Enter: that bastion of corporate meritocracy mediocrity and the bane of front line employees everywhere, the employee appreciation pizza party.

Of course, with Samael Dyson involved, you’re not looking at run of the mill mandatory fun.

Samael stands at the forefront of a painfully typical employee breakroom. Three huge sheet pizzas are arrayed on the cheap particle board tables behind him. Before him, bathed under obnoxious fluorescent lighting, his people are arrayed. A gaggle of paper bag wearing Insignificants stand at rapt attention. Samael’s quartet of Rollerwhores are off to the side, masks slid halfway up their faces, kissing and fondling each other in a sweaty pile of still clothes on sex. There’s even a couple of abominations, staring absent mindedly up at the lighting and occasionally groaning.

Oh, and Kristoffer Arroyo is there too. But suffice it to say he’s not sharing his compatriots enthusiasm. He’s seated in the back, hunched over with his elbows planted on his knees, eyes boring in on Samael Dyson as Sam claps his hands together to draw the crowd’s attention to him.

“Alright, alright, alright! Welcome to the first of what I hope to be many Team Dyson pizza parties! Today, we’re going to honor the true MVPs of Team Dyson. Our success stories! Our clutch players!” Sam positions his hand next to his mouth as though he’s divulging a secret. “No disrespect to the dearly departed Clutch Cassidy of course.” He rolls his eyes and makes a wanking off gesture which draws a chorus of laughter from his assembly. “Now I…” But before Sam continues, his attention is drawn to a mousy little man who’s just walked up next to him. “Who the fuck are you and why are you interrupting my pizza party?!” Sam howls.

The mousy man, clad in pressed slacks and a button up shirt, the token stylings of middle management everywhere, pushes his glasses further up his nose and says, “Sir, this is a CostCo.”

“....and?!”

“Well, this is our employee lounge and you can’t hold your pizza party here.”

“Fuck off!” Sam commands, and his eyes suddenly glow with a furious, yet hypnotic, intensity. The manager’s eyes meet Sam’s and something peculiar comes over him.

“Yes, sir. Fucking off, sir.” the manager intones robotically as he pivots on his heels and heads back out the door.

Sam shakes his head disdainfully and returns his attention to his cadre. “Now before I was so rudely interrupted, we’re here today to honor our best of the best. And without further ado, I’d like to call up….ELEKTRA AND VIOLET!”

They continue making out in their sex pile.

“Ah-ha-HEM! WHORES! ATTENTION!”

All the Rollerwhores cease their sex making and focus their eyes on Samael. Samael reaches behind him and grabs two statuettes. You could mistake them for Oscar statues except they are gratuitously explicit depictions of the female form with massive tits instead. Elektra and Violet make their way up to their master and accept their awards.

“Elektra, Violet, you are receiving these painstakingly crafted employee appreciation awards for righting a wrong! The Kingsguard should have never been Anarchy Tag Champions, and wouldn’t have been if not for the abject incompetence of my former partner Clutch Cassidy! But you whores struck a mighty blow against that egomaniac Kieran King! A blow I will repeat in the March Madness tournament. Enjoy the pizza! You’ve earned it!”

The Rollerwhores grab some slices and lift their masks up to nose level, proceeding to eat the pizza as sensually as possible.

“But you know who’s not getting an award or any pizza?!”

Kristoffer Arroyo is already rolling his eyes.

“KRISTOFFER, THAT’S WHO!”

Samael power walks up to Kristoffer and looks down at him. Kristoffer doesn’t move a muscle, and remains seated with his eyes downcast.

“Kristoffer FAILED to defend his Anarchy Championship. And now only did he fail, he got beat by a man who is a literal ! A bonafide window licker! A mongoloid pit sniffer! By Asmodeus’ name Kristoffer how could you let that happen?!”

Kristoffer finally looks up at Samael. “It’s not like he actually pinned me or made me submit, Sam.”

“Pfft!” Sam scoffs, and blurts out an abbreviated laugh. “No, it’s WORSE than that! HE MADE YOU BLEED! He made a man who is a VAMPIRE, bleed his own BLOOD. I mean….Jesus FUCK, Kris….!”

“I’ll climb back up, Sam. I always do. You know that.”

“No you won’t. You’re BENCHED!”

Finally, Kris rises to his feet, his face tight with a restrained fury. Sam actually takes half a step back in surprise.

“Benched?! You can’t bench me! I’m under contract! In fact, I’m already under contract for this upcoming Anarchy.”

Sam’s face twists in disdain. “Well…well….fine! You’re not benched. But you better find your fucking balls.” He waggles a finger at Kris. “You know what the problem is, Kris? MATTY.”

Kris licks his lips, a facial tic betraying how hard he’s tamping down his anger.

“That fucking kid is your problem, Kris. He makes you WEAK. In fact, I almost PUKED after I saw that last promo of yours.” Sam takes on a mincing, effeminate cadence. “Oh, Matty, if only I could be your real dad. If only I could feel the warm glow of parenthood! I love you little buddy! Let’s throw the ball around the back yard and….”

“STOP!”

Kris’ voice is a thunderclap that draws the attention of everyone present. Sam’s lip twitches, he grimaces.

“Everybody out! Somebody….uhhhh…..somebody grab me a giant container of mayonnaise. Or better yet, some beer! And none of that piss water shit, it’s P B fucking R or NOTHING! Now, GO!”

Samael’s minions scatter for the door, certainly not needing to be told twice as none of them want to be a part of what’s about to happen.

Sam continues to silently glower at Kris for some pregnant seconds. Kris returns Sam’s glower, also remaining silent. Finally, Sam breaks the tension.

“Where do you get off?”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“I mean where the hell do you get off raising your voice to me. After everything I’ve done for you. After saving your life TWICE.”

Kris scoffs. “And how many times have I saved YOUR life when you pissed off the wrong people?”

“Oh fuck off Kris, we’re not playing tit for tat Wookie Life Debt here. This all started with me saving you from those fucking rednecks who were gonna draw and quarter you because you were playing fucky sucky with one of their sons. Everything you did after that was to pay me back for what I did. This started with ME, not YOU.”

“Fine. Then who’s to say my debt hasn’t been repaid ten times over?” Kris responds cooly.

Sam nods his head mockingly. “Oh…yeah….yeah! You’re right Kris. All debts are paid. We’re fucking SQUARE!” Sam leans in a bit, menacingly. “What do you do then? Hmmmm? Go home and play house with Matty? Enroll him in school and go to PTA meetings and help him with his science fair projects?” Sam pauses. “You and Matty are FREAKS. The normal father son relationship you so desperately crave is a FANTASY. Matty’s not even a real child. He’s over 60 years old! So…so….fine! Leave me! Leave my cadre! But where do you go after that?”

Kris scoffs in return, casting a glance up at the lights before resettling his pointed gaze on Samael. “You act like I don’t have my own resources. My own connections. I have Alexandria. I have my thralls. Some in very high social circles, as you well know. And you have the gall to act like I won’t survive without you?”

“It’s not a matter of survival, Kris!” Sam bites back. “You’ll survive. Sure you will! No! What’s not popping off in that thick little skull of yours is that you’ll never be normal. You’ll never have a normal life. Hell, millions of people watching XWF programming have seen you BITE people. Live! On television! They know you’re a freak! No! What I’m telling you, in plain goddamn English, is that the normalcy you want with Matty…will…never…..HAPPEN.”

Kris chuckles. “It just kills you to see it, doesn’t it? Kills you to see me give a shit about somebody other than myself. Kills you to see me LOVE somebody other than myself. Because seeing that exposes a deep gaping hole in that pathetic absence you call a soul! You’re loveless, Sam. You’re even LESS human than I am! And that kills you, knowing that your mother left you an emotional cripple and that there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it!”

“YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MY MOTHER!”

Kris laughs even harder. “Oh, now there it is! The rage! The “mommy complex”. Jesus, you’re even more pathetic than I thought…”

Suddenly, Samael brings his forehead crashing into Kris’ own forehead, headbutting him ruthlessly as Kris was in mid rant. Both men stumble back, stunned, but it’s actually Kris who is first to recover and react! Kris grabs Samael by the collar of his shirt, hisses, and drags Sam towards the closest wall, pinning him to it. Sam looks shocked at first, but then…he laughs?

“Looks like I made you bleed your own blood too, vampy boy!”

Indeed, a small trickle of blood is inching its way from a cut on Kris’ forehead and meandering down the bridge of his nose. Kris reaches up to smear away the blood but only succeeds in smudging it.

“So what now, Kristoffer? You bite me? You make me one of your thralls? Oh command me daddy! COMMAND ME!” Sam pants disgustingly, causing Kris to release his grasp on him. “Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought…”

“You utterly repulse me.” Kris spits.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. So is this your resignation notice or what?”

But Kris doesn’t say a word. Instead, he spins about on his heels and walks out the door.

Sam smirks and adjusts his shirt collar. And it’s only then that he notices the all seeing eye of the camera has still been trained on them the whole time. “What the fuck do you want?!” Sam waits for a reply that doesn’t come. “Oh of course…of course….a shoot segment, right? Hold on, let me grab a slice before the shit gets cold.” Sam walks to the pizza and picks up a slice. Taking a hearty bite into it, he savors it for a few moments before speaking again.

“So you want me to talk about this twat Razor Blade? I mean, what hasn’t been said already? That his promos are nonsensical word vomit? That his Superstar of the Month Award was the pity fuck of all pity fucks? That the guy is such a blithely ignorant simpleton that he is the only one oblivious to how terrible his own record is? It’s all been said. All of it!

And you know what?

They’re all WRONG.”

Sam smiles and shrugs.

“You heard me. They’re all wrong about Razor Blade, and Latoya, and Deena, and all those other guys breeding and procreating up and down the card. And let ol’ Sammy tell you why.

You see, I fancy myself a bit of an….artiste! And as an artist, it takes one to know one. And that includes performance art. And Razor Blade and his ilk? That, my friends, is performance art.

I mean, look at it this way. A guy who talks and acts like Razor Blade shouldn’t even be able to tie his shoes much less throw a solid punch or perform a suplex. And he can at least do those things! A guy who talks and acts like Razor Blade would have to consciously remind himself to breathe. And yet he finds his way to arena after arena. A guy who talks and acts like Razor Blade should be living out his years in an asylum, shitting his diaper and wondering how the people on the TV get so small. And yet…he signs match contracts on a regular basis.

Ya see…it just doesn’t add up! Is Razor Blade a driveling idiot whose hamster on the wheel died years ago….or is he a functional human being?”

Sam waggles his arms in a grandiose manner as though unveiling some calamitous secret.

“It’s performance art, people! His stupidity is performance art! DUH! And honestly he’s up there with some of the greats! Andy Kaufman! The Gob Squad! ERIKA KIRK! I mean, his commitment to acting like a complete imbecile to parody us is unparalleled. He spits in the face of people who produce pompous overblown bags of wind for promos like Dickie Watson. The man is a direct affront to the hourlong psychological treatises’ horked up by people like Kieran King. In short, Razor Blade?

You’re my fucking hero!

So yes, man, YES! It will be my honor to fight you in that squared circle. Now, that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you, but I might actually refrain from cheating this time. Maybe. Possibly. A little bit.

Anyway, see ya later champ.”

“Sir! SIR!”

Sam whips around to face the commotion. One of his Insignificants is rushing up to him with a giant tub of mayonnaise and a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

“My man! Well done, Insignificant! I can’t wait to dip my balls in this mayo and let the Rollerwhores lick it off. Maybe you too. If you’re lucky.”

“Oh master that would be splendid. Most splendid!”

“Did you see Kristoffer out there?”

“I’m afraid he left in a bit of a huff, sir.”

Sam looks askance at the door. “Keep tabs on him. I want to know where he goes.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And leave the mayo and PBR.”

The Insignificant leaves the products at Samael’s feet and rushes out the door. The shot fades out on Sam’s terse expression as he wonders just what the hell is becoming of his once most loyal servant.

ONE WEEK LATER…

The shot reopens on a solid wooden door bearing a well known name on the name plate that adorns it.


Kristoffer goes to knock, but to his chagrin finds his knuckles rapping the air as the Congresswoman opens the door.

“You don’t have to knock.”

“Force of habit. Besides, I imagine its not proper to barge in on a Congresswoman.”

Alexandria gestures to a set of leather chairs and they both take a seat.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

Kris looks to the side, struggling inwardly, caught in a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts.

“It’s been building for a while. I get it. And I know it hurts your sense of propriety. But honey….” Alexandria leans forward. “Sam Dyson is a huge piece of shit.”

Kris smirks a bit, despite himself. “I’m aware.”

“Then it’s time to do something about it. You’re better than that. Better than HIM. And frankly, you’ve repaid your debt to him many times over. It’s time to cut the cord, Kris. And I have someone who can help.”

“Who’s that?”

Wordlessly, Alexandria reaches for her purse and withdraws her cell phone. Dialing a number, she brings the phone to her face and speaks in a matter of fact fashion. “I think he’s ready.”

Kris can hear a response on the other end of the phone, but can’t quite make out the contents.

“It’s for you.” She hands him the phone and Kris takes it with some hesitance and brings it to his ear.

“Kristoffer. Don’t hang up the phone. It’s Lux.”

Kristoffer’s body tenses, but he does as instructed and doesn’t hang up.

“You have nothing to offer me.”

“Not true. We can help each other take down Samael.”

Kris remains silent for a moment, before finally replying. “Why didn’t you just do it yourself? You’re the almighty Lux, after all.”

“Because you know as well as I do how well he’s guarded. Mystically and otherwise. I need someone on the inside.” She pauses. “I need you.” 

ELSEWHERE (ok….around the corner from AOC’s office)

A shuddering wreck of an Insignificant brings a cheap burner cellphone up to the side of his paper bagged head. You note that his fingers are blackened and his hand shakes as he handles the phone.

“You better have something good for me.” Sam growls from the other end of the phone.

“Oh yes Master, I do! You were right. Kristoffer ran right back to Alexandria.”

“Like a rat back into it’s hole. That bitch is gonna have to be dealt with. Long time coming if you ask me."

“I agree, master. Master, may I make a personal request?”

“Hmmm….I suppose. You served me well”

“Oh thank you, Master! Well, as I trailed Kristoffer all the way to New York, I hid in the wheelwheels of the airplane Kristoffer took to get here. Subsequently, the extremely low temperatures in my hiding place have given me most assuredly lethal frostbite over 60% of my body. I’m in severe pain and….”

“Get to the point.”

“Yes, sir! Long story short, do I have permission to deactivate?”

“Oh, sure. See you in the funny pages!”

“Good joke, Master! Haha! Goodbye, Master! It has been a pleasure to serve you.”

The Insignificant is barely able to hang up the phone, and he actually drops it to the ground as his frostbitten fingers fumble to close it. “Whoopsy doodles!”

Then, with his paper bag head proudly erect, the Insignificant shambles across the sidewalk….over the lip of the curb…

….and directly into the path of a bus.

His body makes a satisfying splat sound, and the occupants of the bus shriek in horror as the Insignificant’s blood sprays over the front window.