The Man Comes Around
2024 Dynasty Startup Rankings, SF
Chapter 10
Joe’s head jerked back and forth as he took in sharp breaths. His eyes began to well up as he fearfully checked his surroundings.
“Not an easy thing to have the curtain pulled back. At least you made it back, not everyone does.” Listin said patting Joe on the back. “Tell me, how many did you see? One? Two of them?”
“What?! Umm, I saw five,” Joe said, gathering his breath. “Maybe six. I don’t know what the last thing I saw was.”
Listin’s bloodshot eyes looked at Joe inquisitively, “Really?” He took a swig of his beer, flexing his temples and gritting his teeth. “Joe, help me with something. If I wanted to create Dynasty Startup Rankings for the 2024 season, how would YOU PERSONALLY go about that?”
“Well, I put quite a lot into my rankings,” Joe said with apprehension.
“Like what?” Listin said sharply.
“I like to look at everything. I start with the latest consensus startup ADP as a baseline, and from there I add in the latest AlphaDog rankings along with production results from the previous season. A lot of dynasty players exclude redraft rankings but I think production is the biggest reason why rankings change. I assign all the players tiers and use various tie-breakers,” Joe said looking at the crowd around him. “I use a lot of different metrics from the previous season and I take pride in my rookie research. I came across two individuals in my history books called the Bootleggers, who also took a very thorough approach,” Joe said eagerly. “They use a metric called Quarterback Support I found to be very intriguing -”
“Is that all!?” Listin laughed.
“Well, there’s one more thing,” Joe said unzipping his backpack. Everyone around Joe stared intently at the WoRP helmet.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t ya Joe?” Listin said nodding. Joe looked at Mary’s worried expression. He suddenly realized there was no turning back now.
“Well don’t be shyyyyy! NOT NOW!! Things are getting good!” Listin elated.
Joe’s hands instinctively slid the headgear on and flipped the visor down. Reflections of the bonfire danced across the WoRP device’s finish, setting Joe’s head and face aflame.
“If I had to guess, people elevated Stroud too much after his historic rookie campaign.” Joe began. “An amazing passer, no doubt, but I would rather bet on QBs with rushing upside.”
“I project Anthony Richardson to join the likes of Allen, Hurts, and Lamar as elite Konami QBs in 2024. Injury risk is a concern, but his talent and team situation are worth the risk. Despite his slight frame, I’m also high on Jayden Daniel’s duel talents.
Franchises that consistently win and roster some of the best playmakers in the league are why I’m higher on Dak, Purdy, & Goff.
Managers will be desperately high on players like Garrett Wilson & Drake London, but I prefer Aiyuk, Nico & Pittman. Unless you're the next Justin Jefferson or Marvin Harrison Jr., the situation and multi-year stability between the receiver, the QB, the coaches, and the rest of the team will always trump any short-lived opportunity.
“Well come on now!!! Let’s give Joe a round of applause!!!” Listin shouted. The clanking of crude armor and clapping echoed loudly through the darkness, penetrating deep into Joe’s psyche.
“I do take issue with just one thing though,” Listin interrupted. “Why spend so much TIME on these rankings if the best you can hope for is to be twenty, maybe forty percent accurate with the help of D here?”
Joe sat silent, not knowing what to say.
“Shouldn't the priority be making the best selections, not the best rankings Joe?” Listin asked.
Taking a deep breath, Joe nodded and said “I don't have to be anywhere close to a hundred percent accurate. Even D is limited in his power. I just need to be better than everyone else. My rankings help me make the best selections.”
There was a deafening silence. Opening his mouth and cocking his jaw to the side, Listin smiled saying “Fair enough.”
Listin extended his hand towards Joe and pulled him from the ground. “Let’s go have a chat,” he said, putting his arm around Joe. The light from the campfire began to fade and soon all Joe could perceive was the sound of sand giving way under his feat.
“So, your Silo prohibits using content from other channels?” Listin inquired.
“We have certain textbooks, but there is a bunch of stuff we're not even allowed to read, let alone use. My dad says outside sources aren't true, which was the main thing he fought against in the war.”
“Like stuff from the surface?”
“Ya.”
“No chance to decide for yourself, huh?”
Joe kept his head, trying his best to discern the ground in the bright moonlight. The faint sound of roaring and crashing began to fill the air. Listin led Joe to the crest of a high dune before ultimately resting down in the sand. And there it was, a black ocean sprawling towards an infinite horizon. The violent churning of the waves played on an endless loop for Joe.
“Are you obsessive Joe? Do you obsess over things?” Listin asked.
“Ya. A lot of what I want seems like things I’ll never get.”
“My whole life, I felt like I was enlisted in a war against failure or mediocrity, called to fight for others. But the more I figure things out, the less plugged in I want to be with others,” Listin professed.
Joe looked at Listin and asked, “What about your people?”
“Most people will never change,” Listin exhaled. “You can guide them to still waters and green pastures, but it’s never enough. They never learn to lead themselves.”
“What about your family?”
The air became heavy around Listin. “Not everyone makes it, Joe,” he finally said. “There are a lot of things you can’t control. I couldn't stay where I was, around my father. But you can always learn, little by little.”
“But meeting you Joe has given me hope,” Listin said, managing a smile. “I believe we share the same calling. You pour a lot into your work. Don't waste your passion on people who don't want to listen. But I'll listen, Joe. And if I listen, many others will too,” Listin said looking at Joe. “What do you say? Willing to start making your own choices?” he said, extending his hand towards Joe.
“Ya,” Joe said, shaking Listin's hand. “Why the hell not.”
Listin stood up and shook the dust from his coat. “You can tell me all about your silo on the way back!” he said, putting his hand on Joe's shoulder.
Mary was surprised that Joe was smiling when he returned with Listin.
“Joe, you can stay here for a little while with Mary. Lukos and I don't want to keep our friends waiting.”
Listin, Lukos, and the entire gang mounted their motorcycles and left as quickly as they came. Once again, Mary and Joe were alone in the cold dark wasteland.
Chapter 11
The large blunt blade struggled its way through the apple’s flesh. Jim rolled over in his bed and squinted at the silhouette sitting at his desk. The fruit snapped under the shadowy figure’s bite.
“Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had fresh fruit?” Lukos asked with his mouth full.
“Lukos?” Jim said, sitting up in bed. “How did you -”
“Your front door was open. Don't worry, Joe is fine,” said Lukos.
“Is that my -”
“Still keeping your knife under your mattress?” Lukos said as he continued to slice up the apple. “Living in a bunker doesn’t make you feel safe?”
“Clearly not,” Jim replied.
“You look older Jim. You should get some sun.”
“I never thought I would see you again,” Jim said.
“That’s typically what happens after people are banished,” Lukos said sarcastically.
“I didn't mean for things to turn out the way they did Perro.”
Lukos lowered his head, sifting his hair through his hand. “You threw me out to the wolves Jim. You let the surface eviscerate me while you hid down here… safe. Do you know what that feels like? People out there are stripped of their goodness, their humanity. Their hope. Is that the world you envisioned for everyone? For your son?” he said tightening his grip on the knife’s handle.
“I only wanted to help people Lukos. I didn’t know it would lead to this fallout.”
Lukos shook his head and said, “You never wanted to help people Jim, you just wanted recognition for it. From the looks of it, you're still waiting.”
“What happens now?” Jim asked.
Lukos took his time before finally answering, “I'm going to give you what you always wanted - an opportunity.”
Chapter 12
Tim raised the tequila shot to his lips and slapped it on the wooden bar. The sound echoed through the lifeless saloon. The old bartender filled his glass with the familiar transparent spirit. The wooden stool groaned as the Magistrate shifted his weight towards the portly man sitting beside him.
“So, what have you been hearing?” Tim asked.
“Same hellscape, different day,” the man replied.
“Mashed potatoes yesterday, mashed potatoes today,” Tim added. “What about the competition? I've seen a pretty sizeable uptick in their activity lately. Are they collaborating?”
“Sort of, but, not exactly,” the man winced as he took a sip from his glass.
“Well, what in the Sam-fuckin-Hill does that mean Carl?” Tim said irritated.
“There's a new player,” Carl paused to dab the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “He's been investing heavy resources into these other channels.”
“What? Why?! Those places were floundering!” Tim exclaimed.
“Not anymore. Their content, views, and division members have tripled over the last month,” he said with a heavy breath.
“Well, how in the hell am I supposed to move in on these channels now?!” Tim said in disbelief. “Who the hell is this asshole!?”
“He keeps himself pretty hidden. Not much to go off of,” Carl replied.
“That doesn't help Carl! I'm paying you WoRP edges for your services!” Tim shouted waving his hands.
Carl frowned before turning forward in his stool.
“Well, I don't care who this guy is! If he thinks he can beat me to the punch then I want this fucker dead!!!” Tim said slamming his hand on the bar and spilling his tequila shot. “Set up a meeting with the bounty hunters!” he said facing Carl.
Carl had his head down, doing his best to distance himself from the Magistrate’s outrage. He quickly pulled out a credit from his pants pocket and threw it on the bar before briskly walking through the exit.
“It may be difficult to land a bounty hunter,” a voice said behind Tim. “I'm hoarding them all,” the figure said slowly lowering his drink to the counter.
“Where in the hell did you come from?!” Tim said flabbergasted.
“From roaming throughout the earth, going back and forth on it,” the man smiled at Tim. He was wearing a coal-black bolero with an enlarged brim, dwarfing Tim’s cowboy hat. His eyes were bloody.
“Now, I understand there may be a lot of mystery surrounding who I am and how I operate. Well, here I am, in the flesh,” Listin said pivoting towards Tim. “You'll have to forgive my appearance; we do not enjoy the same accommodations on the surface as you do,” he said waving over the bartender for another round.
“The investor I presume?” Tim asked.
“I’m a creator. I have numerous channels spread across the wasteland, both high and low. Many of my followers belong to a division, not too dissimilar from yours.”
“How would you know what my division is like?!” Tim interjected.
“I know a lot, Tim. I know you’re tired of leading, tired of waiting on your brother to get his shit together. But most of all, I know you're desperate for growth,” Listin said sternly. “I know all too well Magistrate.”
“You think you know me?!”
“I know that deep down, the bunker mentality doesn’t suit you. You’re a conqueror Tim. Your very nature cannot be confined to a silo after you’ve already established your rule. You’ll always strive for more.”
“What do you want?” Tim asked incredulously.
“I want to help you and your channel. Your WoRP device is an ocean of oil, Tim. I’m your oilman.”
“Are you kidding me?!”
“Your WoRP device is useless unless it goes on heads,” Listin said bowing his oversized hat. “That makes the heads the most valuable commodity, not the tool itself. You’ve been cut off from the outside world for too long and you haven’t gotten with the times. Regardless of whether it's loyal division members, degenerate gamblers, or even mutants, it would be foolish to withhold the largest sectors in the fantasy space from your market share.”
“And how would we accomplish that?” Tim asked.
“Mass-produce the WoRP device. You’ve kept Excalibur in its sheath by limiting yourself to only the dynasty community. You should be using it to conquer the entire fantasy planet. Redraft, DFS, AlphaDog. Billions clamoring for their own WoRP device so they all can win their leagues and trophies.”
“But they all can’t be winners,” Tim countered.
“No, but you’ll win. Isn’t that what matters?” Listin answered.
“Where I’m from, if we hear a story too good to be true, it ain’t. What do you want in return?”
“Access to your Silo. If I’m going to back this venture, I make it my business to oversee my people and product. It’s not a secret that your viewership isn’t where you want it to be. But that’s ok because outside of production, I’m going to offer you a presence and likeability that will be far more influential than a brand built on stale knowledge or cold technology. I’ll provide you with the best editors, the best content, and a wider audience. You’ll have more resources than you know what to do with. I assure you that if we can mass produce the WoRP Device, your Silo will not only survive, it will thrive.”
“You got the devil in you boy.”
“Well now that you know who you are dealing with, let me play my part and offer you the deal of a lifetime. What do you say?” he said extending his hand.
Tim looked long and hard at Listin’s hand. At that moment, the clock on the wall chimed loudly three times. Each toll rang progressively sharper and deeper in Tim’s mind. “I was always taught that nothing good ever happened after midnight.” Tim grasped Listin’s hand and sealed the deal.
“Listin Roy, at your service,” he said shaking Tim’s hand. “Now let’s drink to your campaign.”
Chapter 13
Joe slowly slipped through the opening he left in his home’s entrance, trying his best not to wake his father. Once inside, he immediately noticed the familiar glow of his modest television casting shadows throughout the living room. Sitting in front of it was a familiar silhouette, remaining motionless as it loosely held a crystal glass full of Scotch next to a nearly empty bottle.
“Are you going to tell me where you have been?” Jim finally said. “Or do you think I don’t know?”
The graveness in his father’s voice was alarming. Joe glimpsed flashes of his father’s disheveled appearance from the flickering light of the TV. He cautiously approached the couch.
“I’m leaving Dad. I’ve been given an opportunity to do what I’ve always wanted.”
“To do what?!” Jim said condescendingly. The smell of liquor burned Joe’s nostrils, keeping him at a distance.
“To help the people who need it the most. Out there,” Joe replied.
“Why?!”
“It's the right thing to do. It’s what you taught me.”
“No!” Jim barked. “I need you here Joe. I’m becoming Co-Magistrate and there’s a lot of change coming. Your duty is here. You can help the people here.”
“I don’t belong here.”
Joe took a long, agitating sip from his glass, seemingly ignoring his son.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Jim said as the breath of his voice slowly leaked out. “You’re going to fail.”
“I can’t stay here,” Joe said clenching his fists. “I don’t want to be like you!”
“If you have something to say, then be a man! Say it for yourself!”
Joe’s throat was tight and his breathing was absent. “If I don’t do this, then I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You’re betraying me,” Jim said spitefully. “You’re betraying your mother.”
“What?”
“Your mother didn’t listen to me and now she’s dead! I never wanted you! You were an inconvenience,” Jim said slowly. “You took her away from me and I got stuck with you. You’re nothing like me because I’m not your father…”
Joe’s attention deflected towards the action on the black and white screen. The ball is snapped and the nameless quarterback fakes a handoff to his running back. The passer stands tall in the pocket, waiting for one of his receivers to break loose of their defenders. The QB throws a short pass to his tight end and is immediately tackled. The play lasted less than three seconds.
“Do you understand what I just said?” Jim continued. “You’re not mine, you’re someone else’s. You’re an ORPHAN. An orphan that no one else wanted and I felt sorry for. You should have left seventeen years ago.”
Joe remained stationary as he watched the offense leave the field and the punting team quickly set up to kick the ball away. With the ball in the air, Joe silently entered his room and placed his hamster in a small carrier. His mind was blank as he gathered what little he had and walked through the front hatch. Jim never once looked at Joe. His gaze was fixed on the screen. It wasn’t until the steel door slammed shut that Jim looked over at the vacant space beside him. Flashbacks began to fill his mind of watching games with Joe, late at night, where it felt like they were the only people left on earth to enjoy the spectacle.
Mary waited close by as Joe emerged from the Silo hatch. He did his best to hide the reaction on his face and walked quickly in front of her.
“How did it go?” Mary asked. Joe continued to walk, pretending like he didn’t hear her. “Are you ok?”
“Things didn’t go that well,” Joe finally admitted.
“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “Family can be tough.”
Family? I don’t know what that means anymore. It’s gone now.
Joe quickly tried to wipe his face hoping Mary wouldn’t see.
“I feel very alone. I’ve felt this way my whole Mary. And I feel like it will never get better. That I don’t matter,” Joe confessed.
A hand gently touched Joe, causing him to stop. “You’re not alone Joe,” she said slowly squeezing his shoulder. “These thoughts you’re having…they’re lies. Lies meant to destroy us, so the world has one less good person in it. The person who cares the most gets hurt the most.”
“It’s really hard Mary.”
“I know, but we have to keep fighting. You’re having a dark day. But there are going to be really good ones too.”
Joe stopped in front of Mary’s motorcycle where she asked, “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he replied.
Epilogue
Daylight filtered through the window, illuminating the exposed gears and levers. Peering through the magnified lens of the lomb, the man carefully tightened the screw of the polished metal wheel. In great anticipation, he wound the crown of his device, coiling up the mainspring.
“Just a tiny, bit, mo-”
The spring snapped, sending the metal part flying into an unknown oblivion.
“Fuck.”
“HA! You messed it up again, didn’t ya!?” A voice cracked from the other side of the room.
“Shut up! I’m borrowing this!” the man replied as he snatched a tool from the desk behind him.
“NO! I need that for my control! Don’t mess with that!” the voice protested.
“I’ll take a controlled shit on your experiment if you keep it up.”
“You can’t control anything, including your shi-”
A loud knock echoed throughout the workshop and lab. Both men lifted their heads and stared at one another momentarily.
“That would be the door.”
“I know it’s the door. Go get it!”
“No, you get it! I’m busy.”
“What if they are here to kill me?”
“HA! Good!”
“You asshole,” he said getting up from his desk. The man opened the door and saw a young man wearing a yellow and green hat with a red-headed girl standing behind him.
“Who is it?!” a voice shouted from the other side of the room.
“It's a guy, a girl, and a hamster!” the man in the doorway replied
“Excuse me, is this where the Tinkerer and the Scientist live?” asked Joe.
