MD78: Black Dragon vs. S.H.I.T

[Viola Moonlight]

In an attempt to separate S.H.I.T from both Alhazred & Barbosa following last week's actions on Ascension, S.H.I.T has been placed on Meltdown to compete against the co-Eurasian Champion Black Dragon in singles competition. Dragon will have a few things on his mind: not least the potential of interference ruining the match; when a decision will be made about the title; and questioning whether his legion of men can be trusted after the revelation of Johnny Scumm as one of his henchmen.

Deadline: Wednesday, 5th of September (11:59pm Central Time)​

 

[Miko]

The door stood shut in front of the Machine, it approached, not entirely certain of what to do, it had never directly approached anyone in authority before, even while working for Ty Burna it had never approached him, never asked anything of him. Now it was about to make a demand from Vance Bateman.

It pushed the door, which swung open, Bateman sitting behind his desk looked up sharply, but upon seeing the presence stood in the doorway hesitated before he barked out any complaints, instead choosing a bit more tact, after all, S.H.I.T probably had no understanding of manners and etiquette.

“Can’t you knock?”

In reply the Machine raps on the wooden door three times, slowly and deliberately. From anybody else this could seem like it was an attempt to wind Bateman up, with S.H.I.T it is uncertain. Bateman merely sighed.

“What do you want?”

S.H.I.T entered Bateman’s office and closed the door behind it; it walks straight over to the desk and stands in front of it, looming over the General Manager, staring down at him with an expression like a furious Rhino.

A moment of your time, Mr Bateman.

“Err, granted. Have a seat.” He said, indicating the chair the Robot had ignored on its passage through the office.

S.H.I.T merely turns around, picks up the chair and turns to face Bateman again.

Your generosity is noted. It says, still holding the chair. You should have restarted the match!

“What?”

You should have restarted the match between S.H.I.T and Alhazred!

Bateman leans back, looking S.H.I.T up and down for any sign of malice, contempt or anger. S.H.I.T just stares back, holding the chair. In the end curiosity over takes Bateman.

“Why?” He asked, “Why should I have allowed you two to destroy each other some more?”

You have no comprehension, S.H.I.T and Alhazred have. . . unresolved. . . problems. The Machines former Master must be made to taste defeat! Barbosa’s interference cost S.H.I.T certain victory, this should not have gone unpunished.

Bateman takes a deep breath, obviously unused to having his talent address him in this frank, yet oddly respectful manner.

“If you’d answered that man’s question, the match would’ve finished as normal.” He said, “I am not here to baby you guys, maybe you should’ve just told him what he wanted to hear.” He said with a shrug.

S.H.I.T tilts its head, still staring at Bateman from over the chair.

Negative! His question deserved no answer, his lack of direction and purpose is just a symbol of his own weakness! Barbosa’s problems are his own!

“I doubt he’s going to drop it so soon,” said Bateman. “Doesn’t seem like the type.”

Irrelevant information! S.H.I.T demands a rematch with Alhazred!

“Demands?” Said Bateman, vaguely amused. “You think you are in a position to make demands from me? You think I’ve forgotten what you did at Kingdom Come? How you took this company away from me and gave it to that nut job?” He said, staring intensely into the unrelenting gaze of the Machine. “Even if I wanted to I couldn’t, his brawl with Barbosa prompted me to put them both in a match next week. So you’re stuck.”

S.H.I.T stares over the chair.

Then this is your fault, Human!

“Perhaps, but there is nothing you can do about that now is there?”

No reply.

“Exactly, but perhaps if you wont answer Barbosa’s question, you may need to find another way to keep him out of your business.”

. . . .

. . . .

Destroy!

Bateman, seeing where this train of thought was taking S.H.I.T instantly interjects, getting to his feet and pointing at the Machine.

“But you wont be able to do that S.H.I.T!” He shouted, “because you’ll be far too busy, far too pre-occupied.” He smiled, having the Machines full attention again, “you’ll be facing Black Dragon on Meltdown.” He said with an air of satisfaction.

Both the rooms occupants stared each other down, both knew little about Black Dragon, but what they both did know was his WZCW run. By S.H.I.T’s estimation Bateman had placed the Machine in the ring with one of the most dangerous competitors in WZCW, his run with the Eurasion belt was near unstoppable, he was throwing Chris K.O through electrical equipment while S.H.I.T was climbing out of the Aftershock ranks after being “reprogrammed” by it’s former Master Alhazred.

Bateman continues to stare, waiting for a reaction.

S.H.I.T however did not care about Black Dragon’s record, like it did not care about the accomplishments of its foes at Kingdom Come, they were just opponents, like Black Dragon will be, it'll face Black Dragon to whatever conclusion, and when it’s done, it’s done.
Black Dragon had problems of his own though, the fiasco with the Eurasion Title and his building rivalry with Rush and Sam Smith, with that and S.H.I.T’s currently unresolved conflicts, this match has the potential to be a complete mess. Which was not a concern at all for S.H.I.T, it would, as usual deal with things simply as they came.

Simplifying the situation was best, that way the only guaranteed threat was Black Dragon, and he was a threat, silently going through his opponents in much the same way S.H.I.T has been.

On Meltdown something had to give.

S.H.I.T looks up and sees Bateman still watching, waiting for a reaction. S.H.I.T considers what to say, with all things considered, with all it knew about Black Dragon, his issues with Rush and Sam Smith, S.H.I.T’s own issues with Barbosa and Alhazred.
All the words in the Human English Dictionary at it’s disposal, but it could only think of one that would do its opponent and their combined situations any sort of justice at all.

Destroy!

Bateman raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but having never seen The Machine exhibit any kind of fear before he knows he had no right to expect to see any now.

Destroy. . . Black Dragon!

It turns and leaves, still clutching the apparent gift of a chair to its chest as Bateman watches on.

 

[Gelgarin]

Book of the Dragon

~ Chapter 28 – Scorched Earth ~​

“Good evening Hano.”

“Good evening.”

It's the old man who tells stories again; somehow I knew it would be.

“What brings you to our happy little world of slumber tonight?”

“I'm ready to end this.”

“Were you not ready to end this last week?”

“I was.”

“Yet it remains unended.”

“We're killing time.”

The old man frowns.

“And why are we doing that Hano?”

“For the sake of the story.”

He smiles.

“Sounds good to me.”

***​

“But we'd hardly started.”

“And now we're finished.”

The inevitable confrontation with The Sentinel was not something I looked forward to. I plucked him out of obscurity for my own selfish ends and furnished him with a purpose for the first time in his life. Now I'm taking that purpose away again.

Johnny Scumm has only been mine for six weeks, but that will not dull the pain of being discarded. I know what it is to have your very reason for being snatched away from you in the blink of an eye. I will be to Scumm as Bateman was to me; a tormentor dangling promises just out of reach, only to snatch them away at the final second. He will despise me. He should despise me. But this is just the cost of doing business.

“How can you end it now; after we've come so far?”

“Burna is gone. We have no enemy.”

“Then we find a new one.”

“I am not going to start a war so that you may feel useful.”

“Listen to yourself.” The desperation hangs think off every word Scumm utters, “Since when was Burna the only man who needed taking down? You told me we were going to lead the revolution.”

“Revolution against what?”

“Authority! You think we're going to be any better off with KO in change?”

“Not significantly.”

“Then we need to take him down.”

“And raise who in his place?”

Scumm's mouth drops open at the question.

“Us of course. I thought that was the whole fucking point.”

I've said before that I would rather be followed by idiots. Stupid men are often capable of things the clever would not dare. There is a downside however.

“You want us to remake the world in our own image?”

“Think of how much better things would be. Now more dictator, no more corruption.”

“We would be dictators.”

“But we'd be doing it for the good of the company.”

“I have no doubt that Burna once thought the same thing.”

A glass shatters off to the left, propelled at speed from Scumm's outstretched hand. He's shouting now, but there's no one here but me to hear his rage. We meet in darkness and in silence, an abandoned complex I squat inside whenever work takes me this far south.

“So what was your plan? We topple Burna and then slops off into the shadows to wait for the next bastard to take over?”

“That was exactly my plan.”

Scumm is weak by the standards I am used to, but the blow still knocks me to the ground. Scumm stares, transfixed in horror at what he has just done. I let it pass; I figure I owe him at least one free pass. Scumm sags down into a chair, fear and anger and confusion and longing have overloaded him, and when he speaks next his voice is soft, devoid of emotion.

“You lied to me. You said you were going to give me a purpose, but in the end you just wanted to use me to help you get a Ty.”

“That was your purpose.”

Perhaps not a helpful reply, but an honest one.

“And now Ty is gone you're just throwing me away.”

“If that's how you want to put it.”

“How would you put it?”

The question gives me pause for thought. Were this a film I would deliver some motivational speech about setting him free to discover his own destiny, but I think both he and I know where that would lead. Johnny Scumm has been searching for his destiny for years and found only mediocrity, it seems unlikely that anything is going to change.

“More or less the same.”

“You know the Dragons follow me and not you?”

“So?”

“So if I wanted I could lead the charge without you.”

“If you try it then I will end you.”

He sags, he knows that I speak the truth. The final vestiges of rage and bravado have drained away from him now, leaving him empty.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Circumstances suggest that he is unlikely to try and hit me again so I pull up a chair and sit down with him. I don't think he even notices, he's now too busy feeling sorry for himself. Objectively I think I preferred it when he was punching me.

“Am I supposed to just go back to irrelevance?”

He wants me to give him answers that I don't have. A small bird can spend its life asking how to become a lion, but it will never receive an answer that satisfies it. The best it can hope for it that a lion agrees to tolerate its presence in exchange for grooming, and the best advice I could offer Johnny Scumm is to go and find a better lion.

I was never suited to being an apex predator; I just wanted to bring a little bit of justice into an unjust world. Sadly it never worked. People like Burna should not be allowed to simply die their way out of retribution, but for now that seems to be what has happened. Let me stress quickly that I'm not an idiot; at no point in our tale did I believe Burna's “death” was legitimate; but real or not makes little difference at this point. He's gone; out of reach. Chris KO is being salivated over as some kind of hero by people with terminal short term memory deficiency who cannot remember what he did. Vance Bateman will worm his way back into the fold for the hundredth time. I've been at this for well over and year and I've yet to make a single action of consequence. Dragon was a nice idea, but fate is determined not to let it work, and at the end of the day you can't cheat fate. By rights I should be as miserable as Johnny Scumm right now, and but for the events of two chapters time I would be. But we shall cross that bridge when we come to it.

For now I'm stuck trying to provide some words of comfort to the dejected young man whose life I have perhaps irreparably fucked with.

“What is it you want to do Scumm?”

“I don't know. I don't care. Something. Anything to make getting out of bed in the morning feel like a worthwhile exercise.”

He doesn't want to be a footnote in someone else's story. I know that tune well enough; I danced to it myself back before I cast aside Anoki and took up the mask.

“You want a story.”

“That's one way of putting it.”

“Then make one happen.”

“How.”

“Do something. That's all it takes.”

“You make it some so simple.”

“It is.”

Once again it's not helpful advice. I can barely shoulder my own burden, I can't help with his, but perhaps he'll find a touch of truth in what I say. For now it's a worthless platitude, but as the sand falls through the hourglass a few grains of meaning might emerge. For the time being my parting words are worth less than nothing, but they're all I have to give.

I don't know how long Johnny Scumm stayed there sat in darkness. He was there when I left and gone when I returned; that's all that I can say. After last week he's been tarred with my identity, so maybe he will find some relevance in that for a while. It would be nice to think so, but the real world almost never provides anyone with a satisfactory ending.

What Johnny Scumm does next is part of his own story; he's been written out of mine. He is the first, but he will not be the last. Showtime, KO, Bateman, Muse. I told you once, more chapters ago than I care to remember, that I enjoy crossing names off lists, but this one gives me no satisfaction. This is my bucket list; but instead of wishes it's full of unpleasant tasks that must be done. The real world will not provide a satisfactory ending for me any more readily than it will for Scumm, so I shall have to craft my own. Crafting an ending is never pleasant; you have to deal with the things that have been left unsaid and the tasks left unfulfilled. I have two weeks left, and so much left to do.

With all of that circling through my head the job is reduced to an afterthought. I don't know what I'm doing, don't know who I'm fighting or why, and to be frank I don't care. It will not be my problem for much longer. Motions much be gone through for the sake of the conclusion; but make no mistake, going through the motions is all that I am doing. Hopefully in two chapters you'll understand why.

Or then again; perhaps not. That's the thing about endings; you're never sure if they're real or not.