The Story of FREAK - Chapter One: Becoming the Guardian

"So now you're going to tell me what I can and can't do with my own money, Harland? Good lord, you better cut a hole in those Burberries of yours to make room for that fucking ballsack that's grown ten times bigger since the last time we did business." The words oozed from the mouth of the well-dressed man sitting across from Harland, the man who only went by Luciano. Well-dressed was about the only kind way to describe the man, because, well... Luciano is a fat little man, with big fat hands and stubby fat fingers. But, that little fat man was one of the most feared entities in all of Chicago. A labored chuckle that sounded more like an ancient hog trying exhale through its neck folds escaped Luciano's dry lips as he took another puff of his Havana. Harland almost couldn't help but ruffle his nose in disgust as he watched the rotund gremlin that sat across the table blow the smoke from his well-practiced lips, and directly into Harland's face. However, Harland did not allow his face to betray his feelings. Instead - he paused, took a deep breath, and smiled. 

"No, no I am not. Your money is yours, Luciano, and everyone knows that. What I am doing, is making you an offer that might get both of us out of the hole we've both dug for ourselves." It was unclear which act of bravado offended Luciano the most: Harland actually talking back to him; or Harland reaching across the table and with careful fingers plucking the cigar from Luciano's lips and ashing it on the bar table. 

"Hol-y-shit... This plan better be the greatest idea since sliced bread - or this may be the last time you sit across the table from anybody but the lord himself - if you catch my drift." Luciano's bulbous eyes disgusted Harland, but he kept his composure and continued. 

"Well, I don't know if we'll be putting Wonderbread out of business anytime soon, but considering the fact that I'm the one who set up this meeting with you should give you all the confidence in the world that my plan is infallible." Luciano's pudgy upper lip furrowed under his cigar-stained 'stache as he sat back in his seat, extending both hands outward to urge Harland to continue. "Mmm. So, it's really quite simple. I have made a purchase, and am now the owner of The Dark Bazaar." Luciano was mid sip of his thick scotch, and the statement caused him to choke on it. A few sickening coughs and wipes of his wet lips later, and Luciano's bug eyes were wider than ever. 

"You... you bought the little freak show down town!? That's your solution for all the money you owe me? You're going to parade around anorexic kids with fake horns glued to their forehead, and suddenly you're going to make tens of thousands of - " Harland didn't let him finish, interrupting with a stern yet calm tone. 

"No, my friend. Clearly it wasn't as simple as I predicted. You see, there's only so much money a group of rancid scum can make, we both know that. But you of all people should also know that you can find beauty in the most unexpected of places. In a crowded casino, at a bar full of convicts and pedophiles... and yes, even in a run down fair grounds polluted with every example of human filth imaginable." Harland eyed Luciano up and down judgmentally. "Well, almost every example." Luciano didn't catch the dig, luckily, as he was still far too perplexed to comprehend much of anything at this point. "So no. The plan is not souly to run the Dark Bazaar - though we'll keep it open for... scouting purposes." 

Harland didn't answer - verbally, at least. Instead, he slid a crumpled flyer across the table. A dark, torn paper adorned with brightly colored text, vibrant streamers in each corner, and in the middle a professional wrestling ring with the logo 'Sideshow' in the center. 

"This... is Sideshow. A professional wrestling organization that invites the bottom of the barrel when it comes to humanity - and are willing to pay a pretty penny for it. So... this is why I bought the Bazaar." Harland pushes two photographs across the table. The first depicting two identical looking white males - both with strange tattoos thoughtlessly strewn across their bodies, and white masks covering their faces. "The twins were just a bonus, really. Some backup to protect our actual investment, the handlers, if-you-will. But..." Harland reaches across the table and brushes the photo of the twins aside, pointing excitedly at the second. "HE is the real reason I bought the Bazaar." Luciano studies the second photograph carefully, a feeling of unease sinking into his fat stomach. 

The photo depicts a truly monstrous man, for a lack of better descriptor, standing hunchbacked on a stage. His massive biceps buldge through a torn black shirt, revealing a mass of tattoos, paintings and scars littering his body, including what can be seen of his shadowed face. The figure is sloached yet still towers over a crowd of onlookers that throw tomatoes, rotten fruit and even old shoes at the monster who is purposefully chained just out of their reach. And next to him stands a thin weasely man with a sign that reads

'HE'S UNHUMAN. SENT FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL. COME BEHOLD AND MARVEL AT... THE FREAK.' 

Luciano shakes his head as this tragic scene plays out, even from a still photograph. He raises his head and for the first time comes close to showing an actual emotion, concern, as he locks eyes with Harland - who's demonic smile splits a path across his face. 

"He's our ticket out, Luciano." Harland says, matter of factly.