Brendan Shanahan, Mark Hunter, Kyle Dubas, and Lou Lamoriello are wrapping up another long day of work on the forty-first floor of Toronto Maple Leaf Tower. Brendan sips a glass of wine as he listens to his team. Mark is doing bicep curls with a bag full of nickels. Lou is blinking rapidly, amusing himself with the resulting strobe effect. Kyle checks his phone before speaking.

“Last item today; Garth Snow left another message. He says he has proof that the trade he agreed to was only three prospects for Grabner. He is claiming you used some sort of voodoo or witchcraft to add the other two guys.”

“Tell Garth a deal is a deal, no take backs. And also, don’t forget to have my livestock guy send a dozen lamb’s to Baton Rouge. It’s real important they get to a blind pirate named Wink before the new moon rises.” Lou says.

All the lights turn off without warning, flooding the room in darkness. Almost immediately an alarm starts blaring and the emergency lighting activates. All four men are standing, but only Brendan acts. His presidential powers allow him to use the building’s control system with his phone. The first thing he does is turn down the volume of the alarm. Next he accesses the external cameras. Several of them have been damaged, but from the few that still work Brendan can see what is happening. A crowd of people has surrounded the tower. Although there is no audio, the rage of the mob is hard to miss. They are clawing at the concrete and smashing their bodies against the reinforced windows, desperate to get inside. Dozens of filthy corpses litter the ground in front of the main entrance. Brendan watches, appalled, as the horde surges forward. The camera angle does not allow him to see what is happening inside, but the attack is pushed back quickly, the carpet of dead growing thicker at the entrance.

“It’s a total media frenzy! I’m going to call Jeff to find out what it’s all about.” Brendan tries several times before Jeff O’Neil finally answers.

“Brendo, are you okay, it’s a nightmare out here man.”

“What set them off O-Dog?”

“There’s a rumour going around that Lou is going to ban donuts at press conferences. Everybody is going ballistic. It’s not true is it?”

“No, it’s not true, we would never be stupid enough to try something like that. Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’ve started a new fitness program so I was able to fight my way free.”

“Okay, keep your head down buddy. Shanahan out.” Hanging up, Brendan walks over to the bar. He puts down his glass of wine and picks up the bottle. From his suit pocket he pulls out a throwing knife. “We all knew this day was coming. It’s only going to get worse when the regular season starts. Let’s go make this a safe place for our players.”

“Finally” says Lou, as he pulls a shotgun from one of his desk drawers. Mark’s left eye is twitching as he tightens his grip on the bag of nickels. Kyle has lost his usual happy grin but makes no overt move to arm himself.

Mike Babcock bursts into the room just then, holding a bloody spear. Everyone tenses for a split second. Lou almost fires at the coach but restrains himself with an effort.

Staring at Lou as though reading his mind, Mike speaks to Brendan. “Just wanted to give you guys an update. We got real lucky this time. A couple hundred reporters attacked but the other coaches and I were able to hold them off at the Main doors. The largest group of them tried to get behind us through the park grounds but something out there spooked them because they all ran away pretty quick. We’ve been tossing donuts at the mob out front and that seems to have eased some of the tension.”

“Good work Mike. We were just on our way down. We can help you sweep the building, make sure there wasn’t any breach.”

“Great, can we just say it one time for luck?”

The five men bow their heads. After a moment of silence they speak in unison as if the words were a spell. And maybe words do hold the power to create.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley, thank you for bringing us together here in Toronto and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.”

“Let’s go meet the press.” Lou says, pumping a round into the chamber of his shotgun.

Far below, Joffrey Lupul, James Van Riemsdyk and Nazem Kadri are doing their best to ignore the commotion. They are playing an intense game of ‘Hungry Hungry Hippos’ and the stakes are high. Without warning, a metal grill falls from the ceiling. All three players stare at the skinny legs hanging from the exposed vent duct. With a pathetic little grunt, the rest of the filth covered body drops down, landing heavily on the floor.

The reporter’s clothes are ragged and so dirty that whatever colour they might have been is lost. His long greasy hair hangs in threads in front of his face. Wild eyes dart around the room, never landing on any one thing. A thin strand of drool hangs from the corner of his mouth; it thickens as the lips curl into a demented grin. The three Maple Leafs stand as far away from the grotesque figure as they can.

One emaciated claw of a hand grips a digital recorder tightly. As this hand extends toward the frightened group, the other hand starts to scratch at a rash covered neck.

“Who will be the leading scorer on this team now that Phil’s gone?” The question is not directed at anyone specifically. No one answers for a moment. Rage flashes on the reporter’s ugly face and he takes a step closer. Nazem blurts out his answer as the three huddle closer together.

“At the end of the day it doesn’t come down to one person. Everyone needs to do a little bit more.” He can’t hide the tremor of fear in his voice.

The reporter seems to savour the answer as though it were a taste of fine wine. He wiggles with revolting delight before asking another question. “Can Mike Babcock fix this team?”

This time it’s James who answers, standing tall in the face of this depraved apparition. “He brings that instant credibility with him. He’s been part of a lot of winning programs.”

Nazem and Joffrey try to use the distraction to edge closer to the door, but the reporter springs across the room with the speed of a flea and lands on his hands and feet. A malicious grin spreads wide as he holds out his digital recorder again.

“How are the practices going? I hear Mike can get a little boring.”

Joffrey is getting angry but he knows better than to provoke the media. “He’s not drawing everything out. He’s kind of describing what he wants, then we do it. And if there’s something that can be improved on, he’s stopping and teaching then.”

The reporter’s eyes roll back into his head and an orgasmic shudder ripples through his frame. Before another question can be asked, the door to the room crashes open and a bag full of nickels hits the reporter hard in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor. Mark Hunter and Kyle Dubas stride into the room.

“Is everyone okay?” Asks Kyle.

“I’m excited,” says Nazem, the terror of the moment fading.

“We’re excited.” James says, also choosing to ignore this brush with true insanity.

Only Joffrey speaks with his real feelings. “Bit of a nightmare for us.” His eyes are locked on the twitching reporter on the floor. “Nothing but fond memories.” He says with a sigh. A far off look passes the Leafs face, pain from years gone by.

Mark stands over the body. His throw had shattered several bones but the reporter is not dead. With one hand Mark reaches down and fixes this with a squeeze and a snap. The journalist seems to weigh nothing as Mark tosses his corpse into the hall.

“Have you seen anymore?” Kyle asks.

“I don’t understand the question.” James answers.

“Media. Have you seen anymore media?”

“No!” All three answer loudly.

“We’re just trying to focus.” James says as the players turn back to the Hungry Hippos.

Kyle shakes his head. “It’s getting late. Are you guys almost done?”

“We’re just getting started here.” Joffrey answers without looking up.

“Just be ready to go.” The players do not respond. Kyle and Mark leave them to their game. The tower is nearly clear. Just another day in Leaf nation.