Jailbreak Pt I

The story has gotten a bit out of hand, hasn’t it? Perhaps that is because what is happening is quite a wild tale. Although, perhaps it lies at the feet of the narrator. He hasn’t exactly been giving you a lot of exposition. There have been cyborgs, more cyborgs, robots, drones, time travel, mad man bent on global domination, evil clones, shock therapy and the narrator hasn’t exactly been the most descriptive. Here is a quick breakdown.

Before Winter Wrestleland, the Technocrat, after encountering an opposition movement to his authority that has adopted the Duos Champions Rogues’ Gallery as a symbol of their rebellion, sent a highly advanced computer virus, Raymond_II.exe, back in time to target and take over the AI being built by a scientist dying of a mysterious illness. This essentially created a cyborg assassin which attempted to take out Jeremy The Wicked in an attempt to end the then future Duos Champion’s reign before they had a chance to beat Lights Out and become champions. Raymond_II.exe was defeated and rather than accept Raymond_II.exe’s defeat, the Technocrat had no choice but to pull Rogues’ Gallery into the future and imprison them, while the evil clones he sent back in their place run amok, doing their best to alter what will come to be Rogues’ Gallery’s legacy.

They made short work of the Putties, but failed to put the finishing touches on S.E.X. at Uncivil War after they were DQ’d when Alexander Marshall hit his brother Terry Marshall in the back with a steel chair, in a match that ended up being more about the Marshall sibling rivalry than two Championship teams fighting for supremacy.

We open up to that future prison which holds Prime JTW and Superunknown. The brutalism of the structure is a bit tough on the eyes. You could very easily hear the marching of the pigs through these halls. The stomping of the foot soldiers of some future regime, some weird overlap of all of the isms, some vicious program overwriting of the human operating system devised by an evil genius. And with the emergence of this new regime… A great reset, if you will, has occurred and this place served as the collection bin for all of the unwanted elements humanity had left.

The guards drag JTW limply back to his cell. Even now that he isn’t hooked up to the headset, he can still hear that voice rattling around in his head. Competing with the other one, the Shadow for dominance. Currently, it’s holding ground.

THIS IS A BRAVE NEW WORLD.

THE TRUTH TO PEACE IS NO ONE WAS BUYING IT.

PEACE HAD TO BE PRESCRIBED TO YOU.

TAKE YOUR MEDICINE.

DO NOT GIVE IN TO YOUR SOULS YEARNING FOR FREEDOM.

YOU MUST COMPLY.

YOU MUST COMPLY.

YOU MUST COMPLY.

The guards toss Jeremy on to his bed. He lands with a thud on the hard cot and crumples up into a ball of pain. He groans in tremendous agony.

JTW: Arrrrggghh!

The guards turn and exit JTW’s cell in lockstep. Superunknown taps on the wall in his adjacent cell.

Superunknown: You alright over there?

JTW sits up and places a hand on his throbbing head, his eyes burning and itching from the blue light of the VR headset strapped to his face for the last few hours.

JTW: I’ve felt better… where’d they take you?

Superunknown: Same place they took you. Re-education.

JTW: Why don’t you sound phased at all.

Superunknown: Eh, I’ve dated my fairshare of chicks in the wrestling business, I’m used to psychological torture.

JTW: We gotta get out of here.

Superunknown: Yeah, I know…

JTW: But how?

Superunknown: I haven’t figured that part out yet. You got any ideas?

JTW: Nada.

Superunknown: What about your buddy, Shadow?

JTW: He’s not sure either.

Suddenly from out of nowhere a concussive blast goes off above Rogues’ Gallery’s heads, knocking both JTW and Superunknown unconscious.



Today is one of those days where you can feel spring coming when you’re in the sun, but realize winter’s cold grasp is still strong when you find yourself in the shade.

The Rogue’s Gallery or is it Rogues’ Gallery. At first, it seemed like it should be The but as time goes on Rogues’ Gallery just kind of flows. Who knows? Maybe someday it will be just RG? Who the fudge knows?

Back in the present, Superunknown and Jeremy The Wicked stand on a hillside overlooking Electric City, New York. Not actually them, but their evil counterparts from the future. The sun is out, but a storm is brewing in the west. Soon they would be on a plane gliding over the country on their way to whale’s vagina, San Diego, Californina. Once they land they will make their way to Pechanga Arena take on Maxwell Mason Stone & Devlin Knight in a S.E.X. semi-final. Two bad dudes. A couple of cowboys from hell looking at the town they are about to take over. Things didn’t shake out entirely their way at Uncivil War, with Alexander Marshall costing them the match and denying them the opportunity to really rub it in everyone’s face after properly defeating S.E.X.

So Rogues’ Gallery is looking forward to really making a statement in that ring and maybe even out of it, if Max. Mason Stone & Donkey Kong want to take it there. Wait no… that’s not right. MMS & DK, Maxwell Mason Stone & Devlin Knight want to take it there. Ahhh… that’s better.

JTW looks up at Superunknown.

JTW: Dude, what are you thinking?

Superunknown shakes his head.

Superunknown: How much I’m going to enjoy stomping out the American Champion and his partner. We’re the real fudging deal, a proper Duo. Duo’s Champions. We gotta show up and tear these fudgers apart. I’m talking limb from limb like a squirrel on the hunt for that last nut. Really tear into them.

JTW: I like it, brother.



We return to the cold, gray future of the Technocrat. Soulless and anti-human as it is. It’s denizens roaming the cold cattle maze of a perfectly controlled society. Their stomachs are full of bugs, VR headsets molded to their faces. They navigate a twisted knot of propaganda and fallen angel-level hubris. Science has removed God, then it removed humanity.

JTW is in his cell counting playing cards. Superunknown sits in the adjacent cell in deep meditation.


In his mind’s eye he is standing on rocks floating high above the Earth’s surface. Small meteors which are caught in the planet’s orbit. He is searching for resources to transfigure and make repairs to his crystal starship.

An explosion rocks the foundation of the prison and this reverberates all the way to the astral plane. JTW jumps up in shock and Superunknown snaps out of his meditation as sirens go off all through the massive facility. Another shell rocks the foundation and the wall behind Rogues’ Gallery’s cells crumbles. An anti-gravity grenade is tossed in from the outside and bounces off the floor a few times before it goes off and soon the Rogues’ Gallery begin floating weightless.

A bright spotlight shines on them as a tractor beam slowly begins to pull them out through the hole in the wall. JTW and Superunknown are paralyzed, unable to move as they are guided toward and into a hovercraft floating above the prison.



Back in the present, the sun is beginning lower in the sky as JTW begins to slowly stir open his eyes. He sees a tall, dark haired woman wearing a golden mask, a junpsuit, and military gear with a rifle slung over her shoulder standing over them.



JTW: Who… who the hell are you, some kind of Bane-babe?

Woman: My name is-

Superunknown: Frances Farmer…

JTW eyes dart over to Superunknown who has now sat up.

Superunknown: My ex-wife.

Frances: Well, not your ex-wife… Duncan’s ex-wife. You look like him, but…

Frances narrows her eyes.

Frances: You aren’t him though, are you?

Frances bends down and holds Superunknown’s chin in her hand.

Frances: You are different, well, a lot more different, I can see the Malice in you and so is your partner here. From another time, perhaps?

JTW: What the hell are you talking about, lady?

Frances: Don’t play coy with me, Jeremy The Wicked. Emphasis on the wicked. You are a wicked one, aren’t you? But you are also one massively confused idiot. The Technocrat really beat that evil into you, didn’t he?

JTW: Wait… duuude… how do you know about The Technocrat? Sick bastard.

Frances chuckles softly.

Frances: I have kept an eye on you two or should I say, you four… you two clones and your originals, for quite a while now. I am well aware of your mission and plans. I am well aware as to why the Technocrat sent you here. You are controlled by the opposition. Your intentions are to keep Rogues’ Gallery at the top long enough to become an object of fear and reverence in the wrestling business and then you are going to run them into the ground. Controversies, racist statements, sexual assaults, etc. Nothing is off the table. Until then, you are going to keep Rogues’ Gallery at the top, beating the absolute hell out of any opponents that cross your path, using any means necessary.

Superunknown: You’ve got us all fudgin’ figured out.

Frances: You curse a lot more than the other Duncan. I like that. Shows you’ve some passion in you.

Superunknown: I don’t give a rat’s ass. What do you want with us?!

Frances laughs as she adjusts the rifle on her shoulder.

Frances: You aren’t very bright either, are you?

Superunknown: What the fudge are you getting at?!

Frances: Oooh… testy, aren't you?

Superunknown growls as he loses his patience.

Frances: Fine, I’ll tell you. I want to help you. You see, the old Duncan. Duncan Prime if you will, he never really had this kind of fire.

Frances sighs.

Frances: His dispassionate stoicism… Well, let’s just say… It was tiring, which is why our relationship didn’t last. I think I can work with you though. Not as a husband, but as a manager of sorts. I think I can be an asset to you two. In the ring and out of it, if need be.

TO BE CONTINUED…




Rogues’ Gallery, Jeremy The Wicked, Superunknown, and now with Frances Farmer sit in a dimly lit watering hole just on the outskirts of town. This is one of those places where after a certain time of night you only find regulars and despite the fact that it’s been illegal for damn near twenty years, you can still see and smell cigarette smoke lingering in the air. A white cue ball strikes a set of freshly racked pool balls and they scatter all around the table.

Superunknown pours himself another glass of beer from a pitcher and takes a sip as Frances Farmer looks across the table at him and JTW.

Frances Farmer: So what’s your plan for this match?

Superunknown chuckles.

Superunknown: Well, to be honest, our plan is pretty simple. We watched how Maxwell Mason Stone and Devlin Knight make honest work out of the Gangsters of Christ. We’re going to do what we do best, that is… beat the hell out of our opponents.

JTW: And rub their noses in it.

Frances Farmer shakes her head.

Frances Farmer: In some ways you are nothing like my Duncan, in other ways, you’re exactly the same. He isn’t much for planning either. Here’s a better idea… you’ve got to get the jump on this team. It won’t be as easy to win for you two as it was to beat the Show Stealerz. Of course, I’ll be ringside to make sure I can assist in any way necessary.

JTW: That’s it? That’s your big, gnarly, plan? Get the jump on them?

Frances Farmer: Yeah and don’t let up on them. Don’t let them catch their breath. I’m your ringer.

JTW: Like… What makes you think we need your help in the first place?

Frances Farmer: I don’t just think so… I know so. You listen to me, you play it my way. You’re going to be moving on to the next round. I promise you that.

Superunknown: That’s a pretty fudgin’ tall promise, pretty lady.

Frances Farmer: Don’t call me that.

Superunknown: What, pretty lady? I always called you that. It was our thing.

Frances Farmer: Damnit, you aren’t him. You might have his memories… but you aren’t him. Do you understand?! Please tell me you understand that?

Superunknown: I know I’m not him… I’m better in fact. I’m more fudgin’ Superunknown than Duncan Prime could ever be.

Frances Farmer: I’m not sure that makes any sense.

Superunknown takes another sip from his glass.

Superunknown: The beauty is… it don’t need to, not one fudgin’ bit.

Frances Farmer: If you say so.

Superuknown: I do say so, dammit.

Frances Farmer: Whatever…

JTW begins to stand up but he quickly falls back into his seat. He looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

JTW: Fudge! Dudes, do you see that?!

Superunknown and Frances Farmer turn and look in the direction JTW is looking. They turn back to JTW, both looking confused.

Superunknown: See what? What the fudge am I supposed to be seeing here, Jer?

Shadow is staring daggers through JTW from across the bar.

Frances Farmer: Yeah, I don’t see anything except for some slack jawed yokels.

JTW begins to convulse as Shadow comes over to him and begins to claw his way into Jeremy’s mind.

Shadow: The shadow of kings is in your blood. You are a weak facsimile, a poorly constructed copy, but still you are built from the material of greatness. A clone of a great man born of a great line, but you aren’t the real deal. You are nothing. In fact, you are less than nothing. You are a soulless husk. But I will make you great. I will fill the gap where your soul should be with the fire of will. I will make you as good as JTW. You just have to let me in fully. You just have to let go and let me fill you.

JTW: That’s gross dude.

Shadow: Your mind occupies the gutter as does your worth without me. Open up Jeremy, let me in. It’s time to ride the lightning.

Jeremy shoots straight up, he turns and runs outside and despite it being a clear night, with the moon shining bright, a bolt of lightning strikes him as if he were struck down by Zeus himself.

Frances and Superunknown chase after him and get outside just in time to see him lying on the pavement, steaming, most of his clothes burned off of him. JTW is on the verge of death, though in his mind’s eye, he is somewhere else entirely. Shadow has pulled him into the desert of the unconscious.

JTW: Fudge dude, that really hurt.

Shadow: Still does, still would, if I left you there. I can make it all go away though, the pain, the years of torture. I can turn you into an instrument of revenge.

JTW: Against who, dude?

Shadow: The devil that made you. The Technocrat. You just have to let me in, completely. You want to go kamikaze on that motherfucker? You want to take him to hell yourself? I can make that happen. I can turn you into a ticking time bomb with the Technocrat’s name on it, all you have to do is say the word.

JTW: OK, do it, dude!

Like another shot of lightning, JTW’s body tenses up on the pavement. He screams and takes off running.

Frances turns back to Superunknown.

Frances Farmer: Where is he going?

Superunknown: I have an implanted memory of him doing Poop like this before. He is on his werewolf Poop.

Frances Farmer: Will he be back? Should we go after him?

Superunknown: Don't go after his silly ass... But yeah, he’ll be back to his dumbass self in the morning. Come on, let’s head back inside. I’ve got some more beers to drink.

Frances rolls her eyes.

Frances Farmer: Fine.

She turns and walks back into the bar, Superunknown follows right behind admiring the view from his perspective.