Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Dec 20, 2021 19:12:47 GMT -5
SMYTH & THE LOYALIST, DOWNTOWN CHICAGO, DECEMBER 18TH
If there’s one thing Julius Fairweather openly prides himself on besides being a bad motherfucker, it’s that he’s also as suave as any other man walking God’s green Earth. Wearing a Stuart Hughes Diamond Edition suit to his long-awaited date with the lovely Marissa Covington was just one of the ways he attempted to prove this, as he sat across from his date in one of the finest restaurants Chicago has to offer.
While the eyepatch covering his injury sustained during Black Friday offset his ensemble in a peculiar fashion, Julius did not let it bother him in the least. Taking a sip of wine from his glass, Julius kept his one good eye locked on the young woman across from him the entire time. There was a smile on his face before he could even place the glass back on the table, but Marissa’s own smile in return seemed far less confident.
“This is all…very nice, Julius. Really. I’m just not sure our brief acquaintance warrants this kind of extravagance…”
“We’ll agree to disagree, because I happen to think a woman of your quality deserves all of this and then some. My only regret is that life has been too hectic for us to have this time together sooner than now.”
While some might describe Julius’ smile as predatory, there was an authenticity to it that Marissa could not simply ignore.
“Again, I appreciate that. It’s just…I hope you aren’t doing all of this as some way to get the lost commandment back in your possession.”
He chuckled softly, almost as if he was attempting to give off the impression that he belonged within the high society they were surrounded by.
“That’s just a few of the things I like about you, Marissa. You look at all the angles, make sure your cards are held tightly against your chest, and refuse to be taken advantage of. Now I will admit, I’ve put on a smooth display to get what I want in the past, but that’s not what this is about at all. You outplayed me, you’re smart, you’re fifty kinds of beautiful, and I get the feeling that there are a lot of secrets inside of your head that are more interesting than some dusty, old stone tablet. This is about us getting to know each other better, and hopefully convincing you to be as interested in me as I am in you.”
Having taken a sip of her own glass of wine during his response, Marissa returned her glass to the table and smiled softly. Julius recognized it as a more genuine smile than she was previously willing to share.
“You are quite the flatterer; I’ll admit to that. I’m just not sure why you want to pursue me…us…this…as much as it seems you do. We’re from two entirely different worlds, Julius. While I appreciate all of those things you said about me, what makes you think I’m the kind of woman who would be content watching you get mutilated week after week? You use your fists for a living, I use my brain. That’s not a put-down, it’s just stark reality. I can’t help but wonder if you’ll be imagining barbed wire and flame throwers while I’m looking at the dessert menu.”
Julius rested his elbows on the edge of the table as he clasped his hands together under his chin, still staring ahead as if there was nothing to hide when Marissa looked into his uninjured eye.
“You’re right. I live in a crazy world of violence and mayhem. I’m dancing with psychopaths while you’re dusting off ancient relics. I’ve been hurt more times than I can count, but nothing hurts more than when I think about you not giving me a chance. I promise, when we’re together, the only thing on my mind will be you.”
The laughter from deep inside Marissa’s body came suddenly and loud enough to draw the attention of their fellow patrons. Momentarily embarrassed, she brushed her lips with her hand as she attempted to stifle further laughter. When she looked across the table with a smile still on her face, she saw that Julius wasn't laughing at all.
“Damn. That…that was some smooth shit, Julius. With lines like that, I’m starting to think you’re interested in an antiquities scholar so I can help excavate all the discarded panties under your bed.”
Julius leaned back, somewhat shocked to hear such blatant lewdness from his dinner companion.
“I’m serious! That shit came right from the heart! I mean, my saintly momma lives in my condo. Do you really think I’m getting that much action with her in the house?”
He reached forward to pick up his wine glass and raised it to his lips, feeling like they had reached a level of comfort that allowed him to drink down all that remained within it. In return, her smile slowly faded from her face, replaced by what Julius could only recognize as an expression of concern.
“You might want to go easy on that…”
“Pretty momma,” he began as he returned his glass to the table. “I’ve had drinks a lot stronger than this. Have I told you about the time I went shot for shot with my boy, Jason Long, in a Brazilian cantina?”
As if her words were prophetic in nature, the wine seemed to hit Julius suddenly. There was the threat of the room around him starting to spin, as Marissa’s face blurred ever so slightly. He shook his head as his smile became more forced, and not wanting to display any kind of weakness in front of his female companion, Julius decided it would be best to excuse himself.
“Actually, that story will have to wait. You weren’t kidding about the wine. If you’ll excuse me…”
Julius picked up the cloth napkin from his lap and dabbed the corner of his mouth before laying it on the table. He then pushed his chair back and started to stand. He noticed the look of concern still on Marissa’s face as he tried to find his footing.
“I’m serious, Julius. You should probably sit back down before it kicks in all the way.”
He scoffed at the idea of a simple glass of wine knocking him for a loop and took a step away from the table.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, momma. Ain’t no wine…in thissh world…tha’ can…put down thissh…bad…mother….fuuuu…”
*THUMP*
Julius was unconscious before his body ever hit the carpeted floor beside the table, and Marissa let out a heavy sigh as she picked up her own napkin from her lap. Rising from her chair with an air of authority, she glanced around at the other patrons who had turned their attention toward the fallen Julius Fairweather.
“He’ll be out for hours. Get him to the car. It’s time for him to meet the big guy.”
As if she were a general leading an army, the other patrons sprung to action, some of them moving to collect Julius’ body as others began to clear the tables. As they went to work, Marissa placed a finger against the nearly invisible earpiece hidden underneath her hair.
“Momma Bird to Papa Dove, dinner is on its way to the nest…”
SOMEWHERE MILES AWAY AND SEVERAL HOURS LATER…
Julius tried to force his eyes open as the mother of all hangovers hit him without warning. He didn’t know where he was or how much time had passed since he attempted to excuse himself from the dinner table, but the first blurry visions he was able to process told him that he was no longer in the Smyth and The Loyalist.
He first took in the unremarkable ceiling overhead, then turned his head slightly to the side to see a simple wall of cinder blocks. With great effort, he turned his head in the other direction and made out the shape of a figure sitting at his bedside. He pressed his eyelids closed and raised his arms, bringing both hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes vigorously before attempting to sit up, when a voice called out to him.
“Take it easy, motherfucker. No need to rush that shit.”
The voice was almost as recognizable as his own, but as his eyes remained shut, he brushed off the warning as if it were a lingering dream. After all, he internally reasoned with himself, that voice couldn’t be anything more than just that. A dream. Swinging both legs over the side of the bed, Julius’ feet found solid ground, and he finally felt steady enough to open his eyes once again. This time, the blurry figure began to take focus, becoming clearer and clearer until…
“Deep breath, motherfucker. And before you ask, this ain’t no dream.”
Julius sat on the side of the bed, his mouth hanging agape, and his eyes locked on his childhood hero. He wanted to say something…anything…but his mouth would not cooperate with his addled brain.
“I know this is some crazy shit. The last thing you remember was having dinner with a fine-looking woman, and the next thing you know, you wake up with Samuel L. motherfucking Jackson nursing you back to consciousness. Goddamn, if it happened to me, I’d be as confused as you are right now. Here…maybe this shit will help…”
Sam reached to the bedside table and picked up a glass of water, holding it in front of Julius, who remained motionless in return. After a few seconds, Sam took hold of Julius’ hand and forced the glass of water into it. As soon as the actor released his grip on Julius however, the glass of water fell to the floor and shattered. For a few seconds, Jackson stared at Julius as if he were the dumbest motherfucker of all motherfuckers.
“Yeah…I told the big guy it was a bad idea to send me in here…”
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“I have seen some crazy shit in this life. I’m talking about the kind of shit that would make your testes retreat back into your body and make you cross-eyed for the rest of your life. The Purge and Black Friday was that kind of shit. Let’s forget the fact that I nearly drowned, that I burned a motherfucker alive, that I now believe a man can fly, and that I came in third place out of all those motherfuckers in The Purge. Something else I saw was a motherfucking pinball flying toward my beautiful face after Slade Castle fired that shit out of a paintball gun. Because of that, I’m more of a one-eyed wonder than the monster hiding in my tag team partner’s pants. And Petey? You owe me fifty bucks for dropping that kind of compliment.”
“As for Slade Castle, that motherfucker owes me something as well. If our little brawl on Fallout or our continued melee during Rock Johnson’s graveside service didn’t clue you in, Mr. Castle and I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of. It’s no secret that I ain’t got no love for the motherfucking True Society, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from most of those motherfuckers. Folks like Havoc, Syndicate, and Valkyrie are fucked in the head in a very specific way. They don’t live on the same motherfucking planet that the rest of us are inhabiting. Castle on the other hand, always seemed to be a salt-of-the-earth kind of joe. I mean, the dude’s a former marine, so we all owe him a debt of gratitude on some level. None of us know the kind of shit that boy may have seen, and we probably don’t want to.”
“From there, he put his body on the line in underground street fights. I know that shit firsthand, cause I used to bet on them when I wasn’t throwing my own lefts and rights. Slade Castle won me some nice pocket change back in the day, and while we never met face-to-face, I found myself respecting that motherfucker. So when he signed up with Project: Honor, I was kind of excited. You all know I don’t give two handfuls of monkey shit about most of the motherfuckers who walk through the PH doors, but I was genuinely excited to see what Castle would bring to the table. And at first, I wasn’t disappointed because he proceeded to bust skulls and beat down motherfuckers just like I knew he could.”
“Then he had to go and join Arik Holt’s Island of Misfit Toys. On a personal level, I’m sure Slade Castle doesn’t give a goddamn whether a guy like me is disappointed in him or not, but that’s exactly how I felt. I thought our paths might cross in the ring someday, and I was looking forward to it. Hell, if I hadn’t already been teaming up with Pyro, I might have extended an olive branch to the motherfucker and signed up for the tag title tournament with him as my partner. That should tell you how highly I used to think of him. But now? Now he’s just another lapdog who’s getting lost in a sea of yes-men and playthings. So fuck you, Castle. Not for taking my eye or making the shit between us personal. Fuck you for being less than what you could have been. Fuck you for drinking Arik Holt’s Kool-Aid. Fuck you for being another pathetic disappointment like everyone else in the True Society I’ve beaten one-on-one.”
“Don’t believe me? Ask Havoc which motherfucker gave him a losing record over the summer months. Ask Syndicate who pissed in his Cheerio’s at Night of Honor. Ask Valkyrie what it’s like for a woman to have a pair of balls and still be half the man that Julius Fairweather is. Better yet, Slade. Bring one of them to the ring with you at Wired Consequences, cause we all know that’s what’s going down. You won the right to challenge me and Petey with the partner of your choosing. So bring Syndi or Havoc. Bring Robi or Billy Bennett. Hell, you can dig up Leslie Adora from whatever shallow grave you put him in and give him another shot. The fact is it doesn’t matter how you try to surprise the Motherfuckers at the Pay-Per-View. I could wake up in the morning staring into the face of God himself, and you still wouldn’t catch my ass off-guard.”
“Bring your partner, whoever it may be, and bring your best to Wired Consequences. Cause me and Lil’ Petey? We’re gonna be Big Drippin’ all over your pathetic True Society asses like a dog salivating over a new chew toy. It doesn’t matter what kind of match we end up in. It doesn’t matter if we have to fight through barbed wire, burning tables, or all twenty-seven True Society stooges. The Motherfuckers are keeping the tag team gold and I’m gonna pay you back in full for making the worst decision of your miserable life.”
“And yeah…I guess part of it will be payback for my motherfucking eye.”
THAT UNKNOWN LOCATION, SEVERAL HOURS AFTER JULIUS PASSED OUT DURING DINNER
Walking side-by-side with Samuel L. Jackson through a maze of corridors is not how Julius expected his evening to end. Agreeable terms for a second date? Possibly. Rounding the bases to score with the lovely Ms. Covington? Not likely but also not out of the question. Learning that his childhood hero worked as a recruiter for a secret society? Not even in the fucking cards.
“You have to understand something, Julius. This world we live in is not in black and white. The things you see and hear are not always what they seem to be. There are people in this world who have the kind of sociopathic motivation that motherfuckers like you and me can only fathom in our wildest fucking fever-dreams.”
Julius looked from side to side as he followed Samuel L. Jackson through the stone corridors, their path illuminated by a series of torches held in ornate sconces along the walls. He couldn’t help but think about the True Society when Sam spoke about sociopaths.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but something tells me you can handle it. I’ve known there’s something special about you for a long time, even before you cold-called my ass and asked if I was your biological daddy. Remember that shit?”
“Uh…yeah. I remember.”
Julius spoke in a low tone, closer to the voice he’d been born with as Luther Franklin than anyone in the world of professional wrestling had ever heard.
“Of course, I just thought your ass was drunk. It wasn’t until we learned how close you were to Winston Winfield that we really took notice. That’s how we’ve come to this point. All we wanted was Winston’s family journal. You know the one. With all the clues about lost commandments and shit?”
“Yeah…yeah I know it…”
On occasion, they would pass a painted portrait on one of the walls, depicting a famous face from decades or centuries past. Julius recognized William Shakespear, Charlie Chaplin, and Bela Lugosi, but there were twice as many that he didn’t recognize at all.
“There are people in this world who would stop at nothing to dig up the lost commandments and use them for their own gain. I’m not talking about supernatural powers or any of that shit. I’m talking about influence. About controlling the narrative.”
Julius could only listen to what Sam was trying to tell him as his good eye fell upon a portrait of Marilyn Monroe.
“Shit. I ain’t explaining this worth a damn. My bad, Julius. This shit was sprung on me almost as suddenly as it was on you. Normally when I recruit a motherfucker, I’ve got months to study them ahead of time. Up until tonight, I thought we’d be keeping you in the dark. I guess Marissa convinced the big guy otherwise.”
The two men rounded a corner and came to a pair of double doors, solid oak with golden trim. Instead of opening them, Samuel paused and turned to face Julius, his expression one of serious consequence.
“This is it. Consider this your red pill/blue pill moment, Julius. You can choose the red pill and I’ll open these doors. Once that happens, there’s no going back. You’ll drop head-first into a world of secret societies that goes back to a time before Columbus knew what a boat was. On the other hand, you can take the blue pill and I’ll inject you with a sedative so strong that you won’t remember anything after you and Marissa ordered appetizers. Your choice, motherfucker.”
Julius looked back at Samuel L. Jackson with confusion as clear as a sunny day. That’s when he nodded his head.
“Red pill.”
His favorite actor smiled and nodded in response.
“That’s what I thought. Now get ready to meet the big guy.”
He grasped both doors by their handles, and with a shove, he pushed them open. For a moment, Julius hesitated as his hero entered the chamber beyond them, before finally shoving aside his trepidation to follow. The first thing he took in was the size of the room, carved from stone like the corridors they had previously walked. The chamber was more brightly lit than the halls had been, and more elaborately decorated as well. A large red rug rested beneath their feet, leading them forward like a path to the golden throne that rested in the center of the room upon a tall dais. With its back facing them, Julius could only guess who was waiting in the elaborate chair to greet them as Sam announced their arrival.
“Grand Artiste, a lost dove has come to join the flock. I present to you, Julius Fairweather.”
As Sam’s words echoed off the chamber walls, the elaborate throne began to rotate upon its dais, revealing a slender form seated upon it. In a suit of rich purple with the frilly puffs of his undershirt protruding at the wrists and collar, the mastermind of Julius’ abduction was revealed…
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
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“Yeah, all the shit I said about Slade Castle aside, I may have been surprised a few times in the past. One of those times was when Havoc choked my ass out to become Fallout’s Prime Champion. I’ll have plenty to say about that motherfucker before I’m done, but first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t bring up Miss Druscilla White.”
“Did two million people just shout out in voice and ask, ‘who?’”
“Yeah, that was my reaction at first. We must be talking about motherfucking Christmas presents, cause this psycho tramp just got the gift of her motherfucking lifetime. I can understand Valkyrie not wanting to cross paths with her boy, Havoc. Then again, maybe she’s just sick of getting her Norse Nerd Society ass kicked by yours truly. Whatever the case may be, she’s given Druscilla her shot at the Prime Championship despite the fact that the crazy bitch has about as much tenure in a Project: Honor ring as Heathen Jones. What? You don’t remember Heathen Jones? My point exactly. You see, some people around here actually think the Prime Championship is too valuable of a prize to just hand over, but as that Kermit the Frog meme says, ‘That’s none of my business’. Actually, I take that back. It’s most definitely my motherfucking business.”
“The thing is, I’ve been chasing that belt since Drago Santiago was running roughshod over this entire brand. I admit that I got too goddamn full of myself and dropped the ball when I had my shot against him. Then there was Jason Long, who used to be something of a friend until he got stabbed, had his heart broken, and decided guns would be his best answer. I had my shot against Jason too and looking back at that match with him and Havoc, I have to face the fact that my heart just wasn’t into it. Havoc was motivated, Jason was lost, and I was complacent. So now I’ve got my third chance at fixing my past mistakes, but while I’m preparing for the fight of my motherfucking life, Valkyrie is freely giving her shot away to her sadomasochistic sister. I may not be able to pick Druscilla out of a line-up, but I sure as hell take her involvement in this match personally.”
“If I have to sacrifice my own chances to make sure that killer clown reject named Havoc keeps the belt, I’ll do it just to rain on Valkyrie’s parade and show Druscilla that you’ve got to do a hell of a lot more to earn a Prime Championship opportunity than show up to take a hand-out. Just remember this Druscilla, when I hit you with the Royale with Cheese and you start thinking the lights went out because Arik forgot to pay the electric bill, it was Valkyrie that put you in that spot. I sincerely hope the two of you have some kind of psycho sibling bond like those motherfucking twins from G.I. Joe so she can feel just how hard I’m hitting you. As far as I’m concerned, she’s disrespected the title I’ve put my life on the line to win, and you’re a poor replacement in what should be my crowning achievement.”
“I can’t ignore the fact that you and Havoc are both members of The True Society, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be working together to make sure I don’t walk out of Wired Consequences with the Prime Championship. Thanks to Castle, I can’t even keep an eye on both of you at the same time. I’m probably gonna get double teamed and screwed over like Las Vegas’ most experienced prostitute, but that still ain’t gonna stop me. In fact, Druscilla should go ask Havoc how things turned out the last time I faced him in a handicap situation, cause I’m pretty sure I pinned his ass for the upset. As much as I’d like to have him on his shoulders for another three count, I guess Druscilla will do in a pinch. Either way, I plan on showing the True Society that even two of them can’t measure up to one bad motherfucker.”
THAT UNKNOWN LOCATION, SEVERAL HOURS AFTER JULIUS PASSED OUT DURING DINNER
“That will be all, Sam. I’ll handle things from here.”
The actor responded to Prince with a nod of his head before giving Julius a brief smile. He then took his leave through the same door that they had entered, leaving Fairweather alone with the musician who had been presumed dead five years prior. Once they were alone, Prince rose from his throne and slowly walked down the steps of the dais, eventually stopping in front of Julius as he raised his hand, palm down with a large, gaudy ring visible on his finger. Julius looked at Prince quizzically, then down to the ring, and finally back to the legendary artist.
“You want me to bend over and kiss your motherfucking ring? Is that what you’re doing?”
Prince simply nodded.
“Hey, you may be a motherfucking genius with a guitar, have the voice of an angel, and died way before your time, but you need to understand that Julius Fairweather doesn’t bend the knee for anyone.”
A smile formed on Prince’s face, and sure enough, he lowered his hand back to his side.
“Excellent. That’s just one of the reasons you’ve been chosen to join us, Julius. A proud motherfucker like you shouldn’t lower himself to bow for anyone, living or dead.”
“Yeah…about that…”
The musician continued to smile as he motioned for Julius to follow him in a walk around the large, stone chamber.
“An unfortunate ruse when I was chosen to take over for my predecessor. Elvis Presley served our society for many years, but not even the King of rock and roll is immortal. When he passed on in 2016, we orchestrated my own demise so that I could devote all my time to our cause.”
As they passed under a large portrait of Elvis, Julius did his best to ignore the decor so as to fully understand what he’d gotten himself into.
“Your society…your cause…I’m afraid I’m gonna need you to fill in a lot of those motherfucking blanks…wait…what exactly am I supposed to call you, anyway?”
“Prince will be fine. There’s no need for us to stand on formality. As for our society, we are known as The Purple Reign, and our agents are known as the Doves. It’s not a coincidence. I was already a member when I wrote those songs. It was my own little way of poking at our eternal enemies…The Illuminati. I’m sure you’ve heard of them?”
Julius continued to follow Prince around the chamber, nodding his head in the affirmative.
“A bunch of rich motherfuckers who secretly control all of the world’s governments and religious orders? Yeah, I’ve watched a lot of motherfucking movies.”
“Hm. Sorry to be the one to tell you this, Julius, but the Illuminati are more real than anyone could ever suspect. Various members of our secret society, which has always been made up of artists, actors, musicians, and other freethinkers, were originally the ones who introduced the idea of the Illuminati to the masses. It was our attempt at making the people more aware of who was really pulling the strings. Unfortunately, dealing in entertainment means that the people have become somewhat disassociated with our messages. It’s become difficult for them to separate fact from fiction.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing motherfuckers like George Lucas don’t help much in that regard.”
“Exactly. You see, Julius, the Illuminati is so secretive that even we are not aware of who sits at the top of their pecking order. All we know is that they have twisted things for a millennia to increase their power and keep their grip around our world. That’s where your search for the missing Biblical Commandments comes into play. If they were to get their hands on those ancient stone tablets, the Illuminati would be able to control the message and present it to the people in a way they see fit, which of course would be however it benefits them. The Purple Reign has decided that the Commandments must be kept a secret, as Moses intended them to be. When we learned of the journal in your late friend’s possession, we assigned one of our agents to get close to him. Then, when Winston Winfield gave his life to save you, that agent received new orders to stay close to you instead.”
This revelation forced Julius to stop in his tracks, as something became obviously clear in his mind.
“Wait. Joey motherfucking Fatone? Are you saying that fat fuck has been pretending to be my court ordered manservant just so he could spy on me?”
Prince stopped as well, looking over his shoulder with a knowing smile.
“Correct again, Julius. You continue to impress me.”
“That lying sack of monkey shit…when I get outta here me and Fatone are gonna have a Come to Jesus meeting!”
“I understand your anger, but don’t be too hard on him. He serves his purpose just as everyone else in The Purple Reign does. Much in the same way that Samuel works in recruiting new members to our cause…”
Julius formed a wide smile as he wagged his index finger toward The Artist formerly known as the deceased Prince.
“Now that shit makes sense! Forget that Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon shit! Ain’t nobody got a resume like Samuel motherfucker Jackson!”
“Right again, although Kevin did train him well. Our agents have been hard at work opposing the Illuminati for a long time, such as when Marilyn befriended JFK and turned him to our side. Although in return, the Illuminati got their hands on Reagan…”
Prince began to walk around the perimeter of the chamber once again, and as soon as he was able to process what he’d heard, Julius followed.
“Politicians, can’t say that comes as a surprise.”
“Of course, but they are only a small part of a larger picture. More like minions serving a higher power…”
“Like the True Society following Arik Holt?”
“I…don’t know what that means. Although I should warn you, there’s a reason you regularly get notifications from Ted Cruz on your Twitter. We’re fairly confident he’s been assigned to keep tabs on you.”
Julius pauses again, internally thinking back to the last time he overindulged in bottles of Hennessy…
“Uh…Yeah. I wouldn’t know anything about that. So anyway…other than me inheriting Winston’s family journal…what in the fucking hell does this have to do with me?”
This time it was Prince who stopped in his tracks before turning to face Julius. With a wave of his hand, the leader of the Purple Reign motioned to the latest portrait hanging above them. It was a picture of George Hackenschmidt, the man recognized as the first World Heavyweight Champion of modern times.
“Professional Wrestling, Julius. It’s a unique blend of sports and entertainment that has long been involved with our cause. We like to have agents in every corner of the arts, but with the recent passing of Danny Hodge, we find ourselves without eyes and ears in the world of Professional Wrestling. As a member of Project: Honor, as one of their tag team champions and potentially the next Prime Champion, along with your platform on The F’n Edge and your knowledge of the Lost Commandments, you are in the unique position of filling that role. Julius…I only want to see you in the Purple Reign.”
Finally, everything had become clear in Julius’ mind. A secret society of celebrities wanted him to represent professional wrestling in their war against the Illuminati. For everyone’s favorite bad motherfucker, it was an easy decision to make.
“Nah.”
Prince was momentarily taken aback.
“I mean, it’s cool that you motherfuckers want me in your little club and all, but I’ve already got a lot of shit going on in my life. I’ve got to worry about keeping the Tag Team Titles with Lil’ Petey against Slade Castle and whoever he comes up with for a partner. Then I’ve got Havoc and Druscilla something or other in a match for the Prime Championship, a title I’ve been trying to get my hands on for the entirety of 2021. On top of that, James Edgebrook is my new broadcast partner on The F’n Edge, my manservant is a goddamn spy for a secret society, and you motherfuckers kidnapped me after I dropped some serious cash on that date with Marissa. Besides, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the motherfucking movies, it’s that one secret society is just as bad as another. With my help, the Illuminati would get cancelled faster than Cowboy Bebop, and then you motherfuckers would get all power-hungry and take over for yourselves. I just can’t have that shit on my conscience. So again, thanks for the offer, I loved your music, but nah.”
It became clear that Prince was not accustomed to having his offer turned down as he stammered in response.
“B-b-but I’ve revealed all our secrets...I told you everything…no one has ever passed on a chance to stand with me in the Purple Reign…”
“I admit, turning you down feels almost as bad as Valkyrie giving up her shot at the Prime Championship, but while I may have passed all of your tests, you didn’t pass all of mine…”
Confused, Prince continued to struggle with Julius’ decision.
“Your tests? I don’t…”
“You don’t know who Arik Holt is, which means you haven’t been watching me nearly as closely as you should be. He’s the motherfucker leading his own evil organization against people I actually do give a damn about. My suggestion? Watch Wired Consequences this weekend. Then keep watching to see me knock Arik Holt’s little bald head off his little white body. When he’s out of the picture and the True Society has fallen apart, maybe I’ll rethink your offer. Until then…well…this is what it sounds like when doves cry, motherfucker. Coo Coo Boo Hoo. Now show me the goddamn door!”
With a heavy heart, Prince finally had no choice but to summon Samuel L. Jackson back to the chamber, but even Julius’ favorite actor and childhood hero could not convince him to change his mind. Ultimately, they had no choice but to accept his decision, inject him with a powerful sedative when he wasn’t looking, and deposit him on the cold streets of Chicago.
Eventually picked up by Joey Fatone at 4 AM the next morning, Julius found the events of the past few hours to be a cloudy haze. While some of it lingered with him, other moments were no longer in his reach. After recuperating in his hotel, Julius made his way to the airport, vowing to himself and his manservant that his romantic pursuit of Marissa Covington was far from finished. Remembering that there were things going on behind the scenes and knowing there was little he could do about it, he did his best to put the strange thoughts of dead musicians and Texas politicians out of his mind in order to focus fully on Wired Consequences.
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With Joey Fatone, manservant and spy for a secret society of celebrities, seated next to him, Julius continues to give his thoughts on Wired Consequences aboard his flight from Chicago to New York. With a glass of Hennessy in hand and plenty of room in his first-class seat, Julius puts the strange events of the prior weekend out of his mind to give his utmost attention to one final opponent.
“Havoc, I hate your motherfucking guts. As much as Slade and I dislike each other, as much disdain as I have for Valkyrie giving up her shot, both of them pale in comparison to your ugly ass. I’ve admitted it before and I’ll admit again, you got the better of me last time. You were the better man on that night. Better than Jason Long, and most certainly better than me when I tapped the fuck out.”
“Maybe I underestimated you, maybe my heart wasn’t in it, maybe John Goodman and Chris Christie are playing a game of Spy vs. Spy at this very moment. None of that means a goddamn thing on December 26th in Madison Square Garden. On that night, after my business with Castle is complete, all that’s gonna matter is you, me, and Druscilla. Frankly, I’m a little bit disappointed that Jason Long won’t be joining us for this one, because then I’d really have the chance to make up for the last time. Then again, I kind of wish it was just you and me stepping into that match. That way I could give you every motherfucking ounce of attention, anger, and pent-up aggression I’ve got stored up in the pit of my soul. And then when I raise that Prime Championship, that golden title that I’ve been dying to get my hands on for twelve months, you would have no excuses. It would be your turn to admit that the better man won, and that man is me.”
“We’ve done this dance a few times already, and we probably won’t be done after Sunday. In a way, it almost reminds me of the long-standing feud I had with Pyro, where neither of us could put the other away for good. You’re almost as sick and twisted as he was, you’re uglier than he ever could be, and I really enjoy punching you in the face. The only difference is, Pyro actually has some redeeming qualities in his blackened soul, whereas you don’t have a soul at all.”
“A big, scary man like you might claim that’s an advantage, but I don’t see things that way. So maybe a soulless man has nothing to fear, but he also has nothing to fight for, nothing to push him that extra mile, and nothing that makes him stand out from every other sadistic sociopath who shows up on Fallout like a moth to the flame. As for me? Brother, I have more soul than I know what to do with. There’s so much soul in my body that it seeps out with every word I say and every punch I throw. It’s in the way I talk, the way I walk, and it’s sure as hell in the way I fight.”
“There are plenty of people out there who might dispute that. For every episode of Fallout I’ve been on, there’s some motherfucker out there who’s said I’m a one-trick pony, that I don’t have it, that I’m just the guy who drops F Bombs into every sentence. Havoc has said it. Jason Long said it. Pyro, Drago, Contessa, Syndicate…they’ve all said it. Druscilla is probably saying it at this very moment. But if that was true, if I didn’t have what it takes, if I’m not the kind of guy who can stand on top of Fallout as Prime Champion, how in the hell am I still here? Why do I have my third chance at winning the title, when even the GM of the damn show is against me?”
“It’s because no matter how many of you refuse to believe in Julius motherfucking Fairweather, I’ve never…not once…stopped believing in myself. Along the way, I’ve even changed a few minds when it comes to those negative opinions, not that I give a goddamn either way. Come Wired Consequences, I’m gonna change a whole lot more of them when I retain the tag titles, knock Druscilla back to the undercard, and stand over Havoc’s unconscious carcass as your new Prime Champion. Don’t believe it? Not buying into the ‘third time’s a charm’ gimmick? That’s okay. My career has become a storied tale of making believers out of one motherfucker after another. This week I get to do it to three of them in one night, and in the process, I’m gonna make damn sure that no one overlooks, underestimates, or undervalues Julius Fairweather again.”
“Everything I’ve done and everywhere I’ve been over the past twelve months has all come to this, the most wonderful time of the year. Not because Santa is squeezing his fat ass down Arik Holt’s chimney with a bag full Prozac, not because Druscilla is gonna get the spanking her daddy should have handed out twenty years ago, and not because Havoc’s reign as champion is gonna fade away as the old year gives way to the new. It’s the most wonderful time of the year because I get to give everyone the gift they’ve been waiting for. I get to take away one of the True Society’s prized possessions in the name of pride, honor, and basic human decency.”
“I have the chance to make things right…The chance to turn the tables on Arik Holt and his Cult of No Personality…The chance to give every Motherfucking Friend of Fairweather the merriest motherfucking Christmas they’ve ever had. In just a few days, you’re all gonna see that Santa is not only a brother, but he’s a bad motherfucker. The holiday may come a day late this year, but I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait. Savannah Sunshine is gonna wake up with Arik Holt’s head in her stocking, although the creepy little motherfucker probably already stole a pair and sniffs them regularly. TJ Thompson and Lil’ Petey are gonna open their presents to see a member of Big Drip Productions holding the Prime Title. Hell, even Jason Long might find his smile under the tree on Sunday night. Until then, I’ve just got one thing to say…”
Julius takes a quick sip from his glass before flashing a bright smile at the camera being held by his manservant.
“Be cool…or be gone.”
If there’s one thing Julius Fairweather openly prides himself on besides being a bad motherfucker, it’s that he’s also as suave as any other man walking God’s green Earth. Wearing a Stuart Hughes Diamond Edition suit to his long-awaited date with the lovely Marissa Covington was just one of the ways he attempted to prove this, as he sat across from his date in one of the finest restaurants Chicago has to offer.
While the eyepatch covering his injury sustained during Black Friday offset his ensemble in a peculiar fashion, Julius did not let it bother him in the least. Taking a sip of wine from his glass, Julius kept his one good eye locked on the young woman across from him the entire time. There was a smile on his face before he could even place the glass back on the table, but Marissa’s own smile in return seemed far less confident.
“This is all…very nice, Julius. Really. I’m just not sure our brief acquaintance warrants this kind of extravagance…”
“We’ll agree to disagree, because I happen to think a woman of your quality deserves all of this and then some. My only regret is that life has been too hectic for us to have this time together sooner than now.”
While some might describe Julius’ smile as predatory, there was an authenticity to it that Marissa could not simply ignore.
“Again, I appreciate that. It’s just…I hope you aren’t doing all of this as some way to get the lost commandment back in your possession.”
He chuckled softly, almost as if he was attempting to give off the impression that he belonged within the high society they were surrounded by.
“That’s just a few of the things I like about you, Marissa. You look at all the angles, make sure your cards are held tightly against your chest, and refuse to be taken advantage of. Now I will admit, I’ve put on a smooth display to get what I want in the past, but that’s not what this is about at all. You outplayed me, you’re smart, you’re fifty kinds of beautiful, and I get the feeling that there are a lot of secrets inside of your head that are more interesting than some dusty, old stone tablet. This is about us getting to know each other better, and hopefully convincing you to be as interested in me as I am in you.”
Having taken a sip of her own glass of wine during his response, Marissa returned her glass to the table and smiled softly. Julius recognized it as a more genuine smile than she was previously willing to share.
“You are quite the flatterer; I’ll admit to that. I’m just not sure why you want to pursue me…us…this…as much as it seems you do. We’re from two entirely different worlds, Julius. While I appreciate all of those things you said about me, what makes you think I’m the kind of woman who would be content watching you get mutilated week after week? You use your fists for a living, I use my brain. That’s not a put-down, it’s just stark reality. I can’t help but wonder if you’ll be imagining barbed wire and flame throwers while I’m looking at the dessert menu.”
Julius rested his elbows on the edge of the table as he clasped his hands together under his chin, still staring ahead as if there was nothing to hide when Marissa looked into his uninjured eye.
“You’re right. I live in a crazy world of violence and mayhem. I’m dancing with psychopaths while you’re dusting off ancient relics. I’ve been hurt more times than I can count, but nothing hurts more than when I think about you not giving me a chance. I promise, when we’re together, the only thing on my mind will be you.”
The laughter from deep inside Marissa’s body came suddenly and loud enough to draw the attention of their fellow patrons. Momentarily embarrassed, she brushed her lips with her hand as she attempted to stifle further laughter. When she looked across the table with a smile still on her face, she saw that Julius wasn't laughing at all.
“Damn. That…that was some smooth shit, Julius. With lines like that, I’m starting to think you’re interested in an antiquities scholar so I can help excavate all the discarded panties under your bed.”
Julius leaned back, somewhat shocked to hear such blatant lewdness from his dinner companion.
“I’m serious! That shit came right from the heart! I mean, my saintly momma lives in my condo. Do you really think I’m getting that much action with her in the house?”
He reached forward to pick up his wine glass and raised it to his lips, feeling like they had reached a level of comfort that allowed him to drink down all that remained within it. In return, her smile slowly faded from her face, replaced by what Julius could only recognize as an expression of concern.
“You might want to go easy on that…”
“Pretty momma,” he began as he returned his glass to the table. “I’ve had drinks a lot stronger than this. Have I told you about the time I went shot for shot with my boy, Jason Long, in a Brazilian cantina?”
As if her words were prophetic in nature, the wine seemed to hit Julius suddenly. There was the threat of the room around him starting to spin, as Marissa’s face blurred ever so slightly. He shook his head as his smile became more forced, and not wanting to display any kind of weakness in front of his female companion, Julius decided it would be best to excuse himself.
“Actually, that story will have to wait. You weren’t kidding about the wine. If you’ll excuse me…”
Julius picked up the cloth napkin from his lap and dabbed the corner of his mouth before laying it on the table. He then pushed his chair back and started to stand. He noticed the look of concern still on Marissa’s face as he tried to find his footing.
“I’m serious, Julius. You should probably sit back down before it kicks in all the way.”
He scoffed at the idea of a simple glass of wine knocking him for a loop and took a step away from the table.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, momma. Ain’t no wine…in thissh world…tha’ can…put down thissh…bad…mother….fuuuu…”
*THUMP*
Julius was unconscious before his body ever hit the carpeted floor beside the table, and Marissa let out a heavy sigh as she picked up her own napkin from her lap. Rising from her chair with an air of authority, she glanced around at the other patrons who had turned their attention toward the fallen Julius Fairweather.
“He’ll be out for hours. Get him to the car. It’s time for him to meet the big guy.”
As if she were a general leading an army, the other patrons sprung to action, some of them moving to collect Julius’ body as others began to clear the tables. As they went to work, Marissa placed a finger against the nearly invisible earpiece hidden underneath her hair.
“Momma Bird to Papa Dove, dinner is on its way to the nest…”
SOMEWHERE MILES AWAY AND SEVERAL HOURS LATER…
Julius tried to force his eyes open as the mother of all hangovers hit him without warning. He didn’t know where he was or how much time had passed since he attempted to excuse himself from the dinner table, but the first blurry visions he was able to process told him that he was no longer in the Smyth and The Loyalist.
He first took in the unremarkable ceiling overhead, then turned his head slightly to the side to see a simple wall of cinder blocks. With great effort, he turned his head in the other direction and made out the shape of a figure sitting at his bedside. He pressed his eyelids closed and raised his arms, bringing both hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes vigorously before attempting to sit up, when a voice called out to him.
“Take it easy, motherfucker. No need to rush that shit.”
The voice was almost as recognizable as his own, but as his eyes remained shut, he brushed off the warning as if it were a lingering dream. After all, he internally reasoned with himself, that voice couldn’t be anything more than just that. A dream. Swinging both legs over the side of the bed, Julius’ feet found solid ground, and he finally felt steady enough to open his eyes once again. This time, the blurry figure began to take focus, becoming clearer and clearer until…
“Deep breath, motherfucker. And before you ask, this ain’t no dream.”
Julius sat on the side of the bed, his mouth hanging agape, and his eyes locked on his childhood hero. He wanted to say something…anything…but his mouth would not cooperate with his addled brain.
“I know this is some crazy shit. The last thing you remember was having dinner with a fine-looking woman, and the next thing you know, you wake up with Samuel L. motherfucking Jackson nursing you back to consciousness. Goddamn, if it happened to me, I’d be as confused as you are right now. Here…maybe this shit will help…”
Sam reached to the bedside table and picked up a glass of water, holding it in front of Julius, who remained motionless in return. After a few seconds, Sam took hold of Julius’ hand and forced the glass of water into it. As soon as the actor released his grip on Julius however, the glass of water fell to the floor and shattered. For a few seconds, Jackson stared at Julius as if he were the dumbest motherfucker of all motherfuckers.
“Yeah…I told the big guy it was a bad idea to send me in here…”
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“I have seen some crazy shit in this life. I’m talking about the kind of shit that would make your testes retreat back into your body and make you cross-eyed for the rest of your life. The Purge and Black Friday was that kind of shit. Let’s forget the fact that I nearly drowned, that I burned a motherfucker alive, that I now believe a man can fly, and that I came in third place out of all those motherfuckers in The Purge. Something else I saw was a motherfucking pinball flying toward my beautiful face after Slade Castle fired that shit out of a paintball gun. Because of that, I’m more of a one-eyed wonder than the monster hiding in my tag team partner’s pants. And Petey? You owe me fifty bucks for dropping that kind of compliment.”
“As for Slade Castle, that motherfucker owes me something as well. If our little brawl on Fallout or our continued melee during Rock Johnson’s graveside service didn’t clue you in, Mr. Castle and I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of. It’s no secret that I ain’t got no love for the motherfucking True Society, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from most of those motherfuckers. Folks like Havoc, Syndicate, and Valkyrie are fucked in the head in a very specific way. They don’t live on the same motherfucking planet that the rest of us are inhabiting. Castle on the other hand, always seemed to be a salt-of-the-earth kind of joe. I mean, the dude’s a former marine, so we all owe him a debt of gratitude on some level. None of us know the kind of shit that boy may have seen, and we probably don’t want to.”
“From there, he put his body on the line in underground street fights. I know that shit firsthand, cause I used to bet on them when I wasn’t throwing my own lefts and rights. Slade Castle won me some nice pocket change back in the day, and while we never met face-to-face, I found myself respecting that motherfucker. So when he signed up with Project: Honor, I was kind of excited. You all know I don’t give two handfuls of monkey shit about most of the motherfuckers who walk through the PH doors, but I was genuinely excited to see what Castle would bring to the table. And at first, I wasn’t disappointed because he proceeded to bust skulls and beat down motherfuckers just like I knew he could.”
“Then he had to go and join Arik Holt’s Island of Misfit Toys. On a personal level, I’m sure Slade Castle doesn’t give a goddamn whether a guy like me is disappointed in him or not, but that’s exactly how I felt. I thought our paths might cross in the ring someday, and I was looking forward to it. Hell, if I hadn’t already been teaming up with Pyro, I might have extended an olive branch to the motherfucker and signed up for the tag title tournament with him as my partner. That should tell you how highly I used to think of him. But now? Now he’s just another lapdog who’s getting lost in a sea of yes-men and playthings. So fuck you, Castle. Not for taking my eye or making the shit between us personal. Fuck you for being less than what you could have been. Fuck you for drinking Arik Holt’s Kool-Aid. Fuck you for being another pathetic disappointment like everyone else in the True Society I’ve beaten one-on-one.”
“Don’t believe me? Ask Havoc which motherfucker gave him a losing record over the summer months. Ask Syndicate who pissed in his Cheerio’s at Night of Honor. Ask Valkyrie what it’s like for a woman to have a pair of balls and still be half the man that Julius Fairweather is. Better yet, Slade. Bring one of them to the ring with you at Wired Consequences, cause we all know that’s what’s going down. You won the right to challenge me and Petey with the partner of your choosing. So bring Syndi or Havoc. Bring Robi or Billy Bennett. Hell, you can dig up Leslie Adora from whatever shallow grave you put him in and give him another shot. The fact is it doesn’t matter how you try to surprise the Motherfuckers at the Pay-Per-View. I could wake up in the morning staring into the face of God himself, and you still wouldn’t catch my ass off-guard.”
“Bring your partner, whoever it may be, and bring your best to Wired Consequences. Cause me and Lil’ Petey? We’re gonna be Big Drippin’ all over your pathetic True Society asses like a dog salivating over a new chew toy. It doesn’t matter what kind of match we end up in. It doesn’t matter if we have to fight through barbed wire, burning tables, or all twenty-seven True Society stooges. The Motherfuckers are keeping the tag team gold and I’m gonna pay you back in full for making the worst decision of your miserable life.”
“And yeah…I guess part of it will be payback for my motherfucking eye.”
THAT UNKNOWN LOCATION, SEVERAL HOURS AFTER JULIUS PASSED OUT DURING DINNER
Walking side-by-side with Samuel L. Jackson through a maze of corridors is not how Julius expected his evening to end. Agreeable terms for a second date? Possibly. Rounding the bases to score with the lovely Ms. Covington? Not likely but also not out of the question. Learning that his childhood hero worked as a recruiter for a secret society? Not even in the fucking cards.
“You have to understand something, Julius. This world we live in is not in black and white. The things you see and hear are not always what they seem to be. There are people in this world who have the kind of sociopathic motivation that motherfuckers like you and me can only fathom in our wildest fucking fever-dreams.”
Julius looked from side to side as he followed Samuel L. Jackson through the stone corridors, their path illuminated by a series of torches held in ornate sconces along the walls. He couldn’t help but think about the True Society when Sam spoke about sociopaths.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but something tells me you can handle it. I’ve known there’s something special about you for a long time, even before you cold-called my ass and asked if I was your biological daddy. Remember that shit?”
“Uh…yeah. I remember.”
Julius spoke in a low tone, closer to the voice he’d been born with as Luther Franklin than anyone in the world of professional wrestling had ever heard.
“Of course, I just thought your ass was drunk. It wasn’t until we learned how close you were to Winston Winfield that we really took notice. That’s how we’ve come to this point. All we wanted was Winston’s family journal. You know the one. With all the clues about lost commandments and shit?”
“Yeah…yeah I know it…”
On occasion, they would pass a painted portrait on one of the walls, depicting a famous face from decades or centuries past. Julius recognized William Shakespear, Charlie Chaplin, and Bela Lugosi, but there were twice as many that he didn’t recognize at all.
“There are people in this world who would stop at nothing to dig up the lost commandments and use them for their own gain. I’m not talking about supernatural powers or any of that shit. I’m talking about influence. About controlling the narrative.”
Julius could only listen to what Sam was trying to tell him as his good eye fell upon a portrait of Marilyn Monroe.
“Shit. I ain’t explaining this worth a damn. My bad, Julius. This shit was sprung on me almost as suddenly as it was on you. Normally when I recruit a motherfucker, I’ve got months to study them ahead of time. Up until tonight, I thought we’d be keeping you in the dark. I guess Marissa convinced the big guy otherwise.”
The two men rounded a corner and came to a pair of double doors, solid oak with golden trim. Instead of opening them, Samuel paused and turned to face Julius, his expression one of serious consequence.
“This is it. Consider this your red pill/blue pill moment, Julius. You can choose the red pill and I’ll open these doors. Once that happens, there’s no going back. You’ll drop head-first into a world of secret societies that goes back to a time before Columbus knew what a boat was. On the other hand, you can take the blue pill and I’ll inject you with a sedative so strong that you won’t remember anything after you and Marissa ordered appetizers. Your choice, motherfucker.”
Julius looked back at Samuel L. Jackson with confusion as clear as a sunny day. That’s when he nodded his head.
“Red pill.”
His favorite actor smiled and nodded in response.
“That’s what I thought. Now get ready to meet the big guy.”
He grasped both doors by their handles, and with a shove, he pushed them open. For a moment, Julius hesitated as his hero entered the chamber beyond them, before finally shoving aside his trepidation to follow. The first thing he took in was the size of the room, carved from stone like the corridors they had previously walked. The chamber was more brightly lit than the halls had been, and more elaborately decorated as well. A large red rug rested beneath their feet, leading them forward like a path to the golden throne that rested in the center of the room upon a tall dais. With its back facing them, Julius could only guess who was waiting in the elaborate chair to greet them as Sam announced their arrival.
“Grand Artiste, a lost dove has come to join the flock. I present to you, Julius Fairweather.”
As Sam’s words echoed off the chamber walls, the elaborate throne began to rotate upon its dais, revealing a slender form seated upon it. In a suit of rich purple with the frilly puffs of his undershirt protruding at the wrists and collar, the mastermind of Julius’ abduction was revealed…
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
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“Yeah, all the shit I said about Slade Castle aside, I may have been surprised a few times in the past. One of those times was when Havoc choked my ass out to become Fallout’s Prime Champion. I’ll have plenty to say about that motherfucker before I’m done, but first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t bring up Miss Druscilla White.”
“Did two million people just shout out in voice and ask, ‘who?’”
“Yeah, that was my reaction at first. We must be talking about motherfucking Christmas presents, cause this psycho tramp just got the gift of her motherfucking lifetime. I can understand Valkyrie not wanting to cross paths with her boy, Havoc. Then again, maybe she’s just sick of getting her Norse Nerd Society ass kicked by yours truly. Whatever the case may be, she’s given Druscilla her shot at the Prime Championship despite the fact that the crazy bitch has about as much tenure in a Project: Honor ring as Heathen Jones. What? You don’t remember Heathen Jones? My point exactly. You see, some people around here actually think the Prime Championship is too valuable of a prize to just hand over, but as that Kermit the Frog meme says, ‘That’s none of my business’. Actually, I take that back. It’s most definitely my motherfucking business.”
“The thing is, I’ve been chasing that belt since Drago Santiago was running roughshod over this entire brand. I admit that I got too goddamn full of myself and dropped the ball when I had my shot against him. Then there was Jason Long, who used to be something of a friend until he got stabbed, had his heart broken, and decided guns would be his best answer. I had my shot against Jason too and looking back at that match with him and Havoc, I have to face the fact that my heart just wasn’t into it. Havoc was motivated, Jason was lost, and I was complacent. So now I’ve got my third chance at fixing my past mistakes, but while I’m preparing for the fight of my motherfucking life, Valkyrie is freely giving her shot away to her sadomasochistic sister. I may not be able to pick Druscilla out of a line-up, but I sure as hell take her involvement in this match personally.”
“If I have to sacrifice my own chances to make sure that killer clown reject named Havoc keeps the belt, I’ll do it just to rain on Valkyrie’s parade and show Druscilla that you’ve got to do a hell of a lot more to earn a Prime Championship opportunity than show up to take a hand-out. Just remember this Druscilla, when I hit you with the Royale with Cheese and you start thinking the lights went out because Arik forgot to pay the electric bill, it was Valkyrie that put you in that spot. I sincerely hope the two of you have some kind of psycho sibling bond like those motherfucking twins from G.I. Joe so she can feel just how hard I’m hitting you. As far as I’m concerned, she’s disrespected the title I’ve put my life on the line to win, and you’re a poor replacement in what should be my crowning achievement.”
“I can’t ignore the fact that you and Havoc are both members of The True Society, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be working together to make sure I don’t walk out of Wired Consequences with the Prime Championship. Thanks to Castle, I can’t even keep an eye on both of you at the same time. I’m probably gonna get double teamed and screwed over like Las Vegas’ most experienced prostitute, but that still ain’t gonna stop me. In fact, Druscilla should go ask Havoc how things turned out the last time I faced him in a handicap situation, cause I’m pretty sure I pinned his ass for the upset. As much as I’d like to have him on his shoulders for another three count, I guess Druscilla will do in a pinch. Either way, I plan on showing the True Society that even two of them can’t measure up to one bad motherfucker.”
THAT UNKNOWN LOCATION, SEVERAL HOURS AFTER JULIUS PASSED OUT DURING DINNER
“That will be all, Sam. I’ll handle things from here.”
The actor responded to Prince with a nod of his head before giving Julius a brief smile. He then took his leave through the same door that they had entered, leaving Fairweather alone with the musician who had been presumed dead five years prior. Once they were alone, Prince rose from his throne and slowly walked down the steps of the dais, eventually stopping in front of Julius as he raised his hand, palm down with a large, gaudy ring visible on his finger. Julius looked at Prince quizzically, then down to the ring, and finally back to the legendary artist.
“You want me to bend over and kiss your motherfucking ring? Is that what you’re doing?”
Prince simply nodded.
“Hey, you may be a motherfucking genius with a guitar, have the voice of an angel, and died way before your time, but you need to understand that Julius Fairweather doesn’t bend the knee for anyone.”
A smile formed on Prince’s face, and sure enough, he lowered his hand back to his side.
“Excellent. That’s just one of the reasons you’ve been chosen to join us, Julius. A proud motherfucker like you shouldn’t lower himself to bow for anyone, living or dead.”
“Yeah…about that…”
The musician continued to smile as he motioned for Julius to follow him in a walk around the large, stone chamber.
“An unfortunate ruse when I was chosen to take over for my predecessor. Elvis Presley served our society for many years, but not even the King of rock and roll is immortal. When he passed on in 2016, we orchestrated my own demise so that I could devote all my time to our cause.”
As they passed under a large portrait of Elvis, Julius did his best to ignore the decor so as to fully understand what he’d gotten himself into.
“Your society…your cause…I’m afraid I’m gonna need you to fill in a lot of those motherfucking blanks…wait…what exactly am I supposed to call you, anyway?”
“Prince will be fine. There’s no need for us to stand on formality. As for our society, we are known as The Purple Reign, and our agents are known as the Doves. It’s not a coincidence. I was already a member when I wrote those songs. It was my own little way of poking at our eternal enemies…The Illuminati. I’m sure you’ve heard of them?”
Julius continued to follow Prince around the chamber, nodding his head in the affirmative.
“A bunch of rich motherfuckers who secretly control all of the world’s governments and religious orders? Yeah, I’ve watched a lot of motherfucking movies.”
“Hm. Sorry to be the one to tell you this, Julius, but the Illuminati are more real than anyone could ever suspect. Various members of our secret society, which has always been made up of artists, actors, musicians, and other freethinkers, were originally the ones who introduced the idea of the Illuminati to the masses. It was our attempt at making the people more aware of who was really pulling the strings. Unfortunately, dealing in entertainment means that the people have become somewhat disassociated with our messages. It’s become difficult for them to separate fact from fiction.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing motherfuckers like George Lucas don’t help much in that regard.”
“Exactly. You see, Julius, the Illuminati is so secretive that even we are not aware of who sits at the top of their pecking order. All we know is that they have twisted things for a millennia to increase their power and keep their grip around our world. That’s where your search for the missing Biblical Commandments comes into play. If they were to get their hands on those ancient stone tablets, the Illuminati would be able to control the message and present it to the people in a way they see fit, which of course would be however it benefits them. The Purple Reign has decided that the Commandments must be kept a secret, as Moses intended them to be. When we learned of the journal in your late friend’s possession, we assigned one of our agents to get close to him. Then, when Winston Winfield gave his life to save you, that agent received new orders to stay close to you instead.”
This revelation forced Julius to stop in his tracks, as something became obviously clear in his mind.
“Wait. Joey motherfucking Fatone? Are you saying that fat fuck has been pretending to be my court ordered manservant just so he could spy on me?”
Prince stopped as well, looking over his shoulder with a knowing smile.
“Correct again, Julius. You continue to impress me.”
“That lying sack of monkey shit…when I get outta here me and Fatone are gonna have a Come to Jesus meeting!”
“I understand your anger, but don’t be too hard on him. He serves his purpose just as everyone else in The Purple Reign does. Much in the same way that Samuel works in recruiting new members to our cause…”
Julius formed a wide smile as he wagged his index finger toward The Artist formerly known as the deceased Prince.
“Now that shit makes sense! Forget that Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon shit! Ain’t nobody got a resume like Samuel motherfucker Jackson!”
“Right again, although Kevin did train him well. Our agents have been hard at work opposing the Illuminati for a long time, such as when Marilyn befriended JFK and turned him to our side. Although in return, the Illuminati got their hands on Reagan…”
Prince began to walk around the perimeter of the chamber once again, and as soon as he was able to process what he’d heard, Julius followed.
“Politicians, can’t say that comes as a surprise.”
“Of course, but they are only a small part of a larger picture. More like minions serving a higher power…”
“Like the True Society following Arik Holt?”
“I…don’t know what that means. Although I should warn you, there’s a reason you regularly get notifications from Ted Cruz on your Twitter. We’re fairly confident he’s been assigned to keep tabs on you.”
Julius pauses again, internally thinking back to the last time he overindulged in bottles of Hennessy…
“Uh…Yeah. I wouldn’t know anything about that. So anyway…other than me inheriting Winston’s family journal…what in the fucking hell does this have to do with me?”
This time it was Prince who stopped in his tracks before turning to face Julius. With a wave of his hand, the leader of the Purple Reign motioned to the latest portrait hanging above them. It was a picture of George Hackenschmidt, the man recognized as the first World Heavyweight Champion of modern times.
“Professional Wrestling, Julius. It’s a unique blend of sports and entertainment that has long been involved with our cause. We like to have agents in every corner of the arts, but with the recent passing of Danny Hodge, we find ourselves without eyes and ears in the world of Professional Wrestling. As a member of Project: Honor, as one of their tag team champions and potentially the next Prime Champion, along with your platform on The F’n Edge and your knowledge of the Lost Commandments, you are in the unique position of filling that role. Julius…I only want to see you in the Purple Reign.”
Finally, everything had become clear in Julius’ mind. A secret society of celebrities wanted him to represent professional wrestling in their war against the Illuminati. For everyone’s favorite bad motherfucker, it was an easy decision to make.
“Nah.”
Prince was momentarily taken aback.
“I mean, it’s cool that you motherfuckers want me in your little club and all, but I’ve already got a lot of shit going on in my life. I’ve got to worry about keeping the Tag Team Titles with Lil’ Petey against Slade Castle and whoever he comes up with for a partner. Then I’ve got Havoc and Druscilla something or other in a match for the Prime Championship, a title I’ve been trying to get my hands on for the entirety of 2021. On top of that, James Edgebrook is my new broadcast partner on The F’n Edge, my manservant is a goddamn spy for a secret society, and you motherfuckers kidnapped me after I dropped some serious cash on that date with Marissa. Besides, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the motherfucking movies, it’s that one secret society is just as bad as another. With my help, the Illuminati would get cancelled faster than Cowboy Bebop, and then you motherfuckers would get all power-hungry and take over for yourselves. I just can’t have that shit on my conscience. So again, thanks for the offer, I loved your music, but nah.”
It became clear that Prince was not accustomed to having his offer turned down as he stammered in response.
“B-b-but I’ve revealed all our secrets...I told you everything…no one has ever passed on a chance to stand with me in the Purple Reign…”
“I admit, turning you down feels almost as bad as Valkyrie giving up her shot at the Prime Championship, but while I may have passed all of your tests, you didn’t pass all of mine…”
Confused, Prince continued to struggle with Julius’ decision.
“Your tests? I don’t…”
“You don’t know who Arik Holt is, which means you haven’t been watching me nearly as closely as you should be. He’s the motherfucker leading his own evil organization against people I actually do give a damn about. My suggestion? Watch Wired Consequences this weekend. Then keep watching to see me knock Arik Holt’s little bald head off his little white body. When he’s out of the picture and the True Society has fallen apart, maybe I’ll rethink your offer. Until then…well…this is what it sounds like when doves cry, motherfucker. Coo Coo Boo Hoo. Now show me the goddamn door!”
With a heavy heart, Prince finally had no choice but to summon Samuel L. Jackson back to the chamber, but even Julius’ favorite actor and childhood hero could not convince him to change his mind. Ultimately, they had no choice but to accept his decision, inject him with a powerful sedative when he wasn’t looking, and deposit him on the cold streets of Chicago.
Eventually picked up by Joey Fatone at 4 AM the next morning, Julius found the events of the past few hours to be a cloudy haze. While some of it lingered with him, other moments were no longer in his reach. After recuperating in his hotel, Julius made his way to the airport, vowing to himself and his manservant that his romantic pursuit of Marissa Covington was far from finished. Remembering that there were things going on behind the scenes and knowing there was little he could do about it, he did his best to put the strange thoughts of dead musicians and Texas politicians out of his mind in order to focus fully on Wired Consequences.
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With Joey Fatone, manservant and spy for a secret society of celebrities, seated next to him, Julius continues to give his thoughts on Wired Consequences aboard his flight from Chicago to New York. With a glass of Hennessy in hand and plenty of room in his first-class seat, Julius puts the strange events of the prior weekend out of his mind to give his utmost attention to one final opponent.
“Havoc, I hate your motherfucking guts. As much as Slade and I dislike each other, as much disdain as I have for Valkyrie giving up her shot, both of them pale in comparison to your ugly ass. I’ve admitted it before and I’ll admit again, you got the better of me last time. You were the better man on that night. Better than Jason Long, and most certainly better than me when I tapped the fuck out.”
“Maybe I underestimated you, maybe my heart wasn’t in it, maybe John Goodman and Chris Christie are playing a game of Spy vs. Spy at this very moment. None of that means a goddamn thing on December 26th in Madison Square Garden. On that night, after my business with Castle is complete, all that’s gonna matter is you, me, and Druscilla. Frankly, I’m a little bit disappointed that Jason Long won’t be joining us for this one, because then I’d really have the chance to make up for the last time. Then again, I kind of wish it was just you and me stepping into that match. That way I could give you every motherfucking ounce of attention, anger, and pent-up aggression I’ve got stored up in the pit of my soul. And then when I raise that Prime Championship, that golden title that I’ve been dying to get my hands on for twelve months, you would have no excuses. It would be your turn to admit that the better man won, and that man is me.”
“We’ve done this dance a few times already, and we probably won’t be done after Sunday. In a way, it almost reminds me of the long-standing feud I had with Pyro, where neither of us could put the other away for good. You’re almost as sick and twisted as he was, you’re uglier than he ever could be, and I really enjoy punching you in the face. The only difference is, Pyro actually has some redeeming qualities in his blackened soul, whereas you don’t have a soul at all.”
“A big, scary man like you might claim that’s an advantage, but I don’t see things that way. So maybe a soulless man has nothing to fear, but he also has nothing to fight for, nothing to push him that extra mile, and nothing that makes him stand out from every other sadistic sociopath who shows up on Fallout like a moth to the flame. As for me? Brother, I have more soul than I know what to do with. There’s so much soul in my body that it seeps out with every word I say and every punch I throw. It’s in the way I talk, the way I walk, and it’s sure as hell in the way I fight.”
“There are plenty of people out there who might dispute that. For every episode of Fallout I’ve been on, there’s some motherfucker out there who’s said I’m a one-trick pony, that I don’t have it, that I’m just the guy who drops F Bombs into every sentence. Havoc has said it. Jason Long said it. Pyro, Drago, Contessa, Syndicate…they’ve all said it. Druscilla is probably saying it at this very moment. But if that was true, if I didn’t have what it takes, if I’m not the kind of guy who can stand on top of Fallout as Prime Champion, how in the hell am I still here? Why do I have my third chance at winning the title, when even the GM of the damn show is against me?”
“It’s because no matter how many of you refuse to believe in Julius motherfucking Fairweather, I’ve never…not once…stopped believing in myself. Along the way, I’ve even changed a few minds when it comes to those negative opinions, not that I give a goddamn either way. Come Wired Consequences, I’m gonna change a whole lot more of them when I retain the tag titles, knock Druscilla back to the undercard, and stand over Havoc’s unconscious carcass as your new Prime Champion. Don’t believe it? Not buying into the ‘third time’s a charm’ gimmick? That’s okay. My career has become a storied tale of making believers out of one motherfucker after another. This week I get to do it to three of them in one night, and in the process, I’m gonna make damn sure that no one overlooks, underestimates, or undervalues Julius Fairweather again.”
“Everything I’ve done and everywhere I’ve been over the past twelve months has all come to this, the most wonderful time of the year. Not because Santa is squeezing his fat ass down Arik Holt’s chimney with a bag full Prozac, not because Druscilla is gonna get the spanking her daddy should have handed out twenty years ago, and not because Havoc’s reign as champion is gonna fade away as the old year gives way to the new. It’s the most wonderful time of the year because I get to give everyone the gift they’ve been waiting for. I get to take away one of the True Society’s prized possessions in the name of pride, honor, and basic human decency.”
“I have the chance to make things right…The chance to turn the tables on Arik Holt and his Cult of No Personality…The chance to give every Motherfucking Friend of Fairweather the merriest motherfucking Christmas they’ve ever had. In just a few days, you’re all gonna see that Santa is not only a brother, but he’s a bad motherfucker. The holiday may come a day late this year, but I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait. Savannah Sunshine is gonna wake up with Arik Holt’s head in her stocking, although the creepy little motherfucker probably already stole a pair and sniffs them regularly. TJ Thompson and Lil’ Petey are gonna open their presents to see a member of Big Drip Productions holding the Prime Title. Hell, even Jason Long might find his smile under the tree on Sunday night. Until then, I’ve just got one thing to say…”
Julius takes a quick sip from his glass before flashing a bright smile at the camera being held by his manservant.
“Be cool…or be gone.”
