Gnaw Bone, Indiana
The Underlook
There is a passage in the Underlook that leads to Ashley Lake, Montana. These days, the Underlook is as desolate as it is haunted, having been visited less and less as Tempest and the Creeps became isolated over the last year.
This evening, Tempest is wandering mostly to let off steam after having an argument with Daedalus, UGWC’s acting creative director. When the Architect told him he would be involved in another cooperative match, Moseley rolled his eyes and scoffed in his best stitched-together impression of Eden Morgan and Holden Orson. This led to a heated argument where Moseley questioned Daedalus’s creativity and leadership. Daedalus endured quite a bit of Tempest’s frustration before dismissing himself and, for the first time that Tempest could remember, leaving the farmhouse to ‘take a drive.’
As Moseley reflects, he decides Daedalus deserved every bit of it. He passes the last pair of doors in this particular corridor, and realizes he’s never been down quite this far. He supposes he’s going on a bit of a drive himself. In the distance, he can hear Annette Hanshaw’s version of “Tiptoe Thru The Tulips” playing in the farmhouse above. Kosnar and Pisces are dancing to it, having the house to themselves for the first time since the Astro Creeps were formed. Moseley shakes his head, half in amusement, before continuing his trek beyond the Underlook.
“You’re teaming with Zane Scott,” Daedalus had said.
“What does it matter if I’m teaming with Zane or Montague, or John Blade? I told you, I’m not interested in teaming with anyone. What I am interested in is the Chaos Championship and, most of all, Sebastian Everett Bryce.”
“Oh, there’s an enormous difference between teaming with Montague or Zane, and teaming with John Blade. Believe me. And you get Mr. Bryce, as well as Ms. Wylde at the same time this week. I thought that would make you happy.”
Moseley had shaken his head, frustrated.
“It’s bland.”
“You’ve been complaining a lot lately, Moseley.”
He doesn’t remember exactly what he said after that, because it was a tantrum of rage. A tantrum… that’s exactly what it had been. He couldn’t deny it. He utters a curse at himself as he descends a spiral staircase that leads further down the labyrinth.
There’s a point where he wishes he’d have counted the stairs, there are so many. When he finally does reach the bottom, the sound of boot heels can be heard walking in the opposite direction.
“Daedalus?”
He isn’t afraid, like those poor souls in the scary movies where a jump scare is waiting around the corner.
The boot heels clicking against the solid dirt floor stop. Then a ghost of a man–a dark man–walks towards Moseley.
“Rogan?”
Thoroughly confused, Tempest tilts his head curiously. The Dark Man chuckles.
“I told you and your fiends a long time ago, this is my world you’re living in.”
And then he disappears. Moseley sighs, then walks in the direction the Walkin’ Dude was originally.
Montana. He isn’t sure how far away it is without the help of the labyrinth below the farmhouse. Much farther. Who’s to say that Zane will even be home? Perhaps he should have called first.
Hey Zane! It’s your friend, the Tempest! I was just wondering if you were home and maybe we could have some iced tea and watch some soaps and gossip about the rest of the roster? Maybe we can exchange recipes. I’ve got a banger for the best burgers you’ll ever eat in your life. It has a secret ingredient. I’ll give you a hint, the meat isn’t beef! Hyuk hyuk hyuk!
The truth is, he isn’t seeking Zane because he wants to talk about their opponents this week. This is really just a convenient excuse to get to know him better. There’s a darkness behind Zane Scott that interests Moseley. He’s just not sure if he can satisfy his curiosity without having some one-on-one time with him, face to face. He couldn’t care less about what Zane thinks they should do in their match this week. He already knows what he’s going to do.
He daydreams about this for a while. He must have walked through that dark, narrow corridor for at least two miles before coming to another spiral staircase. This one descends into the floor, further down, but also ascends up into the shadows. If this were geographically accurate, Moseley figures he would be just below the woods that he found Dead Seb so long ago.
Worm food now, Tempest thinks, feeling a wave of depression pass over him. He misses Dead Seb.
Without a rational thought behind it, the Spider King decides to descend deeper, so he follows the staircase down beneath the dirt floor. Perhaps he’ll reach Hell.
An impossible number of stairs leads him to a small, arched wooden door. He opens it and the air around him changes immediately. He gazes out and down, realizing he’s near the top of a thirty foot tree. Looking down, he calculates which branches he can step on to get down to the ground.
Carefully he turns and begins his descent on the first branch. It snaps. And he falls, yelping in surprise as he does.
This is really going to hurt, he thinks to himself, and calmly closes his eyes. Thirty feet down, he lands in thick brush that cushions his fall to an extent, but not completely. Rather than breaking every bone in his back and neck, he stands up with some pretty nasty gashes on his arms and legs. The mask saved him from cutting up his money maker.
When he stands, he eyes a cabin. He’s in Montana. And he can hear the dogs approaching eagerly.
Ashley Lake
Kalispell, MT
Zane’s Cabin
Zane sits at his desk, calmly writing in a small, journal type book of some kind. We can hear snoring from off camera, and a large orange cat is sprawled out on one corner of the desk. The room looks like a normal office/sitting room otherwise, with a couple of comfortable looking chairs, a slightly worn looking blue couch and an assortment of shelves, that hold an assortment of items.
“I heard Phrixus’ words last week and I have to make an admission,” Zane states without looking up from his book..
“He was right.”
He places a somewhat fancy looking gold pen down on the desk, seemingly giving it an unusual amount of deference, and looks up.
“He’s absolutely right that a loss to anyone, but especially a loss to the reigning World Champion, would’ve sent me spirling out of control into another abyss of self-doubt, self- recrimination, conspiracy, and poisonous anger.”
Seemingly remembering or thinking of something, Zane picks up the pen and writes something in the small book in front of him, then looks back up. “I accept the truth of his words.”
“And the truth has set me free.”
He sighs slowly and loudly, looking up towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.
“But my old nemesis, and occasional inadvertent teacher, has made a critical oversight in his assessment,” he speaks in an almost evangelical tone, raising his voice as if to the heavens.
He lowers his arms and head, takes a deep breath and smiles at the camera.
“Tisk, tisk, Obtuse One. It seems to me that the man who is best known for seeing through the obfuscations of others is himself falling for an obfuscation.”
He winks.
“One of his own design, no less.”
He puts a hand up in front of his mouth, his eyes wide. He holds the pose for a few seconds, then lowers it and points in front of him.
“For shame, my old friend,” he chuckles, waggling a finger. “You’re supposed to be better than that.”
“I could tell you what that mistake is,” Zane adds, clearly enjoying himself. “But what fun would that be? Why should the resident embodiment of mystery be absolved of committing the sin that he has so often accused others of? Why should he not be expected to solve a mystery of his own?”
He closes the book and places it down on the desk. There’s a loud exhale off screen, its culprit soon appearing in the shape of a massive German Shepherd head. He picks up the book and hands it to the Shepherd, which takes it with unexpected gentleness, walks over to an open trunk and delicate lowers its head to drop the book in. Zane stands up and follows it over, closing the trunk and locking it, then rubs the animal between its ears. It responds with a happy lick.
“Hopefully this time,” he pauses. “You won’t be found hiding in the bushes…”
He walks from the room with a Shepherd at each heel. The cat stays.
A bit later.
Zane sits in a chair under a tree a few feet from the edge of Ashley Lake. He’s flanked by his shepherds, with one facing the same way he is, while the other one watches his back. The mist has burned off from the lake thanks to the sun, but the surface is still glossed over with a gleaming sheet of ice. It doesn’t look cold, but he has a “Got Blood?” sweatshirt on.
“I have an interesting Monday ahead of me,” he observes as he whittles at a stick.
He watches as a bit of the bark goes flying off and spins into the grass. He smiles and rubs the shepherd that’s facing forward as its ears perk up and it watches the bark fly before he settles back down once it disappears into the brush.
“I have a lot to gain this coming week,” he explains as he resumes whittling. “Coming off of my win at the ‘Global Challenge’ and my current possession of the first key, it’s more than a little interesting that my first opponent after solidifying the ‘Global Challenge’ as my event is none other than the very same World Champion who I’m set to face in just twenty-four days.”
He turns the stick over and scrapes at the other side.
“Lucy.”
He laughs and shakes his head.
“It seems like we might be destined to battle over the World Championship until one of us can’t physically can’t set foot in the ring anymore.” He pushes at the bark, sending a couple of more slices of it corkscrewing off to the dirt. “I’ll save the bulk of what I have to say for our World Championship match, but I will say that I understand how much of a statement it would be for me to pin you this week.”
“Make no mistake, Lucy. I know how good you are,” he lays the knife down on the chair arm and looks out over the frozen lake. “You’re not the World Champion by accident.”
“If I get the opportunity to win the match by pinning you,” He smiles. “I’m going to take it. It’s that important.”
He looks up and out over the lake, takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, leaning his head back on his chair. Both shepherds look up at the same time, tilting their heads quizzically in unison. Neither one makes a sound, but something clearly has their attention.
“Mr. Everett-Bryce,” he lowers his head and opens his eyes, then pauses as he notices both dogs at a relaxed alert. He looks around to see if he can find anything, and upon not seeing anything, seemingly relaxes.
“Firstly, allow me to congratulate you on your continued run of success as Chaos Champion,” he picks up the knife and resumes whittling. “In a short time, you’ll be the single greatest Chaos Champion of all time. Congratulations. I mean that sincerely.”
“From one much less successful Chaos Champion to the one who seemingly can’t lose, I’m honestly impressed. That may, or it may not, mean anything to you. We don’t know each other. I don’t think we’ve faced each other one on one, although I suppose I could be forgetting one or two meetings. I’ve had my bell rung a lot over the past decade plus.”
Zane looks up again, seemingly hearing something. His shepherds both let out plaintive whines and perfunctory growls before they set their heads back down. He looks at the knife, gently running his hand over the blade. He nods, seemingly satisfied with whatever he was looking for.
“We both know that I’m not the interesting or fun part of this match for you,” he continues. “Your point of interest is my ostebsible…partner…this week.”
“You two have your rivalry, and that’s fine.” he folds the knife up and clips it onto his belt, leaving the stick only partially altered. “That’s none of my business outside of how it might affect our match. I’ll be up front with you though, if I get a chance to pin you, I’m taking it.”
He slowly stands up as both shepherds do. The one who was facing behind him turns around and faces the house, letting out a low growl at the same moment his “brother” does. Zane stands silently as they both take a couple of steps forward, putting themselves between Zane and the front of the property.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he pauses, looking towards the front of his cabin. “It seems that I may have a guest or guests.”
A short while later
Moseley crouches down in the brush as he peeks over his shoulder. The dogs are indeed coming for him. They heard him, and they can certainly smell him. He knows he’s got to get out of this mess and onto level ground if he has any hope of not becoming a dog treat. Annoyed, Tempest rushes to get out, but he snags his jumpsuit and falls backward, directly on his butt.
“Pigmies,” he says, pulling at his jumpsuit. After a few moments, he finally breaks free. He can feel blood dripping from his elbow to the ground. When he looks up, he realizes the shepherds are too close. Any hope of escaping them drains from his thoughts and now he turns to plan B: the submissive route.
Moseley stands slowly and makes himself visible to his hunters. Upon seeing him, the shepherds go into attack mode, bypassing their warning growls and baring their teeth, barking crazily as they immediately charge in his direction.
For a moment, Moseley wonders where this moment ranks as far as stupidest ideas he’s ever had. But then he hears a low, short whistle from behind the shepherds. Not of urgency, but of command. How Moseley can distinguish between the two in the form of a whistle is difficult to explain, but the look Zane is giving him authenticates his belief.
At the whistle, the two shepherds whip around and trot back to their human, coming to a heeled sit on either side of him. Zane stands, silently observing his visitor. He pulls a bottle of water from his pocket, uncaps it, and takes a pull before he re-caps it and slides it back into his pocket.
“It seems to me that that wasn’t quite the…dismount…you were going for,” he quips. “There are less blood-prone ways to travel.”
“Oh,” Moseley begins, inspecting his wounds. He glances back up at Zane as the sound of wildlife fills the silence. “Well, I would have been fine if it weren’t for that first branch snapping. It sort of killed my momentum before it got started. I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
Zane shrugs and looks towards the house.
“Need suture before you bleed to death in the trenches?”
His tone is flat, almost bored, and clearly unsympathetic to the plight of his interlocutor.
“Or have I underestimated your toughness,” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you need a band-aid, I have them in the house.”
Behind his mask, Tempest smirks.
“Very kind of you, but I think I’ll be all right.”
He looks beyond Zane and his shepherds, taking in the scenery instead.
“Now this is a beautiful property. I didn’t think I was in the market for a new home, but perhaps Montana is calling my name. What do you think? The Spider King and his cabin by the lake? Has quite the ring to it.”
He gives a sly wink with his good eye at one of the shepherds.
“Don’t worry about my boys,” Zane remarks, noticing the furtive glance. “They won’t do anything to you unless I tell them to, or you do something exceptionally stupid. You might be crazy, or at least you want us all to think you are, but you’re clearly not stupid.”
He pauses and scratches both dogs behind an ear, causing both of them to smile and pant happily.
“If you’re looking for land up here, I can point you to my realtor.”
He stops scratching, and both dogs immediately alert, resuming their warning glares at Tempest.
“My boys would hate to lose their home,” he states flatly. “If you catch my drift.”
Tempest focuses his attention on Zane and, after a moment, nods slowly.
“I think I do. Anyway, no worries. I’d get homesick out here. It would be intriguing, Zane Scott and the Spider King as neighbors.”
He pauses.
“Oh. I apologize. I’ve been made aware that you don’t appreciate my moniker so much. Why is that, Mr. Scott?”
Zane smirks at the question.
“I have an attachment to a variation of that title,” he replies. “I don’t think anyone is going to confuse the two of you, and it’s not my place to tell you what to call yourself. Spyder finds the comparison amusing. If he doesn’t care, I shouldn’t either.”
Tempest nods, seemingly satisfied with the response that he was obviously fishing for.
“Before I leave, I wouldn’t mind learning more of these… associates? Mentors? Of yours. As long as you don’t mind, of course. I guess that’s all dependent on how this conversation goes, yeah?”
He finally moves from his place near the bushes, stepping in Zane’s direction. The shepherds watch him closely, and he moves with caution.
“You might be surprised to know that I didn’t come here to talk about our match this week. I came here specifically to see what’s inside your mind. Who is Zane Scott?”
He chuckles a bit, but he’s the only one. He stifles and tilts his head curiously.
“Friends. They’re friends now.” Zane replies. “I’ll contact them and see if they’re interested in talking to you. If they are, they will. If not, don’t push it.”
He pauses.
“Who is Zane Scott?” He asks. “I’ll tell you once I’m finished figuring it out. A lot of people have tried to get into my mind, and I’ve let far too many of them succeed. Let’s keep this a professional conversation about Monday, not a psych eval from two mentally unhealthy people, shall we?”
Moseley smirks again and nods.
“Okay, it’s your home turf. I’ll play by your rules. Tell me your expectations for Monday, and I’ll be a good little Creep and oblige.”
“I doubt that,” Zane replies, raising an eyebrow. “I expect, young Spider King, that your intention on Monday is to use our time together to use me as a convenient bridge you can run over to inert yourself in Sebastian’s head. Pull your weight evenly, and don’t stab me in the back, and we’ll be fine. I want to win. That’s it.”
He takes another drink from his water.
“There’s nothing personal in this match for me, in spite of my history with Lucy.” he explains. “If she doesn’t make it person, it won’t be. I didn’t expect to be in the position that I’m currently in, but I’m damned sure not going to waste it.”
Moseley winces at the mention of Lucy’s name and shakes his head as Zane continues to speak.
“First of all, I’ve never stabbed anyone in the back. I am what I am, Zane. And I am a lot of things. A deceiver isn’t one of them. At least in the context you’re implying. A liar is also not one of them. Unless it’s something as obvious as what I just lied about. No, Mr. Scott, winning this match isn’t as important to me as getting into Seb’s head. That much you’re right about. Using you as a bridge to get to that point isn’t necessary. I’ll pull my weight and help you win, as long as you pull your weight and help me pry open the door back into Seb’s ego. To be honest with you, I think you’ll not only agree that it’s a good idea, but I think you’ll actually enjoy it. Perhaps it’ll give you some of that… inspiration, that your friends haven’t been able to resurrect.”
Zane replies in a way that Tempest probably isn’t expecting. He laughs. Loudly. For a good couple of minutes. Once he stops, he wipes the tears from his eyes and nods his head.
“I’m not a liar, except for when I am,” he chuckles again. “You’d be successful in politics with that perspective. Given my history, you’ll pardon me if I’ve come to expect people to use me and then dispose of me when it’s convenient, or to try and make an example of me. Ask the clown you used to be buddies with.”
He pauses as a plane passes overhead, looking at it until it disappears into a cloud bank, at which point he looks back at Tempest.
“I want to win. You want to win.” he states flatly. “I don’t have any personal issue with Sebastian if he doesn’t create one. His ego is your problem, not mine. I only have to turn his lights out for four seconds this once. I’d prefer to pin Lucy,” he pauses as Tempest winces at her name again. “But pinning the Chaos Champion is almost as good.”
Tempest nods vigorously, but not with satisfaction. It’s clear he doesn’t like Zane’s response, and he’s trying to reset himself to respond properly. Zane only watches with amusement.
“Right,” Tempest says impatiently, “and we can achieve that after you help me get what I want out of this. You can have your pin over one of them. Pin both of them at the same time when we’re finished, for all I care. But first… I want to build my nest inside the Arsonist’s mind once more. I don’t need your help for that, but on Monday it would be ideal…”
He pauses, trying to choose his words carefully, then sighs and says what’s on his mind anyway.
“Yes, okay, it would be ideal to use you for that. But, you’d be using me to reach your goal, too, and I’m more than willing. Isn’t that our business anyway, Mr. Scott? Just a step or two above prostitution. We use each other to get what we want.”
He peers up at Zane through his mask. He seems uncomfortable here, which is rare.
“Fair enough.” Zane replies, nodding. Both dogs growl at his response, causing him to smile. “It seems the boys disagree. I’ve done this for long enough to know how its quid pro quo’s work, so I’ll play along.”
Tempest holds up an index finger as if he’s about to make an important statement. In his mind, he is.
“If you just trust me, I assure you, we’ll both get what we want out of the whole mess. You don’t want to make things personal with… the Omen. But perhaps you should start making things personal and get that edge before they do. Once the Omen has the edge over you, I promise you, the end isn’t far behind. We only need each other this week. And after that? Well, we’ll see how business goes.”
He glances down at the shepherds, who continue to sit obediently at either side of Zane.
“I really do like your dogs,” Moseley says, kneeling to one knee. He reaches a hand out slowly, despite the shepherds’ warning growls. “I like them, because I can see, behind their domesticated eyes is their primal instinct. They have a sense of pure wild animal behind those eyes.”
He looks up at Zane.
“They remind me of you.”
Withdrawing his hand, Moseley slowly stands back to his feet.
“That side of me remains where it is because that’s where it needs to be.” Zane responds. “It’s not personal with Lucy and doesn’t need to be. I fully understand how capable and dangerous she is. She’s taken the World Championship off of me. We have a history. If I wanted it to be personal based on her…behavior when I was suspended, it would be. I choose for it not to be.”
His words say one thing, but his eyes and body language briefly betray him. One of his shepherds leans into him and rubs his big head comfortingly against Zane’s leg. Zane reaches down and rubs its neck, drawing a happy lick on his palm.
“As far as my boys are concerned,” he replies. “I understand them and they understand me. We both understand when it is, and isn’t, beneficial to be predatory or wild. We learn from each other.”
Moseley nods once more, this time with satisfaction. Scanning the tree he fell from, he prepares to begin climbing up, but stops, holding onto the lowest branch as he speaks.
“Then you’ll know that on Monday, it’ll be beneficial to be predatory. It’ll be beneficial to be wild. Trust your senses, Zane. And you might find, along the way, that a lowly Astro Creep can help liberate those primal instincts of yours.”
He gives an awkward, high-pitched cackle, before lifting himself up to the first branch.
“You’re a former World Champion,” he answers. “In spite of what you might think of that, there’s nothing ‘lowly’ about you. It may be that my reputation is for being abysmally unintelligent, but I understand a lot more than people comfort themselves by believing about me. Don’t follow in their footsteps.”
Tempest pauses, looking down at Zane with a smirk.
“I think you know me better than that, Mr. Scott, despite how little we do know of each other. In a strange sort of way, I think we have an understanding of what to expect from each other on Monday.”
He climbs a little more, grunting as he pulls up his weight from one branch to another.
“I think we do.” he nods. “Might I suggest a way home that doesn’t deposit you ass first in a bush.”
Moseley chuckles. “I would personally prefer to be deposited face first into a bush.”
He pauses and looks down from about fifteen feet up.
“If you know what I mean, and I think you do. Anyway, I’ll take that into consideration next time. This time, there’s only one way back.”
He reaches the place that he came from, but the door is no longer there. He tries to feel for a way back in, but there’s nothing there but the tree itself. From inside, he could swear he hears the laughter of a mischievous man. He sighs and looks down at Zane and his dogs striding toward the cabin. Then, sits on a nearby branch and lets his legs swing to and fro.
“Well, fuck.”