Heather Halliwell was dead.

Steve Jason was a father to twins.

Nobody knew where those twins were.

Things were not good.

Steve Jason had always been a man to remain completely in control of his emotions and thus, even at the last Anarchy, he'd been able to keep himself calm and reserved, showing absolutely no outward signs of the grief that had been rampaging through his soul. But it had been there. How in the world couldn't it have? A woman who some would have considered the love of his life- and the mother of his twins- gone. While to the outside world he'd seemed austere and in-control, as soon as the cameras went off, Steve's inner wounding became far more apparent.

What in the world was he going to do now? Heather was gone, sure... but there were two twins out there somewhere. Zachary and Zoe, he'd been told their names were. He didn't know what they looked like, what their temperaments were like- even their locations at the moment were a mystery to him. Rhiannon Ramsay had come out of the blue to tell Steve this, and even she barely seemed to know a goddamn thing- despite the fact that the event had now effectively turned Steve's life upside-down, off a cliff and into a hurricane.

It had been nearly a year since Steve had last been seen anywhere near Club Paramount. The multiple-storey superclub was the crown jewel of the entertainment division of the megacorp known as the Richards Conglomerate, and it had been a venue that Steve himself had once been put in charge of managing for Talia Richards herself. Those days had past now, and Steve had surrendered all duties to the Conglomerate, who now ran the place themselves. Nevertheless, that didn’t erase Steve’s affinity for the place, and with his move back to Los Angeles to put him in proximity to XWF Home Office, who he now answered to, it was only a matter of time before he swung on by to see how things were getting on.

He’d decided to avoid the hustle and bustle of the main dance floor of the club, known affectionately as the Octagon, and had instead headed up towards the Premium Zones- smaller ‘mini-clubs’ each with a different theme, where those with a big enough wallet could have a somewhat different, more luxurious experience than those on the main floor below.

The particular zone he’d chosen was the Cryo Zone, a medium-sized room that, as the name suggested, had gone with an ice theme. Azure blue lighting dominated the area, which had a number of ziggurat-style steps leading down from a raised platform around the outside of the area down to the lowered area below. There were a number of chaise lounges, couches and booths around the room in addition to the main dance floor in the center of the room, where elegantly-clad women and snappy-dressed men busted out moves that Steve was obviously far too out of touch with. On the far end of the room there was a crystalline bar set up which refracted cyan light around the room, supported by a number of deep blue light pillars scattered around the room. The bar itself was stocked with various kinds of alcohol, ranging from the lowly Budweiser to the finest gold-label liquor, and behind the bar was a reinforced window showing the night skyline of Los Angeles. Keeping with the ice theme, the bar was tended by a group of men and women in Russian fur garb.

It was at this very bar that Steve Jason himself sat, a fair amount of space placed between him and the other partygoers. His expression was an enigma right now, his stubbled face unreadable, his ice-blue eyes a mystery. His dark hair had been pushed up into its usual style, and he opted for the winter look this evening, a black turtleneck covering his upper body and dark jeans and casual black shoes over his lower. He sat at the bar with a simple glass of Coke in front of him, which was set right next to the Corona bottle that belonged to none other than Steve's best friend, Douglas Henry Phidippidies McNamara III.

"You gotta chillax a bit, SJ..." Dougy continued from his opening statement, holding his hands out placatingly, his blond hair tucked under a ten-gallon hat and a Southern Colonel-style suit, complete with the frayed cuffs and boots, "I know you've got a lot on your mind and all, but mate, you're not doing yourself any good."

Dougy's broad, moon-shaped face was hardly anything new. Steve had seen it for nearly twenty-eight years, and even XWF figures were familiar with him. There was, however, a new face at the bar. This face was more youthful than either Steve or Dougy's, instead the face of a man in his mid twenties, although that was partly obscured by the thin brown beard over his face, matching the bangs of hair coming down over his face. His attire was an unusual cross of lounge and utilitarian- a khaki shirt covered his lean upper torso, under which was a white tanktop. His pants were the same khaki color as his shirt, and his boots were decidedly military.

His name was John R. Dequindre... and he was Steve Jason's cousin, by way of his father's sister. Unlike Steve, Dequindre wasn't Australian- he was born in South Africa, after Steve's aunt had settled there and married a wealthy white Afrikaner in the early 1980s. Despite his rugged good looks and the air of charm waving off him, Steve knew that Dequindre wasn't a man to be trifled with- he'd served in the South African army for some time, and it had turned him into a formidable, shrewd adventurer whose survival skills could rival Steve's- and that was quite a feat.

"Ya, bru," John agreed with Dougy, clapping his cousin on the shoulder warmly, "This is your big night! If Lady Luck's as good to you as she is to me, your massive comeback awaits!"

Indeed, it was the night of Monday Massacre- and that had been one of the reasons the three friends had come out to the club tonight, to find a comfortable place to watch the show. In addition, Dougy and John both, between them, knew they absolutely had to get Steve out of the house. Grief was all well and good, but too much of it could destroy a man.

"And just how lucky are you?" Steve replied dryly.

"Well, I'll put it this way. Ever since we touched down in LA, there hasn't been a single night I haven't pulled some hot bird. Never seen anything quite like it. Obviously they all like the bad boys." With that said, John smoothed his hair back, causing Steve to snort in semi-disgust.

The conversation between the men was suddenly and abruptly interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from an intercom system which had been set into the front of the bar. The voice answering it was that of a man, but it had oddly feminine qualities to it in some kind of European accent. Steve knew that as the voice of Formico de la Frangipani, the manager and designer of Club Paramount.

"Hallo? Mr. Jason? Are you there?"

Without so much as flinching, Steve keyed the intercom button and spoke in a quiet, gruff voice.

"Here. What's going on, Formico?"

"There's a woman here at the main desk looking for you. Five-four, brown hair, hazel eyes. She seems like she's Irish. Wonderful taste in fashion, and skin I would just die for. She put her name down as..."

"...Chloe O'Brien." Steve guessed, finishing Formico's description for him.

"Are you sure about that?" Sergei Volkov asked as he slung his way into a seat from the far end of the bar out of seemingly nowhere. Like John, Sergei had been a friend Steve had met throughout his travels- the man was a Russian American, often working as hired security and the like, with an obvious professionalism about him that hinted some kind of semi-military training. His light brown hair was buzzed short, and his medium frame was wrapped up in a black sweater and dress slacks.

"Trust me. That was all I needed to hear to know precisely that it's her. Alright, Formico, send her up."

"Yas sir." With an abrupt click, the intercom went dead, leaving the four men in silence at the bar again.

"Don't be too hard on her, SJ..." Dougy urged, holding his hands up, "I know you're pissed at Chloe for not getting word to you about what happened earlier. I'd be pissed too. But you know that girl loves you, and you know she'd only do something like that for your protection or for the protection of the kids. Just... try to keep that in mind before you go off the deep end."

"I didn't say I'd go off the deep end, Dougy." Steve's reply was in a very decidedly neutral tone of voice.

"Yeah, but you got it written all over you, mate. You look about ready to go nuclear. Give the poor girl a chance."

"Personally, I'm curious to meet this O'Brien chick..." John mused aloud, buffing his knuckles against the front of his shirt, "The impression I'm getting is she's quite a fox."

"Oh, she is." Steve agreed in a deceptively agreeable tone, a grin lighting up his face, "Probably the hottest little Irish-American babe you've ever seen. Charming and cute as all hell..." He watched John's eyes light up, then chose that moment to drop the bomb and dash his hopes, "...which is why it sure does suck that you aren't going to be making any moves on her, Johnny boy."

"I... what?" John seemed taken aback at that, his eyes opening wide in surprise, "Are you trying to tell me this Chloe babe is off-limits?'

"Yep. Pretty much. Let me put it this way, John. Club Paramount is a big place. Several floors, several chambers. Full of women. Hot ones. You can have any last one of them you want. Except for Chloe. We are close. We have a bond. And that excludes her from some things. She is not one of your conquests, nor is she even potentially one. You know me well enough to know that if I say that, I mean it." While Steve's tone of voice was not an unpleasant one and it was clear he had no hostile intentions, it nevertheless came across as though he would suffer no mischief on the topic. John raised a brow, then nodded and flapped a hand.

"Alright, alright, cousin. If you feel that strongly about it, I'll let her go. You're right anyway, I can take my pick of the cream of the crop here anyway." As if to emphasize that point, John took a long pull from his Jack and Coke stubby and cast an appraising gaze at the various women around the club.

That was probably just as well, because it was that very moment that Chloe O'Brien entered the Cryo Zone, emerging from a crowd milling by the elevators. She was a slender, small woman who practically exuded sweetness and light, with porcelain skin, soft facial features, reflective hazel eyes and shoulder-length glossy brown hair. She'd chosen to dress up for the occasion, wearing an aquamarine dress off the shoulders. She looked around the zone, caught Steve's sudden upturned nod, then made her way over towards the group, a small smile crossing her face.

"I was wondering if you were even here..." she began as she made a path for Steve, holding her arms out.

"Heh, it's only been my base of operations for how many years now?" Steve commented wryly, holding out his own arms to accept Chloe's tight hug, "When did you get here?"

"Not long after Rhiannon signed herself up. I figured I'd come along and keep an eye on things, and you and I do have a certain link going, so I thought I'd catch up with you." She quickly turned her gaze from Steve to Dougy, flashing an impish smile his way, "Nice to see you still around, Dougy. And who's this?" She finished that final point by cocking a head to John in curiosity.

"The name's John R. Dequindre, ma'am," John replied, obviously struggling to keep his lady-killer side under control, "Formerly South African army, formerly Falcon Company, now in the States. Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine..." she replied smoothly- she was a lawyer, for all the cuteness and innocence she radiated. It didn't take long before she turned her attention back to Steve however, her eyes clearly showing that he was the focus of her attention here, "Are you alright, Steve?"

A million potential responses came flooding into Steve's head. The urge to berate her angrily for keeping Heather's passing a secret from him popped into his head. Funnily enough, so did the urge to express his joy at seeing Chloe again. And then there was the worry about the twins, and the excitement of returning to the ring. Any of those could have made a suitable answer, but instead Steve inclined his head and kept his cool, taking a sip from his Coke.

"I'm alright." He wasn't going to out and out lie and say everything was peachy, was he? Chloe regarded him steadily at that for several seconds before nodding, seemingly accepting the answer.

"Are you sure? You've had... a lot of bad news dumped on you recently."

"You think?" OK, that probably came out harsher than he'd intended it to. Chloe didn't seem too shocked though- in fact, she almost seemed to bow her head in acceptance before looking back into his eyes.

"I don't blame you for being angry. For five months you've been completely in the dark about Heather and her pregnancy, and now suddenly out of the blue, you find out she died months ago and that your twins are hidden for their safety and you don't know where they are." She sighed at that, sweeping a hand through her hair, "I had my reasons. I did what I did for their safety, Steve. I'm so sorry that it's hurt you- and don't tell me it hasn't. In spite of that cold front of yours, I know you're hurting."

Steve carefully considered his next few words, then reined himself in with a long sigh.

"It's alright. It's just been a lot to take in, that's all... and sending Rhiannon as a messenger caught me off guard."

"How's she doing, anyway? I heard she made her debut on Impact recently."

"The girl's got a lot of fight in her, I'll give her that. Probably should be out there fighting with the men, and I'm sure she will in time." Steve chuckled and shook his head, "Kinda like her trainer."

"Oh, shit. Sorry, Steve..." Chloe almost slapped herself in the head at her gaffe. Steve, on the other hand, shrugged.

"Facts are facts. Ignoring the fact that Heather's gone won't magically bring her back. I'm just... I dunno, Chloe. I should have been there. Do you know where I was when all of this happened? Africa. Freakin' Africa."

"What were you doing in Africa?" One slender brow rose at that.

"I was all over the place after I left PDW. Decided to stop focusing on wrestling and just travelled the world. That's where I met John- we were both working in Zimbabwe, trying to save those poor souls from that bastard Mugabe. But the point is, I was there and not with her."

"She was in hiding, Steve. You can't completely blame yourself for what happened."

"You're right..." Sergei broke his silence gruffly, "I had a chance to end it, remember?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Her homicidal sister. Remember when we were here in July? I could have taken Hallie down right then and there and this would have never happened. I should have shot her the last time we had her cornered..." Sergei muttered darkly, looking down at the table in front of him.

"I wouldn't have let you anyway." Steve disagreed, "There's certain things we're above. Murder is one of them."

"And besides, we don't even have any concrete proof Hallie had anything to do with this. I know it's the sort of thing we'd think she'd have something to do with, but let's face it, she's behind bars. She couldn't have done it personally." Chloe frowned, her brows knitting at that.

"You're gonna have to forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious of that, Chloe. It wasn't all that long ago that we were tricked into thinking Holly Halliwell had committed suicide when, in fact, it was Hallie all along."

"Gotta go with SJ there..." Dougy's expression was somewhat regretful at that- of course he would be, he'd almost married Holly before her murder and it no doubt opened up several old wounds, "Sure, we don't have evidence. But we all know that she's pulled the wool over our eyes and we didn't even know until it was too late."

"What's done is done, guys..." John was the only one of an otherwise solemn group to maintain his usual demeanor- in fact if anything he seemed a little too laid-back, "It's the here and now that matters. Sounds to me like we need to be on our guard though. Make sure that we're not being played. And it sounds to me like we need to find out exactly what's going on. You don't know where those kids are, Chloe?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, then, we gotta go find the kids. See if we can track down contacts. Kinda good that you came back to the XWF, SJ, maybe they have someone who'll know."

"Not so sure about that..." Steve disagreed, "Chloe doesn't even know where they are- and if these 'friends' of hers are anywhere near as good at disappearing as I am, it's gonna be like a needle in a haystack."

The group fell quiet at that, a grim sort of air settling at the table. It wasn't exactly the kind of ending to the conversation that Steve wanted, but facts were facts. Right now he was in a ridiculously tough situation, with Heather dead and with absolutely no clues to where Zachary and Zoe were. The fact that Chloe didn't know herself where the kids were seemed to indicate the Setsujoku Kai had something to do with it, and those guys had strongholds all over the known world...

"Well, now the moment you’ve all been waiting for.. Who was chosen from the XWF’s past to come back and join the six-man match for the World title? Let’s find out..."

That was the voice of Jonathyn Brown, and it seemed to be coming from a plasma TV just above the bar. Sure enough, Monday Massacre was broadcasting live, and a group of people had formed around the area watching the screen to see the results of the Snow Job voting. Given Steve himself was in this particular vote, it caught his own interest.

A silence filled the Cryo Room, and even the arena on the screen itself seemed to go quiet as everyone fell into a hush to await the announcement of the contenders for the World title. Everybody except for Steve's group at the bar, anyway.

"Reckon it'll be Ashen again?" Dougy asked. Steve and Chloe both involuntarily shuddered at that name.

"Don't tempt fate, please. I've just gotten used to not having to look over my shoulder for homicidal maniacs any more."

The bar fell back into silence, and all eyes flickered up onto the plasma screen. What seemed like an eternity passed, and then finally, the names of the two wrestlers appeared on the screen, along with the proportion of the votes and the match type.

"Well, that had to be the least surprising event of the millennium..." was Dougy's deadpan response, "Seriously, did anybody in this nightclub not know SJ was going to get voted in? Hell, was there anyone on this continent who didn't know?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get carried away." Steve murmured, drinking a little more Coke, "I'm gonna have enough people gunning for me without you starting the party early."

"My god, bru, how can you be so calm about this?" John demanded, an excited look crossing his face, "You're fighting for the World Championship! Liven up!"

Truth be told, Steve was exultant at the fact he'd been voted in to contend for that title he'd cherished so much in the past. Inside, his spirits were soaring after what was arguably a week and a bit of nothing but bad luck and misfortune, and for the first time in a while, Steve was starting to feel... better. The pain wouldn't go away- of course it wouldn't- but at least now Steve had something to do rather than nurse his grief. He had something to make him live life again, and in an odd kind of a way, the no-doubt-to-be-brutal bloodsport could have been an ironic form of healing. But Steve was never a man to lose control of his emotions on an external level. Thus it was that he nodded calmly, allowing a small smile of triumph to express his joy.

"Oh, I'm pleased, John. Really, I am. I'm just not like you and Dougy, creating all kinds of havoc and destruction whenever you're happy."

"Course, I can always cause another bomb scare and get the place evacuated, if we need some kind of chaos..." Dougy offered.

"46.7%." Chloe observed thoughtfully, "That's practically half the vote. You've obviously got some pretty committed fans out there..."

"Yeah, right until Chad starts some kind of lawsuit."

"Screw Chad." Steve replied flatly, "Like I give a damn what that peon thinks. He's the least of my concerns right now."

"Yeah. You've got to hit the gym, mister..." Chloe remarked, eyeing Steve up and down once, "You're starting to get scrawny by the look of you."

"That coming from you? But yeah, you're right. I was kinda doing a bit of preliminary preparation already, just in case, but now I can step it up to the next level and prepare for all of my opponents now that I know the last one." He grinned sheepishly at his friends, "Looks like I'm about to become antisocial again."

Steve was expecting at least Dougy or John to make some kind of glib comeback to that, but for some reason none of his friends said anything. He squinted briefly, then picked up the air of deliberate silence. That meant either there was trouble, or there was the unknown- and given how everybody's eyes seemed to pass right over his shoulders, he was certain whatever it was happened to be right behind him. Sure enough, a voice came from his six.

"Shuriken?"

Just about all the hairs on the back of Steve's neck bristled at that nickname. There were only a very, very small number of people who referred to Steve Jason by that name. Some were his allies... and some were his mortal enemies. One thing was for certain- whenever that name was used, it usually meant that Steve was about to be dragged into a web of intrigue and secrecy that many people in the XWF couldn't even begin to grasp the depths of. That name had both saved Steve Jason, and had become his ultimate bane, making him a prime target to so many. He slowly turned on his heel, his eyes flitting around the area to pick up any possible tricks.

There were none. Standing opposite him was a stocky man wearing a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, a grey crew-cut and matching goatee. His clothes were standard business attire- gray suit jacket and pants and a white undershirt with golden tie. The telltale 'telephone-cord' of a wire hung from behind his ear down into his suit, and while he had no badge or any sign of identification, Steve knew already that whoever it was, they were about to impact upon the night in a major way. The man smiled, flashing one gold tooth inbetween all the white, and then spoke in a Southern drawl.

"We've got some things to discuss..."

Five minutes after being booked, and it already seemed like Steve's life was already a thousand times more complicated...

[CLICK TO CONTINUE]