As the most beloved brand in hockey, the Toronto Maple Leafs have many obligations to their fans. One of these obligations is media availability. Today the press are waiting to speak to Mike Babcock, the head coach of the team. Hundreds of sweaty journalists are corralled before a podium on a high stage. Only a reinforced chain-link fence keeps the throng from spreading onto the stage itself. The media is currently calm, savouring the anticipation of the moment.

Backstage the coach himself is not calm. Mike paces back and forth. He hates these scrums, hates having to justify his decisions to people who don’t understand the will and the vision it takes to build something great. Unable to delay any longer the coach says a quick prayer under his breath.

“Dear God and Lord Stanley thank you for bringing me here to Toronto and please help Steven Stamkos find his way home.”

Stepping out onto the stage Mike is staggered by the stench coming off the greasy mass of unwashed humanity that clamours in front of him.

High above the stage, Lou Lamoriello laughs. “Ha, he looks like he just ate a shit berry.” Lou is sitting on the catwalk constructed over the stage. Brendan Shanahan and Kyle Dubas sit with him keeping a watch on the crowd.

“Be quiet,” says Brendan. “It’s about to start.”

The media are getting restless. A low snarl has started to reverberate throughout the crowd. Suddenly the journalists all snap to attention as Steve Keogh, the Toronto Maple Leafs director of media relations, walks onto the stage. Steve looks out over the crowd briefly and then pulls a cordless microphone from his pocket. The media all lock hungry eyes on it. Steve wastes no time in hurling the mike over the fence and into the throng. Chaos erupts from the crowd as Steve leaves the stage.

Mike watches patiently as the mob boils in a frenzy of violent madness. At last one journalist pulls away from the pack with the microphone. A surprisingly respectful hush falls on the crowd as the journalist asks his question.

“Why are you coaching this team to go for wins when everyone knows that you are not going to win the Cup this year? Shouldn’t you be trying to lose so that the team can have a higher draft pick?”

“Take him out.” Brendan says from above. Kyle had been aiming his Toronto Maple Leaf sniper rifle at the journalist from the moment he emerged with the mic and he takes the shot. The silenced round hits the journalist directly in the heart killing him instantly. Mike answers the question as the press scramble over the corpse to grab at the microphone.

“Look, I don’t think about draft position. I want to pick thirtieth every year because that means we won it all. Now, you say we can’t win the Cup with this team, I say we take it one day at a time and we try to win the next game coming up. Maybe this team isn’t the best team in the league on paper, you would know that better than me. I don’t watch the paper, I watch the ice. I see a team that competes, that wants to work real hard for each other and I’m really proud of this group.”

Another journalist emerges from the pack holding the microphone high in triumph before asking her question. “How can Jonathan Bernier get his game back into shape if he is only playing one game out of a dozen?”

“Fire.” Brendan says, looking down on the crowd.

Another perfect shot takes down the journalist and again the press go into a frenzy as each reporter tries to get control of the mic.

“I don’t know if your math is right.” Mike answers, not caring that the person who asked the question is dead. “I don’t look back and count games played, I pick the guy I think will give the team the best chance to win that night. As far as Bernie is concerned, he just needs to keep being a pro. That means work hard and wait for your opportunity. That’s the great thing about professional sport, and one of the hardest things too, you never know when you’ll get your chance, you just have to be as ready as possible when in comes. That’s true for goalies, defence, forwards, even coaches. This is the best league in the world. It’s not easy to make your living in it and no one can take their opportunity for granted. Period. Is that it?” As Mike looks out over the mob no reporter has taken control of the microphone yet. He waits for a heart beat. “Okay, thanks.” And with that the coach turns and leaves the stage without looking back.

“Uh-oh” Kyle says, looking through his sniper sight as a reporter finally takes the mic.

“Drop him.” Says Brendan, but he is too late.

Kyle fires and the reporter drops but not before the media notice that the coach is gone. The microphone falls, unnoticed, to the floor. A low growl emerges from the mob, a growl that increases in volume until it is a roar. The reporters all rush at the fence and start to shake it furiously.

Brendan grabs his nearby walkie-talkie. “Go Leafs! Go!” He says with urgency.

Several Toronto Maple Leafs step out from behind the stage. The players, all wearing Toronto Maple Leaf riot gear, are armed with Toronto Maple Leaf assault rifles. With a robotic precision the Leafs spread out along the stage and open fire into the throng. The media recoil for a moment, then their rage intensifies and they rush the fence again.

The Leafs mow down dozens of raging reporters. From his perch above, Kyle snipes at the largest and most aggressive of the media. Beside him Lou laughs with glee as he lobs grenades into the throng. The GM had struggled with the sack full of explosives on the way to his perch but it was all worth it as he watches body parts get blasted in every direction. Soon the battle is over as the survivors in the mob flee. All that is left of the media is a steaming bloody pile of body parts.

Tyler Bozak raises his rifle and bellows in triumph. “Toronto Maple Leafs!”

“Hoo-ah!” The other players bellow in answer.

Suddenly the heap of corpses shudders. The Leafs all train their rifles on the pile as a sickly groan emanates from all around them. The lights flicker for a moment. Smoke rises from the center of the room. Thicker and thicker it swirls around and around, forming a small funnel cloud.

“Stay focused.” Brendan Shanahan says over his walkie-talkie.

“That’s what it’s all about.” Nazem Kadri’s voice is as cool as ever as he replies. The Leafs keep their rifles steady as they watch with growing concern as reality takes a backseat and horror is born from the corpses of the dead.

From within the smoky twister a massive arm reaches out. It is a thing of blood and bone, grinning skulls form the elbow, shattered femurs make sharp claws at the end of long fingers that smack wetly onto the floor. Another arm emerges, and with it a head. The thing has one bulbous eye, the split halves of several rib cages serve as jagged teeth in its hideous mouth. The bloated media corpse beast screams a piercing cry recalling the death knell of every body that is its body.

The Toronto Maple Leafs open fire.

“That’s huge!” Says Jake Gardiner.

The creature soaks up the bullet fire as if it were a gentle breeze. Its arms push against the floor and the horrific media corpse beast pulls itself out of the nightmare ether into the physical world.

Kyle fires round after round into the things one eye, piercing it each time, but the monster does not seem to notice. Lou pulls the pin on one grenade than hurls the entire sack into the repulsive media corpse beasts mouth. The monster swallows and a second later the entire lower half of it explodes showering the Leafs in blood and viscera.

Still intact, the head, shoulders, and arms of the wounded media corpse beast scurries toward the stage.

“Just gotta keep shooting!” James van Riemsdyk yells.

The terrifying media corpse beast lashes out with one arm, reaching over the fence to smash into the stage with an earth shaking force. The Leafs dive out of the way and scramble beyond the reach of those hideous claws.

“Keep it going!” Shawn Matthias’s voice rings out above the chaos. The Leafs take aim at the head and pour fire into it from either side of the room. Kyle adds to the assault, as does Lou, who immediately regrets wasting all his grenades  as he pulls out his 9mm pistol. Brendan has finally gotten his Toronto Maple Leaf proto-nuclear devastator cannon primed and he braces himself against a railing as he shouts at the monster.

“Simmons!!!”

The filthy media corpse beast looks up at the president and seems to shout back. “Shanahan!” But the cannon fires and every man in the room is overwhelmed by the power that envelopes the monster. An endless moment passes before senses begin to return. The burnt husk of the media corpse beast is still.

One Leaf takes off his riot helmet and approaches the thing. He puts his boot to the head which crumbles into an ashy heap. Grinning broadly James Reimer looks at his president. “We won.” He says.