2035 - Game Over

I stare ahead at the building before me. Massachussetts Bay Prison had fallen out of government control. I knew it, the president knew it, damn near everyone and their dog knew it...yet, the place was still operational, and still held criminals within it's walls. I found it amusing, really. Even amidst the rising sense of anarchy, or chaos, they still kept the prison running. Still locked up people they felt were doing wrong.

There weren't enough prisons in the world that could hold that many.

I glance over my shoulder. Two human figures stand, silhouettes in the night sky. They slowly step forward, their steps jerky at times, almost mechanic. I frown. Uncle Chuck had designed the MEMPO's to look like humans. They walked on two legs, were armed with conventional weapons in their hands...of course, they had guns build into their bodies as well, should someone disarm them of their rifles...but the biggest problem was that their movements were mechanic. Human's manage to walk exceptionally well on two legs. It's difficult to replicate that movement in a machine...so often, the MEMPO's seemed jerky, robotic, and looked like walking was a chore for them. WHen I had taken over, I had redesigned them as best I could. Installed wheels in their knees and arms, should their legs be taken out. Added the override chip, which allowed me to take control of them following the war. Made them look more complete. Uncle Chuck's versions has wires sticking out in odd places, areas where they were completely unprotected. I had added a coat of reinforced steel plating...made them look more streamlined, and protected them better than Chuck's had been.

"Sir."

"Into the prison."

I walk towards the massive gate, the two MEMPO's in tow.

"Stop!"

I look up to the guard tower, where a man stands, looking down at me, a gun in his hands.

"What's your business?"

"Here to see a guest you have here."

"Who are you?"

I sigh. This wasn't going to go the way I had hoped.

"Zachary Matthews."

Though I can't see his face in the dark, I'm sure a wave of panic has just come over him. I nod at the MEMPO's beside me. One of them looks up at the tower, raising his weapon, and opening fire. A quick burst, and the world is silent once again. The MEMPO's eyes glow red for a moment before dimming down again.

"Hostile Down."

"Wonderful. The gate."

The other MEMPO steps forward, approaching the heavy metal gate. It grabs the bars with it's hands and pulls them apart, bending the bars so that we're able to climb through. I smirk as I step into the prison yard. The place was surprisingly well-kept. I had figured by now, it would be in complete disarray. Apparently not. We walk up the stairs, into the main building, where we're immediately greeted by a guard.

"Matthews!"

He reaches for his gun, but spots the MEMPO's on either side. He knew better than to draw his weapon. As soon as the MEMPO's detected a threat, they would open fire. I raise my hands in defense.

"I don't want any problems."

The guard glares at me. I'm sure he would love nothing more than to pull his gun and put a bullet through my head...but was it worth the cost of his own life?

"What's your business here?"

"I'm here to see Corey Casey."

"He's not scheduled to see anyone."

I smirk.

"Call it a surprise visit."

The guard looks to the MEMPO's.

"What about them?"

"Had to have some sense of personal security, didn't I? Now can I see Mr. Casey, or not?"

"What's your business with him?"

"That's my own business, not yours."

The guard stares at me a moment longer. I shake my head, looking at one of the machines. It raises it's weapon, and the guard quickly grabs his radio.

"Get Casey to the interrogation room. He's got a visitor."

"Wonderful."

I brush past him, letting the MEMPO's look down at him as they pass, their red eyes beginning to glow again. The guard stands, fuming, as I pass by, walking down the hall. It's at the end of this hallway where I find the interrogation room. The MEMPO's and I enter, and I pull up a chair, taking a seat, and propping my feet on the table.

"Now we wait."

I'm not exactly sure who I had meant to speak to. The MEMPO's understood human language, but they were designed to take orders, not to engage in everyday conversation. Still, I was pleased with my work. They really did seem lifelike, at times.

The door slowly opens, and a guard enters, dragging a chain behind him. He catches sight of me, and has the same reaction as the guard at the door. He reaches for his gun, only to stop when he catches sight of my personal security. He clenches his teeth, and yanks on the chain, walking into the room. Behind him, Corey Casey walks slowly, staring at the floor. he takes his seat, but the guard doesn't chain him to the chair, leaving Corey free use of his arms and legs. The guard smirks, and retreats from the room.

"I was wondering how long it would be until they sent someone."

I smile.

"Always the melodrama with you, isn't it?"

Corey looks up, staring at me. One of his irises is completely white.

"Oh, lovely. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today? Uncle dearest? Or The Lord?"

"You're just like Chuck. That scathing sarcasm you Matthews's are known for."

"You call it scathing, I call it fun. I suppose it's a bit of both."

Corey's eyes flit from me to the tall machines on either side.

"I see you brought a couple of friends with you. Realizing it's not so safe in the world outside your cozy little office?"

"Something like that."

There's silence for a moment.

"I know why you're here. Why not just get on with it?"

"Because that's no fun. There are still questions that need answering."

"So ask."

"Tell me about your hatred towards my uncle."

Corey laughs.

"That's it?"

I say nothing, waiting for his answer. I had often questioned Uncle Chuck about it, only for him to cleverly avoid the question. Something about it...there was more to things than he let on. That seemed to be his way with anything. He told you the bare minimum, and that was it...though there was often a deeper meaning. If he didn't want to tell you something, he would manage to avoid the question. Once his thoughts were locked away inside his head, there was nobody that could break in and get them out.

"There will always be those people you will never get along with. Those people who make it their personal mission to tear down everything you build, who try and ruin everything you work for. Your uncle is one of those people. Chuck and I never saw eye to eye. It was a constant battle, a constant game of one-upping the other."

"And how did that end?"

Corey shakes his head, and doesn't say anything. I smirk.

"Any other questions?"

I smile, slowly getting to my feet.

"I think we're done."

I turn towards the door, stopping only to bark a final order at the MEMPO's waiting in the room.

"Kill him."

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I'd be lying if I said my career was going as great as I imagined it would be. Ranked the lowest of all IWF competitors...and for those who weren't aware, this is a big deal, as I was the number one guy in the world when NLWF went down.

For reasons unknown to me, I'm not as great as I used to be. In the NLWF, I went by a simple code. Train hard. Fight hard. Do what you need to do. I had one friend through my entire wrestling career...and once I made it to the big leagues, I showed the world that I was willing to do whatever it took to be the best...even if that meant destroying the only friend I had left.

In NLWF, my ways worked like a dream. A roster of complete anarchy. Of selfishness. I was working for Fight the World, which thrived of chaos, which thrived on two simple ideals:

1. It's all about putting up a fight.
2. There is only a greater Me.

My tenure there started the week following the buyout of NLWF. NLWF at that time stood for entertainment. It stood for "the greater good." But it wasn't without its problems. NLWF was, at its most basic levels, a game of politics...and that put Chuck Matthews as the top dog in his own company.

They played to their strengths. Chuck was the fast-talker. War of the Words. That was his game, and nobody played it better. He had made a long career out of conning his way into one thing or another...he was known to many as the smartest man in the game...and it was tough to argue with him. When he wanted something, somehow, someway, he would get it. He wanted to wrench power away from Ridicule...and lo and behold, in the closing months of NLWF, he did just that. He ran NLWF like his own perfect little world. Rewrote the rules to his liking. Implemented new policies. Some liked it. Others didn't.

Nick, on the other hand, was the fighter. Fight to survive, fight to win. That's how he saw things. He, like others, disagreed with Chuck's political games. These aren't lawyers. These aren't businessmen. These are wrestlers...and as such, they want to represent the company that represents their sport. Fight the World was a sport. Like Chuck, Nick ran his company to benefit himself. While NLWF was a battle of wits, Fight the World was run by the best all-around athlete.

And that's where things went wrong...because, you see, while Chuck was the master of his own game...the same could not be said for Nick. Fact of the matter was, there WAS somebody better at Nick's game. Two, in fact...

Enter Brandon Macdonald...and enter Chris Matthews. The two became the greatest fighters the place ever had.

But let's get back on topic. In FTW...and later, when Nick killed the company to bring it back, NLWF...I was the top dog. I was the big thing, the top of the food chain...and looking at the differences between IWF and NLWF, I can see exactly why.

NLWF was practically designed with a guy like me in mind. Almost like it was fine-tuned to reveal my every advantage. Practically begging for me to come in and dominate it. NLWF was anarchy. Nobody was friends with anybody else. There were no teams. No alliances. Every man for himself...a perfect environment for a man with "no friends to mention."

When Nick retook NLWF, it was all about the best fighter...and the man who had spent years travelling the world, learning techniques from the greatest trainers in the field was sure to do very well...so it was no surprise that I climbed the ranks as quickly as I did. It's no surprise that I went undefeated in my time with NLWF. It's no surprise that I left, when the company died, as a world champion.

In IWF, things are a bit different. People DO have friends. THere are teams, alliances, the works. For the man who goes it alone, he often finds himself outnumbered...and so begins my long string of losses.

I've now been officially entered into the first Battle for the Briefcase Tournament. And to detemine my spot...the battle royal this week.

I look at the tournament and I look at this battle royal...and despite my losing efforts this week, I ask...who cares? The battle royal, winner gets the number four spot in the tournament.

You know how I see it? It doesn't matter who wins the battle royal. It doesn't matter who the first guy eliminated will be, and it doesn't matter who wins it. It's all about the tournament. The way I see it, I'm the best guy that tournament has in it. All sixteen, and I'm number one. It doesn't matter where I start, I'll have to beat the best to get that briefcase, and once that briefcase is mine, I'll be on my way to becoming an IWF Champion.

But as for the battle royal...it makes no difference. I intend to go in. Scout out the competition. There are a lot of guys in this match I've never seen compete. From there, it's all about advancing through the rounds. It doesn't matter if I'm ranked at sixteen, or number four. I'll beat whoever stands in my way. I will win the first Battle to the Briefcase tournament...

...and I will become the IWF Champion.