Deus vs. Madison Fitzpatrick

“This is Deus speaking.”

The footfalls barely make a sound on the concrete. The streetlamps glint off the metal mask. The darkened shape of Deus steps with purpose onto the lawn toward the house with its lights off.

We’re in Toronto. Vaughn. It is quiet.

“It’s a fine line that separates us, Madison Fitzpatrick.”

The blackened shape casts a long shadow across the house’s white, locked front door.

“I lack your gaudy names for simple things. Uprising? Call it what it is: a stable of women whom, previous to your signing to Elysium, confined yourselves to federations where women fought women in a bout of sexism only confirming your gender's weakness. Bring your sisters down to the ring with you if you feel it’ll help your chances against me.”

SMASH.

Deus’ gloved hand reaches through the smashed pane of glass to unlock the door. The door falls open and Deus enters. With only moonlight shining in through big bay windows in the living room to its right, and light from the street shining through the dining room window to its left, Deus climbs the stairs.

“It’s not you, Madison. It’s me. I find you detestable. I think you’re the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen and when I get the chance on September twenty-fourth I’m going to make your outsides reflect the vile wretched putrescence of your insides. I hate facades. I hate keeping up appearances. I hate masks. Show me your face as I show you mine. I hate masturbatory gestures like those treated to the early unlucky fans of Elysium by the likes of you. I hate you.”

At the top of the stairs, Deus eyes the hallway before moving for the first opened door, a bedroom, where inside are innocent white walls adorned with posters of Harry Styles and Zayn Malik. Deus releases a deep grumble from the doorway, then looks thoughtfully into the camera.

“I suddenly need to take a shit.”

Deus steps into the bedroom and closes the door.

Moments later the door opens and Deus steps out and down the hallway.

“I see the innocence behind it, Madison. The misguided innocence of a woman, no women, who’d flock together in a pack, a coven, because there’s safety in numbers, and threaten their arrival for all to hail the incoming “Uprising” as if it heralds a revelation. It’s smart, and oh so incredibly pointless. I envy you for not seeing the truth.”

Deus stops at the end of the hallway where moonlight spills onto the metal mask as it glares into the camera.

“I envy your lack of displayed courage. You give me hope in the stupidity of this age. You make me wish I had three of myself, and a snappy name for when the three Dei flock together and proclaim our arrival. But who needs any more of myself when one is enough to tear your world down and validate Kelly Godless’ aspirations for Elysium? Elysium is a better place because I’m here, Madison, not because you’ve opted your little Uprising in.”

Deus slips inside of the open doorway to its right, a bathroom. Deus regards the facility with a vague shrug at having already relieved itself.

“Live and learn, I guess. That can be your motto once we’re done and you recognize that you shouldn’t take a shit in the wrong place. Just like me in this house, you’re in the wrong place, Madison.”

Deus brushes past the camera once more to stand again in the hallway and peek the metal face in to each open door. Disinterested, Deus strides back down the hallway.

“It was the realm of the blessed dead, something akin to the Christian heaven, though nowhere alike. They’d claim one idea spawned from the other, like you entering the ring at Frontline and me kicking you out of it, but the truth, I think, is more complex, and in this context unnecessary.”

Deus steps down the stairs, its tone becoming bored with the tour of the house. Deus strides towards the kitchen, towards the fridge and looks inside. Lifting its foot, Deus kicks around the bottom of the fridge, toppling jars and Tupperware and otherwise making a noisy mess before slamming the door shut.

“I didn’t come in here for any other reason other than to impart this thought to you: this house is to me, what that ring in the Air Canada Center on September twenty-fourth is to you. I don’t fit here, and the only logical conclusion one can draw is to leave, or eventually be thrown out by authorities greater than myself. If you have ears, Madison, you better hear. But I’m stubborn. Just like I imagine you must be. I need to leave my mark. Just like you. See how similar we are, bitch?”

Deus steps to the pantry and opens it, clumsily sliding a gloved hand along the shelves knocking cereal and Uncle Ben’s stuffing and Rice boxes onto the floor. Deus shifts towards another cupboard and smashes a series of plates onto the floor as well.

“I’m Madison Fitzpatrick-ing my way through this house. Are you watching? This is you in my ring, Madison. This is my uprising. Useless and messy.”

The sound of police sirens and flashing blue and red lights appear outside, halting Deus’ demonstration.

“Right on cue. Maybe the analogy doesn’t work at all. But, just like you. I’m going to run away now because it’s the smart thing to do. You’d be wise to do the same thing before I give you your worst day in a wrestling ring.”

The nearby backdoor is unlocked, and Deus exits quietly, closing the door behind it.

“This is not a threat.”