The Reaper's Hourglass I: Demonization
Jan 29, 2016 20:44:37 GMT -5
Logan, Vengeance, and 8 more like this
Post by God King Dune on Jan 29, 2016 20:44:37 GMT -5
Light spoils the darkness as a closed eyelid covers the screen. We zoom out slowly, revealing its twin beside the bridge of a nose chiseled in between. The pair of eyelids are unflinching, their owner lost in the darkest depths of a dreamless sleep. And as the unending whisper of something like dry rain greets our ears, the man’s distinctive bald head and half-masked face come into view.
Dune’s eyelids begin to flutter before they flick open, revealing a set of icy blue eyes that stare up in bewilderment. We continue to zoom out slowly, and soon we see that he lies upon a growing mound of sand that stretches to the corners of the screen.
We pass beneath a curtain of falling grains that descend from some unseen origin. We begin to course upstream through the river of sand, tilting down for only a moment to see Dune once more, now buried to his waist beneath the accumulation below. Around us, the air is oddly refracted, and two large, ornate pillars stand far off in the distance.
Higher and higher we climb, until finally the sand-stream’s churning wellspring is revealed.
Zooming out from the glass that surrounds us, we once more see Dune far below, his torso buried to the pit as his arms flail on either side of his sinking head. And as the final grains of sand are spit forth from within the topside of the great hourglass before us, a dark, monstrous hand takes hold of its base and cuts through the void without.
Jackal: Wake up.
The echo reverberates as he speaks again.
Jackal: Wake up.
The hand and the hourglass begin to fade into the nether, as does the echo of the Jackal’s voice, and Dune awakens to the sound of a friendlier tone.
Freeman: Wake up!
The old man gives him a hard shove.
Freeman: Dune! Wake - !
Dune: I’m awake!
Freeman: Well it’s about fucking time! Jesus - you’ve been talking in your sleep for the past half hour!
Dune: What was I saying?
The old man looks away.
Freeman: Nothing. Look at you - you’re sweating like a pig!
Dune: I couldn’t breathe...
Freeman: Just like last time. It’s only a dream, Dune. You’ve got to remember that it’s only a dream!
Dune: This one feels all too real. And after all, some dreams come true.
Freeman: Not most of them; not the one you’ve been having the past few weeks. You’ve got to wake yourself up inside the dream; you’ve got to wake yourself up inside your self. That’s the only way you’ll ever defeat him...should he come back for you.
“No it’s not,” Dune says to himself as he considers the Jackal, the beast who’d been pulling at his strings since birth. Each of the tragedies that had befallen him were masterminded by the Jackal: the death of his parents when Dune was an infant; the murder of his older brother and the subsequent scars he received when he was 15; the trauma-induced coma his one true love, Pinky, had slipped into just before WAR XIV; and finally, the murder of young Christian Malignaggi while the beast was in total command of Dune’s vessel.
The memory of the terrible sight while trapped inside himself, helpless to regain control, flashes across his mind’s eye before he snaps out of it and sits up in bed.
Dune: He’s coming back, Freeman. There’s no question. When, where...how...I can only speculate at. He may well appear right now through those -
Dune and Freeman turn their heads as their peripheral vision picks up a large shadow moving toward them. When it sees the two men’s eyes upon it, it sprints toward them...
A massive rottweiler - Dune’s oldest and most loyal companion - hops onto the bed and begins licking the sweat off his master before he shoves the hound aside.
Dune: Bastard.
Freeman: Think it’s the Jackal?
He says it jokingly as he calls the beast over with his hands. The rottweiler dashes over, tail and rear end wagging, and he gleefully soaks up the attention the old man provides him with. Freeman looks up thoughtfully as Dune continues to shake off the cobwebs of sleep.
Freeman: I mean...it could be, you know.
Dune: No...he’s used that way of getting to me before, and he’s not one to repeat himself. Besides, he’s got Pinky, wherever he is, and when he comes back - whether through her or with her flung over his shoulders - she’ll be there, and he’s going to make a show of it. When he does, I’m going to give him just what he wants.
Freeman: You.
Dune’s eyes flick up at Freeman, who shakes his head and turns away. He’s tried to talk Dune out of it - to talk him into resisting the Jackal - but no amount of persuasion has made him budge.
Freeman: He’ll kill you, Dune. If you do this, it’ll be the end of you.
Dune: Not right away. If he were smart he’d do it then...but it’s not a matter of being smart for him. This is what he does for fun. He gets off on playing his twisted rendition of the puppet master, and he’s made it clear his plan for me is a deliberately slow death...which, of course, means time is on my side.
Freeman furrows his brow and nods sarcastically.
Freeman: Right, of course that’s what it means. Not that, once the Jackal takes over you body, he’ll never relinquish control of it.
Dune: I’ve got a plan, Freeman.
Freeman: Does it have something to do with Vengeance’s Sixx Demons or whatever it was he brought out on you this past Sunday?
Dune: No...no...goddamn, I couldn’t tell you what happened out there. I’m just glad I got out when I did. I’ve got enough bullshit in my life to worry about; I’m not looking to pile any more wood onto the fire.
Freeman: No? And yet with all this madness going on, you’re still gonna go out there this Sunday and try to take on two of your equals in Occulo and Howard Black.
As if on cue, a cold, hard scowl comes over Dune’s face at the mere mention of their names.
Dune: I must. It’s the only way.
Freeman: The only -
Freeman cuts himself off in frustration as the uselessness of arguing occurs to him. He turns away and walks toward the open double-doors that lead into a comfortable open-lounge area with a small kitchen in the far corner. After a long moment, he sighs.
Freeman: I’m going up by the entrance...to keep watch…
Dune: He’ll see you long before you see him.
He turns on Dune in a flash.
Freeman: I don’t care if he sees me! Better me than you! I haven’t given up this fight - you hear me? I haven’t given up!!
The old man’s bitter rage only excites Dune’s rottweiler, who charges after Freeman as he walks briskly toward an automatic steel-door some twenty yards away. The two of them disappear behind it as it closes shut.
Dune sets his feet on the cool, subterranean floor and finds his vertical base. He stretches, and his spine cracks as he wrings it first right, then left. His neck does the same. He slides into a black t-shirt, and as he reaches for the mask upon his dresser, his deep voice cuts through the silence.
Dune: Neither have I.
He faces away from us as he slides the mask over his butchered mouth and nose before clasping it in the back. He takes a deep breath, exhales, then breathes in another…
He turns on the camera slowly, a sinister look in his eye that seems all too unnatural. He closes on the camera, and when he’s only a few feet away, he halts, and his deep voice breaks the silence once more.
Dune: Have you given up yet, Howard? Something tells me you haven’t. You’ve got a bit of resolve in you. Small man’s syndrome, I suppose.
And what about you, Occulo - have you given up on me, as you’re so fond of doing? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn you’ve forgotten all about our match this Sunday. Fifteen likely means nothing to you...just like the supposed bonds of brotherhood we formed so many months ago.
Do you remember, Occulo - do you remember how it all began? I saved you. I saved you from Joey motherfucking Flash and his Vapor Kings. I saved you as you sat there slumped in the corner, weeping and helpless as a child while they had their way with you
I saved you, Occulo.
You, the fallen.
What, then, did that make me - the first who stood for the fallen?
According to your logic, Occulo, it made me a Sentinel - the original pillar and, for many months now, the only one LEFT standing. And so it remains to this very hour; this very moment. You and Howard can go around and call yourselves whatever you like, but the three of us know what’s what.
Dune strides past the camera, and we cut away to the kitchen as he makes for the refrigerator. He reaches in and pulls out a bowl of eggs and a blood-stained white package. He schlops it down on the counter and turns on two burners atop the stove before his eyes flick up at the screen.
Dune: Where to begin with you, Occulo? You were the first to stab me in the back and the longest to hold the blade in. You cut me deep, old friend, and were it not for my ability to handle loss and its cold, sharp sting far better than most, I likely would have fled for greener pastures long ago. But I came into this Federation alone, and when you washed your hands of me - when Howard Black did the same - that old lonesome feeling was all too familiar. So I remained, and I flourished...for a while. What happened, you ask?
The Jackal happened.
Joey Flash happened.
You know a bit about one, but not the other. Joey Flash was the foundation upon which the Sentinels were built. But I’ve proven your so-called “help” is only a hindrance when it comes to Flash. No, it was only in coming face to face with a beast inhumanely-foul, if you can imagine it, that I realized I may need a bit of help from you. And I did - if only you knew how much I did. But when I reached out for you, you were nowhere to be found.
So came Flash to the desert; so came death; so came the Jackal…
So came WAR XIV.
In the ring that night, before the field battled it out for the World Title I wore around my waist on the way down the ramp, there weren’t two, but three. Joey Flash, driven by a father’s rage only he could know, achieved more than you’ve thus far proven capable of in besting a dominant fighter like myself...but far more than that, he bested the beast who took over my form for much of the fight.
You likely would have died trying to fend off the Jackal, Occulo. Flash nearly did. By One, when I crucified him high above the ring and flung him through the fire as you could never do, he surely wished he would have died when he was given the chance at WAR.
Well this Sunday at Fifteen, Occulo, you’re going to know a similar feeling. While I’m laying down the most vicious, merciless beating you’ve ever received, you’re going to wish I’d have let Joey Flash and the Vapor Kings murder your ass in the ring last spring. You’re going to wish I’d have let your dear old dad have HIS way and beat you to a lifeless pulp in front of your precious WCF Faithful this past summer. You’re going to wish you never came back to the WCF after you abandoned it the first time...because unlike the coward John Mullins, I won’t leave room for a second return voyage.
Dune cracks egg after egg into a stainless steel frying pan and sets it atop one of the burners. He then unfolds the blood-stained white paper to reveal three thick segments of a rattlesnake who was once six feet in length. Dune slices the meat into thin strips and lays them them on another frying pan. They begin to sizzle and pop, and Dune wipes his bloody hands and his knife with a white towel before continuing.
Dune: It all comes back to WAR XIV, Occulo. You were there...there for your big surprise entrance. You had to keep it secret; you had to keep it safe. That way all the other competitors you failed to beat wouldn’t know you were coming...what a plan!
A menacing scowl comes over his face before he turns and flings the blade into the far kitchen-wall. His fiery blue eyes shoot toward the screen.
Dune: You were THERE!
And yet, I was purposely made to be none the wiser. And as you watched me change in the ring - as you watched me fall from the mountaintop - you turned your eyes away; turned your back on me and tried to forget. In doing so, you’ve left me no choice but to exact my own brand of revenge on you.
You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook, did you, Occulo? Surely not. Surely you knew that after I handled Joey Flash, I’d turn my sights directly on you. I imagine that’s why you convinced Howard Black to come out of retirement to try and get the upper hand on me. But attacking me at One after assuming I’d be too weak to defend myself having just battled Joey Flash was the worst move you could have made. It was murder - it was suicide - for not only have you signed your own death warrant, you forged Howard Black’s name beside yours the minute you included him in your devious plans to ruin me.
Oh, wait...I seem to have forgotten. No, you’re not here to ruin me, Occulo; you’re here to save me. You’re here FOR me, not against me. You’ve finally - FINALLY - come to stand for the fallen...or so you would have your followers believe.
But I’ve not fallen, Occulo - save that one night at WAR when I lost the World Title - and I don’t need saving. No, it’s you who needs it, because you’ve got the baddest fighter in the world to deal with this Sunday, and I’ve never been more hell bent on putting on a display of dominance before the masses. I can hardly wait to hear their cries and see them weep as I lay into you with reckless abandon. The streets of Philadelphia will be flooded with tears shed for the fallen Sentinels after I’ve decimated each of you and painted the ring red with your blood.
Dune dumps the rattlesnake-bacon into the mass of eggs, grease and fried blood to boot, and seasons it to his liking before taking it off the burner. He makes himself a hearty plate and sets it down on the counter. Slowly, he reaches behind his head and unclasps his mask, removing it to reveal the deep, jagged scars of old once more. His eyes flick back up at the screen.
Dune: We were brothers, Occulo, but you put an end to that. Once, we could have made the most dominant duo in the Federation. Had you stayed, I have no doubt we would’ve worn WCF tag team gold around our waists, as was the plan from the start. But you fled before we even had the chance to hit the ring as one. I had just won the World Title by the time you decided enough was enough. Come the following week, you were a shell of your former self...and the next you were gone.
Certainly you weren’t jealous of my success, Occulo. Certainly it wasn’t envy that coursed through your veins in place of warm, red blood . You had your chance; the same one I did.
There we were, in the second round of the Trilogy Cup. I pinned the Archduke to advance to the finals, and all you had to do was get past Jay Omega. I held you in high regard, so of course I assumed you’d get the job done, not to mention I wanted a true challenge the following week. I wanted Occulo vs. Dune at Aftermath; the founding Sentinels in the Trilogy Cup final. But it never came...and all because you failed.
I often wonder if you didn’t do so on purpose, knowing I was going to crush Alex Richards after your match was through. It was the Sentinels vs. Pantheon at Explosion, Occulo, and because of you, we split the winnings. I cleaned up your mess a month later at Aftermath, then it was on to Natural Ice Beckman and the World Title. And as I took my rightful place on the throne atop WCF Mountain, you cowered in my shadow and slunk away like a beaten dog.
You were never the same after I won the Title. To this day you remain that same shell of your former self. But your downfall started two months before at Explosion, when I bested you without even having stepped foot the ring with you - as friend or foe. The path along which my rise to power can be traced leads back to a common point which your meandering one crosses through, that being the Trilogy Cup last spring. Explosion was the beginning of the end for you, Occulo. And make no mistake - Fifteen marks that same end, long awaited and long overdue. It’s very simple: I’m going to win, and you’re going to fail...just like old times.
But your failures aren’t on account of my success, Occulo. They’re your own. And if I don’t leave you without a pulse this Sunday, it’ll be wise of you to regard them as such. It isn’t my fault you can only aspire to what I became; to what I’ve become. Likewise, the blame for the hell I’m going to unleash on you at Fifteen is entirely your burden to bear.
You won’t be able to run from me like you have from everything else in your pathetic life. I’ll make sure fleeing the ring isn’t a viable option for you. You’ve incurred the full might of my wrath, and you’ll stand and face me when the killing hour comes. You’ll look me in the eye as I beat the life out of you.
You’ll lose, Occulo. You’ll fall...
You’ll burn.
Dune grabs a fork and digs into the plate of eggs and serpent-bacon before him. Luckily, we don’t watch. Instead, the camera smoothly glides away toward the automatic steel-door at the far end of the room. We pass through its thick covering and find ourselves in a wide, steel-lined tunnel that leads to the outside. We follow the sunlight, and soon two shapes come into view. They stand just inside the entranceway, and the camera slows to a stop within the tunnel before we cut to the entrance.
Freeman stands as still as a statue as he stares out at the sands. Dune’s rottweiler sits beside his feet and does the same. The obedient dog has endured long hours of silence and stillness over a decade-plus of life with his master. But the dog knows that something is amiss, as the behavior of Freeman makes all too clear, and so he doesn’t disturb the man - his second master, more or less - as Freeman ponders his predicament.
Thus, when the massive beast lets out an attention-grabbing growl, it isn’t to play or get a belly-rub; it’s to signal that he sees something...or rather, someone.
Freeman goes into alert mode in hearing the deep growl, and he scans the desert for any sign of movement. He blindly pats the dog on the head.
Freeman: Good boy. Where is he? Where - ...my God.
The beast begins to bay like some rabid dog who’s caught sight of a child with nowhere to run.
Freeman: Jesus….fucking Christ.
Slowly, the camera swings behind Freeman, and we look over his shoulder to see what he sees…
There, closing on the tunnel at the mountainbase, is Pinky, covered in blood from head to toe. She walks toward them on mangled feet, broken and severely scarred from the day the Jackal used them to beat out of the anti-gravity chamber that Dune had put Pinky in before proceeding to trap the Jackal within her comatose body.
Suddenly, Dune’s rottweiler charges.
Freeman: Hey! No! Get back here!
But the dog’s will is his own now, and we switch to his point of view as he approaches Pinky at a startling clip. She’s dazed, but coherent enough to let out a parched-scream at the approaching beast before she falls on her hands and knees. The dog reaches her...but he doesn’t attack. He knows now - knows that the monster who was for so long trapped in her body has broken free; knows that this is the Pinky of old. She reaches out timidly and speaks in a scared albeit soothing tone.
Pinky: It’s ok...it’s ok...it’s me, remember?
The dog wags its tail and licks at her blood-drenched face and neck.
Suddenly though, a sound draws the rottweilers attention away, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up in seeing not one but two men standing outside the tunnel’s entranceway. One is the robed and bearded Freeman; the other is the grey-suited Jackal.
The dog once more begins baying like a hound of hell as he takes off toward him in a sprint
We cut to Freeman and the Jackal, one on either side of the screen. Pinky is a red smear between their faces, blurred by distance, and the savage barking of Dune’s rottweiler pervades the scene as he closes on them. An unseen fire reflects in their eyes, and the Jackal dons a wry grin before he speaks.
Jackal: What’ll it be, old man - save yourself, or die in vain?
Freeman: I’ve been waiting my whole life to die. What better place than here? What better time than now?
Jackal: I can think of none.
He shoots his arm out and grabs hold of Freeman’s throat. The rottweiler comes to within ten yards as the Jackal continues with black eyes and a deep, multi-toned voice.
Jackal: Let me in.
We cut to a shot from over Pinky’s shoulder some thirty yards off. She gasps to see the Jackal disappear; to see Freeman take on a new set of movements...to see the rottweiler pounce atop him and bring him to the ground.
Pinky: Noo- !
She tries to scream again, but her emotions outweigh her ability to convey them through her weakened vessel, and so instead she sobs after a coughing fit, too dehydrated, even, to shed tears, and clutches at the sand with her fingers.
We cut back to the entranceway, where Dune’s rottweiler continues to maul the Jackal-possessed-Freeman. The hound knows the Jackal has taken over, and he continues his relentless assault against the old man’s demonized form with the intention of rendering it lifeless. Little does he know, sadly, is that the Jackal’s plans are going swimmingly.
The Jackal laughs through Freeman, unabated by the pain or loss of blood, and the rottweiler clenches down on his throat and goes for the kill. Just as he does, however, the Jackal pulls the dog’s monstrous skull to his lips and whispers softly in his ear.
Jackal: Let me in.
Freeman’s head flops to the hard steel floor of the tunnel as the dog backs off. The camera follows the Rottweiler as he sneezes and shakes his head. Finally, he calms down, and the voice of the Jackal rings out inside the hound’s skull.
Jackal: You like to play, boy?
Yeah...you’re a good boy, aren’t you?
So let’s play.
We cut back to Pinky, who ducks low and covers her mouth, imagining the worst now that the Jackal has taken over the massive rottweiler. In her mind, any moment could be the one the dog chooses to come and finish the job by killing her alongside Freeman.
Without warning, the dog takes off...but not toward her. The beast begins up the mountainside that looms before them. She sits up on the sand and furrows her brow as she considers why...though it doesn’t take her long to realize what the Jackal is doing. She reaches deep within herself, and with every ounce of strength she has, she calls out through the silent desert air.
Pinky: DUUUUUU -!!!
We cut away mid-scream, deep beneath the mountain where the sunlight is replaced by a cold, industrial glow. There, Dune looks up from the nearly empty plate before him as the distant echo of an all-too-familiar voice greets his ears.
Pinky: - uuuune…
Without another moment’s hesitation, he shoots up from his seat, spilling the plate and knocking over a chair as he sprints for the door. The plate shatters behind us as we follow Dune out into the tunnel. Sunlight scatters oddly across his unmasked face as he turns toward the entranceway. There in the distance, he sees the shadow of a man lying motionless just inside the tunnel. He takes off, and in no time he’s more than halfway down.
It isn’t until he’s ¾ of the way to the downed and bloodied Freeman when he sees the love of his life, Pinky, in perhaps even worse shape despite the distance between them. She calls out his name once more as she catches sight of him through the tunnel.
Pinky: Dune! Hurry!!
But her apparent joyfulness soon turns sour as she gazes up.
Pinky: NOO!! Look out, Dune!!
Dune reaches the outside of the tunnel just as a small rockslide crashes down from above, followed by what appears to be a massive boulder that lands at his feet with a sickening thud. He trips over it, spilling hard onto the sand. He finds his feet in an instant, and turns back around. The sight that greets him sinks him into a pit of despair...
There, at Freeman’s apparently lifeless feet, lies his oldest and most loyal companion - his beloved rottweiler who’s been with Dune through it all.
Pinky continues to scream as Dune makes for the dog. He reaches him and flips him over on his side. He slams on his ribs once, twice, three times, before forming a funnel with his hands and breathing into the dog’s snout. Meanwhile, Pinky’s screams have stopped, and after another cycle of pumping on the dog’s ribs and breathing into his snout, her nearby voice interrupts him.
Pinky: I don’t think that’s gonna work, Dune.
Dune turns and shoots to his feet, towering over Pinky as she wears a wry grin he’d never known before the days leading up to WAR XIV; one he’d never known before he met the Jackal for the first time.
Dune: Let her go. Please...let her go.
A blank expression comes over Pinky’s face before, slowly, the falsely human form of the Jackal steps aside from within her frame. As he does, she slumps to the floor, finally flopping onto it as the Jackal removes himself entirely and dusts off his grey suit.
Jackal: Sometimes, all you have to do is ask.
Dune bends down and reaches for Pinky, but the Jackal steps in between them. He smiles to see Dune back off and stand once more.
Jackal: You always were a subservient little thing...for a while, anyway. From the time I broke you before WAR until the days leading up to One, when you plotted and schemed against me. But I can’t blame you for it. “What would I have done?” I ask myself...only to remember that you’re not me. And so, being the merciful man I am today I’m going to allow you one...more...chance.
Dune: I accept.
Jackal: Ha! Fool. As if you have a choice in the matter.
Dune remains silent for a long moment. Finally, he takes a step back and spreads his arms.
Dune: I know what you want.
The Jackal grins.
Jackal: But do you know why? Do you know for what purpose?
Dune’s only response is a single nod of his head, and with it, the Jackal takes a slow step toward him.
Jackal: They don’t want you, Dune. They want me. The foolishness between the three of you is infinite, but theirs more than doubles yours by a wide margin. As you can attest, I don’t suffer unfavorable characteristic in men, women, or children alike, especially when it’s aimed at somehow bringing about my end.
The Jackal sneers at the very idea, though Dune catches sight of a tinge of worry and doubt that shows through for only an instant before the Jackal’s eyes find Dune’s.
Jackal: You’ll be a good host, Dune. You certainly were before. We’ve done great things together, haven’t we?
His face goes sour as Dune remains silent.
Jackal: Haven’t we?
Dune: Yes.
Jackal: And we’ll do that and more this time around. I’ll give it back to you, Dune. That is, so long as you don’t prove to be too willful a host. Understand?
Dune: Yes.
Jackal: Well then, what are we waiting for? Let me in.
And he disappears, leaving only Dune standing amongst the three bodies at his feet. He looks down upon the ravaged Freeman and Pinky; upon the closed eyes of the rottweiler who lies with his tongue hanging from his mouth. He sees this and turns away as if he never had, and we follow him as he strides into the darkness of the tunnel within the mountainside. Coolly...calmly...his deep voice spreads out across the thick silence.
Dune: Hello boys - Occulo...Howard Black. I’d heard whispers of your intentions for my host, here - whispers of your plans for me, even while you weren’t sure I was REAL at all. But that was before you spoke with one Joseph Malignaggi - before you got the story from the source. I have unfinished business with your third-mate just as I have unfinished business with the two of you, because nobody - man or other - can lay plans against me without suffering the consequences. My host would confirm it, were he not locked away somewhere up here.
He taps Dune’s bald head as he passes the automatic steel-door that leads into the lounge and kitchen area of the subterranean complex, continuing on into the darkness.
Further down, we come to a stop at an elevator. The Jackal presses a button to open the doors, then steps inside and turns to face the camera. The doors close, and we sink beneath the ground on a route parallel to that of the elevator. Two floors down, we come to a stop, and the doors open to reveal the Jackal-possessed-Dune once more. He saunters out of the elevator before turning toward an open doorway on his left. He glares and makes for it, and we cut to the room beyond as he strides through the doorway.
Within, the broken anti-gravity chamber which once held Pinky - and therefore, the Jackal - greets us. A grin touches the corners of Dune’s butchered mouth as his tongue comes to rest on his bottom lip, amused at the memory of his violent escape from within.
Dune: I see he hasn’t cleaned up the place in my absence. In that regard, Dune makes for a terrible host. But when I’m here - when I’m at the helm - he does just fine. You’ll know that bitter truth soon enough, Howard Black - family man who never wanted one to begin with. Don’t feel guilty, Howard - none truly do.You needn’t feel alone...not yet anyway. Save those feelings for this Sunday when we lock eyes in that ring of mortals you dance around in at your convenience.
And you, Occulo...you, who to this day wants nothing more than for your daddy to hold you in his arms and tell you he loves you; that he’s proud of his little boy. Why should he though? You’ve given him nothing to be proud of. You were his shame, and even if he’s gone now, you’ll remain your father’s shame for as long as you live...which, if you’re lucky, might only be a few more insufferable days.
But you’ll suffer through them all the same, just as you’ll suffer the combined wrath of myself and your former partner in the ring this Sunday night. You’ll suffer like I suffered, trapped inside a mother freshly stripped of her right to truly call herself one. I can’t tell you what I’ve been made to endure since One...but as I told my host before he willingly gave himself up to me, I’m free at last. Free to do as what I want to whomever I want at any time of my choosing - just like the good old days.
The Jackal walks over to the shattered anti-gravity chamber, grabbing one of the remaining shards of glass and squeezing down on it. It cracks before finally shattering, and blood spills forth from his hand as he bends down and scoops up a handful of shards. His icy blue eyes are alight with fire as he looks up at the screen.
Dune: You see this, Occulo - this bloody, broken mass? This is your fate.
He clenches his fist, crushing the shards into a jagged powder that mixes with his blood. He opens his palm and flicks his wrist, dusting the remaining shards off on his pant leg before he stands up. He takes a deep breathe and locks onto the screen.
Dune: To come close to death - as I admit I may well have when I found myself trapped inside the girl - can change even a being so superior as me. And, after finally breaking free of those mortal chains my accomodating host strapped me down with, can you imagine the feeling I might get to learn that there are forces at work against me once more? Can you imagine what that might drive me to do? Surely you can sympathize. Strange forces have been at work on you for years and years, Occulo...and where did they drive you?
A wrestling ring - one branded by the WCF.
And wouldn’t you know it, but your foolish endeavors have led me to the exact same arena. This won’t be my first go around; I’ve been here before. But you and I...we’re yet to meet. And I can’t wait to see the desperation take root and blossom deep down in those eyes of yours. The Cold is nothing compared to me, Occulo, for I am the Fire...and you’re merely a fallen branch of the once great tree that stands in the path of my ever-spreading flame.
Yes...you’ve fallen, Occulo.
Now you’ll burn.
The Jackal walks toward the open doorway he came in through. He stops when he reaches it though, peering over a rail at a glass box marked by a red circle with a diagonal line through it. “Warning,” it reads...though the words shatter as the Jackal slams Dune’s fist through it and punches in a red button marked by the white outline of a flame.
The lights go dim before a rotating red one replaces it. Sirens wail beneath the earth, and the Jackal walks out of the room and back toward the elevator. This time, we follow him as he steps on board. The door closes, and after a silent trip two floors up, he steps off...
BOOM!!!
An explosion rocks the tunnel, but the Jackal doesn’t pay it any mind. Nor does he acknowledge the flaming ball of fire that shoots up through the elevator shaft and licks at the back of his head as he strides toward the sunlight a hundred or more yards ahead. He stops when he reaches the automatic steel-door that leads to Dune’s current living quarters and makes his way through.
The door slides shut behind him, and the camera cuts to a view from within, zooming in slowly on Dune as the Jackal speaks vicariously through him.
Dune: And you, Dune - my vengeful host. I know you can hear me. Allow me to reiterate that as soon as I render your old pals Howard Black and Occulo lifeless beneath the lights of that place you call home, I’ll give you your body back. Of course I will. But as I said - I have unfinished business - and I require your complete and total obedience until I say otherwise. I needn’t tell you this...but I will anyway:
The camera continues to close on Dune’s unmasked face as it takes on an inhuman expression.
Dune: Don’t step out of line. You know what’s at stake here. Should I sense that you don’t have my best interests at heart - and, therefore, your best interests - I’ll make the remaining time I allow you on this hellish planet more bleak and hopeless than you can possibly imagine.
The camera stops as his face comes to fill the screen.
Dune: You’ve been a good host thus far. You’ve done my bidding well. It’s why I’ve been so good to you in return. I could’ve killed you at any moment of my choosing throughout your entire life...but I’ve found a much more valuable use for you than death. We’re partners, Dune. You and me…
Forever.
A devilish grin comes over his face as the camera begins to zoom in once more. Soon we can go no further without passing through, and the screen darkens as silence takes hold...but only for a moment.
In the void, the sound of a persistent, dry-rain greets our ears. The darkness is slow to fade, and when it does we see the same closed eyelid we saw at the outset. This time though, as we back away from it, Dune’s eye doesn’t shoot open, and as the falling sand piles on top of him, he remains lost in a dark and dreamless sleep somewhere deep inside his own mind.
The camera zooms out of the hourglass as the sand continues to bury Dune, and once more we see the monstrous black hand gripping firmly to the giant, ornate relic. It’s the hand of the Reaper himself - the Jackal - and his deep, multi-toned howl scatters the silence like savage thunder. The light begins to fade, and as the echo dies, darkness reclaims the screen.
Dune’s eyelids begin to flutter before they flick open, revealing a set of icy blue eyes that stare up in bewilderment. We continue to zoom out slowly, and soon we see that he lies upon a growing mound of sand that stretches to the corners of the screen.
We pass beneath a curtain of falling grains that descend from some unseen origin. We begin to course upstream through the river of sand, tilting down for only a moment to see Dune once more, now buried to his waist beneath the accumulation below. Around us, the air is oddly refracted, and two large, ornate pillars stand far off in the distance.
Higher and higher we climb, until finally the sand-stream’s churning wellspring is revealed.
Zooming out from the glass that surrounds us, we once more see Dune far below, his torso buried to the pit as his arms flail on either side of his sinking head. And as the final grains of sand are spit forth from within the topside of the great hourglass before us, a dark, monstrous hand takes hold of its base and cuts through the void without.
Jackal: Wake up.
The echo reverberates as he speaks again.
Jackal: Wake up.
The hand and the hourglass begin to fade into the nether, as does the echo of the Jackal’s voice, and Dune awakens to the sound of a friendlier tone.
Freeman: Wake up!
The old man gives him a hard shove.
Freeman: Dune! Wake - !
Dune: I’m awake!
Freeman: Well it’s about fucking time! Jesus - you’ve been talking in your sleep for the past half hour!
Dune: What was I saying?
The old man looks away.
Freeman: Nothing. Look at you - you’re sweating like a pig!
Dune: I couldn’t breathe...
Freeman: Just like last time. It’s only a dream, Dune. You’ve got to remember that it’s only a dream!
Dune: This one feels all too real. And after all, some dreams come true.
Freeman: Not most of them; not the one you’ve been having the past few weeks. You’ve got to wake yourself up inside the dream; you’ve got to wake yourself up inside your self. That’s the only way you’ll ever defeat him...should he come back for you.
“No it’s not,” Dune says to himself as he considers the Jackal, the beast who’d been pulling at his strings since birth. Each of the tragedies that had befallen him were masterminded by the Jackal: the death of his parents when Dune was an infant; the murder of his older brother and the subsequent scars he received when he was 15; the trauma-induced coma his one true love, Pinky, had slipped into just before WAR XIV; and finally, the murder of young Christian Malignaggi while the beast was in total command of Dune’s vessel.
The memory of the terrible sight while trapped inside himself, helpless to regain control, flashes across his mind’s eye before he snaps out of it and sits up in bed.
Dune: He’s coming back, Freeman. There’s no question. When, where...how...I can only speculate at. He may well appear right now through those -
Dune and Freeman turn their heads as their peripheral vision picks up a large shadow moving toward them. When it sees the two men’s eyes upon it, it sprints toward them...
A massive rottweiler - Dune’s oldest and most loyal companion - hops onto the bed and begins licking the sweat off his master before he shoves the hound aside.
Dune: Bastard.
Freeman: Think it’s the Jackal?
He says it jokingly as he calls the beast over with his hands. The rottweiler dashes over, tail and rear end wagging, and he gleefully soaks up the attention the old man provides him with. Freeman looks up thoughtfully as Dune continues to shake off the cobwebs of sleep.
Freeman: I mean...it could be, you know.
Dune: No...he’s used that way of getting to me before, and he’s not one to repeat himself. Besides, he’s got Pinky, wherever he is, and when he comes back - whether through her or with her flung over his shoulders - she’ll be there, and he’s going to make a show of it. When he does, I’m going to give him just what he wants.
Freeman: You.
Dune’s eyes flick up at Freeman, who shakes his head and turns away. He’s tried to talk Dune out of it - to talk him into resisting the Jackal - but no amount of persuasion has made him budge.
Freeman: He’ll kill you, Dune. If you do this, it’ll be the end of you.
Dune: Not right away. If he were smart he’d do it then...but it’s not a matter of being smart for him. This is what he does for fun. He gets off on playing his twisted rendition of the puppet master, and he’s made it clear his plan for me is a deliberately slow death...which, of course, means time is on my side.
Freeman furrows his brow and nods sarcastically.
Freeman: Right, of course that’s what it means. Not that, once the Jackal takes over you body, he’ll never relinquish control of it.
Dune: I’ve got a plan, Freeman.
Freeman: Does it have something to do with Vengeance’s Sixx Demons or whatever it was he brought out on you this past Sunday?
Dune: No...no...goddamn, I couldn’t tell you what happened out there. I’m just glad I got out when I did. I’ve got enough bullshit in my life to worry about; I’m not looking to pile any more wood onto the fire.
Freeman: No? And yet with all this madness going on, you’re still gonna go out there this Sunday and try to take on two of your equals in Occulo and Howard Black.
As if on cue, a cold, hard scowl comes over Dune’s face at the mere mention of their names.
Dune: I must. It’s the only way.
Freeman: The only -
Freeman cuts himself off in frustration as the uselessness of arguing occurs to him. He turns away and walks toward the open double-doors that lead into a comfortable open-lounge area with a small kitchen in the far corner. After a long moment, he sighs.
Freeman: I’m going up by the entrance...to keep watch…
Dune: He’ll see you long before you see him.
He turns on Dune in a flash.
Freeman: I don’t care if he sees me! Better me than you! I haven’t given up this fight - you hear me? I haven’t given up!!
The old man’s bitter rage only excites Dune’s rottweiler, who charges after Freeman as he walks briskly toward an automatic steel-door some twenty yards away. The two of them disappear behind it as it closes shut.
Dune sets his feet on the cool, subterranean floor and finds his vertical base. He stretches, and his spine cracks as he wrings it first right, then left. His neck does the same. He slides into a black t-shirt, and as he reaches for the mask upon his dresser, his deep voice cuts through the silence.
Dune: Neither have I.
He faces away from us as he slides the mask over his butchered mouth and nose before clasping it in the back. He takes a deep breath, exhales, then breathes in another…
He turns on the camera slowly, a sinister look in his eye that seems all too unnatural. He closes on the camera, and when he’s only a few feet away, he halts, and his deep voice breaks the silence once more.
Dune: Have you given up yet, Howard? Something tells me you haven’t. You’ve got a bit of resolve in you. Small man’s syndrome, I suppose.
And what about you, Occulo - have you given up on me, as you’re so fond of doing? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn you’ve forgotten all about our match this Sunday. Fifteen likely means nothing to you...just like the supposed bonds of brotherhood we formed so many months ago.
Do you remember, Occulo - do you remember how it all began? I saved you. I saved you from Joey motherfucking Flash and his Vapor Kings. I saved you as you sat there slumped in the corner, weeping and helpless as a child while they had their way with you
I saved you, Occulo.
You, the fallen.
What, then, did that make me - the first who stood for the fallen?
According to your logic, Occulo, it made me a Sentinel - the original pillar and, for many months now, the only one LEFT standing. And so it remains to this very hour; this very moment. You and Howard can go around and call yourselves whatever you like, but the three of us know what’s what.
Dune strides past the camera, and we cut away to the kitchen as he makes for the refrigerator. He reaches in and pulls out a bowl of eggs and a blood-stained white package. He schlops it down on the counter and turns on two burners atop the stove before his eyes flick up at the screen.
Dune: Where to begin with you, Occulo? You were the first to stab me in the back and the longest to hold the blade in. You cut me deep, old friend, and were it not for my ability to handle loss and its cold, sharp sting far better than most, I likely would have fled for greener pastures long ago. But I came into this Federation alone, and when you washed your hands of me - when Howard Black did the same - that old lonesome feeling was all too familiar. So I remained, and I flourished...for a while. What happened, you ask?
The Jackal happened.
Joey Flash happened.
You know a bit about one, but not the other. Joey Flash was the foundation upon which the Sentinels were built. But I’ve proven your so-called “help” is only a hindrance when it comes to Flash. No, it was only in coming face to face with a beast inhumanely-foul, if you can imagine it, that I realized I may need a bit of help from you. And I did - if only you knew how much I did. But when I reached out for you, you were nowhere to be found.
So came Flash to the desert; so came death; so came the Jackal…
So came WAR XIV.
In the ring that night, before the field battled it out for the World Title I wore around my waist on the way down the ramp, there weren’t two, but three. Joey Flash, driven by a father’s rage only he could know, achieved more than you’ve thus far proven capable of in besting a dominant fighter like myself...but far more than that, he bested the beast who took over my form for much of the fight.
You likely would have died trying to fend off the Jackal, Occulo. Flash nearly did. By One, when I crucified him high above the ring and flung him through the fire as you could never do, he surely wished he would have died when he was given the chance at WAR.
Well this Sunday at Fifteen, Occulo, you’re going to know a similar feeling. While I’m laying down the most vicious, merciless beating you’ve ever received, you’re going to wish I’d have let Joey Flash and the Vapor Kings murder your ass in the ring last spring. You’re going to wish I’d have let your dear old dad have HIS way and beat you to a lifeless pulp in front of your precious WCF Faithful this past summer. You’re going to wish you never came back to the WCF after you abandoned it the first time...because unlike the coward John Mullins, I won’t leave room for a second return voyage.
Dune cracks egg after egg into a stainless steel frying pan and sets it atop one of the burners. He then unfolds the blood-stained white paper to reveal three thick segments of a rattlesnake who was once six feet in length. Dune slices the meat into thin strips and lays them them on another frying pan. They begin to sizzle and pop, and Dune wipes his bloody hands and his knife with a white towel before continuing.
Dune: It all comes back to WAR XIV, Occulo. You were there...there for your big surprise entrance. You had to keep it secret; you had to keep it safe. That way all the other competitors you failed to beat wouldn’t know you were coming...what a plan!
A menacing scowl comes over his face before he turns and flings the blade into the far kitchen-wall. His fiery blue eyes shoot toward the screen.
Dune: You were THERE!
And yet, I was purposely made to be none the wiser. And as you watched me change in the ring - as you watched me fall from the mountaintop - you turned your eyes away; turned your back on me and tried to forget. In doing so, you’ve left me no choice but to exact my own brand of revenge on you.
You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook, did you, Occulo? Surely not. Surely you knew that after I handled Joey Flash, I’d turn my sights directly on you. I imagine that’s why you convinced Howard Black to come out of retirement to try and get the upper hand on me. But attacking me at One after assuming I’d be too weak to defend myself having just battled Joey Flash was the worst move you could have made. It was murder - it was suicide - for not only have you signed your own death warrant, you forged Howard Black’s name beside yours the minute you included him in your devious plans to ruin me.
Oh, wait...I seem to have forgotten. No, you’re not here to ruin me, Occulo; you’re here to save me. You’re here FOR me, not against me. You’ve finally - FINALLY - come to stand for the fallen...or so you would have your followers believe.
But I’ve not fallen, Occulo - save that one night at WAR when I lost the World Title - and I don’t need saving. No, it’s you who needs it, because you’ve got the baddest fighter in the world to deal with this Sunday, and I’ve never been more hell bent on putting on a display of dominance before the masses. I can hardly wait to hear their cries and see them weep as I lay into you with reckless abandon. The streets of Philadelphia will be flooded with tears shed for the fallen Sentinels after I’ve decimated each of you and painted the ring red with your blood.
Dune dumps the rattlesnake-bacon into the mass of eggs, grease and fried blood to boot, and seasons it to his liking before taking it off the burner. He makes himself a hearty plate and sets it down on the counter. Slowly, he reaches behind his head and unclasps his mask, removing it to reveal the deep, jagged scars of old once more. His eyes flick back up at the screen.
Dune: We were brothers, Occulo, but you put an end to that. Once, we could have made the most dominant duo in the Federation. Had you stayed, I have no doubt we would’ve worn WCF tag team gold around our waists, as was the plan from the start. But you fled before we even had the chance to hit the ring as one. I had just won the World Title by the time you decided enough was enough. Come the following week, you were a shell of your former self...and the next you were gone.
Certainly you weren’t jealous of my success, Occulo. Certainly it wasn’t envy that coursed through your veins in place of warm, red blood . You had your chance; the same one I did.
There we were, in the second round of the Trilogy Cup. I pinned the Archduke to advance to the finals, and all you had to do was get past Jay Omega. I held you in high regard, so of course I assumed you’d get the job done, not to mention I wanted a true challenge the following week. I wanted Occulo vs. Dune at Aftermath; the founding Sentinels in the Trilogy Cup final. But it never came...and all because you failed.
I often wonder if you didn’t do so on purpose, knowing I was going to crush Alex Richards after your match was through. It was the Sentinels vs. Pantheon at Explosion, Occulo, and because of you, we split the winnings. I cleaned up your mess a month later at Aftermath, then it was on to Natural Ice Beckman and the World Title. And as I took my rightful place on the throne atop WCF Mountain, you cowered in my shadow and slunk away like a beaten dog.
You were never the same after I won the Title. To this day you remain that same shell of your former self. But your downfall started two months before at Explosion, when I bested you without even having stepped foot the ring with you - as friend or foe. The path along which my rise to power can be traced leads back to a common point which your meandering one crosses through, that being the Trilogy Cup last spring. Explosion was the beginning of the end for you, Occulo. And make no mistake - Fifteen marks that same end, long awaited and long overdue. It’s very simple: I’m going to win, and you’re going to fail...just like old times.
But your failures aren’t on account of my success, Occulo. They’re your own. And if I don’t leave you without a pulse this Sunday, it’ll be wise of you to regard them as such. It isn’t my fault you can only aspire to what I became; to what I’ve become. Likewise, the blame for the hell I’m going to unleash on you at Fifteen is entirely your burden to bear.
You won’t be able to run from me like you have from everything else in your pathetic life. I’ll make sure fleeing the ring isn’t a viable option for you. You’ve incurred the full might of my wrath, and you’ll stand and face me when the killing hour comes. You’ll look me in the eye as I beat the life out of you.
You’ll lose, Occulo. You’ll fall...
You’ll burn.
Dune grabs a fork and digs into the plate of eggs and serpent-bacon before him. Luckily, we don’t watch. Instead, the camera smoothly glides away toward the automatic steel-door at the far end of the room. We pass through its thick covering and find ourselves in a wide, steel-lined tunnel that leads to the outside. We follow the sunlight, and soon two shapes come into view. They stand just inside the entranceway, and the camera slows to a stop within the tunnel before we cut to the entrance.
Freeman stands as still as a statue as he stares out at the sands. Dune’s rottweiler sits beside his feet and does the same. The obedient dog has endured long hours of silence and stillness over a decade-plus of life with his master. But the dog knows that something is amiss, as the behavior of Freeman makes all too clear, and so he doesn’t disturb the man - his second master, more or less - as Freeman ponders his predicament.
Thus, when the massive beast lets out an attention-grabbing growl, it isn’t to play or get a belly-rub; it’s to signal that he sees something...or rather, someone.
Freeman goes into alert mode in hearing the deep growl, and he scans the desert for any sign of movement. He blindly pats the dog on the head.
Freeman: Good boy. Where is he? Where - ...my God.
The beast begins to bay like some rabid dog who’s caught sight of a child with nowhere to run.
Freeman: Jesus….fucking Christ.
Slowly, the camera swings behind Freeman, and we look over his shoulder to see what he sees…
There, closing on the tunnel at the mountainbase, is Pinky, covered in blood from head to toe. She walks toward them on mangled feet, broken and severely scarred from the day the Jackal used them to beat out of the anti-gravity chamber that Dune had put Pinky in before proceeding to trap the Jackal within her comatose body.
Suddenly, Dune’s rottweiler charges.
Freeman: Hey! No! Get back here!
But the dog’s will is his own now, and we switch to his point of view as he approaches Pinky at a startling clip. She’s dazed, but coherent enough to let out a parched-scream at the approaching beast before she falls on her hands and knees. The dog reaches her...but he doesn’t attack. He knows now - knows that the monster who was for so long trapped in her body has broken free; knows that this is the Pinky of old. She reaches out timidly and speaks in a scared albeit soothing tone.
Pinky: It’s ok...it’s ok...it’s me, remember?
The dog wags its tail and licks at her blood-drenched face and neck.
Suddenly though, a sound draws the rottweilers attention away, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up in seeing not one but two men standing outside the tunnel’s entranceway. One is the robed and bearded Freeman; the other is the grey-suited Jackal.
The dog once more begins baying like a hound of hell as he takes off toward him in a sprint
We cut to Freeman and the Jackal, one on either side of the screen. Pinky is a red smear between their faces, blurred by distance, and the savage barking of Dune’s rottweiler pervades the scene as he closes on them. An unseen fire reflects in their eyes, and the Jackal dons a wry grin before he speaks.
Jackal: What’ll it be, old man - save yourself, or die in vain?
Freeman: I’ve been waiting my whole life to die. What better place than here? What better time than now?
Jackal: I can think of none.
He shoots his arm out and grabs hold of Freeman’s throat. The rottweiler comes to within ten yards as the Jackal continues with black eyes and a deep, multi-toned voice.
Jackal: Let me in.
We cut to a shot from over Pinky’s shoulder some thirty yards off. She gasps to see the Jackal disappear; to see Freeman take on a new set of movements...to see the rottweiler pounce atop him and bring him to the ground.
Pinky: Noo- !
She tries to scream again, but her emotions outweigh her ability to convey them through her weakened vessel, and so instead she sobs after a coughing fit, too dehydrated, even, to shed tears, and clutches at the sand with her fingers.
We cut back to the entranceway, where Dune’s rottweiler continues to maul the Jackal-possessed-Freeman. The hound knows the Jackal has taken over, and he continues his relentless assault against the old man’s demonized form with the intention of rendering it lifeless. Little does he know, sadly, is that the Jackal’s plans are going swimmingly.
The Jackal laughs through Freeman, unabated by the pain or loss of blood, and the rottweiler clenches down on his throat and goes for the kill. Just as he does, however, the Jackal pulls the dog’s monstrous skull to his lips and whispers softly in his ear.
Jackal: Let me in.
Freeman’s head flops to the hard steel floor of the tunnel as the dog backs off. The camera follows the Rottweiler as he sneezes and shakes his head. Finally, he calms down, and the voice of the Jackal rings out inside the hound’s skull.
Jackal: You like to play, boy?
Yeah...you’re a good boy, aren’t you?
So let’s play.
We cut back to Pinky, who ducks low and covers her mouth, imagining the worst now that the Jackal has taken over the massive rottweiler. In her mind, any moment could be the one the dog chooses to come and finish the job by killing her alongside Freeman.
Without warning, the dog takes off...but not toward her. The beast begins up the mountainside that looms before them. She sits up on the sand and furrows her brow as she considers why...though it doesn’t take her long to realize what the Jackal is doing. She reaches deep within herself, and with every ounce of strength she has, she calls out through the silent desert air.
Pinky: DUUUUUU -!!!
We cut away mid-scream, deep beneath the mountain where the sunlight is replaced by a cold, industrial glow. There, Dune looks up from the nearly empty plate before him as the distant echo of an all-too-familiar voice greets his ears.
Pinky: - uuuune…
Without another moment’s hesitation, he shoots up from his seat, spilling the plate and knocking over a chair as he sprints for the door. The plate shatters behind us as we follow Dune out into the tunnel. Sunlight scatters oddly across his unmasked face as he turns toward the entranceway. There in the distance, he sees the shadow of a man lying motionless just inside the tunnel. He takes off, and in no time he’s more than halfway down.
It isn’t until he’s ¾ of the way to the downed and bloodied Freeman when he sees the love of his life, Pinky, in perhaps even worse shape despite the distance between them. She calls out his name once more as she catches sight of him through the tunnel.
Pinky: Dune! Hurry!!
But her apparent joyfulness soon turns sour as she gazes up.
Pinky: NOO!! Look out, Dune!!
Dune reaches the outside of the tunnel just as a small rockslide crashes down from above, followed by what appears to be a massive boulder that lands at his feet with a sickening thud. He trips over it, spilling hard onto the sand. He finds his feet in an instant, and turns back around. The sight that greets him sinks him into a pit of despair...
There, at Freeman’s apparently lifeless feet, lies his oldest and most loyal companion - his beloved rottweiler who’s been with Dune through it all.
Pinky continues to scream as Dune makes for the dog. He reaches him and flips him over on his side. He slams on his ribs once, twice, three times, before forming a funnel with his hands and breathing into the dog’s snout. Meanwhile, Pinky’s screams have stopped, and after another cycle of pumping on the dog’s ribs and breathing into his snout, her nearby voice interrupts him.
Pinky: I don’t think that’s gonna work, Dune.
Dune turns and shoots to his feet, towering over Pinky as she wears a wry grin he’d never known before the days leading up to WAR XIV; one he’d never known before he met the Jackal for the first time.
Dune: Let her go. Please...let her go.
A blank expression comes over Pinky’s face before, slowly, the falsely human form of the Jackal steps aside from within her frame. As he does, she slumps to the floor, finally flopping onto it as the Jackal removes himself entirely and dusts off his grey suit.
Jackal: Sometimes, all you have to do is ask.
Dune bends down and reaches for Pinky, but the Jackal steps in between them. He smiles to see Dune back off and stand once more.
Jackal: You always were a subservient little thing...for a while, anyway. From the time I broke you before WAR until the days leading up to One, when you plotted and schemed against me. But I can’t blame you for it. “What would I have done?” I ask myself...only to remember that you’re not me. And so, being the merciful man I am today I’m going to allow you one...more...chance.
Dune: I accept.
Jackal: Ha! Fool. As if you have a choice in the matter.
Dune remains silent for a long moment. Finally, he takes a step back and spreads his arms.
Dune: I know what you want.
The Jackal grins.
Jackal: But do you know why? Do you know for what purpose?
Dune’s only response is a single nod of his head, and with it, the Jackal takes a slow step toward him.
Jackal: They don’t want you, Dune. They want me. The foolishness between the three of you is infinite, but theirs more than doubles yours by a wide margin. As you can attest, I don’t suffer unfavorable characteristic in men, women, or children alike, especially when it’s aimed at somehow bringing about my end.
The Jackal sneers at the very idea, though Dune catches sight of a tinge of worry and doubt that shows through for only an instant before the Jackal’s eyes find Dune’s.
Jackal: You’ll be a good host, Dune. You certainly were before. We’ve done great things together, haven’t we?
His face goes sour as Dune remains silent.
Jackal: Haven’t we?
Dune: Yes.
Jackal: And we’ll do that and more this time around. I’ll give it back to you, Dune. That is, so long as you don’t prove to be too willful a host. Understand?
Dune: Yes.
Jackal: Well then, what are we waiting for? Let me in.
And he disappears, leaving only Dune standing amongst the three bodies at his feet. He looks down upon the ravaged Freeman and Pinky; upon the closed eyes of the rottweiler who lies with his tongue hanging from his mouth. He sees this and turns away as if he never had, and we follow him as he strides into the darkness of the tunnel within the mountainside. Coolly...calmly...his deep voice spreads out across the thick silence.
Dune: Hello boys - Occulo...Howard Black. I’d heard whispers of your intentions for my host, here - whispers of your plans for me, even while you weren’t sure I was REAL at all. But that was before you spoke with one Joseph Malignaggi - before you got the story from the source. I have unfinished business with your third-mate just as I have unfinished business with the two of you, because nobody - man or other - can lay plans against me without suffering the consequences. My host would confirm it, were he not locked away somewhere up here.
He taps Dune’s bald head as he passes the automatic steel-door that leads into the lounge and kitchen area of the subterranean complex, continuing on into the darkness.
Further down, we come to a stop at an elevator. The Jackal presses a button to open the doors, then steps inside and turns to face the camera. The doors close, and we sink beneath the ground on a route parallel to that of the elevator. Two floors down, we come to a stop, and the doors open to reveal the Jackal-possessed-Dune once more. He saunters out of the elevator before turning toward an open doorway on his left. He glares and makes for it, and we cut to the room beyond as he strides through the doorway.
Within, the broken anti-gravity chamber which once held Pinky - and therefore, the Jackal - greets us. A grin touches the corners of Dune’s butchered mouth as his tongue comes to rest on his bottom lip, amused at the memory of his violent escape from within.
Dune: I see he hasn’t cleaned up the place in my absence. In that regard, Dune makes for a terrible host. But when I’m here - when I’m at the helm - he does just fine. You’ll know that bitter truth soon enough, Howard Black - family man who never wanted one to begin with. Don’t feel guilty, Howard - none truly do.You needn’t feel alone...not yet anyway. Save those feelings for this Sunday when we lock eyes in that ring of mortals you dance around in at your convenience.
And you, Occulo...you, who to this day wants nothing more than for your daddy to hold you in his arms and tell you he loves you; that he’s proud of his little boy. Why should he though? You’ve given him nothing to be proud of. You were his shame, and even if he’s gone now, you’ll remain your father’s shame for as long as you live...which, if you’re lucky, might only be a few more insufferable days.
But you’ll suffer through them all the same, just as you’ll suffer the combined wrath of myself and your former partner in the ring this Sunday night. You’ll suffer like I suffered, trapped inside a mother freshly stripped of her right to truly call herself one. I can’t tell you what I’ve been made to endure since One...but as I told my host before he willingly gave himself up to me, I’m free at last. Free to do as what I want to whomever I want at any time of my choosing - just like the good old days.
The Jackal walks over to the shattered anti-gravity chamber, grabbing one of the remaining shards of glass and squeezing down on it. It cracks before finally shattering, and blood spills forth from his hand as he bends down and scoops up a handful of shards. His icy blue eyes are alight with fire as he looks up at the screen.
Dune: You see this, Occulo - this bloody, broken mass? This is your fate.
He clenches his fist, crushing the shards into a jagged powder that mixes with his blood. He opens his palm and flicks his wrist, dusting the remaining shards off on his pant leg before he stands up. He takes a deep breathe and locks onto the screen.
Dune: To come close to death - as I admit I may well have when I found myself trapped inside the girl - can change even a being so superior as me. And, after finally breaking free of those mortal chains my accomodating host strapped me down with, can you imagine the feeling I might get to learn that there are forces at work against me once more? Can you imagine what that might drive me to do? Surely you can sympathize. Strange forces have been at work on you for years and years, Occulo...and where did they drive you?
A wrestling ring - one branded by the WCF.
And wouldn’t you know it, but your foolish endeavors have led me to the exact same arena. This won’t be my first go around; I’ve been here before. But you and I...we’re yet to meet. And I can’t wait to see the desperation take root and blossom deep down in those eyes of yours. The Cold is nothing compared to me, Occulo, for I am the Fire...and you’re merely a fallen branch of the once great tree that stands in the path of my ever-spreading flame.
Yes...you’ve fallen, Occulo.
Now you’ll burn.
The Jackal walks toward the open doorway he came in through. He stops when he reaches it though, peering over a rail at a glass box marked by a red circle with a diagonal line through it. “Warning,” it reads...though the words shatter as the Jackal slams Dune’s fist through it and punches in a red button marked by the white outline of a flame.
The lights go dim before a rotating red one replaces it. Sirens wail beneath the earth, and the Jackal walks out of the room and back toward the elevator. This time, we follow him as he steps on board. The door closes, and after a silent trip two floors up, he steps off...
BOOM!!!
An explosion rocks the tunnel, but the Jackal doesn’t pay it any mind. Nor does he acknowledge the flaming ball of fire that shoots up through the elevator shaft and licks at the back of his head as he strides toward the sunlight a hundred or more yards ahead. He stops when he reaches the automatic steel-door that leads to Dune’s current living quarters and makes his way through.
The door slides shut behind him, and the camera cuts to a view from within, zooming in slowly on Dune as the Jackal speaks vicariously through him.
Dune: And you, Dune - my vengeful host. I know you can hear me. Allow me to reiterate that as soon as I render your old pals Howard Black and Occulo lifeless beneath the lights of that place you call home, I’ll give you your body back. Of course I will. But as I said - I have unfinished business - and I require your complete and total obedience until I say otherwise. I needn’t tell you this...but I will anyway:
The camera continues to close on Dune’s unmasked face as it takes on an inhuman expression.
Dune: Don’t step out of line. You know what’s at stake here. Should I sense that you don’t have my best interests at heart - and, therefore, your best interests - I’ll make the remaining time I allow you on this hellish planet more bleak and hopeless than you can possibly imagine.
The camera stops as his face comes to fill the screen.
Dune: You’ve been a good host thus far. You’ve done my bidding well. It’s why I’ve been so good to you in return. I could’ve killed you at any moment of my choosing throughout your entire life...but I’ve found a much more valuable use for you than death. We’re partners, Dune. You and me…
Forever.
A devilish grin comes over his face as the camera begins to zoom in once more. Soon we can go no further without passing through, and the screen darkens as silence takes hold...but only for a moment.
In the void, the sound of a persistent, dry-rain greets our ears. The darkness is slow to fade, and when it does we see the same closed eyelid we saw at the outset. This time though, as we back away from it, Dune’s eye doesn’t shoot open, and as the falling sand piles on top of him, he remains lost in a dark and dreamless sleep somewhere deep inside his own mind.
The camera zooms out of the hourglass as the sand continues to bury Dune, and once more we see the monstrous black hand gripping firmly to the giant, ornate relic. It’s the hand of the Reaper himself - the Jackal - and his deep, multi-toned howl scatters the silence like savage thunder. The light begins to fade, and as the echo dies, darkness reclaims the screen.
