Today’s date is Saturday, April 19, 2008.
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Location: Barrow, Alaska, United States of America.
Dated: Wednesday, April 16, 2008.
The fire burns in the heart of the room, but all else around it remains cold. I did not sleep in my bed last night. Instead, I decided to take my blankets and curl up in front of the roaring flames. Coming from a nation that at times is described as being sub-tropical, it’s a little difficult for me to adjust to the extremely low temperatures here. But I’m here for a reason, so I’ve got to solider on.
The overhead sun bangs against my window, trying to get past the curtains, telling me that I should’ve been up a couple of hours ago. If what my research has told me is correct, it should be up for over 12 hours today. I don’t know how many of past, but I would think that it is still morning. That gives me plenty of time to find who I am looking for, provided that I don’t get struck down with hypothermia before then.
I pull my feet up towards me, holding myself in the fetal position while I shiver underneath my blankets. I wriggle my toes, just to make sure I still can feel them. Thankfully, I can. I then begin to contemplate why I’m here, in Barrow, Alaska, the most northern settlement on the mainland North American continent, freezing my fucking ass off.
Recent events have led me to agree to assist my father in his wrongful persecution in relation to the activities of the Worldwide Organization Regarding Liberty and Defense (W.O.R.L.D.) terrorist cell, which he, along with myself and many other members of my iwi (that’s a Maori word which roughly translates into English as tribe, it’s hard to translate it exactly because of the significant cultural differences), were unknowingly assisting. It’s a long story, but you get the gist of it, right?
Upon investigation of both the case against my father, as well as revisiting the details of what occurred during that time, I have decided that the best starting point lies with two names, the two Hemi’s who led the sect that my father and I became a part of: Hemi Rapata and Matua Hemi. It sounds simple enough, but there a few small hiccups in that plan. The last time I saw Hemi Rapata, the older of the two, was when he had a piece of glass jabbed into his hand, pinning him to a wall, and the building he was had been set on fire. He had me to thank for that, but he never should have kidnapped Mandy Freeman in the first place. As far as I know, and all the probing into the matter that I have done seems to confirm this, Hemi Rapata died that day. The only remorse I feel is that it makes it a hell of a lot more difficult to do my job nowadays. I am left with only Matua Hemi to find, but like the snake that he is, he has slithered off the radar. Over the last few days I have been devoting as many resources of my own, and whatever other resources I can get my hands on, to find this jackass, but have yet to be successful. I’ve even been in touch with my own Government, but all Prime Minister Helen Clark cared about was that this security program that I’ve been trying to set up isn’t doing its job. What does she expect? She wants me to construct something to save the nation or some shit like that, but she’s unwilling to give me what I need to do it.
Thus, I have been left out in the cold, both figuratively – and given my current geographical location, literally as well.
But I am here for a reason.
While I may be, as of yet unable to track down Matua, I have found an individual who may be of great assistance to my cause. You see, when I walked into that building many years ago, to extract vengeance upon Rapata, I had the assistance of two men. One of them, oddly enough, has gone by a few names in the past here in the XWF, the most notable ones being Judas Iscariot and Weapon:Ashen. He saved her, and me, whether that crazy voodoo golden head he used to answer had anything to do with it, and I thank him for that. But there was also a man who helped me locate Rapata, so that I could unleash a very twisted Ashen onto them.
He is the one who I am here to find.
His name was Kiano, an agent for the Setsujoku-Kai clan that XWF Legend Steve Jason once belonged to. Like Steven, I have since discovered that Kiano has abandoned the now-corrupt clan. He is here, in Barrow, Alaska. What he is doing, I don’t know, but I have to find him. He is the one resource I have at my disposal that I haven’t used, and he may very well be the only chance I have at finding Matua Hemi.
I finally decide to get up, and immediately regret that decision as the blankets fall to the floor around me. This time, when I sleep in my clothes, it’s one hundred percent intentional. It’s just way too damn cold not to. The temperature has yet to rise above freezing point since I arrived yesterday. I shiver, and rub my hands together as I prance on the spot. I then race off to the bathroom, which thanks to modern technology – and the need for hygiene, is the warmest place in my rented suite.
After washing myself quickly, I reemerge wrapped in a giant, puffy jacket, woolen gloves, snow pants and heavy boots. Keeping my classic Lee Stone style, Aviators are also wrapped around my face, while a beanie sits atop my head, covering my ears. Not being particularly hungry, I skip breakfast today, and exit my room.
I find myself now in a hallway, which I follow towards a staircase leading downwards. At the bottom of this, I enter what appears to be a pub of some sort. I still don’t know what time it is, but I’d presume that I must be about lunch-time, given the relative number of customers in here, and the meals that are on the tables in front of them. It is fairly warm in here, at least in comparison to what it was in my room, and many people seem to look on at me in amusement, as I’m the most covered-up in the room. Jesus, there’s a fucking kid in here that’s wearing less clothing than I am. That’s embarrassing.
I move towards the bar, and pull up a seat on a stool, awaiting the bartender to approach me. He walks over, the least covered up of everyone, he’s even brave enough to be wearing a short-sleeved shirt. I guess he’s probably used to it.
“The liquor ban isn’t in effect, is it?” I ask, recalling the texts I had read where at certain times of the year, there is a ban on alcohol sales and consumption in regions where the sun doesn’t shine all year round.
“The bar is open, isn’t it?” he says, fairly monotonously. “The liquor ban is reserved for when the sun doesn’t rise.”
“Right…” I nod in understanding. I probably could have figured that out myself if I had tried. “Got any Scotch?”
“Single malt? Sure,” he says, seeming quite uninterested. “How do you want it?”
“On the rocks,” I tell him. He moves away from my briefly, and drops a couple of cubes of ice into a glass, before filling it with my beverage of choice. I silently muse over the irony of putting ice in drinks, here in Alaska, but I don’t say a thing. I’m not here to cause a scene. He slides the glass over to me.
“That’ll be five bucks,” he tells me, and I hand him a note, barely even paying attention to the local variation in price. He deposits it in the till, but returns to me soon after with an inquisitive look upon his face. “Do you mind me asking what you’re doing in town?”
“I’m looking for someone,” I tell him, taking off my gloves and then reaching into a pocket on my jacket where I withdraw a photo of the man formerly known as Kiano. I show the photo to the barkeep. “I believe his name is John Sloane. Do you know where he is?”
“Hey Chief!” the bartender calls out across the room, looking in the direction of two men wearing the sheriff’s uniform in one corner of the room. “We got somebody asking about The Outsider over here!”
One of the men at the table stands up immediately and approaches me, leaving his lunch on the table behind him. He stands slightly taller than myself, and is of a thicker build, but I’m quite positive that most of it can be attributed to fat, rather than muscle. As he nears me, he leans over and rests upon the bar next to me. I turn my whole body to face him directly, and I sip from my glass.
“I’m Sheriff Rick Crane,” he introduces himself. “Who might you be?”
“Lee Stone,” I say, reaching my hand out in offering. He obliges and shakes it.
“That accent…” he begins, “where’s it from?”
“New Zealand,” I inform him, sipping again at my drink.
“Beautiful place I’ve heard,” he says nonchalantly.
“I’ve heard the same about Alaska,” I casually reply. “I like what I’ve seen so far.”
“That’s great to hear,” he smiles devilishly. My first reaction is to be cautious of this guy, he doesn’t seem one hundred percent trustworthy, but I’m sure he probably feels the same way towards me. What would you do if you were entrusted with the protection of a small town like this, less than 5,000 in population, and a stranger comes looking for someone? “What do you know about The Outsider?”
“The Outsider?” I ask, confused about this reference that I’ve now heard twice.
“That’s what folks around here have been calling the guy in that photo of yours,” he tells me. “Is he a buddy of yours?”
“An old work friend,” I tell him, trying to lie as little as possible, but still not giving him any details.
“I hope you don’t mind me probing into this subject matter my friend,” he says, not exactly asking a question, but leaving the statement open-ended so I can still reply.
“Not at all,” I wave him off. “I understand that you’re just trying to make sure I’m not up to mischief.”
“Not just you,” he says. “The Outsider has been here about five months, and hasn’t really made any friends. He lives at the edge of the town, and barely comes out of his house. Most folks, outside of my department and the staff here at the local watering hole, don’t even know his name.”
“John’s been through a rough patch…” I say, refusing to refer to him as The Outsider, and still remaining as vague as possible.
“I’m not even going to try to imagine what could turn a man into such an antisocial creature,” he tells me. I have no idea where he’s going with that, but judging by the way he trailed off at the end, I feel as if I’m supposed to chime in once more.
“It’s funny…” I begin, “if you knew what made him like that, you would think it was just in your imagination anyway.”
“You’re right,” he says with a stern face. “That is funny.”
“You’ve got an odd sense of humor Sheriff,” I remark off-handedly.
“So I’m told,” he replies. I momentarily turn my attention away from him, as I sip at my glass again. The whiskey has just reached its ideal point, where ice has begun to melt into it – even in this freezing cold – and its taste is much smoother. An awkward silence passes.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do me a favor?” I ask him now, looking back at him once more.
“What’s that?” he asks, continuing to size me up.
“Could you point me in the direction of John’s house?”
“Point you?” he asks. “No. I’ll take you there myself.”
“Is this a ‘friends close, enemies – or potential enemies – closer’ sort of deal?” I ask him, the slightest hint of my trademark grin shining through.
“That depends,” he says, standing up straight. “Is there a reason it should be?”
“Not that I can think of.” My grin completes itself now, and I pummel back what remains in my glass, barely even showing any trace of a grimace on my face. I rise now, nodding in the direction of the bartender, who more or less ignores me. As we walk towards the door in silence, I slide my gloves on, and pay no attention to the hordes of eyes watching us as we go. Small towns get oh so suspicious at times.
We climb into his pick-up truck, and begin to drive off. The radio remains off, and few, if any, words are exchanged during the entirety of the trip. The only sound that can be heard is the whistling of the wind as it wriggles through a small gap between the window and the door of the truck. I lose all sense of bearing, seeing as how this is the first time I’ve ever been to the town.
Eventually we pull up outside a shack that is most definitely at the outside of the town, just as the sheriff described. I open the door and climb out on my own. Making my way up the icy path, being careful not to slip over, I reach the door and knock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I glance back over my shoulder to the truck, where the sheriff still remains, looking on at me to see what happens next.
Then the door opens.
Continued in file SS:11911JS LF:160408/OO:00000LS:LF:161408.
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Location: United States of America airspace, somewhere above the continental 48 states..
Dated: Saturday, April 19, 2008
“Bitches and gentlefucks, The Lee is happy, and here is why:
Daniel Malcolm dropped a promo.
That’s it, that’s the entire reason for this little smile on my dial. It’s so much more interesting when your opponent actually gets involved in the build-up for a match. It’s called ‘business’, and it’s something that Heavy D and Reggie Fresh need to take a few classes in before Christian Connolly and I cash in our unavoidable rematch for the Tag Titles, so that the viewers actually want to turn their TVs on rather than just tuning in at the end to see if anyone has the balls to attack us. But I digress, that is another debate for another time. Tonight I am here to discuss our incumbent Universal Champion, as he glosses and shines my belt before handing it back to me this Sunday.
I sound pretty confident, don’t I? And this week, in regards to my little warm-up match against the ‘champ’, I have every reason to be. It’s just like with Christian in relation to his match against Rigg, the two of you are distracted. Thanks to your little spat, The Vigilantes simply need to show up to win, while you concentrate on each other. But here’s a piece of information that I’m sure you will find comforting, “Bigg Rigg” John Gambino isn’t going to show up in this match. I haven’t spoken to the guy or anything, I’m just under the belief that Rigg’s a hell of a lot smarter than that. He got involved in my business once before, in my match against Christian Connolly, and he is lucky that I let him slide that time. But I’m not as forgiving as that God of yours, I allow people to make one mistake, but then if they don’t learn… they get punished.
Rigg knows to stay out of this match, because he understands that another loss to me – another clean defeat, would assist his cause of trying to break your very humanity, because it would be the burning realization that you are everything that I claim you to be.
You are a transitional champion.
And I am more than happy to oblige here, Daniel. I am more than happy to break you down into dust, not to appease Rigg and oddly enough, not to appease myself. I’m going to do it because it’s what you deserve Dan. It’s what you need. Every time you get knocked down, only to pull yourself up again, you become stronger like you’re on Dragonball Z or something. But the difference between me and Rigg is, when I set out to destroy you, I draw the line at you.
Do I feel compassion for you Dan? No… not really. I feel compassion for Patience – she’s one of the few people on the past or present roster that I can actually stand to be around. I also feel compassion for Caroline. But you Dan, nah… not you. Not until you take your fucking head out of your ass and stop playing the bloody pity card. Should Rigg have kidnapped Caroline and Patience – at different times? No. That ain’t right. It can’t be changed now either, which is a shame. But it’s like Christian said to John, you have a solution that you haven’t considered. You see Dan, there’s this little metal thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but it’s called a ‘gun’. And it fires even smaller metal things called ‘bullets’ that you can kill people with. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. But of course, you’re not me, not even close.
Here’s something though, mate… you asked me what I’d do if a maniac took my little girl away, and so I’ve told you. But what would you do if your little boys were taken away from you, and you didn’t have any name to blame? If you didn’t have the slightest fucking thing to lash out at? And Dan, what would you do if they could never be given back?
Huh?
HUH!?”
What the FUCK would you do then?
You stand there and spout off at the mouth about how I never think of anyone but myself, and yet I struggle to get to sleep at night because the only thing – THE ONLY THING – that I can ever think about is Conner and Anthony’s faces as they were placed into their little coffins.
How dare you Dan? How dare you question my ability to think of other people when every moment of my life is entirely and utterly devoted to them. It’s even what I do for a living! I’m out there, sacrificing my body and literally my life, just to put smiles on a couple of rednecks’ faces. You think I do this for the fame? You think I do this for the fortune? Dude… it seems that in three years, you still have no fucking clue who I am. I do this Daniel, because I believe strongly that I’m making the world a better place by giving them something to smile about. Because let’s face it, there’s a fuckload of crap out there in the world, and to be able to momentarily allow people the time to get away from all of that – all the demons that I’ve had to face myself, that becomes the only way that I can sleep. But I’m sure you’ll use your standard approach of only half-listening to anything that anybody ever says to you, and completely ignore that.
Don’t believe me? Dude, you do it all the time. For example, I never said that you cost me a Universal Title shot. Jonathyn Brown cost me a Universal Title shot. Hardcore Smitty cost me a Universal Title shot. Thomas Davis, Bigg Rigg, Zach Rizza and Fran Damage all cost me a Universal Title shot – and at least Fran righted that wrong. You Dan, were not expected to be able to control action outside of the ring – or above it as the case may be, only that which occurred inside. But what you did Dan, was you cost me a match. You counted me out in a freaking ladder match, and then you called for the belt.
Dan, just like Jon screwed you, you screwed me.
And then you had the audacity to name Christian Connolly as your opponent. Don’t get me wrong, Christian deserves the shot, but if you are really so concerned with trying to defend the championship with pride and honor like you keep prattling on about, then wouldn’t you have wanted both of us in there? Like it matters though, we’re both there now, and thanks to you escalating your little tiff with Rigg, he is too. And in the Helldome none the less, lovely stipulation that.
But Dan, let’s not get carried away just yet. We will have plenty of time over the coming week to argue the pros and innumerable cons of your decision making process. Right now I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you:
vYou do care about what I think of you. You do constantly seek approval. To suggest anything to the contrary, is to lie. Daniel Malcolm, you are quite possibly the neediest and most attention seeking moron on the entire XWF roster. I won’t go as far as saying that you take that title over the entire course of the XWF history – since there’s a certain four lettered name starting with C, ending in D and with an H and an A in between, who gets that label, but out of the current list of ‘stars’, you get the nod.
Don’t you get it Dan? You keep referring to yourself as the new Steve Jason, or you keep running off to Andy Cortinovis to give you a little pep talk and have a game off grab-ass while he constantly tells you that you can do anything if you set your mind to it (I have eyes and ears everywhere).That’s proving my point douchebag! And as far as I’m concerned – if you’re the new Steve Jason then I must be the new Cooper, because I was at the top when you came in, I saw you rise up towards me, and the entire time I was wondering just what the big freaking deal was. But of course, when Stevie J reached the top, he started smacking Cooper around. You haven’t managed that, and I doubt that you ever will. That is why you seek my approval. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect you to be inviting me to dinner parties, but you seek the mere acknowledgement from me that says you are able to provide me with my much needed addiction to competition.
You know Dan, for someone who claims to be their own man here in the XWF, doesn’t saying that you’re just like Steve Jason, severely restrict your ability to be your own man? I mean, it doesn’t really leave much space for you to be Daniel Malcolm, if you’re so busy trying to be Stevie J. I’ll be honest though, I do see some similarities between the two of you though, so there is some truth to your claim. Steven was a hypocritical prick who tried to spread the message of peace and fair play, yet when someone didn’t want to abide by ‘his’ rules, then he resorted to the very same tactics that he condemned. He may not have been the first to kick you in the balls, but he definitely wouldn’t have ruled out the option of doing so. You’re alike in that matter, kid. You’re a hypocritical prick too. But where you and Stevie J vary, is that he was actually willing to listen first and act later. He would actually hear what I’m saying, and consider it for a moment, rather than immediately assuming his own infallibility and disregarding any who disagree. That’s where you fall short.
Here’s a neat little hint for you, if you really want to be Steven so much Dan: stop acting like the world’s ultimate underdog. You’re not. You must be completely fucked in the head if you think that nobody thought you were going to beat Rizza and Rigg at the Pay Per View. The underdog there was Rizza, nobody thought that he’d win. It was a two horse race and you were one of them. And if you’d kindly like to jump onto xwf99.com and check the poll in regards to Hell on Earth, it’s early days yet but you’d be able to see that Bigg Rigg currently has 50 percent of the votes, most likely due to this kind of fucked up environment suiting him very well, I follow behind at 33 percent, and then you’re right in behind me at 17 percent. Guess what Dan? It seems that Christian is considered the underdog. There goes that statement. I’m not even sure why you said it in the first place. This isn’t the Helldome yet buddy, this is you versus The World’s Greatest, one-on-one. And in this situation, sure you are in fact the underdog, but so is everybody else who draws Lee Stone as an opponent. And if you think that the possession of my shiny gold strap is enough to make you any different, then you would be sadly mistaken.
I don’t steal the spotlight my friend, because it was mine to begin with. It just naturally wants to shine on me. Hell, when Christian and I first returned, Christian did all the talking, since those little Project 222 vignettes were his idea, but yet your own partner – at least he was back then, Vincent Jamison, would think of me as the leader. It’s just one of the laws of nature. When Lee Stone walks into a room, heads turn, when Daniel Malcolm walks into a room, people barely even take notice. And that ain’t me being cocky, that ain’t me being arrogant, that’s me being realistic.
Speaking of Vinnie James, what happened to him? Huh, Dan? When Christian and I cut the two of you down so badly, to the point where ‘Mr. Amazing’ would no longer even open his mouth, for fear that Lee Stone would shove his foot in it, where were you? Did you reach out to him at all? Did you try to offer some support when he had the stunning realization that everything Christian and I said about the two of you – more specifically you – was true? Where were you Dan? And please don’t misunderstand me here Daniel, with that statement I’m not even trying to get under your skin, I’m legitimately curious. I guess I just stopped paying attention to Vincent since he stopped trying to snap at my heels. You mentioned that you’ve been burned so many times before. Perhaps this time, you burned that bridge yourself, just like you did with the two of us.
Remember the old days, Dan? Remember back when I would sit at the head of the table, Steve Jason on the other end, and you’d be on one of the seats at the edge? I’m not going to say that I liked you back then Dan, but I could at least be in the same room as you without the nauseating scent of foundationless arrogance flooding my nostrils. But then you ran off with Prince Akeem and started claiming that you’ve been held down, when at the time you were XWC World Champion, there literally was no Universal Champion, and the last time there was a Universal Title, you had the last two shots at it. That didn’t make any sense back then. I know you’ve had enough sense beaten into you to ditch Akeem, but while you were writing greeting cards afterwards, I guess you forgot to mail the one that read “Sorry Lee Stone for being under the impression that I deserved the spot you’ve literally died for, despite the fact that the three times we’ve faced each other one-on-one, you made me your bitch”. It’s no biggie really Dan, I don’t even want an apology from you. All I want is for you to understand that to me, you’re still that guy, because you still seem to be under the deluded impression that you’ve paid enough dues to be on my level. But therein lies the catch. There isn’t a damn thing that I have left that I could possibly give to get any better. My blood has been spilt, my dignity torn to shreds, my very life sapped, the physical, emotional and mental strain cannot possibly grow past this point. And you still fail to understand that. I have nothing to lose, because I have nothing left. If your battles with Rigg have shown you anything, it’s that you do. You may not be willing to give it all up, I sure wasn’t, but as you’re finding out, sometimes you don’t have a choice.
Forget about the Universal Title Daniel, forget about Bigg Rigg and Christian Connolly. Focus on me, and me alone – at least until after Massacre that is. It’s a tall order for you to ask of yourself, but it’s necessary, because the more you let these little insecurities and worries creep into your mind, the more it’ll start to affect everything you do, from your wrestling ability, to your relationships. Your fear of losing Patience could very well be what causes you to lose her. But what would I know? Apparently I never think of anyone else but myself. Apparently I didn’t know that friends ask each other for help sometimes. Hmm… maybe I can ask Christian how I can be a better friend to him. Would that work?
…
Dan… listen to me very carefully right now. You’re a good wrestler, and you’re probably a good enough guy outside of your general idiocy, but you’re not good enough. I want a competition though. It gets lonely at the top. So if you’re thinking of joining me up here, then I want you to pause, and take a second to consider everything that I’ve said. Don’t just react, actually think about it. I’m point out your flaws so that you can fix them. Until you do that, I can guarantee that you will have a very bad day.”
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