Post by PH RECORDS on Nov 29, 2020 17:58:02 GMT -5
Madison Square Garden, late 80s.
A sold out arena looks on as a man wearing red trunks with the word Savage across the rear and yellow boots with tiger print stops a dark haired man in black tights from ascending the top turnbuckle, tossing him to the center of the ring, and quickly makes his way to the adjacent corner.
'It looks like he’s going to the top rope! He’s going for the flying elbow!' says a disembodied voice.
The television, already quite out of focus, becomes overrun with static for a moment and a young boy adjusts the knob frantically just in time to see the man leap from the top rope...and miss, landing heavily on his shoulder.
The audience and child groan in unison as the man in black trunks begins to pull himself slowly onto his knee.
'I guess he thought he needed to end it it quick!'
-----------------------------
Journal of Jon Belfort, wrestling journalist.
It all started out with an e-mail I received.
Dear Mr Belfort,
You do not know me, but I know of you and your work. I have heard you asking after me.
I admire you, Mr. Belfort: not many chase the Predator. You want a glimpse into my world? I’ll allow you to be the first to know: I will be appearing at Project: Honor soon.
Follow these instructions, come alone, and bring a camera. I want you to film a promo for me: Do not be late.
Take the train leaving station 3 at 8pm and then get off at the third stop. From there, take the forth train that arrives in the opposite station. When you get off, a ride will be waiting.
I look forward to working with you soon Mr. Belfort, after all: I admire you.
Sincerely,
The Predator
At first, I thought it was a spam message.
A joke: a laugh.
I was being invited to film the promo for the legendary underground wrestler, the Predator. I've been chasing this story for years, always just a step behind. If you are involved in the wrestling world, you hear his name. They speak rumors of him: The Underground Demon.
Known for his brutal in ring style, he has been showing up sporadically at promotions around the globe for years. Nobody knows how to find him and nobody knows where he will show up next. The only thing that is certain is that an open challenge could mean you become the next victim of the Predator.
I knew the directions I was to follow and understood they were strict instructions to make sure I came alone. Part of me still thought this was fake, but for a chance to meet and maybe interview the most secretive fighter in wrestling? It was worth the risk.
I followed the directions precisely, all the while on edge at the thought that this still could be some sort of scam and I needed to be on my guard. After two train stops, I got into a cab that was waiting for me. I don't know why I didn't see it coming, but as I set my gear down in the seat beside me, the driver turned and handed me a blindfold.
I asked him if this was necessary and he told me he had strict orders so I complied. It was better for him and better for me. I started this after all and it was time to see it through. After what seemed like 30 minutes and countless turns, we reached the destination. It was at this time I began to truly understand the severity of my situation. I would suspect it wasn't very far from where we started but with the blindfold on, there was no way of knowing and each turn disoriented me to the point where I lost track of the direction.
It didn't matter.
Why me? I remember thinking. Why now? The Predator has never done a promo before...what had changed?
I was led blindly into a building and then once again I could see. I can't say it's what I expected, but it's certainly what I should have anticipated.
Beat up.
Run down.
No matter which direction you went with it, the place had seen better days.
Most of the doors had been kicked or caved in and there was really only one way to go: up.
Funny, I imagined myself being lead down a dark alley or into some cellar but instead I ascended cautiously along the decaying staircase and made my way up to see a sign with my name on it. This was it. Either I was to become a missing person or I would finally meet....him.
The Predator.
As the door opened, I saw neither. The room was much better than the rest of the building and unlike its surroundings, appeared to have power, though the low rumble I heard in the adjacent room I would imagine was some sort of portable generator. Standing just inside the door by a bar stands a man in his late twenties wearing a zip up jacket, smiling brightly over as I entered.
He let me know he was an actor and had strict instructions for anonymity. He said he would be portrayed as the Voice and explained that he, like myself, was hired to be here and though he was to be voice of the Demon, I still could help but be disappointed and my heart dropped for a moment but I was there to do a job.
-----------------------------
Fade up.
Black and White.
The Voice leans casually against the wall, drinking slowly from the honey colored liquid residing at the bottom of the glass. He is dressed in street clothing, jeans and a t-shirt with a zip up hoodie of the top.
He pulls a crumpled pack of Marlboro reds from the hoodie pocket, sliding a cigarette loose, and setting it to rest between his lips.
'It's interesting....' he begins, withdrawing a lighter from his pocket, stopping just before he lights the cigarette.
'Are you familiar with the work of Charles Darwin? Charles was famous scientist who is credited for having his work advance the one theories of how we came to be the best understanding of how we came to be. The theory is known as evolution. A way that plants and animals have adapted to meet the demands of an ever changing world. The survival of the fittest...you adapt to survive...
A quick flick of the wrist followed by a pull of his thumb causes the flame to spark to life and the man lights the cigarette, taking a moment after to consider the flame.
'Survival,' he takes a long drag from his cigarette as he continues to stare into the flame, turning to finally look directly to the camera, flicking the lighter shut again and discarding it absently into his pocket.
'What do you consider your chances, Midas? It's the survival of the fittest after all. You're pretty fit. You're pretty strong. Can you adapt though? Can you evolve?'
Cut to Japan.
The great sumo wrestler turned professional wrestler Akabono stands arms crossed, defiant. Though practically the same height, Akabono is much larger than the masked man. The audience can be heard chanting for their hero: “Aka-“ cried one side echoed by “bo-no”.
The Man(VO) 'I envy you.'
The masked man mimicked the stance of the larger opponent and they begin to slowly spiral inward toward one another.
The Man(VO) 'Most people don't get to know their future.'
The scene cuts to the Predator in the ring, closing the gap almost like lightning, putting his hands behind the larger opponents neck and begins to pepper in quick, sporadic strikes, slipping past the grappled mans defenses.
The Man(VO) 'They say though for inmates on death row, that one of the that things that’s essentially torture is knowing when and how you will die.'
The Predator lands a solid blow to the mans solar plexus with a knee, causing him to drop his guard. Without hesitation, a series of stiff elbows drill into the side of his face.
The Man(VO) 'It's almost as if you can hear that tick tick tick of the clock as you reach your final moments and that sound becomes a choking vice in your mind...'
The large mans knees buckle as the masked monster repeatedly begins smashing his knees into the opponent's face as they slowly go limp.
The Man(VO) 'Are you starting to hear it?'
He releases them and turns to the audience, careless of the cadaver behind him. The scene begins to fade.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick
Fade to the Black.
The scene reopens on the man, his cigarette still held absently in a hand as he pulls a single blind back, surveying the road below.
'One thing you would do well to realize is that there are worse things than death and...he can do all of them.'
There is a quick cut to the final few knees smashing into the large wrestlers face, his eyes rolling into his head.
'It is inevitable,' he says before clarifying himself further, 'He is inevitable.'
He stares coldly into the camera, a trail of smoke slowly escaping from his lips. The man holds his hands up suddenly in a shrug and it’s almost as if the lights become brighter as he smiles, optimistic.
'I could be wrong though, right? You probably know a thing or two. Probably been training your whole life for this moment: the big show.'
Gazing out almost as if in a daze, a large smile spread across his face, he continues in almost a brotherly tone, 'I gotta tell you man...life is all about choices. You don't want to make this choice. Now you have options, please don’t be mistaken. You could say you're sick, that's a choice. Nobody would call it brave but to be fair, some of the most wise people were not considered brave. That's a choice you make though.'
He lifts his hand as if reaching to the heavens, the nub if the cigarette still grasped in his fist, it’s ember slowly reaching its final destination.
'To be or not to be,' he begins, releasing the cigarette, hand still hovering in the air as his heel coming effortlessly forward to extinguish it’s flame, 'Do you choose to be wise?'
Another nail in the coffin is withdrawn from the package and he slides it between his lips.
'Or brave?'
He once again pulls the lighter out, peering again through the pulled back blind. He flicks his wrist and drives the lighter down across his pant leg causing the flame to spark and he lights the second cigarette. He becomes still for what seems like an hour, but in reality is on is a moment before starting to speak again, almost to himself.
'I know what I would do, but I don't know a lot about your world. I don't have what it takes to get in that ring. I’m not a brave man: I am just a Voice. So you can choose to be wise and not show up...or you can be brave, but one thing that doesn't discriminate is reality. Reality has a way of...hitting home sometimes. He hits too. So, be brave, be wise, be cunning, but ultimately, you gotta be a realist: you're not going to win. You may not even survive...'
His eyebrows furrow as concern as the reality of the situation washes over face.
'Hey man, listen, I get it: we all gotta make a living, but...you do want to keep on living right? Like I said, you're a pretty solid dude, so you may survive. Hell, you may even walk out of that ring on your own two feet but you gotta think...even if you survive, even IF you can walk out on your own,' he pauses briefly as his kind tone gives way one a bit more threatening as the camera zooms in, 'What kind of quality of life is that for you?'
Disappointed, he sighs deeply, his head shaking disapprovingly.
'Man...to be you...you've got your whole life ahead of you, you gotta ask yourself...why?'
The smile spreads once again across his face and he outstretched and hand of offering as he continues, 'So listen man: do yourself a favor man: go have a beer, call your family, just do yourself this one favor: forget this match was ever booked. Take it from me, there's better ways to make a buck, right? Live to fight another day? No shame in that.
His face suddenly becomes placid, and he speaks slowly and controlled as, his tone shifts to one that is unmistakably ominous as he continues.
'Now if you DO decide to be brave and of course, we all know that's the decision you'll make, then well...I can't stop you and more importantly, I cannot save you. You will be alone with a Predator...and that makes you the prey.'
The camera zooms in to his just his face now, his eyes, two dark, smoldering orbs which almost burn their way through the lens.
'See, from where I stand..this is an Evolutionary Arms Race...' the smile returns to his face, but none of the menace leaves his voice as he finishes, 'and it looks like you're about to go extinct.'
The scene cuts to the final knee to the mans face and an immediate cut to black.
---------------
@bleacherreport APW just renews rights to the Savage trademark. Click link for full story.**
**Bleacher Report
John Fleming
APW Renews license on Savage trademark today, being granted an extension after the trademark lapsed.
This struck a blow to the son of the famous wrestler Jack Savage, Boyd Savage.
Boyd, who currently wrestles as Jack Derringer in the independent circuit, had applied for the trademark earlier this year and only had this to say:
@jackderringer Its just business. You gotta make money and there’s money in the Savage brand. APW has to do what's right by it and so do we.
Boyd has been trying for some name to secure the rights to his father's trademark name. APW has yet to comment.
---------------
I spoke to the man who was serving as the voice for the Predator once we were done filming. He was under strict instructions to maintain his anonymity. I tried to bridge the gap by offering my first name but be refused. This gig is super important to me, he said.
Another dead end.
It’s almost as if he is toying with me now.
This is the closest I've gotten to the living Myth and I feel like I'm as lost as ever.
Why did he call me?
Why me?
It's hard to say, but I had the feeling that even though it was just the two of us, he was still watching somewhere.
There's not a lot of things I am scared at in life but I will say this: I am terrified of the Predator. Who is he and how does he know me?
More importantly, why did I show up?
We are probably like moths in the flames, me and this actor: a downward spiral. I wished him a good evening and made my way downstairs to be met by the same driver who returned me to sightless quest back to the train stop. It was a long trip home and I thought the worst was past.
It wasn’t until I returned home to realize that the memory card had been removed from the camera.
-------------
'Savage is the champion! Savage is the champion! My God, Savage has done it!'
The man with the red tights hand is raised and the announcer can be heard announcing his name: 'Winner and new APW Intercontinental Heavyweight Champion, Jack Savage.'
Pyrotechnics begin to explode around the ring as the boy leaps to his feet, hands shooting over his head joyously. He begins to re-enact the final elbow on his pillow, bouncing harmlessly off the mattress.
'Turn that off, it’s time for dinner!' shouts a man from the other room, startling the boy.
‘Why?' the boy begins.
'Tenar tiempo en familia! Vamanos!!' responds a woman.
A deep sigh escapes the boy and he thrusts his pillow behind him, reaching for the TV. The boys hand stops just above the power switch as the camera zooms in to the champions face. His hand reaches out and touches the screen: tener tiempo en familia...
------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
Rebels hands are thrust in his pocket as he makes his way around the corner. His eyes dart across the street to a glass store front where he sees the same two people take the same turn as him.
'That’s the third right,' he thought to himself, 'I’m being followed.'
The why didn’t matter. All that mattered was right now. He needed to break their sight. He needed to create separation.
What?
Where?
His eyes scan the road and he sees his chance. A cars headlights can be seen rapidly approaching and there is a alleyway to his right. He can try to outrun the car and duck into the alleyway. The men had increased their pace which was perfect. He tried to slow down and allow the distance to be narrowed.
It’s now or never.
He bolts. The sound of the horn behind him received a responsive groan from the trio and the driver holds on his horn and begins exchanging words with the group. He ducks into the alleyway and halts.
Dead end. He turns on his heel just in time to see the three men enter the alcove.
'The Survival of the Fittest' he thinks.
An Evolutionary Arms race.
A sold out arena looks on as a man wearing red trunks with the word Savage across the rear and yellow boots with tiger print stops a dark haired man in black tights from ascending the top turnbuckle, tossing him to the center of the ring, and quickly makes his way to the adjacent corner.
'It looks like he’s going to the top rope! He’s going for the flying elbow!' says a disembodied voice.
The television, already quite out of focus, becomes overrun with static for a moment and a young boy adjusts the knob frantically just in time to see the man leap from the top rope...and miss, landing heavily on his shoulder.
The audience and child groan in unison as the man in black trunks begins to pull himself slowly onto his knee.
'I guess he thought he needed to end it it quick!'
-----------------------------
Journal of Jon Belfort, wrestling journalist.
It all started out with an e-mail I received.
Dear Mr Belfort,
You do not know me, but I know of you and your work. I have heard you asking after me.
I admire you, Mr. Belfort: not many chase the Predator. You want a glimpse into my world? I’ll allow you to be the first to know: I will be appearing at Project: Honor soon.
Follow these instructions, come alone, and bring a camera. I want you to film a promo for me: Do not be late.
Take the train leaving station 3 at 8pm and then get off at the third stop. From there, take the forth train that arrives in the opposite station. When you get off, a ride will be waiting.
I look forward to working with you soon Mr. Belfort, after all: I admire you.
Sincerely,
The Predator
At first, I thought it was a spam message.
A joke: a laugh.
I was being invited to film the promo for the legendary underground wrestler, the Predator. I've been chasing this story for years, always just a step behind. If you are involved in the wrestling world, you hear his name. They speak rumors of him: The Underground Demon.
Known for his brutal in ring style, he has been showing up sporadically at promotions around the globe for years. Nobody knows how to find him and nobody knows where he will show up next. The only thing that is certain is that an open challenge could mean you become the next victim of the Predator.
I knew the directions I was to follow and understood they were strict instructions to make sure I came alone. Part of me still thought this was fake, but for a chance to meet and maybe interview the most secretive fighter in wrestling? It was worth the risk.
I followed the directions precisely, all the while on edge at the thought that this still could be some sort of scam and I needed to be on my guard. After two train stops, I got into a cab that was waiting for me. I don't know why I didn't see it coming, but as I set my gear down in the seat beside me, the driver turned and handed me a blindfold.
I asked him if this was necessary and he told me he had strict orders so I complied. It was better for him and better for me. I started this after all and it was time to see it through. After what seemed like 30 minutes and countless turns, we reached the destination. It was at this time I began to truly understand the severity of my situation. I would suspect it wasn't very far from where we started but with the blindfold on, there was no way of knowing and each turn disoriented me to the point where I lost track of the direction.
It didn't matter.
Why me? I remember thinking. Why now? The Predator has never done a promo before...what had changed?
I was led blindly into a building and then once again I could see. I can't say it's what I expected, but it's certainly what I should have anticipated.
Beat up.
Run down.
No matter which direction you went with it, the place had seen better days.
Most of the doors had been kicked or caved in and there was really only one way to go: up.
Funny, I imagined myself being lead down a dark alley or into some cellar but instead I ascended cautiously along the decaying staircase and made my way up to see a sign with my name on it. This was it. Either I was to become a missing person or I would finally meet....him.
The Predator.
As the door opened, I saw neither. The room was much better than the rest of the building and unlike its surroundings, appeared to have power, though the low rumble I heard in the adjacent room I would imagine was some sort of portable generator. Standing just inside the door by a bar stands a man in his late twenties wearing a zip up jacket, smiling brightly over as I entered.
He let me know he was an actor and had strict instructions for anonymity. He said he would be portrayed as the Voice and explained that he, like myself, was hired to be here and though he was to be voice of the Demon, I still could help but be disappointed and my heart dropped for a moment but I was there to do a job.
-----------------------------
Fade up.
Black and White.
The Voice leans casually against the wall, drinking slowly from the honey colored liquid residing at the bottom of the glass. He is dressed in street clothing, jeans and a t-shirt with a zip up hoodie of the top.
He pulls a crumpled pack of Marlboro reds from the hoodie pocket, sliding a cigarette loose, and setting it to rest between his lips.
'It's interesting....' he begins, withdrawing a lighter from his pocket, stopping just before he lights the cigarette.
'Are you familiar with the work of Charles Darwin? Charles was famous scientist who is credited for having his work advance the one theories of how we came to be the best understanding of how we came to be. The theory is known as evolution. A way that plants and animals have adapted to meet the demands of an ever changing world. The survival of the fittest...you adapt to survive...
A quick flick of the wrist followed by a pull of his thumb causes the flame to spark to life and the man lights the cigarette, taking a moment after to consider the flame.
'Survival,' he takes a long drag from his cigarette as he continues to stare into the flame, turning to finally look directly to the camera, flicking the lighter shut again and discarding it absently into his pocket.
'What do you consider your chances, Midas? It's the survival of the fittest after all. You're pretty fit. You're pretty strong. Can you adapt though? Can you evolve?'
Cut to Japan.
The great sumo wrestler turned professional wrestler Akabono stands arms crossed, defiant. Though practically the same height, Akabono is much larger than the masked man. The audience can be heard chanting for their hero: “Aka-“ cried one side echoed by “bo-no”.
The Man(VO) 'I envy you.'
The masked man mimicked the stance of the larger opponent and they begin to slowly spiral inward toward one another.
The Man(VO) 'Most people don't get to know their future.'
The scene cuts to the Predator in the ring, closing the gap almost like lightning, putting his hands behind the larger opponents neck and begins to pepper in quick, sporadic strikes, slipping past the grappled mans defenses.
The Man(VO) 'They say though for inmates on death row, that one of the that things that’s essentially torture is knowing when and how you will die.'
The Predator lands a solid blow to the mans solar plexus with a knee, causing him to drop his guard. Without hesitation, a series of stiff elbows drill into the side of his face.
The Man(VO) 'It's almost as if you can hear that tick tick tick of the clock as you reach your final moments and that sound becomes a choking vice in your mind...'
The large mans knees buckle as the masked monster repeatedly begins smashing his knees into the opponent's face as they slowly go limp.
The Man(VO) 'Are you starting to hear it?'
He releases them and turns to the audience, careless of the cadaver behind him. The scene begins to fade.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick
Fade to the Black.
The scene reopens on the man, his cigarette still held absently in a hand as he pulls a single blind back, surveying the road below.
'One thing you would do well to realize is that there are worse things than death and...he can do all of them.'
There is a quick cut to the final few knees smashing into the large wrestlers face, his eyes rolling into his head.
'It is inevitable,' he says before clarifying himself further, 'He is inevitable.'
He stares coldly into the camera, a trail of smoke slowly escaping from his lips. The man holds his hands up suddenly in a shrug and it’s almost as if the lights become brighter as he smiles, optimistic.
'I could be wrong though, right? You probably know a thing or two. Probably been training your whole life for this moment: the big show.'
Gazing out almost as if in a daze, a large smile spread across his face, he continues in almost a brotherly tone, 'I gotta tell you man...life is all about choices. You don't want to make this choice. Now you have options, please don’t be mistaken. You could say you're sick, that's a choice. Nobody would call it brave but to be fair, some of the most wise people were not considered brave. That's a choice you make though.'
He lifts his hand as if reaching to the heavens, the nub if the cigarette still grasped in his fist, it’s ember slowly reaching its final destination.
'To be or not to be,' he begins, releasing the cigarette, hand still hovering in the air as his heel coming effortlessly forward to extinguish it’s flame, 'Do you choose to be wise?'
Another nail in the coffin is withdrawn from the package and he slides it between his lips.
'Or brave?'
He once again pulls the lighter out, peering again through the pulled back blind. He flicks his wrist and drives the lighter down across his pant leg causing the flame to spark and he lights the second cigarette. He becomes still for what seems like an hour, but in reality is on is a moment before starting to speak again, almost to himself.
'I know what I would do, but I don't know a lot about your world. I don't have what it takes to get in that ring. I’m not a brave man: I am just a Voice. So you can choose to be wise and not show up...or you can be brave, but one thing that doesn't discriminate is reality. Reality has a way of...hitting home sometimes. He hits too. So, be brave, be wise, be cunning, but ultimately, you gotta be a realist: you're not going to win. You may not even survive...'
His eyebrows furrow as concern as the reality of the situation washes over face.
'Hey man, listen, I get it: we all gotta make a living, but...you do want to keep on living right? Like I said, you're a pretty solid dude, so you may survive. Hell, you may even walk out of that ring on your own two feet but you gotta think...even if you survive, even IF you can walk out on your own,' he pauses briefly as his kind tone gives way one a bit more threatening as the camera zooms in, 'What kind of quality of life is that for you?'
Disappointed, he sighs deeply, his head shaking disapprovingly.
'Man...to be you...you've got your whole life ahead of you, you gotta ask yourself...why?'
The smile spreads once again across his face and he outstretched and hand of offering as he continues, 'So listen man: do yourself a favor man: go have a beer, call your family, just do yourself this one favor: forget this match was ever booked. Take it from me, there's better ways to make a buck, right? Live to fight another day? No shame in that.
His face suddenly becomes placid, and he speaks slowly and controlled as, his tone shifts to one that is unmistakably ominous as he continues.
'Now if you DO decide to be brave and of course, we all know that's the decision you'll make, then well...I can't stop you and more importantly, I cannot save you. You will be alone with a Predator...and that makes you the prey.'
The camera zooms in to his just his face now, his eyes, two dark, smoldering orbs which almost burn their way through the lens.
'See, from where I stand..this is an Evolutionary Arms Race...' the smile returns to his face, but none of the menace leaves his voice as he finishes, 'and it looks like you're about to go extinct.'
The scene cuts to the final knee to the mans face and an immediate cut to black.
---------------
@bleacherreport APW just renews rights to the Savage trademark. Click link for full story.**
**Bleacher Report
John Fleming
APW Renews license on Savage trademark today, being granted an extension after the trademark lapsed.
This struck a blow to the son of the famous wrestler Jack Savage, Boyd Savage.
Boyd, who currently wrestles as Jack Derringer in the independent circuit, had applied for the trademark earlier this year and only had this to say:
@jackderringer Its just business. You gotta make money and there’s money in the Savage brand. APW has to do what's right by it and so do we.
Boyd has been trying for some name to secure the rights to his father's trademark name. APW has yet to comment.
---------------
I spoke to the man who was serving as the voice for the Predator once we were done filming. He was under strict instructions to maintain his anonymity. I tried to bridge the gap by offering my first name but be refused. This gig is super important to me, he said.
Another dead end.
It’s almost as if he is toying with me now.
This is the closest I've gotten to the living Myth and I feel like I'm as lost as ever.
Why did he call me?
Why me?
It's hard to say, but I had the feeling that even though it was just the two of us, he was still watching somewhere.
There's not a lot of things I am scared at in life but I will say this: I am terrified of the Predator. Who is he and how does he know me?
More importantly, why did I show up?
We are probably like moths in the flames, me and this actor: a downward spiral. I wished him a good evening and made my way downstairs to be met by the same driver who returned me to sightless quest back to the train stop. It was a long trip home and I thought the worst was past.
It wasn’t until I returned home to realize that the memory card had been removed from the camera.
-------------
'Savage is the champion! Savage is the champion! My God, Savage has done it!'
The man with the red tights hand is raised and the announcer can be heard announcing his name: 'Winner and new APW Intercontinental Heavyweight Champion, Jack Savage.'
Pyrotechnics begin to explode around the ring as the boy leaps to his feet, hands shooting over his head joyously. He begins to re-enact the final elbow on his pillow, bouncing harmlessly off the mattress.
'Turn that off, it’s time for dinner!' shouts a man from the other room, startling the boy.
‘Why?' the boy begins.
'Tenar tiempo en familia! Vamanos!!' responds a woman.
A deep sigh escapes the boy and he thrusts his pillow behind him, reaching for the TV. The boys hand stops just above the power switch as the camera zooms in to the champions face. His hand reaches out and touches the screen: tener tiempo en familia...
------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
Rebels hands are thrust in his pocket as he makes his way around the corner. His eyes dart across the street to a glass store front where he sees the same two people take the same turn as him.
'That’s the third right,' he thought to himself, 'I’m being followed.'
The why didn’t matter. All that mattered was right now. He needed to break their sight. He needed to create separation.
What?
Where?
His eyes scan the road and he sees his chance. A cars headlights can be seen rapidly approaching and there is a alleyway to his right. He can try to outrun the car and duck into the alleyway. The men had increased their pace which was perfect. He tried to slow down and allow the distance to be narrowed.
It’s now or never.
He bolts. The sound of the horn behind him received a responsive groan from the trio and the driver holds on his horn and begins exchanging words with the group. He ducks into the alleyway and halts.
Dead end. He turns on his heel just in time to see the three men enter the alcove.
'The Survival of the Fittest' he thinks.
An Evolutionary Arms race.