“Right this way, Mr. Fuse…” the guard’s voice trails as he leads me through a desolate corridor. Dim lights hanging from above. Most of them flicker on and off, creating a strong sense of anxiousness. Although we are clearly in a secure residential wing, with armed guards lined up and down the hall, my stomach knots turn over and over.

In-between each security member are large doors, made of metal. For every door there’s a tinted window. We can see inside, I’m not so sure they can see out of it.

Nameplates and 64-bit renderings of the inmates hang on the chamber doors. Some residents shout my name as I pass through, others don’t notice me. I walk past a cell where a man sits in a sharp purple suit. There are dictionaries, thesauruses and other books about, tidied neatly in all four corners of his dungeon. The prisoner has a large, empty book open and is deep within thought. He dips his fountain pen into an ink container and begins jotting down notes. He doesn’t even notice my existence. Not this time, anyway.

I can’t help but peer through the next window we pass. It’s darker than the others. This chamber seems bigger than the previous, clearly built for a man of greater stature. Finally, he reveals himself. He stands at the back of the prison, eyes wide and hollow. One eye is brown, the other is blue. He wears a mask across his mouth. I don’t think he talks much, if at all but I do feel a telepathic connection. He is neither friend nor foe.

Next cell has beer bottles scattered everywhere. There’s a karaoke machine hooked up to a small LCD screen in the far corner, playing Bon Jovi. I don’t know where the prisoner is, I can’t lay eyes on him but I hear the drunken babbles. “Ohhhh You. Nice of You to finally stop by, Mr. Gaming Man…”

Another prison. I’m starting to lose count. Through the window I see there have been a number of mannequins tossed and thrown abound. Some have been placed in leg locks, their feet twisted and morphed. Others, whose arms were ripped from their sockets. A couple of the mannequins even have their faces caved in. By the imprint on their skulls, it was via a golden shovel. Before completely passing, a face pokes out from underneath a pile of mannequins. He smiles cleverly and provides a short quip of “hello, GC”.

More dungeons. How long have I been doing this for? While many of the individuals I can specifically name, there are some who I don’t know yet.

One of the last rooms we come across, I can barely see a thing. There’s a heavy cloud of smoke. The only thing I hear is the frequent HARD coughing of a man and something along the lines of “did you bring any mushrooms with you?”

I am in no mood to engage with anyone other than one inmate in particular.

He’s at the end of the hall.

“Here we are,” the guard says, arriving at our final destination. I look at him and nod, as he takes a step back. This prison door is different, it’s not made of metal. A closer inspection sees it might be constructed of reclaimed wood. As for within the cell itself…

A snowglobe.

Snowflakes drift from the ceiling, the temperature inside looks daunting. Even the guard who watches this door is dressed in a warm and bulky winterized suit.

I carefully approach. The window is thick, there’s no way to penetrate it. I glance over to the nameplate on the door and 64-bit character rendering tells me I’m in the right spot.

GARLAND, M.

“Well…” I begin, standing in front of the glass. I don’t see any movement. “I guess we’re at this again, huh?”

My voice trails. I’m safe and yet a hard chill runs down my spine.

“Listen, I’m here tonight to say I know things will get intense. This is the part where you and I consolidate our hate,” I pause for a deep breath, knowing what’s about to come in my real life. “Destined to do this forever. A Batman and Joker story DEFIANCE will always come to know.”

I place a hand on the glass. Still trying to shift my eyes through the falling snowflakes, I can’t figure out exactly where he is yet.

“It’s funny, you know… how all this started over a hammock,” as I say these words, I realize I’m wrong. It never started over a hammock. We became friends but eventually, my friend across this tainted glass became very self-serving. He didn’t care about me; he didn’t care about anyone. He only cares about himself. He’s a troll of trolls. The king of the comments.

“Well no matter how it started, here we are.”

I stop and turn back to the main guard.

“He is in there, right?” I ask uncomfortably. 

The man nods nonchalantly, “he’s there.”

I reply with an uncomfortable smile. Turning back to the cell, I begin to consider our history and how this moment has brought me, and him, to this place. Him, behind bars. Me, a weathered, exhausted 50-year-old man in the reflection of the mirror. Long since retired and stepped away from the career I once flourished in.

“You remember the time, after years and years of fighting, we actually… got along? When the fans finally liked you. When you put aside…” I gesture to the snowflakes falling in his chamber. “this.”

I laugh.

“It was short lived, sure. But it was something different. It was something needed. We weren’t always at each other’s throats, ya know?”

My voice drifts away once more. Finally, I see him. His cold blue eyes have awoken. He’s sitting on the edge of his cell bed, to my far right, wearing his typical tank top and tribal designed wrestling tights. His hair, winter white as always, has never changed even for a day.

Can’t say the same about my hair. It’s been falling out for years.

“Look, I dunno why I came here today,” I start up again. “I think it’s because I remember what happens very soon. It’s the big incident, right? The one that took our rivalry to the highest of levels. It made you and I mega stars, although it certainly gave me a ton of headaches in the process.”

The prisoner doesn’t move. He simply rests on his bed, emotionless and stone faced from what I can see, as the snowflakes continue falling.

“Anyway, guess I just wanted to say… thank you. Of course, I won’t be able to say this for a while. In fact, I think this is the first time I’ve said thank you. Every hero needs a villain. And you are my greatest villain of all.”

Another chill runs down my spine as the man in the prison just sits, his deep blue eyes, as if almost glowing out of his head, locked on my soul. His body, motionless. His face is simply lost in the shadows. I’d never be able to judge how he interpreted my comments.

I turn back to the guard. “Okay, we can go now. Lead me out, please.”

The security man nods. I glance back to the prison, eyeing my nemesis, the greatest one I would ever know… sitting there, in his tank top, in what has to be -30 degree temperature. How is he not frozen to death?

“See you Wednesday night, friend,” I say upon leaving. “Better brace myself. I’m gonna need it.”

More Propaganda | View Conor Fuse's Biography