M O N S T E R S: pt II

[John Rabid]

A #Beachkrew Event

M O N S T E R S pt II

Written by Oblivion and Johnny Rabid. (OOC: Get well soon Derek!)

1.A STRANGE AND SECRET SHOW

Special Agent Donald Mosley enjoyed his hot brazilian blend with infinite patience; these beans where not your standard Robusta variety; sweetened and grinded into swill for Pilâo, Bom Dia blends, no, Mosley had a discerning pallet; he craved quality in his coffee. This was Verdemar Orgânico Sul de Minas; imported in from Paris, France. Steaming hot in a specially designed thermos flask to retain full flavour; an all together classier blend that could travel, perfectly suiting a man such as Mosley, who spent most of his time on the road; observing suspects on long stakeouts, dissecting mountains of evidence into the small hours; memorizing imagery most normal minds would flinch at out of pure instinct.

Still, as long as the coffee was hot and the pay steady; Donald was happy. He understood this life in a way others could not. Paradoxically; that normal family life everyone seemed to crave, the kids, the home; the two point four children, it all seemed like insanity to Donald. He studied it, but he could never truly believe in it. As if observing the world though Alice’s looking glass. Middle class suburbia, an island annexed from Donald, a deranged jigsaw puzzle that never seemed to fit into Mosley’s daily routine. Perhaps that was why he was so good at his job. To hunt down an outsider, you send in an outsider. As calm and as by-the-book as Donald Mosley was, that’s exactly what he was. Different.

The rain pitter pattered off the windscreen of his large silver Volvo estate. A five door slug that coughed and wheezed up hills but had plush leather seats to seal the deal. On Donald’s neatly suited lap was a file marked:

September 2005: Lister, Jakob.

The name was an echo; distant and meaningless today, for those that knew him now would call him, “Oblivion”; the monster machine. The impending darkness. The ringmaster of that strange and secret show. The FBI, when called out by the media, would often condemn Oblivion’s “performances” as elaborate hoax’s. They treated him as a caricature, a freak of dark comedy. Some of that was true, IT’s landscape of rape and massacre where often fuelled by a mix of reality and fantasy both; a never, never land of horrific excess and mind altering drugs.

Perhaps that was why Oblivion was so suited to the WCF; this Universal Monster was just too big and bombastic to be real, and yet that was his greatest trick. How he stayed free for so long.

Oblivion, was a showman.

But theirin lied the problem, for this strange and secret show; this circus of wild, over the top violence that had played it’s sick, evil games upon the blood soaked stage of glam and glitz that was the WCF; it was now a trap. The show had Imprisoned Oblivion. For no-one believed that Oblivion was real any more. Oblivion had transcended into legend, into folklore. This made the monster, “Marketable” and so was his terror. Like a bottle of YOOHOO. Safe and palatable now. In a world of IS and mass school shootings, Oblivion’s ability to create true fear was on the wane. It lacked bite. IT's mastery of showmanship had backfired. Now he was seen as a holiday joke rather than a monster. A marketing tool rather than a serial killer. Halloween’s favourite mask three years in a row was the God of Insanity. They even used his face once to sell beer on television. It was cheap and warm, but it sold.

Donald opened the folder; the Bureau had given up the ghost on keeping up with Oblivion’s murder spree after their last spat with the monster about six months ago. It just didn’t make sense any more to the directors in Quantico if his ability to simply vanish was so pronounced, that any prolonged manhunt for him would irrevocably wreck their credibility. Best to simply brush Oblivion under the carpet and move on.

But for Donald, understanding Oblivion now at this particular juncture was of great importance. The Owls where circling. He could sense them closing in. They had made moves, important strides into the North American continent; a mass recruitment programme was underway. Their biggest in years. An army was forming, and old scores would be settled. A huge sway of executions committed with world wide malice as their fingers stretched out and squeezed.

Donald had, at first, suspected that Scarecrow’s murder was an Owl attack. It had all the hallmarks. A sudden strike to take out a potential threat. The lack of evidence due to an intricate cover-up. Donald had himself instantly assigned to the case from the off as a way of discovering an avenue into this clandestine organisation. If Donald could pinpoint a snitch, someone on the inside he could break and put the lean on; then Donald could prise them apart, sack their dirty little mind for information. That snitch could lead Mosley to one of the Owl’s cells; and their, the possibility of exposing their activities would finally become a reality.

It was a solid plan; until one ordinary day in late October when the call came. It was a deputy director. Apologetic, but stern. The Scarecrow case was closed. Mosely suspected Owl influence; but the corruption came further afield. From Poon Guinea, from a man with diplomatic immunity named, Bobby Cairo.

Just when everything felt like square one again; #Beachkrew happened. Mosley stayed assigned to the WCF as a “Homeland security consultant”; it was the best made up position Mosley could come up with in a pinch. Thankfully, The Thickness and their IS hoax played right into Donald’s lap. Speaking of which:

That folder. Donald’s eyes scanned the photo’s; decapitated bodies, mutilated corpses; standard fare for the more discerning psychotic. Mosley sipped his coffee, searching for something that might prove an avenue into the mind of Oblivion. A monster Mosely suspected of carrying the key that unlocked the Owl conspiracy.

Mosely searched though that dusty old folder and found several pages from a photocopied manuscript; “Masks: The face of a Monster”. Oblivion had decided to document his life. It had the same circus tent feel as most of his works. Playing both the king and the fool in equal measure. If nothing else, his way with words was...entertaining. Even though this was, as with the man himself, just a mask to hide his true horror.

Mosely studied the pages, and began to read:

2.EXTRACTS FROM A SHATTERED MIND

My name is Jakob Lister. I am a mask; just another step on a path that leads to Oblivion. If you follow me? You will find me. If you search for me? You will find me. You will find Oblivion, as I have. And their, in the darkness; in the cold and the misery. I will laugh; but you will never see the smile. For faces are masks. In Oblivion? No such lies exist; not between friends. Never between us.

If you want to walk my path? First you must pick up the trail. There are a million places to start. I have practised my craft everywhere, and in everytime. But, I’d prefer us to begin here; at the moment of my greatest trumph. For in order for you to understand me, you first must understand my acts. Many do not, they accuse IT of showmanship. Of playing the fool. Of grandiose displays. It is not IT’s job to entertain? To stand upon the stage of the strange and secret show and bow, and offer forth wonder?

Stephan Johnson; he was my greatest wonder. For a year I wore his mask, for a year I stole his life and made it my own. Then, when the time was right? I tore that life down. I destroyed Ace Slaughter. Before that glorious day, I watched him cower and beg for death. It made a warm spot appear, just in the middle of my chest. It tickled like a butterfly. It’s wings where soft.

That great day began with two lifeless bodies just hanging from the tree. Swinging back and forth. The larger body had more momentum, it’s swinging was more pronounced. The motion similar to a pendulum, it’s female organs on display, ripped open from below the sternum to her vagina. Looking similar to a prepped cut open baked potato.

Blood was sprayed everywhere, intestines and other vital organs barely hanging. Arms tied back. Face stained with tears. But, the woman was not alone. In fact the additional death was a surprise, a joyious bundle of fun that filled my mouth with bile. The first death was a result of jealousy. The second death? Was the result of hate.

As the Autumn breeze continued to blow past, the sun set. The smaller shadow cast down a cutout image of a foetus, hanging by its umbilical cord. The baby wasn't even close to full term. This activity was deliberate. Hate controls the scenery. That’s what you lean at art school by the way. Emotions and scene setting.

With nearby sirens echoing, I heard a horrific scream bellow out.....

Stephan Johnson; the destroyed man, his child was dead before him. This shallow, callious man. Ruined from the heart down. He dropped to his knees screaming with heartbreaking devastation. Confusion tattooed across his face. My work. I put that there.

Oh, it was glorious.

Stephan Johnson: You where pregnant? Why didn't tell you me? Christ help us!

The police cruisers pulled up, always that second too late aren’t they?

Those sirens played a merry tune. A celebration of my beautiful trap. Simple and elegant it was, I called Johnson's wife Stephanie, pretending to be her dear husband. Pretending to be that shallow man, that little man. The man I once called friend in high school. Back then I was Jakob Lister, that was my mask at the time. Lister and Stephan we’re inseparable, which is why we both fell in love with Stephanie in our freshman year I suppose. Too alike in our ways, apart from the obvious. But, Stephanie, she chose to be with Stephan, rather than Jakob. Sensing the good I imagine. The humanity. The stink of the lie.

The hate manifested and grew. But the friendship lasted between Jakob...IT and Stephan. It endured. That was until graduation. We lost contact with each other, as Stephan and Stephanie grew closer, eventually getting married before Stephan began training in wrestling across Japan and Mexico, then signing with IWA. Life was well for Stephan and Stephanie, Stephan wrestling as "Superstar" Ace Slaughter in both WWA and HWF, winning world titles in both organizations. Those days must have smelt of roses and wine.

Then, 2004 rolled by. The year reality smacked them both in the face with a brick. It seemed like out of nowhere, Jakob Lister attacking Stephanie, the rape attempt. But, due to plea deal, Lister...IT... Well, that lucky old bastard just got a year. A YEAR! HA! Lister watched as Slaughter signed with NeWA. Winning championships, eventually achieving something that not even his beloved, stupid Slaughtermaniacs saw coming, Ace Slaughter enjoyed a filtration with evil, pantomime evil, joining that year’s evil empire, Team NWA.

But it wasn’t true hate, that was always my speciality. Hate, coursing through the veins, it was ready, prepared this time. But as for Ace Slaughter? He had no idea. If only he knew, if you decide to pay the devil? If you assume that role? You first have to afford the price.

Poor Ace Slaughter, it was as if God himself was displeased. The investigative reports after their bodies where discovered stated that Stephanie Johnson was tricked into meeting someone in the woods. She ended up being chased, cuts and bruises on her knees and feet confirmed this, but eventually she was caught, then raped, by...Jakob Lister.

The mask I wore.

Stephanie Johnson became physical at the news, can’t imagine why....he fought back, ever the hero. That enraged IT, that’s when years of rejection echoed out, Lister struck Stephanie over and over and over again, with a large rock. As Stephanie was barely conscious, Lister strung up Stephanie, who begged Jakob not to hurt her baby. That ended up being her, their death sentence.

Lister's life changed forever as he ripped into Stephanie Johnson’s womb, seizing that unborn baby and squeezing the life out of it. Stephan Johnson was committed to Withlacoochie Mental Hospital, guess he didn’t enjoy my masterpiece, huh? IT was sentenced to the same hospital that year, until poor old me was deemed no longer a risk to human health. HA! It was there, in the hospital, where that Jakob Lister, he got worse. A lot worse. Medications that was supposed to distributed never arrived. The hospital pocketed money, giving their patients placebos and a pat on the head.

That was the time I realised I was wearing a mask. One that had to be cut away. Just to see what was underneath. And their, below. In the dark. In the madness...I found IT.

Oblivion was waiting. It shook my hand and lead the way. But to be worthy of IT; I had to find a mask to wear that proved my credentials. And then I remembered. My greatest triumph.

Stephan. Ace.

After I was released, I signed with Wrestling Championship Federation. I wore the mask of Ace Slaughter. Stephan Johnson's old wrestling gimmick was my trophy now. That's when the great game began. That was the first, true step on my path. If you walk such a journey with me, remember this. No matter what name you take. Whose face you wear. It’s all a mask. A lie. Oblivion can smell it out. Oblivion cannot be fooled. I know you...

KNOCK, KNOCK!

...I know what you are beneath that mask....

KNOCK, KNOCK!

...Cut it away! Show Oblivion that you understand the meaning of masks.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

...Walk the path with me.

Special Agent Donald Mosley shook his gaze from the page as he looked up and saw a large, looming form outside the vehicle. It tapped once more against the window paine, eager for a response.

Donald couldn’t make out any discerning detail due to the wind and the rain. He squinted, but this didn’t afford him any new information. Mosely chanced his luck and wound the window down.

2.THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT

Kyle Kemp pulled his overcoat tight to his chest and waved a visiting pass under the nose of Donald Mosely, the special agent nodded, then scanned the WCF carpark for another, missing figure.

Special Agent Mosley: Where’s, Mister Brown? I wanted to speak to him also. Not just #Beachkrew.

Kyle Kemp: Sorry about that. I’m afraid couldn’t make it. Something about a change of heart I hear. Interviewers always get cold feet when the shoe is on the other foot. Like Doctor’s I’d imagine. I’m sure he’ll be fine and receptive in the morning. Any chance we can hurry this up? My boxers are soaked.

Agent Donald Mosley: And Rabid?

Kyle Kemp: He has duties with Seth to attend to. Taking care of some nervious souls I’d imagine. Shall we?

Donald nodded and exited the vehicle; they both ran towards reception as their forms where under assault by the downpour, a few moments later, and they disappeared inside.

= = = + = = = + = = = = + = = =

The editing room inside the WCF was state of the art; off line and on line, it made no difference. This was the pulsing heartbeat of all those promos fans saw throughout the week on the network. Raw footage cut and spliced together to create a modern era of magic. Except of course for Biohazard; they never excepted compromise.

Mosely and Kemp sat in the gallery that was hunched over the workstations. It was here that Seth Lerch would usually oversee the production and make judgement calls. A cut here, a splice there. Seth was the master storyteller of the whole WCF. No matter what you had to say, first it had to sing to Seth Tiberius Lerch.

Seth was busy this night; dining with Johnny Rabid and a table of the “great and the good”. Seth’s work never stopped; even now he was securing favours he knew he’d have to call upon five, perhaps six months down the line. The engine that was the WCF never stopped. It just kept on. And on. A relentless monster all it’s own.

Kyle Kemp: What did you want to see me about, Agent? Is the Scarecrow case closed?

Agent Donald Mosely: No body. No crime. Even with the confession from Bobby Cairo, seeking a prosecution would cause diplomatic tensions to arise between the U.S and another sovereign country. The United States can’t afford more instability with it’s name attached. Even for one of its citizens. Apparently.

Kyle Steel: Sounds like you’re reading from a cue card, if you don’t mind me saying.

Agent Donald Mosely: I’m glad it’s obvious. Justice shouldn’t have a limitation. Or fear attached.

Kyke Kemp: I agree. Although I’d have to say, fear does have it’s uses. Especially in my business. Intimidation. It can buy you a second, just one precious second is all it takes to open up that gap between success and failure. Here in the WseaF, we all work with finate percentages. Slender advantages. I suppose its the same in your line of work. Fighting against the clock. Looking for evidence.

Agent Donald Mosely: That’s an interesting analogy. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to fire back now with a retort thats a little more...literal.

Kyle Kemp: Which is?

Agent Donald Mosely: Masks.

Kyle smirks.

Kyle Kemp: Excuse me? I don’t follow.

Agent Donald Mosely: Owl masks. In a workplace such as yours, that doesn’t sound too unusual, does it?

Kyle exhales; eyes searching for a different point in the room to focus.

Agent Donald Mosely: How this, Oblivion. What’s it like to associate yourself with a man who is capabe of such attocity?

Kyke fires back.

Kyle Kemp: What’s it like to never catch him? Or do you have a cue card for that too? Let me tell you something about Oblivion. He’s too big for this company. People wonder why he’s still considered by Seth and the upper management to be this enduring star when his win/loss record is nothing special. It’s because you have to motivate him. Peak his interest. You have to be worthy of his sarcasm, of his wit. Look down below you now. They’re cutting one of his promo’s together.

Oblivion’s Promo:

Electrical drilling and sawing are heard. A human torso is viewed, that’s been surgically sliced opened, exposing ribs. Large battered, blood stained gloves entertaining barbed wire between the ribs. The barbed wire is electrically charged by a car battery. The wire is attached to two light bulb sockets.... One socket attached between two shoulders. Where a human head used to be, the second light socket is placed. Where the two legs should of been? More "human sockets" has been created. Wires and circuitry. Flesh and bone. And now..

Loud, boisterous laughter, as the viewpoint pans up, showing a proud smiling Oblivion is seen.

Oblivion: Viola!! The Human lamp!!

Kyle Kemp: The human lamp. Now, you tell me. Is that not a man who enjoys his work? Try not to think of the cadaver that once was, more the visual gag that now is. It’s easier that way. The Sentinals. The people’s choice. We know they’re going to come after Oblivion. Everyone does. So tell me, do you listen to ants?

Agent Donald Mosely: Sorry?

Kyle Kemp: The WseaF thinks Oblivion has lost his way because we see him from the perspective of an ant. His “problem” to us is that it appears he doesnt care anymore. That loss at One to Bonnie Blue? What does it actually mean to an Oblivion on the grand scheme of things? A tussel with a cloned Timekeeper. It sounds crazed, and it is..to us. But not to him. Not to a man like Oblivion, a man that has stood upon the shores of a prehistoric world and watched our first ancestors crawl out onto the land from primordial soup. Oblivion has done and seen it all. World Champion. Tag Team Champion. US Champion. The most decorated active wrestler in the WCF today is Torture. Then who? Jayson Price? He’s only active when his card hasn’t been declined on a porn site. Creeping Death? The man with the loss every couple of months? No, Oblivion is your most active and decorated wrestler today. He has more titles than a Spencer Adams can possibly dream about. That’s the problem, what’s left? What hill is left for him to climb?

Perhaps lethargy has set in. Ask a Logan. It happens to the best of them. When you’ve done it all, what’s left to do? Oblivion amuses himself. He gets the blood flowing with sight gags and whimsey. People don’t see the joke. Oblivion doesn’t care. He’s eaten his way through as many critics as he has done prom queens. His diet is not complex.

Agent Donald Mosely: You admire that?

Kyle Kemp: I respect it.

Oblivion’s Promo:

Several experiments are seen, including a skeleton, decomposing skin hanging off, where multiple arms have been attached, with a label on it... "Human Hat Rack"

TWO HOURS LATER

Oblivion is seen by ITself, with something in IT's hands. A couple of manilla folders. Court papers, arrest records and mental hospital records are hanging out of said folders. A DVD of court proceedings of The State of Florida vs. Jakob Lister.

Usually, Oblivion would have The Pet, Mini Oblivion, and Stitches manning cameras. But, The Monster decided no unnecessary distractions from The Gathering and The Vixens. The Children of The Monster were told not to be around. Experiencing the past could get ugly.... REAL QUICK.

Oblivion holds a mask of Ace Slaughter aloft, it gives IT instant memories of Stephan Johnson. Deep within that tarnished soul, the body of Oblivion contemplates the agony of identity. It’s importance to Oblivion is still...worth considering it would seem.

For almost five years, Oblivion was known as Paul Jackson, until an excruciating match unfolded, at it’s conclusion Oblivion collapsed, unmasking the truth to the world. He announced that his name was Jakob Lister. At the same time, Stephan Johnson came out of his chemically induced coma to see his old mask on his wife’s killer. Instantly the old pain, the old terror roared out. Both Jakob Lister and Stephan Johnson, thousands of miles apart screamed out in a simultaneous moment of revenge and agony. One, always tethered to another.

Flash and Dune.

Two separate entities bonded by brutal circumstances. Parallel universes exist inside WCF. Including Joey Flash's personal war against a fellow monster...named Dune.

Oblivion: No matter how hard you try, special memories slip through your fingertips. Looking through all these transcripts, these... OH MY GOD... these lovely, beautiful precious memories. IT can still smell the trees. That Autumn day. Her skin. Velvet skin. Smooth. Her insides, warm, also velvety. Hate poured out through her eyes. But her hips, loins told a different. You pacified morons called it rape. It was delayed love making. Multiple orgasms said she enjoyed it.

Instantly, rage comes out.

Oblivion: But... but... THAT FUCKING BITCH!! She screamed out Stephan's name. HOW COULD SHE OF DONE THAT?! ALL THOSE YEARS I LOVED HER... SHE CHOSE THAT LOSER INSTEAD OF ME!! FUCK THAT BITCH!! But, there is comparison in IT's world. Dune and others claim that Dune and Oblivion are completely different. We are the same. Our techniques are different, in some ways.

IT would rather dwell, investigate, gather information not just in the six discarded, soon to be defeated bodies of the Sentinas and The People’s Choice, but in their families. How can they focus, concentrate if The Dark Messiah took into possession something so important to them, such as other family members?

Ha!

But, look at what we have... On our team we already have the WCF World Tag Team Champions. Oblivion a multi-timed champion. As much as that PAINS everyone to hear, Oblivion IS a success!! Beachkrew is a success!! People's Choice is desperate visualization of what people crave, begging into something that they NEED to believe in. Pantheon is a shadow of it once was.

Beachkrew is something true and pure. Oblivion needed something pure to remind him how sweet corruption is. Now the monster is treading on the right track. WCF doesn't want that. Look at their actions towards Beachkrew. We are light and the truth. Oblivion needed something to believe in. Beachkrew saved The Monster. Give a way back to purpose! Beachkrew will help Oblivion get back on the right path. Championship gold is within IT’s reach. There are barely any obstacles now in IT’s way, just the incessant whining of a yuppie child and his Degrazzi junor his pals in the People’s chice. Joey Flash, the mask that slipped to reveal the frail human beneath..Mister Joseph Malignaggi Ha! And just for a few precious moments their I though he understood the meaning of masks. But he doesn’t at all, does he? Flash pretends to be a man now; hiding in among the sentinals, living a lie because the truth, it burns right into his skin like acid. Tearing though his eyes and pouring sweet agony into the heart.

I want to feast on that.

Kyle Kemp: I know, Special Agent. Oblivion is “theatrical”. But isn’t that how you talk to a child?

Agent Donald Mosley: He sees us as Children?

Kyle Kemp: He did, until we got to him. All he needed, where equals.

Oblivion’s Promo:

Oblivion: The People's Choice are a joke. What can you say about Spencer Adams, Vic Venable and Teo Del Sol? Adams, the first brave soul to utter out words, for his team. Venable, Oblivion has spilled the blood of his brother Franky, similar DNA will be spilled in this match. Del Sol, who is a masked brother who is disciplined in practices that The Monster is very familiar in. Those smaller wrestlers, in this match are the appetizers in this buffet of a match.

Why food? Why compare such an important match, with championship gold on the line, with food? Beachkrew are hungry!! Not just in theory, but in reality. There is absolutly no structure within Wseaf, except for Beachkrew! They are structure! With all the gold, WCF will have no choice but to listen to them... ARE YOU LISTENING WCF?! OR DO YOU HAVE YOUR HEADS UP YOUR ASSES?! Hiding from the truth?! WCF is full of blind, deaf and dumb scattering monkeys. They need something to believe in. We are the truth. We are the light. That is why Oblivion has to to be ignite the light of truth within IT's self. The straight and narrow is not a good fit for Oblivion, but The Monster does believe in Beachkrew.

With no true definition of a true power within WCF, the team of Howard Black, that man formerly known as Joey Flash and Occulo are apparently now ordained as the next "second coming". That is why Beachkrew must stop them. Those three could ruin theWseaF!! They would spoil WCF rotten! My children, listen to me. That is why Beachkrew is going to protect WCF, protect you. Even if... YOU HEAR THAT WCF... Even if it is against your will, Beachkrew will protect you from Occulo, Howard Black and Joey Flash. They cannot be the next Pantheon. That stands against everything is that true inside of Oblivion.

But, for this buffet to be a success, it needs an Entre. That will be the Occy-black duck. Joseph, you thought IT forgot about your quack-quack disorder?! Hell no!! Howie!! Howie!! Fade in Black? No... IT WILL BE BLACK FADED OUT!! OCCULO... Occulo must be blind in his desire to win. Because he cannot see the truth in front of him. Beachkrew is the the way for WCF to live by. But, for that to happen, Beachkrew has to win. For us to win, OblivSEAon has to be The Monster Guardian of the Brocean!! Beachkrew has helped The Monster find ITs true evil spirit. Oblivion lost ITs way, but Wade Moor, Los Tiberones, Kyle Kemp and Johnny Rabid helped the true internal Sea Monster to expand out. Which is great for Oblivion, but horrible for Black, Flash, Occulo and The People's Choice.

WCF, what you are now looking at is more defined and complicated Monster. Get IT's way? And Oblivion will cut you down. Think it's a damn joke... LOOK INTO THESE EYES!!! At Slam, Kyle Kemp, Johnny Rabid and The Monster Oblivion will go through all six of you small worthless trites and continue to be the best, the very best....

Oblivion, Johnny Rabid and Kyle Kemp are your new WCF Trios Champions!!!

Back to the gallery:

Kyle Kemp: I think we can probably lose about a third of that. But that's just me. The point is this Agent. You ask me here to talk to you about masks. Joey Flash has decided to be Joseph Malignaggi. The world thinks he’s taken off his mask and revealed his soul. But it’s all in reverse. Flash was the true Joseph Malignaggi. What we have now is spin; bore out of the death of his child. To fight that, to fight the spin of a group of Sentinels trying to avert a PR disaster, you side with a man that is an expert in cutting away masks. You side with Oblivion.

These Owls? Don’t know them. But I know the masks that I’ll face Sunday night. I know we’ll see through them. We’ll cut them away. Cut down the politics and the ambition. Once more; #beachkrew shows the way, Agent. If we see any of these Owls in route? I’ll give you a call. Best I can do.

Agent Donald Mosely: Nice cue card.

Kyle Kemp: Thanks I...

Kyle’s phone vibrates on silent; he checks a text message as the blood eeks out from his face. The room spins as the world collapses in on itself.

A member of #beachkrew, has died.

To be continued.