Title: Heto
Featuring: Clyde Fox
Date: 2/4/2018
Location: DEFIANCE Wrestle-Plex

It wasn't particularly snug in the dark broom closet. The door finally swung open. Clyde nodded. He exited. He was free. He was finally free. He had finally escaped the clutches of the dreaded dark arts community known as 'The Marked for Death.' Clyde wasn't exactly sure how he ended up in there to begin with but the only feeling he was experiencing was thankfulness towards the colorful duo that just unlocked him. His gratitude didn't waiver as he watched with glassy eyes as they walked into the distance. Clyde decided to head in the other direction. He tried to think of the moments leading up to his random appearance in the broom closet but most of his memory was foggy and fragmented. The only thing that came to mind was a man in black and silver robes fighting another in white and orange robes. He noticed his hands were trembling. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something so he traversed about what looked like an arena concourse in search for some grub. After a few unsuccessful moments of searching, Clyde stopped a random passerby to ask for directions.

"Heto," Clyde’s voice squeaked.

The man stopped and gazed upon the tall drink of water that was Clyde Fox. All six feet two inches of his gangly frame was powered by slender but visible muscles. The man looked concernedly at Clyde, for his eyelids were aflutter and his face was visibly flush.

"Are you alright?" The random citizen asked.

Clyde placed a weak hand on the man’s shoulder in order to remain standing.

"I... I need some food pwease," Clyde asked graciously.

The man was a little taken back by the squeakiness of Clyde's voice. In fact, everything about Clyde seemed rather pointed or sharp. His thin but symmetrical face was accented by high cheekbones, a sturdy nose and vibrant water blue eyes. His hair was dark and messily styled into a fauxhawk. His toothy grin was marred by metal braces, even though he seemed a little too old to have them. He wore a traditional baseball tee with navy blue arm sleeves and an accompanying scripture that read 'Heto' across the chest in a simple handwriting font. He was sporting a pair of military green cargo shorts and some basic footwear.

"Food? Uhhh, yeah. Down the hall and to your right. Help yourself," The man pointed.

Clyde remained hunched over as the man departed. He summed up whatever energy remained and somehow made it to where the buffet was setup. It was sparsely populated and Clyde just acted casually, grabbed a plate, not too much food and found himself a table for one. He dug into his food and could instantly feel strength returning to his extremities. There weren't too many people sneaking a peak at him and he didn't care to notice if there was either. His main goal was to procure sustenance and he could worry about any potential fallout after that. If Clyde was going to get noticed as someone who shouldn't have been there, he was more than ready to rely on his 'Kitty Fox Fu' training if things took a turn for the hostile. Clyde relied on his martial arts skills as a failsafe only. He much preferred to resolve any potential conflicts in a nice, calming fashion, possibly over a spot of tea. However, he was the most advanced Kitty Fox Fu artist his Sensei had ever seen.

"Hello," A strange voice rang from behind Clyde.

He stopped chewing. He corrected his posture. He turned... and noticed... someone.

"Oh... Heto," Clyde acknowledged.

Clyde gazed up at a transparent man wearing a hooded white robe with orange threading. The man floated in front of Clyde as if it were a ghost.

"Sensei?" Clyde asked bashfully.

The floaty ghost representative of his Kitty Fox Fu Sensei nodded solemnly. The details of the figure were much too hard to make out, especially under the hood.

"Is dis one of dose I-can-see-you-but-you’re-not-actwally-dere type deals?" Fox guessed.

The being nodded once more.

"There isn't much time, my son and I am afraid our communication will be sparse from here on out. Just know that you have been sent here for a reason and all shall reveal itself to you in time," The Sensei announced.

"Oh," Clyde stopped.

The cheeks on Clyde's face bulged in sadness. He never liked having to wait for anything, especially cryptic ghost messages. Usually all he could spare were the few moments between selecting Pralines and Cream and having the lovely 'iced keem' lady scoop it into the waffle cone. This wait promised to be much longer than that.

"B-b-b-b-b-but Sensei... what about da Marked fo Deff? My memowy is cwoudy but dat name... it... it means something to me," Fox inexplicably spoke.

The ghost raised a finger to its lips.

"Shhhhhhhhhh... you being here has a direct correlation to everything. I promise," The Sensei said.

The ghost vanished into thin air before Clyde could get another word out of his mouth. It left Clyde looking rather awkward. He was swiveled around in his chair, both talking and looking at nothingness. That was the last straw for what few stragglers were in the arena’s buffet corridor. A man who looked like he was in charge of the area walked over to Fox.

"Excuse me, sir? Can I see some I.D. please?" He asked.

"KYDE FOX, MOMMY! DATS KYDE FOX! CAN I GET AN AUTOGWAPH PWEASE? PWETTY PWETTY PWEASSSSEEEE!" A child's voice outshined everyone else's.

Both Clyde and the man turned to notice a small child; red balloon in one hand and his mother's hand in tow, in the other. The child seemed hell bent on approaching his presumed hero so much so that Clyde and the man watched the mighty kid literally drag his mother over to them.

"HETO, MY NAME IS BENGY! CAN I HAS AUTOGWAPH?" The kid blurted uncontrollably.

Clyde looked at the man. The man looked at Clyde. Clyde looked at Bengy.

"How do you know who I am?" Clyde inquired.

The mother tried tugging her young son away but was pitifully unsuccessful.

"YOU KYDE FOX. EVERYONE KNOWS WHO YOU ARE! YOU WENT AWAY TO JAPAN TO WEARN HOW TO FIGHT!" The kid shouted.

"China," Clyde corrected, "I’ve been in China for da past number of years."

"SAME DIFFEWENCE, SO WOOK, CAN YOU SIGN MY BAWWOON!?" The child asked, holding up his shiny red balloon.

"Sure," Clyde accepted.

However, Clyde, the kid and his mother were without a writing utensil. Clyde did the sort of awkward look around and pat down of his chest, at least making a genuine effort to find a pen. Clyde didn't stop until the man who asked the brace-faced one for I.D. pulled out a black marker and held it in front of his face.

"Will this do?" The man asked.

Clyde graciously took the marker from the man's hand and scribbled the ugliest of signatures onto the balloon.

 photo clyde_zpszwwb75w2.png

"TANK YOU KYDE FOX!" Bengy screamed obnoxiously.

"You're welcome, Bengy," Clyde reciprocated.

Clyde suddenly felt a buzzing in one of his pockets. He shoved his hand deep into the pocket and retrieved what was a 'FramePane' smartphone device.

"You know what, Bengy? How about we become fwends on social media! Dat way we can awways stay in touch!" Clyde noted as he handed his device to the kid.

Even though he was young, the child was an adept techie and in mere moments the device shouted 'FRIEND REQUEST ACCEPTED' in a rather robotic tone. Clyde smiled a very wide grin and the kid giggled his guts out.

"YOU’RE DA BESTEST, KYDE FOX!"

"Hey... kiddo... do you wike Gooberkins? What about Sillykins? Bofth dose are my favorite!" Clyde inquired.

Bengy nodded his head back and forth so hard, any rational human being might have thought his head could have fallen off.

"YES I WOVE DOSE TINGS TOO, KYDE FOX!" Bengy yelled.

With that, Clyde and the man who gave him the marker watched as the young fan named Bengy stumbled away towards the exit doors with his mother. He had the cutest childlike wobble to his walk. The man politely took the marker back from Clyde.

"So... you're with DEFIANCE?" The man subtly inquired.

"If you mean on da active wessowing woster, den yes. Yes I am... and I am about to go on a very important mission," Clyde alluded to.

"...and what’s that?" The man asked.

"Amongst otter tings... wight some wongs... and beat da darkness outta dis pwace," Clyde declared.

Not another word was spoken. The man simply patted Clyde on the shoulder before continuing on with his business. Bengy and his mother arrived at the Wrestle-Plex gate doors. He stopped and gazed back one last time to get a glimpse of his hero. There Clyde Fox sat, waving slowly... and pointing to his waving hand with the other.



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