The Deacon recalled the day DEFCON happened. He’d been anxious throughout the week, even when he stole away a few days to film in the “mausoleum”. The powers that be had located a local place in Pittsburgh that could be the setting and flew everything, and everyone, in during the week leading up to their massive show’s festivities. Jason had even texted a selfie of the getup he wore to keep anyone who may recognize him in the dark. “Stalker” with hair, and bad hair at that, was exactly what the “Mute Freak” needed to break the silence with laughter.

Deacon had spent the day of DEFCON anxiously awaiting, hoping Jack, his only son, would be able to see the culmination. So much planning, plotting, and to be honest, pain had gone into this moment. So many people had invested in telling this story, most without a modicum of notice from anyone who watched. The Deacon thought of Victor, Terry, Jason and all of the Kabal. Not a one complained about anything. They knew the story to be told and they played their parts to perfection. 

On the day of DEFCON, Magdalena had made the trip, a surprise visit (at least for Jack) for everyone to enjoy this together. Jack had woken up once, even smiled at Magdalena’s over-the-top cheerful voice. As the show neared, the Deacon knew he’d need to excuse himself. He prayed, as earnestly now as all the times he’d prayed for his son’s healing, but this time, he only wanted his son to see that good could still win, even as the evil that was cancer was…

With one final look at Jack, the Deacon left the room to give his son this magical moment - his father, fighting death itse--

The Deacon stared at the stone in front of him. 

Two Dates. 

One Name. 

A phrase. “No one fought harder. Rest well, my champion.”

Those were what remained. 

Was it even worth it? Any of it? The Deacon had no idea.

Magdalena had got her camera ready, angled it so she could see Jack and the television in one shot. When Deacon had watched it, watched his son wake and then be drawn in to the planned action, the Deacon had to hope it gave his child just a tiny bit of hope. The “match” was nothing but a passion play, a chance to remind his son that death was not final, that faith could not die.

And the Deacon had to hope that in that moment it was worth it.

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