No Church in the Wild.

The day had started like any other for David; a quick workout, a nutritious breakfast, a cocktail of self-medicated pills, three consecutive meetings with city officials then capped off with a takeaway cup filled to the brim with molten black coffee. How had it taken such a turn? Didn’t these people realize he was only doing what was best for them?

“Three more fatalities have been confirmed in what is being called the most violent riot in Chicago’s history, bringing the grand total of confirmed deaths up to fifteen.”

Fifteen lives cut short. Fuck the value of human mortality, that was fifteen less votes he would have in his ballot box if there was ever to be another election. Still, he couldn’t question his decision. The news presenter on the radio continued on; poking and jabbing at his motives and actions for any signs of weakness or personal gain.

“Since David Sanchez’ announcement this afternoon which has seen any form of conventional religion outlawed within the Chicago city limits there have been no further comments from the mayor. As the bodies continue to pile up on his doorstep, this broadcaster has to ask; why David?... Why?”

It was a question he had already answered and one which he would have mistaken to be rhetorical had it not been for the tone in which it was asked. With three-hundred and twelve confirmed casualties and a city alight with molotov cocktails and heretics smashing windows, there wasn’t much he could say at this juncture. Erin Fausse was seated directly across from him, her expression fluctuating in-between disappointment and loathing; and yet it seemed to be controlled concern, her lips still managing to form a smile as David let out a sigh of relief upon the conclusion of the newscaster’s story.

The room was dark, no lights were to be switched on until the riots had subsided, or at least moved away from the courtyard of City Hollow. He had declared this ruling to the Syndicate members individually as they had filtered into the room at separate intervals, each of them having fabricated an elaborate story of how the riots outside had hindered their punctuality. Around the large, oval table of mahogany in the mayor’s office were six individuals: Taylor Wright, complete with two bruised eyes and a plastic support around the bridge of his nose following the incident on Overload. Syxx Gibbler and the new Television Champion, Jessica Buck - dressed to the nines in a particularly revealing electric blue Dolce and Gabbana cocktail dress. Erin Fausse, the newest recruit to the cause and least disturbed by the scenes of carnage that illuminated a fiery orange glow through the window. A security officer that seemed somewhat familiar even beneath his balaclava and tinted black visor, here to represent the riot squads which David had unleashed on the city like a plague of locusts in order to try and qualm the situation. Finally, in a black leather chair at the head of the table was David Sanchez himself, his conscience weighing heavily on his shoulders internally whilst his face projected confidence to the group. There they were, the proverbial knights of the round table - three women, a faceless, glorified rent-a-cop, a lowly bum from Brooklyn and the most disruptive South American to seek political office since Fidel Castro.

“Friends… I have called this meeting tonight to make sure we all know where we stand in this new world we are building.”

As David spoke, the doors to the grand office swung open and revealed Chef Atticus Rex, the personal cook and now apparent waiter to the Syndicate. He was shaking, whether in fear or due to other reasons was left to the mind of the beholder. As he approached the table with a silver tray he began to set glasses of varied contents down in front of each attendee, making sure to maintain eye contact with Jessica Buck at all times whilst serving her after a lengthy sexual harassment meeting with Human Resources that very morning.

“Building? I don’t see a whole lot of building going on out there right now.”

David sneers in Syxx Gibbler’s direction upon her comment, but there is no need for him to voice his opinion on this outburst as Chef Atticus Rex sets a dirty martini in front of her, effectively silencing the modeling agent. With drinks now placed in front of each of the Syndicate; ranging from Jessica Buck’s glass of Chenin Blanc to Taylor Wright’s bottle of Arrogant Bastard Ale, the Syndicate is disturbed momentarily by a barrage of eggs splattering against the bay windows which overlook the memorial fountain outside of City Hollow.

“Thank you Chef, that will be all.”

Having learned not to overstay his welcome, Atticus Rex is quick to exit the room, ensuring to firmly close the door behind him to avoid being berated by the mayor. With the room now solemnly occupied by members of the Syndicate a hush falls with all eyes staring expectantly at Sanchez; who in turn smiles his serpent’s grin at the family he has built for himself, his pointed tongue protruding from between his pearly-white teeth as he does so. Before too long the eggs cease to connect with the glass, replaced instead by the sound of gunfire and the scattering of revelers from outside. Seemingly satisfied now that he can continue without further disruption, David raises his glass to the unknown representative of the faceless, nameless security force. The three ice cubes clinking the crystal container as they melt into the twelve-year aged Glenlivet single malt. Aware of the job he has been asked to do, the anonymous, riot-gear clad security officer simply nods; barely acknowledging the tall glass of carbonated water which had been placed in front of him.

“Ladies… Gentlemen… and those legally bound to remain free from distinction. Tonight marks the beginning of phase two in our crusade. We now have the numbers, the resources, the money and the power to achieve our goals as outlined on page three of your Syndicate handbooks. It is with great pleasure that I have the privilege of announcing to you all; my brothers and sisters in arms: that God… is dead.”

There is a short delay in response where David emphasizes the death of God by opening a bible which had been in front of him and tearing page after page into tiny pieces before tossing it overhead and allowing it to rain down upon him like sacrilegious confetti. This symbolic gesture is met with cheers of approval and a chorus of palms being banged against the table to mimic applause, most of the people present having one hand clasped around their beverage of choice. As the others drift into merriment though, Erin Fausse simply smiles at Sanchez, ignoring the rest of the room.

“... And from death? From the ashes of Eden we will build our new world under the guidance of our good shepherdess, Miss Erin Fausse.”

Having finally heard her name spill from the mayor’s lips, now the False Prophet joins in with the rest of the Syndicate, rising to her feet and delivering a sarcastic sermon that puts her brethren into fits of hysterics.

“... And on the eighth day; God fucked off and left us to our own devices. War and famine ravaged our lands as far as the eye could see. Whilst the apostles and heretics blamed the sinners and the unbaptized babies, only the pure of heart and cause were able to see the truth. God no longer cared for humanity, we were dead to the almighty. he was nothing to us but a fucked up kid with a magnifying glass whilst we scattered around like ants. Ashamed of what his creation had become, the all-maker was done with us and so we were forced to put our hope in others; in false idols and televangelists, in Jesus Jones, Moses Mendez and Allah-Baba, in the people we see on television, in the authors of books written seemingly before the immaculate conception of literature itself. No more! On this day we offer the world sanctuary; safety and warmth in the embrace of a new divine entity. A chance for redemption, an opportunity to correct the mistakes of the past. In change we trust, for in desolation we have toiled too long. Heil Syndicate... Praise Sanchez... Amen!”

She could barely manage to get through the entire speech without succumbing to laughter herself. Somehow though she had powered through and sat back down, accepting the praise of the men and women around her in order to feed her ego. She hadn’t thought a month ago that this would be a group she could feel a real part of, but as she looked around at the misfitting crowd which David had gathered as a flock; she knew this was where she had to be. For if God was dead, then they were the closest Chicago would get to guidance from the ethereal plane. If David fancied himself as the almighty, then that made her Pope Erin Fausse the First. She considered making this her official title for a few moments whilst the others sipped from their glasses and bottles, all the while David’s attention was drawn back to the window, or more accurately to the chanting of the crowd which was once again assembling outside.

“Shall I have my men establish a perimeter?”

It was the first time any of the security personnel had spoken aloud and as thought of this man’s appearance, his voice was just as familiar. Who was it under all that black clothing and protective armor? The heads of the Syndicate all turned to David at once, almost as if they shared the same neck.

“If you would be so kind ‘F, no more fatalities though. I’m going to have a hard enough time convincing people the body count as it stands is for the greater good without adding to it.”

‘F.’ It wasn’t much to go on but the simple uttering of an initial towards this man was enough to peak the curiosities of those in attendance. As he left the room he gave a universal nod, his departure as inconspicuous as his attendance. Just as the Chef had done, he closes the door quietly behind him and leaves the ovalesque table of characters to their discussion.

“So… are we going to have our own church?”

Taylor Wright’s words sounded labored, he was wheezing and struggling to breathe through his nose. Rightfully so, considering it’s intimate meeting with a steel ringpost on Sunday courtesy of Alex Richards.

“In time Taylor, in time. For now the masses need to embrace the fact that they are alone, that no higher power is guiding them. We need people to cast off the shackles before we fit them with a ball and chain. When the world has abandoned its dependency on the idea of fate, destiny, Heaven and Hell, then we will welcome them into the chapel with open arms. For now though, for now…”

David gets to his feet before completing the sentence, his face twisting and contorting into a forced sympathetic smile at the man he had come to consider as his right hand.

“...There is no church in the wild.”





All I could see for as far as my eyes would allow in any direction was trees, trees and the endless darkness of a cool night. Perhaps the stars were out somewhere overhead, I couldn’t really see beyond the treetops, but still something told me they were up there; sparkling and shimmering, completely oblivious to the world below. I could hear sticks and debris crackling and rustling under my feet as we ran, and yet I felt almost weightless; as though I was gliding through the forest like some sort of spiritual being with no need for lower limbs. Much to my disappointment though, I could see my legs as they churned below me, propelling my body forwards in a sprint. Erin was with me, I found myself wishing that fact gave me a little more comfort but in truth she looked just as frightened as I was feeling. Together we darted through the trees, gasping for breath whilst something pursued us. What was it? What could possibly have sent us into such a panic that we both shared the need to run for our very lives?

“My bark is worse than my bite.”

I couldn’t speak for Erin, but as we stopped for a moment, and caught our breath my world seemed to both speed up and become that much louder all at the same time. Now the sound of our exhausted gasps were a poetic serenade upon my memory compared to the growls and snarls which had filled my ears in their place. The dogs were coming. A bark or two confirmed what I had already known somewhere in the back of my subconscious; we were fleeing a pack of vicious dogs, or wolves perhaps… whatever they were, they certainly didn’t sound like domestic mongrels.

“My bark is worse than my bite”

Those words seemed stained on my brain and I was forced to think of Alessandra and Thursday as the trees began to move towards me once more, it didn’t make sense I had thought but then again - life rarely offers you answers on a silver platter. This was a dream right? I was almost sure but as my legs propelled me forwards I could swear the fatigue was starting to burn my quadriceps. Whatever this was, I knew they were behind it; Stilleto manifesting themselves into my night terrors. Just what I needed. The dogs were drawing closer by the second, yet my pulse was not racing at their presence. Instead it seemed to intensify on those words; those words in her voice. Thursday didn’t worry me, she was a friend and a frequent fixture at dinner events of memories past but Alessandra’s presence in my dreams was not a welcome one.

“My bark is worse than my bite.”

Since I had first seen her, all dressed up for BDSM with no gimp in sight, something had drawn me to her; not in the conventional way one would find another attractive but rather in a deeper sense. Her darkness had spoken to my darkness, and my shadow-self did not like what it had to say. The woman set my teeth on edge. Fausse was ahead of me now, and screaming that I needed to hurry, but as I looked down my legs were no longer moving. The forest was static and I was left standing, statuesque as though my entire body had succumbed to rigor-mortise. Erin was only a few feet ahead of me but noticeably unable to progress any further through the forest either.

“My bark is worse than my bite.”

The barks and bounding of paws on dead leaves and the dirty ground were almost upon us now. It was all we could do to console one another with a look of acceptance. This was it; the day the past finally caught up to me, my reckoning and my release. I would have prefered a quicker death than to be eaten by ravenous dogs but nobody writes stories about the old man who died peacefully in bed aged eighty-seven, regardless of who he was or what he had done in his younger years. Alessandra’s voice was becoming louder, ringing in my ears even; those same seven words on a seemingly infinite loop.

“My bark is worse than my bite.”

If Thursday was in here; in the deepest, darkest reaches of my brain - now would have been a nice time for her to make herself known. There was no Kerrigan, no relief from the pain that was sure to follow now. I had all but accepted my fate; David Sanchez reduced to dog food on a brisk Summer evening. The newspaper headline practically wrote itself. As I turned away from Erin, her eyes filling with the same sense of impending doom as I was harboring in my heart my eyes met those of a wolf if only momentarily as it bounded towards me, planting it’s paws upon my chest as it looked to tear my face to pieces.

“My bark is worse than my….”

Fausse had been grounded too, another wolf perched atop her snarling as it gazed into her eyes. The symbolism was not lost on me as I lay there in the mud shitting myself. Alessandra was the wolf and I was the prey, it was unsettling to say the least that even in my dormant brain I was being reduced to a quick snack. The wolf, pure black in color growled once more at me before it’s jaws opened and I had already flinched as though pierced by razor sharp fangs. Once my eyes opened though, I was able to see the sky through a small opening in the trees above; the stars were out. At least I would die on a beautiful evening. As I lay there, braced to be torn asunder though, the pain never came. Instead the beast atop me howled in pain. I parted my eyes from the stars at once to see no fangs, nothing but bleeding gums were present in the canine’s mouth.

Suddenly, the sky was an artex ceiling and the forest became my bedroom. The dead leaves and broken sticks had vanished and now the woodland floor was replaced with my sleigh-bed and Egyptian cotton sheets. I reached into the drawer of my bedside table immediately, noticing that the sun was beginning to shine through a gap in the curtains. Sweat was dripping from my brow and the bed itself was clammy and uncomfortable. Three Valium and an Oxycontin later I sat up and lit a cigarette, trying to find some meaning in the nightmare I had just experienced. I was beginning to regret not listening to Samantha when she used to ramble on about the benefits of lucid dreaming. All of a sudden it hit me like a brick in the face with such a force that I had to say it aloud to myself:

“These bitches have no teeth.”







“I never quite understood people who name their children after days, months, seasons or occasions; something about it just strikes me as lazy parenting. A congenital lack of creativity passed down through the generations like the proverbial baton; only this is no torch, no handing over of a legacy. Instead what they give you is a stain that will never wash out, a stupid fucking name that will haunt you from birth, through taxes until death. Please Thursday, I beg you. Should you and Jared ever be blessed by the pitter-patter of tiny feet - don’t do what mommy and daddy did and simply blindly throw a dart towards the calendar when selecting a name for baby Holmes. Think back to high school and all those stupid jokes at your expense before you pull the trigger on ‘Summer Holmes’ or ‘Winter Holmes-Kerrigan.’ Is that what you want for the next generation? Cheap puns and to be forever held in the same regards as North West? I didn’t think so. Spare the children Thursday, spare them your pain.”

David stared down at the table and turned his nose up at the ceiling; chocolate fucking frosting. What did a guy have to do to get some fucking buttercream? Thirty-Seven years on this earth and not once had a soul, living or dead managed to get him the correct cake. It was becoming the story of his life - ‘you couldn’t get the staff these days’ blended gently into ‘all dressed up with nowhere to go.’ A fitting combination of cliches that reminded him why he had never chosen to seek solace in others until now, and why even now it was probably not going to end well. The spread prepared on the picnic table was unimpressive by an upper-class standard. No caviar, no quail; instead in place of fish spawn and baby bird he was looking down at a plastic bowl filled to the brim with onion rings, another topped with bacon Frazzles and various plastic plates adorned with sausage rolls and other miniature pastries. All surrounding that same fucking chocolate cake, mass-produced in Costco and purchased by forgetful parents and partners alike. That served as a bittersweet reminder of the fact that Taylor Wright couldn’t even carry out the simplest of instructions: “Sure David, just because I’m not fit for competition doesn’t mean I don’t know how to throw a party.” - were his nose not already broken beyond recognition, David might have contributed some further facial reconstruction to his unlikely friend.

With a quick glance down at his wristwatch and then back to the buffet befitting a child’s bar mitzvah the time was identified to be between half-past three in the afternoon and nineteen ninety-two;, at least that was the impression that this unimpressive spread was giving off. All that was missing was the best of Sash! cassette playing in the background whilst the guests drank Snakebite and Special Brew, eagerly awaiting the next thrilling game of musical fucking chairs. Of course, that would have involved there being anybody bar Sanchez himself in attendance. The guests were due to arrive within fifteen minutes, but as the sun beat down on Chicago’s Park District, David had known since the moment he reluctantly left his bed that morning, that this day; would be a disaster, and one which would require his best fake smile - something he always needed to warm-up for a considerable period of time before attempting to pass it off as sincere happiness and warmth.

In truth though, this wasn’t the solemn reason he had opted to show up for his own party earlier than those invited; a fact which was evidenced by the Samsung video camera on the table in front of him. It was time to record and send off a video package, one which he hadn’t hoped to find himself ever needing to. Her placecard was two down from where the mayor was already seated, reserving Thursday a chair right next to the area that Taylor had decided to pile the presents; presents which David knew himself were bought and placed there for aesthetic purposes only: as there was no way in hell he had enough friends to fill a gift-bag, let alone a table-top. Most of his relationships in life were that of convenience; people he had chosen to keep close to protect his interests and make life a little easier, a fact he had long-since came to terms with. Alessandra thought of it as cowardice, the way Sanchez recruited his competition but to the mayor this was the human embodiment of Switzerland in World War Two; why the fuck would he fight battles on multiple fronts with people who didn’t deserve to be gifted opportunity after opportunity at his expense? He wasn’t back from obscurity to watch others gain fame at his expense - she could make her Thomas Bates comparisons all she liked, at least Bates had actually done something in this business besides resemble the malignancy in the Malignaggi household. His thought were slipping back down the rabbit hole as a family unit passed: mother, father, two infants and a baby. Two point three children - the standard bearer for domestic bliss. With a polite smile he snarled something under his breath as the family waved in his direction, the words were notably unpleasant but their actual meaning somewhat lost in translation.

“Thursday my dear; I think you said it best when you pondered aloud on my Twitter earlier on in the week that you thought we were friends. I thought so too, in all honesty it’s the only reason I’m speaking to you with sugared words in comparison to those which will be directed at the Guinea bitch with the Ivan Drago jawline for days you’ve decided to align yourself in whatever sub/dom, dog/hydrant relationship you seem to have found yourself in. Then again, I’d wager that somewhere under-heel is where you are at your most comfortable. It’s not like Jared would have been bringing you hot water-bottles for menstrual pain, pitching in with the housework and watching the fucking Notebook on a cold Winter’s night in Chez’ Holmes. No, I don’t think I’d be too far from the sweet-spot if I were to make the connection from the faint dots that encapture your career. You are a bottom-feeder, a parasite and a virus; this I say with love, but as with any disease you follow the host around like a lost puppy, a dog begging for dinner scraps. ‘Please Alessandra; say something funny so I can take the ball and run with it. Please Jared, can we make our relationship Facebook official so I can get some extra eyes on my feeble attempts to become relevant.’ I had hoped you were something different than you turned out to be - a slap in the face to suffragettes and a lingering stain on the fabric of our industry that pops up from time to time and leaves that ‘itchy cunt’ feeling: congratulations Thursday, you are officially herpes.”

“It’s ironic really that we should all end up in this match, well three of us anyway, I won’t drag Erin through the walk down memory lane at this stage. I think the last message I received from anybody before I jumped ship from WCF to here was back in January, something about a Trios team of Flash, Holmes and Sanchez being unstoppable. I’ll say the same thing now as I thought at the time when I screened your email: Nothing is unstoppable, nothing but time. You were at least one-third correct though honey, because while Joey sits at home breast-feeding Christian, oblivious to his new role as rentboy of the family and Jared tours the country, haunting the beaches like a used-condom floating in with the tide - one thing remains, and that one thing is? Yes, that’s right. It’s me. I’m all that’s left from that little clusterfuck of talent that was cut short like a sunflower and never seen to flourish. Despite what you might think of me now, I’m still the same man that I was back then, better even; for now I have a militia of disposable associates hanging onto my every word like it was read straight from the writings of Nostradamus. You could have been different Thursday, you could have been my right hand, and that fact leaves me with a lingering taste of bile. Yet… when I opened my arms to allow you to become a part of my family, you spat in my face and chose instead to vanish, just like the venereal disease you represent, if only to lie dormant before spreading back once more - a reminder that Herpes isn’t just for Christmas, it’s for life.”

“I’m not bitter though, in reality you probably saved my career through your reluctance to slum it with the likes of me when the real money is obviously to tour the country like the female equivalent of Art fucking Garfunkel. Whatever pickles your egg and the end of the day sweetheart, I respect your decision to keep business and personal separate like church and state. Just don’t expect me to put the training wheels with your veiled, passive aggression on Twitter and that succubus of a partner - you don’t need to think we’re friends anymore, not for the next week anyway. Across the ring from me you might as well be the niece and I the uncle your parents never let you go stay with when you were younger, because make no mistake about it; on Sunday, I will abuse you in ways that only a relative can. Then again, you might like that… nothing brings a missing spouse back around like some good old fashioned rape. I suppose that would probably just serve to feed your inner-attention seeker.”

“I don’t like birthday parties, I never have and chances are that I never will. I really hope you can make it though Thursday, I’ll be saving you a slice of cake….”

“There it is again though, that stupid fucking name. If were were days of the week honey; you wouldn’t even have the title of Tuesday, no You would be a fast-approaching Monday morning, the end of a fun-filled weekend and symbolic start of another week of nine-to-fives. On the other side of the ring? Me, a relaxed Friday evening with a few bottles of Corona. In other words my friend: You are shit, and despite what Jon Bon Jovi may have promised you in your youth - you will never be Saturday Night.”

David’s final words ring full of venom as leans forward and clicks the camera off just in time for the first flurry of guests to arrive. It was time to dance for the good people of Chicago, once more into the ballroom of public opinion. It was time to start a Conga-line and pretend he had deeper feelings for his cardboard friends than positive and negative sums of money in a ledger.

“Happy Birthday, David”

“So good to see you, David.”

Their well-wishes hit his ears, but all his brain registered was the handfuls of chips and pastries they were piling onto their respective paper-plates. The table was almost full now, but for the seat belonging to Thursday. With a sigh that soon turned to a smile, he picked up the reservation for Miss Kerrigan, scrunching it in his hand before tossing it into the potato salad with a faint sign of disappointment that he would never acknowledge or admit to.





The day was hotter than hell, and twice as humid. So hot in fact that as the tourists drifted by in their swarms David was almost mistaken for one of them. Almost unidentifiable without his trademark grey Prada suit Sanchez seemed to almost blend into the masses, dressed like an everyday citizen for a change instead of the proverbial puppet master. Clusters of children with animal shaped balloons paraded past with their lethargic parents struggling to keep the pace. Enclosure after enclosure flanked the mayor as he continued through the zoo, trying his very best not to swipe the legs of the slow moving human cattle in front of him. Turning to the camera, he spoke in a tired voice, perhaps still nursing a hangover after the festivities of his birthday on Wednesday.

“When we get there, make sure you get the backdrop in the shot this time. If you’re not going to capture the symbolism of our surroundings then I would have been as well cutting this promo from my bed, in my boxers with some morning wood.”

The camera seemed to replicate a nod of the head, yet David seemed not to be convinced. He sighed out something which resembled complacency before marching on once more, passing the Patagonian Cavy habitat without so much as shooting a passing at the mammal in it’s contained dwelling. Finally after two or three more minutes and a dozen or so more animals ranging from Pumas to Egyptian Fruit Bats they enter the Pritzker Family Children’s Zoo. David is seen to be growing restless after noticing the particular animal he had came to see is entirely surrounded by flocks of warm bodies, this simply would not do. He was already receiving enough attention for abolishing all forms of faith and associated idols without being spotted talking to Red Wolves as if they were people. The mayor whispered something to a zookeeper dressed in khaki safari gear that made him look somewhat like Indiana Jones without the hat and the whip, although his face reminded the mayor more of Chris Pontius from Wild Boyz.

An awkward conversation ensues where David is seen to offer this man a money clip, being rejected at first until the man recognizes him; whether for positive or negative reasons is not important. What matters is that eventually the dollars are passed from David to out easily corrupted zookeeper. Such was the weight of our mayor’s resentment of society, so deep was this seed of hate planted that he couldn’t even enjoy a simple trip to the zoo whilst the common man brushed shoulders with him. Kayden would have loved this place; the thought had been prominent in his brain since he had first walked through the gates of Lincoln Park. In truth he didn’t often find his thoughts wandering towards his dearly departed son, the wounds were still too fresh and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to explain their son’s demise to Samantha yet, who had only recently rejoined the land of the living after spending six months in a persistent vegetative state, alive but dead to the world. He could dwell on his guilt later though, he had come here to film a video package for Overload.

“Could everybody please exit the Pritzker Family Children’s Zoo immediately in a calm and collected manner. I have just been informed that we are to close this section for cleaning of enclosures and general site maintenance.”

The kid was a natural at lying. David made a mental note of this fact incase he ever needed to return here for one reason or another. Despite the his beneficiary’s best attempts to cover up what was actually happening, the general public were not as fickle as the mayor would have liked. He found at least every second set of adult eyes to be drawing him a dirty look as the mass exodus of families filtered through the turnstiles and back into the main foyer of Lincoln Park Zoo. After another few moments it was finally vacant. Sanchez didn’t acknowledge the zookeeper again, even as he muttered something about being back in ten minutes, instead he was drawn to the enclosure of Red Wolves that was now finally visible.

“Look at the pretty wolves Alessandra, look and notice that there’s only three of them; the Alpha Male, the Den Mother and the Pup. Just like at home. I thought I’d keep shit simple for you because I understand only too well that life must be confusing enough at the moment. Just like the Malignaggi family, they are a tight-knit community, as vicious as they are conventionally beautiful…. And just like the three of you, they too are going extinct.”

Inside the habitat, the two adult wolves were standing whilst the pup slept. The Den Mother was standing guard of her baby, which couldn’t have been any more than a few weeks old whilst the Alpha male was watching up at David, trying to work out whether or not this man resembled a threat to his family.

“I had a dream a few nights ago. I’ll spare you the details, but the long and short of it was that you and Thursday were wolves chasing Erin and I through a forest at night. I didn’t understand it at first, but come the end I knew what it meant, for as those canines tried to eat us without teeth, so too shall you and Kerrigan try to beat us without so much as a faint idea what to do in-between those ropes. Alas - you are the wolves without teeth. All bark, and no bite. You have nothing to threaten us with but harsh words and mean comments on the internet, which I’m sad to have to be the one to tell you this; does not win matches. So what we have here, my Wallione friend is a real catch fucking twenty-two situation to find yourselves in. Dogs chasing down cars, with no fucking idea what to do if they ever caught one.”

“... And so that brought me to this fucking armpit of an establishment that quite frankly smells like shit and makes me regret ever stopping taking Hypnocil to kill those dreams where they start. Here, to these magnificent creatures I have taken the high-road and decided to compare you with rather than just simply watching season three of the Sopranos and finding humor there-in. For these Red Wolves - as vicious as they may seem on the surface, are just like you, oh Crimson Lady.”

David stops for a moment. His attention turning back to the zookeeper.

“How much for the bitch?”

Confused, this attendant approaches Sanchez with folded arms and an aura of self-righteousness.

“The pup is far too young to be separated from her mother.”

Who wanted the fucking runt? David was lost in his own judgement of this man once more.

“I don’t want the pup, I want the Den Mother.”

There was a brief moment where the mayor had to shoot his most serious of glances at the bemused and bewildered member of staff who seemed to judge him for this question.

“These animals are endangered and therefor not for sale to the general public.”

‘General public.’ This assumption rang in his ears like Alessandra’s words had done a few nights ago.

“Fifteen-thousand dollars, in small bills, in your pocket, right now.”

The zookeeper stalled again, if only for a few moments before replying.

“Sold.”

Turning back to the camera, David smiled. His eyes narrowing and harnessing the entirety of his bad intentions.

“There you have it - proof. Proof that no matter how vicious, how driven or how endangered a bitch is. There is not a dog on this planet that cannot be domesticated.”