As the limo driver put their bags into the trunk of the limousine, Murphy slipped inside. The look on his face as he saw Cyrus resting across from him was priceless, a little surprise, a lot of confusion, and a touch of disgust. HantaKira sat down next to Murphy, his look almost rivaling Murphy's, though just a touch more expected. Realizing that Azrael still had to sit inside, HantaKira moved to sit next to Cyrus. Goeren sat down, looking over at Cyrus with his hands resting in his lap. A slight smirk escaped from Azrael's lips as he shook his head.

"Well Wie wunderbar! Cyrus, you old dog...this is quite unexpected."

Cyrus nodded.

"I'm sure it is. I went to your office, the receptionist said you weren't in, so I snooped around and hitched a ride with the driver."

Azrael scoffed.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find pleasure in the fact that the receptionist is no longer employed, and the driver... well, we'll see about him. But you, Cyrus... I didn't think you'd have the cajones to do this. Its rather bold of you to think you can meet with me like this."

Cyrus shook his head.

"You'd be surprised at the shit I can do to a person, Goeren."

He turned his head to look outside the limo, pausing after dropping a hint at a threat. He looked back to Azrael.

"Yes, well, don't keep me in suspense. If you haven't heard, I'm a busy man as of late. I've got to help our World Champion stomp out some vermin at Showdown as well as book a restaurant reservation in Manhattan for tomorrow. Now, what is it that couldn't wait until I got back to the office?"

Cyrus sat up, adjusting his blue collared shirt.

"A couple things. First. I need another bottle of those pills. Actually, make it two so I don't have to come back so soon."

Azrael sighed.

"You need pills already? Didn't I just give you your scheduled supply? What are you doing, making health-shakes out of them? You know, those damn things don't just grow on trees right? It costs money for me to be handing them out like lollipops, Cyrus."

Cyrus scoffed.

"Like you don't have enough money, Azrael. Just give me a couple bottles and I wont bother you about them for a while."

Azrael chuckled, shaking his head.

"I can't do that, Cyrus. You're on a strict regimen. You'll just have to grow up and stick to your schedule. That was part of the deal if you remember correctly."

Cyrus moved to get up, HantaKira slapped his arm back to hold Cyrus down.

"You fucking prick, just give me a bottle, then."

"Cyrus. You heard me. I can't do that. You want more pills, you'll have to wait until next week. I'm not running a charity here."

"God dammit, man. You don't fucking understand."

Azrael scooted forward.

"No, Cyrus. You don't understand. I told you before, I am not going to give you those fucking pills until you do something for me. And the only thing I want right now is for you to take care of that horrid man you're facing at Outlaw Rising. This is the world you bought into, and up until now I believed things to be running smoothly. I can easily stop importing these drugs Cyrus, and then where would you be? Back at the asylum? Out on the streets? Dead? It's business, Cyrus, plain and simple. Something addicts like you don't understand."

Cyrus grabbed HantaKira's arm, attempting to rip it off of him, but HK remained still.

"I'm not a fucking addict, Azrael. If you knew half of the shit I've seen, you'd understand what the fuck I'm going through. You wouldn't be able to deal with it, you wouldn't be able to handle the things I hear... that I see..."

Azrael laughed hysterically.

"That's the thing, Cyrus. I'm not as goobered up in the head as you are. I don't have to. But I do have to worry about business. If I take it easy on you, then everyone's going to be trying to milk me for extra supplies, extra time on their deadlines. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I don't apologize for stupidity. Now, what's next on your list."

Cyrus looks at Azrael, snarling. He rests back in his seat.

"On with it, yeh wanky fucking bollicks."

Murphy slips his mouth into the conversation. Cyrus looks back to Azrael.

"A couple of days ago I was taking a walk outside of my home, and came upon a row of hedges."

"Did a little gardening, did you?"

"No, actually. I did, however take a peak behind them, and what did I find?"

Azrael looks to him, knowingly...although obviously a little concerned.

"The Devious Cathedral."

"What's your point?"

Cyrus laughed.

"What the fuck, Azrael? Why the fuck don't I remember anything about living in front of the Devious Cathedral?"

Azrael sighed.

"You're picking up sooner than I thought you would, Cyrus. I cant say that I'm particularly pleased with you right now."

Cyrus looked to Azrael, as Azrael turned away.

"What the fuck do you mean, Goeren? What the fuck? I'm picking up? On what?"

Azrael looked back to Cyrus and dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

"I believe we are done here. And I don't want you ever, EVER coming to me and make demands like you've done today. From what I hear, you've done too much exploring as it is. Now get out of the damn limousine."

Cyrus scooted forward, though HantaKira's arm still held him back.

"I'm not though, what the fuck do you mean, Azrael?"

Azrael continued to look out of the limo. Cyrus grabbed HantaKira's hand, gripping on his fingers, and wrenched back. HantaKira's arm drew back, Cyrus lunged forward towards Azrael. However, Murphy stuck his good leg up, just to catch Cyrus in the testicles. Cyrus collapsed to the ground, HantaKira dropping to the limo floor, gripping Cyrus' neck. The Japanese man lowered his face next to Cyrus', and spoke.

"I do believe the conversation has ended. You made your points and Azrael retorted. And yet, for some reason you continue to speak. Azrael's said his piece and now the conversation is over. The end. Period. You heard him, loud and clear, he will not give you your pills until you do what is necessary. He will not speak on the Devious Cathedral now, nor probably ever. Is that so hard for somebody like you to understand?"

Cyrus looks up at HantaKira, spitting in his face. As the saliva drips off of HantaKira, back onto his own, HantaKira grips Cyrus' neck tighter.

"Cyrus O'Haire, you better pray to whatever it is you pray to that you absolutely destroy that walking stereotype next week. Otherwise... We were in the ring together once and I doubt that is a situation you would like to find yourself in twice. Quite simply, if the match does not end with you holding the Southern States Championship or 8-Ball on a stretcher... Suffice to say there is plenty of available space next to Damien Roy. Now, perhaps that will be enough motivation to keep your mind off the pills and on the match. Are we clear?"

Cyrus looks up at HantaKira, struggling for air.

"Are we clear?"

He grips tighter, Cyrus begins to kick his feet in the air, trying to break free, the grip only gets tighter.

"Perhaps you should answer while you still can."

Cyrus looks over at Azrael, who appears to be laughing with Murphy, he then looks back to HantaKira and nods in desperation. HantaKira releases his grip on Cyrus, and sits back on the seat.

Cyrus looks up to the ceiling, noticing the leather beginning to break, to bend and move, stretch and pull... then a bulge begins to form, and begins to take on facial features. Cyrus closes his eyes as he scoots over towards HantaKira, though still on the ground. The bulge in the roof begins to move towards him, and Cyrus closes his eyes as he slides up on the seat. He rests his head on the window, as he breathes deep. Cyrus exhales, and looks to the ceiling.

"Boo, mother fucker."

Cyrus shuts his eyes quickly, like a scared eight year old. A tear drops from his eye as he breathes again, slowly falling off to sleep.

---

Cyrus woke up laying next to a dumpster. How he got there, how he hadn't woken up when they moved him, Cyrus didn't know. He stood up, putting his hand on a black garbage bag. He looked to the sky, the dark night sky illuminated by the clouds reflecting the moon.

"How cliché. Leave the guy having seizures in a dark alley, hope he makes it through the night, and laugh about it the next day. "

Cyrus sighed, beginning to walk out towards the street. He stopped, and looked to the camera.

"At least... I think they hope I make it through the night..."

Cyrus put his hands in his pants pockets, continuing through the alley. As he approached the street, he turned back to the camera, his hands still in his pocket.

"You know what I'm sick of? Idiots like you calling me an addict. Idiots like you, HantaKira and Azrael claiming I'm addicted to the drugs. Fuck that. Fuck that."

Cyrus shook his head, tapping his foot on the ground.

"If I were addicted to the drugs, it'd make this all the more easier, 8-Ball. If I were addicted to the drugs, I wouldn't have a problem putting my boot in your black ass. But I do. Yeah, it disturbs me that I have to rip every sense of livelihood from a man for drugs. But I'm not doing them for the drugs, par say... I'm doing it so that my Irish-American ass doesn't end up back in the psyche ward, eating refried beans and cabbage for dinner every... fucking... night. I'm not addicted to the drugs, 8-Ball. I'm addicted to the free world. I'm addicted to living on my own, unassisted. With out people forcing me to eat, or locking me in a padded room with a straight jacket on. And if I have to be Azrael Goeren's monkey, I will. Because I do NOT want to end up back in that damn place. Not now."

Cyrus stopped tapping his foot on the ground.

"Not ever."

He looked at the camera hard, pausing for a second.

"I've dealt with this shit before, having people control me for what they want... ironically by one Craig Carson. He did the same shit that Azrael is doing to me, getting me a part of a powerful stable, in DIWF it was the Heartless Bastards, in OPW it's The Row... oh, but I'm not a part of the Row, oh no. They wont fucking accept me as one of their own, yet I do their dirty business. All of the downfalls, none of the damn pleasures. I don't get recognized as powerful, I don't get people cowering in the corner when I walk into the room. I don't get the cutesy faces. No. I get spat on. Disrespected. I get forced out of rooms, and tossed aside while they revel in their greatness. Azraith DeMitri sits at his wife's hospital bed, waiting for her to recuperate, and I'm forced into bullshit matches with Tyrone '8-Ball' Johnston over bullshit that I have nothing to do with, trying to get a bullshit title for a bullshit man who doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself and his bullshit. Look at me. I'm sitting atop a huge... fucking pile... of bullshit."

Cyrus sighed.

"So what? What does that have to do with this match? What does that have to do with your title? What does that have to do with your family, the very people that Azrael warned you to take care of?"

Cyrus chuckled.

"Lets just put it this way, 8-Ball. The bullshit you're about to go through at Outlaw Rising doesn't even come close to leveling out with the shit I stand on top of... but I'm going to make it come as close as possible."

Cyrus started tapping his heel.

"I guess if I'm going down, you are, too. You get the full on stink-shit.  You were a former addict? Congratu-fucking-lations, you know what it's like to be free. You know what a man would do to keep his freedom. You know what it's like to be on the inside, you know what it's like to be on the outside. You would give just about ANYTHING to be on the outside.

"Your friends.

"Your health.

"Your life."

Cyrus sighed.

"And I'll do just that. HantaKira wants you being pulled out of the arena on a gurney? He wants you bleeding? Broken? He wants me to hold your title? Good. Maybe then I'll get some respect around this federation full of BULLSHIT. Huh?"

Cyrus laughed.

"And maybe then you'll have a reason to try to help me from myself."

He looked at the camera, smirking, and turned towards the street. The camera faded.