It was March 24th, the day they were born. Fraternal twin babies, a boy and a girl. Sweet, healthy, the hints of what would be beautiful heads of red hair. Blue eyes, like all babies seem to have, destined to turn into the most intriguing shade of green. The little boy was named Marcus, the little girl, Matiya. They were so much alike, in looks and demeanor. As they grew, they continued to be very close. Always looking out for each other, having their secrets, whispering to each other. They seemed like normal little children. Until Kindergarten.

It was obvious the twins were having difficulty adjusting to the enviornment. Marcus seemed to be much more outgoing and accepting of the situation, but his sister was a quiet, almost malevolent little thing. It was thought by the school staff that the twins would eventually adjust, they were just a little slow. The principal of the school believed that all children were good, some not as obviously as others. Her thinking was dramatically altered when Matiya stapled a little boy's hand to his desk.

When asked why she did this, Matiya simply smiled. It wasn't a child's smile, it was the smile of every mass-murderer and serial killer to ever walk the earth; the smile of long-dead tyrants with torturous ways. This was no five-year-old, this was the devil in a child's body. Timeless and without remorse.

The principal, went home that night and dreamed about the little girl. Her dreams were nerve-wracking nightmares, filled with blood-shed and evil. She ended up sitting at her kitchen table with shaking hands, trying to sip a cup of tea and calm down. She sat there the rest of the night, until time to go to the school the next day. As the sun rose, she had the surreal thought, "The monster is coming."

Not so long after this event, the house Matiya and Marcus lived in burned to the ground. Their 3 year-old brother, Kane, was burned so badly in the fire, he wasn't expected to survive. The children's parents did not survive. Matiya and Marcus were found to be standing on the lawn outside the house as it burned, they were both unscathed.

The twins were sent to a county juvenile home and Kane was sent to the county hospital, as there were no other relatives to take them in. In her first nine months in the juvenile home, Matiya stabbed two workers with a letter opener, and bit the little finger off a nine year-old boy, who was a known bully. Seems the nine-year-old pushed Marcus down in the play yard. His bullying days were pretty much over after that.

Marcus stayed in the home with his sister until the age of 8. He was then placed in a foster home for emotionally challenged children. Matiya was placed in a simliar home, but seemed to lose whatever tenuous control she possesed at being separated from her twin. She went on a tear, and set several fires, eventually being returned to the county home, and labeled 'incorrigible'. Marcus stayed in the foster home. Despite outbreaks of aggression, he seemed 'trainable', and spent a good part of his youth there.

Various counselors attempted to reach Matiya, they tried to get her source of anger out into the open, but it was like a bottomless pit, and came from every part of her being. As she grew older, she became very vocal, and when angered would spout off a string of unintelligable language intermingled with the foulest of curses. She, in short, was a frightening, unpredictable creature. All the others in the juvenile facility gave her a wide berth. Including the staff. They knew the day would come when she would be released on her own, and every one of them prayed they would never meet her in adult form during any point in their lives.

When Matiya was released into society, she eventually found a group to call family. An especially vicious street-gang that ruled most of the drug-trade in the city. She worked her way to the top of the leadership in the gang. Before any of the members really knew what was happening, the tall, wiry girl was calling most of the shots. She was a shrewd, bloodthirsty fighter, completely without mercy. No one ever managed to get the upper hand against her. She was Feared.

At the age of 22, Matiya and several accomplices tried to rob a convenience store. It was almost routine for them, they had pulled off several robberies over the years just like it. This time, either carelessness or large amounts of PCP caused this robbery to be badly botched. With two of her companions shot, out of ammunition, and cornered by the police, Matiya put up a savage physical battle. Several officers where injured, in the fight. It took ten police officers, many shots of mace, and eventually billy-clubs to subdue Matiya enough to get her into a vehicle to take to the lock-up. Handcuffed, she screamed and tried to kick her way thru the window of the patrol car.

Upon reaching the police station, she had to be carried in by 5 officers. As she was taken down the hall to a holding cell. One of the policemen that had been part of the incident looked at his partner, who was visibly shaking, and said, "My God, I've never seen anything like this in my life...I mean, a female...." he was at a loss for further words. Her screams still echoed up the hall. The second officer spoke up and said, "Yeah, man, I hope I never see it again....and what the hell language was she talking in? Jesus, I'll hear that in my nightmares!" At this point the desk sargent looked up and said "Freakin' gibberish, just another strung-out dope-head. It don't mean nuthin'." He continued on with his paperwork.

Matiya was sentenced to life in prison. She was found guilty of several counts of murder, as well as armed robbery, assault, and numerous other crimes. She was taken to a maximum security, women's correctional facility. In her first two weeks in prison, two of the inmates, the first one named Betty Klass, the leader of the largest, most influential gang in the prison, and her second-in-command, Myra Esperanza, cornered Matiya in the shower room. They confronted the six foot two inch, red haired woman with a beating being the obvious objective. To Matiya's ultimate disappointment, Betty Klass was not a screamer...but Myra Esperanza certainly was.

In December of 1991, in the WWF, a wrestler that went by the name of the Undertaker was doing his duty of dispatching another opponent to defeat. He performed his finishing manuever, aptly named the Tombstone, and glared into the camera for a moment with deep green eyes, before rolling them up into his head. A pair of identical deep green eyes stared back at the television set in a women's prison several hundred miles away. The redheaded woman the eyes belonged to smiled with no humor, her teeth showed in the grin until it almost looked like a snarl. "Hey there, Marcus. I finally found you....." Matiya said. She began planning her escape that day.

Matiya attempted her first escape in early 1993. She didn't get very far and was in Solitary almost before she knew it. She spent a lot of time in Solitary. It didn't matter much to her. She was determined to get out, and was convinced that someday she would. She had seen her twin on television, she had to get back to him. At first she was surprised to see him. He was a WRESTLER of all things! Whatever....it didn't matter to her. What did matter is that she knew he was still alive.

She didn't make much of an effort to watch him on TV, and she never mentioned him to anyone else. She realized that if anyone knew who he was, they'd know exactly where to find her when she got out, and she couldn't have that. She had too many plans for the world. The world had screwed her over and let her down, and she was wanting to get back at all of Them. They thought They were so damn smart, she was ready to show them who the real smart one was.

In about mid-1994, Matiya killed a guard, and her sentence was extended, as though it mattered. She figured if she could live as long as all her sentences put together she'd outlast the whole human race. She had a psychiatric evaluation done at this time also. She was found to be insane. There was talk of moving her to a facility for the criminally insane, but in the US correctional system, papers get shuffled, things get lost and in general, shit happens. Matiya stayed right where she was.

On a Saturday afternoon, a group of inmates were watching WWF wrestling. One of the women, Doris Neely, made some comments about the things she would like to do to The Undertaker. "Look at that fine ass! I ever get my hands on him and he'd be through playing dead!". Doris continued to talk about The Undertaker, getting more and more crass with her comments as his match went on. None of the women saw Matiya sitting behind them, hearing everything that was said. They didn't see her eyes darken, as if a thunderstorm was brewing on her mental horizon. She listened to Doris' comments about her twin as long as she could. Then she silently disappeared. After Undertaker was done wrestling, Doris moved on to the next wrestler that caught her fancy and so on through the entire program. She had no idea she had just enjoyed her last lust-fest with her cronies.

Lyle Shafer had worked in the prison's morgue for seven years. He'd seen so many instances of violent death it had become an ordinary thing to him. At the moment he was preparing to do an autopsy on the latest victim of murder committed in the prison. He held all of the inmates in contempt, they were killing people on the Outside, then killing people on the Inside. Lyle was of the opinion that every last one of them should just be taken straight from the courtroom to the gallows.

"This one is real bad, Lyle, somebody messed her up something awful....hope you can hold down your lunch!" Lyle just sighed and waved the guard off. "Yeah yeah....what is it this time, stabbing, poison, beating...who cares, one less." He unzipped the bag and jumped back in shock. In all his time of looking at things of this nature he had never seen something quite as revolting as what laid on the table in front of him.

The woman in the bag had no eyes. She had them at one time, but someone had seen fit to rip them right out of her head. Her tongue had been treated to a similar fate. Further examination showed bitemarks on the woman's arms that went all the way to the bone. Three of her fingers on the right hand were missing, two on the left hand were also gone. Lyle just stared at the body in horror. The guard that brought it in said "Told ya Lyle! Ain't this a disgusting mess?" Lyle picked up one of the arms and tried to look closer. "Whatever animal did this was gnawing on...on....." Lyle didn't finish, he lost the battle with his gorge and ran to the bathroom. The peanut butter sandwich he had for lunch made a second appearance.

It took Lyle quite awhile to regain his composure enough to deal with the autopsy of Doris Neely. Doris visited him in his dreams for many months after that. Lyle Shafer eventually decided a change of profession was way overdue.

Matiya sat in her cell that night, picking her teeth with a piece of wire. It seemed something sharp had lodged itself between two of her teeth and was causing her great discomfort. She gingerly worked at the object, trying to nudge it free. Eventually she had success and spat the nasty little annoyance out in her palm. It was a small piece of bone. Could have come from the dried-out crap they tried to pass for pork-chops that night at dinner. Could have. She knew better though. She flushed the little fragment down the toilet.

November of 1998 found Matiya preparing to make her final attempt at escape. She had been having a lot of weird dreams by then. Some of them were dark and full of voices speaking strange languages, some of them were filled with bright lights and the sound of huge crowds of people, the feeling of thousands of hateful eyes staring. In her sleep she would scream rage-filled cries that echoed eerily over the dank prison walls, mutating as they drifted further away, eventually turning into demon-like mutterings. She held whole conversations with dream-companions in a language no one knew, and laughed evil, humorless laughter. Oddly enough, none of the others hollered to her to wake up or shut-up or threw any of the usual threats bestowed on those disturbing the silence of the night. Some of the women secretly believed Matiya was the Devil or perhaps possessed. Some of them just thought she was demented beyond reality, all of them had no desire to trifle with her.

Matiya felt the most incredible pull to get to the outside world. To get to her Twin. He needed her. In January of 1999 she finally made her escape, this time a success. It had been a very hard way out, but she made it. She hid for a while in a drainage culvert, regaining her strength. As she lay on her back, staring into the damp blackness, she sang a part of a Lenny Kravitz song she had heard often in the last couple months. ".....Let's go and see the stars,The Milky Way or even Mars...Where it could just be ours..Let's fade into the sun, Let your spirit fly Where we are one....Just for a little fun....I want to get away, I want to fly awaaay Yeaaaah yeah...."

"Well, damn!" The old man said, frowning at the lightning he saw outside. He knew he was going to have to close all the windows and his arthritis was killing him. He didn't feel like having to walk all over the house. His house was a large, white farmhouse smack in the middle of nowhere, and that's how he liked it. He didn't get on well with people and hadn't associated with what few relatives he had in years. Ever since his wife died fifteen years ago, he lost interest in being sociable with anybody.

The house hadn't been redecorated since sometime in the fifties, and was a mess of clutter. He held as much interest in cleaning as he did in socializing with the outside world. His wife had always taken care of the house. He often thought of Corrine, and how she would feel seeing the house in the shape it was in. "Shouldn't have left me, Cory!" He muttered to himself, shuffling from window to window in the large livingroom. Corinne used to call it The Parlor, as if they were rich folks entertaining royalty. He remembered how she would yell at him if he dared walk into that room with his shoes on. "Artie!! Don't track up this carpet, you know it Came Dear!!". These days Cory's precious carpet was threadbare, the flowers almost indistinguishable.

Artie shuffled into the kitchen, exhausted by now, his hands and hips on fire from the arthritis. He sure didn't feel like closing the kitchen window. "Damn wind don't blow through it anyways." At that moment he felt a draft of cool air through the window, blowing the faded yellow curtains out from the curtain rod. He saw the world light up as another flash of lightning flickered outside, oddly no thunder followed. Artie turned away from the window to the old, stained refrigerator, rummaged out a soda, and turned slowly once again towards the window, intending to make his way over to it, close it and then sit down for a while and recuperate.

At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, or perhaps he was going senile. There was a Thing climbing thru the window. It appeared to be covered in mud and leaves, like a corpse from an old B movie resurrecting itself from the grave. The eyes of the Thing were the only part of it that weren't darkened with mud. The whites were extremely white in the muddy face, and the irises an intriguing shade of green. They had an utterly mad, malicious shine to them.

It crawled liquidly through the window, over the dishes in the sink, picking up a large butcher knife as It went. It dropped onto the floor and It's wild eyes fixed on Artie. It smiled the smile of the damned and began to walk slowly and silently toward Artie. His soda fell from his limp fingers as he watched what he still thought might be his imagination shamble toward him, raising the knife as It went. He felt the pain race from his chest down his left arm and his mouth dropped open. By the time It got close enough to touch, Artie died of a massive heart attack.

Matiya stood over the body, vaguely disappointed she had been robbed of her first victim since getting Out. She decided her own brand of autopsy was the order of the day.

Matiya's twin, known formerly to the world as Marcus, now and forever thought of as The Undertaker, was having strange dreams of his own. The very night of his return to action in the WWF, the night where he shocked an entire TV, as well as arena, audience into silence with the unveiling of his 'Ministry' and the sacrifice of it's first member (The former Dennis Knight, now and forever thought of as Midian) he started having the odd nightmares. For years now his dreams had been strange. First, it seemed he was always in some kind of cage, there were always bars around him and the feeling of being trapped. Then there was the horrible time he dreamed about finger sandwiches? eating fingers...or something like that, it got pretty vague for him sometimes.

On this night, in this particular dream, he saw himself (or was it really HIMself?) creeping thru a window and then stalking an old man with a butcher knife in 'his' hand. The old man seemed to have some kind of a fit, clutching at the left side of his chest and then the scene disappeared. He was now back on the stage, back in the arena, and someone was in front of him on the table...some new sacrifice who's face he couldn't see because the lights were too bright and shining in from all the wrong angles. The person on the table reached up to him, through light that was now so bright it seemed to be shining through his body as if he were a window, and grabbed his wrist. He was rooted to the spot and couldn't move at all, he was aware of the arena audience, changing shape, becoming a large THING that stared at him with one eye and muttered in thousands of voices, whispering WORDS. The cyclopian audience told him "...lethal INJECTION, electric CHAIR, criminally INSANE, murder ONE, life SENTENCE..." It kept repeating it over and over, and all of a sudden it was HIM on the table! HE was looking at up at someone who was so familiar, so near yet so far. It was a female face, it was his twin sister's face (did he have a twin? did he have a sister? yes he did...) She looked out at the Cyclops-Audience, and screamed "I'M OUT I'M OUT, YOU F**K!" then she looked down at him and whispered "I needs KEYS, Marcus-Taker, I need keys to come find you, can you find me keys? I need keys..." Undertaker closed his eyes and all of a sudden he seemed as small as a mouse, in a dark, warm place, surrounded by papers and dust and other junk. He saw a set of keys, as big as he was, lying nearby. He felt the entire earth move and everything around him begin to slide forward. The huge keys rattled towards him, threatening to crush him! He saw the blackness open up and the face of his sister appear in the light, she was huge, like a Greek Goddess looking down from her Olympus. She said "Hot DAMN! Car..."

"...KEYS!!" Matiya had rustled all over the old fellow's house trying to find a set of keys to his old 70's-something Cadillac. She had looked everywhere, all the usual hiding places and came up with nothing. She was going into somewhat of a frenzy and she thought her mind might just have wandered off somewhere for awhile. She couldn't quite remember what had led her to the middle drawer in this desk, but she was greatful for it! She snatched the keys with their plastic oval keyring, and studied them in rapt fascination. The plastic keyring was worn, and only the words "...mission Shop keeps YOU in gear!" were visible on the greenish plastic. The keys to freedom, the keys to Out, the keys to HIM!

She showered in the downstairs bathroom, scraping off the gunk from the drainage pipe, and then wandered, nude, to look for some new clothes. The prison ones she wore were definitely not going to do when you were Out. She tore apart the downstairs closet, and, finding only coats she made her way upstairs and went through what seemed to be the old man's closet. None of the clothes fit her, and she would look conspicuous as hell wearing old-man clothes. She sighed and began to think of a way to make this wardrobe workable and her eye happened on a trash bag in the back of the closet. She hauled it out and split it open. Women's dresses spilled out on the floor in front of her. The man of the house must have had a lady at one time she thought. She snatched up a dusty rose colored dress with a print of dainty white flowers on it. She put it on and looked in the mirror. It was a little baggy, but would do. Not HER choice of fashion, but there was hardly time to be picky. She also spied a pair of white slip-on shoes on a rack in the closet, and pushed her foot into one. They were small, but as the dress, they would do.

She decided to lay down on the bed and rest awhile. Out of curiosity, she pulled open the nightstand drawer and found the best treasure of the day: a nine millimeter handgun and box of bullets right next to it. Matiya wasn't all that fond of guns, she'd use one if she had one, or when immediate action required immediate response. She was a big fan of slashing. It was more...personal. She put the gun on the table and fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, it was still dark outside, she wasn't sure how long she had slept, but damn did she feel good! It was time to get the hell out of there, get moving. She gathered up the gun and box of bullets, went downstairs and put it into a brown paper bag she found in the kitchen. She slipped the butcher knife in there too. She looked down at the old man on the floor. "Got any money, Gramps?" she said and giggled. She liberated the late Artie of his wallet which contained forty-three dollars, and kissed him on his cold, dead forehead. "Thanks! Always wanted me a Grandpa just like you!" She made her way down the junk-strewn path to the garage. The door was broken and stood wide open, this is where she saw the car last night, before dropping in on 'ole Artie, and this is what decided her to pay her deadly visit to him in the first place. She opened the car door, vaguely thinking that the damn thing hadn't been started in ages, and might not start at all. She felt a moment of panic as the starter made a draggy sound and then the engine lit into life. At first the car smoked and then it sat there idling choppily. She reversed it out of the garage and hit the road.

The Undertaker awakened that morning feeling excited. The show last night had been crap. He was nervous about the sacrifice thing, and the audience seemed to capitalize on it, sending him some very hateful vibes. That was all OK now, because...because...because he was about to see someone very near and dear to him. He knew that. He'd been led into this Ministry thing not all on his own and at first he didn't know what to think about it. He decided he liked it. He'd even ad-libbed a little bit, much to the dismay of his co-workers (what the HELL did he say? what language was THAT? they asked each other). They all didn't understand him much anymore. Matter of fact some of them were really starting to get on his nerves.

He looked out the window of his hotel room; a six foot, ten inch tall man, arms covered in tattoos, long deep-red hair flowing down his back, bright green eyes. A man that was lusted, feared, admired, misunderstood. A man capable of breaking bones with his bare hands. A man with a murderous twin sister that was on her way to him even as he stood, half-naked in front of the window unmindful of what prying eyes may be taking in the sight. He continued to look out for what seemed like forever. His mind seemed to wander off for a little while...

Sandy dragged herself out of bed, it was so damn early, but she had to get up and get it together because they were going back home today. The wrestling show she had come to see with her friend, Leanna had been OK, but the disappointing thing was not getting to meet the man she came to see. The Undertaker. Thinking of him made her shiver all over, he was the hottest creature she had EVER seen! That strange ritual that he did last night had pretty much turned her on, and the girls had spent a long time trying to track him down with no luck. Sandy peeked out the window and saw nothing but the backs of everyone else's curtains. This sucked. She got ready to go into the shower when she noticed, across the way, on the floor above theirs, one window with the curtains open. She looked harder and saw...could that be? Yes!! It was!! The Undertaker standing in front of the window! He seemed to be wearing nothing but a pair of little black briefs...oh her mind was on overload! She stared at him, slack-jawed, a thousand nasty fantasies running through her mind. Amazingly, this gorgeous vision looked down, seemingly right at her. She couldn't make a sound, couldn't even wake Leanna to come see. He was looking right into her eyes, she knew it! She wondered what he was going to do, he was so WEIRD there was no telling.

"If you keep standing there, Taker, I swear I'm going to come up there to your room and..." at that exact moment she was startled out of her thoughts by Leanna, who shrieked, in her sleep, "You're going to end up like DORIS if you keep LOOKING!" Sandy was so startled she stepped backwards and fell over a chair, flat on her rear. Leanna was awake now, eyes wide and breathing heavily. "I had a DREAM..." Sandy interuppted her. "You picked a real SH*T time to have it to, do you have any IDEA who I was just looking at? She looked back out the window to find Taker gone. "DAMN! He's gone! Who the hell is Doris, Leanna?" Leanna, still seemingly coming out of the grips of the nightmare said "The lady with no EYES!" and promptly burst into tears.

Out of gas. On the FREAKIN' side of the road. Damn Cadillac's fuel gauge obviously did not work. Matiya was still stuck in these strange, baggy clothes, tight goddamn shoes, lousy mood. Her mind was becoming a shiny razor blade. A very thin one. She was starting to float off again when salvation (hers, most definitely not for the driver of the car) came into view. The car rumbled to a stop and a very scrawny, unkempt man leered out the open passenger window at her. He looked her body up and down, undressing her with his eyes. "You need a lift somewhere, sweething?" he asked with a lecherous grin. This dude had several missing teeth in the front and it came out sounding more like 'swee-sing'. Matiya decided she did need a lift...she clutched the paper bag at her side that contained the butcher knife. Slitting this grinning moron from top to bottom would lift her spirits quite nicely, yes it would.

What got her attention most was the car the guy was driving. It was a flat black, late 60's or early 70's Pontiac Firebird. The color was actually black primer, looked like the car's owner had planned to paint it sometime in the next ten years or so. The car was dark, mysterious, sinister, it had her name written all over it. She leaned in the window and grinned back at the skinny man behind the wheel, she made sure he got a real good shot of what she had down her dress. This certainly wasn't lost on him, he paid no attention to her face and ogled down her top shamelessly. "Hey there, sugar! I'd appreciate a lift to the nearest gas station! You game?" she said seductively. His face lit up like a Christmas tree, he threw open the door for her and said "Hope on in, beautiful!"

She climbed in, bringing her bag with her, and settled into the bucket seat. The interior of the car was just as menacing as the exterior. She smelled mixed aromas of leather, sweat, beer and old air freshener. The black leather of the seats was old and cracked, hot to sit on at first. Amazingly, the stereo was new, a Pioneer, and it had some amazing volume on it. "So what's your name, honey?" The guy hollered over the radio. "Angie." Matiya answered after spying the Rolling Stones tape on the floor next to her feet. "How about you, handsome?" She said in a chirpy voice. "I'm Wayne...Wayne Hartley!" he answered enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you, Wayne! We got long to the next gas station?" she asked. "Nope, about 10 miles or so...hey, Angie, you like it fast?" He said, his attempt at being sexy. "Hammer down, Wayne! I like it as fast as you can give it to me!" she told him, slipping the shoes off and putting her feet up on the dashboard. She let her dress slide down her thighs, giving him some more to think about. The speedometer was creeping up to around 80, and Wayne's thermostat was obviously creeping up there too. "Damn! You know, I just love redheads, Angie! I've never had good luck with them though." Matiya looked sideways at Wayne and told him, "Well, you never know when your luck is going to change, could be today!" She ran her hands through her dark red hair and then leaned as far back in the seat as she could. She already couldn't wait to slit Wayne's throat.

They drove on, with Wayne doing all the talking, telling her how he liked to play pool with 'the Guys' every Saturday night at the local bar, and how he had whipped his buddy, Buck this last time and blah blah blah..it began to fade off into the background, thank goodness the gas station came up quickly on the left, she was losing her control. Wayne pulled in and to Matiya's delight it was the perfect place to get what she needed. It looked like the only station around, and there was only one other car in the parking lot. This was going to be easy as hell. Wayne started filling up the car and Matiya sat inside it still, waiting for him to finish. They walked up to the door together, him slightly behind her. She knew he was watching her ass, and she made sure to give him a good show. The more distracted he was the better.

Wayne didn't even notice the bag she had with her. He was just checking out the view. This girl was the finest thing he had seen in a long time! She was obviously easy too, he couldn't believe his luck! This tall, beautiful redhead was probably going to make his every fantasy come true. He was still thinking similar thoughts when she walked into the gas station, passed the front counter and shot the woman behind it without even missing a step. The redhaired woman turned around, grabbed Wayne and slammed the gun into the side of his head. "OK, asshole, now we get money!" she said in the same sweet, sunny voice she had spoken to him with in the car. Wayne's eyes became wide and he stuck his hands up on either side of his head. "No....shoot..." he said, his voice high and squeaky. "Money." she said simply. Wayne studied her face closely for the first time, and her bright green eyes were full of insanity. Had he noticed this before he never would have given this bitch a ride, she was totally out of her mind...and...familiar, what was it about her that he'd seen before?

At Matiya's insistence, Wayne emptied the cash drawer into a bag and set it on the counter. At this point, a middle-aged man in a red shirt and Skoal baseball cap came in through the door that led to the store's office. Matiya turned around, shot Wayne in the head, ending his streak of bad luck with redheads for all eternity, and said to this new person "Safe. Now." Mr. Red Shirt complied. Out here it seemed they didn't expect much trouble. The damn thing was sitting open! Looks like he was counting money for a shift change, or a daily deposit. Matiya was astounded at this great find! She thought the timing of the Caddy's demise couldn't have been better now. She was a firm believer in fate. Red shirt added the money to the contents of the first bag.

Matiya walked into the office and said in a very calm and pleasant voice, "You a wrestling fan sir?" The man looked at her in utter surprise. "Wrestling?" he was obviously too distraught for her strange question to register. "Wrestling, you know, bodyslams, sleeperholds, crap like that?" she was beginning to sound more impatient. "Y-Yeah, I watch that sometimes." he stammered. "You suppose you could get on that phone right there and find out where the next WFF match is?" The man was totally baffled, he asked "You mean WWF?" She smiled kindly, almost warmly and said "Yes!"

Steve Austin was sitting down to lunch with a reporter...again. Interviews weren't bad, it was when he tried to just sit down and eat a meal and every fan within 5 miles was right there in seconds. Gave him indigestion. The reporter was asking about how fame had changed him if at all, how his family life was, what he did outside the ring, usual stuff. Steve answered the questions adding in his usual curse words here and there, just doing it up right for this guy. "So Steve, what do you think about The Undertaker's new Ministry of Darkness? Is that maybe a problem in the future for you?" Steve thought for a second and said, "Steve Austin isn't afraid of anything that big dead bastard could come up with. It's all a load of crap and if they mess with me I'll kick their asses and that's all I have to say on that." A fan who was nearby heard him and said loudly "That's the bottom LINE!" another from across the room added "HELL yeah!!" there was laughter and Steve had to smile in spite of himself.

What Steve didn't say is that he really thought the Undetaker had become exceedingly creepy lately and he honestly had no desire to cross paths with him at all. He just didn't understand Taker. Taker had always been odd, but now he was just so hateful it was eerie. The tall man kept mostly to himself and had a way of making everyone around him feel uncomfortable. The deal with the sacrifice was something that disturbed Steve way down deep. Down where all your upbringing was kept, down where you were still really a kid and believed in the closet monster, and the werewolf looking in your window at night.

The interview was wrapping up now, and so was the meal. The food had been chinese, and the waiter brought fortune cookies for everyone at the table. "Steve, thank you for your time today! It was a real pleasure!" the reporter said. "You're damn right!" Steve answered. "Just one more thing." the reporter asked. "Spit it out, son, ain't got all day!" Austin barked. "What does your fortune say?" Steve crushed open the fortune cookie and pulled out the slip of paper inside. He read: "Today you meet the most intersting person in your life." He had no idea how right that was.

Matiya was headed towards a city that was now just a couple hundred miles away. She was hoping she could make it in time because that's where the WWF was that evening. That's where her twin was. The guy at the gas station had been very helpful. He seemed to believe, up to the second the knife flashed at his throat, that the more he helped her, the better his chances were. He'd been dead the very second he showed his face in the store, even though he was unaware of that fact at the time. She was now driving Wayne's Firebird, had a comfy stash of cash, and had even managed to find some new clothes. Instead of the baggy old print dress, she wore a pair of black, hip-hugger jeans and a black tank top that left her midriff exposed. The too-small shoes had been replaced with a pair of black, pointy toed cowboy boots with glinting steel tips on the toes. She was feeling pretty sexy. Best she'd felt since breaking out of prison. She put a tape in the tape player and Guns n Roses came on playing 'Pretty Tied Up'. She cranked the stereo and roared down the road in the dark old Firebird. She felt almost one with the car.

She didn't know that at the same time her twin brother, The Undertaker, was arriving in the town for his match. He stepped into a taxi to take him to his hotel. The driver looked in the rearview mirror, about to find out where his giant of a passenger was going and maybe get an autograph, he was aware of who this was, who wouldn't be? This was The Undertaker, the Lord of Darkness, this guy was too cool! He caught sight of Taker's eyes briefly over the top of the black sunglasses he wore and decided to forget asking for an autograph. "Marriott." 'Taker grumbled. The driver nodded and took off for the hotel. "So, how are you today, sir?" the driver asked nervously. He saw Undertaker smile, it was a cold smile. "Pretty tied up." Taker said, and then laughed, black evil flowing into his emerald eyes until they looked like tarpits.