« on: November 07, 2017, 05:48:55 PM »
READER'S NOTE: The section at the end labeled PUBLIC ADDRESS was broadcast on YouTube and also reported on the news.


ENERIS POLLOCK KNEW HIS SUFFERING would not be quick. It would long—drawn out over days, weeks, months, or maybe even years. It was what he deserved for betraying the Church of Scientology. The only home he has ever known. The only place where he has ever truly felt accepted.

Fear made him turn on the Church. Fear of losing his wife and children. It was only a few weeks ago when they approached him. He was on shore leave in Clearwater, enjoying a drink at a local bar when two men approached him. At first, the conversation was friendly. They asked questions about the church and indicated they were interested in joining.

The conversation took a turn when the men asked about his personal life. One mentioned his wife and children by name. “Kelly needs her husband,” the man said. “Little Jack and Mary need their father.”

They had email transcripts between Kelly and Lisa Marie Presley, an ex-Scientologist and designated Suppressive Person. The two had always been close, but when Lisa Marie left the church, all Scientologists were ordered to disconnect from her and sever all contact.

There were dozens of pages of conversations. How are the kids?...Jack is getting so big!…Hey, Kelly, you HAVE to try this recipe for chocolate sprinkle brownies! They’re gluten free!

Pollock remembered when Kelly made those brownies. They were delicious.

The emails would destroy his family. Kelly would be declared a Suppressive Person, just like Lisa Marie, and he would be forced to disconnect from his wife and children.

All they wanted was help sneaking a friend of theirs aboard Starship Theta. No questions asked. The emails would disappear and he could keep being a husband and father to his family. No one will ever know, they said. You’ll never be suspected.

He was a fool.

His eyes stared down at his manacled hands. His fingers curled into his palm and squeezed, sharpening his knuckles and turning them white. His anger was beyond anything he had ever felt, but even more than anger he felt shame. Total, absolute shame for his cowardice and the danger he brought upon the crew of Starship Theta.

The hydraulic door in the next cell suddenly shot open and another man was thrown into the cold, metal dungeon. The door crashed shut behind him. He fell flat on the floor, then picked himself up. He was laughing as he slid over to sit against the wall.

Pollock stared at him through the bars separating the cells. “What did you do?” His words hissed through his teeth, like the valve of a pressure cooker.

The other man turned his hand back and forth. “Little of this, little of that.” He sounded like a guy from Goodfellas. His dark eyes, lurking below thick, black eyebrows, looked over at Pollock. “I think you got bigger problems, my friend. You shouldn’t worry yourself with me.”

“Fuck you,” Pollock snapped. “I will tell them everything.”

Those dark eyes became pinpoints. “What the fuck do you know, huh? The answer is nothing, my friend.”

“I know your name,” Pollock said with a smile. “Silvio Casto.”

The second prisoner sat up and the hair raised on the back of his neck.

Pollock said, “Do you think I’d ever let you on board this ship without running your ugly mug through the facial recognition database? A two-time felon such as yourself is a quick hit. I also have a list of known associates, a few of whom I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.”

The other prisoner, outed as Casto, seethed with each breath. He jabbed a threatening finger toward Pollock. “Word to the wise, Captain Kirk—if you know so much, then you should think about who it is you’re dealing with. You think these leotard-wearing nutjobs are tough? Nothing they do to you can compare to the holy fucking terror that will rain down upon you and your family if you say one fucking peep. Capiche?

Pollock put his hands up and turned away. His eyes crossed the small cell and moved up the wall, to the upper corner where a small black lens concealed a security camera. He watched it for a moment, before offering a quick nod, then dropped his chin to his chest and went quiet.


ELSEWHERE ON THE SHIP, POLLOCK’S hologram flickered above a small transmitter situated in the center of a conference table. The tension in the room was like a thick, black smoke pouring from a volcano nearing eruption, but neither Lord Gravus or Captain Miscavige dared say anything to relieve it.

Wisely, they sat silent in their chairs in this conference room of cold metal and hard shadows, decorated in a monolithic palette of gray, steel, and black. Behind Gravus, planet Earth turned unhurried beyond the three feet thick palladium-enforced glass.

At the front of the oblong table sat the Supreme Leader of the Church of Scientology—the BLACKSTAR. He watched Pollock’s buzzing image with malice churning in the pit of his chest. Only a few hours had passed since his battles against the Earthlings, and yet his skin had already mended the scrapes and bruises sustained in the combat.

His mind, however, was tormented by his failure to defeat the one called Natalie King. The memory of his victory against Elina was eviscerated by this miscreant Pollock and the saboteur he smuggled aboard. His potential crowning as Melee Champion ruined by this nefarious plot.

“Captain,” The Supreme Leader said coldly, “What do we know of this Silvio Casto?”

David Miscavige sat forward, his face tinted by the blue light of the hologram. “He is a mid-level thug for a mafioso outfit based out of the New York area. Twenty-eight years old. High school dropout. Married with two kids who hate him because he’s never around.”

He leaned back in his chair. “He’s been imprisoned twice. First time petty car theft—just a kid getting his rocks off. The second time was attempted murder. Felonious assault. He’s a sociopath, Leader Blackstar. Worst of the worst. The very scum who threaten our attempts to save this planet.”

The Blackstar paused for just an instance of thought, then added, “I want the name of every associate of this Casto within the hour. Friends, family, fellow criminals—I want them all, along with a plan to utterly DESTROY their LIVES. I want their financial accounts DRAINED. I want their credit cards MAXED OUT. I want his children’s GPAs CRUSHED beneath MY UNFORGIVING HEEL.”

Miscavige nodded, “As you command, Supreme Leader.”

The mechanical voice of Lord Gravus came next. “Master, Silvio Casto has proved to be resistant to our standard methods of interrogation. His electrodermal activity was difficult to ascertain due to his unwillingness to answer many of the auditor’s questions…I will question him myself, Master. We will see how resistant this Silvio Casto is when it isn’t a human face looking back at him, but a machine of death and destruction—”

“NO, LORD GRAVUS,” the Blackstar said, his voice booming. “I have neither the TIME nor INCLINATION to wait any longer. I demand answers, and ANSWERS I SHALL HAVE. I will see to it that this human scum answers for his crime.”

The Supreme Leader stood abruptly from his seat. The sudden movement caught his two underlings off guard, but they quickly reacted by leaping straight out of their own chairs and snapping to attention. The Blackstar held out his right arm like a spear, with his index finger extended as the tip of it’s blade, aimed directly at the holographic projection of Silvio Casto.

“Gravus, Miscavige—It appears you both require a reminder in the ways of the cosmos. BRING THE GUIDO TO ME.”


WHEN SILVIO CASTO’S CELL DOOR opened, when his head lifted from the his interlocked hands and he sat forward on the metal bed, it wasn’t the familiar gray-clothed Scientologists coming for him. It was two heavy guards in midnight armor, glossy and maniacal, with dark purple cloaks. They came through the door and Silvio Casto jumped to his feet at the challenge.

“Just two of ya?” The Italian raised his hands.

In the next cell, Pollock recognized them as members of the Royal Guard of Scientology—personal sentries of the Supreme Leader. He scurried away from the bars and hid behind his toilet fixture in case they decided to fry the idiot with blasters.

Casto threw a right hook. He might as well have been trying to box under water. The guard moved with blinding speed, much faster than any normal human capable of. In a split second, Casto’s arm was grabbed, bent, and twisted behind his back. He shrieked like a woman at the sudden blast of pain running straight to his brainstem. Before he could fathom just how utterly overmatched he was, his shoes were squeaking on the floor as his body was dragged out.

One guard remained briefly in the cell. His visor fixed on the back of Pollock’s head—shivering in fear, wishing to not be hurt his breath. The guard finally turned and exited the cell, granting the traitor relief as the door shut.

Casto was led down a series of hallways by his awkwardly bent limb. The aching pain seared his central nervous system and made it hard to remember the layout of the ship. When they pulled him into a turbolift, he watched the entries keyed into the display panel. Suddenly, he knew the destination, and for the first time, fear crept under his skin. As the elevator surged upward, he laughed nervously.

“You’re taking me to see the Space King,” he said aloud. “If I had known, I woulda wore my Hugo Boss.”

The doors slid aside and Casto entered the large assembly room flanked by the guards. It was a massive, cavernous chamber—no doubt the largest on the ship. The throne sat on the opposite side, atop a raised dais three black steps above the leaden floor. Overhead was a towering domed ceiling that disappeared in the gloom, beyond the reach of the ambient light that pervaded the chamber by an unseen source.

The Blackstar stood from his throne of power. In his right hand he clutched the the Staff of Zoltar. “Bring him forward,” he commanded with his black lips curling into a devious smile.

Casto found himself tossed to his hands and knees on the hard stairs. He was covered in a cold sweat and his stomach tightened into a wet, nausea-inducing knot. When his head lifted, he tried to feign courage and put forward the stoneface of an unflinching killer.

“I ain’t telling you shit, pal. Silvio Casto ain’t a rat. Do your worst.”

The Blackstar let out a GREAT LAUGH that echoed throughout the hall. He spoke with unyielding verbosity. “FOOLISH MORTAL. You may have withstood the RIGOROUS QUESTIONING of our auditors, but you will NOT RESIST ME.”

The Supreme Leader thrust the end of his staff to the center of the mortal’s chest. At once a fantastic spout of purple flame sprang out, and Casto was suddenly flung backward by the force of the energy. He landed on his back and slid the length of his body before coming to a halt. Then he jumped up to his feet, wailing until his voice cracked, as the invading force of Zoltar spread throughout his circulatory system.

His veins swelled and glowed through his epidermis, and soon after the arteries, far deeper beneath the layers of fat and muscle, also pulsed with the fiery might of cosmos. His eyes ignited in supernatural fire and a great shaft of light exploded from his agape mouth while his body trembled from the violent transformation.

And then, all at once, it was over. He fell to his knees before his new master in reverence. As he dared to raise his head, the radiance retreated from his capillaries of his face and faded from the blood vessels, but not from his eyes. Once a dark, mud-colored brown, they now shimmered with flecks of violet and magenta.

His voice hummed with an otherworldly energy.

“What is your command, my master?”

“YOU you tell me EVERYTHING,” the Blackstar declaimed as he withdrew the staff. He stepped down from the dais and approached the cowed criminal, who recoiled from the Supreme Leader’s awesome splendor.

“Yes, Master,” the man said. Panic no longer infected his words, nor fear. His monotone speech was delivered with respect, devotion, and unquestioning loyalty.

The Supreme Leader placed his hand atop the crown of Casto’s head. “Tell me, child, who sent you to seize my ship?”

The answer was swift and to the point. “Paulie Sacramoni. He’s a Capo in the Gambino family in New York. He gave me the order. Told me where to find Pollock while the guy was on shore leave in Clearwater.”

“How did this Paulie Sacramoni know of Pollock?”

“Leah Remini. The actress.”

The Supreme Leader felt a rush of disgust at the mention of the former-Scientologist’s name.

Casto said, “She’s cousins with Paulie’s sister’s brother-in-law. It was Remini that gave us Pollock’s name. Told us how to put the screws to him. What buttons to press to squeeze the info from him. That wife of his was an easy target.”

The Blackstar seethed. “What is it to this Paulie to invade my starship?”

“The order came down from someone above him. I don’t know who. No one told me nothin’ about that, but it had to be high on the totem pole. I heard Paulie mention someone named Joey, but there are a million Joey’s in the organization. Another time I heard the name Irving, and that one ain’t so unique.”

The Supreme Leader turned his back on the man and retreated to his thoughts. He seemed to remember reading about a man named Joey. While training for Melee, he ordered Captain Miscavige to assemble a dossier on every citizen of the accursed Fight 2 Win.

“This is the first I’ve heard of this Irving, but in my report on Natalie King I recall reading of a known associate named Joey Albricci.”

Casto chirped back, “Albricci rings a bell. Never met him, but he’s one of us.”

“AND SO,” the Blackstar mused, “the PLOT THICKENS. If this JOEY was the one who launched the attempt to hijack my starship, then it MUST have been to ENSURE Natalie King’s VICTORY.”

Casto said, “Yes, Supreme Leader!”

“But…Natalie could not have known she would be facing me in a SURPRISE main event for the Melee title. MERE MORTALS lack the PREFRONTAL CORTEX to harness the POWER of PRECOGNITION. She must have been informed by someone with CONTROL over the EVENTS as they UNFOLDED.”

Casto marveled at how this treacherous plot unfurled with ease in the hands of his new master.

The Blackstar ascended the steps, one by one, then lowered himself onto the cosmic throne and locked the staff into its sheath aside the arm rest. “So it seems this CONSPIRACY goes much further than I initially anticipated.” He paused, considering the infinite number of paths that stretch out before him.

Casto straightened. “I can take care of these stunads for you, Supreme Leader. I know these people, B. I’ll start with Paulie. I’ll fuckin make him tell me where this Joey is. Then from him, I’ll find that Irving piss ant. And every one of them will know, before I put a bullet between their eyeballs, that it was you who gave the order.”

The Blackstar cut him off with a raised hand. “NAY. THESE are the techniques of GANGSTERS and CRIMINALS. I am NEITHER. Though these actions would bring me some level of pleasure, they would not bring me any closer to the truth. The Joeys and the Irvings of the world are not my concern. The REAL villain is out there, hidden behind the curtain, and it will be MY HAND to RIP BACK THE FABRIC.”

The Royal Guards moved, directed by an unheard command from their master, and grabbed Casto by the arms, hoisting him to his feet.

Casto shouted, “Master?”

The Supreme Leader cackled softly. “In your short time as a Scientologist, you have served me well. Unfortunately, we have EXHAUSTED the limit of what you know AND your usefulness. You will now accompany the guards to the nearest airlock and EXPEL yourself into the VOID OF SPACE.”

Casto did not hesitate. “Yes, Supreme Leader!” He turned and marched back toward the turbolift with the Royal Guards. The finality of the command was not questioned, nor was a thought wasted on an attempt to escape. This ultimate act of service would no doubt earn his place in the cosmos as a great scientologist.

As the turbolift doors came shut, he smiled.

The Blackstar held out his left forearm. A beam of light projected from an oscillator installed on his gauntlet. It rendered an image of Lord Gravus. The mechanical man lowered his head in reverence.

His voice cracked and spun. “What is your order, Master?”

“I will be taking a sabbatical from the twitter, Gravus. It seems there are STRANGE THINGS AFOOT in the FIGHT2WIN FRONT OFFICE.”

Gravus lifted his masked face. “We will see how Fight 2 Win fairs without the help of the Church. Surely, Netflix will grow uneasy if the streaming numbers drop in our absence.”

“INDEED, but their punishment must be more severe. There is a SCHEME that must be UNCOVERED and until we identity the TRUE SOURCE of this plot, I will NOT do battle on Melee.”

“Yes, Master. I will deploy a notice declaring your absence from Melee 2.”

There was as much amusement in Blackstar’s voice as hatred. “Belay that order, Gravus. I have a much better plan. I will be sending you in my stead, backed with the FULL POWER of the CHURCH of SCIENTOLOGY. You will locate the source of this INFECTION and ERADICATE IT.”

The digitized voice of Gravus said simply, “As you command, Master.”

“FETCH Captain Miscavige and meet me on the bridge. WE are RETURNING to EARTH.”



LOS ANGELES. DAY TIME. THE hot sun shined down on a blue and gold fortress. A stronghold that loomed over the Sunset Strip.


MUSIC: Eerie hypnotic tones and electronic instruments groaned quietly in the background as the building’s rooftop holographic projectors came alive and fired purple laser beams into the atmosphere—millions of beams of energy that painted a two hundred foot tall image of THE BLACKSTAR over Hollywood.

Then came his voice.


His words were loud, terrible, and startling, emanating from speakers planted throughout the city and broadcasting over every radio station. On the streets, pedestrians stopped and stared into the sky, soon joined by others hurrying out of storefronts and their homes. Cars crashed in intersections and veered off the roads as drivers tried to get a look at the colossal three dimensional projection hovering above them.

BLACKSTAR: I interrupt your INSIGNIFICANT lives to deliver a message to the FOWL…THE CONTEMPTUOUS…THE PATHETIC NATION of FIGHT 2 WIN. To those craven fools I say this: You have witnessed FIRST HAND the POWER of SCIENTOLOGY. The POWER of the COSMOS. The POWER of a SUPREME ENTITY.

CLOSE ON: An LAPD helicopter slowly orbits the Blackstar’s humongous face like Mercury lost in the gigantism of the sun.

BLACKSTAR: You COWERED at the terror of my SS Commandos. You BENT to the will of my apprentice, LORD GRAVUS. Your production studio FELL to my siege and my forces took control of the broadcast. And yet, despite all of this, you FAILED to learn the lesson.

BELOW, sirens wailed under the booming voice. Police cars raced through the streets for the Scientology headquarters with flashing red and blue lights.

BLACKSTAR: The DRUMS OF WAR beat with the FURY of a SUPERNOVA, and you respond by offering me ALFIE TANNER as an opponent on the FIRST MATCH of the evening. Such a pathetic gesture for peace. I should have been given a REMATCH against the one called King in the MAINEST of EVENTS. After this latest insult, I considered boycotting Melee once more, but I will use this opportunity to my advantage.

Police officers piled out and took cover behind their vehicles as a platoon of Scientology Squad commandos marched out of the blue fortress. Rows of deadly soldiers armed with positron rifles formed a protective perimeter around the entrance.

ABOVE, the towering SUPREME LEADER continued his address.

BLACKSTAR: ALFIE TANNER, at the third of Melees, your THETANS will have the honor of being TRAMPLED beneath my supremacy. Our battle will be short, but it will not be without purpose. My conquest will serve as my final warning to all those who would dare stand against me. You will SUFFER much like your JESUS of CHRIST did so many years ago, but unlike your FALSE SAVIOR, it will not be in vain. When I toss your body on the fiery pit of defeat, it will signal to the WORLD that those who do not pledge themselves to me SHALL BE DESTROYED.

With that final decree still echoing, the holographic image completely disappeared, leaving the city in utter chaos.