It was only a dream... It was only a dream...

The dream… The nightmare… The voices that tackle my free will with a mere whisper… My entire world has crashed down around me over and over again… Folding itself smaller and smaller… Until all that is left is a miniscule copy of myself…

I rub my eyes, rubbing away the sleep that has seemed to of built up over years of a hard slumber. My body feels heavy and my neck is a little too sweaty… More sweaty than normal in fact, as if something has really shaken me to the very core… I look around and the cabin walls look to be peeling away down to the bare studs… My first thought is panic, but for some reason it feels natural… I levitate out of bed and my body floats over to a free standing door. As I reach out to the knob, I feel a sudden rush of electricity run through me and my eyes jump back. I shake the sudden shock off and I pull the door open as quickly as I can. Standing before me is a dark hall way lined with red free flowing curtains that look to be dancing on the floor.

I feel an invigorating invitation with every gentle touch of the out reaching blood red curtains. Without even moving my feet I am pulled through the hall way and a sudden rush of flashes hit my very eyes.

The first flash… I notice Damian Kaine strung up from his ankles dangling from a tree above a bonfire wrapped in a dark blue sleeping bag and his screams are muffled with a red rag wrapped around his mouth. His body rocks back and forth, as he tries to swing himself free of his restraints. I feel like I want to reach out to him, but part of me tells me that this is being done for a reason… Damian is the youngest wrestler that has joined The Brotherhood in hopes to have a direction that’ll lift him to the next level of his career… But with all the hope in the world, it hasn’t been enough to help him fulfill his own dreams… The wild dreams that were manufactured to fill a hole that has kept him held down for most of his career…

Why has Damian been strung up like this… Tortured in such a way? If he were to fall into these flames, his entire being would be charred and then simply discarded… But shouldn’t Damian’s life mean more to me than this? Shouldn’t I want to cut him down and liberate his lost soul?

I turn my head for a second and I hear the crackle of wood beginning to break. I am instantly spun back around to witness Damian swing one last time and the fires rise up with a skeletal hand pulling him down into the engulfing flames. As Damian begins to burn up the rag covering his mouth does as well and the screams escape in an ungodly high pitch. I cover my ears and the flames disappear in a split second along with the ear shattering cries.

What have I just witnessed and why was I so frozen in my ability to stop the horror at hand? Certainly I don’t want my brother to die in such a way…

Just as I start to work on coming to terms with Damian’s demise, I am hit with another flash. This time it’s the urban gladiator decked out in torn up red and white flannel, Dion Necurat strapped to a circle table top that is propped up with knives stuck to it, one above Dion’s head and another under his right arm. I can barely believe my eyes as I see Solomon and Sylvester both laughing hysterically as they sharpen knives in their hands. These two men dressed in their side show garb… One dressed like a clown and the other dressed like a demented African witch doctor… I took them in and I tried to help them make their business better… I wanted to make their lives have more of a purpose than what it did… The same could be said on what I wanted for Dion… He is one of the strongest willed people I have ever met and he has a brilliant mind that hasn’t been fully tapped in to… He is every bit of a modern day warrior and his strategic approach is second to none… But how could these two guys get the drop on him? And why the hell would they want to hurt US?

I ball up my fist and I start toward them, but again get this unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach… I’m pulled away from my attack and I watch as Solomon pulls his arm back like he’s about to throw a fast ball. He throws his left leg out and he releases a knife straight forward. I watch as the knife spins in full rotating motions until it sticks right in Dion’s thick brow and blood instantly drips down to his red beard. What a terrible waste of that brilliant mind I just gave him credit for having… Solomon and Sylvester both let out even more laughter, obviously satisfied with their handy work. The two look to me and I am frozen in place, not able to say a single word… Not able to ask them WHY… Why would they do this to Dion?

In the blink of an eye they disappear along with the lifeless body of Dion Necurat… I’m left standing in the dark waiting for the next flash and just like clockwork, I’m hit. My eyes take a second to get adjusted, but before me I see the children of The Brotherhood. They circle something that I can’t quite make out, but they chant in perfect harmony… Ring around the rosies… Pocket full of posies… Ashes… Ashes… We all… fall… down… The children all fall and the figure in the middle of them now hits me right between the eyes.

Psychopomp…

Psychopomp lays hog tied with a gag in his mouth and he struggles to try to get his arms free. The children jump back up and begin chanting around him again. I’m instantly chilled to the bone… I never thought I’d see Samuel and Tara leading this band of children in such a way… I wanted to teach Samuel to wrestle and I wanted to take him under my wing in this life… I saw so much potential in him…

The same potential that Darren Knight once saw in me… But this? Is this the same potential that Darren witnessed in me? Children with unsure goals in life are so easy to mold…

Childish… Is that how I see Pomp as well? Is that why he’s caught up here, being circled like he’s a vultures next meal? There have been times of innocence that Pomp has shown, but no matter what people have seen, I can honestly say I’ve seen the darker side to him as well… But then again… He has been given chance after chance after chance… So many opportunities wasted and he has nothing to show for it… Except for that one pin fall on the world champion… But to be regulated to a child’s play toy?

Just as I put that idea out there the children fall back down and as they get back up they all hold knives straight to the sky above them. Samuel looks to take charge though and he seems to want to talk them all down.

“Pomp is our friend and as our friend… We should show him how The Plague has taught us to treat our friends!”

As the last words escape Samuel’s mouth, I am hit in the gut with a complete and utter surprise… Every child drops down to their knees with their knives in hand and they begin to stab into Psychopomp as if he’s Julius Caesar himself. Over and over again the children prey on poor little Pomp and again I’m left standing motionless… Why would Pomp deserve such a heinous act against him? And what did Samuel mean when he said show him how The Plague has taught us to treat our friends? I would certainly remember teaching people to stab their friends in the back… This wasn’t my teachings… Not even a little bit…

I’m ripped away from the scene at hand and I’m projected into another. This time it’s Karma standing in front of me, wearing a loose fitting cotton white dress. She holds onto her stomach and she tries to yell out to me, but nothing comes out. It’s as if she is stuck on mute, but I can feel her raw emotion emulating from her body. Tears rush down her face and as I pay close attention to her body motions, she instantly stops.

Below her hands blood starts to build up and cover the entire lower half of her dress. Below her feet the soil begins to stain and as the puddle grows even more, a pair of black hands reach out from the bloody mud beneath her. They grip onto her ankles and they begin to pull her down. Frozen, I watch in horror as she tries to scream out for me, but still she is left mute. I’m not able to jump into action until she is about waist deep, but even then it seems too late. I pull as hard as I can, but there’s no budging her. I try to yank back one more time, but a large skeletal hand reaches up out of the mud and shoves me backward. I hit the ground and I roll away, but as I look back to Karma, the hand drives her straight down beneath the ground.

I lay on the ground as tears begin to build up in the corners of my eyes, the sting almost makes me believe this is all real… This is just a figment of my overactive imagination… But that’s when the flash hit me again…

I stand in the middle of a corn field… All around me I hear the loud hissing of saccades… They sing in unison and the sounds begins to turn deafening. The unsettling feeling in my stomach returns and on the far side of the corn field I can see a crucifix standing tall. It seems to be a simple stand for a scarecrow to keep the foul birds away, but that image is soon erased. Titan steps forward hovering over the tall corn stocks and he is amazingly carrying a lifeless Lester Parish on one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Titan drops Parish in front of the crucifix and readjusts his grip on Parish’s body. He lifts him up and he straps his arms across the arms of the cross. He ties them tight and then ties both of his feet to the post of the cross. This image is horrifying and I’m still stuck in my own personal quick sand. I feel like all of my emotions have been trapped in a black hole without any chance of escape. How can I just sit idly by as my brothers are being picked off one by one… As if this is some Friday the 13th movie and the killer is going to be stopped at the end with one of those final girls… This isn’t turning out to be some Scooby doo movie monster turns into crotchety old man who could’ve gotten away with it, if it wasn’t for those meddlesome kids and that no good pup… No… What Titan is about to do to Parish is something straight out of an Eli Roth film… Titan drags a sledgehammer over to the cross and he lifts it up to his shoulder. I shake my head, but I’m stopped as Titan points back to me with one of his extremely long dried out index fingers. He goes from pointing at me to pointing at Parish’s legs. He pulls his sledge hammer back and he slams as hard as he can into Parish’s knee cap. The knee cap splits as the pressure of the hard post behind his cap his met with the force from the heavy sledge. Parish awakes with a loud scream and Titan hushes him with a finger up to his mouth.

I want to step forward…

I want to do something…

Parish doesn’t deserve this…

He hasn’t failed in this life…

He is going to destroy FPV for that Television title…

Is that what this is about? Punishment for their short comings? If that was the case, then why Lester? Why Karma? What the hell is going on here?

Just as I ask myself that question, Titan swings the sledge again, this time taking out Parish’s other knee cap. Titan holds the sledge against Parish’s fat neck and he watches the life leaving Parish’s body. Titan pulls the sledge back and before I can make it to the cross, Titan slams the sledge down right in the middle of Parish’s head. Blood splatters and even one of Parish’s eyes starts to bulge outward. Titan slams down one more time for good measure and I’m standing below the two with my hands out… Covered in blood…

Parish’s blood is on my hands…

Have I done it again? Am I really sending my brothers to the slaughter at every turn? Am I the leader they need?

I’ve been told that I lead the weak minded for a reason… I use to be a man who was all out for himself and that is what was going to bring me to the world title one day… But I chose to take up the task of bettering all of those around me… I wanted to make the wrestling company great again as a whole, not just bits and pieces… Competition was going to breathe life back into this world and I was going to be that catalyst…

The final flash leaves me standing alone in the middle of camp and each cabin starts to catch fire… Then the farm land catches a flame… Then the rec hall… Then the line up of freakshow tents… Everything that The Brotherhood has built is going up in flames yet again… First the warehouse and now this… I’ve tried to be just like the phoenix and rise up from the ashes of my past… But…

I look a head of me and I see… ME… Staring back at myself… His eyes are pitch black and he wears my typical black button up with the sleeves rolled up, black dress slacks, and black dress shoes… It’s the attire I normally call my Johnny Cash-esque look… I walk forward and he follows suit, until we are staring each other right in the eye in front of each other. Like a mirror I raise my left hand and he does the same. We wave at each other and it’s not until I throw a punch that is caught, that I realize this is an entirely different entity… This wasn’t some mirror copy of myself… I go to speak and he cuts me off…

“What’s wrong… Cat got you tongue? I normally would just fillet the cat and feed him up to all the homeless in the world… You know, like our boy Dion Necurat would do… How’s he doing by the way? I’ve heard he’s been dealing with some sharp pains in his head or something…”

This guy is an ASS HOLE… But I’m still left speechless unable to formulate words to speak to this dark carbon copy.

“I thought getting the freaks to do a bit of work for once was a nice touch… You know this whole free room and board thing you have going on was some major bull shit… I don’t care if they have a three titted bitch… They gotta pay their dues damn it! Do you not remember what Mr. Knight taught us all those years ago? We do what we have to do to get to that next level… If you have to kill, then kill… If you have to stab a friend in the back… Well you better start stabbing… There’s no free rides in this life, Kevin… So the question I want you to ask yourself… Are your brothers pulling their own weight? What have they brought to the equation, because problems of their own doing? You’ve done your part and you have lead by an amazing example… When are THEY going to step up?”

Am I seeing shit or is this guy for real?

“Don’t look so confused here, Kev… The answer to your question is simple… They’re not going to step up to the point that you need them to… If for one second you, believe any of them have what it takes to beat The Pantheon and I’m not even looking at Pomp taking the fall in your little triple threat tag title match… NO, I’m talking about pure and raw talent… Do they have it? Do they have what it takes to survive a scaffolding match like you’re going to do against FPV? Hell, is Damian going to be enough to lead team WCF? Or will he just be regulated to WCF lacky by the likes of Sarah Twilight and the returning Eric Price? In this world there are leaders and there are followers… There are givers and there are takers… Are you going to allow your flock to running amuck and driving The Brotherhood name into the mud with their lack of success in the squared circle? Or are you going to continue to hold their hands and tell them they’re special little fuckers too?”

A dark aura resonates off of this darker form of myself and I’m left captivated in awe.

“Words can’t do this moment justice, I know… But I may be some figment of your broken mind… The fact is, I AM YOU… Somewhere deep inside of you, I am that voice that you have chosen to muffle out with all of this good charity work that you have made your personal platform to stand upon… A platform that is as full of lies as most of the politicians in the presidential race… Locker room talk has nothing on the talk that takes place in the inner walls of your mind… I should know, because I’m always here, poking and prodding the PUSSY that is your inner child… You let it play when you’re not leading the weak minded and I’m the bully playing the Pantheon giving the likes of Damian Kaine and Pyschopomp unrelenting swirlies… You surround yourself with the weak minded just as Darren Knight did years ago… What ever happened to his blue print? That book that you swore was going to lead you to the one thing you desire most… The WORLD title… The ultimate course to power that you thirst for, so like some street winch looking for a quick buck to get her fix… Vices come and go, Kev, but that thirst for power… Nah, that’ll never leave you… You came from the streets and you use to look upon those great towers… I know it, you dreamed about it… You imagined yourself at the top of those towers staring down at the street rats who long for that height… Now you stand at the cusp of greatness… You have an opportunity at a World title in a company that you simply invaded on a whim… You earned your shot after one match against a man who built his own hype so high, but came up short against you…”

The image in front of me starts to flicker… My own dark image fades away abruptly and in his place stands a version of myself, a bit older and a lot more seasoned with his peppered hair slicked back with a handful of grease and his grey beard trimmed up neatly. He spreads his arms out as if inviting me into his embrace and I hold back a bit, unsure…

“You have done amazing things my boy… The Gods smile upon your successes in this life and the next… Your mother and I couldn’t be prouder… And that smoking hot wife of yours, boy’o if I was younger, I’d do her a favor, if you know what I mean?”

My father? Did he just say he’d bang my wife? This can’t be… This man looks happy… That was never the man my father portrayed…

“What? Cat’s got your tongue or something? Can’t your old man stop by in this little dreamscape of yours and say hi?”

If human psychology taught me anything over the years… This was not my father, but a figment of my imagination building an image of my father that I guess I wish he could have been… We never had that father and son bond… We didn’t play ball outside… We didn’t even get into wrestling together or anything… He drank himself to sleep most nights and I remember many times he did in fact smack my mom around in a drunken rage… That’s why even at a young age, I imagined karma caught up to him when that drunk driver took his life… The only heart breaking part about the whole ordeal was my mother was taken too… She’s been the innocent bystander most of her life, as my drunken idiot father got caught up in every shitty thing he could possibly get caught up in… Gambling… Drinking like a damn lush… Breaking in to houses and cars… Robbing people blind at the drop of a hat… It was those type of attributes I chose not to have in my upbringing… My mother was a saint for even choosing to put up with this guy and to still sacrifice for my sake… If only I could repay her…

“So deep in thought…”

My father’s image quickly changed… As if he could read my mind… His form transformed into something more demonic… Horns broke skin in his forehead… His beard grew out… Fangs popped out of his mouth… His skin turned a bright shade of grey… He let out an ear drum bursting roar.

“You’re still caught up on that whore of a mother of yours?! What did she ever do for you, that I didn’t tell her to?! I was the one who made sure you were provided for! Do you think it was easy raising a brat like you?! I had to steal just to stay ahead! I drank myself numb nightly just to get over the fact that I had to do the bad things I did, just to provide for you and your crack head of a mom… She was too ‘PURE’ to put out on the street, so yeah, it was me breaking bad… IT WAS ME!”

As he yells at me, I feel myself start to shrink down, my rightful age leaves me… Now standing before this demonic version of my father is my 13 year old self with tears building up in my eyes. This monster ruined my life, more so than that drunk driver all those years ago…

“Look at you! So DAMN PATHETIC! You think as far as you have come in your life, that you’re some kind of winner now? You’re always going to be a loser, son and you’re not going to get any better surrounding yourself with the very same losers that share your same qualities! YOU’RE A BISHOP DAMN IT! AND YOU NEED TO START TAKING FOR A CHANGE! DON’T ASK TO BE ACCEPTED, TAKE WHAT EVER YOU WANT! BE A WINNER AT ANY COST AND STAB EVERY FRIEND YOU HAVE IN THE BACK TO GET A HEAD!”

The old man smiles wide at me, as if he feels like he’s getting his point across… I nod enough to set his mind at ease and behind my back I rest my right palm against my spine. Slowly the sword of The Brotherhood materializes in my hand and I pull it around to the front of me. The representation of who my father was throws his hands up, in a please don’t stab me type of way.

“Come on, son… You don’t have to be like that… I’m your da, remember?”

I notice the venom dripping off of his fangs and I know the wolf in sheeps clothing is going to pounce at any second. This man cannot be trusted, because he is every quality that I remember of my father… Be it bad or be it the good that I saw through rose colored glasses… I was going to strike before he did and in the instance… It was ME or HIM… I chose ME!

“YOU DON’T HAVE THE GUTS YOU PUSSY!”

In the blink of an eye, this 13 year old Kevin Bishop stabbed through his demonic father and as he stared in to the blacks of his eyes, I came back into the fold… I watched as my father fell to the ground holding the hilt of the sword in his chest… Next to him a figure lit up in pure white appeared… A beautiful woman who look to of stolen the looks of an angel… Raven like hair and a smile that could light up a room. She grabbed a hold of the hilt and she slowly pulls the sword from my father’s chest. As she stands up to her feet, she presents the sword to me with both hands. As I take hold of the sword a rush of emotions run through me.

Happiness… Sadness… Pure bliss… Pure destruction… Tears fall down my cheeks and the woman rests her palms on both sides of my face. She pulls my head toward her and she kisses my forehead… It was in that moment, that I knew this was my mother… Without saying a word, I knew she loved me and that she was proud of everything I was doing… She wants me to continue to help those who needed it most and she wanted me to continue this path of selflessness…

A flash of light takes over the room and everything around me disappears. No cabin… No dark hall way… Nothing as far as the eye could see… Just pure white… A feeling of nothingness holds me tight as the entire dream rushes through me… So many things had happened… So many questions left to answer… Where do I go from here? How do I choose to lead my people? There’s so much uncertainty in this world and if I can’t have a clear set path, then what do I really have? What direction do I trail blaze a to?

I lay on the cold white floor and I shut my eyes one last time…

That cold touch soothes me…

It puts my mind at ease…

This was only a dream…

Or so I thought… Just as the cold floor held me in its cool embrace, the ground starts to shake beneath me. A large crack opens I fall in like Alice into the rabbit hole… Down and down I go spinning faster out of control. The images of my Brother’s dying faces flood my thoughts, but it was the image of Karma bleeding out that really holds me tight. Her expression of crying out without a sound and the blood flowing out of her like a crimson waterfall… What did it all mean?

Before I could give it anymore thought, I fall face first onto a large black tile that is connected to a white tile… I look around and there are over sized Chess pieces, I stand among the black ones and across from me stand the white set. My feet rest firmly between a giant knight and a giant queen, but I can feel that there’s is a force at work before me.

Suddenly his voice speaks up from across the board…

“Bishop, the fool of the people… Ha, you call yourself a Plague, but we both know that Sanchez has done that whole ordeal on a higher scale than you could even imagine of doing it… You call a camp your home and you look over a selective few… Sanchez raised a whole damn city… But you don’t need me to rehash all that, do you Kev? We found out who was the better man in our last encounter, wouldn’t you say?”

This cocky ass hole, he truly believes that a cheap pin fall over Psychopomp is the same as besting me in the ring?

“This is a whole other place, though… Isn’t it? The stakes are higher and you’re going to crack under the pressure of being in a different land…”

I look across and I finally put the voice to one of the pieces. Johnny Rabid is represented by the White Knight and next to him, I see the others manifest. Tiffany White is the Queen, Alex Richards is obviously the King, Andre Holmes is the Rook, Ryan Jones is the Bishop, and Celeste Mallory is the middle Pawn that stands in front of the King.

“Can’t you see this world before you is just like that of the Killing Floor and all of these pieces are against you… There’s nothing you can do to turn this overwhelming tide, because I’ve already called you out on being chained down… This place isn’t going to be what breaks those chains, because you’ve decided to chain yourself. I saw what you were capable of early on in your career, but you’ve done nothing but put on some fake persona to get in good with THEE PEOPLE… And for what, Plague? To feel accepted in this world? Is that what you truly want, to no longer feel so unwanted?”

I’m going to take pure pleasure in dropping this clown at killing floor and to shut his damn mouth once and for all…

“Nothing to spout back? You’re always one to speak your mind so freely to the masses, hell give you a microphone and you’ll drop truth bombs all day long, am I right?”

I finally choose to break the silence between the two of us.

“Fine, you’re right, Johnny… You sit there upon your white horse and you stare down at me, as if you’re better than me… You’re good and you definitely know what it’s like to pull yourself up from your bootstraps to get the job done… But you haven’t proven shit to me in the times we have squared off in the ring together. You speak highly of yourself, just as the game is played… You think you have my character pegged and you believe you’ve seen my inner self… Truth of the matter is, you’ve only seen what I’ve allowed you to see…”

Speaking my mind to this demonic representation of Johnny Rabid didn’t have the same effect it would have if the bastard was really standing before me, but it felt good to say none the less.

“Ha ha, what I’ve seen is a man who is desperate… Desperate to fit in and to build something that has the foundation of a house of cards… One light whisper could make it crumble down around you and there’s your problem right there… You’ve built onto a simple idea that had no context to it and it’s going to be brought into the light…”

This idiot speaks a lot, maybe more than me and what, am I suppose to just stand here and take it?

“Johnny-”

I’m cut off by the voice of the White King himself, Alex Richards.

“Invader! Be warned! You have no power here! I am Champ and I’ll lose this title over my dead BODY!”

Demon Johnny starts to yell at Richards.

“Well WE CAN MAKE THAT HAPPEN NO PROBLEM! It’s called Killing Floor for a reason!”

The two pieces start to bicker back and forth and I notice the lonely pawn move herself forward.

“I am Celeste Mallory… You look at me as some mere pawn to stand between you and the King… I am WAY more than that you prick… You’re dream is as warped as your opinions on this world… I’ve fought to get to this spot that I have been given, you’re just some ass hole who got lucky to slide into this opportunity. Invader, you have NO POWER HERE!”

No power… Me, I have no power… Ha, this is my world and you’re merely the pieces to my game… Killing Floor isn’t for the weakened hearted and it’s going to be a hell of a battle… Men like Andre Holmes and Ryan Jones, they’re fighters and they have all the right in the world to be in this match… Hell I watched Tiffany White make her impact before Killing Floor as well… Every piece on this board is here for a reason and I may be out numbered by the lot of them… But The Plague always has a plan and that plan will come into fruition sooner than you all will come to realize…

“Are you all ready for the battle that’ll take place at Killing Floor? Are you willing to have your eyes opened to the truth that lies before you? I am going to be the one standing tall amongst you, rising to power… The very same power you claim I don’t have here… You can’t stop me… You can only hope to contain me… Beware the inevitable… Because your end is nigh…”

Just as I finish my final words the entire board is wiped clean and silence rushes over the entire room. I stand staring down at my feet resting on the black tile below me.

That darkness feels like home to me…

It calls me home like a siren’s song…