WZCW Supershow II: Drake Callahan & Steven Holmes vs. Saboteur & Saxton
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FunKay the Inevitable
People Like Me, We Don't Play
All is quiet, all is still. Not a sound is heard. Darkness rules. We are cut off from the visual and the audio. Then, in one defiant moment, both of those things are extinguished. A single, mighty light beams down, shattering the illusion of darkness. The sound of the massive light switching on disrupts the peaceful silence. While the noise is fairly common and not overly horrific, despite its volume, that is nothing compared to the blistering light. So powerful is the sudden light that it forces our eyes shut, blinding you momentarily until you force them open to see a man. With eyes still healing, we cannot full make out the man. He is dressed impeccably, his black suit contrasting with the dramatic light. His face though, is shrouded in mystery. The eyes in particular are covered in shadow, making it appear as if they were almost gouged from his very being.
Once more a contrast is apparent as the gentlemen smiles wildly; his perfect, pale teeth shimmering. Then, as our eyes regain full visibility, it becomes apparent who this man is; Steven Holmes. Sat in a chair, arms crossed and back straight, Holmes has a look of utter madness on his face. His eyes are hidden, but his teeth are bared and thats enough to make the maddening judgment call...or is it?
Holmes: I know what youre thinking: hes mad. But Im not.
With conviction in his voice, Holmes unfolds his arms and leans forward, just enough so that we can see his eyes. Where there should be insanity, madness and a look of a lost soul, there is calm, serene and relaxed views. Holmes pale blue eyes are cool and collected. His crazy grin is almost swallowed by his lips as they shield his teeth, returning his face to a look of total...sanity?
Holmes: Oh quite the contrary my dear friend. Im the sanest man in the world. I know exactly what Im doing and why Im doing it. I am in control of each and every motion.
Leaning back, Holmes face plunges into the shadows once more, clouding our view of him. We can still see the outline of his smile, sinister in nature.
Holmes: I once asked what was scarier; a wild man, unhinged and unchained by his inhibitions, slaughtering at random and swinging wildly, or a cold, calculated assault strategically destroying another human being? The answer is the latter. Why? Simply because it guarantees your salvation, your victory and your sanity. I fit that later description perfectly. Thats how I was able to complete my Redemption tapestry. That is how I was able to bring down Chris K.O. And that is how I will bring the entirety of WZCW to its knees come Unscripted.
You see, Im not just fighting David Cougar, Drake Callahan and some extra, unknown foe. No, Im fighting all of WZCW. Big Dave is determined to see that I dont win the World Heavyweight Championship and thanks to his position of authority, he will throw whatever obstacles he can at me. This ripe corruption will not be enough to stop the onslaught that is coming though. This hypocrisy will fall at my feet as I prove once and for all that it was always meant to be that I become the World Heavyweight Champion. Its not fate. Its not destiny. Its just an inescapable fact of life; I was born better. My superior genetics made it possible for me to rise higher than anyone ever has before and with them, I will take the crown at Unscripted. But before that, theres this so called Supershow.
Holmes raises a hand, using it to stroke his chin, contemplating how hes going to discuss the upcoming battle he face to not only combat the Tag Team Champions, but also team up with an adversary in waiting. After a few moments of consolidation, Holmes removes his hand and speaks once more.
Holmes: At the Supershow, two events will occur that influence the direction of my championship path. The first is my match for the evening. My opponents are Action Saxton and Saboteur. Theyre two buffoons and blowhards. Supposed comic relief, Id liken them more to hand relief personally; low-brow and pathetically uninspired. However, theres an old phrase; beware of the fool, only in this case that would be fools. Saxton is a muscular juggernaut. Hes almost unstoppable upon reaching full steam, so Ill need to frustrate him, not allowing him to gain momentum. As for Saboteur, he is an even more deceptive nemesis. His mask hides not only his face, but his true talent. He was the one who Ty Burna underestimated and as such, fell to. He is a man I should not overlook as a narcissistic moron. Hes a manic competitor and a bit of a high flyer so it looks like Ill have to clip his wings. These two though are not my only concerns from this match-up.
Enter Drake Callahan. My partner in this battle and my future foe. Hes a crafty bugger. He managed to sneak his way into becoming the Heavyweight Champion thanks to the circumstances of the Redemption PPV, a show where I was not afforded the opportunity to capture the gold. Well Mr. Callahan was found out at Apocalypse when he lost to Cougar in their one-on-one battle. He hopes to capitalise on similar circumstances at Unscripted, but Im afraid hes in for a most unfortunate surprise. Callahan has yet to step into the ring with a master as fully capable as myself and he will be overcome by my sheer majesty. His being my partner this week will only allow me to scout his weaknesses further. I care not for the result of this tag match; I merely enter into it to survey the battleground before I step onto it. Callahan may not realise it, but he is my prey and Ive already begun stalking him.
Growing excited by his words, Holmes has leaned into the light, showing his facial features to their fullest extent. His lips are damp with saliva, thoroughly licked in anticipation of the hunt that has begun. In typical Holmes fashion, he catches himself before breaking into full animalistic barbarism and he stops, collects himself and casually wipes his mouth. He takes a deep breath and leans back, once more hiding his face in the shadows.
Holmes: This of course leads me to the other crucial point of the Supershow; the battle royal. This is a further example of Daves persistent attempts to block my path to glory. With a triple threat already suggested, Dave felt the necessity to take it one step further and throw in a forth man; an unknown entity. They could be anyone from the roster, because at the end of the day, there is no skill involved in winning a battle royal; its all a matter of luck. How do we all think Steven Kurtesy won the battle royal to qualify for Unscripted two years ago? How do we all think Gordito bested me to prevail in my debut at Meltdown 39? And perhaps most relevant of all, how do we think a man like Showtime David Cougar won Lethal Lottery?
Holmes takes a moment, analysing his own comments, making sure he got that right and almost contemplating what the name David Cougar truly means to him, and his aspirations.
Holmes: Its interesting because while Cougar was most fortuitous to win the event that is Lethal Lottery, he is an incredibly talented individual. Unlike Drake Callahan and whoever this mysterious fourth feature is, Cougar has shown that he is a man of many talents, both talking a big game and subsequently backing it up. I mean hes a Grand Slam winner for goodness sakes. For even I to say that was luck would be incredibly ludicrous. He must have some iota of skill to achieve such a feat, and in my humble opinion, he has it in abundance...its just a shame hes a blasted fool. He thinks that by risking his career, by risking his future that he can rise to the occasion, because quite frankly he has to. That all changes at Unscripted though.
When David Cougar faces me at Unscripted he will have to not only rise to the occasion, but go further than ever before because I am the ultimate test of David Cougars career. Hes faced everyone from Ty Burna to Stan Rogers and every insignificant worm in-between, but hes never faced an oncoming storm such as me. When I said David Cougar had to accept my challenge, I didnt just mean because I had earned my shot. Nay, I meant that he had to because I was the true test for his legacy and for his championship reign. If David Cougar can stop me from achieving my immortality he himself will become just that; immortal. His career will be anointed the greatest ever and he will prove to everyone that he is WZCWs greatest ever champion.
Of course, this is all pure bait because with Cougar now sufficiently blinded by his own greed, he will fall into my trap and become gobbled up, bones and all. And with his destruction will come the final blow to those who oppress me as I take the moniker of World Heavyweight Champion, and I settle quite comfortably on top of the mountain, and on top of my throne; king of all, and God to all.
Once God to all is said, we suddenly jump cut out of the darkened room to a much different local. We cannot see where it is as our picture is totally and utterly dominated by an extreme close-up of Holmes face. His eyes are closed, only to begin to slowly open. Those calm, steely blue eyes still showing sanity prevailing. We pull out to reveal a well furnished office, like the type a psychiatrist would use for instance.
Doctor: Welcome back Steven. I hope you enjoyed our voyage into your psyche?
Not responding, Holmes remains blank.
Doctor: Steven?
Suddenly Holmes snaps out of his funk, a warped smile crossing his face.
Holmes: Why yes my dear doctor. Yes I did.
Once more a contrast is apparent as the gentlemen smiles wildly; his perfect, pale teeth shimmering. Then, as our eyes regain full visibility, it becomes apparent who this man is; Steven Holmes. Sat in a chair, arms crossed and back straight, Holmes has a look of utter madness on his face. His eyes are hidden, but his teeth are bared and thats enough to make the maddening judgment call...or is it?
Holmes: I know what youre thinking: hes mad. But Im not.
With conviction in his voice, Holmes unfolds his arms and leans forward, just enough so that we can see his eyes. Where there should be insanity, madness and a look of a lost soul, there is calm, serene and relaxed views. Holmes pale blue eyes are cool and collected. His crazy grin is almost swallowed by his lips as they shield his teeth, returning his face to a look of total...sanity?
Holmes: Oh quite the contrary my dear friend. Im the sanest man in the world. I know exactly what Im doing and why Im doing it. I am in control of each and every motion.
Leaning back, Holmes face plunges into the shadows once more, clouding our view of him. We can still see the outline of his smile, sinister in nature.
Holmes: I once asked what was scarier; a wild man, unhinged and unchained by his inhibitions, slaughtering at random and swinging wildly, or a cold, calculated assault strategically destroying another human being? The answer is the latter. Why? Simply because it guarantees your salvation, your victory and your sanity. I fit that later description perfectly. Thats how I was able to complete my Redemption tapestry. That is how I was able to bring down Chris K.O. And that is how I will bring the entirety of WZCW to its knees come Unscripted.
You see, Im not just fighting David Cougar, Drake Callahan and some extra, unknown foe. No, Im fighting all of WZCW. Big Dave is determined to see that I dont win the World Heavyweight Championship and thanks to his position of authority, he will throw whatever obstacles he can at me. This ripe corruption will not be enough to stop the onslaught that is coming though. This hypocrisy will fall at my feet as I prove once and for all that it was always meant to be that I become the World Heavyweight Champion. Its not fate. Its not destiny. Its just an inescapable fact of life; I was born better. My superior genetics made it possible for me to rise higher than anyone ever has before and with them, I will take the crown at Unscripted. But before that, theres this so called Supershow.
Holmes raises a hand, using it to stroke his chin, contemplating how hes going to discuss the upcoming battle he face to not only combat the Tag Team Champions, but also team up with an adversary in waiting. After a few moments of consolidation, Holmes removes his hand and speaks once more.
Holmes: At the Supershow, two events will occur that influence the direction of my championship path. The first is my match for the evening. My opponents are Action Saxton and Saboteur. Theyre two buffoons and blowhards. Supposed comic relief, Id liken them more to hand relief personally; low-brow and pathetically uninspired. However, theres an old phrase; beware of the fool, only in this case that would be fools. Saxton is a muscular juggernaut. Hes almost unstoppable upon reaching full steam, so Ill need to frustrate him, not allowing him to gain momentum. As for Saboteur, he is an even more deceptive nemesis. His mask hides not only his face, but his true talent. He was the one who Ty Burna underestimated and as such, fell to. He is a man I should not overlook as a narcissistic moron. Hes a manic competitor and a bit of a high flyer so it looks like Ill have to clip his wings. These two though are not my only concerns from this match-up.
Enter Drake Callahan. My partner in this battle and my future foe. Hes a crafty bugger. He managed to sneak his way into becoming the Heavyweight Champion thanks to the circumstances of the Redemption PPV, a show where I was not afforded the opportunity to capture the gold. Well Mr. Callahan was found out at Apocalypse when he lost to Cougar in their one-on-one battle. He hopes to capitalise on similar circumstances at Unscripted, but Im afraid hes in for a most unfortunate surprise. Callahan has yet to step into the ring with a master as fully capable as myself and he will be overcome by my sheer majesty. His being my partner this week will only allow me to scout his weaknesses further. I care not for the result of this tag match; I merely enter into it to survey the battleground before I step onto it. Callahan may not realise it, but he is my prey and Ive already begun stalking him.
Growing excited by his words, Holmes has leaned into the light, showing his facial features to their fullest extent. His lips are damp with saliva, thoroughly licked in anticipation of the hunt that has begun. In typical Holmes fashion, he catches himself before breaking into full animalistic barbarism and he stops, collects himself and casually wipes his mouth. He takes a deep breath and leans back, once more hiding his face in the shadows.
Holmes: This of course leads me to the other crucial point of the Supershow; the battle royal. This is a further example of Daves persistent attempts to block my path to glory. With a triple threat already suggested, Dave felt the necessity to take it one step further and throw in a forth man; an unknown entity. They could be anyone from the roster, because at the end of the day, there is no skill involved in winning a battle royal; its all a matter of luck. How do we all think Steven Kurtesy won the battle royal to qualify for Unscripted two years ago? How do we all think Gordito bested me to prevail in my debut at Meltdown 39? And perhaps most relevant of all, how do we think a man like Showtime David Cougar won Lethal Lottery?
Holmes takes a moment, analysing his own comments, making sure he got that right and almost contemplating what the name David Cougar truly means to him, and his aspirations.
Holmes: Its interesting because while Cougar was most fortuitous to win the event that is Lethal Lottery, he is an incredibly talented individual. Unlike Drake Callahan and whoever this mysterious fourth feature is, Cougar has shown that he is a man of many talents, both talking a big game and subsequently backing it up. I mean hes a Grand Slam winner for goodness sakes. For even I to say that was luck would be incredibly ludicrous. He must have some iota of skill to achieve such a feat, and in my humble opinion, he has it in abundance...its just a shame hes a blasted fool. He thinks that by risking his career, by risking his future that he can rise to the occasion, because quite frankly he has to. That all changes at Unscripted though.
When David Cougar faces me at Unscripted he will have to not only rise to the occasion, but go further than ever before because I am the ultimate test of David Cougars career. Hes faced everyone from Ty Burna to Stan Rogers and every insignificant worm in-between, but hes never faced an oncoming storm such as me. When I said David Cougar had to accept my challenge, I didnt just mean because I had earned my shot. Nay, I meant that he had to because I was the true test for his legacy and for his championship reign. If David Cougar can stop me from achieving my immortality he himself will become just that; immortal. His career will be anointed the greatest ever and he will prove to everyone that he is WZCWs greatest ever champion.
Of course, this is all pure bait because with Cougar now sufficiently blinded by his own greed, he will fall into my trap and become gobbled up, bones and all. And with his destruction will come the final blow to those who oppress me as I take the moniker of World Heavyweight Champion, and I settle quite comfortably on top of the mountain, and on top of my throne; king of all, and God to all.
Once God to all is said, we suddenly jump cut out of the darkened room to a much different local. We cannot see where it is as our picture is totally and utterly dominated by an extreme close-up of Holmes face. His eyes are closed, only to begin to slowly open. Those calm, steely blue eyes still showing sanity prevailing. We pull out to reveal a well furnished office, like the type a psychiatrist would use for instance.
Doctor: Welcome back Steven. I hope you enjoyed our voyage into your psyche?
Not responding, Holmes remains blank.
Doctor: Steven?
Suddenly Holmes snaps out of his funk, a warped smile crossing his face.
Holmes: Why yes my dear doctor. Yes I did.
Four in the morning is long past time that anything good is going to happen. It's not a time for those at peace in their heart, at one with their souls, of sound body and mind. The people who get up and go to work, the people who have good lives, families that love them, children and wives that care about them, people who are well adjusted, those people are asleep now. Those people haven't got any place in this world. It isn't about the sun being down. It's that everyone and everything that's right in the world is asleep. And when that happens, the rest of the world, the other half, the dealers, the prostitutes, the killers, murderers, thugs, rapists, all of them - they walk the streets. But they don't rule them. It's a time for them to be safe, but there's things they fear. Or at least things they avoid. There's people who own the night. People who are the night. People think the night is when darkness comes out, but that isn't true. Night is when the light retreats.
A few lost souls in the darkness who don't belong in the night either, but they think maybe there's answers in the dark. At any rate, the light hurts their eyes. There's people who belong in the day. There's people who belong in the night. And there's people caught in the middle, in a place between heaven and hell, who don't belong anywhere, but they're here anyway.
Damned and lost ain't always the same thing, but you can be lost in places that are as good as damned. From outside, it's hard to tell the difference.
From the inside, it's impossible.
Four in the morning is when Drake Callahan is in the middle of goddamned nowhere, leaning up against a long abandoned building and taking a long draw of a cigarette. He knew it was a bad habit, but he needed something to take the edge off. He wasn't going to go back to drinking. He wasn't going to return to being that person - not even a real person at all, just a fake, a lie made up by alcohol. For better or for worse, he was real, and he was here.
Max didn't want him out at night like this, walking the streets with no one around, but Drake didn't care what Max did or didn't want these days. Max was a tool - a useful thing that took care of the day to day, the noise, the details. He handled business. He didn't handle Drake. Not if Drake had any say in the matter, anyway.
Not anymore.
Was it dangerous? Sure. But so was he. He had been jumped by Joe out here, in a place like this, at a time like this, but that didn't matter. Joe was an anomaly. The people who lived here knew better. Junkies took one look at him and turned the other way. Dealers offered him a hit and he ignored them. The prostitutes were the smart ones. They never even looked at him. They could tell a man they didn't want a thing to do with. He couldn't blame them.
Why was he here? Because he had no place better to be. He did what was necessary to compete in WZCW - he still wanted that, if nothing else. What else was there? If he stopped going there, if he stopped doing that, he would end it all. He knew it. WZCW kept him alive, even if everyone there hated him. He was a pariah - no friends in the locker room, not after his assault on Darren Bull. No one would even dream of giving him an interview after the way he'd treated Stacey. Big Dave of all people might have talked to him, but Max insisted on handling business alone from here on out. It was just as well. It didn't matter if anyone spoke to him. He wasn't there for them, he was there for himself. Just being there, wrestling...it was enough. It was something to do. Something to live for.
For now.
Drake hears footsteps coming from down the sidewalk. He steadfastly ignores them as they approach; he just draws on the cigarette again. He looks up as the footsteps slow not too far from him. A small man stands near him, not offensively close, but enough to draw his attention. The man was Asian, fairly unremarkable, but with piercing eyes. Drake stares him down, assuming he'll move on. He doesn't. Drake growls in his throat a bit.
Drake: The hell do you want?
The man, frustratingly, smiles a little and holds his hand out.
???: Can I trouble you for a cigarette?
Drake blinks for a moment and raises an eyebrow. Then, remembering himself, he spits on the ground.
Drake: Fuck off.
The man shrugs and reaches into his jacket, pulling out a cigarette of his own. He lights it up and draws, then exhales into the night air.
???: You are not a generous man, it seems.
Drake: I'm not interested in whatever it is you're selling. Get out of here, or I will.
The man chuckles softly.
???: How strange that you came out here to be alone, of all places. But it's lonely, isn't it? More lonely than a private room. That's supposed to be empty. This place is supposed to filled with people - it was made for that purpose. When it is empty, it feels as lonely as an alien world. Hm?
Drake glowers at the man and straightens up, making to walk away. He takes a few steps and finds the man has followed him. Drake sighs and rounds on him.
Drake: Look -
The man holds up a hand.
???: Please. I am not here to harm you in any way, or sell you anything, or in any way cause ill to your person. The opposite is true - I have come to help you.
Drake narrows his eyes.
Drake: Who are you? How did you find me? And what do you want?
???: I'm a friend. We don't need names yet. Finding you was not easy, but I am good at what I do. And I want nothing more than to speak with you tonight, if you would be so kind.
Drake wants to walk away, but he knows when someone isn't going to give up. Whoever this crazy person was, it would be easier to oblige them and hope they moved on. Violence would only have to come if necessary.
Drake: Fine. Talk.
???: Ah. I had hoped perhaps you would answer a question for me.
Drake: If it gets you gone? By all means.
???: If you would, please - what do you want? In your soul? What is it you dream of having?
The question catches Drake off guard. Answers race through his head. The world heavyweight championship. Kate. Stacey? For everything to be the way it was, or the way he had dreamed it would be. None of the answers rang true. What did he want, anyway?
He coughed a laugh with no mirth in it.
Drake: What do I want? I look at everyone I know and I hate them. I know they're happier than me. They have the things they want, they have friends and families and fulfilled goals. I hate them. I wish they knew what it was like to try so hard to be a good person and to fail. I want them to know how close they are to disaster. I want to them to know how awful they are inside. I want everyone else to be as miserable as I am.
The man laughed heartily at that, laughing until he was short of breath, doubled over and all but slapping his knees. When he recovered after nearly a minute, he smiled at Drake and continued speaking.
???: How wonderful. I had no idea you were so close, already. We'll refine that, in time. But truly, truly wonderful. Ah, yes. One more question, if I can trouble you? You face three warriors soon, do you not? How will you defeat them?
Drake: Your information is wrong. Two warriors, and one on my side.
The man's face turns grim and he twists his mouth sourly.
???: No. Do not be foolish. No one is on your side, ever, even if they claim to be. Especially if they claim to be. Everyone there is your enemy.
Drake grunts, but acknowledged the point. He shrugs.
Drake: I want to know something before I answer this. How do you know so much about me? Who sent you here?
???: All things in time. We have a mutual friend. For information, I am extraordinarily well connected. Now, please, answer the question.
Drake: Fine. Saboteur and Saxton both remind me of what I used to be. Big, dumb goofs who are going nowhere fast. The tag team championship is a joke, always has been, always will be -
The man coughs. Drake pauses and looks at him. The man smiles and waves for him to continue, taking another drag of his cigarette.
Drake: Like I was saying. It's a title for people who aren't good enough to stand alone. And even then, they only have it because everyone in the division dropped out, or went missing. Their only real competition is a pair of nobody redneck Bible thumpers without a brain cell to share between them. But you know how it works. The kids buy tickets to see them, they buy the programs with their faces on them, they buy the soda cups with their pictures, they dream of getting their autograph, they pop their little heads off when the big damn heroes come out to kick ass. They watch them like a Saturday morning cartoon, and that's what they are. A pair of morons living in a cartoon, ****ed out by a corporation to make a big buck, and the bot of them too stone stupid to know about it, or care.
The man nods along as Drake goes on.
???: Your analysis is accurate, but bitter. You said they remind you of you. Do you envy them?
Drake: Envy them? Sure, I envy them, but what am I supposed to do? Try to be them? It's a one way street. You don't go back. All I can hope for is that one day, they see what I see, but I doubt they'll ever manage that. They can't see what they don't want to see.
???: And the other? The one who stands besides you, with a knife ready for your back?
Drake: Holmes - wait, you know what? This isn't a one way street either. I want to know why I should keep talking to you. Some freak on the street, walk up to me and you know all about me, right? Give me a reason not to walk away from this. Give me some information.
???: Your demands are reasonable, but there is a...schedule, of sorts, if you will. You must trust me.
Drake: Trust you? I don't even know why I'm talking to you. This is over.
Drake takes a step away. The man grabs his arm and with a seemingly light but forceful touch, spins him around to face him. He looks into Drake's eyes with fervor.
???: I can tell you this much. If you ever want to be a champion again, you will continue speaking to me. Because I can help you.
Drake wanted nothing so much as to tell him to fuck off, but there's something in his eyes, in his manner. The man was...hypnotic. Persuasive. Drake wanted to spurn him away for a devil, but what the hell? If the man could help him, all the better. If not, he lost nothing by talking to him. So he talks.
Drake: Alright, fine, get off me. Holmes is a freak, if you want the simple answer. He wants to make everyone he makes an enemy of an invalid. He exists to beat people to a bloody pulp. He'll as soon smash your head in as give you the time of day. I don't want anything to do with him.
???: You are afraid of him?
Drake: Afraid? No. But wary. I know enough to stay away from that, if I can. But hell, I can't. He's my partner this week, and my opponent at Unscripted. I can't get away from him. Sometimes I think maybe he knows what it's like to be me, but he doesn't, not really. He loves what he does. He relishes in delivering pain. He snaps and loses it, sure, but he doesn't even think about it after. He just goes back to being himself. He's a sociopath. He doesn't know the truth about himself, not like I do.
The man nods.
???: A wise analysis again. You are right to be wary, but Holmes is weak inside. He does not understand violence as an art. A music. A lover. He thinks it is a tool, a means to an end. Already, you are close to knowing better. In time, I can show you more.
Drake shakes his head.
Drake: So that's it, huh? You're just trying to sell me something after all.
???: I am not selling my services. They have already been bought. You can do with them as you please. For tonight, we are done. Tonight was for me more than for you. I have measured your abilities well enough. I wish you luck for now, and will see you in due time.
The man starts to walk away, but Drake grabs his shoulder this time.
Drake: Already been bought? Don't think I'm an idiot - I know what that means. Max is involved in this, isn't he?
???: That is his business to divulge. I have a task set before me, and I mean to accomplish it. As do you.
Drake: A name. Give me a name. At least.
???: I'm nobody, Mr. Callahan. Nobody at all.
The man walks away as Drake stands there dumbfounded. He'd heard those words before. But this was no figment of his imagination; the man was flesh and blood. What was this?
What was this?
A few lost souls in the darkness who don't belong in the night either, but they think maybe there's answers in the dark. At any rate, the light hurts their eyes. There's people who belong in the day. There's people who belong in the night. And there's people caught in the middle, in a place between heaven and hell, who don't belong anywhere, but they're here anyway.
Damned and lost ain't always the same thing, but you can be lost in places that are as good as damned. From outside, it's hard to tell the difference.
From the inside, it's impossible.
Four in the morning is when Drake Callahan is in the middle of goddamned nowhere, leaning up against a long abandoned building and taking a long draw of a cigarette. He knew it was a bad habit, but he needed something to take the edge off. He wasn't going to go back to drinking. He wasn't going to return to being that person - not even a real person at all, just a fake, a lie made up by alcohol. For better or for worse, he was real, and he was here.
Max didn't want him out at night like this, walking the streets with no one around, but Drake didn't care what Max did or didn't want these days. Max was a tool - a useful thing that took care of the day to day, the noise, the details. He handled business. He didn't handle Drake. Not if Drake had any say in the matter, anyway.
Not anymore.
Was it dangerous? Sure. But so was he. He had been jumped by Joe out here, in a place like this, at a time like this, but that didn't matter. Joe was an anomaly. The people who lived here knew better. Junkies took one look at him and turned the other way. Dealers offered him a hit and he ignored them. The prostitutes were the smart ones. They never even looked at him. They could tell a man they didn't want a thing to do with. He couldn't blame them.
Why was he here? Because he had no place better to be. He did what was necessary to compete in WZCW - he still wanted that, if nothing else. What else was there? If he stopped going there, if he stopped doing that, he would end it all. He knew it. WZCW kept him alive, even if everyone there hated him. He was a pariah - no friends in the locker room, not after his assault on Darren Bull. No one would even dream of giving him an interview after the way he'd treated Stacey. Big Dave of all people might have talked to him, but Max insisted on handling business alone from here on out. It was just as well. It didn't matter if anyone spoke to him. He wasn't there for them, he was there for himself. Just being there, wrestling...it was enough. It was something to do. Something to live for.
For now.
Drake hears footsteps coming from down the sidewalk. He steadfastly ignores them as they approach; he just draws on the cigarette again. He looks up as the footsteps slow not too far from him. A small man stands near him, not offensively close, but enough to draw his attention. The man was Asian, fairly unremarkable, but with piercing eyes. Drake stares him down, assuming he'll move on. He doesn't. Drake growls in his throat a bit.
Drake: The hell do you want?
The man, frustratingly, smiles a little and holds his hand out.
???: Can I trouble you for a cigarette?
Drake blinks for a moment and raises an eyebrow. Then, remembering himself, he spits on the ground.
Drake: Fuck off.
The man shrugs and reaches into his jacket, pulling out a cigarette of his own. He lights it up and draws, then exhales into the night air.
???: You are not a generous man, it seems.
Drake: I'm not interested in whatever it is you're selling. Get out of here, or I will.
The man chuckles softly.
???: How strange that you came out here to be alone, of all places. But it's lonely, isn't it? More lonely than a private room. That's supposed to be empty. This place is supposed to filled with people - it was made for that purpose. When it is empty, it feels as lonely as an alien world. Hm?
Drake glowers at the man and straightens up, making to walk away. He takes a few steps and finds the man has followed him. Drake sighs and rounds on him.
Drake: Look -
The man holds up a hand.
???: Please. I am not here to harm you in any way, or sell you anything, or in any way cause ill to your person. The opposite is true - I have come to help you.
Drake narrows his eyes.
Drake: Who are you? How did you find me? And what do you want?
???: I'm a friend. We don't need names yet. Finding you was not easy, but I am good at what I do. And I want nothing more than to speak with you tonight, if you would be so kind.
Drake wants to walk away, but he knows when someone isn't going to give up. Whoever this crazy person was, it would be easier to oblige them and hope they moved on. Violence would only have to come if necessary.
Drake: Fine. Talk.
???: Ah. I had hoped perhaps you would answer a question for me.
Drake: If it gets you gone? By all means.
???: If you would, please - what do you want? In your soul? What is it you dream of having?
The question catches Drake off guard. Answers race through his head. The world heavyweight championship. Kate. Stacey? For everything to be the way it was, or the way he had dreamed it would be. None of the answers rang true. What did he want, anyway?
He coughed a laugh with no mirth in it.
Drake: What do I want? I look at everyone I know and I hate them. I know they're happier than me. They have the things they want, they have friends and families and fulfilled goals. I hate them. I wish they knew what it was like to try so hard to be a good person and to fail. I want them to know how close they are to disaster. I want to them to know how awful they are inside. I want everyone else to be as miserable as I am.
The man laughed heartily at that, laughing until he was short of breath, doubled over and all but slapping his knees. When he recovered after nearly a minute, he smiled at Drake and continued speaking.
???: How wonderful. I had no idea you were so close, already. We'll refine that, in time. But truly, truly wonderful. Ah, yes. One more question, if I can trouble you? You face three warriors soon, do you not? How will you defeat them?
Drake: Your information is wrong. Two warriors, and one on my side.
The man's face turns grim and he twists his mouth sourly.
???: No. Do not be foolish. No one is on your side, ever, even if they claim to be. Especially if they claim to be. Everyone there is your enemy.
Drake grunts, but acknowledged the point. He shrugs.
Drake: I want to know something before I answer this. How do you know so much about me? Who sent you here?
???: All things in time. We have a mutual friend. For information, I am extraordinarily well connected. Now, please, answer the question.
Drake: Fine. Saboteur and Saxton both remind me of what I used to be. Big, dumb goofs who are going nowhere fast. The tag team championship is a joke, always has been, always will be -
The man coughs. Drake pauses and looks at him. The man smiles and waves for him to continue, taking another drag of his cigarette.
Drake: Like I was saying. It's a title for people who aren't good enough to stand alone. And even then, they only have it because everyone in the division dropped out, or went missing. Their only real competition is a pair of nobody redneck Bible thumpers without a brain cell to share between them. But you know how it works. The kids buy tickets to see them, they buy the programs with their faces on them, they buy the soda cups with their pictures, they dream of getting their autograph, they pop their little heads off when the big damn heroes come out to kick ass. They watch them like a Saturday morning cartoon, and that's what they are. A pair of morons living in a cartoon, ****ed out by a corporation to make a big buck, and the bot of them too stone stupid to know about it, or care.
The man nods along as Drake goes on.
???: Your analysis is accurate, but bitter. You said they remind you of you. Do you envy them?
Drake: Envy them? Sure, I envy them, but what am I supposed to do? Try to be them? It's a one way street. You don't go back. All I can hope for is that one day, they see what I see, but I doubt they'll ever manage that. They can't see what they don't want to see.
???: And the other? The one who stands besides you, with a knife ready for your back?
Drake: Holmes - wait, you know what? This isn't a one way street either. I want to know why I should keep talking to you. Some freak on the street, walk up to me and you know all about me, right? Give me a reason not to walk away from this. Give me some information.
???: Your demands are reasonable, but there is a...schedule, of sorts, if you will. You must trust me.
Drake: Trust you? I don't even know why I'm talking to you. This is over.
Drake takes a step away. The man grabs his arm and with a seemingly light but forceful touch, spins him around to face him. He looks into Drake's eyes with fervor.
???: I can tell you this much. If you ever want to be a champion again, you will continue speaking to me. Because I can help you.
Drake wanted nothing so much as to tell him to fuck off, but there's something in his eyes, in his manner. The man was...hypnotic. Persuasive. Drake wanted to spurn him away for a devil, but what the hell? If the man could help him, all the better. If not, he lost nothing by talking to him. So he talks.
Drake: Alright, fine, get off me. Holmes is a freak, if you want the simple answer. He wants to make everyone he makes an enemy of an invalid. He exists to beat people to a bloody pulp. He'll as soon smash your head in as give you the time of day. I don't want anything to do with him.
???: You are afraid of him?
Drake: Afraid? No. But wary. I know enough to stay away from that, if I can. But hell, I can't. He's my partner this week, and my opponent at Unscripted. I can't get away from him. Sometimes I think maybe he knows what it's like to be me, but he doesn't, not really. He loves what he does. He relishes in delivering pain. He snaps and loses it, sure, but he doesn't even think about it after. He just goes back to being himself. He's a sociopath. He doesn't know the truth about himself, not like I do.
The man nods.
???: A wise analysis again. You are right to be wary, but Holmes is weak inside. He does not understand violence as an art. A music. A lover. He thinks it is a tool, a means to an end. Already, you are close to knowing better. In time, I can show you more.
Drake shakes his head.
Drake: So that's it, huh? You're just trying to sell me something after all.
???: I am not selling my services. They have already been bought. You can do with them as you please. For tonight, we are done. Tonight was for me more than for you. I have measured your abilities well enough. I wish you luck for now, and will see you in due time.
The man starts to walk away, but Drake grabs his shoulder this time.
Drake: Already been bought? Don't think I'm an idiot - I know what that means. Max is involved in this, isn't he?
???: That is his business to divulge. I have a task set before me, and I mean to accomplish it. As do you.
Drake: A name. Give me a name. At least.
???: I'm nobody, Mr. Callahan. Nobody at all.
The man walks away as Drake stands there dumbfounded. He'd heard those words before. But this was no figment of his imagination; the man was flesh and blood. What was this?
What was this?
Signal Panic, Inc. presents
Action Saxton & Saboteur [size=-2]& Krypto[/size]
in
"California Throwdown!"
The throng of people clogging the Los Angeles airport can be compared to many things. Perhaps it is hard and unmoving like a bottle of Magic Shell syrup left in the refrigerator. Perhaps it is thick and concentrated like molasses running very, very slowly down a cold road. Perhaps it is grumpy and jostling like a group of bears in a large pit filled with salsa.
"Or maybe," says Saboteur, "they're a group of commuters mad because the planes are all grounded!"
"Sucka, who the hell are you talking to?"
Action Saxton, Saboteur, and Krypto sit with their chins in their hands in the packed terminal of the Los Angeles airport, staring at the mass of humanity.
"I really wish my UFO was not in the UFO repair shop on my home planet," Krypto says.
"You've said that fifteen times already!" snaps Saboteur.
"I am only trying to help."
"You can help by taking your goofy alien technology and going back in time and kicking that hurricane's ass so it doesn't leave us stranded in the damn airport!"
Action Saxton sighs. Saboteur sighs. Krypto would sigh, but he is an alien, and aliens don't sigh. They make a strange gargling noise that usually causes people to stare. Action Saxton glares at the gaggle of Koreans staring at Krypto, but it doesn't stop them from snapping a few pictures and producing a catchy pop song in the process.
"Look, this isn't so bad," says Saboteur. "I mean, we're wrestling on the Supershow and it's right here in LA, so it's not like we'll miss it."
Action Saxton sighs with frustration. "But sucka, look at who the hell we're facing! This ain't no normal match, this is one of our bigger ones, and we need to get back to Saxton Tower-"
"Saboteur Tower."
"-and work out some strategies, and hell maybe a visit to the Paper Gangster would have been nice as well."
The three stare at each other again. Saxton stands up.
"But dammit, I am sick of sitting here! Let's leave this unjive sterile jive-ass goofy-ass clogged-up mess of a public building and hit the streets to find ourselves somewhere to chill."
"I don't actually understand what you just said, but okay."
"I really wish my UFO was not in the UFO repair shop on my home planet."
The three of them stand up and dive right into the rampaging, throbbing mass of human flesh and luggage, dodging small children and animals, and passing by a group of Koreans wrestling a large snake into a pet carrier. Finally, they manage to fight their ways through. Saboteur looks at Krypto in disappointment.
"You survived."
It wasn't a question. Krypto nods anyway.
"Yes! Was I not supposed to?"
Action Saxton and Saboteur shoot each other withering glances, before turning to the small orange bus apparently on its way Downtown. It parks in front of them, and immediately a small Korean woman with a very large suitcase stands in front of them. The bus doors open with a puff of air, and she stares at the equally tiny Korean woman with the equally large suitcase at the top of the stairs.
Minutes pass.
The two women stare at each other, each trying to pick up their large suitcases and failing in turn. When one moves one way in a vain attempt to give the other passing room, the other matches her movement. The one at the bottom of the stairs tries to lift her suitcase again, and again she fails. The one at the top also tries to lift her suitcase, and she fails again.
They continue to stare at each other. Finally, Action Saxton steps forward.
"Little lady," he says, before he is interrupted by a loud kung-fu-scream from the Korean woman as she withdraws a katana from her purse. Saboteur pushes Saxton out of the way.
"Let me handle this!" he yells, withdrawing a katana of his own. He parries the bottom-stairs-woman's blows and darts up the steps, pushing the top-stairs-woman down. Action Saxton catches her and sets her down before turning to the other woman. Before she has a chance to react, he kung-fu-kicks her suitcase up the stairs, causing it to land perfectly on the luggage rack. A few seconds later, the owner of the suitcase follows it through the same method.
Krypto claps wildly as he jumps up the stairs. Action Saxton and Saboteur take their seats, and the bus to downtown finally departs.
"So, got any plans for what we're going to do?" asks Saboteur.
"Yeah, sucka," Saxton replies. "As this situation is far from ideal, and I really need to get some thinking done, I plan on entering the first bar we see at the end of this line."
Time passes in silence, the two men and alien on the bus staring out of the window at the passing scenery. After a while, Saboteur starts to fidget. He pokes Action Saxton. Failing to elicit a response, he pokes him again.
"What?" asks Saxton.
"Did you ever realize that snakes are just tails with faces?"
Action Saxton frowns, deep in thought about this. Slowly, his eyes get larger, and larger, and larger.
"What the hell."
Luckily, the bus reaches its destination, saving any more brain explosions for the ride home. The trio leaps out of the bus, and Saxton immediately points in front of him.
"There we go, suckas, a bar!" he says. "It don't look too shabby."
Indeed, it doesn't. The facade is clean enough, the windows are artistically shattered, the sidewalk in front of the place is stained an odd yellow color, but all in all it looks like the kind of bar one could use for doing some thinking in.
"Mr. Saxton," Krypto pipes up. "I am not old enough to enter a bar."
"How old are you, sucka?"
"I am Q in the years of my home planet."
Saboteur holds up a finger. "Don't worry, I have an idea!"
Deep in a pocket in his spandex, he withdraws a length of rope. Krypto eyes it warily. Saboteur pats him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, alien buddy, if it's allowed with dogs it's allowed with aliens. So come on, let's go to the bike rack..."
"Saboteur," says Saxton, "I like your style."
When the tag team champions are sure that Krypto is properly secured to the bike rack, the two open the door to the bar. Immediately they are nearly blown out of the door by the loud punk music playing from a jukebox in the corner. The two fight through the gale of noise, struggling over the cracked floor and managing to make it to the ripped stools, where they take their seats and survey the place again. It is, for lack of a better word, dirty. The glasses that the bartender is constantly polishing are dirty. The floor is dirty. The walls are dirty. The clientele are dirty. It has its own charm, but damn if it isn't a dirty charm.
"So what can I get you boys?" asks the bartender. Action Saxton and Saboteur look up, and their mouths drop open. Well, it's assumed Saboteur's does. His mask stretches, at least. You see, in front of our heroes is a man who is instantly recognizable, whose name is globally known and renowned. He is large, in-charge, and jolly. He is-
"Santa Claus!" says Saxton."Damn, I forgot you owned this place."
Gordito shakes his head. "Sax, baby, you haven't changed a bit."
He turns to Saboteur.
"And you are lookin' sharp, Saboteur my man!"
"Huh? Oh," says Saboteur, jumping and sheathing the katana he was polishing. "Yeah, Gordito. Good to see you."
Gordito turns back to the glass.
"So, what brought you back here? Miss me?"
Action Saxton scoffs. "No, sucka, our plane just got cancelled because of that dumbass hurricane, and I needed to think. What the hell have you even been up to?"
"Taking care of the place, mostly," says Gordito. "I've been keeping up with you two. You guys are some tag team champs."
Saxton chuckles. "Thanks, sucka. Got ourselves a big match coming up."
Gordito nods. "So I hear. Who are you taking on?"
"Holmes and Callahan," says Saboteur.
Gordito lets out a long, low whistle. "Top dogs, huh?"
The tag champs nod. Gordito continues.
"You know, I was a top dog once. Well, you should know, considering how many times we faced off during that tournament. Man, I was beating people left and right, was the cream of the crop. But you know who I never was?"
"The world-record holder in underwater basket-weaving?"
"Yes. But I also was never the guy. I never managed to take that final step upwards, to defeat those top dogs and become the top of the pops myself."
He sets down his glass and picks up another one.
"Want to know why that is?"
"Because neither of you were good enough to beat the suckas on top, and I would have won that tournament if I hadn't been voted out?"
Gordito and Saboteur glare at Saxton. He holds up his hands. Gordito coughs.
"Uh, I was going to say, it was because I wasn't focused enough, baby. I didn't get inside my opponents' heads enough. I didn't take the time to try and be like them, to learn how to fight them. Lemme tell you something, you two may be great tag team champions, but last time you faced off against two top guys, you lost."
"Don't remind us," groans Saboteur.
"Hey, I'm just calling them like I see them. Anyway, you want to get at them, you gotta get inside them," Gordito concludes.
"I have to do what?!"
"I didn't know Josh Young owned this bar."
Gordito sighs in frustration. He points at Saxton.
"Look, Action, tell me what Drake Callahan's deal is."
Action Saxton shrugs. "How the hell should I know? Saboteur, what is Drake Callahan's deal?"
Saboteur shrugs as well. "I don't know, I stopped paying attention to things that weren't us around Kingdom Come."
"Damn!" Saxton swears. "So did I!"
"Luckily for you," Gordito interrupts, "I didn't. Now the one thing I know for sure about Drake Callahan is that he's dark. Saxton, nothing about you is dark."
"OH HELL NO," says Saxton, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me you did not just say that. Sucka, if there is one thing I know all about, it is being dark."
He sticks his arm into Gordito's face.
"Let me tell you something about chocolate, sucka. You're a pretty large individual, so I think that this subject would appeal to you. First off, you have your white chocolate, which can be tasty but is damn white. Then you have your milk chocolate. Then you have your dark chocolate. After that, you have your 99% chocolate. And then, sucka, you know what you have?"
He pounds on the bar.
"You have me! So don't you go telling me that goofy-ass sucka Drake Callahan is anywhere close to being as dark as me."
He glares at Gordito, breathing heavily. Saboteur polishes his katana.
"Okay, okay, you've made your point," says Gordito. "If you can't train to be like him now, maybe you should try to be like he was."
Action Saxton thinks about it. Suddenly, he pounds the bar again. Something it the back falls off the wall with a crash.
"You're right!" he exclaims. "And I know just the thing to do! Saboteur, I'll let you train for Holmes. I have to go get a drink."
And with that, he hops off of his bar stool, kicks the bar door open, and walks out. Gordito stares after him, before sighing and shaking his head.
----
Chapter 2: "Saxton Lightens Up!"
An hour later, Action Saxton sits at a completely different bar with thirty glasses of the finest malt liquor in front of him. He stares them down with an expression suggesting they grievously insulted his mother.
"All right, you jive-turkeys," he says to the glasses. "If I want to train for that sucka Drake Callahan, I need to work like he used to work, and that is completely and totally drunk. Get ready for a piece of the action, suckas, because I am no longer fooling around!"
And he starts to pound them down.
At five, he started humming the tune of one of his favorite songs.
At ten, he recited the alphabet backwards.
At fifteen, he stood up and walked to the bathroom in a completely straight and sure line.
At twenty, he repeated the trip backwards.
At twenty-five, he was able to send a text message to Kung Fu Jones without misspelling a word or revealing an embarassing secret.
At thirty, he surveys the empty glasses, and sighs.
"Damn," he says. "I never thought all the advanced alcohol training I was required to perform during my time alive would come back and bite me in the ass lie this."
Yes, indeed. Action Saxton's liver was simply too strong, as was his grit, will, and power. He simply was unable to get drunk.
Still sighing, he pays and leaves to walk around the downtown area. He sits on a bench and starts to muse.
"Damn, if that didn't work, I do have another idea of how to train for this sucka and become one of the top dogs. But where the hell am I going to find a pony in Los Angeles?"
"Oh, herro!" says a voice behind him. Action Saxton jumps out of his seat and whirls around to find himself face-to-face with a very short, very fat Japanese man holding an apple.
"Who the hell are you?" asks Action Saxton.
"My name is Ryuji Varugas Destroyer!" the man says, "and I am number one pony supprier in all of Los Angeles!"
"Dammit, sucka, I don't have time for no racial stereotypes!"
The man looks very disappointed. "But then you will not be able to get the pony! Do you not want pony? Do you like pony?"
"No- Yes- Gimme that damn apple!" barks Action Saxton, grabbing the apple from Ryuji's hand. "Sucka, I have a very important match to train for, and if I don't get my hands on a pony I will not be able to train."
"Well I am the best pony supprier in all of-"
"Yes, sucka, I heard you. Take me to the ponies."
"Forrow me!" Ryuji replies, and he hops on his cherry-red motorcycle. Action Saxton jumps into a rented Cadillac Coupe De Ville and follows in hot pursuit.
They arrive at the pony ranch, and Ryuji leads Action Saxton to his finest specimen. "Here you are, sir, my best pony! He is called Punter!"
Saxton stares at Punter in distrust. He seems like a completely ordinary, brown-and-white horse.
"Sucka, I don't know if this is the right kind of pony."
"Whatever could you mean? There are many type of pony!"
"That sucka Callahan used to always be talking about some creepy voodoo ponies that used to spread friendship and magic or some mumbo-jumbo and now that that sucka has gone dark I thought that maybe if I learned what the hell he was on when he competed in the King For A Day match I could channel this magic and counteract his darkness and learn what the hell goes on inside his mind."
Action Saxton looks around at Punter again.
"I do not know that kind of pony," Ryuji responds, "but ponies can be very friendly animals. Maybe you should be talk to him."
"Sucka, I'm not talking to a horse!" barks Saxton. "Yes or no, will this pony help me train for my match?"
"No."
"Does this pony know any spells that can make Drake Callahan easier to beat?"
"No."
"Does it at least breathe fire?"
"No. It only snorts hot air. It is a pony."
"Then I am not interested," concludes Saxton. "Sucka, thanks for showing me this, but I have to get back to the Sludge Pit. None of this is working and it's pissing me off."
Action Saxton stomps out of the ranch and into his car. The engine roars as it tears down the road. Ryuji looks at the horse. He gives it a hug.
"Don't worry, Punter," he says. "I like pony."
Punter kicks him, causing the overweight Japanese man to crumple to the ground holding his groin.
"Fack!"
Action Saxton & Saboteur [size=-2]& Krypto[/size]
in
"California Throwdown!"
The throng of people clogging the Los Angeles airport can be compared to many things. Perhaps it is hard and unmoving like a bottle of Magic Shell syrup left in the refrigerator. Perhaps it is thick and concentrated like molasses running very, very slowly down a cold road. Perhaps it is grumpy and jostling like a group of bears in a large pit filled with salsa.
"Or maybe," says Saboteur, "they're a group of commuters mad because the planes are all grounded!"
"Sucka, who the hell are you talking to?"
Action Saxton, Saboteur, and Krypto sit with their chins in their hands in the packed terminal of the Los Angeles airport, staring at the mass of humanity.
"I really wish my UFO was not in the UFO repair shop on my home planet," Krypto says.
"You've said that fifteen times already!" snaps Saboteur.
"I am only trying to help."
"You can help by taking your goofy alien technology and going back in time and kicking that hurricane's ass so it doesn't leave us stranded in the damn airport!"
Action Saxton sighs. Saboteur sighs. Krypto would sigh, but he is an alien, and aliens don't sigh. They make a strange gargling noise that usually causes people to stare. Action Saxton glares at the gaggle of Koreans staring at Krypto, but it doesn't stop them from snapping a few pictures and producing a catchy pop song in the process.
"Look, this isn't so bad," says Saboteur. "I mean, we're wrestling on the Supershow and it's right here in LA, so it's not like we'll miss it."
Action Saxton sighs with frustration. "But sucka, look at who the hell we're facing! This ain't no normal match, this is one of our bigger ones, and we need to get back to Saxton Tower-"
"Saboteur Tower."
"-and work out some strategies, and hell maybe a visit to the Paper Gangster would have been nice as well."
The three stare at each other again. Saxton stands up.
"But dammit, I am sick of sitting here! Let's leave this unjive sterile jive-ass goofy-ass clogged-up mess of a public building and hit the streets to find ourselves somewhere to chill."
"I don't actually understand what you just said, but okay."
"I really wish my UFO was not in the UFO repair shop on my home planet."
The three of them stand up and dive right into the rampaging, throbbing mass of human flesh and luggage, dodging small children and animals, and passing by a group of Koreans wrestling a large snake into a pet carrier. Finally, they manage to fight their ways through. Saboteur looks at Krypto in disappointment.
"You survived."
It wasn't a question. Krypto nods anyway.
"Yes! Was I not supposed to?"
Action Saxton and Saboteur shoot each other withering glances, before turning to the small orange bus apparently on its way Downtown. It parks in front of them, and immediately a small Korean woman with a very large suitcase stands in front of them. The bus doors open with a puff of air, and she stares at the equally tiny Korean woman with the equally large suitcase at the top of the stairs.
Minutes pass.
The two women stare at each other, each trying to pick up their large suitcases and failing in turn. When one moves one way in a vain attempt to give the other passing room, the other matches her movement. The one at the bottom of the stairs tries to lift her suitcase again, and again she fails. The one at the top also tries to lift her suitcase, and she fails again.
They continue to stare at each other. Finally, Action Saxton steps forward.
"Little lady," he says, before he is interrupted by a loud kung-fu-scream from the Korean woman as she withdraws a katana from her purse. Saboteur pushes Saxton out of the way.
"Let me handle this!" he yells, withdrawing a katana of his own. He parries the bottom-stairs-woman's blows and darts up the steps, pushing the top-stairs-woman down. Action Saxton catches her and sets her down before turning to the other woman. Before she has a chance to react, he kung-fu-kicks her suitcase up the stairs, causing it to land perfectly on the luggage rack. A few seconds later, the owner of the suitcase follows it through the same method.
Krypto claps wildly as he jumps up the stairs. Action Saxton and Saboteur take their seats, and the bus to downtown finally departs.
"So, got any plans for what we're going to do?" asks Saboteur.
"Yeah, sucka," Saxton replies. "As this situation is far from ideal, and I really need to get some thinking done, I plan on entering the first bar we see at the end of this line."
Time passes in silence, the two men and alien on the bus staring out of the window at the passing scenery. After a while, Saboteur starts to fidget. He pokes Action Saxton. Failing to elicit a response, he pokes him again.
"What?" asks Saxton.
"Did you ever realize that snakes are just tails with faces?"
Action Saxton frowns, deep in thought about this. Slowly, his eyes get larger, and larger, and larger.
"What the hell."
Luckily, the bus reaches its destination, saving any more brain explosions for the ride home. The trio leaps out of the bus, and Saxton immediately points in front of him.
"There we go, suckas, a bar!" he says. "It don't look too shabby."
Indeed, it doesn't. The facade is clean enough, the windows are artistically shattered, the sidewalk in front of the place is stained an odd yellow color, but all in all it looks like the kind of bar one could use for doing some thinking in.
"Mr. Saxton," Krypto pipes up. "I am not old enough to enter a bar."
"How old are you, sucka?"
"I am Q in the years of my home planet."
Saboteur holds up a finger. "Don't worry, I have an idea!"
Deep in a pocket in his spandex, he withdraws a length of rope. Krypto eyes it warily. Saboteur pats him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, alien buddy, if it's allowed with dogs it's allowed with aliens. So come on, let's go to the bike rack..."
"Saboteur," says Saxton, "I like your style."
When the tag team champions are sure that Krypto is properly secured to the bike rack, the two open the door to the bar. Immediately they are nearly blown out of the door by the loud punk music playing from a jukebox in the corner. The two fight through the gale of noise, struggling over the cracked floor and managing to make it to the ripped stools, where they take their seats and survey the place again. It is, for lack of a better word, dirty. The glasses that the bartender is constantly polishing are dirty. The floor is dirty. The walls are dirty. The clientele are dirty. It has its own charm, but damn if it isn't a dirty charm.
"So what can I get you boys?" asks the bartender. Action Saxton and Saboteur look up, and their mouths drop open. Well, it's assumed Saboteur's does. His mask stretches, at least. You see, in front of our heroes is a man who is instantly recognizable, whose name is globally known and renowned. He is large, in-charge, and jolly. He is-
"Santa Claus!" says Saxton."Damn, I forgot you owned this place."
Gordito shakes his head. "Sax, baby, you haven't changed a bit."
He turns to Saboteur.
"And you are lookin' sharp, Saboteur my man!"
"Huh? Oh," says Saboteur, jumping and sheathing the katana he was polishing. "Yeah, Gordito. Good to see you."
Gordito turns back to the glass.
"So, what brought you back here? Miss me?"
Action Saxton scoffs. "No, sucka, our plane just got cancelled because of that dumbass hurricane, and I needed to think. What the hell have you even been up to?"
"Taking care of the place, mostly," says Gordito. "I've been keeping up with you two. You guys are some tag team champs."
Saxton chuckles. "Thanks, sucka. Got ourselves a big match coming up."
Gordito nods. "So I hear. Who are you taking on?"
"Holmes and Callahan," says Saboteur.
Gordito lets out a long, low whistle. "Top dogs, huh?"
The tag champs nod. Gordito continues.
"You know, I was a top dog once. Well, you should know, considering how many times we faced off during that tournament. Man, I was beating people left and right, was the cream of the crop. But you know who I never was?"
"The world-record holder in underwater basket-weaving?"
"Yes. But I also was never the guy. I never managed to take that final step upwards, to defeat those top dogs and become the top of the pops myself."
He sets down his glass and picks up another one.
"Want to know why that is?"
"Because neither of you were good enough to beat the suckas on top, and I would have won that tournament if I hadn't been voted out?"
Gordito and Saboteur glare at Saxton. He holds up his hands. Gordito coughs.
"Uh, I was going to say, it was because I wasn't focused enough, baby. I didn't get inside my opponents' heads enough. I didn't take the time to try and be like them, to learn how to fight them. Lemme tell you something, you two may be great tag team champions, but last time you faced off against two top guys, you lost."
"Don't remind us," groans Saboteur.
"Hey, I'm just calling them like I see them. Anyway, you want to get at them, you gotta get inside them," Gordito concludes.
"I have to do what?!"
"I didn't know Josh Young owned this bar."
Gordito sighs in frustration. He points at Saxton.
"Look, Action, tell me what Drake Callahan's deal is."
Action Saxton shrugs. "How the hell should I know? Saboteur, what is Drake Callahan's deal?"
Saboteur shrugs as well. "I don't know, I stopped paying attention to things that weren't us around Kingdom Come."
"Damn!" Saxton swears. "So did I!"
"Luckily for you," Gordito interrupts, "I didn't. Now the one thing I know for sure about Drake Callahan is that he's dark. Saxton, nothing about you is dark."
"OH HELL NO," says Saxton, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me you did not just say that. Sucka, if there is one thing I know all about, it is being dark."
He sticks his arm into Gordito's face.
"Let me tell you something about chocolate, sucka. You're a pretty large individual, so I think that this subject would appeal to you. First off, you have your white chocolate, which can be tasty but is damn white. Then you have your milk chocolate. Then you have your dark chocolate. After that, you have your 99% chocolate. And then, sucka, you know what you have?"
He pounds on the bar.
"You have me! So don't you go telling me that goofy-ass sucka Drake Callahan is anywhere close to being as dark as me."
He glares at Gordito, breathing heavily. Saboteur polishes his katana.
"Okay, okay, you've made your point," says Gordito. "If you can't train to be like him now, maybe you should try to be like he was."
Action Saxton thinks about it. Suddenly, he pounds the bar again. Something it the back falls off the wall with a crash.
"You're right!" he exclaims. "And I know just the thing to do! Saboteur, I'll let you train for Holmes. I have to go get a drink."
And with that, he hops off of his bar stool, kicks the bar door open, and walks out. Gordito stares after him, before sighing and shaking his head.
----
Chapter 2: "Saxton Lightens Up!"
An hour later, Action Saxton sits at a completely different bar with thirty glasses of the finest malt liquor in front of him. He stares them down with an expression suggesting they grievously insulted his mother.
"All right, you jive-turkeys," he says to the glasses. "If I want to train for that sucka Drake Callahan, I need to work like he used to work, and that is completely and totally drunk. Get ready for a piece of the action, suckas, because I am no longer fooling around!"
And he starts to pound them down.
At five, he started humming the tune of one of his favorite songs.
At ten, he recited the alphabet backwards.
At fifteen, he stood up and walked to the bathroom in a completely straight and sure line.
At twenty, he repeated the trip backwards.
At twenty-five, he was able to send a text message to Kung Fu Jones without misspelling a word or revealing an embarassing secret.
At thirty, he surveys the empty glasses, and sighs.
"Damn," he says. "I never thought all the advanced alcohol training I was required to perform during my time alive would come back and bite me in the ass lie this."
Yes, indeed. Action Saxton's liver was simply too strong, as was his grit, will, and power. He simply was unable to get drunk.
Still sighing, he pays and leaves to walk around the downtown area. He sits on a bench and starts to muse.
"Damn, if that didn't work, I do have another idea of how to train for this sucka and become one of the top dogs. But where the hell am I going to find a pony in Los Angeles?"
"Oh, herro!" says a voice behind him. Action Saxton jumps out of his seat and whirls around to find himself face-to-face with a very short, very fat Japanese man holding an apple.
"Who the hell are you?" asks Action Saxton.
"My name is Ryuji Varugas Destroyer!" the man says, "and I am number one pony supprier in all of Los Angeles!"
"Dammit, sucka, I don't have time for no racial stereotypes!"
The man looks very disappointed. "But then you will not be able to get the pony! Do you not want pony? Do you like pony?"
"No- Yes- Gimme that damn apple!" barks Action Saxton, grabbing the apple from Ryuji's hand. "Sucka, I have a very important match to train for, and if I don't get my hands on a pony I will not be able to train."
"Well I am the best pony supprier in all of-"
"Yes, sucka, I heard you. Take me to the ponies."
"Forrow me!" Ryuji replies, and he hops on his cherry-red motorcycle. Action Saxton jumps into a rented Cadillac Coupe De Ville and follows in hot pursuit.
They arrive at the pony ranch, and Ryuji leads Action Saxton to his finest specimen. "Here you are, sir, my best pony! He is called Punter!"
Saxton stares at Punter in distrust. He seems like a completely ordinary, brown-and-white horse.
"Sucka, I don't know if this is the right kind of pony."
"Whatever could you mean? There are many type of pony!"
"That sucka Callahan used to always be talking about some creepy voodoo ponies that used to spread friendship and magic or some mumbo-jumbo and now that that sucka has gone dark I thought that maybe if I learned what the hell he was on when he competed in the King For A Day match I could channel this magic and counteract his darkness and learn what the hell goes on inside his mind."
Action Saxton looks around at Punter again.
"I do not know that kind of pony," Ryuji responds, "but ponies can be very friendly animals. Maybe you should be talk to him."
"Sucka, I'm not talking to a horse!" barks Saxton. "Yes or no, will this pony help me train for my match?"
"No."
"Does this pony know any spells that can make Drake Callahan easier to beat?"
"No."
"Does it at least breathe fire?"
"No. It only snorts hot air. It is a pony."
"Then I am not interested," concludes Saxton. "Sucka, thanks for showing me this, but I have to get back to the Sludge Pit. None of this is working and it's pissing me off."
Action Saxton stomps out of the ranch and into his car. The engine roars as it tears down the road. Ryuji looks at the horse. He gives it a hug.
"Don't worry, Punter," he says. "I like pony."
Punter kicks him, causing the overweight Japanese man to crumple to the ground holding his groin.
"Fack!"
“The Classy Party”
Saboteur: So I said, “Invest in a 401k? What am I, upper middle class?”
The punch line drew raucous laughter from the finely dressed men and women surrounding Saboteur, who had just recently learned that he is a blast at rich people parties.
Saboteur had been cruising the Hollywood Hills all night for a fancy rich person party to crash. Gordito told him that if he wanted to beat Steven Holmes, he had to learn to act like Stephen Holmes, and what better way to do that than go to a fancy party and bully poor people?
And this party was certainly fancy: a black tie only affair. Saboteur didn’t own any black ties, but he did own a tuxedo t-shirt that did the trick. Once inside the party Saboteur found himself surrounded by Los Angeles’s most wealthy and influential citizens. There were producers, entertainment lawyers, record label owners, and even the occasional porn mogul. They were eating h'orderves brought to them by fancy waiters on fancy trays. Everything about this party screamed class.
Saboteur classily spits his dry martini out all over the place as he laughs at a classy joke.
Saboteur: I do say old chum, it is quite humorous how much richer we are than everyone else!
Saboteur’s classy new friends laugh with the masked man, unaware that his kitchen table is covered with the lingerie section of various Sears catalogs.
A plump older woman grabs Saboteur’s arm as she laughs, her shiny red dress shaking as her gelatinous sides do.
Classy woman: Oh Mr. Saboteur you most certainly ARE the life of the party. What line of work did you say you were in again?
Saboteur scratches his head and comes up with the best lie he can think of.
Saboteur: Oh I’m the… uh, heir of a… cereal fortune. My father was… General Mills.
Classy woman: Oh my, I just love Fruity Pebbles! And those collector spoons were just adorable!
Saboteur scowls and growls back…
Saboteur: That’s Post Cereal.
The woman releases Saboteur’s arm and puts a hand over her mouth.
Classy woman: Oh my!
Saboteur, not wanting to blow his cover, straightens the tie on his tuxedo t-shirt, clears his throat, and attempts to playoff his sudden burst of rudeness.
Saboteur: Ahem, a common mistake my dear! Now, who wants to complain about Obama winning the election!
Rich guy: Hear hear! That darn socialist is going to take all our money and give it to the poor!
Other rich guy: I say! I need my money! How else will I be able to afford my trips to Svenborgia, the country in Europe only rich people know about?
Anti-Obama sentiment runs high with the rich and powerful guests at this classy party and Saboteur capitalized on it. He might spend most of his time jokes and watching television, but he always has a trick or two up his sleeve.
Saboteur relaxes as he has removed himself from the spotlight and is happy to enjoy the party as one of the snobby rich guests. Nothing could ruin this night for him.
Krypto: Pssst, Saboteur! Over here!
Saboteur looks up at the ceiling and shakes his fist.
Saboteur: You had to jinx it, didn’t you!
Krypto: I’m down here!
Krypto is calling to Saboteur from a potted plant, where he has taken cover in the shrubbery. Saboteur shakes his head and walks over to speak with him.
Saboteur: What are you doing here you little green rascal, and how did you get off your leash?! You’re going to blow my cover!
Krypto: I am sorry master, but Mr. Gordito has sent me with this urgent human transmission!
Krypto extends a letter towards Saboteur. Saboteur quickly snatches the letter and opens it up.
Saboteur: I’m not you’re master! Let’s see what this says, “Saboteur, I hope you are enjoying the fancy party. But remember, being rich and snobby is only part of Holmes’ persona. He also thinks he is genetically superior to everyone else, and is unafraid to make that point obvious. To really get into Holmes’ state of mind you should try to emulate his arrogance. Signed, Gordito. PS This message will self-destruct in 5 second.”
Saboteur crumples the paper up and tosses it back to Krypto.
Saboteur: Don’t worry chief, you can count on me!
As Saboteur walks away a small explosion is heard in the background. Fortunately, the party guests are much too busy socializing to even notice, much less care. Saboteur makes his way back to his little group of classy people and notice they seem to be eating something delectable.
Classy woman: Oh Saboteur, you must try this caviar, it’s simply to die for!
The classy woman hands Saboteur a small spoon of caviar, but Saboteur smacks it out of her hands and instead grabs the entire dish.
Saboteur: All this caviar is mine now, because my genes demand excellence!
Saboteur pours the entire bowl of caviar down his mouth. As he begins to chew a sour look crosses Saboteur’s face. He looks worse for where with each bite, and soon gives up on chewing altogether.
Saboteur: Say, what’s in this stuff anyway?
Individual bits of under-chewed caviar drop from his mouth as he speaks, and a few of the more squeamish partygoers turn away in disgust.
Classy woman: Why, it’s salt-cured fish eggs Mr. Saboteur! Rare Peruvian Swordfish eggs to be specific. The species is almost extinct, so just one tin costs nearly $50,000! Why, I'm sure half their population's eggs are in your mouth right now!
But they won't be for long. Saboteur is sufficiently disgusted with the woman’s explanation and reacts accordingly, spewing a spray of mushy fish eggs right into her face.
The woman is stunned. The partygoers are stunned. The bar tender stops bar tending, the waiters stop waiting, and the elephant that paints caricatures that the rich people hired to be at the party stop caricaturing.
Classy woman: Why I NEVER.
The partygoers start to murmur classy murmurs, and the classy murmurs become more and more raucous, and pretty soon Saboteur can hear the classy partygoers talking about kicking his butt out of the classy party. He needs to think of a solution, and fast.
Saboteur jumps up on a nearby table, prepared to give a speech in a last ditch effort to get into a Holmes state of mind.
Saboteur: My I have you attention maggots? Well, I suppose I already have your attention, but my I demand more of it! I demand more of everything! You see, there are two types of people in this world: people like you, and people like me. You may think you are elite, you may think that you are the upper echelon of society, mandated by the powers that be to set the standard for the lower classes to strive to meet, but you have been mislead! You see, while you may be more fortunate than most, you are still many, and there can only be one that truly sets the standard for greatness, and that standard is me. You are the pawns to my king, the servants to my mastership, the cogs to my machine! You see, you are only allowed to succeed because I made it possible for you… and you have the nerve to turn on me? Yes, I spit caviar in that woman’s face, and I’d do it again! It is my divine right as the superior human to spit whatever I want in the face of whomever I want, and it is your job, NAY… it is your duty to sit their and allow me to spit on you, for I am in charge! I am the one who spits!
Saboteur puts his hands on his hips, feeling very Holmes-like. He is confident that not only has he managed to get into the mind of his opponent, but he has also put the partygoers in their place. But the pissed off looks on the faces of his audience tell a different story.
Classy Lady: I do say, let’s kick his ASS!
Saboteur reaches to his back but gets nothing except a handful of air.
Saboteur: Dang, I must have left my katanas in my other tuxedo t-shirt!
A bottle of $200 wine flies past Saboteur’s head, and there’s more where that came from. A mob of angry aristocrats starts to surround the masked hero, leaving Saboteur with no where to run.
Saboteur: Hey, is that former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi advocating raised taxes on the wealthy?
The mob is distracted enough for Saboteur to start running across their very classy heads as if they were stones in a shallow creek. He crashes through the front door and keeps on trucking all the way down from Hollywood Hills.
“The Part where Saxton and Saboteur learn a Valuable Lesson”
An exhausted Saboteur is dragging his feet along the boulevard, just a few feet away from his destination: The Sludge Pit. Our hero has been outrunning a mob of angry aristocrats for the better part of two hours now, and he has a few choice words for the man who sent him on this mission.
Not far in the opposite direction, Saxton is sitting in heavy Los Angeles traffic, trying to get rid of the scent of horse poop and failure, two scents that are barely masked by the pine tree air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror.
The two meet in front of The Sludge Pit at the same time.
Saboteur: You smell… awful. How’d your thing go?
Saxton: It went awfully. You look like crap, how did your thing go?
Saboteur: Craptastically.
The two open the door to The Sludge Pit and grumpily fight there way through the crowd and punk rock music back to the bar, where they see Krypto drinking a Virgin Shirley Temple. Saxton shoves Krypto off his stool and he and Saboteur take a seat at the bar. Gordito sees the duo and makes his way over to greet them.
Gordito: ‘Sup guys? How’d training go?
Saxton: How’d training go? How to say this… hmmm… it went TURRIBLY! First I tried to get drunk to put myself in a Drake Callahan state of existence, and then I tried to find a magical friendship pony, but wound up chasing some fat Japanese dude back to a normal pony ranch! Gas is expensive mothasucka, and you had me driving halfway across the county to smell horse dung?
Saboteur: Yeah, and mine went bad too! Rich people are mean, and they eat really gross food. The parties I go to generally have pizza and soda and birthday cake, and a robotic band of various animals that terrify me! This party had martinis and people with little tiny glasses on sticks and conversations about things like, “Corporate Welfare.” And then I gave my most convincing Holmes-like speech ever and they chased me out of there!
Gordito: So it sounds like you guys will never be like Callahan or Holmes then.
Saxton: I guess not.
Saboteur: Looks like no.
Gordito suddenly slams his fist on the bar and sticks his finger in the faces of Saxton and Saboteur.
Gordito: You’re damn right you won’t be! Let me ask you something: do you think Holmes and Callahan are preparing for this match by trying to get to be more like Saxton and Saboteur? No! They’re preparing for this match the same way they do for every other match: by looking at themselves and thinking about what their strengths are, not their weaknesses! Steven Holmes is probably sitting in a dark room with a glass of brandy thinking about all the ways he can hurt you, and Drake Callahan is probably punching a brick wall with your faces painted on it, screaming at the top of his lungs about how much he hates you. I think a pillow would allow for a more cathartic experience, but if he was punching a pillow he wouldn’t be Drake Callahan, now would he?
Saxton: Whatchu gettin’ at Gordo?
Gordito: What I’m getting at is this: you guys are two of the toughest sonofguns I’ve ever stepped in the ring with. Saxton, you’re built like a brick house that no wolf can blow down. Saboteur, you’re as quick as lightning and as crafty as a fox, and that’s why you’ve been proving people wrong ever since you first came to WZCW. You need to stop approaching your matches thinking, “how do I beat them,” and start thinking, “How do I stop them from beating me?” You’re the top dogs now, and you have the hardware to prove it, but you don’t have the mentality to match!
Saboteur pops up from his stool.
Saboteur: You’re right! Not only are we the tag team champions, but we’re in the midst of a reign rivaled only by Runn Reynolds Runn. We’ve won matches people never gave us a shot at, both as individuals and as a team. It’s about time we stop trying to hang with the top guys and start to realize that we are the top guys.
Saxton joins in the revelry.
Saxton: Damn straight my spandex clad brother, and we should have known this sooner! Who put on the best show at Kingdom Come? We did. Who did the brass ask to host All-Stars? Us. Who is the most popular duo in WZCW in its entire existence? Action Saxton and Saboteur. We got the skills, we got the thrills, and we got the audience dishing out bills to come see us kick the asses of the sorry suckas that get in the ring with us!
Saboteur: And this Sunday at the WZCW Super Show, they’re going to see the team of Saxton and Saboteur kick the asses of Drake Callahan and Stephen Holmes, because while they’ll be fighting each other for their future title match, we’ll be fighting them together to put on a show for our fans, the greatest fans in the world!
Saxton: Holmes and Callahan may have that raw anger and brute force, but we have the skills, ability, and smarts to overcome their unjive asses. They might be fighting for the World Title at Unscripted, but they best not overlook the beatdown they’ll be getting this Sunday at the Staples Center!
As Saxton and Saboteur were learning a valuable lesson Gordito was pouring them all a victory drink.
Gordito: For you gentlemen, here’s for the future of WZCW and a victory for the world’s favorite tag team: Saxton and Saboteur!
The trio clink glasses and take a sip. Victory never tasted so sweet.
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