Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Feb 11, 2022 20:19:41 GMT -5
THE OTHER WORLD…
The subconscious. The Dreamscape. The Mind Palace. It has different names to different people, but all Julius cared about was getting those motherfucking voices out of his motherfucking head.
The blackouts had become more frequent and unpredictable. Sometimes they would last for a few minutes, other times they would last for days on end. By now he understood that whatever was happening to him was out of his control. He’d watched enough Project: Honor footage back to know that different versions of his own psyche were coming out to play. He even accepted the fact that his electrocution at the hands of The Illuminati was most likely to blame. What he didn’t know was how to stop it.
Sitting upon a rock amid a vast terrain of endless horizons, Julius contemplated his situation much in the manner of Auguste Rodin’s ‘Thinker’ statue. The purple sky swirled overhead, scattered with floating images of Cadillacs, dead kittens, and baby Jesuses. Where once there would be visions of Samuel L. Jackson’s greatest quotes, now there were jumbled phrases of both pious and vile origin. The blues riffs of ‘Stackolee’ were nearly impossible to hear as various church hymns and ‘The Phantom of the Opera Overture’ tried to play over each other.
“Motherfucking bullshit.”
He scowled while resting his chin upon his closed fist, wanting nothing more than a little peace and quiet so that he could formulate a way to get his brain back in proper working order. The voice calling out a mere few feet in front of him ensured that would not happen.
“Poppycock.”
Julius looked up with his one good eye, setting his gaze upon another version of himself. The white hair standing on end and the sharp teeth making up his grin were all too familiar. Joining Julius Fairweather within this place was Julius Foulweather, the manifestation of his darkest desires. His appearance startled Fairweather into standing, but Foulweather raised a single hand in an attempt to calm him.
“There is no need for theatrics, Fairweather. Attacking me in this place would only result in damage to the physical body we both share. Although it could be pleasurable to witness…”
“Motherfucker! I’ve seen the shit you’ve been doing while wearing my face! Why shouldn’t I pop a psychic cap in your metaphysical ass right now?!”
Foulweather thought about it for a moment, but before he could respond, the two mental constructs were interrupted by the appearance of something very strange.
A golf ball bounced between them and came to rest, turning the ground at their feet into a lush, green, golf course. As both Foulweather and Fairweather stared at the ball, another voice called out to them.
“Sorry about that! I’ll just play through!”
Both versions of Julius turned to see a man in plaid shorts, a collared polo shirt, and a golf visor approaching them. Much to their surprise, he wore the same facial features as both of them.
“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you supposed to be, motherfucker?”
“Oh, sorry gents. The name is Julius Fairway. Now if you don’t mind, can I have a little silence on the course?”
Fairweather and Foulweather continued to watch as the man walked up to the golf ball, took measure of it with his nine iron, and then smacked it away with a perfect swing.
“What a beaut! I’ve never played so well! Guess I’ll be on my way. Nice to meet you, gents.”
Without further explanation, Julius Fairway continued on, walking after the ball he’d just knocked into the distance. Once he’d gone, Fairweather and Foulweather looked back at each other with mutual concern.
“This does not bode well. It would seem our fractured mental state is growing more severe. If this issue isn’t resolved in due haste, there’s no telling how many personas we’ll have wandering within our shared cranium.”
“Motherfucker, I didn’t understand a goddamn word you just said! Wait a minute…if I’m in here…and you’re in here…who’s out there to host the F’n Edge?”
Foulweather responded with a blank look, but Fairweather immediately knew what it meant.
“Oh, fuck me. I just hope he doesn’t cut a promo when he’s done…”
THE REAL WORLD
Within the confines of the F’n Edge studio, Julius Fineweather sits in front of a camera with a pleasant smile upon his face.
“Hello, friends! It is your beloved brother in peace and love, Julius Fineweather! As a member of The KaVengers, it seems like I should share a few words regarding our upcoming match at The Crowning. While I am typically a man of non-violence, I understand how important it is that I fight alongside my dear friends to the best of my ability. I also understand it’s customary to stand in front of a camera and say terribly rude things about your opponents beforehand. Well, I’m sure as sugar not going to do that!”
“I just can’t abide by the thought of the sweet Baby Jesus hearing rude comments come out of my mouth. Instead, I’ve decided to list the many virtues of my potential opponents before wishing them the best of luck in their future endeavors!”
“Let’s start with Lil’ Petey, shall we? First of all, he’s very good at rhyming. Secondly, he’s quite the accomplished dancer. Thirdly, he’s proud of the fact that he’s diminutive in nature. Fourthly…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“We can’t let that church-loving pansy cut a motherfucking promo! I’ve got to get the hell out of here before he says something to kill my street cred!”
Foulweather rolled his fog-covered eyes.
“And just how do you plan on achieving that? None of us have been able to control our changes thus far, and I don’t see you having any better luck than before.”
Fairweather considered this for a moment, doing his best to ignore the vision of a giant puppy running over a rainbow in the distance. Finally, he chose a course of action.
“Hit me in the head as hard as you can.”
The idea had Foulweather taken aback for a moment.
“You can’t be serious. Yes, head trauma to our physical form has initiated the change, but in here we are little more than shadows. Besides, why should you be the one to cut a promo? You would no doubt spend the entire time verbally thrashing my compatriots in the True Society.”
The two psychic manifestations scowled at each other, seemingly at an impasse.
THE REAL WORLD
“...and that’s why Billy Bennett is the loveliest young woman in the match. Now, if you’d all be so kind, please indulge me as I bestow upon you the virtues of MYOJIN, for which there are many. Firstly, when they smile, it’s as if sweet Baby Jesus is gracing us with a day of pure sunshine. Secondly…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Just fucking hit me already, motherfucker!”
“I will do no such thing! I insist that you hit me!”
Fairweather was fuming so much that his eyes had never bulged out further. He could only think about the ridiculous things Fineweather was saying at that very moment, thus ruining his future chances with women around the globe. Unable to bear it any longer, he balled up his fist and pulled it back, the smiling face of Foulweather dead in his sights…
THE REAL WORLD
“...and that is why I personally love TJ Thompson, just as I dearly love each and every one of you who has tuned in to this promo. Now before I continue gushing about TJ’s love of animals, I want to mention how much Syndicate’s personal well-being means to me…”
Fineweather stops in mid-sentence, as if he’s completely forgotten what he was about to say. Then, as his eyes begin to fog over and his short, white hair starts to stand on end, the tone of his voice changes completely.
“Big Drip Worldwide…The KaVengers…what a pathetic excuse for combatants in a contest known as Wargames. Do none of you realize that in facing the True Society, you will come face-to-face with your own mortality? I cannot wait to dig my fangs into the soft flesh of Petey’s throat, spilling his virgin blood upon the mat. Once his lifeless corpse is at my feet, I’m going to find Hannah and…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Fuck. Motherfucking fuck! Now that Stephen King-obsessed motherfucker is probably out there spouting bullshit about virgin blood! My motherfuckers in Big Drip ain’t ever gonna trust my ass if he gets more than thirty seconds to cut a promo!”
Seated across from Fairweather, clad in a nun’s habit, was Julius Fineweather. He gave Fairweather a gentle smile and looked at him through loving eyes behind the glasses resting on the tip of his nose.
“Language! Remember, the sweet Baby Jesus is always listening!”
Fairweather shot his charitable and loving persona a dirty look, when something finally occurred to him.
“You sound just like my momma with all that Baby Jesus talk and telling me to watch my language…”
“Well, I do admire our mother very much. Is her influence on us really that bad? She’s a god-fearing woman who loves her only son almost as much as she loves the heavenly infant.”
“Right. I don’t suppose I could talk you into hitting me in the head as hard as you can?”
THE REAL WORLD
“...as TJ’s screams are muffled by the rising blood in his throat, Beautiful Billy and I shall turn our attention to Ratman. I will finally feel his mascot’s flesh upon my tongue while Bennett gouges the eyes from his skull. Then, Slade and I shall take our liberties with his fat partner, disemboweling Serrano for a world-wide audience to see…
THE OTHER WORLD
Fairweather had Fineweather by the collar of his gown, shaking his entire body violently.
“Hit me, motherfucker! Hit me before he gets to say another goddamn word!”
“P-p-please, M-m-mister F-f-fairweather! L-l-language!”
THE REAL WORLD
Despite his body seeming to tremble uncontrollably, Foulweather continues to verbalize his threats.
“...as Syndicate stands over Swindle’s lifeless corpse, Drago will descend upon Rapture like a jungle cat stalking its prey! Not even Noah Hope’s lifeless stare will distract me as I turn toward MYOJIN and…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Hit me now, motherfucker, or I swear I’ll use Baby Jesus’ name in vain!”
"You wouldn't dare!"
The shock upon Fineweather’s face was apparent, but before he could respond, the two psychic manifestations were interrupted by the sudden appearance of another arrival. The man, dressed in a navy blue suit, nearly stumbled into Fairweather before catching himself.
“Sorry about that, my fellow Americans.”
Fairweather shot him an expression of equal parts confusion and frustration.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, I assumed a red-blooded American such as yourself would recognize his Commander-in-Chief. The name is Jerald Fordweather, President of our great United States.”
Shaking his head, Fairweather quickly turned away from this new manifestation to refocus himself on angering Fineweather.
“Oh, fuck this. That Baby Jesus is one wrinkled, little, bald motherfucker!”
And that was all it took. Forming his fingers into the first fist he’d ever made, Fineweather gave Julius the best sucker punch his pious personality could possess.
THE REAL WORLD
“...blood and gore and…”
And then Foulweather’s expression goes blank in the middle of his sentence, as if he’s been shut off by the flip of a switch. His eyes begin to regain their natural color, and the white hair atop his head goes from standing straight up to lying flat. With a sneer on his face, Julius puts a black beret over the white hair as he begins to speak.
“Motherfuckers, it’s been too goddamn long since I got to tell you what a bunch of lousy motherfucking bitches you all are. Syndicate, you already know how I feel about your ass, 'cause I’ve laid you out in the ring more than I’ve laid fine looking women! As for Billy motherfucking Bennet, you twisted little bitch, you’re about to find out firsthand what it’s like to have my size fifteen stuck sideways up your loose ass…”
THE OTHER WORLD
Fineweather and Foulweather sat across from each other, one with a pleasant smile and the other with a vicious glare.
“He convinced you to hit him, didn’t he?”
“I would do no such thing. I abhor violence.”
“Oh? You do realize that your precious Baby Jesus can hear your lies…”
That’s all it took for Fineweather to burst into tears.
“It’s true! I hit him! I took violent action against my fellow man and then I lied about it! Oh, sweet Baby Jesus, please forgive this pathetic sinner!”
Foulweather shook his head back and forth, disgusted by the display unfolding before his very eyes. Just then, a psychic manifestation looking very much like the two of them, tiptoed between them. Dressed in a green gown and sporting a pair of wings, this new version of Julius reached out with his magic wand and tapped Foulweather on the top of his head.
“Let me guess. Julius Fairytale, I presume?”
With a simple tee-hee, the manifestation pranced away without answering. Foulweather let out a heavy sigh, more determined than ever to rid himself of the other Julius' once and for all...
ELSEWHERE
Marissa had enlisted the help of The Purple Reign’s greatest scientist, none other than Bill Nye himself. Yet despite their best efforts, they seemed no closer to solving the riddle of Julius’ personality disorder.
“Further electrical shock runs the risk of making the situation worse, and clearly, acquiring the equipment used by The Illuminati would require a covert assault on their various compounds. There’s no guarantee we’d even infiltrate the base where the device is being held…”
“There has to be a way! This entire ordeal is my fault. If I’d just turned down Julius’ advances and stuck to my assignment without introducing him to The Purple Reign…”
Bill looked up from his book on electroshock therapy, an idea beginning to form in his brilliant mind.
“What…exactly…was your assignment again?”
Marissa let out a heavy sigh, knowing full well that Bill was privy to such confidential information, but she wasn’t keen on rehashing it. As if sensing her hesitation, he continued to insist.
“Trust me, Marissa. I may have an idea, but I need to know exactly what started this drawn-out storyline.”
His choice of words seemed to confuse Marissa, who looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“Storyline? What are you talking about?”
Bill walked around the edge of the table, finding it best to move throughout his lab as he formulated a hypothesis.
“Remember, Julius Fairweather is a professional wrestler, and as such, he often finds himself drawn into complex storylines for the audience to follow. Wrestling is more than just beating people up, after all. It’s storytelling in its purest form. The daily dramas of those men and women are on display for our viewing pleasure. So put yourself in Julius’ position for a moment. Somewhere in that confused head of his, he is in the midst of a storyline that he’s living for the fans of Project: Honor. It may be that his subconscious mind cannot move forward…cannot heal itself…until that storyline is complete.”
Still uncertain, Marissa stares at Bill Nye with considerable doubt.
“That seems like a stretch, professor. Still, if you must know, Julius inherited a journal from his deceased butler. Within that journal were a series of clues and riddles leading to the location of the bible’s three missing commandments. Using those clues, Julius managed to track down a piece of the stone tablet containing one of those commandments. Hoping to keep it out of the wrong hands, I stole it from him and placed it in a Purple Reign safehouse with one we had already retrieved…”
Bill immediately stopped pacing the lab and turned to smile at Marissa Covington.
“There it is. Julius is in the midst of a treasure hunt, and until it continues and eventually concludes, he may continue to bounce between these personalities.”
“So…you’re saying I need to reveal the commandment we already have and then convince him to seek out the final one? How am I going to do that when I don’t even know which version of Julius I’m dealing with?”
Bill thought about it for a moment as he rubbed his chin.
“I would suggest the most direct method possible. Julius is scheduled to compete at the Crowning, correct?”
Marissa let out another heavy sigh.
“Yeah, you could say that. He’s competing for three different teams in the same match. Don’t even ask me how that happened, because I can’t begin to understand the mind of a wrestling promoter.”
“Well then, my dear, I suggest you take a trip to the Crowning with a group of Purple Reign agents and force him to finish his quest, whether he likes it or not.”
The last thing Marissa wanted to do was attend a wrestling event, but the more she considered it, the more Bill Nye’s suggestion was making sense. At least, as much sense as anything else in the life of an agent for a secret society of celebrities…
The subconscious. The Dreamscape. The Mind Palace. It has different names to different people, but all Julius cared about was getting those motherfucking voices out of his motherfucking head.
The blackouts had become more frequent and unpredictable. Sometimes they would last for a few minutes, other times they would last for days on end. By now he understood that whatever was happening to him was out of his control. He’d watched enough Project: Honor footage back to know that different versions of his own psyche were coming out to play. He even accepted the fact that his electrocution at the hands of The Illuminati was most likely to blame. What he didn’t know was how to stop it.
Sitting upon a rock amid a vast terrain of endless horizons, Julius contemplated his situation much in the manner of Auguste Rodin’s ‘Thinker’ statue. The purple sky swirled overhead, scattered with floating images of Cadillacs, dead kittens, and baby Jesuses. Where once there would be visions of Samuel L. Jackson’s greatest quotes, now there were jumbled phrases of both pious and vile origin. The blues riffs of ‘Stackolee’ were nearly impossible to hear as various church hymns and ‘The Phantom of the Opera Overture’ tried to play over each other.
“Motherfucking bullshit.”
He scowled while resting his chin upon his closed fist, wanting nothing more than a little peace and quiet so that he could formulate a way to get his brain back in proper working order. The voice calling out a mere few feet in front of him ensured that would not happen.
“Poppycock.”
Julius looked up with his one good eye, setting his gaze upon another version of himself. The white hair standing on end and the sharp teeth making up his grin were all too familiar. Joining Julius Fairweather within this place was Julius Foulweather, the manifestation of his darkest desires. His appearance startled Fairweather into standing, but Foulweather raised a single hand in an attempt to calm him.
“There is no need for theatrics, Fairweather. Attacking me in this place would only result in damage to the physical body we both share. Although it could be pleasurable to witness…”
“Motherfucker! I’ve seen the shit you’ve been doing while wearing my face! Why shouldn’t I pop a psychic cap in your metaphysical ass right now?!”
Foulweather thought about it for a moment, but before he could respond, the two mental constructs were interrupted by the appearance of something very strange.
A golf ball bounced between them and came to rest, turning the ground at their feet into a lush, green, golf course. As both Foulweather and Fairweather stared at the ball, another voice called out to them.
“Sorry about that! I’ll just play through!”
Both versions of Julius turned to see a man in plaid shorts, a collared polo shirt, and a golf visor approaching them. Much to their surprise, he wore the same facial features as both of them.
“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you supposed to be, motherfucker?”
“Oh, sorry gents. The name is Julius Fairway. Now if you don’t mind, can I have a little silence on the course?”
Fairweather and Foulweather continued to watch as the man walked up to the golf ball, took measure of it with his nine iron, and then smacked it away with a perfect swing.
“What a beaut! I’ve never played so well! Guess I’ll be on my way. Nice to meet you, gents.”
Without further explanation, Julius Fairway continued on, walking after the ball he’d just knocked into the distance. Once he’d gone, Fairweather and Foulweather looked back at each other with mutual concern.
“This does not bode well. It would seem our fractured mental state is growing more severe. If this issue isn’t resolved in due haste, there’s no telling how many personas we’ll have wandering within our shared cranium.”
“Motherfucker, I didn’t understand a goddamn word you just said! Wait a minute…if I’m in here…and you’re in here…who’s out there to host the F’n Edge?”
Foulweather responded with a blank look, but Fairweather immediately knew what it meant.
“Oh, fuck me. I just hope he doesn’t cut a promo when he’s done…”
THE REAL WORLD
Within the confines of the F’n Edge studio, Julius Fineweather sits in front of a camera with a pleasant smile upon his face.
“Hello, friends! It is your beloved brother in peace and love, Julius Fineweather! As a member of The KaVengers, it seems like I should share a few words regarding our upcoming match at The Crowning. While I am typically a man of non-violence, I understand how important it is that I fight alongside my dear friends to the best of my ability. I also understand it’s customary to stand in front of a camera and say terribly rude things about your opponents beforehand. Well, I’m sure as sugar not going to do that!”
“I just can’t abide by the thought of the sweet Baby Jesus hearing rude comments come out of my mouth. Instead, I’ve decided to list the many virtues of my potential opponents before wishing them the best of luck in their future endeavors!”
“Let’s start with Lil’ Petey, shall we? First of all, he’s very good at rhyming. Secondly, he’s quite the accomplished dancer. Thirdly, he’s proud of the fact that he’s diminutive in nature. Fourthly…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“We can’t let that church-loving pansy cut a motherfucking promo! I’ve got to get the hell out of here before he says something to kill my street cred!”
Foulweather rolled his fog-covered eyes.
“And just how do you plan on achieving that? None of us have been able to control our changes thus far, and I don’t see you having any better luck than before.”
Fairweather considered this for a moment, doing his best to ignore the vision of a giant puppy running over a rainbow in the distance. Finally, he chose a course of action.
“Hit me in the head as hard as you can.”
The idea had Foulweather taken aback for a moment.
“You can’t be serious. Yes, head trauma to our physical form has initiated the change, but in here we are little more than shadows. Besides, why should you be the one to cut a promo? You would no doubt spend the entire time verbally thrashing my compatriots in the True Society.”
The two psychic manifestations scowled at each other, seemingly at an impasse.
THE REAL WORLD
“...and that’s why Billy Bennett is the loveliest young woman in the match. Now, if you’d all be so kind, please indulge me as I bestow upon you the virtues of MYOJIN, for which there are many. Firstly, when they smile, it’s as if sweet Baby Jesus is gracing us with a day of pure sunshine. Secondly…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Just fucking hit me already, motherfucker!”
“I will do no such thing! I insist that you hit me!”
Fairweather was fuming so much that his eyes had never bulged out further. He could only think about the ridiculous things Fineweather was saying at that very moment, thus ruining his future chances with women around the globe. Unable to bear it any longer, he balled up his fist and pulled it back, the smiling face of Foulweather dead in his sights…
THE REAL WORLD
“...and that is why I personally love TJ Thompson, just as I dearly love each and every one of you who has tuned in to this promo. Now before I continue gushing about TJ’s love of animals, I want to mention how much Syndicate’s personal well-being means to me…”
Fineweather stops in mid-sentence, as if he’s completely forgotten what he was about to say. Then, as his eyes begin to fog over and his short, white hair starts to stand on end, the tone of his voice changes completely.
“Big Drip Worldwide…The KaVengers…what a pathetic excuse for combatants in a contest known as Wargames. Do none of you realize that in facing the True Society, you will come face-to-face with your own mortality? I cannot wait to dig my fangs into the soft flesh of Petey’s throat, spilling his virgin blood upon the mat. Once his lifeless corpse is at my feet, I’m going to find Hannah and…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Fuck. Motherfucking fuck! Now that Stephen King-obsessed motherfucker is probably out there spouting bullshit about virgin blood! My motherfuckers in Big Drip ain’t ever gonna trust my ass if he gets more than thirty seconds to cut a promo!”
Seated across from Fairweather, clad in a nun’s habit, was Julius Fineweather. He gave Fairweather a gentle smile and looked at him through loving eyes behind the glasses resting on the tip of his nose.
“Language! Remember, the sweet Baby Jesus is always listening!”
Fairweather shot his charitable and loving persona a dirty look, when something finally occurred to him.
“You sound just like my momma with all that Baby Jesus talk and telling me to watch my language…”
“Well, I do admire our mother very much. Is her influence on us really that bad? She’s a god-fearing woman who loves her only son almost as much as she loves the heavenly infant.”
“Right. I don’t suppose I could talk you into hitting me in the head as hard as you can?”
THE REAL WORLD
“...as TJ’s screams are muffled by the rising blood in his throat, Beautiful Billy and I shall turn our attention to Ratman. I will finally feel his mascot’s flesh upon my tongue while Bennett gouges the eyes from his skull. Then, Slade and I shall take our liberties with his fat partner, disemboweling Serrano for a world-wide audience to see…
THE OTHER WORLD
Fairweather had Fineweather by the collar of his gown, shaking his entire body violently.
“Hit me, motherfucker! Hit me before he gets to say another goddamn word!”
“P-p-please, M-m-mister F-f-fairweather! L-l-language!”
THE REAL WORLD
Despite his body seeming to tremble uncontrollably, Foulweather continues to verbalize his threats.
“...as Syndicate stands over Swindle’s lifeless corpse, Drago will descend upon Rapture like a jungle cat stalking its prey! Not even Noah Hope’s lifeless stare will distract me as I turn toward MYOJIN and…”
THE OTHER WORLD
“Hit me now, motherfucker, or I swear I’ll use Baby Jesus’ name in vain!”
"You wouldn't dare!"
The shock upon Fineweather’s face was apparent, but before he could respond, the two psychic manifestations were interrupted by the sudden appearance of another arrival. The man, dressed in a navy blue suit, nearly stumbled into Fairweather before catching himself.
“Sorry about that, my fellow Americans.”
Fairweather shot him an expression of equal parts confusion and frustration.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, I assumed a red-blooded American such as yourself would recognize his Commander-in-Chief. The name is Jerald Fordweather, President of our great United States.”
Shaking his head, Fairweather quickly turned away from this new manifestation to refocus himself on angering Fineweather.
“Oh, fuck this. That Baby Jesus is one wrinkled, little, bald motherfucker!”
And that was all it took. Forming his fingers into the first fist he’d ever made, Fineweather gave Julius the best sucker punch his pious personality could possess.
THE REAL WORLD
“...blood and gore and…”
And then Foulweather’s expression goes blank in the middle of his sentence, as if he’s been shut off by the flip of a switch. His eyes begin to regain their natural color, and the white hair atop his head goes from standing straight up to lying flat. With a sneer on his face, Julius puts a black beret over the white hair as he begins to speak.
“Motherfuckers, it’s been too goddamn long since I got to tell you what a bunch of lousy motherfucking bitches you all are. Syndicate, you already know how I feel about your ass, 'cause I’ve laid you out in the ring more than I’ve laid fine looking women! As for Billy motherfucking Bennet, you twisted little bitch, you’re about to find out firsthand what it’s like to have my size fifteen stuck sideways up your loose ass…”
THE OTHER WORLD
Fineweather and Foulweather sat across from each other, one with a pleasant smile and the other with a vicious glare.
“He convinced you to hit him, didn’t he?”
“I would do no such thing. I abhor violence.”
“Oh? You do realize that your precious Baby Jesus can hear your lies…”
That’s all it took for Fineweather to burst into tears.
“It’s true! I hit him! I took violent action against my fellow man and then I lied about it! Oh, sweet Baby Jesus, please forgive this pathetic sinner!”
Foulweather shook his head back and forth, disgusted by the display unfolding before his very eyes. Just then, a psychic manifestation looking very much like the two of them, tiptoed between them. Dressed in a green gown and sporting a pair of wings, this new version of Julius reached out with his magic wand and tapped Foulweather on the top of his head.
“Let me guess. Julius Fairytale, I presume?”
With a simple tee-hee, the manifestation pranced away without answering. Foulweather let out a heavy sigh, more determined than ever to rid himself of the other Julius' once and for all...
ELSEWHERE
Marissa had enlisted the help of The Purple Reign’s greatest scientist, none other than Bill Nye himself. Yet despite their best efforts, they seemed no closer to solving the riddle of Julius’ personality disorder.
“Further electrical shock runs the risk of making the situation worse, and clearly, acquiring the equipment used by The Illuminati would require a covert assault on their various compounds. There’s no guarantee we’d even infiltrate the base where the device is being held…”
“There has to be a way! This entire ordeal is my fault. If I’d just turned down Julius’ advances and stuck to my assignment without introducing him to The Purple Reign…”
Bill looked up from his book on electroshock therapy, an idea beginning to form in his brilliant mind.
“What…exactly…was your assignment again?”
Marissa let out a heavy sigh, knowing full well that Bill was privy to such confidential information, but she wasn’t keen on rehashing it. As if sensing her hesitation, he continued to insist.
“Trust me, Marissa. I may have an idea, but I need to know exactly what started this drawn-out storyline.”
His choice of words seemed to confuse Marissa, who looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“Storyline? What are you talking about?”
Bill walked around the edge of the table, finding it best to move throughout his lab as he formulated a hypothesis.
“Remember, Julius Fairweather is a professional wrestler, and as such, he often finds himself drawn into complex storylines for the audience to follow. Wrestling is more than just beating people up, after all. It’s storytelling in its purest form. The daily dramas of those men and women are on display for our viewing pleasure. So put yourself in Julius’ position for a moment. Somewhere in that confused head of his, he is in the midst of a storyline that he’s living for the fans of Project: Honor. It may be that his subconscious mind cannot move forward…cannot heal itself…until that storyline is complete.”
Still uncertain, Marissa stares at Bill Nye with considerable doubt.
“That seems like a stretch, professor. Still, if you must know, Julius inherited a journal from his deceased butler. Within that journal were a series of clues and riddles leading to the location of the bible’s three missing commandments. Using those clues, Julius managed to track down a piece of the stone tablet containing one of those commandments. Hoping to keep it out of the wrong hands, I stole it from him and placed it in a Purple Reign safehouse with one we had already retrieved…”
Bill immediately stopped pacing the lab and turned to smile at Marissa Covington.
“There it is. Julius is in the midst of a treasure hunt, and until it continues and eventually concludes, he may continue to bounce between these personalities.”
“So…you’re saying I need to reveal the commandment we already have and then convince him to seek out the final one? How am I going to do that when I don’t even know which version of Julius I’m dealing with?”
Bill thought about it for a moment as he rubbed his chin.
“I would suggest the most direct method possible. Julius is scheduled to compete at the Crowning, correct?”
Marissa let out another heavy sigh.
“Yeah, you could say that. He’s competing for three different teams in the same match. Don’t even ask me how that happened, because I can’t begin to understand the mind of a wrestling promoter.”
“Well then, my dear, I suggest you take a trip to the Crowning with a group of Purple Reign agents and force him to finish his quest, whether he likes it or not.”
The last thing Marissa wanted to do was attend a wrestling event, but the more she considered it, the more Bill Nye’s suggestion was making sense. At least, as much sense as anything else in the life of an agent for a secret society of celebrities…
