All or Nothing: Fallout (c) vs. Frank Mortlock (Elite X Championship) (No DQ)

[Harthan]

Deadline is Thursday, April 24th at 11:59PM Central. Extensions available on request.

 

[Richard Blonoff]

Deadline has been extended by 24 hours

 

[Dan Severn's Moustache]

VENI, VIDI, VICI​

The most deleterious instrument of warfare is the one that can dispense the maximum measurement of damage. It is the one that cannot be withstood or repulsed. It is the one that exhibits its malevolence to all that exists in this world. This weapon is far more obliterating than any military apparatus, any pandemic or even the evil that men inflict upon the scorched earth.

That weapon is time.

Time is a feral, intolerant beast who feasts upon every atom of the infested universe at a perpetual rate, desisting for nothing until the oblivion of all crafted existence has been mutually assured. Everything exposed to time is destined to perish to his influence.

It cannot be quelled.

But it can be disciplined.

Time must fight lawfully, gradually destroying all before it, but time can also manifest itself into a catalyst to hasten the devastation it forges. The one who possesses the celestial armament of time is guaranteed to eradicate all of their desired enemies. With time at their side, a man could become a god.

And time had found solitude in the uncrowned WZCW World Heavyweight Champion.

Time's catalyst was the planet's first super-soldier Fallout.

***​

Darker than the calignosity of nightfall itself, the macabre amelioration that was Fallout squatted vigilantly upon the Utah highland surveying the scenic landscape, his judicious vision incising the crepuscule before him. As he continued his skilful surveillance over the panorama, the advanced gladiator withdrew an electronic radar from his entrenching pocket and placed it before his pervading gaze. Briefly observing the device, Fallout deduced that he had arrived at his anticipated destination.

The irradiated warrior deposited the radar into his engrossing pouch once more, as Fallout tentatively re-evaluated his predetermined modus operandi for that determining night. For far too elongated a time, Dmitri Zaytsev's role as a botheration was ever-present. He was the sole menace that proposed a hazard to Fallout's subjugation. Despite the acquisition of the consummate SPECIAL formula, Fallout would ensure Zaytsev's elimination with a precise, nimble sucker punch assault on his covert base of operations. With Zaytsev's collapse, so too would the Spetsnaz civil war, and with it meticulous aggravation and distraction for Fallout.

As Fallout prepared to motion towards Zaytsev's fortress, he voiced his concluding statement.

"Tonight, I march into the jaws of darkness." he snarled with venomous malevolence. "But I do not enter as the lusturous glow in the darkness, but rather as the eclipsing shadow, swallowing all the 'good' and evil that comes into my vicinity. For an exorbitant duration, Dmitri Zaytsev has slipped through the claws of justice, but now they savagely strangle him, as justice enters in for its highly coveted kill.

With the routing of Zaytsev comes the conclusion of the intricate civil war. Oleg Yeltsin's forces are crippled beyond repair, and to launch an assault on me would not only be audacious, but it would seem that Yeltsin would be in the possession of a death wish. It is his victory, but I can modify that expeditiously into his demise.

But when one war is settled, another rears its head to strike. My annihilation of WZCW's disposable heroes and villains has transpired without its qualms until the prior Meltdown, for I underestimated just how reckless this rash detective was. It would seem that he was reckless enough to stun me momentarily, but he was not swift enough to prevent me from escaping with my championship, which is where the prime fault in humanity lies: They can only momentarily handicap my ascension at best. Frank Mortlock masquerades as justice incarnate, and that shielded him from my preceding onslaught, but at All or Nothing, he will learn to understand that justice sides with no man. The true form of justice will rise up and extinguish him and his claim to my Elite X Championship once and for all.

But my turmoil does not cease with the slaying of Frank Mortlock. The scavenger Constantine successfully tugged at strings to reap his desired reward: A chance to quell my destruction. It appears that since his return, Constantine has been mud-slinging from behind the wall, voicing his dissatisfaction for my dominance. But at All or Nothing, that wall will be taken away from him, and it shall become more conspicuous than before that he is not the puppet master, but rather a marionette for Showtime himself. He is not cognizant with the cold fact that Showtime is using him as a tool to guide his own crusade. Constantine regards himself to be in regulation of my fate, but he isn't even in control of his own. And at All or Nothing, he will develop a superior understanding of my dominance when I reach the pinnacle of my arduous gauntlet.

But my role as the sentinel of the Elite X Championship will have to be temporarily sidelined tonight, for I set about stitching together loose ends. Dmitri Zaytsev will fall, and with it, his dreams of a proficient army of super-soldiers."

With his declaration crafted, Fallout launched himself from his position and began to creep conscientiously down the muddy mound he was seated upon. At the nadir of the hill, Fallout detected a colossal, susceptible crevice in the earth leading to the catacombs where Zaytsev was located. As he continued his approach, a cacophony suddenly erupted from below him. Distinguishing danger, Fallout rapidly began to excavate the earth to construct a cavernous trench for refuge as the dissonance advanced towards him. After half a minute of clawing at the terrain, Fallout comprehended that he had built a solid bunker and he promptly scrambled into his creation. He was not a moment too soon.

Escalating from the fissure in the landscape was an armada of helicopters, each as devastating as the last and each swarming with insurgency combatants. They began to congregate like locust, oblivious to Fallout's reticent presence as they drifted above him, their discord ringing in his ears. They nonchalantly turned northwards before disbanding slightly as they accelerated in the septentrional direction. As Fallout reluctantly lay in the gravel, he observed his squalid hands from palm to ubulus, and made the judgement that over the course of the past few months that they had developed into pernicious, desolating claws. The claws had developed a thirst for humans, and with his failure to eliminate Frank Mortlock a week prior, they deteriorated into a parched state and Zaytsev would undergo the sincere horror of being their quenching victim.

With the coast clear, Fallout retired from his preserving ravine and continued towards the surreptitious encampment of Dmitri Zaytsev. Once in the proximity of the crevice, Fallout began to adjudicate the best means of transport into the rebellion's bunker. Suddenly, in the middle of his scrupulous calculation, a gargantuan titanium door began to swiftly slide shut, effectively to seal the bunker from intrusion. Hastening his decision making process, Fallout plunged into the crater, entering free-fall as he began to endure every portion of his body for impact. As the frigid air ran across his streamlined body, Fallout noticed another metal entrance sealing beneath him. At this point during his extended plummet, Fallout saw the plastic syringe he had confiscated from Oleg Yeltsin rising out of the depths of his pocket and aviating alongside him. Fallout attempted to clutch it in mid-air, but the syringe flew out of his reach as the doors continued to fasten together at an alarming rate.

Fallout pushed himself forward with ferocity towards his destination, out-speeding the callous, unforgiving doors. He clasped one hand on the door as the distance between them narrowed, leaving him hanging in a precarious location as he awaited for the critical syringe. As his hands fumbled on the alloy, he turned his head to meet the gaze of an insurgency security officer housed in the hangar he had entered, unarmed at that moment in time. The security officer stood still, temporarily paralysed by the unforeseen appearance of the original super-soldier as Fallout continued to frantically claw the metal in search of the syringe. Finally, he grasped the needle and allowed himself to drop to the solid ground below and set about incapacitating the guard, who sped to sound the alarm to alert his attentive comrades. Whilst the guardian had an advantage in terms of distance, this benefit was promptly neutralized due to Fallout's agility. But as the guard fell unconscious to the floor, his limp hand fell upon the alarm, activating the device and emitting a loud wail audible throughout the entirety of the bunker.

His mind racing, Fallout perceived heavy, brisk footsteps from all angles. His eyesight fell upon a large cardboard box next to the flickering neon alarm bulb. With no logical options for concealment in reach, Fallout placed himself under the flimsy crate just as the first remnants of the insurgency guardians flowed into the room.

As the number of troops in the hangar expanded considerably, each with instructions to search and destroy, so too did the danger of Fallout making his move. Silently, he poked two holes into the container to grant him a coherent vision of the scene. The vast hangar somewhat obviated the sentience of the armed guardians that patrolled the hangar. After analysing the repetitive pattern of the sentries, Fallout resolved the best method of escape in his cranium. As another group passed him, unaware of his presence, Fallout scuttled across the floor briefly, the box enveloping him, whilst no guards paid attention until the next assembly of guards cast their surveillance over the vicinity. This prudent process took place several times before Fallout successfully came into contact with a ventilation unit. Monitoring the hangar a final time to survey the clear coast, Fallout slipped out of the box and into the heated vent.

Once inside the vent, Fallout desperately crawled the grating steel as he made his progress through the metal tunnels. Fallout sought out the rebellion's laborotory, for he knew that Dmitri Zaytsev would be omnipresent within until his chimera army was integrated. Fallout scrambled his way through the anfractuous labyrinth, as he felt as if he was balancing on a razor's edge. After an onerous journey, Fallout punted another ventilation outlet open and coiled professionally into the laborotory.

Inside, various concoctions housed in vials bubbled vigorously, each vial half-empty, indicating prior usage. As Fallout continued his analysis of the scientific apparatus, he found that each flask connected to a sarcophagus shaped station in the center of the room, and it immediately became apparent to Fallout: Dmitri Zaytsev was now a super-soldier.

"You!" erupted a savage hiss from behind Fallout, who swivelled his slender frame around to encounter Dmitri Zaytsev.

Spoiler

"The terminal vigilante makes his move." Dmitri Zaytsev growled with disdain, lowering his right hand. "But your move is to effectively surrender to the predator."

"No." Fallout retorted, standing steadfastly. "My move is to sabotage, your army and your ambitions once and for all."

"And thus you demonstrate why you were the original." Dmitri Zaytsev scoffed loudly, strolling towards Fallout with great valor. "You were built to be improved upon, and I am the unmistakable evidence of this. Not only has the SPECIAL formula been enhanced, but it has also been blessed with the inclusion of a self-healing serum running through my veins."

"Doctor Holender was kind enough to tell me that." Fallout responded solemnly.

"And he was also kind enough to produce you a killswitch." Zaytsev crooned proudly, continuing his advancement towards Fallout.

"Indeed." Fallout clarified, withdrawing the syringe from his pocket and allowing it to enter Zaytsev's field of vision. "And it's fitting, for you will be my kill tonight."

With that said, Fallout lunged ruthlessly at Zaytsev's neck, but was instantaneously intercepted by his foe as Zaytsev initiated a vice-grip on the Elite X Champion's wrist. The expressionless stares of both soldiers fell upon the other as Zaytsev expressed his disapproval.

"No." Zaytsev whispered callously into Fallout's ear. "Tonight comes the passing of the torch. With my advent comes your demise, for there is no place for the inferior in this earth."

Having made his bold statement, Zaytsev tossed Fallout across the lab like a supple ragdoll, sending him crashing over numerous tables, tangling himself in surgical tubing lying on the desks. Picking himself up off the glacial tiling and searching for his syringe to no avail, Fallout graded the scenario in his mind; there was no conceivable way he could best Zaytsev.

Before he could even begin to formulate a strategy, Fallout was viscously struck in the back of his hardened skull by an accurate boot from Dmitri Zaytsev. Collapsing to the ground, nearly asphyxiated due to the surgical tubing constricted around his body, Fallout struggled to rise once again, Dmitri Zaytsev's sinister, placid scrutiny evident in front of him. Using the entirety of his remaining endurance, Fallout unleashed a torrent of furious kicks and punches towards Dmitri Zaytsev, dispensing the maximum amount of violence he was capable of. And yet, Zaytsev was unmoved by his unrelenting fury. He retorted to Fallout's violence by seizing the end of his medical hosiery and impaling it deep into Fallout's stomach, before immobilizing Fallout onto the ground with a turbulent roundhouse kick.

As he tumbled haplessly to the pitiless ground again, elements of terror began to exhibit itself within Fallout. He turned upwards to face the prevailing figure of Dmitri Zaytsev. He was unbeatable in unarmed warfare. Realising that fear would impair his thought process, Fallout sought out the syringe, keen to out-think his nemesis. He clumsily rolled to face the syringe in the distance and the gap began to clear between the two entities. But as progress was starting to be made, Dmitri Zaytsev quickly scavenged the needle from the ground. Observing the wounded Fallout, he formulated a fitting execution in his intellectually enhanced mind. Rushing towards Fallout carelessly, Zaytsev clasped his palm around Fallout's windpipe, strangling the irradiated gladiator. Hoisting the loaded syringe over his head for utmost impact, Zaytsev pompously addressed Fallout for the final time.

"I am stronger than you. I am more perceptive than you. I possess more endurance than you. I craft more emotion within my foes. My mind is superior to yours. My haste surpasses yours. And it appears that your omnipresent luck has been overshadowed by my own, Viktor Petrov. Your service is no longer required in this world. Now...sleep."

Zaytsev brought the syringe down into Fallout's throbbing neck as Fallout attempted to struggle out of Zaytsev's clutches, but to no avail. Relishing Fallout's rare exhibition of fear, Zaytsev pressed the plunger of the syringe downwards, successfully allowing the killswitch to enter Fallout's blood stream, as Fallout anxiously awaited for the serum to take its calamitous effect.

But it did not occur.

Zaytsev appeared confused, and whilst his intent was to take a step backwards to survey the carnage raging within Fallout, he found himself unable to do so due to an unknown ensnarement.

Then he caught sight of the serum flowing through the surgical tubing, from Fallout to him.

Fallout gauged his view, and analysed the tubing himself. He had escaped certain doom by a incomprehensible fraction, just like he had done so in the past. Then it dawned upon Fallout.

"Luck is the glue that holds every element of SPECIAL together, something you failed to recognize." Fallout lectured, his confidence returning ever so slightly. "And more importantly, luck can only exist as an origination. It cannot be replicated. I don't believe you understand why Viktor Petrov, a dead man was chosen to be the initial subject for Project SPECIAL?"

"Why?" Zaytsev mouthed drowsily, the serum beginning to take its malicious effect.

"Because Viktor Petrov possessed luck like no other man." Fallout purred, his morale revitalized. "And he carried that from his death into myself, the last soldier standing today."

With the serum completely drained from his system, Fallout severed the bondage between him and the languishing Zaytsev, with Fallout mounting the position of dominion as he awaited for the treacherous renegade to enter the proposed vegetative state. But Dmitri Zaytsev had one final surprise veiled under his sleeve.

"If I am to be erased, so too will you." he spluttered infirmly, clearly in distress. Making his final move before succumbing to the effects of the antitoxin, Dmitri Zaytsev flicked the probing switch to inaugurate the self-destruction of the facility, as his body struck the floor in a comatose state.

Immediately sensing the severity of the situation, Fallout hurried out of the labs in pursuit for an exit as blaring sirens alerted the guardians of the fortress to evacuate promptly. Rushing vigorously through corridors in a frenzied state, Fallout struggled to find an exit. The sentinels of the base had mysteriously vanished, leaving Fallout sightless in his negligent endeavour, with the clock still counting. Eventually, Fallout glimpsed upon a ample, cream staircase and began his ascent. Behind him, Fallout could hear a deafening roar from the laboratory as the explosives detonated and began to pave way to envelop Fallout in the fire and flames. Heart pounding like a snare drum, Fallout was cognizant of the loneliness of the long distance runner as he scampered ferociously up the stairwell to the integument of nightfall. As he neared the summit of his sprint, the shadow of the luminous fireball began to close in onto its target, and was soon breathing behind his neck. He needed to act now.

Exerting the entirety of his energy into his principal movement, Fallout flipped himself forward precisely to avoid incineration, but this failed to impede the strength of the explosion, which propelled Fallout into the barren wasteland, his mask striking the brown dirt as he became dead to the world.

***​

Fallout's sentience began to transplant itself after a few hours of bewilderment had occurred. At long last, Dmitri Zaytsev had been exterminated as a threat. No longer did the risk of being outclassed exist, as a realization entered Fallout's imagination: He was the most powerful life form in the world. With the combination of all 7 SPECIAL elements, nothing could withstand his assault for a protracted measurement of time, for time was his guardian angel.

Abruptly, a lightning bolt struck the soil near Fallout's skull, accompanied with the crackling sound of thunder, awakening the gladiator from his lethargic state. Rolling himself over onto his spine, he turned to find a teeming downpour surrounding his whole palpitating mass, and yet, it did not drench a solitary measurement of him. It appeared that Fallout had been isolated by the heavens.

DA
DATTA

An unknown presence in Fallout deciphered the thunder's message as he cried out to the opaque, dark sky.

"Give to the higher omnipotents, for they are what made me what I am!" Fallout bellowed passionately.

DA
DAYADHVAM

"Sympathize with my impartial brothers and sisters, for our quaternity allows us to achieve strength in numbers!" Fallout continued.

DA
DAMYATA

"Control all that lies beneath us with our inherited power!" Fallout concluded.


With his vows cemented, the thunder roared incoherently a final time before the rainfall engulfing Fallout ceased as quickly as it began. The grey clouds were gradually vaporized as the morning sun vanquished the horrible night. Fallout detected heavy footsteps in the distance at the top of the hill he lay upon as he turned his head to survey his company.

Cantering elegantly into position, a frosted horse proudly awaited for his new rider to embark upon it. Analysing the adamant animal, Fallout thoroughly understood the circumstances.

"With the slaying of Dmitri Zaytsev, the ubiquitous omnipotents have deemed me worthy as one of the harbingers of their will." he stated ominously. "And so my baptism as a rider of Armageddon has taken place."

Fallout began to stand upright as he continued to voice his thoughts on his awakening.

"Omnipotence has reinforced humanity as a contingency for millennia, acting as an auxiliary to guide the amaurotic humans through their eternal struggles; but no longer shall that be the case, for omnipotence craves the annihilation of all impurities housed on this planet. And omnipotence desires for me; as the one that cannot be quelled by any and all means."

Fallout was now completely vertical, situated vigilantly on the heavy highland.

"For I shall become the conqueror." he declared intensely. "For the greater good of omnipotence."

The conqueror impassively strode towards his hallowed transportation.

"The swords of scorn divide the impure humans, but not the unity of a divine, transcendent quadrumvirate. Together, we shall bring about the destruction of the monstrosities that plague the globe and finally enforce the true meaning of life on this accursed wasteland."

Having reached his horse, Fallout methodically scrutinized it from a closer perspective

"Frank Mortlock and John Constantine will become the first of many victims of my scorched earth policy, for I am the greatest of the three evils vying for the Elite X Championship, and this evil earth needs the evillest to claim dominion. Theron Daggershield and Dmitri Zaytsev are underlining proof that nobody can resist conquest forever, and this fact will be evident at All or Nothing once more."

Fallout swiftly mounted his horse as he prepared to traverse the wilderness before him.

"Because conquest shall be the acquittance of the lawmen."

Gazing at the demolished insurgency encampment a last time, a sadistic smile fell upon Fallout's face under his fear-mongering mask.

"And I am conquest."

With that, he revolved his bleached horse around and began his lengthy gallop to the TD Garden located in Boston, Massachusetts, with a pit stop pre-determined

After all, every soldier needed an army.

 

[Dirk]

April 23, 2014
Montreal, Quebec
Bell Center (parking lot)
21:02

The rubber gloves offered little protection against the ever-present frost of Montreal, but they did their job. I could feel the angled grips of the Harbor Freight bolt-cutter without leaving any fingerprints on it.

I looked at the brand new Toyota Yaris and shuddered at the foreign import – a piece of mass-produced schlock with no character or personality. Then again, it made it a perfect fit for its owner, Dillon Morse.

It had not been more than a couple of days since that wimp screwed me out of my biggest victory to date, yet Dillon had already featured in many hypothetical scenarios in my head, most involving rat poison, a baseball bat or a good old-fashioned noose. I needed to see the curly-headed punk’s face the moment he croaks and look him in the eyes the moment his soul leaves them.

But of course, that would be illegal.

There wasn’t a soul outside, it was dark enough to slip underneath the car and cut the bastard’s brakes without too much trouble.

That, too, would be illegal.

With every nerve-ending in my body egging me on, with every instinctual impulse demanding I do it anyway, reluctantly I left the cutters on the hood of the Japanese car.

So maybe I wasn’t going to sabotage Dillon Morse’s car, not tonight, at least. Maybe if this was some South-American hell-hole with a bad relationship to the states and extradition wasn’t so easy, maybe then I’d think about it more. But I’ll be damned if the least of the men that wronged me on Meltdown 103 was going to get away this easily.

I stuffed the gloves into my pocket, put my hands in my coat-pockets and went off to fry me a little fish.

*****

April 23
Montreal, Quebec
Bell Center (backstage)
22:10

I had to wait a whole hour before Morse came waltzing into his dressing room, but his expression was worth it. Just as he was about to close the door, I decided my foot had other plans.

Mr. Morse, where do you think you’re going?

I follow him into the room and shut the door, making sure to stay between it and the referee.

Hey man, leave me alone, I want no part of this.

What are you afraid of, Dillon?

Hey! Mortlock! I can call security-

To do what, Morse? To remove a fresh competitor who is simply going over the rules of his no-disqualification bout with WZCW’s former premier mayhem-rules official? I think not. Sit down.

He’s a jumpy one alright, yet he pulled up a chair.

Don’t be afraid, Dillon. I just want to… talk to you.

What I did, I did to protect you, Frank!

PROTECT ME? Do I look like a guy who needs protection? And from YOU of all people? You can’t even protect yourself! You’re HERE, aren’t you?

I took a deep breath to regain my composure.

I have a job to do and part of that includes stopping a match when one of the wrestlers resort to illegal tactics.

And it it MY job to win that Elite-X belt, Morse, and that includes dealing with incompetent amateurs who are supposed to be in a position of power, however temporary it may be, who abuse their authority.

He seemed to be clamming up, so I let him stew for a while.

Dillon, do you know what repercussions it might have – for you and for the company – if it is made public that you accepted monetary compensation for robbing me of my rightful title?

Now hold on a minute, pal!

Mr. Morse, do you know that withholding information from the police is a very serious offence? If I had anything to hide, I’d spill the beans now. Did you or did you not receive a bribe from Fallout, Constantine, or any other interested party to screw me out of my title belt at Meltdown 103?

Look, Frank, it’s the rules-

ANSWER ME, YOU WORM!

No! Frank, please, I did what I thought was best! There was never any money involved! Everybody saw that what happened that night was wrong! You know that the crowd wanted you to win that, at least more than they wanted Fallout to win…

I closed my eyes for a few seconds as I’m trapped in the dreadful, skeletal of a terrible realization.

This little sap is telling the truth.

You’re off the hook for now, Morse.

Please leave me alone, Frank.

Sure, kid. Also, I left you a present outside. Check the brakes before you build up serious speed.

And check yourself before screwing me over again, little shit.

*****

April 23
Bridgeport, Connecticut
Vance Bateman’s office
16:31
I had to admit that the temporary office Vance Bateman operated out of wasn’t half-bad. I noticed the monogrammed stationary, the luxury leather office-chair and the half-empty crystal carafe. Personally, I thought that the massive portrait of a slightly younger Bateman on the wall was a bit much, but it showed me all I need to know about the man sitting opposite me.

Frank, I hope you’re not here to look at my office all day long.

Go fuck yourself, you decrepit asshole.

Oh, of course not, Mr. Bateman, that would be such a waste of your time, I’m just admiring the lavish furnishings… and so sturdy! You must have a dedicated group of people to assist in the little things.

HA! You can say that again! Have you ever seen a bunch of pencil-necked PA’s trying to move a Brazilian mahogany desk like this? It’s priceless!

I’m sure they appreciate your firm leadership nonetheless.

Cut to the chase, Frank!

Sir, as much as I would like to bump gums with you, I requested this appointment for a reason. Seeing as you didn’t get to be the influential figure you are by being dense, I’ll assume you know why I’m here.

Look, Detective, what happened at Meltdown did not make me happy either. I gave you your rematch at All or Nothing, but what more do you expect me to do about it?

I expect you to give me my Elite-X Championship!

I’m not in a position to make selfish demands, Mr. Bateman. As a man who does not have to bear the burden of making WZCW even more profitable, I’ve had more time to ponder my own situation. Tell me, sir, how is that when one wrestler handily defeats another in a championship bout, not only does he not get said title, but gets punished for it?

Easy, Frank, keep the deck close to your chest…

What are you talking abou-

John… Constantine, sir. Where does Constantine fit into all of this? I’m not throwing allegations of unethical business practices around-

You better not be!

…because I have such faith in you, sir. I trust that you do not play favorites.

Son, I do what I have to do to keep this ship running and if that means throwing you to the sharks, I’ll restrain you myself if that’s what it takes.

Bateman gets up and leans his fists on his desk. While he might have struck an imposing figure long ago, he wasn’t going to scare anyone today. Disarmingly, I looked up at him. I even feign a little startle. Sure, I could’ve laid him out right there in his own office, locked the door and disappeared, but that would not have produced the results I need.

I apologize for any offence I might have caused, sir. I’m just a meathead with a good eye. Your devotion to this business is a quality I admire most about you.

Bateman sat down with a borrowed regal air. He was taking the bait and too stupid to know it. Vance was not the person you put the screws on until he sang, at least not in his current position. You butter him up until you have your hooks so deep into him that he won’t be able to sneeze without tasting metal.

I’m glad we have that understanding, Frank. I just know that the battle for the Elite X glory will be a highlight of the PPV and make all of us some good money.

I squeezed out a grin and I got up to leave. I stuck out my hand and my new acquaintance shook it vigorously.

Sir, I hope I can help sell a lot more tickets as WZCW’s newest champion. There’s something else as well, sir. Otis!

Dammit, I loved having a rookie of my own! The cardboard box he was carrying chimed on the way in.

Mr. Bateman, this is Constable Otis Freeman, one of Gloom County PD’s finest. He will most certainly attend All or Nothing, sir.

Good day, young man!

Otis, wasn’t there something you wanted to do?

Yes, sir! Mr. Bateman, I wanted to give you these. We confiscated this from an unlicensed hotel recently. It’s a case of eight year-old Jim Bean, sir!

Frank, what’s going on here?

Sir, of course it would not be ethical for a man like me, both an employee of the GCPD and WZCW, to give you any compensation at all. Otis, however, is a long-time fan of your venture and would like to thank you for the irreplaceable contribution you have made to his favorite sport.

Bateman opened the case of whisky and beamed like a man who held the world in the palm of his hand.

Thank you, Constable, I appreciate it.

I am glad you like it, sir.

I, too, am glad. If things go well for me at the show, maybe Otis here will have more opportunities to meet his hero, Mr. Bateman. Now, let’s go, Otis! Mr. Bateman has a lot to think about.

I left Bateman with his bribe and discreetly shut off the tape-recorder in my coat, heading back outside.

*****

April 27
Boston, Massachusetts
TD Garden (inside the arena)
14:39
I took a stroll around the place, mindful of ring crew and production assistants going about their business. As I polished my wedding ring with the inside of my coat, I took the time to study the interior and to become familiar with the environment. Hell, I had nowhere else to be but here. That’s when I spot “Big Johnny” Klamor.

Hey, Detective!

I walked over to greet the man. I found Klamor abrasive, but strangely charming.

Mr. Klamor, how are you?

I’m having fun, Frank. It’s a beautiful day and we’re in a beautiful stadium.

Even if it is the home of the Bruins?

Even so, Frank! But I bet I’m a much more relaxed fellow than you are at the moment, am I right?

Don’t even get me started, Johnny.

I want to get you started, Frank, I want to bring it all tonight. Wait, I have an idea…

Klamor whistled over a cameraman.

Hey, all-star! Bring me whatever camera you can spare, okay?

The youth wanted to debate the issue, but was waved away.

Okay, here’s what we’re going to do – you’re not going to tell ME what’s going through your mind, you’re going to get it out of your system for the WZCW APP!

I had mixed feelings about it as I recognized shades of my conversation yesterday with Bateman. In no time at all, old hand Johnny set up shop.

On the brink of WZCW pay-per-view, All-or-nothing, I have with me a man who could quite possibly be your next Elite-X champion! Detective Mortlock, a few words?

I don’t think the phrase is “quite possibly”, John, I think it’s “most definitely”. I already beat Fallout fair and square and tonight he can’t chicken out like last time.

There was certainly an uproar from the Detroit-crowd in the aftermath of that highly technical battle on Meltdown…

Let me ask you, Mr. Klamor… Where were the fans when Fallout took a steel chair and cheated me out of my belt? Clearly the fans don’t give a damn about me and I couldn’t care less. Tonight is about me and the championship! I’ve beaten him once and I’ll do it again. He has much more to lose than I do, Johnny. The pressures of a world title shot is something that I won’t have to worry about for another seven matches, because I AM going to win the belt off him.

Even if that does indeed happen, Frank, what about the looming threat of Constantine?

I’ll say this: Constantine isn’t the only person in this company who can play at politics. I know your game, Constantine and two can certainly play at it! Ever since his return, Constantine has received nothing but superstar-billing!

I have to give credit to Fallout, he’s been in a war for that belt for months now, while Constantine gets this match on a silver platter. Constantine is the exact type of filth who will sweet-talk his way to the top and bully those beneath him once he gets there. It’s despicable!

To be frank, here’s what it boils down to, Mr. Klamor… Frank Mortlock is already a champion. In a world where people would disqualify themselves intentionally to keep a belt or try to garner favoritism with the higher-ups, I am already a champion… a champion of integrity, a champion of fair-play and a champion of the greater good! Having that belt around my waist would only be a symbol of what I already am.

There you have it, folks! Be sure to tune in for one of the most must-see events in wrestling history! This is Big Johnny with Frank Mortlock, signing off!