Part 1: The Colosseum - During Episode 4.



“And why would I do that exactly? I don’t need to take him out, I can beat him easily enough.”



“Because…” Retorted the masked watcher standing over me, “If you do as you are told, we continue to overlook that special little room at the back of the saloon you like to frequent."



I stifled my bite of a response. Of course, they knew about the stash house; I was naive to think otherwise. Once again, these assholes had a way of making my problems someone else’s, a practice I wasn’t fond of.



“So, let me get this straight. Instead of me going out there, beating Elijah in the middle of the ring like I said I was going to just a few hours ago, I now have to go out and destroy Elijah before he even makes it to the ring?”



A silent nod of response. My anger was starting to bubble up. This wasn’t the time. I pushed it back and asked the most pressing question on my mind.



“If the big bads want Elijah taken out, why not just let me get in the ring and murder the fucker after the bell rings?”



The watcher simply shrugged in a “I don’t know, I’ve just got my orders’ kind of way. Instead of responding verbally he simply pointed at the sheet of glass I was apparently supposed to use to smash Elijah with. Glass. Since when would I use something so crass as fucking glass? I sighed. I didn’t want to do it this way, but at least Elijah was the right idiot to take the beating if I was required to give one. I heard the unmistakable irritating noise that was The Cruxshadows and I knew my time to argue had come to an end. Smashy smashy it was then.



**********



And so here we are. When this tournament started, I was hesitant, resistant. Not only did I not believe I could still be the fighter I used to be, I didn’t want to be. I had left those days behind me. Then the bloodshed began and I found myself ready as ever. Fuck it. I’ve been dragged through time and space, why not put what I do best on display once last time before my end comes.



So that is what I did. I stepped up and I showed up. Not a single fucking thing has stood in my way. No one has even come close to being at my level. But of course, nothing is ever that simple is it? The set up was easy.Feed me my sacrifices on the way to the final, and then, on the biggest stage possible, once again reestablish myself as the true face of fear.



But that isn’t what happened is it? I kept my end of the bargain. The Amoralists wanted a killer, and I gave them a killer. They wanted a show. I gave them a show. They wanted blood and I spilt every drop I could. Now, feed me the winner on the other side of the block. Wait, what do you mean that isn’t how it worked out?



All this fucking time, all that has changed around me and one thing just had to stay the fucking same. This has never been about who was best; it remains a political game. I am no one’s soldier. I am no one’s puppet. I don’t care what the pre-determined story is supposed to be. At Frozen Over. I do what I always do. Rewrite the script.



**********



Part 2: The Independent camp - Following episode 3 of Infernalia.



“You’re gonna have to run this by me at least one more time.”



The oldest of the group smiled again. Deralius’ grin on the face of another man really unnerved me.



“Did you really think that with that kind of technology, all they would do is pull through you lot to fight for them. They have been doing plenty of other shit with time travel.”



“So all four of you are…”



“Deralius. Yes. From various points in time.” Answered the youngest of the group.



“And you’re not…”



“Human? Not entirely.” The one with the scarred face answered this time, no sign of joy at the phrase.



“A century ago, it was identified that our bloodline contained a gene that our overlords wanted to know more about. A supersoldier gene. They were able to identify the source of said gene. Us. So, they pulled the original through time. When they accidentally killed him trying to alter his genes, they were left with a problem. They don’t like problems.”



“So they found a solution. Entering other points in time and pulling you forwards.” The words spilt out of my mouth. I was in awe after all. This story was so far into sci-fi fuckery I assumed Hideo Kojima himself was writing it.



“Correct. Didn’t take them long to get it right. I was only number 4. Still wasn’t enough though, they kept pulling us through trying to correct. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but they had another problem. We were people, with our own minds and thoughts. No matter what they altered us with, we weren’t going to be what they wanted from us. So, they had one last grand plan. Your Delarius. They pulled through his mother, our mother, and altered him in the womb.



What they didn’t expect was that this alteration would change as much as it did, because this time, they didn’t get one subject. They got two. So, the plan was hatched. Baby one would be kept in the lab like us. The other would be integrated, he would be raised as an Amoralist. They tried using the twin as a way to keep him under control, but the stupid bastards didn’t realise how much they were being played.”



I didn’t ask for the remainder of the story again. The old man was tiring, it had been a long night after all. Two years ago, Delarius had helped facilitate the escape of these four. They had managed to set up as an independent camp and were now fighting the Amoralists while gathering an army. There was one they couldn’t get out though, the twin. That was where Delarius was now, trying to save his twin.



Turns out that when he helped me save that kid on the street, he had caused a few too many eyes to be turned on him, which had cost him when he had tried to use that assault as an excuse to get someone into the Amoralists' holds, where he suspected they were keeping the twin. He’d set me up as a distraction on the day he vanished, but I didn’t mind that, I would have suggested the same thing.



“I know this is a lot. You have more questions than I will ever have answers for, but tonight is not the night. You still have the blood of Ataxia on your hands. Rest now, we shall speak soon.”



I didn’t ask. They hadn’t said as much, but I figured they were keeping a close eye on the tournament.



************



So, let’s address the elephant in the room shall we? Elijah, Caledonia. You both stepped up to fight me during the tournament, and one way or another, I attempted to make sure I would never have to deal with either of you ever again. Yet, here we are. Neither of you deserve this spot. I beat you already, but since when has that ever mattered to a Highlander, or indeed the spinner of lies?



Cali, darling. You and your darling idiot husband can do whatever it takes to wiggle your way back into a spot you don’t deserve, I don’t care. Whenever The Ripper steps to a Highlander, it will end with me ripping your heart from your chest and taking great pride in watching the other wither as I crush it beneath my boot. I beat you once without having any idea of what I could be capable of and now you want to step up again? Good. Fail again. What do I care? I guess you’re overlooking me too, right? Your funeral.



Then there’s my most recent victim. Elijah. I don’t know who is pulling what stunt, but know this very clearly. I did not take you out from fear, at least, not fear of you anyway. You are nothing and no one. The Elijah of old wouldn’t have cared if I attacked from behind; he’d still find some fight. You don’t have it in you any more. Stay out of the way, Elijah. Whatever backstage bullshit has got you into this position is not something I care for. If you come for me again, I will put you down once more, this time for good. Walk away, poet. Walk away.



**********



Part 3: The Independent camp: Two days after Infernalia 4.



It was a busy camp today. Lots of bodies I don't recognise fluttering about. Judging by the way the Clones are darting from tent to tent, it's fair to assume that many of these people were part of the war effort. I wondered if the upcoming Frozen Over show was part of it, but I didn’t want to ask. Wasn’t my circus, certainly wasn’t my monkey.



I was waiting for Auswellia anyway. After the not-so-subtle threat during the show to take out Elijah or else before our match, I had sent word to her to be careful, to which she had got word back that she would be heading out this way, considering it safer than sitting put. Knowing she was being watched, she had taken a long, winding road before coming out into the open to cross the wasteland here.



I had found myself a nice crate to sit on and watch the activity go by. Sure, I was enjoying a little peace, but I was still itching to do something, anything. In the days since arriving here for the first time, I had been given a bit more of a rundown of how the 4 accounted for supersoldiers had come to lead this guerrilla army and how they were all different from one another, despite technically being the same person. If the world around me wasn’t such a shitshow, I would have really enjoyed all the little bits of weirdness, but right now I couldn’t focus on that.



“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you had nothing going on up there.”



For the first time in a few days, a smile slipped through.



“And if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you were starting to enjoy my company.”



“Don’t push it. My life was quiet and carefree before you turned up, now look, pushed out of my own home!” Auswellia grinned as she pushed me aside, perching beside me. I spotted the sombre twins carrying bags into a tent down the way. Turns out they weren’t sitting at that saloon and drinking away their sorrows after all.



“How do you think I feel? I had it all. More importantly, I had peace. Real peace. I’d let my demons go. Now, well, now…”



The smirk on her face faltered for a moment, but snapped right back into place a moment later.



“Well, maybe I can get you some of that back. Come with me, we have a very important conversation to have.”



That look in her eyes. I’d never seen them sparkle so much. My heart started racing. I felt something stir deep within me. This was now the most important thing in my entire life, I just knew it.



***********



Now that we have given precious time to those who shouldn’t even be taking my breath, we now get to focus on the real main event. The three on one handicap match that is The PACT versus the Ripper.



Yeah, let’s call it out. How the fuck did we end up here? A tournament to decide a one on one main event, and we’re in a fatal five way. You three fucking idiots, someone I have already beat and the odds stacked so fucking high against me that it seems insurmountable.



You know the problem with that though lads? I find nothing insurmountable.



So, let’s see what we are looking at here.



Harlan “The House” Moretti. I am the least familiar with you. This is because you are uninteresting. Sorry about that. Must be difficult for you being the biggest dweeb in the clubhouse. Do they sometimes let you ride up front? Or does your giant ass make that impossible?



Listen Moretti, you ain’t the first dumb fuck meathead to stand across from me, believing they can pound me into the dirt because I am a small weakling man. Many have believed, many have fallen flat on their fat faces. When you come for me, it will be no different. So, I implore you to do the right thing and leave the wrestling to the real wrestlers. I know you’re really enjoying spending time with your head up Jarvis’ ass, but please just stay away. Stay out of it. Let me and the actual warriors duke it out. You can go back to practising your ABC’s in the meantime. I heard you made it all the way to H last time. Well done.



**********



She pulled me into a tent, inside of which stood two of the time-clones, grinning in a way I didn’t like very much.



**********



Then there’s Cunt Jarvis the Worst. Jarvis. I knew your ancestor. As I am sure many of us did. I must say, in one way in particular, you’re rather alike. Good for a joke and nothing else. This whole king gimmick is a fun little ride, but I have yet to see you do anything original at all. Most of your jokes are older than I am, in realtime that is, and your only memorable bit on every show is scaring the interviewer. So you’re stealing my schtick too then?



I don’t know you, I don’t care to know you. You, very much like the leech hanging off you, are just a stepping stone, an annoyance I have to deal with that is stopping me from getting to what I really want.



You seem to be the leader of this little group of wannabe badasses, which I find very interesting. You’re not the strongest, Harlan is. You’re not the best wrestler, Shane is. You’re not even the most entertaining part of your act. Ambrose is. So what exactly do you bring to the table? That’s not a rhetorical question. I would genuinely like to know.



You’re a cosplayer with a bad costume, a pretender trying to find his place in the world. A scared little kid hiding behind a character and a group of seemingly imposing henchmen.



The two of you are amusing to behold. Honestly, I’m surprised anyone bought the whole tension in the Pact thing. You two couldn’t live without each other if you wanted to. The Pact isn’t a business arrangement, it’s a co-dependancy for two people who would fade into nothingness without each other. The third of you however, that’s intriguing….



**********



“So, over my years having eyes and ears in every nook of this cesspit of a city, I’ve found a few ways to achieve things others thought impossible. Our conversations lately have given me some food for thought. I was already well on the way to achieving my goal when I saw what happened this past week. Seems unfair to let you go out there on your own into a slaughter…” The coyness in which she avoided what she actually wanted to say was infuriating.



“What she’s trying to say, Ripper, is the tech that allowed us to be pulled forward in time, we have it, and as you’ve been doing us a favour keeping people busy, we thought we owed you one….”



**********



MANMADEMONSTER. That’s a choice isn’t it? What does that even mean? Why does it have to be stylised like that? I’m all for nicknames and all, obviously enough, but do you have to shout it every time? We’re all man made monsters, Shane. No one is born that way, it’s the world that shapes us. So, cool name and all, but lets leave the theatrics at home for a bit shall we?



You and I Shane, this is what it should have come down to. The very best taking on Shane Donovan in the final. You’re complicated, because I don’t know whether to address the Shane that is linked to my life, or this version of you. We have a mutual connection you see. The Shane Donovan from my time is one of the many, many men Amber Ryan has fallen upon to make up for the fact that she cannot, and has never been able to, shake me.



But this isn’t about Red, is it? She’s not here; you are. I’ve watched you, I’ve studied you. You’re the only person in this timeline that has a chance to take me on and live to tell the tale. So, Shane. What’s it going to be? Who am I going to get? My first real challenge in centuries, or the Pact’s bitch? The choice is yours.



**********



The curtain twitched. I spun around. He stepped through. His hair dark, not silver. His face young, not ancient. Those eyes, though. Still the same eyes.



“Young Ripper. You have aged gracefully, I see.”



I was speechless. For the first time. Totally speechless. Because before me was all seven feet of the man who made me the killer I became. The man I had sat beside as he slipped away over 3 years ago. The god amongst men himself.

Anubis.