Dark, Twisted and Cruel

I carve down my plot, I write with your blood. I created this world, but first came the word. You have no light in sight, Just endless darkness to fight. The horror story comes true: I'm dark, twisted and cruel. - Alan Wake

📼📼📼

Two Weeks Ago “The captain has turned off the seatbelt sign and you are now free to move about the cabin. As you retrieve your items from the overhead bins please be aware that items may have moved during the course of our flight.

We thank you for flying American Airlines and we hope to see you again soon. Please enjoy your time in Minneapolis or wherever your final destination may be.”

A mass of humanity immediately vaults into the narrow aisles of the mid-sized jet as Nathan chooses to rest his head back, waiting for the rush to pass him by - hoping against hope that no one stops for an autograph or worse, a selfie.

Who the fuck even would? You think a win against a rookie is something to be proud of? You only won because I let you win.

Shut up! This is the first step on our comeback! It writes itself – Blaze Claymore: Rising From the Ashes. Get the Oscar campaign ready!

Nathan takes deep, shallow breaths – trying to force the thoughts out of his head.

“Stop it. Stop it. St-”

He feels a hand on his shoulders as he looks up and sees the face of Marcus Noonan flashing him a smile.

“Hey Nate, need help with your bags?”

Nathan’s frozen joints begin to thaw as he rises to meet his old classmate, a one-in-a-million encounter that pulled him from drowning in the Tampa terminal bathroom. The pair reach up and pull down Nathan's gaudy red luggage with “BLAZE” stitched obnoxiously across the top.

“What the hell ya’ got in here, man? A solid gold belt?”

Nathan's face turns as red as his luggage as he grabs the handle and walks forward, Marcus following.

"You got a ride back to Montevideo? We could catch up some more."

Yes, Naaaaaaaathan. Tell him all about what we’ve been up to.

Nathan closes his eyes.

“Actually, I’ve got a rental all lined up. But, I’m not booked for the next show so I’ll be in Montevideo for a couple weeks; we should grab dinner.”

“You promise? I’ll bring my girls if you bring yours!”

Nathan feels a pit in his stomach and forces a grin, speaking with the confidence only a trained actor could muster.

“It’s a promise.”

What are you doing Naaaaaaaaaathan? Trying to ruin another life?

Aw yeah! We still got it! 

“Nathan! Where the hell have you been?”

Sonja.

Nathan’s eyes snap open to see a vision standing directly in front of him perched like a vulture at the top of the rampway leading away from the TSA check-in with one hand clutching her precious phone and the other, nails like talons, point toward Nathan.

“Sonja? How did you-?”

Marcus, like a grizzly bear protecting its cub, pulls Nathan back and steps between them, extending a massive, callused hand.

"Hey! Woah! You must be Sonja. Blaze has told me so much about you.”

Sonja’s attention snaps to Marcus but still keeps Nathan in sight out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh? He has? And you are...?” Sonja’s voice is terse, but respectful. Curious.

“Marcus Noonan – an old friend from way back. I couldn’t believe it when this legend said he was back in Montevideo”

Sonja’s mouth twitches and her eyes flicker but she responds in a practiced confident but bubbly tone.

“Oh really!? How nice! I haven’t seen you around town Marcus. What’s your social media handle? I’d love to give you a follow.”

Marcus laughs dryly.

“Oh, not me. I can’t stand the stuff; I leave all the TikTok trends to my daughters.”

Sonja pulls back her phone like a wounded animal, her voice souring like curdled milk.

“Oh. Well. That’s fine I suppose. Thanks for keeping Nathan company. He’s gone through so much lately I just had to be here after his big win.”

Marcus flashes a smile as he wraps Blaze in a big side hug.

“Yeah, isn't it great! A regular Rocky Balboa, right?”

Nathan lets out a laugh, a genuine laugh, as he pushes Marcus away playfully.

“Stop it. I didn’t do much.”

Sonja's eyes move between them, quick like a raptor; they flicker again as she grabs Nathan's arm, pulling him toward her.

“Well, yes, thank you again, Marcus. We really do have to get going; I can’t leave his mother alone for too long. Not in her condition.”

Nathan’s face goes white, his blood cold.

“Wait- what’s wrong with my mom?”

He begins to feel his knees buckle and Sonja is there to catch him.

“We'll talk in the car. You would know if you called her after your win. I’m just glad I was there for her when she needed someone at her side.”

Nathan can feel his body retreat and shrink as Sonja's hands wrap around his shoulder. He turns back and watches  Marcus fade from sight.

📼📼📼

The days passed in fragments. Like a fever dream.

Sonja didn’t take him to Montevideo. It was a hotel. Some dump off I-35. They were in the car for all of 10 minutes. Reservations already booked and paid for.

It was a “detox” she said; that his mom couldn’t see him like “this” and left.

She had given Nathan what he thought was pain medicine, but they were sleeping pills. She had taken his phone and wallet, blacked out the windows, and disconnected all the phones in the room.

He was ready to run, to escape, when she visited him the first day. But she was as convincing as ever.

This was all for his own good. Exposure therapy prescribed by some new doctor she had found to help him.

He knew he wasn't normal. Wasn't healthy. The voices. He'd do anything to make them stop.

“Your win made you unstable Nathan. I heard it on the phone. The world saw it when you told Elise and D that you were seeing things. You don’t need a wrestling career, you need HELP!”

His meals came like clockwork: 7 AM breakfast. Noon lunch. 5 PM dinner. The only way he could tell was the alarm clock sitting on his bed stand. Laughing at him. Counting down every hour, minute and second of his captivity.

The sheets reeked of body odor and sweat - they hadn’t been changed since Sonja left him here. All he had were the clothes from the plane, the #SAVEBLAZE shirt he wore in his match, jeans, and a to-go bag with toiletries.

Sonja’s appearances were frequent at first – maybe twice a day – but then by the end of the first week … he couldn’t keep track.

When she did arrive, all she would do is take photos. Take videos. Scroll through her feeds and then leave. That's when it all make sense.

Sonja wasn’t Sonja… she was IT.

The last time IT visited this time, IT didn't have Sonja's phone – instead IT had a thin, folded piece of paper with the words “Montevideo Wellness Center” at the top.

“Voluntary commitment. That will be what we tell them… you went on another one of your vision quests and when I found you - when I SAVED you, we knew this was the only way to make you better.”

Nathan’s eyes locked with IT’s. He smiled.

“Fuck you.”

IT hit him, hurt him. But then, IT left.

IT left the door… open.

A test? A trap? Nathan didn't care. He waited. Counted to sixty. Three times. Then moved. Then ran.

He had to stop the infection at its source before it spread into Montevideo. To his mom. To Marcus. To everyone.

Somehow. Some way. He needed to get to South Carolina. Get to Max Kael. Get to the book.

📼📼📼

It was the night of ReVival 77 and Nathan found himself stumbling through the hallways of the Colonial Life Arena, knowing his time was running out.

Have to warn them. No you don’t. What did they ever do for you?

“Shit.”

Steve Lemieux had ruined everything.

No. That’s not true. He had failed. His attempt to steal Kael’s book from Darkly - to destroy it once and for all – had failed because he was distracted – and now he could lose everything.

Gotta find a phone. Gotta reach someone. Sonja will see. IT will see.

Yeesssssss weeeeeee willlllllllllllll.

Nathan finally manages to find what he was looking for - a landline. He stumbles over to the receiver and picks it up – the dial tone screaming in his ear.

Call Sonja. Call herrrrrrrr. Call ussssssssss.

Nathan shakes his head and begins to dial a number but stops immediately.

“Wait… his number is in my cell phone. IT has my phone.”

Yesssss weeeeee dooooooooo.

Nathan tries to block the noise out as he racks his brain and then lets out a sigh. It would be better than nothing….

As if by muscle memory, Nathan types in the number to the phone number he remembers Marcus’ parents having. For all he knew it would be a complete rando-

“Hello? Noonan Residence.”

“Marcus!?”

“Nathan!? Where are you? Everyone’s been worried sick about you!”

“She… IT… Sonja…”

In that moment Nathan realized how much worse this would make things. Who would believe him even if he told the truth.

“I knew it.”

Marcus’ words shot through Nathan’s fog like a bolt of lightning.

"Wait... what?"

“Tell me everything. And I mean everything. I don’t think we have much time.”

📼📼📼

The Next Day

Nathan Lake sat across from Sonja, from IT. Then again, there wasn't really a difference anymore, was there? The Sonja he knew was gone.

They were alone. IT had made sure of that.

After the world saw him shove Steve Lemieux on ReVival - the #SAVEBLAZE sequel, set in motion from the moment he left for Tampa, finally hit its climax. PRIME placed him on a plane straight back to Minneapolis where Sonja was waiting, where they were all waiting.

A careful calculation to maximize social media hits as soon as Blaze stepped off the plane. The prodigal son had returned.

He could barely contain the bile rising from his throat as he walked a red carpet of nightmares - cell phones clicking, cameras rolling, microphones extended outward. Sonja wrapped him in a deep embrace and kissed him. Her lips were as cold as a dead fish and the putridness of hate radiated off her in waves all while the crowd - his fans - ate it up like pig slop.

Now, several hours later, the two of them sat in a brightly fluorescent room with a single table in the center like they were in an interrogation scene from Law and Order or maybe, in this case, The Dark Knight. A clinical assessment IT said. Necessary to assure I wasn't a danger to myself. Or others.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What should I have to say for myself? Isn’t that your job?”

Sonja smiled. IT smiled. Not with warmth. With victory.

"My job is to help you, Nathan. That's all I've ever done. Helped you when you came back from those two months. Helped you when you lost the tag match for Elise and D. Helped you when you refused treatment. And this is how you repay me? By running off again?"

“STOP LYING!”

Nathan slams his hand on the table and IT leans back – smile widening.

“There’s the Blaze Claymore I’ve been waiting for.”

Nathan stops - his mind begins to fog, but he pushes IT away.

“I’m NATHAN LAKE.”

IT throws their head back and laughs.

“You sure about that?”

Nathan’s eyes don’t waiver. IT's flare.

“How CONVENIENT this all is for you, Blaze. You win? You’re Blaze Claymore. You lose? You’re Nathan Lake. None of it is ever your fault, is it? It’s always someone else’s. Someone is out to get you ALWAYS. In Montevideo. In Hollywood. In SHOOT. Now in PRIME… you are and have always been a scared little boy running away from reality.”

“You don’t know shit about me.”

IT smirks.

“That’s the beauty of it all. No one does. You made sure of that. The only person who does is maybe your mother…”

The voices in his head screamed - as if reaching out to their counterparts across the table. He knew somehow IT was recording this, so he just clenched his jaw and stared.

IT reaches into Sonja's purse and slides something across the table - Nathan’s phone.

“Go ahead. Check it.”

Nathan opens the device. The number of notifications makes his heart skip. So many messages - from so many people … all of them unanswered. For days. Weeks. Abandoned. But then he sees a single red notification message in the upper right-hand corner. He taps it.

It’s the bookings for ReVival 78.

Blaze Claymore v. Luc Labelle (C) for the Alias Title. Stipulation: MMA rules.

Nathan read it twice - three times - but the words weren’t a hallucination. They were real.

“Congratulations.”

He looked up at the person/thing sitting across from him on the table.

“The Alias Title … how fitting for someone who doesn’t even know which version of himself is real.”

IT's words are muffled, drowned out. All Nathan hears is the cocky, confident voice of Blaze Claymore.

About fucking time.

“Holy shit. I have a title shot.”

IT laughs, cackling.

“No, Blaze. You have a title match. And against an MMA fighter? Buddy… you couldn’t take a hit from a stuntman on set when we were together - what makes you think you can survive an actual punch to the face? And before you say anything - I’ve seen your matches. You are a human game of Jenga - one wrong move and everything falls apart - in spectacular fashion I may add."

Nathan sneers.

“I’m going to win that title, Sonja.”

IT sighs.

“No, you’re not. And even if by some miracle you do…”

Now IT pulls out Sonja's phone, holding it up for Nathan to see. A post still in draft.

I’ve been silent for too long. Watching what Nathan Lake, also known as Blaze Claymore, did to an innocent man in Steve Lemieux wasn’t just heartbreaking – it was a pattern. I have been living in fear of what Nathan is capable of and far too many times he has taken his anger - whether it’s for a match loss or some broken part of his psyche - out on me.

The post went on — photos, timestamps, accusations stacked like evidence in a trial that they hadn’t even held yet. Nathan’s hands began shaking - trying to jump and reach for the phone, but it is yanked backwards.

“I never hit you!”

IT clicks Sonja's tongue.

“Maybe not… but there’s enough evidence to convince the general public, specifically your hometown, otherwise. Starting back in Montreal five months ago all the way up through your outbursts here in this room right now.”

IT points upwards. Cameras in every corner.

“Marcus… Marcus will tell them. He saw you at the airport.”

“The guy you met on an airplane for, what? A couple of hours? After not seeing him in 15 years? Nathan - you’re on strike three with this town. First you abandoned them for Hollywood, then you abandoned them when they showed up for you in Minneapolis, and now…?”

How would you know anything about what is going on in Montevideo?

IT flashes a smile and pushes their chair back.

“You can keep your phone, by the way. I don’t need it anymore.”

Nathan spins in his chair.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

IT just chuckles as they walk toward the door leading out from the room and push it open.

“You’ll see.”

📼📼📼

Nathan sat alone in that room for hours. The irony of the situation - wanting to hide in solitude rather than escape it - was a little too on the nose.

He looked down at his phone, too nervous to scan his messages and instead remaining focused solely on the booking sheet.

Luc Labelle. Alias Title… with MMA stipulations.

“What am I going to do?”

A knock. IT was back.

“Nate?”

Marcus.

Nathan leaps to his feet as Marcus Noonan steps through the door of the holding room.

“I talked with the officers. They agreed you’re not going to hurt anyone, or yourself … plus I told them you would be staying with me – not Sonja.”

Tears began to form in the corner of Nathan’s eyes but he quickly wiped them away.

“Thanks Marcus, but I think we’re too late. She has this post she is going to share. It’s bad, man. Win or lose, I’m going to be seen as a monster.”

Marcus gestures for Nathan to sit back down as he circles the table and sits in the opposing chair. He gestures and has Nathan slide his phone across the table towards him before holding it up to face Nathan.

“Then you better tell your side first.”

📼📼📼

Marcus holds the phone steady, recording light on, as Nathan Lake looks into the camera. He is tired. He is beaten. But he is not defeated.

Lights? Check. Camera? Check.

Action.

“Luc Labelle. I admire you… perhaps that’s the first time I’ve said something like that out loud to anyone but I think it needs to be said. You know who you are. You know what you want. And you know what you need to do to get it….”

Blaze takes over as he runs a hand through Nathan's hair and sighs.

“But you don’t know Blaze Claymore. Hell, I don’t even know Blaze Claymore.”

He pauses.

“And at one time I thought I knew who I was - what I was. But lately Luc, things have been a bit… jumbled - but that’s what happens when you realize you’ve just been a character in someone else’s story….”

Nathan lowers his head.

“What I do know, Luc, is that your rules - that cage? It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t have an agenda - or followers. It isn’t a hotel room where you’re held against your will. Or some maniac’s torture chamber… it may be a cage - but to me it’s freedom.”

Nathan smiles, a manic, but controlled smile.

“There are two kinds of violence, Luc. The kind we’ll be enjoying together on Halloween night - the kind everyone can see and react to. Blood. Fractures. Concussions. The good stuff. Then there’s the other kind…”

His smile fades.

“The kind that happens behind closed doors. In locker rooms, bed rooms, and hotel rooms. Where someone takes your phone. Someone drugs you. Someone turns your childhood dream of being seen - being noticed - and perverts it into a 24/7 reality show where the world watches you break in real time and like, share, and comment on your trauma.”

He lets out a dry laugh.

“The kind of violence where you can never win because the rules keep changing and because the referee is the one hurting you…”

He looks up.

“But your cage, Luc? At least it’s fucking honest. For better or for worse, warts and all, you see what someone is made of - literally and metaphorically.”

A pause.

“I don’t have any fancy words for you, Luc - any grand gestures - other than to say that I know you are going to give it everything you have and in the process you may break me. But it won’t be more than I’m already broken right now. You may destroy my body. But at least it will prove I’m flesh and blood.”

Nathan shudders as he sighs, running his hand back through his hair as he locks eyes with the camera. With us.

“Your MMA world — that’s your home. I thought I knew where my home was but maybe I never did… and maybe you know what that’s like and maybe you don’t, but I’ve been lost in the shadows for so long that I’m willing to believe - I HAVE to believe - that maybe, just maybe, Luc … you’ll be the light that burns them all away.”

A beat.

“That title around your waist… you may just see it as an accolade or validation of your talent and you’re not wrong. But for me? That belt isn’t just a championship. It’s my Proof of Life: that whichever version of me is in that ring in Raleigh … is the one that’s made it to the other side.

Nathan smiles a cheeky, classic Blaze smile.

“ReVival 78, Luc. Bring your honest violence … and I’ll show you what survives it.

📼📼📼

Marcus lowers the phone and looks at Nathan.

"You want me to post this? Or..."

Nathan nods.

"Before she does."

Marcus taps. Uploading. Posted.

He slides Nathan’s phone over to him, but before it can even cross the table, it buzzes.

They sit in silence for a beat before Nathan picks up his phone. There's a new notification.

She beat him to it anyway.