Blaze Claymore in: Home. Alone.

SOMEWHERE DARK

ID: You are floating in nothingness. A void of black on black on black. There is no warmth here, only the open arms of inevitability.

EGO: But I hear the waves.

ID: You hear your own blood flowing from your heart to your brain. Slowly. It’s choking. Dying.

EGO: Dying!?

ID: Yeah, kid. It’s what you’ve always wannnnnted! Peace. Quiet. No shame. No fear. Just….

EGO: There's a clock ticking behind our ribs.

SUPEREGO: I can’t breathe!

ID: You’ve fought hard, kid — harder than most. But even your best wasn’t enough. Not against that Russian beast. A predator. And he did what predators do to their prey… it’s the wonder of nature, kid. Since time immemorial… ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

EGO: No… the sound…. the ringing… the waves!

SUPEREGO: Why do I smell saltwater?

ID: Don’t listen to them. Only pain exists on the other side. HE exists on the other side…

SUPEREGO: Ivan.

ID: Guess again.

EGO: The pain is unbearable. A blade wedged between our eyes, slowly pulling our skull apart. Make it stop. Make it stop.

ID: That’s what I’m offerin’ kid. Embrace the nothingness. Embrace the natural order… peace from it alllll.

SUPEREGO: Where am I?

ID: Exactly where you’re supposed to be. You paid your gold pieces to Charon and now you’re floating on the River Styx — a one-way ticket to Nihil. To Caligo. And away from the one who put you here in the first place…

SUPEREGO: The Anglo Luchador.

ID: Wrong again, kid. But it doesn’t matter anymore… you’re here now and can make it all go awayyyy. Join the danse macabre.

EGO: We taste putridity. Bile. It covers our teeth, our lips, our throat.

SUPEREGO: I’m choking!

ID: Exaaaaaactly. It’s the role you were born to play. Now is your chance. No more pain. No more shame. No more worrying about the spotl-

EGO: Light. There’s light.

ID: Your consciousness betrays you.A ball of nerves driving a dead bag of meat. A rotten bag of flesh that doesn’t realize it’s already dead and gone. That’s what you want to be? A zombie? A ghoul? A somnambulist walking aimlessly from defeat to defeat to defeat? What is it you actually want, then?

EGO: Warmer. It’s getting warmer.

ID: What are you doing?

SUPEREGO: I think I’m outside. I can feel the sun.

ID: You feel the flames of hell. Hades. Tartarus. Sheol. Gehenna. Naraka. Jahannam. HOLLYWOOD. SHOOT. PRIME.

EGO: We are Disgusting. We are Shameful.

SUPEREGO: I’m going to open my eyes. I have to see where I am.

EGO: It burns! We’re burning!

ID: See you soon, kid. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dussssssssssst.

📼📼📼

SOMEWHERE LIGHT

With a gasp tinged with the smell of dry vomit, Blaze Claymore pushes himself up off a slab of cold cement and begins to cough violently.

It’s dawn. Or dusk. He can’t quite discern which… as he places a hand to his head and feels the sharp pain of a swollen brain trying to break free from its cage of skin and bone.

Blaze Claymore: Fuck.

Even saying the word makes his stomach churn and forces his body to heave violently. Fortunately or unfortunately, there was nothing left in his stomach to exhume… instead he just sat there on all fours, yacking up air like a cat trying to hack up a hairball.

His vision danced between bursts of color and strobing black. Sharp pops of white fuzz flared behind his eyelids like static as his head rocked back and forth trying to determine whether he was rightside up or upside down.

Luckily he was rightside up. For now.

Blaze raised his head - a brief respite from his role as a common house cat - to see a sight he recognized. Well, one that Nathan recognized. Lake Minnetonka. Specifically, he was lying prone on the banks of Wayzata Beach.

Blaze Claymore: What the…

Blaze sat up and cradled his skull, every movement setting his nerves on fire. He looked, carefully, at his surroundings and quickly identified a large bottle of Jim Beam just feet away from him… like… obscenely large.

Blaze began to crawl towards the bottle, sand and grass grating against his body as he quickly realized he was still in his ring attire… now full of holes and frayed threads.

As he grabbed at the bottle, he could already tell it was empty… but he gripped it tightly anyways; trying to stand up.

Nope.

Blaze falls on his ass. Hard. A shooting pain rips up his spine and into his cerebral cortex as he screams an obscenity that luckily no one is around to hear. He rolls over onto his back and looks up toward the sky, his breathing shallow.

Only then does it dawn on him the why of the where and when he is at. And he laughs, choking back another dry heave attack.

Blaze Claymore: You stupid sonofabitch. You walked us 10 hours overnight trying to get to Montevideo? The actual fuck?

Blaze laughs even harder now.

Blaze Claymore: Oh god. It hurts.

Blaze manages to push himself up, finally, wobbly on noodle legs as he sways back and forth against the banks of one of Minnesota’s famed 10,000 lakes. His eyes squint as he looks around realizing that, yes, indeed… it is sunrise.

He pulls out a phone from his pocket, barely on its last minutes of juice.

June 21, 2025

His eyes adjust further as he sees the notifications.

Missed Call Sonja

Missed Call Sonja

Missed Call Sonja

Missed Call Mom

Missed Call Mom

Missed Call LT

Missed Call Mom

Missed Call LT

Missed Call Sonja

Missed Call Sonja

Missed Call Missed Call Missed Call

Blaze rubs the bridge of his nose as he swipes open the device and taps the “Phone” icon to find more than a dozen voicemails. From Sonja. From Amy. From Lindsay…

Blaze: ….

That was it. That was the list of names… not a single fucking person other than his girlfriend, Nathan’s mother, and their boss. But the worst of it was the names he knew were missing. The ones he had expected - no - had hoped to see.

No “The D” Derek Edwards.

No Elise Ares.

Not even Josh goddamned Klein.

Blaze looks up, eyes closed and a raging hangover-induced migraine clawing at the inside of his skull. And then he did it. The “it” being chucking his Google Pixel 7 into the nearby lake like a skipping stone.

With a soft plop sound Blaze suddenly found himself alone – truly alone – for the first time.

Well – almost.

Blaze Claymore: You wanted to go home? Fine then. Let's go home.

📼📼📼

SOMEWHERE

The doors to the cab of a dust-covered big rig swing open and suddenly Blaze is face to face with a rather large man in a faded blue flannel shirt and red cap. One of those red caps. Blaze doesn’t hesitate stepping up into the passenger seat though, hands running along the pock-marked black faux leather with large chunks of yellow foam padding missing, as he sits down and drops a single duffle bag at his feet. It lands with a thud that catches the ears and attention of his chauffeur.

Man: Name’s Blake. Where ya headed?

Blaze keeps his eyes forward on the long stretch of road in front of them, his vision flanked by dunes and crags.

Blaze Claymore: West.

The man - Blake - chuckles a bit and leans forward, arms resting on his steering wheel.

Blake: Anywhere west in particular, stranger? Or is it straight into the Pacific Ocean then?

Not like Nathan hadn’t tried something similar once or twice already...

Blaze Claymore: Just however far west you’re headed… Blake.

The trucker shifts into gear and the beast of a vehicle shudders forward and then stops and then pitches forward again like a failing roller coaster cart, but eventually the pair are moving. Blaze keeps his eyes on the road - at first - but then reaches up to pull down the passenger mirror.

Blake: So, you gotta name, stranger?

Blaze narrows his gaze as he looks at his reflection in the small, rectangular mirror. The one that frames your eyes like one of those old school noir pictures they would always watch. He seemed to remember it being called a catchlight…

Blake: Listen, man, I get it. Private is private… but if you ain’t talkin and I ain’t sure how far you’re headed, then you better be right with the Lord and a fan of Toby Keith.

Blaze gave one last look in the mirror to make sure his eyes were right and then leaned back in his seat.

Blaze Claymore: Nathan. Nathan Lake.

Blaze waited… but not for Blake. Nothing.

Blake: Shit. Sounds like some movie star name or somethin’ — that where you headed man?

Blaze looked down at his duffle bag and then up toward the road. All he could think about was every road movie from the 1970s he could name. Bullitt. White Lightning. Two Lane Blacktop. Dirty Mary Crazy Larry. Duel. Vanishing Point…

Blaze squirmed in his seat… either from Blake’s direct question or from the last few titles flashing in his brain getting a bit too close to home. Maybe both.

Blaze Claymore: Do I seem like the Hollywood type to you, Blake?

He doesn’t have to look over to Blake to know the rig operator is sporting a wide, shit-eating grin.

Blake: You seem like the desperate type to me, Nate. Celebrity and desperation go hand in hand like a hitch and a trailer. But I don’t mean nothin’ by it. Don’t affect me none. Just one more piece of cargo I’ve gotta taxi is all.

Blaze lets out a dry laugh at the word “one” but Blake doesn’t pick up on that. How could he?

Blaze Claymore: You like this job, Blake? Is it everything you ever wanted out of a career?

Blake slaps the steering wheel and laughs.

Blake: Shit no. Most boring ass shit… 56-hour runs every other week hauling God knows what to God knows where with my only entertainment bein’ whatever this piece of junk can pick up or dirty jokes over the CB. Wish they’d give this thing a damned upgrade and then I could at least listen to some books on tape or somethin’

Blaze Claymore: So why keep doing it? For your wife? Kids?

Blake sighs and shakes his head.

Blake: Don’t got none. Don’t want none. But you meet all sorts of folks out here Nate. Good folks… some weirdos too but mostly good folks who are just tryin’ to get by like we all are. Makes you wonder sometimes why everything out there (gestures toward the road) is so damned doom and gloom.

Blaze can’t help himself.

Blaze Claymore: So which one am I?

Blake: Pardon?

Blaze Claymore: A good one or a weird one.

Blake looks over to Blaze and looks at him cautiously, probably to see if he’s got a gun or a knife pointed at him.

Blake: Only weird people ask if they're weird, Nate. But we gotta bitta road before we get to California so maybe you’ll change my mind.

Blaze smirks, his body relaxing.

Blake: What’s in the bag by the way? Seemed heavy. Gold bars or some shit? If you cut me in maybe we could-

Blaze’s smirk drops as he sits ridged and pulls the bag closer to his body using his feet, locking it in place, before cutting Blake off.

Blaze Claymore: It’s none of your goddamned business, Blake.

Blake pauses, thinks, and then turns his eyes back to the road.

Blake: Weird it is then. Listen…

Blake’s words begin to become muffled as Blaze hears ringing in his ears. He reaches up, holding a hand to his temple as he can feel and hear a rush of blood pumping from his heart to his brain. He looks out his passenger side window and sees nothing. Blackness. The dark.

I hear the waves.

Blaze looks up at the catchlight of the passenger mirror and catches a glimpse of something.

We're waking up.

Then…

Heyyyyyyy kid. Thereeeee you areeeeee. Welcome baaaaaaaaack.

Black.