Roxy left the windows down as they drove through the mountains, as it felt more and more like they had left all of civilization long behind. She was a city creature, dependent on the hustle and bustle, yet even she could appreciate the air that roared through the window. It was fresher than she'd breathed in a long time, more crisp than she'd ever remembered breathing, really.

She shook her head in disapproval at the thought, though. Sure, the air was great, but she couldn't trade it alone for the grime and packed towers of the major cities. How could she, really? She was Roxy Erikson, and even Roxy Erikson would start to feel dirty over time if she lived like, well, she did, in such a pristine area.

No, the city made her feel right. There was so much dirt, grime, pollution in the air, that Roxy felt like she belonged. Hugging trees...not so much. Giving a bum a handjob for a cigarette...sure.

Even the roaring mountain air couldn't completely flush the car free of the aroma from her erstwhile companion, one Mr. Robert Sender, who slumped unconscious in the passenger seat, his pants still unbuttoned and unzipped, with a bottle of liquor in one hand. Someone with some kind of standards might've drawn the line on Roxy's trip. Not Roxy, though. No, she took this wretched failure, this gap-toothed, unshaven and unwashed bum, with only the slightest of connections to someone she once knew, and she worked, over the course of two days, every drop of information she could from him.

She knew about this Tom figure whom he practically revered. Tom was pretty blatantly some kind of handler to him, but obviously not to his knowledge. He figured him just as a friend, a former coworker looking out for a friend.

She'd also figured out that her next stop needed to be Filipe Orso. Robert was apparently some flunky for a bio laboratory which did some work for the government. It was readily apparently that Robert knew hardly anything interesting about what they were doing. He was simply performing tests on materials that he wasn't much aware of, nor of what the test results were implying. But this Orso...he was some kind of team leader. He would know more. Roxy made a mental note to ask Davis if she could trade another date for him checking on Orso, because in this case, she didn't have a location on him at all. It was also clear that Robert was long since removed from any kind of pertinent loop, and even when he was in the know, he simply wasn't in the know.

A part of her strongly debated pulling up against the curb, and shoving Robert out and into whatever lake they were next to. Gorgeous place, even if she couldn't say the name, and she found the thought of Robert drunkenly swimming his way to shore, only to find out that he was hundreds of miles from home, a particular kind of amusing. But that might just give away to whoever was keeping tabs on Robert where he'd gone, and possibly lead them back to her.

Nope, she knew how to play this game. Drop him back in his apartment with nothing but a few sweet thoughts to remember her by, and enough drugs in a drink to ensure that he wouldn't be sure when he sobered up if his entire life up until then wasn't just a silly daydream.

She smiled, glancing at her map, as Robert snored loudly. She'd be at her destination shortly.

You know, Josh, you sound like a man pretty frustrated with the way things are going lately in your career. You're the world champ...but apparently that wasn't one of your goals on returning to NLW. I'm sorry, that must be some kind of annoying. You're frustrated with the way things are being run around here, the way this former illustrious federation is being driven into the ground by management that apparently has, at bare minimum, their heads up their asses.

Am I right so far? That's what I've gotten from you so far.

So let me be the one to help you out, to relieve you of the stress that's been apparently tearing you apart lately.

No, not like that. Not for free, not for you, anyway.

What I'm going to do is take that huge weight off your shoulders. You showed up and threw up the Fuck The Fans mantra, showing your age, if nothing else. When the audience collectively went 'What?!' It wasn't a tribute to the Rattlesnake. It was an honest question. Then, right after promptly throwing up said mantra, you decided to take it upon yourself to keep this place afloat, to give it the prestige it deserved from its past.

Shit, I don't know if I've got your story right, and frankly, I don't even care. What I know is that right off the bat, you were contradicting yourself. Someone who really says fuck the fans is a shit like Dashery, a two-bit carny who can jump 'kinda bloody far, eh?' and thinks that he deserves that belt more than anyone else. He'd get that belt, if it meant he burned the fucking place down around him. That's someone saying fuck the fans.

You? How can you fuck said fans when you're trying to save the company? The fans like the company, right? Hence the whole, fan, thing? So...

You know what? Fuck this. I'd have my lawyer parse your logic if I gave two shits about it. It doesn't matter what you're for, or who you're for fucking, Josh.

Like I said, I'm taking the weight off of your shoulders. We won't have to listen to the greatest hits of Josh Allen and the Martyrdom Complexes when I take your title and your top spot away, and instead of worrying about making or breaking this company, you'll just have to worry about keeping your job and keeping your scope appointments.

I went there, yeah I did. I'm Roxy motherfucking Erikson, kids.

Once she matched up the address, Roxy pulled the car up to the curb in front of the plain-looking house. She got out, shutting the door behind her, which jolted the drunk in the passenger seat. Robert began to stir, as Roxy stepped around the car, toward the house. Seeing Robert moving, she sidled up on his side of the car, as he rolled the window down.

'Where ya goin', baby?'

'Tell you what, I got some business to take care of. You stay in the car and play nice, or the next time I touch your crotch, I'll be cauterizing it with a cigarette lighter.' Even in his haze, Roxy's choice of words seemed to hit home just fine. She turned on her heel, and stepped up the sidewalk and onto the steps, before knocking on the door.

Hell, she didn't even really know why she was here. What did she hope to accomplish? Some kind of random information, at best. Most likely a complete waste of time. She reminded herself, though, that if nothing else it gave her a considerable amount of time to...work...Robert for information. And being on the road meant that if someone really was keeping a close eye on him, they'd likely have no way to catch up to her without some kind of rediculously lucky break.

There was the sound of a child cackling inside, and the pitter-patter of steps quickly making their way toward the door. She heard the high-pitched voice call from within toward someone else.

'Mom, Dad...someone's at the door!'

'Well, open it!'

She chuckled to herself. If this poor kid opened the door to find Roxy Erikson there, his parents wouldn't let him answer the door for another lifetime without being under their watchful eyes. She debated hiking up her skirt, or something equally lewd, but there wasn't much sense. Hell, and if the address was wrong, wouldn't that be awkward?

The door popped open, and a small child appeared in the doorway. Roxy began to say something...and then realized that the child looked very much like Ethan Dashery.

'Who is it, Eddie?'

'Ethan-spawn!' She whispered to herself in surprise. The child shook his head in confusion, as a couple appeared behind him. She immediately recognized George Stapleton as the male. George's eyes immediately recognized her as well, as he pushed Eddie back and stood before him.

'Roxy Erikson...what do you want?'

She stood, still speechless for another moment, before the words finally popped out of her in a gush.

'George...what the hell are you doing babysitting one of Ethan's kids out in Idaho? That is one of Dashery's, isn't he? Spitting image...'

Her words very quickly trailed off, though, as she saw George's expression turn from hostile surprise to...well, to straight up murderous anger.

'Something isn't lining up here...'

She staggered away quickly, falling down the stairs, as she raced back into the car. She didn't put all the pieces together yet, no, but something in George's expression told her that she'd hit some kind of nerve. And not the kind of harmless nerve that pisses someone off after they've had a few beers at a party. Oh no, like the kind of nerve that makes people kill other people, burn their bodies, seal the ashes in a drum and sink it into a deep body of water.

Like this pristine looking lake they were right beside.

She started the car very quickly and jolted it into motion. Beside her, Robert reached across, grabbing a handful of her breast closest to him.

'Ev'rything alright, baby?'

On reflex alone, she broke two of his fingers before he could react. By the time he screamed, she realized what she'd done.

'Shit...look, I'm sorry. We'll hit a hospital, and then stretch this trip out even...longer. I promise, I'll make it up to you a dozen times over...and over...and over.' She pulled a cigarette out and lit it, her hands noticeably shaking. 'Shit, one thing after another...'