Figuring that his imagination can't possibly be that lame, Matt throws the blanket off of himself and lumbers across the room, dragging the heels of his feet along the plush carpet. He hits the alarm, and leans back against the dresser. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he looks around his hotel room. It's the first one he's been in for quite a while. Something about hotel rooms always brought the comic "Secret War" to mind. A slice of familiar world, dumped in an amalgam of everywhere else. A sense of familiar among the strange. He looks over his shoulder, onto the dresser, and picks up the card the police officer had given him.*

Matt: If losing a few hours of sleep is the worst that happens on this trip, I'll take it as a win.

*Matt grabs the phone and punches in the numbers. As he wanders over to the coffee maker, someone picks up.*

Officer: Hello?

Matt: Hi. This is Matthew Strikmore checking in. Case number 49021.

Officer: Thank you, Matt. And where are you currently?

Matt: My hotel room. And awake, for some reason.

Officer: Thank you for checking in. Take care.

*Matt looks at the phone, the line already dead, and shrugs. He tosses it on the bed and starts to fill up the coffee pot with water. He pulls the pot away for a moment to dip his head in and grab a drink, swishing it around in his mouth as he continues to fill the pot. As he tries to think about his schedule, he absent-mindedly spits the water back out into the sink. Upon feeling the splash back, he sighs, dumps the pot out, and starts over.*

Matt: Way too friggen early.

******************************************

*With the clock unplugged and the shades drawn tight, it's hard to tell what time it is anymore in Inferno's hotel room. The tapes of Matt Strikmore have long since run out, but the television is still on to shout static into the room. Ed is there, rubbing his throat from time to time, sitting across the room from Inferno. Inferno sits with his back to the window, a very faint hum of light sneaking through the layers of curtains and blinds, just enough to show his outline. The static on the television will occasionally spark in just a way that enough light is placed on his face for Ed to see the barest of details on Inferno's mask. He can't see the eyes, but he can see where the eyes should be. Unnerving doesn't begin to explain how his night has been. And that laugh starts again.*

******************************************

Matt: And who should I make this out to?

Fan: Phillip.

Matt: Thanks for coming out, Phillip!

Phillip: Sure thing, Matt! You gonna hit Inferno with the Plunge?

Matt: Nah. I got something new to show him.

Phillip: Cool! What is it?

Matt: I can tell you I call it the Ring Slinger, but you'll need to come out this week and see it for yourself.

*Matt hands the fan the autograph and leans back in his seat. Grabbing his right wrist, he rotates his hand and winces as it tries to work out the stiffness. Three hours he'd been here, signing everything put in front of him. Well, anything he can legally sign. He glances over at the TCW representative, who gestures at his watch.*

Matt: Break time.

*Matt gets up and waves to the remaining line as the TCW representative tells the crowd he'll be back in five minutes. Matt peels off of the sidewalk into the patio of arestaurant , the ceiling fans spinning on high. Melting into a rattan seat, Matt relaxes with a contented smile. His phone rings, and he lops his head to the side as he pulls the phone out of his pocket.*

Matt: Shoe girl. I gotta change that ID.

Matt: Hey Izumi, what's up?

Izumi: How is your monitored stay in Rio going?

Matt: Well enough. I have two more hours before curfew again. Hopefully this autograph line dies down by then. I've used up all my breaks.

Izumi: They have you doing publicity work without being under contract?

Matt: It was a give and take. They paid for my plane ticket, I do PR. Besides, there's not a ton of guys in TCW that will actually do this stuff. I'm half surprised TCW still has fans with as little as some of these guys give back. Of course I guess not many of them waited in the rain to get Mike Sharpe's autograph.

Izumi: Who?

Matt: Exactly. I get the feeling a lot of these guys here forgot they were wrestling fans, or at least are supposed to be. Ah well, it makes the fans even happier to see my busted mug.

Izumi: You are quite a passionate person, are you not?

Matt: Passionate. Stupid. Stubborn. Same trait, it just depends if you want to insult me or compliment me. Anyway, I gotta get going. Break is over, and these kids have been waiting patiently.

Izumi: Then I will let you go.

Matt: Oh, by the way, how's Inferno doing with his new friends?

Izumi: I believe it was a bad choice. Goodbye, Matt.

*Matt doesn't know quite what to think of that parting line, but duty called. Tossing the phone back in his pocket, he downs a glass of water a waitress had left him, drops a few dollars on the table, and heads back to his autograph session.*

Matt: Any wrestling fans here?!?

*Matt raises his hand as the crowd cheers and does the same.*

*************************************************************

*Hours have passed, and Ed finally got up and turned off the TV forty minutes ago. The sun has gone down, and that slight outline of Inferno is gone. Ed still knows those eyes are looking at him, hidden behind darkness. For the first time in hours, Inferno stirs and gets up. Ed sits up in his seat, grabbing at his belt where he keeps histaser, but Inferno simply walks by him and calmly unlocks the door.*

Ed: Where are you going?

Inferno: Out.

Ed: It's the middle of the night!

Inferno: So it would seem.

Ed: I'm going to have to come with you.

*Inferno chuckles, not at Ed, but to himself.*

Inferno: What a horrid vocation you have. To follow the monster into the black.

*Inferno walks out the door, not bothering to close it. Ed hesitates for a moment, until he hears the sound of Inferno breaking the hanging lights of the hallway as he goes on his way. Ed hurries after him. Better to see the monster in the light than to look for him in the dark.*

"Where are you going?"

Ed's voice rang out as he followed the dark shape he'd been forced to keep his eyes glued to for hours. The dim street lights were all that illuminated them as they walked down the sidewalk, as well as the occasional car headlights that would pass by. There was no shift in Inferno's posture or any indication that he had even heard Ed as they walked along.

"Hey! I said, where are you going?"

Ed asked again, the monster of course ignoring him. He shook his head, his hand clenched tightly to his tazer. He'd be ready to use it if he tried to bolt...he wanted to use it right now, to just zap this horror movie wannabe into submission so bad...revenge for all of this torment. It would be so simple to do it and say that he acted in self defense...but his own moral compass made him think otherwise of it. He was a law officer, not an asshole. He wouldn't dare to sink to this monster's level.

Patience was required. Simple patience. Just watch him for a little while longer, and he'd be hugging his wife and child again soon enough.

They continued the walk for several minutes, when suddenly, the shape stopped.

"Are you getting bored yet?" his low voice said.

"I really don't care how much you screw around with me," Ed said. "I'm going to watch you until my shift ends. Now, what are you up to? Are you just fucking around with me again?"

Inferno didn't say anything.

"There's something up. There's always something up with you...if you try to run, I'll have you tazed in a second. As an officer, I am demanding you tell me what you are doing!" Ed said.

A few seconds of silence...then...that laugh again.

Ed sighed. This paycheck was getting harder and harder to earn by the minute.

"If I was going to run, I would not need to pull a ruse of some sort." Inferno said.

"Then where are you going?"

Another laugh. "Food."

Ed looked like that was the last thing he had expected. "That's all?"

"I am a human being as well, or did you forget? I do need to eat."

Ed just sighed again.

"I will need you to leave the hotel room temporarily when I return there with the food," Inferno reminded him.

"The mask? Wait a minute...is this some sort of a-"

"I did just say, I didn't need to pull a ruse to run, correct?"

"Correct."

"And one more thing: If you dare look at me without my mask, it will be the last thing you see..."

Ed believed him on this point.

---------------------

If you were to ask Matt Strikmore how many things he'd signed today, he most certainly wouldn't remember...but for him, it seemed like it was in the thousands.

"It sure is nice to know people still care." He mused to himself.

Maybe tomorrow he'd work out again, or train, or something like that. He did have a match to win, or else he wouldn't see those fans--or his paycheck--ever again. At least he didn't have to worry about this turning into a real-life horror movie, now that Inferno was under guard.

As for tonight, it was free. On his way back, he'd managed to pick up an issue of Cable & Deadpool. It was really just the first thing his hand touched, but he needed something to keep himself occupied.

He read it in his room for about 20 minutes before his eyes caught the tapes.

He had no idea how they got there, but they appeared to be your standard recording tapes, with notes scribbled on the labels. 'Inferno Matches 1' and 'Inferno Matches 2'.

A note was attached:

To Matt,
Inferno's scouting you before the match...so I thought I'd even things up and give you some ammo on him as well! Seems only fair, right? Study these tapes and see if you can find a winning strategy. He is a monster...but he can be defeated. I wish you the best of luck!
Love,
Izumi

Now Matt normally wasn't the type to plan excessive strategy in the ring, he just went with his gut, but he supposed he'd at least take a look at them. He'd have to thank her sometime...

*Matt falls back into the corner of the ring, exhausted. He pats around the ring apron to grab his towel, and drapes it over his head. Shoulders heaving with each breath, Matt tries to relax and bring his heart rate back to Earth.*

*He couldn't find a wrestling ring to work out in, but he did finally come across a boxing gym who were willing to let him in. The mat is different, the ropes are different, the feeling is the same. The smell of sweat and dirt, the flakes of rust on the weights, the broken cable pull. These are the things that define whether you love the business or the adulation. The fans are a bonus. The pyro , music, and announcers are all garnish. This is wrestling. The aching knees and sore arms. The jammed fingers and bruises from running the ropes. The surgery scars.*

*Matt reaches back and rubs his neck, a habit he'd picked up during rehab. Every morning, waking up in that hospital bed, he'd reach back and hope to not feel the stitches. The scar tissue would be gone, and his neck would be the best it'd ever been. You get real tired from being disappointed every day. The surgery was real. The injury is real. The injury will always be real. Matt yanks his hand away, because quite honestly, he hasn't dealt with that fact yet. It's not denial, he tells himself. It's self preservation. It's moving past, moving beyond, moving on. He wasn't going to let a two inch mark on his skin affect the way he lives his life. His hand goes back to his neck, and Matt drops his shoulders.*

*The realization of what the injury meant took far more from him than the injury itself. It meant Matt was mortal. He had no illusions that he was anything more than human, but humans live in denial most of their lives. They live ignorant that their stories have an end, but they always conclude. Matt wasn't ready to be that far into his own book yet. He knew he wasn't Superman, but it hadn't been ruled out yet. Maybe that bullet would bounce off one day, he just had to get shot first to test it. He cried at the realization. Not a trickle. Not a wet eye. He sobbed. He cried all night once he woke up from the anesthesia and felt the stitches for the first time. He didn't cry when he got hurt, or when he got the diagnosis. But once it was done, once he was sewn back up, he knew something got out of that incision. His immortality flew away. He couldn't pretend anymore. He had to wake up.*

*The comparisons of Drakus and Inferno weren't lost on him. Similar builds. Similar style. Similar fury. The tapes that Izumi sent him only further confirmed it. He barely beatDrakus before, and now he's held together with bale wire and wishing. His neck is in worse shape than he let on. An eviction notice will cure what ails you. He knows that all it will take is one bad shot, and he's done. One errant club to the neck, one backdrop taken wrong. One anything.*

*Matt grabs the ropes and pulls himself up, letting the towel fall as it may. He walks the perimeter of the ring, his right hand loosely grabbing the ropes and guiding him along. He closes his eyes as he walks, and lets the smells and sounds force their way in through his thoughts. Does he love this more than his life's security? Was this worth the cost of his personal immortality? He walks to the center of the ring and stands there limp armed. The sounds and smells swell around him as he takes it all in, trying to figure the sum of their parts. He brings his arms up at his side, and lifts his head up. He inhales deeply, and leans back on his heels, falling backwards toward the canvas. The loud impact of Matt on mat swings the attention of some of the gym members his way, only to see a stranger flat on his back in the ring. Matt opens his eyes and looks into the dim lights hung from the ceiling. His eyes well up a bit, and a small smile forms on his face.*

Matt: It's worth it. It's worth twice as much.

Ed, along with the faint smell of Brazilian cuisine, greeted the Japanese girl as she approached the hotel room. He quietly stepped aside as she gentle tapped on the door.

"I'm coming in, Inferno."

A brief moment of silence before the lock clicked open. Her hand slowly pulled it open.

'Cave' would be more accurate than hotel room...there was very little light, only a faint glow from the window. The darkness didn't deter her, however, it puzzled her...

"How do you see in here?" she asked.

"I simply can," is all he said.

"You're going to strain your eyesight, you know."

No response. Izumi's hand found and flicked the light switch.

Inferno's hand covered one eye, visibly disturbed by the sudden rush of light. He was sitting on the bed, next to him was a half-finished bisteca.

"What are you, a vampire?" she said.

"Hardly..." he said, shaking his head and pulling his hand away. "Do not do that."

Izumi snatched up a tape from atop the TV and examined it. "Obsessed as always..." She tsked. "Why don't you ever read a book or something, silly? I have plenty of manga."

"This title match is important," he said firmly.

"It's just a belt," Izumi said. "With or without it, you're still Inferno."

"Exactly. It's not just about the belt."

Izumi looked a little surprised. Maybe he was learning something after all?

"It's about...making an example of Strikmore."

"What?"

"Izumi, I told you from the beginning, that I was in this for the fans...to hurt them," he said. "There have been many opponents I've thrown to the wayside, and received their boos. But their boos aren't enough. I want their tears." He smiled beneath his mask. "Who is Matt Strikmore? He is just a man. Like every other fan that watches this show. The one man they can truly relate with. That may be his biggest strength...but it will now be his downfall."

"Why him?"

"He is my gateway to the heart and soul of every fan out there..." he muttered. "Every blow I land on his body is a blow to them." Suddenly, he stood up. "Don't you see, Izumi? For this match, true victory is obtained...by crippling him. He's got a weak point. What does a shark do, when it smells blood in the water? It strikes. As will I."

For the first time in a while, Izumi actually looked distraught. "But...his neck! If you do that, he'll be a quadriplegic for life! You might even kill him!"

"Exactly!" Inferno laughed gleefully. "If he doesn't want that, then let him stop me! By all means, let him try to stop me. But it's false hope...he can't. At Strangehold, the career of Matt Strikmore comes to a close."

Izumi smiled. "If he doesn't stop you, I will."

"What did you say, little girl?"

The 'little girl' stepped forward, standing tall. "I won't interfere with a fair contest...but if you start deliberately trying to reinjure him...I'll ensure that you lose or get yourself DQ'd." Izumi tapped her forehead.

Inferno rose off the bed like a shadow, the girl's eyes now facing his waistline. "Brave words. But if you do step into that ring, I won't break him...it will be you instead. You want that?" His hand lifted her chin, it alone nearly large enough to hold her head like a baseball.

Izumi just smirked, tilting her head up. "I don't mind. Better me than him...he has something to live for, after all. Don't want me to interfere? Then fight fair."

Inferno brought his face close to hers. "Don't test me, little girl."

Izumi didn't retreat. She just grinned, sharpened eyes staring right into Inferno's, so piercingly that she could almost see what was behind the cat-eyes of his mask. Her gaze did not falter.

Ed just looked on, with an expression of disbelief on his face, as the little girl stared down the monster.

Inferno's eyes suddenly focused on his. "Tell me Ed, would you have watched me kill her? She does your job better than you."

"And we welcome you back to our program. Sitting with us tonight is TCW Superstar... sorry, my mistake. Sitting with us tonight is hopeful TCW Superstar, Matt Strikmore."

Matt: Pleasure to be here, Esteban. Sorry I was late. I got completely lost. I can't find my way home when I know the neighborhood. Toss in a second language, and I'm lucky to be here at all.

Esteban: Not a problem. I'm not even sure this is my studio, it's just the first one I found unlocked.

*Both men share a laugh as we take a look at the setting. A few worn down cameras are set on tripods around a roughshod stage. While the production quality reminds one of public access television, "Esteban Especial" has a rather large cult following for sporting events. While he doesn't get the biggest stars, his audience is one that knows the secondary guests he does manage to put on screen. Matt was signed up just earlier today, finishing up his promotion junket for TCW in exchange for his travel and boarding. Matt's laid back style of conversation is even more revealing since he's been run ragged by Commissioner Stern, jumping from event to event.*

Esteban: Matt, I know your big day is coming up soon, and I know you've been asked the same questions over and over. I've heard your answers, and I think my audience has heard your answers. So if you don't mind, I have some questions that might not be on an approved list.

Matt: Well, TCW hasn't been that good at giving me paperwork, so I guess I never saw that list. Fire away.

Esteban: Excellent. We know what's at stake on this match as far as your TCW status goes. We know the Transcontinental Title is on the line. We know that this is a necessary payday for you as well. What does this mean to you beyond those terms?

Matt: Right to the heart of the matter. How do I put this? Have you ever played King of the Mountain as a kid? I remember a family vacation as a kid, we went to Sesame Place. They had this big hill in their waterpark section that was custom made for King of the Mountain. It was basically a pyramid with some ropes, and just enough space at the peak for one person. All day long, kids would be on that thing. One hundred kids, one spot. Getting to the top meant that the other ninety-nine kids literally looked up to you. You all started at the same point, but the King was able to assert himself, hold on, and push when needed to get to the peak. Once you got up there, you held it for dear life. The beauty of that game is that it doesn't end. You've never won. At best, you can only be winning. But lets be honest. Lets look at the odds. If you get knocked off the top, you have no special advantage. You're just one of the have-nots at that point. On top of all that, you knew what it was like on top. You remember the view. That's where I am now. I'm on the bottom, and I can still clearly remember the view. I want to see it again.

Esteban: Well put. But, at the end of the day, the kids have to go home. They need to stop playing. How close are you to getting that call from mother we all dreaded as a child?

Matt: I have to imagine the sun is setting. My neck is in bad shape. I can live a normal life just fine, but once you've been on top of that mountain, normal is just more time spent remembering the view. I don't want to live in the past, which means I have to live now. Back to the metaphor, I can see my house's front door opening, and my Mom setting foot on the porch. But I'm not coming home tonight. She can holler till dawn. Matt isn't coming home. He's got a mountain to climb.

Esteban: And if you get back on top?

Matt: When. There's no if. There can't be.

Esteban: And as you said, this isn't a game that can be won. You can only be winning. What happens if you tumble?

Matt: Again, there is no if. And I don't know.

*Our location switches over to a small hotel room. The lights are on, but the lighting is low regardless. Izumi sits on the edge of her bed, her knees tucked into her chest with her arms wrapped around them. A pile of manga with well worn spines litter the foot of the bed. The small television in front of her is getting shoddy reception of the show. She bites on her bottom lip as Matt speaks, reading through the metaphor.*

Izumi: He's not going to stop. Neither of them are.

*Her thoughts go back to her words to Inferno. How can she stop this match now? The conviction in Matt's words speak more than the words themselves. She sees what a third party outcome would do to him. She looks around her bed and sees the crumpled versions of her letter to Matt, all the same body with different endings. She never was very good at finishing things, but great at getting herself to the point of ultimatum.*

Esteban: We'll be back with a very determined Matt Strikmore after these words.

*Our view fades as Izumi stares with long eyes at the television, an image of Matt smiling into the camera.*

One night, two people, male, and female, walked along an empty sidewalk...the silence broken by a most peculiar subject...

"So..." the girl began. "Vampires. Where do they come from?"

"Vampires?" the dark-haired boy said. "Why do you want to know about them?"

"I want to know what you know," she said. "All I know is that they drink blood and are afraid of sunlight. Come on. Scare me. Tell me all the gruesome details."

"If you insist," he began. "All over the world, in any country, if you didn't bury or treat a corpse right, it might transform, they said. They'd do everything to prevent it, from staking corpses, leaving wax crosses, holy inscriptions in the coffins...burying the corpses upside down. They'd even kill living people they suspected to be vampires...I'd expect they got a lot of false positives."

"It sounds superstitious...and barbaric," she said. Then giggled "What if I became a vampire?"

"Ah...err...uhm..." He was caught off guard by that one.

She just giggled more. "So cute."

"So..erm...there's more than meets the eye about vampires..." he said. "That's just the tip of the iceberg."

"Ohh? Do tell," she said.

"I warn you, it's not for the faint of heart, Eda..."

"That just makes it even better..." She grinned, excitement in her eyes.

"Well, that's only one kind of vampire," he said. "There are the kind that actually visit you in your dreams. There was a story in 1977 when a woman woke up to a creature that extracted her blood...she was completely paralysed. When it disappeared, she could move again. They said it was sleep paralysis...but nobody wants to believe it could be real..."

"I do," Eda said.

"You do?"

"I believe it all. There's definitely supernatural things out there..."

"...and I'm going to find them," the boy finished. "What do you think?"

"I think that if you look for someone long enough, they might start looking for you..." She leaned in closer...

"I found you." She whispered. Her lips touched his cheek...

It felt like a dream. Warm as sunlight inside. His heart beat faster. "I thought we were just friends?"

Her lips parted, teeth sinking into him. He let them, shutting his eyes, drinking into the moment...

Drip.

Drip.

His blood rain slowly down his cheek, dripping onto the ground. Her lips whispered, near his ear...

"Sorry. There can't be a friendship...not anymore."

He just laughed, and smiled. "I love you."

"Promise me ...that nothing will ever make you stop loving me?"

"I promise."

"Promise me, you aren't just in love with my body?"

"I promise."

"Promise me, we'll be together always."

He smiled again. "I promise, from the bottom of my heart."

Her whisper. "I believe you."

Drip.

Drip.

Her smiling face remained smiling, even as her skin dripped off of it...melting onto the floor. The boy tried to scream, but a now skeletal hand covered his mouth...the liquid flesh pooled at his feet, and then rooted him tight to that spot. He could only watch as she pressed her skeletal smile to his cheek, biting into it once more...

And then he felt the weight of her body, as it, all at once, slumped onto his shoulder...his terrified eyes grew with even more terror...

There was something, behind her, that did not appear in your nightmares. It was beyond that. Yellow, cat's eyes met with the boy's blue. And they were smiling at him.

"I thought you weren't in it for my body? I'm hurt..." He vanished into the alley.

"D..DON'T YOU DARE RUN AWAY FROM ME!" It was crazy, but brave. He chased the shape into the darkness, screaming. His lungs scarcely taking in air, burning, because of his screams: "MURDERER! MURDERER!"

He couldn't see it, but could hear it, dashing through the alley...claws scraping against the walls...moving smoothly. It was going to get away. "STOP!"

He froze. He saw the cat's eyes in the darkness, staring at him again.

"I stopped."

Now a different form stepped out of the shadows. Clothed in black, a handsome man, once an angel, stepped out...smiling a slasher's smile.

"Is this better?"

"GO TO HELL!" His fists rained on his body. The demon didn't even step back from the hits.

"It's lovely. Maybe someday, you'll come visit me?"

He ignored him, hammering away with every ounce of strength.

And it meant naught.

The demon smiled, lifted a hand, jabbing it into his chest. The wind left Inferno's lungs, paralysing him.

"We have to part soon...here's something to remember me by."

Now he lifted only one finger. A simple finger, and pressed it, into the boy's right eye.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGH!" The finger burned, white hot...of a flame from beyond. There was a grin on the demon's face that only seemed to widen as he twisted it, drilling it deeper, and deeper...as if he was going to go all the way into his brain...

He withdrew at the last second, smiled, whispered 'Farewell,' and vanished.

It seemed like hours before the pain stopped...no, it never stopped, but it dampened just enough for the boy to stand up. With his free fist, he struck at the nearest wall, again, and again, not caring how much it hurt...because it hurt somewhere else so much more.

He opened up his mouth, and let out a primal scream...

One month before present day...

"And the boy never saw the demon again...but it left him with scars that would never heal..."

Izumi shook her head in disbelief. "That story...why did you tell me?"

Izumi's superior responded simply, "Because you needed to know, to understand him. To understand what goes on in his head...to understand his motivations..."

"What's his name?" Izumi asked.

"Gregory Byron...but he prefers an alias..."

---------------------------

In the present day, in the safety of his dark hotel room, Inferno's gloved fingers touch his mask, and gently remove it. The air touches all over his facial features...a face that one, for the most part, would call handsome, perhaps even gentle. His skin was smooth all over save for a singular patch, of scarred skin, around his right eye...an eye that now glowed a cat's yellow in the dark, contrasting with his left blue, tranquil eye.

"Tomorrow," he said, aloud.

Matt: Look, all I'm saying is that Captain America, may he rest in peace, could have beaten the Batman one on one!

Esteban: Matt, I...

Matt: I'm not saying he would win every time, mind you, but at least forty percent if not closer to fifty!

Esteban: Matt, I can see that you're passionate about the subject, mainly because I haven't spoken a word in this debate. You've been arguing with yourself while looking at me for the last three minutes.

Matt: Sorry about that. Five beers in, and I turn into Professor Matt. If I do that again, just agree with me. Unless I bring up Thanos versus Darkseid. Then just pay your tab and leave. I'm not stopping.

*It's been about two hours since Matt finished his interview on Esteban's show. It took about half a heartbeat for Matt to accept the invitation to go get a beer. One beer soon turned into five, and Matt doesn't show much sign of slowing down. Esteban is nursing his second, and seems to be enjoying the spectacle that Matt is making of himself. The bar is a local joint, so the tourists tend to head to the better lit streets. The clientele is mostly local, the resident barflies adhered to their usual stools and tables. It's coming up on 1AM.*

Esteban: Do you usually imbibe this much the night before a match?

Matt: I'll have a beer, but no, not like this. Opening night jitters I guess. Hard for the butterflies to flit around when they're hungover.

Esteban: Doesn't sound like the most well thought out plan.

Matt: But it is a plan, which is progress for me.

*The two laugh and tap bottles, each throwing back a sip.*

Matt: The conversation is big enabler though. This is the most normal conversation I've had in a long time when on the road.

Esteban: Really? Most people I interview seem to have a bit of a brotherhood with their coworkers.

Matt: TCW isn't exactly filled with your average coworkers. I'm all for living the gimmick, but there's a limit.

Esteban: So, for example, Darkness is always like that?

Matt: Twenty four seven, man. I'm not saying they're all a bunch of bad people, but it sucks that a guy like me can't sit down with a coworker and talk about the Phillies or something. Instead I get what, to me, sounds like a dissertation on friggen Mordor or something. That's probably the reason I spend so much time with the road crew. They can have a beer and talk about sports or whatever. Maybe the other guys need to be on all the time, but there's a difference between Matt and "Matt Strikmore".

Esteban: Do you realize you often talk in metaphors? The king of the hill explanation, for example.

Matt: Yeah, I got that a lot in school. Did horrible on most papers. Short stories in English I did pretty well on, but no so much history and stuff. I guess I'm not very good describing things with words, so I have to make a picture about it. Figured it was the comic books or something. The stories are more in the pictures than the words, so when I need to describe something, I just explain the picture I see in my head. Maybe I'd do better with a dictionary for a brain, but I'm stuck with a picture book, so I make due with what I have.

Esteban: Well I feel even worse for having to say this now that we seem to be digging deep, but I have to go. My wife is only so understanding of my being out late.

Matt: Hey man, the last thing I want is be the cause of domestic trouble. My cousin lost his pants doing that.

Esteban: ...

Matt: Frank's an odd guy. Whatever you're thinking happened, it's probably better than the truth. Thanks for the company.

Esteban: And thank you for the interview. Best of luck to you tomorrow. I'll be watching.

Matt: Cheer extra loud or pray extra hard, whichever the case may warrant.

Esteban: Will do, friend.

*Matt tips his bottle up and shakes it after not getting a drop. He sighs and sets the bottle down, resting his chin on it. He looks into the dirty mirror in front of him, and the sight that he sees doesn't exactly fill himself with confidence.*

Matt: I can beat this guy. Just remember, it's a match, not a fight. All I have to do is be winning for those three seconds, and then it's done. I just have to stay alive until I those three seconds show up.

*Matt straightens back up on his stool and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a ball of crumpled receipts, and pokes around till he finds some currency. He pulls out what amounts to his last ten dollars. He balls up the receipts and shoves them deep into his pocket, and then smooths out the bill on the counter.*

Matt: Just like when I started here. Coasting into my dream job on fumes. What's that my grandfather used to say? "Can't get to your dreams if you stop half way."

*Matt turns his back to the bar, leaning back. He pulls on the label of his bottle and eyes the bar.*

Matt: I'm in a country I didn't know existed when I was in highschool. I just had beers with a guy that interviewed me on television. There were lines for my autograph. This would never happen in Jersey. And Inferno? I've fought and beaten uglier...

*Matt slaps his last bill on the counter and the bartender comes over.*

Matt: Here. Two for one more cerveza, and eight for you.

Bartender: Gracious.

Matt: Denada.

*Matt tips back the beer and takes a long drink. Drawing the bottle back, Matt wipes his mouth with his forearm.*

Matt: No half way. No almost. I'm all in. He's all in. Let the cards fall as they may.