Skeletons of a Dirty Heel

by **krzy** Fri Sep 04, 2020 7:12 pm

Xander Slate, after not being seen on CMV television since Validation, has returned to Supremacy. As he rounds a corner, he collides with an interviewer who immediately questions Slate about his whereabouts.

Slate sucks in a steadying breath. “I went to war with Bob Luger,” he begins. “Three stages of hell. Immediately after that, I’m attacked by a ghost from my past. When I think I’m rid of him, I learn who’s been pulling the strings, and her latest puppet is a man I once considered a brother. Now? Now I don’t even know what he is.”

The anger rises with every word, bubbling to the surface, until his face is red with fury, eyes burning as he stares directly into the camera.

“But don’t get it twisted Val, I wasn’t off hiding.” He scoffs at the thought. “The moment I realized what I was really up against, I knew that I needed to take some time to come up with a counterattack. Then I saw what you’re doing to Jason Spade, what you tried to do to Joseph Santos, and it became clear that I couldn’t wait a second longer. Tonight I’m here to--

HELP!

HELP!

A shriek cuts through Slate’s words, drawing his attention to his right where a woman staggers out of a room, covered in blood, then collapses to the ground.

Slate springs into action, practically shoving the interviewer over to the woman to lend some assistance, while Slate himself sprints over to investigate what could be happening in that room. The cameraman follows Slate inside and nearly crashes into him after Slate freezes in place once he sees what’s inside.

A wall of monitors. On each, a face.

Jerome Robinson.

Sunshine.

Rex Carter.

Jacob Ziegler.

Pierre Thompson.

Tim LaFave.

Elijah Stewart.

Josh Wolf.

Dave Turner.

Adam Scott.

Brett Angel.

Randy Borton.

Bob Luger.

Slate knows why those faces are there.

“The greatest trick you’ve pulled is making people believe you deserve pity.” Slate turns sharply in the direction of the voice. Tailcoat Val walks into the room, arms casually behind her back, mask off so that Slate can look right into her wicked eyes. He looks away, because behind her is the woman who screamed for help, walking with a spring in her step, along with the man who stopped Slate for an interview. Slate clenches his jaw when he sees them put on their own masks and block the doorway.

“Always smoke and mirrors with you, huh? Just so you can attack me in my own office? I’m flattered.”

Val tilts her head to the side as though considering that alternative. “I will not lay a finger on you.” She takes a step toward Slate. “Oh, how you’d love to be a martyr. For me to wash away your sins. How you must ache for those who wished for your demise to be first in line to lay flowers on your grave. No, I will not give you that.”

Slate shakes his head. “So you’re doing this for fun then? You’re--”

“Fun? No.” Val spits out the response, the sentiment absurd. “When you chose to meddle with the Justice Family, you chose to make me an enemy.” The door slams shut. “You chose to suffer.”

Slate turns to the door and sees….he sees Joy Justice! She stands with her arms crossed, scowl on her face. Val’s voice forces Slate’s attention back to her.

“I find it curious that, in your absence, Jared Leon attacked the man who once fought under your banner...who then later conspired with Jason Spade to assassinate Suraci, and it’s not until Shay Hoxton pointed the finger at me that you made your grand return.” She chuckles. “Perhaps your counterattack began sooner than you’ve led us to believe.”

Slate stomps his foot on the ground, fury dictating his actions. “I am so sick of listening to you run your mouth. If you’re not gonna “lay a finger on me” then sit there and watch me destroy every single one of your puppets and get rid of you once and for all!”

There’s resolve in Slate’s words rarely heard coming from him, but Val knows that, at very least, the man who stands before her means every word he’s said. Yet, she chooses to ignore the threat.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s a face missing.” She motions to the screens, forcing Slate to look at and confront every single person he’s wronged over his lengthy tenure as CMV’s resident “OG dirty heel.”

“What are you--”

One of the masked figures walks out from behind Slate and stands next to Val. At some point, the man who interviewed Slate must have swapped places while Val held Slate’s attention because this is a different person. This is--

“Reece?”

“Settling on four proved a challenge; however, I believe I’ve found the perfect mix of ingredients.” From the shadows emerge Brett Angel, Tim LaFave and Randy Borton to stand shoulder to shoulder with Reece Ortiz. “One saw the darkness in your heart from the start, and in return you uttered statements even I won’t repeat about a woman who no longer walks this earth. The next was gullible enough to believe he was your friend, and your inevitable betrayal set him on a never-ending quest for vengeance. Perhaps you truly thought of the third as a brother...until he no longer proved useful to your ego and greed and, for that, he was cast aside. Then there’s the last. Tell me, was it love? Lust?”

“You. Bitch.” Slate lunges at Val. He stops short with a fist raised--Ortiz stands in front of him willing to take that blow in Val’s place. Slate searches his eyes for some sign of the man Ortiz was.

Anything.

There’s nothing.

He hangs his head.

“That’s answer enough.” Val walks around Slate, followed by the four men she’s “converted” for the sole purpose of making Slate miserable. “There’s no need to rush into things. We have a lifetime ahead of us.”

Val exits the room. Once Slate overcomes the shock of being reunited with Ortiz, he turns around to chase Val--if there’s a lifetime ahead of them, then someone isn’t making it past tonight. Joy Justice blocks his path, he had forgotten she was there.

She and Slate have a lot to talk about.