Since The Weeknd is performing at the Super Bowl Halftime show, I thought it’d be nice to post a little guide to his discography for anyone interested in looking to do a deep dive into his work. I would’ve posted this the day of the event, but I assume that some people would probably like to go through it over the weekend.
This shares a direct overview of his released material, talking about his career and the background of the music, the videos, the meanings and all. I’ve written this from a pop perspective, keeping in mind that his history might be fairly new for general pop fans.
I also go into the storyline of the red suit character, if your interested in catching up on that narrative before the Halftime show (which will continue the story), I’ve listed the chronological order below followed by an explanation of that narrative.
I wanna be clear that the interpretations/theories are not conclusive. Abel rarely shares the metaphors or meanings behind his music. This is based on widely based on fan discussion/mutual interpretation. Fans can feel free to expand on anything in the comments.
It is important to know about Abel's backstory to get a certain perspective of where he’s coming from, especially when discussing the songs that deal with substance abuse. These recent articles cover his early years really well and share an up-to-date point of view of his success.
Variety 2020
Billboard 2021 - Also a good source for getting to know his team.
So, an essential TL;DR is this: Abel Tesfaye came from a broken home, he was born to Ethiopian immigrant parents who split up when Tesfaye was less than seven. He then lived with his mother and grandmother, only rarely seeing his father but having a nice impression of him. His drug addiction started as soon as he was a high schooler, he turned to shoplifting to pay for this need of various substances. Soon he dropped out of high school, leaving his home the same weekend, which would later inspire his stage name, The Weeknd. The name is reference/homage to the weekend his life changed.
Quick side note, I didn’t think this post would nearly reach the character limit. So I’ve cut out excess detail and lists of producers (with the exception of After Hours since we’re in that era).
Table of contents

1. XO.
2. House of Balloons.
3. Thursday.
4. Echoes of Silence.
5. Trilogy.
6. Kiss Land.
7. King of the Fall.
8. Beauty Behind The Madness.
9. Starboy.
10. My Dear Melancholy.
11. After Hours.

XO.

XO is the record label that The Weeknd and co. created in order to publish the first mixtape (House of Balloons) and the ones that would follow afterwards. XO has a lot of meanings that have to do with what went into the music and what still goes into it. XO is what the fans call themselves, popularly with the phrase XO Till We OD (shortened to XOTWOD); another way of saying “we’re ride or die for The Weeknd and his team.”
While some argue that it could mean anything since there isn’t clear meaning to it, fans continue to associate the abbreviation with ecstasy (X) and oxycontin (O). That definition stems from XOTWOD, fans assume it’s true because of the team’s history of drug usage. While others take it as it’s classical definition “hugs and kisses” because of the consistent lyrical nature of The Weeknd’s songs.
Overtime the definition of XO is simply known as: the fans, the crew, and the label. The Weeknd is more than just one person, he comes with XO. For the sake of clarity in this writeup, I’m going to refer to his crew as XO and the fans as “the fans.”
XO still serves as a record label, the current roster is The Weeknd, Belly, Nav, and Black Atlass. It remains The Weeknd’s record label and was his first label before becoming a subsidiary of Republic Records.
Throughout his career, The Weeknd has worked with Illangelo, a Canadian producer who’s work the fans adore. Carlo “Illangelo” Montagnese was one of main the producers on The Weeknd’s Trilogy, he’s credited on each track. The fan base claims his work to be some of the most notable artistry in The Weeknd’s discography. Their work together continued with Beauty Behind The Madness, Illangelo worked on seven tracks for that album. He then returned for After Hours working on another seven tracks.
DaHeala, another Canadian producer, is another significant factor in The Weeknd’s music. Jason “DaHeala” Quenneville worked as lead producer on Kiss Land. He returned to work on six tracks for The Weeknd’s Beauty Behind The Madness, including the hit Earned It. DaHeala returned as a writer for six of the songs on Starboy. Then DaHeala worked on nine After Hours tracks, and worked as the only producewriter alongside The Weeknd for bonus tracks Missed You and Final Lullaby.

House of Balloons.

Didn't wanna make this NSFW, so here's the super clean edited cover

This is a happy house. We’re happy here. (House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls)

One of the most iconic title tracks of all time. House of Balloons is about a lifestyle of drugs, sex, and partying; all in effort to drown out self-doubt. It comes from a place of wanting to make it big while doing what you can to survive, all while pretending everything’s alright. The mixtape describes various sorts of women, how they’ve had impacted the life of someone who’s already down on his luck.
Fans often refer to House of Balloons as The Weeknd’s best work. The mixtape was the first introduction the world got of XO, and it was one hell of a way to make an impression. It’s personal for the fans and Abel because it’s the only piece of work known to be based on his life. At the end of the day he’s a songwriter, with many of his albums he creates scenarios and world that he likes to explore through the music. But House of Balloons is known to be based entirely on his life. It remains The Weeknd’s most critically acclaimed work.
House of Balloons was crafted through the influences of Hip-Hip/Indie-Rock with the main focus on R&B. Through the genius of Ilangelo, the record was—and is—mesmerizing capturing the essence of a lifestyle that The Weeknd described as “anti-everything.”
House of Balloons assisted The Weeknd in gaining the attention of Republic Records, which would then host The Weeknd’s own label XO. Though hesitant at first, XO decided to partner with Republic after the co-founding brothers Monte and Avery Lipman kept coming back to Toronto solely for The Weeknd.
House of Balloons received three videos, The Knowing, Wicked Games and Twenty Eight. The Knowing was the very first video The Weeknd made, so of course it’d be something other-worldly; it essentially reflects the song itself but in a sci-fi setting. Twenty Eight represents Abel’s life after fame but also his remorse of letting captivating women into his life.
Fun fact— House of Balloons is an actual place in Toronto, it was where him and his crew lived after he dropped out of high school. They’d host parties, call girls, do drugs, and to make it less depressing they’d fill it with balloons.

Thursday.

Valerie on the cover

Welcome to the other side. (Life of the Party)

Thursday consists of the same themes as HoB; sex and drugs. But there’s a twist, he’s in a semi-relationship with this girl Valerie. She’s the only one on his mind, even though they meet only one day of the week, any guesses on what day that could be? Through The Weeknd’s phenomenal voice and the insane production, we’re also presented with this story of a toxic relationship where Valerie used to have the upper hand but she no longer does when she falls for The Weeknd.
While Thursday isn’t entirely about the relationship of The Weeknd and Valerie, it consists of reflections to Abel’s life after the release of House of Balloons. The song Rolling Stone notably has a double meaning, in which Abel asks his fans if they’ll stick with him when he gets mainstream appeal and decides to change his sound.
The track Valerie wasn’t on the original release of Thursday, it added when Trilogy was released. Ending the mixtape with Heaven or Las Vegas meant that The Weeknd’s actions with and without Valerie were a result of his fatherless childhood, making him push anyone away. That meaning behind Thursday doesn’t change when Valerie is added to the track list, it just means that both want the toxic relationship back.
The Zone (feat. Drake) was the first feature The Weeknd had on any of his work, the video for it was released in November of 2012. Rolling Stone had also received a video in October of 2012. Both were directed by The Weeknd and reflect the two different aspects of Thursday. The Zone has Valerie living it up in the House of Balloons. And Rolling Stone has The Weeknd doing a photoshoot for Trilogy, reflective of the song itself.
Fun Fact— the female voice heard in Lonely Star is The Weeknd’s, he pitched his voice to make it sound like a woman’s.

Echoes of Silence.

Diana on the cover

Laisse tomber les filles. Un jour c'est toi qu'on laissera. [Leave the girls alone. One day it’ll be you they will leave.] (Montreal)

Out of a dark introductory into the early life of The Weeknd, Echoes of Silence is the darkest work of his Trilogy. Let’s be honest the story here isn’t entirely ethical at times but makes for one hell of a mixtape.
Similar to Thursday, Echoes of Silence follows a storyline. After accumulating success, The Weeknd gains the attention of various women. There was this one woman (D.D.) who he liked but she initially rejected him (Montreal). The woman came back to him for his fame status and evidently fell in love with him (Outside), but now that he’s got the upper hand he treats him like a groupie (XO/The Host) and lets... bad things happen to her; she’s gotta pass a test before she can get with him. This test is either drugs or his crew (Initiation). He ultimately tells this woman that he’s not exactly longterm-relationship material, perhaps because her love is temporary (Same Old Song), because he’s Next. With the end of Echoes of Silence (originally ending on the title track) the listener is left to wonder why The Weeknd left her if he’d simply want her to stay.
As a side note— Initiation should not be condoned. It remains true that The Weeknd is a songwriter and the progression of time has changed perspectives. But a song that makes such suggestions as Initiation should not be ethically/morally claimed or celebrated.
The mixtape follows The Weeknd’s lifestyle after he’s gained all this success, he’s still the same person but now he’s gotten everything he wanted. Some tracks such as The Fall continue to emphasize his journey into stardom and his acceptance of fame being temporary. With the added Till Dawn (Here Comes The Sun), The Weeknd acknowledges the changes in his life, realizing that the old lifestyle is no longer there for him or his past lovers.
Echoes of Silence is known as an underrated gem of The Weeknd’s discography, it’s well received by fans and critically acclaimed but often brushed under the rug in discussion of his work. A lot of fans and casual listeners play the mixtapes through Trilogy rather than their respective albums. This often leads to people not playing EoS either at all or only the first few tracks, this is predominantly due to the nature of the compilation being nearly three hours long.
Fun fact— D.D. is a cover of Michael Jackson’s iconic Dirty Diana. Fans have named the woman in Echoes of Silence Diana because of this track. Various theories argue that the mixtape itself is based on the Dirty Diana itself with exaggerations of the truth, or whether or not it’s a story The Weeknd crafted based on the song.

Trilogy.

Rolling Stone video doubled as a shoot

You don’t know what’s in store. (High For This.)

Trilogy is a compilation of The Weeknd’s mixtapes, House of Balloons, Thursday, and Echoes of Silence. These three mixtapes were released 3-4 months apart from one another for free digital download in 2011, they gained quite a lot of attention from various industry executives.
Prior to the release of Trilogy, The Weeknd featured on Drake’s Take Care with Crew Love. The song was Abel’s first exposure to a Rap crowd/Rap fans, more people began listening to his music after the release of Take Care. The Weeknd then featured on Wiz Khalifa’s Remember You, which served as the second single off Wiz Khalifa’s O.N.I.F.C. Following those two releases, The Weeknd released Wicked Games as the first single off Trilogy.
Trilogy was formed after The Weeknd came under Republic Records’ management. The compilation album reached a debut/peak position of 4 on the Billboard 200 while reaching number one on the US Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart. It’s a well received album with the highlight said to be House of Balloons, which arguably went on to influence various sorts of R&B music of the 2010s.
Videos for Trilogy

Kiss Land.

Iconic

I went from starin' at the same four walls for 21 years. To seein' the whole world in just 12 months. (Kiss Land)

Kiss Land is based on The Weeknd’s tour life. Visiting unfamiliar places gave Abel horror movie vibes. A guy who used to own the city (Toronto) he lived in is now a small fish in the ocean of the entire world. The Weeknd’s first studio album was a great introduction into the sound he would soon get well acquainted with.
While continuing the R&B sound with the essence of Dark Wave, the album explores emptiness and regret throughout the lyrics—or what pop fans could categorize as dark pop—. The Japanese aesthetic used for various videos and the single covers/booklet reflects the themes of feeling overwhelmed by such a loud world that there’s no point in being if you don’t belong.
The album explores the real-world and the women in it as well as regrets regarding past actions, namely letting go of women who could’ve been the one in Adaptation. The Weeknd attempts to find that satisfaction in other women and past lovers, but accidentally falls for a sex worker in Belong To The World. With Wanderlust he accepts and expresses that love in the modern world isn’t entirely possible. While continuing to tour the world he enjoys these new experiences with XO (Live For feat. Drake), as well as the new women in his life (Kiss Land). And when he’s back home, he accepts the loss of the relationship he cherished.
Kiss Land debuted and peaked at number two on the Billboard 200. It was fairly acclaimed but gained a massive cult following. There were four videos for made for the album, the title track, Belong To the World, Live For (feat. Drake), and Pretty. Those four songs received interesting visuals that kept up with their respective themes while Belong To the World/Kiss Land got visuals that matched the aesthetic of the album. To this day fans ask Abel for a part two to the horror-movie-inspired album after he said it’s the only album he would have a sequel for.
Videos for Kiss Land
Fun Fact— The video for Kiss Land on YouTube is an extremely edited version of the actual video shot for the song. The directors cut further explores the erotic-horror themes if the album.

King of the Fall.

King of the Fall 2020 cover (even though I talk about three other songs here)

Driving by the streets we used to walk through like a triumph. (King of the Fall)

These next few song were released between the Kiss Land and Beauty Behind the Madness era. Some fans would classify them as part of the Beauty Behind the Madness era—I’d say the same tbh—but they stand apart on the basis of success and acclaim. It’s a transition between The Weeknd being an underrated R&B musician to being a mainstream artist with massive recognition and appreciation.
The first of these four songs is King of the Fall. A fan favourite and a standout in The Weeknd’s discography. This is one of The Weeknd’s few Rap tracks, it gained a lot of attention within the Rap sphere. It was the way in which XO would announce that they’ve made it, little did they know that this was just the start.
Prior to the release of Beauty Behind the Madness (BBTM), The Weeknd gained mainstream attention. The Weeknd’s exposure to mainstream music was uphill, it wasn’t overnight. The first taste of BBTM came from Often, a song that reflected the themes of sex that Abel was known for. The track was released more than a year before BBTM’s release and had made it onto the trackless unlike King of the Fall. Slowly but surely The Weeknd gained exposure, his main sources of exposure were through a collaboration and a soundtrack.
Most pop fans heard about The Weeknd through his hit collaboration with Ariana Grande, Love Me Harder. The collab was made through Republic when The Weeknd said he wanted more than what he had gotten through Kiss Land. Ariana and Abel had formed a real bond cough The Hills cough, their bond assisted the song in becoming a memorable hit for both artists. Love Me Harder was a top ten hit on the Billboard Hot 100.
Later that year, The Weeknd was featured on the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack with Earned It, as well as Where You Belong. Earned It became a massive hit peaking at 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and receiving an Oscar nomination for The Weeknd; a massive milestone for XO. Earned It kept up with Abel’s signature lyrics but the production differed heavily from the sort of R&B he was known for.
Videos from that era

Beauty Behind the Madness.

I can hear this image

I'm that ***** with the hair singin' 'bout poppin' pills, fuckin' bitches, livin' life so trill. (Tell Your Friends)

Following the success of Love Me Harder and Earned It, the Beauty Behind the Madness era began with The Hills. This was The Weeknd’s first number one on the Billboard Hot 100. Along with the video, The Hills became an addictive classic. The production and lyrics mirror a mature version of the sound that was originally found on Trilogy. It was truly in keeping with The Weeknd’s character, the only difference was his haircut.
Next came Can’t Feel My Face, a Max Martin production that differed greatly from anything The Weeknd put out in the past. In past songs, Abel had expressed his fear of losing his following if he went mainstream simultaneously asking his fans if they’d stay. He repeats that sentiment in the Can’t Feel My Face video. The sound has changed, the lyrics stay the same but now he’s a pop-star. The song became a hit as it reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100. With this massive bop previous fans still stayed, The Weeknd becoming a pop singer didn’t at all alter his image or sound; he mastered it.
In The Night and Acquainted were released as singles on the same day, the were the only singles to come after the release of Beauty Behind The Madness. The former received a music video treatment that followed the theme of the song itself while also starring Abel’s girlfriend at the time, Bella Hadid. Acquainted was robbed of a video even though Abel had shown off the fact that a video was in development; the song kept in the tone of The Weeknd’s work prior to BBTM.
Beauty Behind the Madness captures a Hollywood-based reality that The Weeknd came to understand: the dark aspects of your life will continue to follow you wherever you are. Real Life, Losers (feat. Labrinth), Tell Your Friends, Dark Times (feat. Ed Sheeran), and Prisoner (feat. Lana Del Rey) all capture a nihilistic view of a dream achieved.
Most of the videos of Beauty Behind The Madness have a mysterious white man. He’s featured in The Hills, Can’t Feel My Face, and Tell Your Friends. That man represents the devil. Throughout his journey in those videos, (The Hills) Abel runs into the devil after his car crash, (Can’t Feel My Face) he’s at the club then lights him on fire. The significance behind the fire could be selling his soul to the devil, BBTM is about Hollywood and a popular Hollywood myth is that celebrities sell their souls to the devil in exchange for fame. So in the Can’t Feel My Face video, Abel changes his sound to Pop (from R&B) thus leaving his signature sound in order to become famous, everyone starts enjoying his music once he’s sold his soul.
Then we see The Weeknd burying himself in Tell Your Friends, perhaps leaving the old Abel behind after the deal with the devil. However, instead of thanking the devil, Abel takes his revenge and shoots him. But wait, there’s more! The album trailer for BBTM features the devil burning a billboard with The Weeknd’s face on it, revealing Beauty Behind The Madness. HOWEVER, the final cut for the video features the devil being arrested while The Weeknd watches. This is a more realistic form of karma that the devil gets.
Videos for BBTM

Starboy.

Filled with bops

If I could, I'd trade it all, trade it for a halo. And she said that she'll pray for me, I said, "It's too late for me.” (Ordinary Life)

After the massive success of Beauty Behind the Madness, there was a lot of hype around what The Weeknd would do next; evidently he decided to explore Pop. The fandom he had gained wasn’t entirely based in the Pop sphere, his fans consisted of general Rap fans, but Starboy attracted the Pop audience.
Initially, most of his older fans couldn’t get behind Starboy, it differed greatly from the previous sound. It was crazy to think that the guy who made Trilogy managed to make such a Pop-centric album. But this was Abel expressing his versatility.
Since this is where most pop fans found out about Abel’s work and became fans I won’t talk too much about the singles, rather more about the album itself. His work with Daft Punk cemented this album in an efficient mix between Pop and R&B, where Beauty Behind the Madness was more R&B with Pop, Starboy was considered Pop with R&B.
Beyond the genres, Starboy explores two evident themes. One being his life with fame and recognition. The next being his love life in Hollywood, this aspect of the album came from his relationship with Bella Hadid which ended after the release of the album.
The cross became the symbol for that era and appeared in the album’s photoshoot as well as the videos. There was never any conclusive word on the use of the cross but there are various theories about it, something to note is that Abel was raised Christian, it could perhaps be a reflection of his past.
The cross he uses to destroy his accolades (Starboy video) is assisting him rather than something that’s holding him back. Abel’s upbringing was rough but now he’s celebrating it rather than feeling bad for himself. The cross continues to come up in the Party Monster video, this time it’s in the party house he’s making his way through. Then it shows up in the video for Reminder, this time in the form of his merch, the people wearing it are perhaps representative of his fans. Then we see it in the False Alarm video, both Abel and the girl are wearing it; the notable thing being that Abel holds his cross up before dying. Then in the brilliant video for Secrets, after giving up on the girl he’s with he leaves the building to find a giant cross. And finally in the I Feel It Coming video, The Weeknd sports a shiny cross necklace, and Daft Punk find it years and years after Abel froze.
The videos tell us that the cross is an evident piece of his story. This could mean that his past will always be with him, no matter what sort of fame he’s experiencing he’ll always be who he once was.
Also, I’m gonna take this moment to once again the genius that is the Secrets (both the song and the video). Yes it’s my favourite song/video off of Starboy but it’s so underrated.
Videos for Starboy, Secrets video bottom right
Fun Fact— Most demos of the tracks on Starboy weren’t as pop as they became, they started off R&B but became pop after production.

My Dear Melancholy.

Note the comma

They said our love is just a game, I don't care what they say. But I'ma drink the pain away, I'll be back to my old ways. (Privilege)

Oof (but in a good way, this whole thing is a bop). For this one I’m gonna talk extensively about The Weeknd’s relationships, which personally feels really invasive but it’s but it’s essential when talking about these sad boy anthems. Beyond that I’d just like to state that though they are part of the narrative both Bella Hadid and Selena Gomez deserve respect/privacy.
So when it comes to Pop music fans I think it’s safe to say that we all know a lot about this one. My Dear Melancholy (MDM) came after the very public relationship of The Weeknd and Selena Gomez. However it’s not just about Selena, some songs reflect his relationship with Bella Hadid (whom he got back with a month after MDM’s release).
My Dear Melancholy consists with The Weeknd’s exploration/mastery of merging Pop and R&B together. The EP was praised by fans for its lyrics and production, many went on to theorize that it was his most personal project since House of Balloons. The EP was the shortest album to reach number one on the Billboard 200.
My Dear Melancholy and fan conspiracies; name a better duo. The first theory being that the EP is entirely about Selena Gomez which wasn’t too much of a mystery since the lyric “I almost cut a piece of myself for your life” exists. Not only did MDM come after Abel’s relationship with Selena Gomez but also after his relationship with Bella Hadid. As far as fans were aware those two relationships were the most important relationships Abel had ever been in.
In theory, the songs about Bella and Selena can be categorized. Call Out My Name, Try Me, and Privilege are likely about Selena. Wasted Times, and Hurt You are likely about Bella. Leaving I Was Never There to act as an introspective look into The Weeknd’s life, basically making him hop back on his vices for comfort.
Another popular theory was that My Dear Melancholy was the first of another trilogy. This rumour was widely believed due to the comma at the end of the title on the album cover. But the fans soon gained a real reason to believe this theory, since the CEO of XO (the record label), Sal had liked an Instagram post that featured the cover and alleged date. Since Trilogy is a fan favourite this conspiracy spread like wild fire, so much so that fake titles and covers were made. The name of this trilogy would be: (1)My Dear Melancholy, (2)We’re Alone Together, (3)Abel.
Only one song served as a single for the EP. Call Out My Name was released nearly two months prior to the actual release of the album, it debuted/peaked at number four on the Billboard Hot 100. The mysterious video captures The Weeknd in various atmospheric places that reflect the tone of the EP, a haunting yet unexplained reality that the listener is to reflect on.
From the cover, to the music, to the video, to lyrics, My Dear Melancholy is an introspective reflection of heartbreak.
Call out my name video

After Hours.

Talented, Brilliant, Incredible, etc.

My darkest hours. (After Hours)

After Hours comes after success but references two lows in The Weeknd’s life. The album welcomes darkness and leads the listener towards a dead-end. The Weeknd’s past two albums (Beauty Behind The Madness and Starboy) ended on hopeful notes, they left the listener with a sense of hope but all hope his lost with After Hours.
Fans compare After Hours to House of Balloons—a rare occurrence considering House of Balloons’ acclaim—arguing that both albums are on the same level. Debate continues on whether or not both albums are on the same caliber. The belief that After Hours stems from reality does a lot to help its side of the argument.
The era began with Mercedes-Benz commercial that featured Blinding Lights, that was our first taste of the everlasting bop. Heartless was premiered on an episode of Memento Mori hours before its release on the 27 of November (2019), Blinding Lights was released two days later. Both videos were as brain melting as promised and the served as the tip of the iceberg.
After Hours was released nine days after COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, there was a massive risk in releasing an album that would not have a lot of promotion after it’s release (other than magazine coverage). There was no telling whether or not people would pay attention to the album during the height of the fear surrounding the pandemic, but it was a massive success. After Hours debuted at number one on the Billboard 200, with singles Heartless and Blinding Lights topping the Billboard Hot 100.
The album is layered with haunting productions that remains predominantly R&B but dives deep into Pop with some of the tracks. Max Martin produced the massive hit Blinding Lights as well as In Your Eyes, Save Your Tears, Hardest to Love, and Scared to Live which samples Elton John’s Your Song. Other notable producers include Metro Boomin who worked on the hit Heartless as well as Escape from LA, Faith, and Until I Bleed Out. With Kevin Parker on the interlude Repeat After Me.
Beyond the production are the narrative driven lyrics. In theory the album references two significant events in Abel’s life, his second breakup with Bella Hadid and his arrest in Las Vegas. The latter was due to his misbehaviour; in January 2015 he punched a cop in Vegas, lmao. Which means that After Hours is a recollection of The Weeknd’s first few years in LA. He merges the concept of his breakup with the idea of being an upcoming star, feeling free in the city of lights all while diving deep into the meaninglessness of those lights.
While After Hours starts with loneliness and a second chance it leads up to Abel returning to his vices of lust. In Alone Again his loneliness caught up to him and he’s asking for a second chance. He acknowledges his mistakes and situation in Too Late/Hardest to Love, in Scared to Live his ex then returns to him for a second time. He remembers his past ways in Snowchild and the way in which it lead to better days, but where do you go after such highs? In Escape From LA he faces the superficial reality of Hollywood, glad that he got that he got back with his ex, while continuing to question if it’s worth it. But he fucks up the second chance when she pulls up to the studio.
Who is she? Much like the other mysteries surrounding The Weeknd’s music, we may never know. Is it all more of The Weeknd’s songwriting ability or is it driven by reality? Fans found a merge between the two to be more accurate, After Hours is about heartbreak and a return to the vices that held The Weeknd back.
Heartless is when The Weeknd is once again back to his ways, he may have been in a serious relationship but after throwing that away he spirals back to the way he once was. It’s sad but it’s one hell of a song. Speaking of brilliant songs, Faith is when Abel admits that he’s back on his vices, he states that he needs his ex back with him till the end; he’s back to self-loathing.
So when he says he’s blinded by the lights, there’s two meanings to it. The Faith outro tells us that he’s in a car with flashing lights, a cop car (as confirmed by Abel) to be exact. Then Blinding Lights tells us that while he’s watching the bright lights of Vegas pass him by he calls out for the girl that he regrets losing. That is the peak of the After Hours narrative. He’s behaving badly over the loss of the girl he loved and is now at the worst position trying to find her and gain her trust for a third time.
Following Blinding Lights is In Your Eyes, this is where The Weeknd vows not to judge her; he can see right through her but will never do anything to make her upset. Does this mean their back together? Not exactly. Save Your Tears details a sort of moving-on that The Weeknd isn’t ready for but tries to help her move on, blind to his own inability to move on. Does it work? Not really. Repeat After Me (Interlude) shows that he’s still trying to convince himself that he’s unfazed by the loss of a meaningful relationship.
Then you hear a true masterpiece. The title track is a spiral into true regret and an apology for his actions, he admits that his ex girlfriend is the only reason he lives. In a dark lonely city she’s the only one keeping him sane. But his pleas fail, Until I Bleed Out is when The Weeknd no longer wants her in his life so much so that he wants to erase his memory of anything related to her. The bonus tracks then echo the final sentiment.
It’s one sad ass album, ain’t it. But here’s where the Red Suit Character comes in.
Shoutout to the makeup department
The album isn’t the only narrative to follow with After Hours. The videos for the album follow their own sort of narrative. The story follows an unnamed guy that goes by “red suit character” according to The Weeknd.
There’s a lot of confusion and endless theories surrounding this character’s story, after The Weeknd confirmed that it’s about a decent into Hollywood culture it makes more sense… kind of. I’m gonna discuss the storyline without talking about the movies that have influenced it, this way the focus remains on the character.
The order of these videos is Heartless / Blinding Lights / Blinding Lights (Live on Kimmel)* / After Hours short film / In Your Eyes / Until I Bleed Out / Snowchild / Too Late / Live at AMAs* / Save Your Tears
*Though all live performances could count as part of the narrative, these one relate directly with the videos that follow.
He’s is first seen in Vegas with Metro Boomin (Heartless), intoxicated on various substances. He dives deeper into his high until he licks a frog, after that he faces the true effects of this high. He’s frightened by the result and runs far away from Vegas. (Blinding Lights) He’s then found in LA, where he’s dancing in the street, hypnotized by the singer, beat up by guards, and races past all those bright lights in his Benz. Ultimately realizing the shallowness of the Los Angeles fantasy.
(Blinding Lights Live on Kimmel) We then find him performing Blinding Lights live, while he attempts to find more reason in within the madness city; he couldn’t find it on the streets so he goes to the stage. (After Hours short film) Even then there’s no meaning to anything in the city, he mindlessly wanders into the depth of the subway where he’s dragged by the reality of it all and ends up possessed. (In Your Eyes) After being possessed he chases the woman whose boyfriend he just murdered, she runs into a club falls deeper into the After Hours fantasy, in a successful attempt to defend herself she beheads the red suit character and dances all over LA with his head, iconic behaviour.
(Until I Bleed Out) Then in an ethereal dreamscape, red suit character finds himself in a House of Balloons. He’s trying to escape, but the people there keep pulling him in; he’s getting higher while observing Glass Table Girls. He spirals into the antarctic, the other side of the world. From Heatless to this point in his story, his vices lead him back to the lowest point in Abel’s life. Is it Hell, Heaven or Las Vegas? (Snowchild) He relives his career up until the point where his story began. Considering he’s dead, his life basically flashed before his eyes.
(Too Late) LA girls find the red suit character’s head and live their best life. They wanna have sex with him so they find the best boy parts by calling up a stripper who could be the body. The stitch the head up with the body and do what they want. But now he’s brought back to life. (Live at AMAs) He’s had work done… He went in to get his nose fixed and the doctor said “you sure that’s all you want?” The red suit character’s face is healing while he tries to celebrate his life on top of a bridge.
(Save Your Tears) Surrounded by a masked cult he debut’s his new face. Do they like it? Are they impressed? Not instantly, their masks translate no expression so how’s he to know? Is any of this worth it? Nope red suit character continues to die inside. He finds a maskless girl in the crowd, she’s lively unlike the rest; but even then, nothing on the inside nothing on the outside. He wants death again, somehow a second chance with this city is still pointless. He tries to kill himself via the girl and himself but it’s all a facade; theatrics.
His story continues but that’s all we know so far.
The videos make a lot of film references. This post by explain these references very well, as well as past album references here (part one) and here (part two).
After Hours is inspired by a lot of movies, since Abel is in fact a cinephile. The main movies that inspired the aesthetic and storytelling are believed to be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), Casino (1995), Joker (2019), Uncut Gems (2020), and After Hours (1985). The album tells two sad narratives but remains one of The Weeknd’s best works yet. He’s expanded his videography and enhanced the interest of people who casually enjoy his music and of course his fans.
But the era isn’t over, by the time this is posted his Super Bowl Halftime show is yet to happen. And it’ll continue the red suit character’s story.
Videos for After Hours (so far)
Fun Fact—The Heartless video features a reference to Thursday. When he’s trying to run from Vegas, a sign behind him flashes “Heartless / Heaven or Las Vegas.” This could be a reference to Abel running from his past, after all Heartless is about him returning to his vices.

END.

Thank you for reading this, again, I didn’t realize it would end up being this long. But I hope this this served as a nice refresher for any fans who wanted to revisit Abel’s work before the Super Bowl.
And I really hope that anyone interested in getting into his music finds this helpful. Once again, the theories/interpretations mentioned aren’t conclusive, they’re widely based on fan discussion/mutual interpretation.
Due to the character limit I couldn’t add too links to the albums, so here are some artist links.
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube | The Weeknd’s Shop | Tidal | Genius

Yes, a lot of the first world off loads its garbage onto the third world and these developing countries, in turn, generate just as much of their own garbage. Garbage that usually ends up in toxic/illegal landfills, into various waterways, or floating out into the ocean only to become a part of the humongous island garbage patches dotted around the globe.
In my case, nothing served as a more startling example of the waste we collectively generate than the local city dump. Occasionally, to get rid of old furniture and other random stuff, we've made trips to such a place as this, which allows you to drop off old junk in a giant dumping ground for a small fee. Even for the modest town I live in, this local dump, which is privately ran and is only one out of a couple for this area, has always had a literal mountain of garbage tens of feet high, by tens of feet long. It's sheltered in a very large half-open warehouse and there's always so much garbage there that it's practically touching the ceiling high above. And yet this is a normal amount of garbage collection for them. One that replicates itself week after week without fail. And they're not even the official dump for the city, which means that massive amount of garbage I've seen constitutes only a fraction of that actually generated by this city. And then, when you try to broaden the picture, every city, large or small, generates its own sizable amount of trash. Think how much trash a place like New York must create on a daily basis. Enough to fill hundreds, if not thousands, of warehouses like the kind I described above. Go bigger and think of the trash generated by entire countries, or entire continents. All the oceans of garbage and waste flowing out from our daily activity. And this happens every single moment, every single week, every single month, every single year. It's truly mind boggling. How we're not somehow buried in it up to our necks by now is astonishing.
I'm reminded of a joke by Bill Burr, when he remarks on the highly accurate, but not often thought about fact, that everything we've ever used is somewhere. Think about your entire life and everything you've ever donated or thrown away. All that stuff is somewhere out there. Crushed beneath a landfill, or floating out in the ocean, or, just maybe, is being used by someone else. It's crazy to think about, isn't it? The history of people's trash. Those both alive and dead have all left their mark in this way.
I can't help, but notice how in every single house, down every single street, and in every obscure little corner of human habitation; people are using things, throwing things away, buying new things, gobbling up electricity to heat their homes in the winter or cool them in the summer, ordering take-out, driving their cars, making plans for international trips which involve air travel, or other things they'd like to do which requires enormous fossil fuel energy. In every major city, at every single moment of the day, people go to stores, they shop, they dine out, they go to the movies, they mingle at nightclubs, they go to amusements parks and take in all the lurid sights they can. And all this happens. Every. Single. Day. Year upon year. I mean, just think of how this already has happened for decades now. From Chicago, to Tokyo, to Melbourne, to Toronto. Every single day. Every single night. How in the hell has it managed to go on for this long? With that much energy and resources being used by so many people, in so many places. By rights, it should have all collapsed within a week, yet it's been chugging along for decades now without stopping. Quite the opposite, it's only grown and grown. It makes me realize just how much there is in nature. How much energy to be exploited, how many animals there are to be slaughtered, how many other resources there are to be extracted. And that, as of now, we've squeezed and consumed every last drop out of it. Resources that could have lasted centuries, if not millennia, assuming they were properly managed, with far less people around to need them in the first place (at least less than a billion). Instead, we've taken all of it and stuffed into every belching furnace we could, simply to keep the infernal engine running. Hotels, restaurants, high price getaway resorts, luxury cruises, casinos, and whatever other bullshit you can think of. All so as to keep the lights on and the music booming in every single city across the world, and doubly so for the major ones. Like I said, it's just staggering to me that it's all lasted this long.
For better or worse, the world is unknown to me. In my case, I've been a hermit for nearly 15 years. I've never partied, or traveled, or done anything at all except sit quietly in my room. A tidy and well kept dungeon of near perpetual darkness, with garbage bags and thick cardboard taped over every window, leaving me lost behind my own wall of near perfect isolation. All I can do is sit with myself, stewing in morbid self-attention or mulling over any number of other equally dreary topics. Too much time spent thinking about all the things I'd rather not think about. One such common thought would be whether or not anything else will ever make itself known to me, or if all that I've come to realize is all there will ever be. Perhaps hedonism is really all there is. Perhaps matters of pleasure, for whatever form that might take for each individual, really are the only point to life. Sometimes I wonder that, if the world is going to die anyway, you might as well get drunk and party like there's no tomorrow and experience as much as you can before it's gone. If this is true, as I sometimes think to myself, then I suppose I've truly failed in my life. I haven't enjoyed myself and I have nothing, even on the most base level, that could warrant my time spent rotting on this planet. No good memories, no traveling anywhere, no having unique experiences. I've been as good as dead from the day I was born. Everything I've seen outside my window or through my computer screen, might as well be like pictures in a book. A faint two dimensional shadow of something that can never be anything more than what it is. Resting in my imagination only, but not even passing as a figment of the real thing. I'm a pale imitation of life. One that wishes I could have at least gotten something out of all this, as bad as it is, despite knowing in my heart that I never will.
ADDITIONAL EDIT BELOW:
Thanks for all the info. I hadn't considered some of what was mentioned here and it's given me more to think about. The world is, indeed, a large place and thus affords a copious amount of room for our trash. I'll admit that I wasn't aware of how efficiently garbage can, sometimes, be disposed of. Then again, in a world where a large amount of the air, food, water, and earth is poisoned, I suppose it doesn't much matter in the end how much or how little garbage it is that we actually generate. Well, like I said, it's still staggering to me how long this has gone on for. Consumerism, starting from 1945 and onwards, has been around for a little over 75 years now and, with it, most of our modern conveniences. That's nothing when compared against the rest of human history, let alone the deep time of the natural world, but I don't know. Like I said, it's dubiously amazing to me that it all even lasted a month. The fact that our current arrangements can last longer than a week at most, is even more dubiously amazing.
As for myself, I've accepted my lot in life. For what little that amounts to, I suppose. Not everyone has a taste for life, or is cut out for actually living as one would ordinarily expect. It's a sad thing, but as long as humans have been around for, there have been people like me who have puttered about in their dreary existences. Those who've just sort of trudged through life carried by their own prior inertia and fear of death. Tens of millions have come and gone who have found themselves in this predicament and, to this day, there are still those condemned to do the same. I'm just another regrettable example of it. It's not fine, but I accept it. I am what I am and, for better or worse, no one should deny who it is they truly are. Even if who they are only brings them pain and puts them apart from nearly every living thing on the planet. That's how it is, but I guess it doesn't stop me from complaining about it, as I've unfortunately done here, so apologies for that.
If there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's.
Also, for what it's worth, I'm actually a pretty healthy individual. I engage in at-home exercises, have an extremely clean diet, and take Vitamin D and pro-biotic supplements. I do the laundry, I keep my room exceptionally clean, and, along with my mother, I keep our home well kept and decent. Believe it or not, but these are all things I've done for many years now. And you know what? I still feel the way it is I feel. Garbage bags over the windows and everything. Last year, as a matter of fact, I did enough work around this house to have kept at least 3 separate contractors busy for weeks, but, at the end of the day, I was still left with what I otherwise was. I operated a jackhammer and single-handedly cleared away tonnes and tonnes of old concrete that had been blighting our property for years, only to then do the back breaking work of disposing of it as well. I painted our entire fence, I painted and re-sanded our old deck, and I cleaned up the basement, the garage and the shed from top to bottom. It's partly thanks to what I did that we have a brand new driveway now, since I got the ball rolling on it and significantly reduced the cost through my efforts. But, in the end, I didn't do these things because I was ever asked to do them, but to silence the madness in my mind and to briefly make an escape from my isolation.
I didn't have to do these things, but I needed to all the same. Anything to make the pain inside my heart/mind stop, if only for a little while. Like modern media before I was stricken with anhedonia, these tasks were essentially a form of escapism for me. An escapism used to briefly evade experiencing my own empty existence. I don't know what's wrong with me, but, whatever it is, it's been with me all my life. Aside from my mother, and occasionally my older brother when he comes to visit, I speak with no one. I have no friends and, frankly, I have no idea how to make them. This is as true for the digital world, as it is for the flesh and blood one. I don't know what to do about whatever it is I am, but, as hard as it's been, I've tried to accept that this might just be who I was always destined to be. Plus, it's been so many years now. So many years of this. You fall down a hole long enough and, sooner or later, you can't imagine any other way to be. Well, again, it'd just been nice to get something out of all this, this whole civilization thing, besides just being a hermit. I guess in the age of COVID, that's what everyone's encouraged to be anyway. It's like Junji Ito's Army of One made manifest. Who'd have ever thought.

The last drama post I did about Kuma Miko seemed to have gotten some praise, but some wished to see a Hobby Drama post that had consequences outside “people got angry over it”. So without any further delay, here’s a story about a studio that’s close to my heart, one that I’ve backed twice and seen die twice.
Note: This is a fairly lengthy drama, so forgive me if I’m not able to provide all of my sources. Most of the front half of this comes from this video, which chronicles the first half of Lab Zero entirely in Russian.
From Ahad to Mike Z
Let’s start in the beginning. Alex Ahad is a freelance illustrator who, in between other work, had created character designs for a prospective fighting game. Mike Zaimont is a professional fighting game player best known for games like BlazBlue and Marvel Vs. Capcom, but since 1999 had been coding a custom engine in his free time, which he hoped could be used for a fighting game. The two met in 2008, and the two quickly realized that with each other’s help, their dream could come true. In 2010, the two joined the newly developed game studio Reverge Labs. Joining their team was Mariel “Kinuko” Cartwright, a friend of Ahad’s and daughter of a Disney animator who helped animate games such as Scott Pilgrim vs. The World and Shantae; Peter Bartholow, who acted as CEO of Reverge as well as their PR arm; and an assortment of other animators and designers. Their goal: a fighting game in the style of Marvel vs. Capcom 2 with hand-drawn animation that they called Skullgirls.
After obtaining publishers in Autumn Games and Konami (at the time of development the Microsoft required indie devs to have a retail publisher in order to bring their games to Xbox Live Arcade), the team got to work on Skullgirls. Initial impressions were favorful - people liked Ahad’s unique character designs, the fluid animation, and the solid engine Mike Z built - but upon release, there were some concerns. The time and money needed to develop each character meant a starting roster of only eight characters, a far cry from other fighting games (the original MvC had 15 characters in 1998), and due to the team trying to get the game out, there was no in-game move list. Some were also concerned that the cast, consisting entirely of women, was too fanservice-filled, although Bartholow said that the characters were just attractive women who could fight as opposed to characters using their sexuality in battle (Ahad said that sex wasn’t his main focus, he just wanted to have monster girls fight each other). The team at Reverge Labs stressed that they would continue to update the game, with plans to add DLC if the game sold well enough. Good thing nothing could go wro-
Everything goes wrong
Alongside publishing Skullgirls, Autumn Games and Konami had previously published a karaoke game called Def Jam RapStar. Unfortunately, around March 2012, the time Skullgirls released, both parties were at the end of several lawsuits made against them - one argued that Autumn and Konami did not get the rights to some of the songs used in the game, while another claimed that the game was funded with a bank loan which Autumn Games was unable to pay back. The result of these costly lawsuits was that Autumn was unable to pay Reverge the money made from Skullgirls - this led to the entire Reverge team being laid off around July, and the future of the game in the air.
And so, the team decided on a whim to reconvene as a new development studio, Lab Zero Games. At a fundraiser for breast cancer research which included a fighting game tournament, Mike Z revealed the first DLC fighter and promised that new information about her and the team would be posted soon. This would turn out to be an Indiegogo fundraising campaign that asked for $150,000 to develop the first DLC fighter, with more characters promised if people backed enough.
In the end, $829,829 was raised in the campaign, enough to fund five DLC characters, a bevy of stages and voice packs, and other features. It was quickly becoming a cult classic.
The Skullgirls Curse
And so work on Skullgirls DLC was underway. However, a variety of events happened to befall Lab Zero during development, some causing controversy and others just annoying the team. Some dubbed this “The Skullgirls Curse”. So let’s go over some of them:

• Paypal Woes: During the Indiegogo DLC campaign, Lab Zero announced that Ahad had created around 30 prospective designs for DLC characters, and that there would be a vote to see which characters would be the two “mystery characters” teased in the Indiegogo campaign. As you would guess, this caused the Skullgirls fanbase to get heated, to the point where some stressed that they would ask Indiegogo for their money back if their character didn’t win. PayPal, who managed the funds for this campaign, was concerned about these threats and put nearly all of the money on hold. Bartholow tried to negotiate with PayPal, and was eventually able to get the funding - once PayPal was given a hefty sum as collateral.
• Bad Juju - If you notice on the list of prospective DLC characters, one character is Juju, a character who was designed by Ahad from a fan’s suggestion on a Whiteboard Wednesday art stream. Ahad seemed to like the idea of the character, and kept building her up until she became a legit character in the game. The original fan made a joke on Facebook that he’d like to be compensated for the design, which led Lab Zero to negotiate obtaining the character rights from him. They eventually worked out a contract that would give them the rights to the character, but only if the original fan didn’t reveal it until Lab Zero announced it themselves. The fan then posted about it on the Skullgirls forum the very next day, breaking the NDA immediately and making it so that Lab Zero couldn’t use the character at all.
• Don’t be (Red) Cross with me: One of the characters included in the base game of Skullgirls is Valentine. As you can tell, the two biggest features of her character are her being a nurse and a ninja - as such, her costume is decorated with red crosses. This was upsetting to the real Red Cross, which fights hard to prevent its trademark from being associated with violence - as such, when they came to the Skullgirls publisher demanding a change, all red crosses in the game had to be changed to magenta.
• #FucKonami: In November 2013, due to Konami barely helping at all with the publishing process for Skullgirls (they refused to greenlight any patch or DLC until Lab Zero tested it itself on their own time and money, they didn’t help with Microsoft’s certification process for Xbox, etc), Lab Zero dissolved their publishing agreement. This led to a massive snafu where, due to the dissolution, the original Skullgirls was taken down on consoles, and Lab Zero had to scramble to get a new publisher on the consoles side and then reupload the game as Skullgirls: Encore. It was a tangled web of issues which the above YouTube video relays, but required certification from both console storefronts and even the Japan storefront, as their publisher there was also coincidentally being dissolved at the same time without Lab Zero knowing.
• EVO 2014: During one of the largest fighting game tournaments of 2014, Skullgirls was promised a space for airing their tournament stream by controller distributor Madcatz. Lab Zero and Autumn provided a pot for the tourney, and everything was smooth sailing - until a multitude of delays made it so that the entire time Skullgirls had for streaming was replaced with Tekken tournaments. By the time these issues were fixed, only the final four matches were able to be shown.
• What’s the worst kind of ship? Censor-SHIP!: In April 2015, one of the patches of Skullgirls altered the animation of some characters, which according to Lab Zero themselves was because of their own artistic values (while they admitted that panty shots in a fighting game comprised entirely of girls is unavoidable, they didn’t want to go out of their way to show them). As you might expect, this led to a massive onslaught of negative Steam reviews and caustic tweets from people who abhor censorship of any kind. Funnily enough, this brigade started around October, six months after the changes were made, and only via word of mouth - people didn’t even notice there was a change until someone told them about it.
• Backer characters: As part of their Indiegogo campaign, some of the highest-paying backers could have their original characters put in the background of some custom stages. Lab Zero warned these backers that these stages would be a casino and a ballroom, respectively, so their OCs should ideally be designed with a formal flair. Some backers did follow this unspoken rule - ZONE, a notoriously NSFW Flash animator who helped work on the DLC characters, made a perfectly formal look for his mascot Zone-tan. As for the others, well...
• SonicFox: This isn’t included in the compilation video mentioned above as this occurred way after all the initial Skullgirls drama. Basically, SonicFox is a five-time EVO champion and one of the best Skullgirls players in the world. In May 2020, after Skullgirls was mostly complete, they were given a cameo in Skullgirls’ training stage. Of note is that SonicFox is black, non-binary, and a furry, and the character added to the game was their fursona, who has a trans rights flag in the inside of their jacket you can only see for like one frame. People reacted as you would expect. Also, one of the original backers requested to change their character as they were now transitioning, which didn’t get as much flak, so that’s nice I guess.

So as you can see, Skullgirls had a menagerie of problems and issues during its dev time. However, their Skullgirls curse seemed to have faded away, as they had a new game in store.
If I was Indivisible
Indivisible was a new project of Lab Zero, announced in 2015 as Skullgirls DLC production was nearing an end. Billed as a platformer RPG similar to games like Valkyrie Profile, it would tell the story of Ajna, a young girl whose town is stricken by tragedy and she finds out that she’s a portion of the god of creation, who has grown discontent with the world and wishes to remake it anew. Its Indiegogo campaign focused on Incarnations, party members who came from a variety of cultures, religions, and demographics not usually represented in popular culture. And as you can see by the fact that it got over two million dollars in funding, people were excited to see what Lab Zero could do. They even got enough funding to get Studio Trigger, of anime fame, to create the opening for the game.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Lab Zero without the occasional issue here and there. As shown above, some Incarnations were changed or scrapped during development, which irked some who backed because of that character specifically (not naming any names, but look in the incarnation list and see if you notice any). Backer characters were included again, and although there were more places to add them so they didn’t look out of place, you still had the occasional few that did. Critics liked the art and presentation of the game, but disliked some gameplay issues: the second half of the game became a cakewalk once you progressed far enough, it was a bit of a pain to go from one end of the map to another, especially for side quests, and a bunch of party members simply weren’t complete. Most egregiously of all, the Nintendo Switch version of the game was ported by a different company and released before Lab Zero was even aware of it - which forced them to scramble again to patch it up so it was on par with other consoles.
Still, it was a better situation they were in than when Skullgirls started. They had a legit publisher in 505 Games, people were satisfied with the base game, and Mike Z mentioned how the base game would continue to be refined with gameplay changes, small additions, and guest incarnations from other indie games. NBC even announced that Indivisible would be adapted into a television program for their Peacock streaming service. Things were looking up for Lab Zero.
Everything goes wrong... AGAIN
During the production of Indivisible, Alex Ahad was let go by Lab Zero. Not much is mentioned about it except that he was growing increasingly hostile, making it difficult to work with him, and his art was not meeting the standards for the game. He left, tried to sue Lab Zero, and eventually agreed to a sizable settlement. Mariel became the lead artistic director in his stead, and the art team had to be rearranged to compensate.
Now, as Lab Zero was preparing to transition from being employee-owned, Mike Z was made the temporary head of the studio. In June of 2020, Mike Z did an “I can’t breathe” joke during a Skullgirls livestream just days after George Floyd’s death - he later apologized for this, claiming he was trying to bring attention to the issue. Soon, more people provided proof that Mike Z has had a history of sexual harassment. Kinuko chimes in as well, noting that while she tolerated inappropriate behavior for years, when she talked to Mike Z about it, he blamed her for his actions. She talked with others in the team, who came to the conclusion that Zaimont had treated all of them like this. Some Lab Zero employees resigned on their own, while others pushed for Zaimont to resign. However, as Mike was still head of the studio, he dissolved the studio board and laid off the rest of the staff.
So where does that leave everyone?

• Ahad is still doing art on his own, and gets by with commissions and his Patreon.
• Kinuko, as well as the majority of Lab Zero, created a new studio called Future Club, which has promised to create new titles with the same art style they refined from Skullgirls and Indivisible.
• Autumn Games still own the rights to Skullgirls, and with the help of some former Lab Zero devs, created a mobile version of the game. It’s surprisingly not bad, although it’s of course stuffed with microtransactions. However, they’ve apparently made enough to fund a completely new character for the game for both the mobile and console/PC versions.
• After everything with Mike Z, 505 games put out a statement which signaled the end of all development of the game, leaving it unfinished. Mike Z has been suspended from Skullgirls streams and the like, making his future in the gaming world unclear.

There’s probably something I’ve missed in all of this, but yep. I backed them twice, both for Skullgirls and Indivisible. I don’t regret it, and I’m looking forward to whatever Future Club does, but I won’t lie - I’ll always miss what could have been.

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

IF YOU’RE LOOKING for a place where misadventure could begin, you can’t go past Mbargo. The nightclub’s streetfront is painted a purple so bright you’ll see it in your dreams. Strings of giant sequins shimmer in the breeze. Its phonically inventive name is spelt in silver letters that climb its three-storey terrace facade. Inside are strips of burning neon, a few booths, floorboards so marinated in drink that they have an ingredients list. Bristol is a student city on England’s south coast crowded with music and nightlife and street art. This is Banksy’s home town, and the tourism board suggests in rather strong terms that ‘you would be a fool not to see his amazing work firsthand’. The same organisation describes Mbargo as ‘intimate’, which is fair for a place where you can catch an STI standing up. Students cram into its modest dimensions while people with names like DJ Klaud battle for billing with £1.50 drink deals over seven sloppy nights a week. To get a sense of the story about to come, consider that it’s the kind of place open until two o’clock on a Monday morning, and that at two o’clock on a Monday morning, Ben Stokes still thought it had closed too early.
The Ashes of 2017–18 had disciplinary bookends. It was after that series that Australia’s two leaders went off the rails in South Africa. It was a few weeks before that Ashes tour that England’s biggest star windmilled his way into his own disaster.
In the early hours of 25 September 2017, Stokes and teammate Alex Hales were barred from re-entering Mbargo after a night out on the piss. A Sunday thrashing of an abject West Indies in an ignored series at the fag-end of the season apparently required ample celebration. After arguing with the bouncer and hanging about at the door for a while, they wandered off to find a casino in the hope of more drinking. They’d barely made it around the corner before getting in the middle of a conflict between four locals. As is said on the internet, it escalated quickly.
The 26 September reporting was bloodless. Withholding names, police stated that a man ‘was arrested on suspicion of causing actual bodily harm’ while another went to hospital with facial injuries. England’s director of cricket Andrew Strauss separately confirmed that Stokes was the arrestee, adding that he had been released without charge and that Hales had gamely offered to ‘help police with their enquiries’. Administrators had a good chance of hiding behind that investigation, and the next day Stokes was named in the upcoming Ashes squad as expected. But that night the video emerged.
Bristol student Max Wilson had shot it on his phone, then offered it to The Sun. What he thought was playing hardball was actually lowball: his opening price of £3000 was snapped up by a tabloid that would have paid ten times that. The Sun went on to make a mint by syndicating the rights worldwide. From a window above the fray, the vision showed six men on the street below performing the muddled choreography of a melee. One was right at the centre of it. One was waving a bottle, one dipped in and out, one tried to calm it. Two others floated around the edges. The central figure was unmistakable: red hair burning even in the streetlight as he launched into a series of blows against two of the men, falling to grapple with them on the ground, then following both across the street, swinging punches the whole way. Hales trailed behind, repeatedly and impotently shouting ‘Stokes! Stop! Stokes! Enough!’ The ECB could fudge issues that existed only in thickets of legalese, but not those captured in moving colour. Stokes was stood down from the next West Indies match, then suspended indefinitely. It emerged that he had broken his hand during the fight, something he’d done twice before while punching objects in dressing rooms.
The response in Australia was fierce: Stokes was a thug, a lowlife, a selection that would disgrace England. It was not entirely coincidental that a ban for England’s best player would be handy for the Aussie team, but there was also a cultural split. In England, plenty of people still minimise pub fights as lads letting off steam. In Australia, heavy media coverage as a succession of young men were killed had inverted that tolerance. The discourse now saw any punch as potentially deadly and accordingly reckless. This was more poignant in a cricket context given that David Hookes, the dashing Test batsman and state coach, was killed in 2004 by a pub bouncer’s fist.
The PR situation was bad for Stokes as details emerged of the injuries to the men he’d hit, and that one was a young war veteran and father. Stokes wasn’t officially removed from the Ashes squad through October but stayed behind when his teammates left, hoping for police to dismiss the matter in time for a late dash to Australia. His annual contract was renewed on the due date in case that came to pass. Then 29 October brought a twist in the tale.
‘Ben Stokes praised by gay couple after defending them from homophobic thugs,’ ran the headline. Kai Barry and Billy O’Connell had emerged. Not entirely out of nowhere: while Stokes had made no public comment, this story in his defence had initially been leaked to TV host Piers Morgan after the fight, as soon as the video appeared. Police body-camera footage played in court would later show that Stokes had given the same story to the arresting officer on the night. But no-one knew the identities of the fifth and sixth men in the video, and police appeals had turned up nothing.
It was The Sun again with the breakthrough. Kai and Billy were perfect for a readership not keen on nuance. ‘We couldn’t believe it when we found out they were famous cricketers. I just thought Ben and Alex were quite hot, fit guys,’ said Kai, who was memorably described as a ‘former House of Fraser sales assistant’. The paper had the pair do a full photo shoot: layering the fake tan, showing off chest waxes, mixing Ralph Lauren and Louis Vuitton into a range of outfits. Their best shot had them standing back to back, heads turned to the camera, in a mirror-image Zoolander moment.
Suddenly The Sun was the England team’s best friend. ‘Their claims could lead to the all-rounder being cleared over the punch-up and freed to play in the First Test in Australia next month,’ it gushed, then gave a tasting platter of quotes: ‘We were so grateful to Ben for stepping in to help. He was a real hero.’ ‘If Ben hadn’t intervened it could have been a lot worse for us.’ ‘We could’ve been in real trouble. Ben was a real gentleman.’ Would it be known forever as Kai and Billy’s Ashes? No. While the Bristol boys provided spin for Stokes’ reputation they didn’t influence the police. With charges still pending there was little choice – not given Strauss had previously sacked Kevin Pietersen for being annoying. Stokes remained suspended through the Ashes and a one-day series in Australia, and lost the vice-captaincy. It was January 2018 before the Crown Prosecution Service laid a charge.
That charge surprisingly came in as affray, a crime that can carry prison time but is classified as ‘a breach of the peace as a result of disorderly conduct’. The men he had punched, Ryan Ali and Ryan Hale, faced the same count, charged as equal participants in a fight rather than Stokes being charged with assaulting them. Alex Hales was not charged, despite being seen in the video to aim several kicks when Ryan Ali was lying on the ground. Given the underwhelming standing of the offence, Stokes was cleared by the ECB to tour New Zealand, and kept playing until his trial in August 2018, which he missed a Test to attend. None of the three defendants would be convicted.
The reasoning behind the charges was never released and was attributed vaguely to ‘CPS lawyers’. The service gave the case to Alison Morgan, a prosecutor of a class known as Treasury Counsel who usually handle serious criminal matters. Morgan had a scheduling clash and never ended up court for the case, but in 2018 and 2019 she would go on to win damages and admissions of libel from The Daily Mail, The Times and The Daily Telegraph variously for incorrectly reporting that she had been responsible for the inadequate and inconsistent charging decisions.
Morgan’s successor on the case was Nicholas Corsellis QC, who on the first day of trial was permitted by the CPS to request two assault charges be added against Stokes. ‘Upon further review,’ claimed a CPS statement, ‘we considered that additional assault charges would also be appropriate.’ This was patent nonsense from the service that eight months earlier had chosen the lesser charge. Any lawyer knows that no judge will allow new charges once a trial has begun, because the defence hasn’t had time to prepare. But such a request could deflect criticism of the prosecution service by technically making the judge the one who disallows the charge.
Working through the story from the trial and the tape is complicated. You had a Ryan and a Ryan, a Hale and a Hales, a Billy and a Barry and a Ben. You had several versions of events as to who knew whom, who was drinking with whom, who had insulted whom and who had merely engaged in ‘banter’, a word that in modern Britain has to do an unconscionable amount of lifting. The reporting had constantly mixed up the Ryans as to who had which injury, who was in hospital, who had played which part in the fight, and whose mum had which stern words to say about it.
Let’s agree that from now Ryan Ali is Ryan One, the firefighter who ended up with a fractured eye socket and a cracked tooth. Ryan Two can be Ryan Hale, the soldier who scored concussion and facial lacerations. Mr Barry and Mr O’Connell are best known per The Sun as Kai and Billy. In scorecard parlance we’ll leave the cricketers as Stokes and Hales.
Amid the confusion, Stokes and his lawyers built his case in a straightforward way. The UK legal definition of affray is ‘if a person threatens or uses unlawful violence or force towards another person, which causes another person of reasonable firmness present at the scene to fear for their safety’. That means it doesn’t account for violence that harms a target, but violence that might frighten a theoretical bystander. The wiggle room for Stokes was with ‘unlawful’, because the charge excuses violence in defending oneself or others.
This interpretation hinged on the beginning of the video, where Ryan One waves a beer bottle about and takes a swing at Kai. The version from Stokes was that he was minding his own business walking down the street when he heard homophobic abuse. He intervened verbally and was threatened verbally by Ryan One – something that Ryan One denied but that couldn’t be proved or disproved. In fear for his safety Stokes had to nullify that threat by bashing Ryan One before it went the other way. He registered Ryan Two in his peripheral vision as another possible threat, and again had only one recourse.
Stokes also had to convince the jury to disregard testimony from Mbargo’s bouncer that he had been looking for a fight. A solid lump of a man, Andrew Cunningham had not enjoyed his patron’s attempts to get back into the club after the bouncer declined an offer of a bribe. ‘He got a bit verbally abusive towards myself. He mentioned my gold teeth and he said I looked like a cunt and I replied, “Thank you very much.” He just looked at me and told me my tattoos were shit and to look at my job.’ Cunningham described these words as coming in ‘a spiteful tone, quite an angry tone’, and said that Stokes still seemed angry as he walked away.
These were details the doorman had nothing to gain by inventing, but each of them Stokes denied. By his own accounting he had drunk a beer at the game and three pints at his hotel, then ‘potentially had some Jägerbombs’ along with half a dozen vodkas at the club. He insisted that after all of this he was not drunk.
If I may take a moment here to call upon the wisdom of experience – a person who cannot definitively say whether they have had any Jägerbombs has definitely had some Jägerbombs. A Jägerbomb is an experience that does not pass one by. Further to that, a person who says they have ‘potentially’ done something has definitely done that thing and doesn’t want to admit it. A person who has had between 15 and 24 standard drinks in one evening is shitfaced. A person who tries to bribe a bouncer £300 – three hundred quid! – to get into Mbargo – Mbargo! – is beyond shitfaced.
If Stokes admitted that he was drunk then the prosecution could say he was out of control. He claimed clear recall of assessing a threat, feeling fear and deciding to protect himself with force. He confidently denied details from the bouncer’s testimony, like using the word ‘cunt’ or mentioning gold teeth. Yet on other details he claimed a ‘significant memory blackout’. He didn’t remember the punch that saw Ryan One taken away by ambulance. He didn’t remember what the Ryans had said to Kai and Billy, only that those words were homophobic. With no head injury, as one of the few people who hadn’t been hit, he had supposedly suffered this memory loss despite being sober.
The version from Kai and Billy was compatible but vague: they had been walking along, they ‘heard … shouts’ of abuse from an unspecified source, then Stokes ‘stepped in’ and thus they avoided possible harm. They claimed to have been bought a drink by Stokes at Mbargo, although CCTV showed them meeting outside. The overall implication from both accounts was that the cricketers had been pals with Kai and Billy, while the Ryans as per The Sun’s headline were a roving band of thugs.
The reality though is that the Ryans were the ones hanging out with Kai and Billy at Mbargo. Police discussed CCTV from inside the club in questioning and at trial. On that footage the four Bristolians bought drinks for one another, danced together, and Kai was noted to have variously touched Ryan Two’s crotch and Ryan One’s buttock. Ryan One told police that all of this was taken lightheartedly and wasn’t a problem. Indeed, when the Ryans called it a night the other two left with them.
This much is clear from footage out the front of Mbargo, which shows Kai and Billy exit the club and start talking with a subdued Hales and a demonstrative Stokes, who are stuck outside. The vision was played in court to determine whether Stokes was antagonistic towards Kai and Billy, as he appears to impersonate them and to throw a lit cigarette their way. More interesting is that after a few minutes the Ryans emerge, and all six actors in the fight video briefly form a prequel in the one frame.
Ryan Two pats Billy on the chest in friendly fashion with his right hand before clapping him on the back with his left. He moves past and does the same to Kai before leaving the shot. Ryan One stops to speak to Kai. They lean in for a moment, talking, then Kai turns and they walk out of frame together. Billy hangs around for a few seconds at the door and then looks after them and races to catch up. Stokes and Hales remain outside the club to remonstrate further with the bouncers. Whatever discord develops around the corner is between four men who left amicably together minutes earlier.
There’s no way to know what caused that friction. If Ryan One did use homophobic slurs, he might have been drunkenly obnoxious for no reason. He might have had an insecure macho response to some extra flirtation. He might have thought unkindness was funny – ‘banter’ once again. Or he might have said something that was misunderstood, as both Ryans insisted in court that they had not used nor had the impulse to use any abusive language.
What clearly didn’t happen was an attack by bigots on random passers-by. This kind of crime is regular enough that an audience understands the horror of it, and this is what was evoked by the public accounts of Stokes, Billy and Kai. All we know is that there was some verbal dispute among the Bristol locals, and that Stokes came along behind them and put himself in the middle of it. Ryan One responded to the interference aggressively and away they went. There are plenty of reasons to look sideways at the idea that Stokes was a saviour. Foremost, neither Kai nor Billy was called upon as witnesses in court. You’d think it would be ideal to have Stokes’ story backed up by those who benefited from his selflessness. But his defence team had developed the impression that the pair had shown a changeable recall of events amid a hard-partying lifestyle, and would be dismantled by the prosecution on the stand.
That raises the question of whether The Sun coached their quotes for the 2017 interview. Despite missing court, Kai and Billy clearly enjoyed the attention. In 2018 after the trial they did a follow-up spread in the same paper about how poor Ben had been mistreated. They got a television spot on Good Morning Britain and glowed about his heroism. In 2019 The Sun wheeled them out once more to say that Stokes should get a knighthood. In 2017 they had ‘never watched cricket’ but by 2019 were supposedly volunteering sentences like, ‘He saved us, now he’s saved the Ashes.’ Whether they were paid for these appearances is not known, but the chance to be famous for a day can be lure enough.
If you find this cynical, consider that on the night in question, the Bristol boys were so deeply moved and thankful for Ben’s intervention that they left him to be arrested and never attempted to find out who he was. Seconds after the video ended, an off-duty policeman reached the scene. You might think that someone grateful to a saviour would speak on his behalf. Instead, said Kai, ‘it all got a bit scary so we walked off. It was too much for me and we went to Quigley’s takeaway for chicken burgers and cheesy chips.’ They didn’t give their hero a thought for over a month while police issued multiple appeals for witnesses.
As for Stokes, he told his arresting officer that ‘his friends’ had been attacked. After three minutes of chat outside a nightclub, these friends were so dear to him that he has never contacted them again: not after the newspaper piece, not after the verdict. He didn’t want to see how they were or thank them for their support. He didn’t mention them by name in his solicitor’s statement after the trial.
The Stokes defence rested on Ryan One’s bottle, which he had carried out of Mbargo to finish a beer, not to use in a Sharks versus Jets amateur production. But once he turned it over to hold it by the neck it became a weapon. Intent and interpretation can change the material nature of things. Part of Stokes’ justification in court was that the bottle implied that the two Ryans might have ‘other weapons’ hidden away. You can understand how a jury could decide that created doubt.
Not being convicted, though, doesn’t give the contents of the video a big green tick. It does not, as his lawyer claimed, vindicate Stokes. Looking in detail, Ryan One is belligerent but his movements telegraph a bluff. Hales is the person he’s gesturing at, but they’re several metres apart when Ryan One cocks his arm ostentatiously, showing off the bottle rather than bracing to swing. He skips forward but Hales skips back and Ryan One doesn’t follow. Kai stretches out an arm to impede Ryan One, who has a drunken stumble, nearly eats pavement, then staggers towards Kai and hits him in the back. That hand is still holding the bottle, but his strike is a side-arm cuff on a soft part of the body. It’s all pretty tame.
This is where Stokes gets involved. Having moved across to protect Hales, he now takes three large steps to run around Kai and booms his first punch at Ryan One. They fall to the ground and the bottle clinks away. Stokes gets to his feet to punch down at the fallen man, while Hales arrives to kick him ineffectively then runs off across the street for some unknown reason. Ice-cream van? Stokes is soon back in the grapple having his shirt pulled up to show off his Durham tan. Ryan Two steps in for the first time to pull Stokes away, prompting a couple more random punches at this new target, then Stokes trips backwards over Ryan One and sprawls in the street. Hales chooses this moment to return and aim some solid kicks at the head of the man on the ground. Nothing so far is a triumph of moral philosophy or the pugilistic arts. But if it all stopped here, perhaps you could say it was somewhere approaching fair. Ryan One has behaved like a turnip and it’s not an entirely unjust world that would give him a whack across the chops. The antagonists have disentangled, Stokes has some distance, it’s time to dust off and go home. Ryan Two steps forward for this purpose with his palm raised in conciliatory style and says, ‘Settle down, stop.’
So Stokes punches him.
It’s roughly his fifth punch overall, and he really winds up into this one. He misses so hard that he stumbles away into the shadows of the shop awnings along the road.
Hales starts shouting for him to stop. Ryan Two backs into the street, still holding his palm up. Stokes closes on him from about five metres away, six large steps, to where Ryan Two is standing on his own. Stokes pushes him a couple of times, as Ryan Two keeps trying to placate him and saying ‘Stop.’ Stokes throws his sixth punch, largely missing as his target ducks.
Ryan Two keeps pulling away and reversing, into the middle of the street now. Stokes follows him, grabbing his sleeve to drag him back. By this point Ryan One has found his feet and walked around behind his friend. Both of them are in the same line of sight for Stokes, and both are backing away. Stokes aims his seventh and his eighth punches, which Ryan Two tries to deflect, as Hales walks up behind Stokes to grab him.
Stokes yanks away from his friend and switches to Ryan One instead, taking seven paces to grab him before throwing his ninth punch of the night. He grabs again; Ryan One blocks that arm and pushes himself back away from Stokes. Ryan Two again intercedes, putting himself between the two with his palms up and his arm extended.
Stokes throws his tenth punch, a right-hander at the face of Ryan Two, then shoves him backwards. Ryan Two backs away once more, four paces. Stokes follows, steadies, lines up, then launches his strongest punch yet, his eleventh, a proper right hook from a solid base, one that cracks across the man’s head and gives him concussion. Ryan Two ends up flat on his back in the middle of the street, his hands still outstretched for a moment in useless protest until they twitch and drop to the blacktop.
Stokes isn’t done. He once more shoves away the restraining Hales and follows Ryan One, who keeps backing away saying, ‘Alright, alright, alright.’ Five more paces from Stokes before another blow at the man’s head. Kai and Billy are now standing over the poleaxed Ryan Two. The video ends, but seconds later Stokes will punch Ryan One hard enough to knock him out too, before off-duty cop Andrew Spure arrives on the scene to bring down the curtain. When the body-camera footage kicks in some minutes later, Stokes is in handcuffs but Ryan One is still laid out in the street. Ryan Two has regained consciousness, folded his shirt under his friend’s head and is asking police for an ambulance.
‘At this point, I felt vulnerable and frightened. I was concerned for myself and others.’ This was how Stokes described that sequence to the court. An elite athlete with years of gym work and training to snap a bat through the line of a ball with astounding power and precision, swinging fists as hard as he can at men with none of those advantages. Punching so hard that he breaks his hand, and repeatedly shoving away a friend so he can punch some more. Frightened and threatened by two targets shouting ‘Get back!’ and ‘Stop!’
The off-duty officer testified that Stokes ‘seemed to be the main aggressor or was progressing forward trying to get to’ Ryan One, who was ‘trying to back away or get away from the situation’. The student who filmed the video can be heard on the tape at one stage exclaiming ‘Fuck!’ and testified that it was because ‘I felt a little bit sorry about the lad that had been punched and it looked like he had his hands up’. That tallied with the prosecutor’s depiction of ‘a sustained episode of significant violence that left onlookers shocked at what was taking place’.
The defendant stuck to his strategy. ‘No, my sole focus was to protect myself.’ All up, in the 33 seconds of footage after he falls over, Stokes takes 35 steps forward to keep hitting two men who keep trying to get away. Not once is he hit back.
After the verdict, Stokes’ solicitor positioned him as the victim. It had been ‘an eleven-month ordeal for Ben … The jury’s decision fairly reflects the truth of what happened that night … He was minding his own business … It was only when others came under threat that Ben became physically engaged. The steps that he took were solely aimed at ensuring the safety of himself and the others present …’ The statement was impossibly self-righteous and self-absorbed.
If there was anyone to feel sorry for it was Ryan Hale, the second of our two Ryans. He’s the one who emerged from the club with a friendly arm around the shoulder for Kai and Billy. He’s the one who interposed himself to end the fight, then kept putting himself back in the firing line, trying to calm an intimidating stranger while dodging blows. For his show of restraint he got laid out regardless, concussed in the street, then was issued a criminal charge equal to that of the man who hit him, and described in national media as a violent bigot in an untested story to support that man’s defence.
Lawyers for Ryan Two made a more convincing post-trial statement, noting that Kai and Billy, ‘neither of whom were relied upon by the prosecution or the defence team for Mr Stokes, have taken the opportunity to speak with various media outlets about the alleged homophobic abuse that they received in the early hours of September 25. Mr Hale has passionately denied this allegation throughout the course of this case,’ it continued.
‘It is upsetting to Mr Hale that although he was acquitted, the accusation that he was the author of such abuse remains. Both Mr Hale and Mr Ali were knocked unconscious by Mr Stokes, and although Mr Stokes has been acquitted of an affray, Mr Hale struggles with the reasons why the Crown Prosecution Service did not treat him as a victim of an unlawful assault.’Good question. Avon and Somerset police were the investigating force, and they were frustrated by the decision. Ryan Two was filmed clearly not hurting anyone, but police were instructed by the CPS to proceed with a charge. Hales (the cricketer) was filmed fighting but ‘a decision was made at a senior level of the CPS’ not to proceed. Police expected Stokes to be charged with assault but the CPS declined. It doesn’t take a wild cynic to think that placing the same lukewarm charge on three men for vastly divergent behaviour might ensure that none would be convicted, even as the trial would maintain the pretence that a defendant of influential standing had not been given a free pass.
A couple of years down the line, the original interview with Kai and Billy has disappeared. All traces have been scrubbed from The Sun website, its social media history, and even from the Wayback Machine internet archive. Given its headline of ‘homophobic thugs’ and text that names Ryan Two but not Ryan One, the libel liability isn’t hard to spot. Later interviews with Kai and Billy take the passive voice – they ‘suffered homophobic slurs outside a Bristol nightclub’.
The article that was once claimed to exonerate brave Ben Stokes now links only to a missing content page, with a picture of a dropped ice-cream cone and the phrase ‘legal removal’ inserted into the web URL. In terms of consequences, Stokes missed one tour. When he resumed his career in January 2018, the Australians hadn’t yet ruined theirs. Their year-long bans looked much more stringent. But the Stokes case dragged on in other ways. With no criminal liability, the Australians confessed promptly enough for the sporting world to give them the full length of the lash. Their situation was ugly but there was closure. Stokes got stuck in legal stasis, unable to be fully backed or condemned. Instead his issue was always present, a browser full of open tabs that the ECB swore they would read any day now.
Through 2018 Stokes was back but he wasn’t back, in the sunglasses and finger-guns sense. In his return one-day series he nearly cost England a match with 39 from 73 balls in Wellington. His first Test hit was a duck as England got rolled in Auckland for 58. At Trent Bridge while Stokes was injured, England posted a world record 481 against Australia. With Stokes three weeks later at the same ground they made 268. He crawled to 50 from 103, the second-slowest any Englishman had reached that milestone in 20 years. That span covered Alastair Cook’s whole career. It was apologetic batting, acting out responsibility via the scorecard. Stokes was creeping back into the team like he’d been kicked out in a blazing row and was hoping to tip-toe to the sofa.
It was December 2018 before the ECB disciplinary committee ruled on him and Hales. In a ‘remarkable coincidence’, wrote Simon Heffer in The Telegraph, ‘the punishment both players faced in terms of bans from playing at international level was covered by the amount of games they had already missed when dropped by England’s selectors, in the furore that followed the incident’. The verdict compounded the omissions around the case by not addressing the violence at its heart. Nor did Stokes, apologising only ‘to my team-mates, coaches and support staff’, and then ‘to England supporters and to the public for bringing the game into disrepute’.
The implicit next step was to rebuild that reputation. It might have been easier had his court defence not meant that he wasn’t game to admit any fault at all. It might have been easier if he or his advisers had been willing to change tack once the trial was done. Imagine a world where Stokes had stood outside court and apologised for overreacting, for the injuries he’d caused, and for the time and energy he had sucked out of other people’s lives. That would have been a show of responsibility beyond a scorecard. When the time came around to assess forgiveness, it might have meant forgiveness was deserved.