0.4 = Absent Are the Saints.

You'll have to forgive me, because I don't think you're expecting me.

My name is WEAPON. When the fall of Jonathan Collins happened at the EXODUS show Invincible, I made my presence known later, revealing myself to those who would harm the balance of the company.

They say I am him. They say he is me.

And maybe they're right.

We believe in the same things. We fight for the same reasons. Balance. We fight for a belief in better days. We fight for a difference in a world where it is hard to change how things operate. Though I do not begrudge people for believing that we may share an identity, I am but a representation of his ideals. I am a symbol.

I am what Jonathan Collins believed in, and I am what he would accept for EXODUS Pro.

So why is it that I feel that the time to leave is inevitable?



6/2/13
Tokyo, Japan

He stood there, clutching his ribs. It hurt to breathe, and his friend could see it. Though he had managed to do an amazing job at holding up, the two of them knew exactly what he was doing.

He was trying too hard. He was trying to shake off pain that never went away. His choices made it more difficult to get rid of the original pain, and as he tried to relax and get over the soreness, his friend went to him. Still masked, he knew what the mission was tonight, which made it easier to check in on his friend.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just...fuck, I forgot how sore they are," he said, peeling off the top part of his blue suit. Underneath that looked like someone would have expected. Bandages galore, wrapped up as tight as a deceased Egyptian king. He was hard to talk out of things, and his one friend knew better than to do so.

"You know, you put your neck out there, using that song, going to visit her," he said. "You may as well have telegraphed yourself to them. Someone's gonna put two and two together tonight and stop [REDACTED] from what [REDACTED] needs to do."

"Look, I know, but [REDACTED] told you that I had to," he said. This was no fantasy life. This was no Midgar, and there were no beasts to slay. The two of them had stood by each other, and maybe the two of them saved one another's lives. Though the two had only crossed paths briefly, they had become good friends and loyal allies. The pair had come to trust one another with their lives, which was important with the battles left to fight.

"When this mask comes off tonight, we start the final phase still, right?" he asked.

"All we need to do is make sure [REDACTED] plays [REDACTED] part," he said.

"Do you trust them?" the masked man in a suit asked.

The other masked man pulled off his blue mask. There he was in his glory, the person he needed to be, the man that put it all together.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have put together this gambit," he told his friend. "We're in this together."



6/7/13
Anaheim, CA

He swam back and forth.

One lap for the big day. Another lap to strengthen himself. He was alive and well, he was keeping everything about himself secret. If anyone knew anything, the whole job would be compromised. The gambit had to pay off in the end, enough that he had to work everyone in his life that mattered. [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED] didn't know. He let the rumors fly, nobody really confirming or denying everything.

"Time," the older man on the outside called, reaching down to extend his hand to his [REDACTED]. The man in the pool took what was offered and got helped out of the pool. A few days off did wonders for the now drenched athlete, going for a towel as he looked over at the cadre who had gathered in on this swim session.

[REDACTED], his friend from Japan.

[REDACTED], his [REDACTED].

[REDACTED], who was sitting down and sketching something for a costume.

[REDACTED], his newest confidant.

And [REDACTED], one of his oldest and dearest friends.

"So what's the game plan?" one of the men around asked.

"We get creative. You and [REDACTED] be ready to get confronted. People are gonna want answers, and [REDACTED] and I haven't exactly done much to silence people. We've stirred them up on Twitter, made people notice. Inevitably, we owe it to the people to finish what we started," the man said as he dried his face and hair. He had no bandages on, though the man did have a new tattoo on his chest, over his heart. He had spent years gathering markings, only to have them laser removed because of his associations with bad people and bad memories. The new one was simple to see, however. It represented what he stood for. It represented what he told people to stand for.

Over his heart was a Blue Lantern symbol; the symbol in comic books for hope.

Without a second thought, he peeled off a waterproof compression sleeve. There was the last new tattoo on his left forearm, a four word phrase that people knew well. That his friends called out. Four words that had rallied an army.

All Will Be Well.

Going over to the person sketching, she handed him a new mask. She handed him something that he had asked for weeks ago but never finished in time. It was not a full face mask, just something to slip over his jaw, covering up some of that beard that he had grown over the past couple of weeks. Trying it on, he chuckled as he looked at them.

"When EXODUS is safe again, you have my permission to die," he said in a familiar tone of voice, eliciting laughter amongst his friends.

"You, sir," have been listening to me too much," one of them said.

"If I hadn't, I'd still be in a hospital bed," he told his ally.

He looked down at his forearm. He looked at his right wrist. After that, he looked back at the bag near the pool, the same things that had been worn consistently during the course of the past few weeks there. Whatever it was, he knew that the endgame was coming.

And, indeed, all will be well.