Kaeler, Tailor, Soldier, Kai

“I prefer a real villain to a false hero.” - Killer Mike

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …Château de Primrose, Northern France… …Early 2019…

“[You promise this all ends with him dead?]”

Vicomte Edouard François Primrose del Grande Valeur VI, Patriarch of the Primrose family, snarls through teeth made of illegally sourced ivory. Normally French is a beautiful language but there is a distinct disgust that licks each word that slips between the Vicomte’s powdered lips.

“Dead? Oh, you spend enough time around me and these things just happened. Call me  Cursed… heh-heh.” Max replies with a low bow. Here, in 2019, Max still carries the burden of Chicago and decades worth of his adopted family's abuses. His body is held together by a series of metal braces and his singular drive to endure. One singular wild eye glimmers from deep within his right eye socket while a rusted metal plate hides away the void where his left eye once was.

“[Your association with the Farthington Family is the only reason I’ve even given this any consideration.]” the filthy French words dribble from the pale painted face of the Vicomte. Years of disease and generations of inbreeding lay barely hidden beneath layers of thick makeup. An ancient looking white wig covers a scalp scarred by the ravages of syphilis. “[To rely on… common trash.”

“Cecilworth’s trust in me is well placed, and besides that,” Kael replies with a wide, janky grin. Despite his cyclopean condition, Max still clocks the look of disgust he’s given by the elder Primrose. “While I might be trash, I can promise you there ain’t nothing common about me.”

“[We shall see, won’t we?]” Edouard spits while producing a small, silver bell from the elegant crimson frock he wore. With a flick of his wrist the elder Primrose sets the chimes song free. The tintinnabulation of the bell sings out pure and clean, its silver voice tickling the back of Max’s head.

A small door opens from the long lengths of the Mirror Hall in direct answer to the bell’s call. A small, sheepish boy sweeps out in a blue tunic that matches the Vicomte’s own archaic stylings. The young man, bordering on the cusp of manhood, quickly scrambles to stand before Max.

“[This is my… my grandson. Introduce yourself.]” the Patriarch sputters, as though simple acknowledgement of the boy was painful.

The young boy turns, locking his eyes with Max’s own singular orb. After a nervous pause the young man perks up, a toothy grin stretching across his youthful visage.

“My name is Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington!” ☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Lybyanka Building, Moscow, Russia… …A few days before ReVival 79…

“You haven't met my Pissboy, have you Ratimir?”

Max’s voice warbles excitedly as the Mayor of Arkham forcibly shoves Bentley through the doors of Ratimir’s opulent office in the the Lybyanka Building in downtown Moscow.

“... what the hell!?” the former Russian Colonel blurts at the sudden intrusion, rising to his feet immediately. While Bentley stumbles, falling to his hands and feet before Rati’s desk. Max cavorts joyfully behind his former Herald with a sadistic shine glimmering in his eyes.

“Ratty! It’s been too long, old boy!”

As Bentley pulls himself up to his feet he is immediately knocked back down to the ground as Max boots him square in the ass. Kael’s cruel, wrenching giggle gurgles menacingly from his throat as he approaches the wide-eyed Ratimir Borisov.

“... wh-what are you doing here? Our deal was that you’d never come here!” the Federal Security Service Director begins.

“I know, I know but I just love Russia this time of the year. It’s cold, bleak and as hard as Trotsky’s icepick!” Max coos, slithering toward the large windows that overlook the heart of Moscow. “Reminds me of myself… heh-heh.”

Ratimir’s eyes move from the pathetic young man picking himself up off the floor in front of his desk and then to the twisted, diabolick standing near the windows. Easing himself back into his chair, his hands sink below view, fingers eagerly seeking out the silent alarm hidden beneath the lip of his desk.

“I doubt you're here for a social visit.” Borisov mutters, doing his best to keep a brave face. He just has to buy himself some time for the silent alarm to alert the guards. “So what do I owe this… pleasure?”

The jovial nature of Max seems to wax at Ratimir’s question. The Mayor of Arkham draws himself up to his full height, the soft popping and cracking of his spine adding some crunchy sounds Max's posture.

“You’ve done a good job this last year of keeping the Red Army investigation into Kai’s whereabouts running in circles or, at least, keeping the location from our dear, dear friend, Bryan Dawkins. All it took was a little black mail from the time we transferred all that money from the Farthington Estate to your personal bank accounts. You know, all that money you used to buy yourself this director position here in the Federal Security Service? Come-now, you remember. It started when you drugged me so that you could make a deal with…”

Max’s eyes glaze over for a moment, a faint frown touching the corners of his lips.

“... with Wilhelm Kael. But that's not important now!”

Swallowing hard, the Director’s fingers once again find the hidden alarm button desperately pressing it.

“I did what you asked, Mister Kael, I kept Kai Mak- ”

“Mayor.”

Max’s sudden interjection catches the Russian off guard, his head canting to the side like a befuddled mongrel. “Excuse me?”

“Mayor. My official title is Mayor.”

Max stares daggers into the former Colonel, his lips pulling into a tight sneer. Ratimir does his best to shake off the glare, clearing his throat apologetically.

“Apologies, my mistake. Mayor Kael, as I said, I’ve done as you asked.” Borisov pleads with a slight hint of sarcasm while clasping his hands together. “What more do you want from me? Huh?!”

Slamming his hands on the desk, Ratimir Borisov’s small outburst draws a sour smile out of Max.

“My Pissboy, Bentley, has served me well for many, many years. Do you remember him?” Kael jumps back to his original question upon entering the retired colonel’s office.

Ratimir’s eyes return to the disheveled youth forced to stand in front of his desk. His mind races as to where the hell his security detail is while he searches for any recognition in this “pissboy” that Max has thrown at him. “No, no I don’t think so.”

Snapping his finger, Max feigns surprise while stepping away from the window toward Ratimir’s desk.

“He’s the cousin of one of my greatest rivals and closest…” Max pauses, searching for the right word to describe Cecilworth Farthington. More than a friend. Less than… well… whatever you could call them. “... mmm. Let’s not put labels on things, huh? Anyway, my Pissboy’s name is Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington.”

The former Herald can only nod his head slowly, eyes diverted from both men.

“Not so long ago I would have trusted my Pissboy with my very life, with the deep well of secrets that represents my very soul. I called him friend. But then… Alas…” the circling Max Kael’s posture resembles that of a starving feral animal having happened upon a trapped fawn. “This little shit decided to betray him. Decided to trade upon my trust and throw his lot in with… with… What the fuck do you call him again?”

There is a mild hesitation from Bentley, his dark eyes shifting from both men before he whispers, “The Bryan Dawkins.”

“THE BRYAN DAWKINS, yes, hah-HA!” Max chuckles darkly. “This little idiot always makes me laugh. The point is, this little twit spoiled everything. EVERYTHING.”

There is no humor in Max’s voice as he finishes expressing nothing but hatred and contempt for the young man he’s been ridiculing. Moving past Bentley, Max climbs onto the top of Ratimir’s desk, sitting cross-legged upon it.

“So here I am, dealing with loose ends.”

Max’s words hang in the air as the somber threat registers in the retired colonel. There is no smile on Max’s face, no cruel mirth in his voice. Just a foreboding statement and his coldblooded stare.

“I… I… you can’t do th-”

“Oh, I think I can, my friend.” Max cuts Ratimir off, his hands snaking forward as they reach beneath the desk he is sitting on. To Borisov’s horror, Max finds the hidden silent alarm and presses it.

From outside the office doors the sounds of violence erupt. The sounds of screams and destruction are impossible to ignore as Ratimir begins sweating. Eventually the sounds of savagery subside, an uncertain silence falling over the office.

BANG!

The door to the office smashes open as a massive dark shape fills the threshold.

“Allow me to introduce you to my newest protégé…” Max hisses, his eyes never leaving Ratimir’s sweaty face.

The heavy footfalls of the Bolognese Bull punctuate his master’s words as he lumbers forward. Beyond the doorway the broken body of Ratimir’s guards can be seen littering the floor like unwanted toys haphazardly displaced by Max’s monstrous minion. The shadow of the MEAT? Monster falls over the moonfaced Russian, eclipsing the former colonel in darkness.

“This… is the Bolognese Bull, my friend.” Max giggles excitedly, sliding off the desk and moving back to the window. Folding his hands behind his back, he stares out back out over the center of Moscow with a growing expression of pride.

“Please.. Don’t do this. You can’t… you can’t do this to me! I’ll do anything! Anything!” Ratimir begins to beg as the Bull moves behind the desk. Two massive hands wrap themselves around the fat head of the former Colonel, a twisted vice of muscle and bone.

“Anything?” Max’s interest seems to pique.

“ANYTHING!”

With a metal toothed grin, Max sweeps back to the center of the office. He shoves Bentley toward the exit before making good his own escape, giving Ratimir Borisov one last sinister snarl.

“... die…”  ☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kael Estate, Arkham, Massachusetts… …A few days after ReVival 79…

“Kai, I’ve tried to be reasonable. I’ve tried to be considerate. I’m not a bad guy… but I swear to fucking GOD that sperm donor of yours is driving me INSANE!”

Max stalks back and forth before the catatonic body of Kai who remains strapped down into a wheel chair. Black tears lick her cheeks while her eyes stare forward, dead and empty.

“He stole my NEWS van, he vandalized it and then ran it over a God damned TANK! Who the fuck does that?! A mentally diminished idiot, that’s who! That van belonged to me! It was MY property… how fucking DARE he! Who STEALS what belongs to others?!”

Perhaps it is Max’s rage that blinds him to his own hypocrisy. Perhaps it’s just that Max is a tremendous asshole.

“You seem… agitated.”

Speaking of strange hypocrisies, Snark Darkly’s voice cuts through the room like crushed velvet wrapped around rusted nails. It draws Max out of his rant momentarily as his wild eyes turn to his otherworldly business manager.

“Did you see what that fucktwaddle Dawkin’s did to my NEWS VAN on ReVival!? It wasn’t even a year old yet!” Kael snarls before turning and slamming his fist into the wall.

“FUCKING OW!”

The wall was rude and failed to relent to Max’s strike resulting in a bloom of intense pain to flare through the Mayor of Arkham’s hand. Staggering away from the wall Max cradles his hand, fresh black tears sizzling down his face.

“I did see!” Darkly chimes cheerfully as he glides forward. His hands extend out, touching Max on his shoulder as he examines the hand he had just thrown into the wall. “... more importantly, did you see the stipulation for your match? Seems the Red Army has been helping to inspire your opponent for Colossus. A Siberian Steel Cage Match.”

Rolling his eyes, Max hisses as he flexes the fingers in his injured hand.

“... what of it?” Kael snaps, pulling his arm away from Snark as he begins to stalk around the room. “He thinks locking himself in a cage with me is gonna provide him with the cold-cold revenge he’s hoping for? A pox on him, Darkly, a fucking POX. The only thing that matters… the only thing that matters is what he’s put on the line.”

“... the boy?”

“The BOY. Nico Makana… Her child.” the Lord of Kaelsalvania growls, snaking up to the catatonic Kai. “... soon to be MY child. This will be my final punishment to Dawkins… He will pay for what he’s done. No more uplifting, no more greatest drawn from me, no more games, no more fun. No more mercy or kindness.”

The words sizzle with unchecked hatred, wriggling between his metal teeth like maggots in rotten meat. He turns his wild eyes on Darkly once again, a fever of selfish rage swirling there.

“I… MUST win this match. Dawkins can not win, do you understand Darkly? We must ensure that no matter what happens, that idiot is left in that cage staring up at the lights hearing MY NAME called out by Vince Howard, hearing his heart BREAK as I take his son… take my son.”

“Of course, of course… I understand. We’ll see it done. We always do, don’t we?” Snark replies in a voice far too cheerful for what is being discussed.

Lifting his chin, Max glares down at Kai with a malicious twinkle in his eye.

“Yes… we do.” ☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kael Estate, Arkham Massachusetts… …The day before Colossus Night One…

“I’m… sorry.”

The soft voice of Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington barely registers in the silence. Once so loud, so talkative, so excitable, the former Herald was considerably diminished. You could have argued that it was Max’s unrelenting bullying over the last few weeks that had such a dramatic effect on the cousin of Cecilworth Farthington.

That would have been a good guess.

It would have also been wrong.

“I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying so hard.” he continues. “Trying so hard to do the right thing. Trying to get you back to THE Bryan Dawkins.”

A pool of moonlight baths Kai Makana in pale luminance. Despite all that Max has done to her, the year of mental and physical torture, in this moment she looks prestine.

She looks to be carved of unadulterated white marble; untouched, unblemished by Snark’s corruption and Max’s cruelty.

She looks perfect.

“...and I’ll do what I can to keep my promise.”

Bentley fires away one last message on his phone with a deep sigh.

“... or my name isn’t Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington.” ☠️☠️☠️☠️ Why are you not thankful, Dawkins? A year ago I gave you exactly what you asked for.  I ensured that you would get custody of your son. I pushed you to become a Champion in PRIME. I gave up my place in the Red Army so that you could prosper.  I made you the hero of our own story! And what did you do with it? You lost your title. You stole my Herald. You stumbled, tripped and fell into near obscurity.  And that bitterness burned a hole in our soul.  You became… so much less.  How much must I do for you? How much must I give you before you become someone… Meaningful? We’ll I’m not fucking interested in the answer to that question anymore. I’ve given you more than you deserve.  It's time for me to start TAKING what I deserve. It’s time for me to bring a new member in the Kael Family.  It’s time to liberate Nico from your… painful mediocrity.  It’s time for Max Kael to be uplifted.  You think locking us in a cage is going to give you some kind of advantage? You think I’m afraid of any stipulation you or the Red Army can conjure?  Do you not know me? Do you not know what I am? Do you not know what I have endured? If you did… If you truly understood you would know how impossible this is.  How truly FUCKED you are.  So tell me, Bryan Dawkins. When I leave you defeated, broken and bloody in that Siberian Steel Cage. When I take Nico. When I keep Kai. Will I still be the villain of your story? Or will you finally see the truth?  That I am the hero! See you in the Siberian Steel Cage, loser.  Love, Max.