Go Your Own Way

04.17.26 Boston, Massachusetts

The door to the Red Army locker room swings wide open, revealing a visibly frustrated Kenny Freeman as he walks in with something of a snarl on his face. The look fades away as he approaches his duffel bag, muttering to himself. It’s unclear what he’s going on about at first, but as he zips the bag open we can finally make out what he’s saying.

“It is over when I say it’s over.”

The echoes of Ivan Stanislav’s stern message earlier tonight, filtered through the tone and inflection of the disgruntled junior member of the Red Army. Kenny continues this process as he throws a hand towel into the bag, zipping it shut after an initial snag (literally and otherwise).

“When no one in PRIME gave a damn about you… I did.”

Kenny scoffs at this, shaking his head as he puts the bag’s strap over his shoulder and maneuvers the bag itself behind him.

“Talk about taking me into your precious Army like I owe you a favor,” he responds, well after the message would’ve really had an impact. “Talk about having patience, like you haven’t been pressing my nose to the grindstone since the day I joined your cause.”

He steps through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him as he continues rambling on. With no Randall Schwartz in sight, it’s much easier for Kenny to speak out loud… and, depending on who you ask, out of turn.

“For such a man of honor, you wanna be mad because I had some dignity around here? Come on, Ivan. Don’t you know dignity when you see it? Or are you really that tilted because I had the audacity to show a rival some respect?”

The tension is undercut by someone shouting “Respect!” down the hall from behind Kenny. He turns around, and sure enough, Randall’s absence doesn’t last long as The Entertainer approaches with his own duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Who are we mad at, Kenny?”

Kenny opts not to answer his friend’s inquiry, shaking his head as he walks past Randall toward the exit. They step through the doorway, slowly heading down the stairway before getting out toward the parking lot. All along the way, Randall keeps pressing his pal on the matter. Kenny finally relents when they approach the “drop-off and pickup” section.

“Listen,” Kenny says. “Ivan and I had a rough go of things tonight. Remember the wager we made with Bobby Neptune?”

Randall nods in response.

“I was trying to make good on it,” Freeman adds with a sigh. “And apparently that doesn’t work for Ivan, brother. Things went south and he gave Bobby a thrashing before I stepped in and--”

“You stepped in?” Randall asks quizzically, his eyes widened in surprise. “Why would you go and do that? He knows what he’s doing.”

“Does he?” The question posed by Kenny draws a light gasp from his friend, but Freeman presses on. “He got mad at me for having some respect for Bobby, despite our differences. Gave me a whole spiel about how he took me in--took us in, Randall--as if we wouldn’t have made it on our own.”

The surprise on Randall’s face fades, soon replaced with one of apprehension.

“I mean,” he says meekly. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Kenny… how much of a shelf life did we really have after that failed bid for the tag titles all those years ago?”

Kenny is now the one taken by surprise here, taken aback even.

“Excuse me!?”

The trepidation sets in on Randall’s end of the conversation, as the rage builds up in Kenny’s voice.

“You and I have been here through thick and thin, with or without the Red Army. People have come and gone--some injured, some deciding they simply couldn’t hack it in PRIME--but you and I? We’re the only tag team still around from the days of Tag Team Survivor, Randall, and you know what that means?”

Randall shakes his head.

“It means we are survivors.”

“What?” Randall asks, unclear by what Kenny means.

“We’re not gonna give up.”

“What?”

Hey, wait a minute…

“We’re not gonna stop.”

“What?”

It soon becomes apparent what is happening as the pair start to build a certain rhythm.

“We’re gonna work harder.”

“What?”

“We are survivors, we’re gonna make it.”

Randall joins Kenny as they say the last bit in unison.

“We will survive, yeah, keep on survivin’!”

One high five later, and the Masters of the Moscowverse are back in sync, alright, as Kent Ramsey pulls up in his Chevy Camaro. The duo hop into the vehicle before Ramsey pulls away, making his way out of the lot when Randall turns to Kenny in the back seat.

“Wait, what were we talkin’ about?”

Kenny just rolls his eyes, ignoring The Entertainer as the trio hit the road, eager to make their way to the next stop on the grand tour of PRIME.

Some time later, they pass by a sign thanking visitors for being in the city of Boston and we see Kenny has already passed out, taking a nap for the trip. Kent’s eyes are firmly on the road ahead, seemingly oblivious to the faint blue light that begins shimmering inside the car… a light that quickly grabs the attention of Schwartz instead.

“Attention, K-Mart shoppers,” Randall remarks, nudging Kenny with enough force to wake him up. “We have a blue light special in aisle Camaro!”

Before anyone can speak further, a bright flash of light conceals the arrival of a familiar face in Aeon Khronos, who looks almost as surprised to be sitting in the back seat between his old friends as they are to see him just randomly show up out of nowhere.

“Gentlemen,” he states with a nod. “It’s a pleasure meeting your acquaintance once a--”

“Hey!” shouts Kent from the driver’s seat. “Who the hell are you, and how’d you get in my ride?”

“Oh, this is Aeon Khronos,” Kenny chimes in, trying to defuse the situation. “This is the guy that got us roped into the whole multiverse thing in the first place.”

“Oh!” Kent exclaims, eventually cracking a smile. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. What brings you back to our corner of the multiverse?”

“It’s a long story,” replies Aeon, but this only draws a shake of the head from the ace reporter followed by a chuckle.

“Well we’ve got a nice long ride to get to Providence. Have at it!”

“Alright, then,” Aeon says, letting out a small sigh as he adjusts himself. “I got pulled away from this universe on very important business--”

“Going on dates with yourself, I’m sure,” remarks Randall with a snicker, much to the chagrin of Khronos who gives The Entertainer a bit of the ol’ Aeon side-eye.

“Anyway,” the interstellar traveler continues. “That business has concluded, and I was brought back to this quadrant with the express purpose of making sure further multiverse travel is restricted to those who are qualified.”

“Those with a certain mastery of the multiverse, am I right?”

Kenny joins Aeon in giving Randall a cold glare from that question before Khronos finishes.

“As I was saying… there are those that should not be able to freely travel between realities. Your leader Ivan Stanislav being one of them, and another--”

“Bobby Neptune?” asks Randall, garnering a widened look of surprise from Aeon.

“Why would you assume Bobby Neptune isn’t allowed? He’s one of the few actual heroes we know across the multiverse.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be sh--”

“Chill, Randall,” Kenny interjects. “I’m hearing I made the right call trying to help Neptune out. Nice to know I get one right every so often.”

“I’m confused,” replies Aeon. “What happened with Bobby Neptune?”

“Dude beat me a couple weeks ago,” answers Kenny with a sigh. “I told him I’d give him info and access to the multiverse, and Ivan wasn’t a fan of me honoring my word. We just had a whole thing about it hours ago… and frankly, I’m ready to move on.”

Aeon just looks blankly at Freeman for what feels like an eternity.

“Kenny, have you ever thought for a second that you can go your own way?”

“Go your own way?” asks Randall… and something feels very familiar about all this as Aeon nods in reply before continuing.

“You can call it a lonely day, if you feel so inclined.”

Oh, we’re not actually doing that again. Thank goodness.

“Damn, Aeon,” remarks Randall once again. “I had no idea you were such a big Fleetwood Mac fan.”

“Fleetwood… Mac?”

“Yeah, a band famously formed in the late sixties with… why are you giving me that look?”

Aeon raises an eyebrow, thinking about the info he has been given before reaching into his coat. With a small flash of light, he pulls out a CD case that looks familiar at first glance.

“Yeah,” states Randall as he points at the case. “Great album, Rumors. One of the band’s best works and a fine taste of Fleetwood…”

His voice trails off as he takes a closer look at the cover. Instead of the faces we know best, however, we only see one person standing… and the face looks an awful lot like Quinn Fleetwood, holding a guitar in his hand. Above the album title is the name of the band, or in this case the musician, and the source of the miscommunication.

“Fleetwood Quick?”

“Best damn guitar player on Earth-63,” replies Aeon with a smile. “His fusion of jazz and soft rock is matched only by his experimental hair metal era. Rumors was a critical point in his career, proving that his style was truly eclectic.”

The drop of lore leaves the Masters speechless, with Kent finally chiming in to cut the silence.

“Well, it sure seems like you’re a man of taste. I’d let ya hand that disc over but I ain’t got a CD player.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine,” answers Khronos, who chuckles with a snap of his fingers… bringing the music directly through the speakers of Ramsey’s car stereo. Indeed, a sound that resembles our Fleetwood Mac but with a certain New Orleans pizzazz fills the car with a sense of joy as the quartet drives off into the night.