Oh well, Shawn thinks. ‘I did it. Now what, I just wait? What the hell am I even trying to get out of this.’

Security stood as a wall separating Shawn and Dr. Handle from Mr. Temple and Mr. Frazier as they all trekked through the Omnikon top floor. Handle and the two execs managed to keep a conversation going, surprisingly a pleasant one, through the thick security forces that escorted them out the building.

“Well it certainly was a pleasure.” Dr. Handle would say, in such an Eddie Haskel-manner.

“Oh, this partnership shall be very profitable.” Things of this sort kept Mr. Temple and Mr. Frazier talking. Shawn kept quiet, always watching the windows of offices they’d past. He’d look at faces and places, nothing of significance and all of it a maze of inner-workings he’d never want any part of.

Shawn noticed the two executives citing vague sentences, often alluded towards the prospect of money. Of course, the success was ‘universal’ for all parties involved. The truth was, the execs only sought their own profit.

Then, one of their cell-phones rang.

“Yes? Yes?” Blahblahblahblahblah. “No. Fuck, alright. Thanks for calling.”

Immediately closing his flip-phone, Mr. Temple raises his hand and strikes it across the back of the head of one of the security guards. He turns to the other and delivers another blow, immediately stopping everyone in their tracks.

“WHEN I SAY EYEBALLS IN EVERY PART OF THIS FUCKING CITY, WHAT PART OF THAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! WHEN A WAREHOUSE IS ROBBED OFF THE COAST OF PANDORA, I NEED TO KNOW. WHAT THE FUCK AM I PAYING YOU IDIOTS FOR?!”

Mr. Frazier pulls his friend aside, less tempered and wary of their visitors in the form of their new hire. “Edward, what are you talking about?”

“Last week, some PI was found dead in our warehouse where some of Goone’s creeps decided to turn our own facilities into some torture center! This situation is getting rather tiring, and I DON’T NEED MY OWN STAFF FAILING TO COMPLY WITH THEIR ORDERS IN THE MIDST OF ALL THIS!”

Both security members looked to each other with expressionless faces, shrugging at their incompetence. Shawn and Dr. Handle could only watch on, Handle making his own personal revelations. Shawn didn’t find any interest in this. Instead, he asked to use Handle’s cell-phone to check a message he happened to forget earlier. Why he felt the need to find out what that message said now, he didn’t recall.

“You have—one—new message—and—one—old message.” The automated tone was always welcome. Shawn pushed ‘one’, while business men screamed about in the background about broken deals and drug-dealers ruining their plans. None of this was relevant to Shawn; for he had messages to check.

“Shawn. I’m sorry. This is getting... I know you want me to call more often, but I can’t do it anymore. Some guys named Goone, who were responsible for the death of James Lawler, also tried to kill *****. Some guy named McGrady, he tortured him. He did experiments on him, it was hideous. Shawn, this wasn’t what I had in mind. This isn’t how I want to spend my life. We have to speak, in person. I hope to see you soon. I’m sorry.”

Of course, none of this clicks in Shawn’s head right away. All he can feel is betrayed.

This fucking bitch. He gave her everything, and she’s not even going to finish her only job? Ungrateful whore. He’d tell her exactly what she needed to hear. Fuck listening to Omnikon executives bitching unprofessionally about how fucked up their situation is, Shawn doesn’t care about that.

What does Shawn have to gain from Omnikon, right?

“Mr. Demorto, we’re sorry about that, um, that scene.” Mr. Frazier said. The obviously fuming Mr. Temple had disappeared out of sight. “Well, before you go, we’d like you to meet another one of our clients. You two may be working together shortly, may as well get to know each other now.”

Shawn was still deeply chained to his thought process. He didn’t pay attention to the people talking to him.

“Mr. Demorto?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no, I apologize for bothering you. But there’s just someone I’d like you to meet before you jet off. Rubin Demorto, meet Adam Masters. Our prime specimen, thus far.”

And then, the Educator stepped into Shawn’s sight, with an extended hand.

Yes, the Educator.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He says, extending his hand.

But Shawn doesn’t move. He only can stare.

“Didn’t your mum teach you it isn’t nice to stare? Such a rude set of manners on this tart, eh Frazier?”

______________________--_________________________

We interrupt the following promotion with a Special Report...

The scene opens inside of a room full or reporters. There are reporters from every major network in the nation, including NBC, CNN, and BBC. Right now, there is a slight murmur among the reporters, as there is speculation as to why this press conference has been called. A few reporters sip on coffee, and others prepare themselves to take notes. Still others give their cameramen directions. Just then, a well-dressed man walks to the podium, wearing a fine dark blue suit and a pair of Guess wire rim glasses. He sets a stack of papers on the podium. He looks into the crowd… and he looks damn familiar. Those striking eyes… that smooth skin… that long hair... that beautiful smile. Is it? Yes, it is… it is the Cult Icon, Shawn Christopher. He taps the microphone to see if it’s on, and smiles into the crowd.

"Ladies and gentleman, my name is Shawn Christopher with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and I have some very exciting news. A few months ago, we “got him.” Today, I am happy to report to you that we got the other one! "

The crowd bursts into a joyful show of exuberance. Papers go flying as the men and women in the crowd go berserk. Finally, the fugitive known as Osama Bin Laden has been captured. The crowd starts to settle down a bit, and Mr. Christopher prepares to take questions.

"Mr. Christopher, my name is I.P. Freely with the New York Times. How happy are you to report that Osama Bin Laden has been captured?"

Christopher looks into the crowd with a look of confusion. He slowly starts to shake his head.

"Who said anything about Osama Bin Laden? The man I’m talking about is the most terrifying, the most fear-striking jobber in the entire world… and his name is Devlin Cross!"

The room is again buzzing with confusion and anticipation. Many reporters are sifting through their notes, trying to figure out just who this Devlin Cross is.

"Excuse my language, Mr. Christopher, but just who the hell is Devlin Cross?

SC frowns and nods his head.

"I don’t blame you for not knowing the name Devlin Cross. A staggering 98.9 percent of Americans don’t know Devlin Cross. Even Cross’ own co-workers, friends, and family don’t know who the hell he is. The man is, however, a very dangerous force in the world. Most people just don’t know about him. He is a diabolical, manipulative, evil man. He can single-handedly bring tragedy and disaster upon this great land of ours. Devlin Cross is a risk to all of society, and it is truly a blessing that we’ve been able to bring him down."

A second reporter stands from his chair, holding a pad of paper and pen in his hand.

"Richard Little, Boston Globe. Mr. Christopher, what exactly makes this Devlin Cross so threatening?"

SC frowns, as if pained by what he is about to say.

"That’s a good question, Little Dick…"

"That’s Richard Little."

"Right, Dick Little. Quite frankly, the atrocities this man presents to the world on a daily basis make me wince. His major sin… the undying evil that he sets this world ablaze with… is the act of conducting sub par acts that most others do adequately. In short, the man sucks to a degree where it is dangerous for one’s health."

"Do you care to elaborate on that?"

"Sure. Devlin Cross brings new meaning to the word “inferior.” His low-grade work in all areas of life has begun to have a negative effect on all that know him and know of him. In particular, Mr. Cross’ substandard performance in the world of wrestling has been known to greatly endanger people's health. For example, Devlin Cross’ most potent weapon of mass destruction, or in this case mass boredom, is referred to as a “promo” in the wrestling industry. In a promo, wrestlers address certain issues that are going on around them. These issues usually include their opponent or opponents in a future match, their health, or management of the company in general. There are even some wrestlers that speak about their successes and triumphs that draw ire from every other midcarder in the federation." SC looks into the camera and winks. "Mr. Cross, being a professional wrestler in a very loose sense of the word, partakes in these promos on a regular basis. There are things, however, that Mr. Cross does that differ from what other, more talented members of the roster do. Mr. Cross’ promo skills is so bad that it is being blamed for a 75% ratings drop for Xtreme Wrestling Federation… since most of his promos put viewers to sleep. In fact, if it weren’t for the miraculous efforts of a certain terrific man in the company, the XWF would probably be closed as we speak. Anyway, this sudden onslaught of sleep has been linked to the deaths of two people, and it has been blamed for injuries to numerous others. It is because of this danger to the world that Devlin Cross is considered the most dangerous man in the world. Plus… he has to wear a special helmet because he's retarted."

A collective shudder runs among the crowd. For God’s sake… he retarted. Once SC is finished with his last comment, another reporter stands up.

"Kathleen Kox with CNN.com. Are you saying that Devlin Cross is dangerous because he is boring?

" I don’t think you understand just how boring this man is. He can put the worst of insomniacs to sleep within 2 minutes of initial contact. Mr. Cross, who is known in some circles as "Bad, Black, & Beyond” has been known to cause severe cerebral damage to the elderly and small children with just the sound of his monotone voice. But worst of all… Devlin Cross is being blamed for the attacks on the World Trade Center. A lot of new and interesting facts have recently come to light here at the FBI. It appears that on the morning of September 11th, 2001, Mr. Cross was on a departing plane in Ontario, CA. In an ironic twist of fate, Mr. Cross was suffering from boredom. Perhaps he was watching himself and his manager give a promo… who knows? What we do know, however, is that Mr. Cross proceeded to enter the cockpit, and with no pilots or crew around, decided to get on the radio. In a matter or moments, Mr. Cross was able to get in contact with American Flight 11 and United Flight 175. He then proceeded to bore the pilots, crew, and passengers into a state of insanity. Their only hope… mass suicide. Not a soul on board wanted to continue living, no matter what the news reports may have stated. In fact, it appears that all the passengers on the plane were even willing to take out the WTC, the Statue of Liberty, and a New York nursery full of palsied infants to end the madness. Luckily, they only had to take out the World Trade Center. That, ladies and gentleman, is how boring Devlin Cross is."

Another reporter stands up, and he is fairly animated over the fresh news.

"Wait a second, Mr. Christopher. You can’t actually expect us to believe that Devlin Cross is that boring. We’re going to need some more evidence.

SC slams his hand down on the podium.

"You want more evidence?"

"I WANT THE TRUTH!"

"YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" Pause "But… I’ll give it to you anyway. Devlin Cross’ evilness comes in many different fashions. Perhaps one of the most disturbing proofs of his wickedness is one of his latest creations. Mr. Cross recently created a biological agent more powerful than anything anyone's ever seen… the dreaded The Cross To Bear Bomb. It's a new device responsible for many of the suicidal bombings happening in Iraq today and also for murders here at home. The Cross To Bear Bomb is smaller than a grenade and armed with a remote detonator. It’s deadly ingredient is a potent gas that is released when the detonator is activated, which proceeds to bore or sleep it’s victims to death. In fact, it has been discovered that Devlin Cross himself once threw a Cross To Bear Bomb onto a bus full of elementary school children. He was then said to run across the street, flipping over a parked taxicab while pressing the "ACW RULES" button."

The crowd of reporters, journalists, and cameramen gasp as this startling revelation. It is now apparent just how boring and uninteresting Devlin Cross is… boring to the point of death.

"Well then, Mr. Christopher, can you tell us how Mr. Cross was apprehended?"

"Well, Kat, the suspect was caught while driving in a silver Chrysler Jeep. Our first reaction was, “Why is Lee Stone riding in a friggin’ Jeep? That’s a piece of trash car.” It was then noticed that Stone did not have his usual entourage of security. So, members of the FBI went in to investigate. Moments after the Jeep left a gas station just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennslyvania, it was pulled over by a couple federal agents. Devlin Cross was found with his manager Richard Head, his nephew Jacob, his Jewish cousin Jeremiah, his pet gerbil Jumpin’ Jahosafat, and Mary’s baby’s daddy… Joseph. Mr. Kurtiss was asked for ID, and as soon as his voice was heard, one of the FBI agents immediately went into a coma. The other agent drew his gun and ordered Cross to keep his mouth shut. After this, Cross was taken into custody, where he was questioned by agents that were doped up on caffeine pills, desperate to stay awake long enough to get some information from him. When asked why he was driving from Detroit to Washington DC, Cross replied, “If you were as broke as me, you wouldn’t be able to afford airline tickets, either.” After further questioning, it was also discovered that Mr. Cross offered an STD riddled man, and no it wasn’t Daniel Malcolm, oral sex in exchange for him to act as if he worked with XWF superstar, the Cult Icon. The duo would then ensue to trash the notoriously talented Intercontinental Champion. At this time, we in the FBI would like to debunk the idea that the Cult Icon once worked in a gas station. As we all know, the Cult Icon is far too good looking to have ever worked in a gas station. Had Mr. Cross done his research on the Cult Icon, he would have known that this idea was too far fetched for even an ex-crack addict like Brad Pierce to believe."

"Mr. Christopher… who are these people you keep referring to?"

"Forgive me, dear. Those people are insubstantial, and we’ll just leave it at that."

SC takes a sip of water out of a nearby glass.

"Most of us here are familiar with the wrestler known as the Cult Icon, whom I must say you bear a striking resemblance to. Can I ask why Mr. Cross is after him?"

"Wow… another question from the lovely Kathleen. I guess the Cult Icon and this conference room have something in common… that both have “kox” that just won’t stop!"

Except for a cough from a reporter, the crowd remains silent. All this talk of Cross must have bored them… ah-thank you!

"To answer your question, Lady Kox, there is one reason and one reason only as to why Devlin Cross has it in for the Cult Icon… jealousy. You see, this Cult Icon character is on top of the world in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. Devlin Cross quite simply wants to be where the Cult Icon is. The Cult Icon gets all of the ladies, he gets all of the money, and he gets all of the glory. Cross wants some of this action, but is too untalented to get it for himself. In fact, we’ve given Cross more publicity here than he has ever had in his entire wrestling career. As you could imagine, being constantly reminded of how much better the Cult Icon is than him would take a serious toll on Mr. Cross. While the Cult Icon was out performing in tantalizing, fast-paced main event matches, Devlin was stuck to what is referred to as “curtain jerking.” Curtain jerking is the act of opening a night of wrestling by “jerking the curtain” open. This phrase is often used as a derogatory term towards a wrestler as an insinuation that said wrestler cannot keep pace with the other members of the roster. It is a term usually associated with Mr. Cross. It is because of this that Mr. Cross was jealous of the supremely talented, and might I add supremely sensual, Cult Icon."

Another female reporter stands up. Before she can speak, the Cult Icon flashes her a smile and gives her a quick wink. She responds back with a smile of her own. She then adjusts her glasses and looks at her notepad.

"Julia Buttentace here with Maxim Magazine. Can you tell us exactly what Mr. Cross was after, besides revenge on this Cult Icon character?"

"I can’t go into details, Ms. Butterface, but it should be noted that Mr. Cross had XWF’s Television title in his sights. But as we should all know, he had as much a chance of winning that title as Kobe Bryant has of respecting the word “no.”

At the mere mention of Bryant’s name, all the reporters in the room start scribbling on their respective notepads. The Cult Icon covers the mic and looks back to members of his security.*

"Man… you win a Nobel Prize and no one knows your name. You plow a prude white girl until she can’t even say “no” anymore and you’re a media god."

SC clears his throat and looks back into the crowd.

"The simple fact remains this, ladies and gentleman. Devlin Cross is…"

Suddenly, a member of the security approaches SC. He begins to whisper into Shawn’s ear. After a few moments, SC goes back to the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that Mr. Devlin Cross has escaped custody. Will all of you please return to your homes, for your own sake. He is a very dangerous man. If he tries to speak to you, do not listen. I repeat, DO NOT LISTEN! His boring voice will possibly put you in a coma. I urge you to be careful and… "

Voices are heard shouting in the hallway.

"ACW RULES THE WORLD!"!

"GET HIM!"

SC and his security guards dash from the stage and out into the hall. Reporters rush for the exits as the scene fades to black.