The Adventures of Negropolis and Madman Mason (and Flippers Too!) – Episode 020: “The Most Satisfying Text Message”
[Scene 1: HCW Arena – Dark Dominion Dressing Room]
The chamber was dimly lit, its stone-like walls adorned with arcane banners and candelabras that flickered with unnatural flame.
At the center, Count Vlad lounged in his high-backed, crimson-trimmed chair—more throne than seat—draped in his flowing obsidian suit, collar always too sharp, posture always too regal. His fingers flicked across the screen of his sleek black phone, glowing ever so faintly in the candlelight.
To the side, Yeti sat on an oversized bench, a half-devoured 20oz steak gripped in one hairy paw, grease glistening on his knuckles as he tore into it with chilling satisfaction.
In the corner, Polly Mason hummed a lilting, eerie melody while scratching furiously on parchment—ink splatters forming musical chaos only she seemed to understand.
Suddenly—BING.
Vlad’s phone lit up.
The air thickened as the Count’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. His jaw clenched with composed irritation. He opened the message with one elegant finger, eyes scanning. He tapped out a reply, then locked the screen.
BING. BING.
Two more messages followed, and this time, a sharp smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—a crooked fusion of amusement and disdain.
With slow precision, Vlad turned the phone face-down on a nearby table, placed both hands upon the arms of his throne, and gazed ahead in contemplative silence.
Yeti, mid-chew, noticed the shift in energy and grunted.
YETI (mouth half full):
"Something wrong, Boss?"
COUNT VLAD (calmly setting down his glass, his voice smooth like velvet laced with razors):
"Not wrong... tiresome. A little man, cloaked in borrowed bravado, texting from the safety of his own delusion."
[Vlad leans forward slightly, his eyes gleaming like candlelight behind stained glass.].
COUNT VLAD (smirking):
"He thinks he has power. But what he holds? Mmm… just the shadow of it. A trick of mirrors … and wishful thinking.”
“I find myself wondering … should I shatter the illusion myself? Or simply let it buckle beneath the weight of its own desperate, bloated importance?"
YETI (chomping with casual menace):
"Want me to collapse him instead?"
[Vlad chuckles - a low, indulgent sound like a noble amused by a jester’s final joke.]
COUNT VLAD (leaning back, fingers steepled):
"Tempting. So very tempting"
(pause and then softer)
“But even phantoms … deserve the illusion of choice.”
Polly, never missing an opportunity, began softly singing:
POLLY MASON (melodic, haunting):
"Facade, facade, cracked like glass…
Watch it shatter—none shall pass..."
Vlad gave her an approving glance, then resumed his stillness—ever the spider at the center of a web, deciding whether to tug a thread.
[Scene 2: NPCW Hotel Suite – The Misfits’ Lair]
Cut to a bright, chaotic contrast—the Misfits’ hotel suite, full of scattered luggage, neon snack wrappers, and that vaguely popcorn-scented air of long travel and mild victory.
Madman Mason was glued to the couch, joyfully hammering buttons on his game controller. Flippers, their ever-faithful baby penguin mascot, balanced on the armrest beside him, chirping excitedly with each on-screen explosion.
Across the room, Ace MacDougal napped with a deep rumble in his recliner, a trail of potato chips balanced precariously on his chest, snoring in perfect harmony with a rerun of Duck Dynasty playing at low volume.
At the far end of the room, Negropolis, still in partial gear, sat cross-legged in a plush chair, phone in hand, thumb dancing with deliberate grace.
He smirked—just for a moment. Just enough for Mason to catch it.
MADMAN MASON (grinning, leaning over):
"Heyyy, Neggie... was that a smile I saw? Did you just get a spicy meme or something?"
Negropolis instantly straightened, one hand sliding over to gently stroke the gleaming surface of the NPCW Tag Team Title belt beside him. The smirk vanished as his familiar scowl returned.
NEGROPOLIS (gruff):
"Nothing. Just business."
MADMAN MASON (watching him return to form with quiet amusement):
"Mmhmm… business that makes you smile, huh?"
Negropolis gave him a sideways glare, but Mason just winked, returning to the video game.
As Flippers squawked in victory, Mason whispered to himself, more to the room than anyone in particular—
MADMAN MASON (fondly):
"There’s hope for you yet, Neggie..."
And somewhere in the haze of weird hotel lighting and muted applause from a video game, the tag team gold glinted with promise.
THE TEXT MESSAGE
Misfits 4 Life
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