Unscripted '12: Saboteur/Action Saxton (c) vs. Strikeforce (World Tag Team Titles)

[Viola Moonlight]

Deadline is 11:59pm Central Time, Friday 14th December. Extensions as per thread.​

 

[Richard Blonoff]

I sat alone in the living room. The sun had just started to creep over the horizon, I was nervous in anticipation of our upcoming match, and as a result I was having trouble sleeping. To remedy this I had crept downstairs and turned on the TV. At this early hour there wasn't much on. I flipped through channels, stopping only long enough for my brain to register what was on each channel. I checked the time on my phone, the newest episode of My Little Pony was still a few hours away. I let out a sigh as the bright colors flashed before me. I decided to just hold down the channel up button, count to ten in my head, and then watch whatever I landed on.

I landed on the now ironically named Music Television. My plan hadn't worked as well as I intended because an episode of MTV Cribs was on. I lie back and tried to watch, but after about ten minutes it was becoming too much. Just as I was about to break I heard the creaking from the front door. I checked my phone again, wondering who could be coming in this early. I craned my neck a bit to see. James was doing his best to sneak back into the house. As soon as he saw me he shifted to a more casual walking style, but he looked tense, his body language gave away his nerves.

James rested his arms on the back of the couch.

"What are you watching?"

"MTV Cribs." I responded not looking back at him.

There was some surprise in his voice when he next spoke.

"Why are you watching this garbage?"

"It makes me feel better about all the music I have illegally downloaded."

He let out a small chuckle. "Fair enough."

As he turned to walk to the kitchen I opened my mouth to speak, but quickly thought better of it. I wasn't sure where he had been, but I wasn't ready to play detective yet. Especially not after last weeks adventure as Batman ended poorly.

As I settled back in to watch another rapper I had never heard of talk about his four cars and gold plated jet ski, a cold object fell into my lap, causing me to leap from the couch startled.

As I bent over to pick up what turned out to be a bottle of water, James approached me.

"You ready to start training?"

I looked back up at him, expecting it to be some sort of joke.

"No, I had planned on watching the newest My Little Pony, and then playing Skyrim all day. The new Dragonborn DLC just came out and I fully intend to fly a dragon by nightfall."

"Maybe I have gone soft on you lately, but as soon as I started letting you fall back into your old ways, Strikeforce's performance started to suffer."

I threw my head back, before allowing it to fall forward. I stare at the floor for a few seconds before I look back to James.

I'm clearly not happy, but I agree to go along. "Just let me change into some suitable workout clothes."

I slowly made my way upstairs to my room. As was common place, my mind began to wonder. I looked around at what just a year ago was essentially a storage space. James and Dinah had been so gracious allowing me into their home. Just a couple of weeks before Strikeforce had formed, James and I were opponents. We opened a match on Aftershock, in which James had bested me, my first and only singles loss. Since then he had beaten me in training matches more times than I cared to remember. I was able to keep the record tipped heavily in my favor on the Xbox, but as with most things, my virtual skills mattered little.

As I rummaged through my dresser, looking for some gym shorts suitable for the crisp late fall weather, I came across a shirt that clearly weren't mine. I pulled out a faded Sonic T-Shirt that was about four sizes too small.

"She must have forgotten it."

As I fell back onto my bed, my foot managed to kick an empty bottle that had hidden away under a shirt. Not wanting to travel back down that road again I did my best to push it out of my mind.

I willed myself off the bed and over to the closet. I pulled out a shirt at random, it just so happened to be one of my copies of my original shirt in the company. The one with my less than attractive face on the Death Star.

As I was pulling it over my head, James popped his head in.

"Good you aren't naked this time. That star wasn't the only celestial body in the room last time I popped in unannounced."

I rolled my eyes.

"Haha, my ass is the moon, so original there. Ace Stevens better watch out, you may steal his job." The sarcasm in my voice apparent.

I hip check him as I walk out the door. He recovers and catches up with me. We walk in silence to the basement.

It has been nearly nine months and I was still in awe every time I made my way down here. Three of the four walls were covered with posters of some of James' MMA fights. The fourth wall was dedicated to James and his wrestling career. Most of the posters were of small independent promotions that he had worked for, though the poster advertising our TLC match at Kingdom Come was the center piece. Outside of that and a picture Dinah had taken of James and I clutching our belts post match were the only signs I existed.

As I was glancing around the room, a rope hit me and wrapped itself around my upper body.

"Jump-rope, work on your cardio and leg strength."

I gave a halfhearted effort until James had finished wrapping his hands and went to work on one of his heavy bags. He paused briefly and I quickly picked up the rope, but he never turned around. He put his headphones on and turned the volume up to a level that even several feet away I could clearly hear.

I pulled up a stool and took a seat. I splashed some water on my face to give the appearance of sweat and pulled out my phone. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't focus on training. I started to look through old text messages. It wasn't long after that that I started looking through old pictures.

Spoiler

"Man I look good, you at that pool party though, not so much."

I turned around and saw James looking over my shoulder.

"Maybe if you spent more time training and less time looking at pictures of you and your fans, we would still be champs."

His words were a little hurtful, so I was quick to respond.

"Maybe if you spent more time..."

I trailed off, I wasn't ready to call him out on whatever escapades he was going on.

"So what's next?"

"Just some sparring."

I followed him into the ring. After strapping on my headgear and sparring gloves, I start to circle around James. We throw a few weak jabs at each other and engage in a tie-up that goes nowhere. As James starts to ramp up the intensity, I maintain my lackadaisical level.

Again my mind starts to wonder. I think back to the same weekend James and I made our debuts. I was sitting in the stands, watching as a masked man in a unitard hit a devastating kick to the back of the head of his opponent to pick up a win. The night before I stood backstage texting my friends and family, watching a small television that showed a large muscular man straight out of a blaxplotation film be squashed by a five hundred plus pound sumo wrestler. Then I begin to look at where my career, and even my life have gone in that time.

Just nine short months ago I was in a happy relationship, enjoyed spending most weekends beating mini bosses and rescuing princesses, just so happened to be a professional wrestler. Now I was single, hadn't so much as beaten a tutorial in weeks, and my life was consumed by wrestling. Week in and week out I had to look over my shoulder. The New Church had blindsided me so many times I lost count. Not to mention we still weren't one hundred certain who had attacked us at Apocalypse. Worst of all I had lost the love of my life. Maybe if I had...


...I awoke to the silhouette of a man standing over me and a faint voice. Slowly the silhouette and voice became clear.

"You okay man?"

James helped me up slowly.

"What happened?"

"One second we were grappling for position, then you lowered your guard so I struck. You had your hands down and I connected clean with your jaw."

"Sorry, I was miles away."

"Do you want to get those belts back or not?"

I close my eyes annoyed, nodding my head yes.

"You know what we need right now?"

"A montage? A sports training montage? 'Cause in anything if you want to go from just a beginner to a pro, you need a montage."

James places his face firmly in his palm. After a few seconds of groaning to himself he points his finger directly in my face.

"No, we need you to get your ass in gear."

I slap his hand from my face.

No! You need to pull your head out of your ass!

We are in each others face at this point.

"For the last month and a half you have been running around at all hours of the day to God knows where! You are neglecting your fiance, and you are neglecting your career! You think some last minute training is going to help us beat Saxton and Saboteur?

"Your regiment of sitting on your fat ass and drinking yourself into a coma definitely aren't winning us matches! Actually training will help!

"No, nothing will help us beat them, because we can't! We are just ordinary people, we can't relate to them! I can threaten to make Saboteur eat his katana, I can talk for hours on end about how I can beat Saxton because he doesn't use lifting moves, but put those two together and it is pure mayhem. Add to that the constant threat of The New Church, and we have no chance. On top of all that we have an unknown stipulation. Maybe we get lucky and get put into an "I Quit" match. You are an MMA star, you know submissions. Outside of that the most we can hope for is to survive."

"Maybe we get the no DQ match. If so you can just hit everyone over the head with your old Xbox. Those original Xboxs weighed like twenty pounds."

I laugh a little, despite my best efforts not to.

"I hate when you do that. I want to be angry, you defuse the situation by making a joke."

James shoves me playfully.

"I wouldn't be your unofficial big brother if I didn't."

I was still angry, and I had jumped the gun on calling him out, but he was still my friend and we were still a team. I had to apologize to save face.

"I'm sorry man. I just can't get over this feeling we are prepping for nothing."

James shot me a puzzled look.

"What do you mean?"

"We can't beat those two. We can train all we want, but they are just too random. They are the human equivalent of Pinkie Pie."

James begins to laugh.

"You and ponies I swear."

"It is the truth this time though. You never know what will happen with those two. One day they could come out to the ring at each others throats, the next day they come out as the best of friends. Our only win over them as a team came way back in the lead up to Kingdom Come. They were in the middle of their crazy feud then, they beat themselves."

James pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins to text as he responds to me.

"Well what do you propose we do?"

I walk over to the corner and rest my arms on the turnbuckle, looking at the floor.

"Nothing. There is nothing we can do. Truth is we will probably lose the match. You just can't let it wreck havoc in your personal life like I did. Win, lose, or draw, you are still going to come back here to the loving arms of Dinah. I don't have that anymore. I let those belts consume my life. Because of that I alienated my family, my friends, and most of all I alienated Rose. I'm trying to fix the others, but I can't get her back. All I can do is sit and wonder of her whereabouts and hope like hell she is happy where she is. All the talk of validation, and acceptance, the bad puns, the lame jokes, none of that matters when we step into the ring. No matter the stipulation, no matter if The New Church or Steamboat Ricky or Bowser himself runs into our match, they don't matter. When we step through those ropes we aren't the odd couple pairing of an MMA star and a nerd. We are two men, fighting for our lives against two other men. We could walk out champions or we could be wheeled out on stretchers beaten, but we will still be friends...brothers. In a few days you are going to have kids to take care of. I'm not sure what that means for Strikeforce, but I do know that one day one of us will fail to breath and all we will be left with are memories. If I happen to take that last breath on our way home after the fight, I want you to remember me, us, as fighters...as brothers, who, win, lose, or draw, went down swinging."

I turned around, expecting at least a fist bump, but James was gone, and again I was alone.

 

[Shotaro]

“Fucking Sergei” Mikey was still talking down in the basement but James Howard had trailed off; this needed to be dealt with, immediately. Footsteps echoed through the kitchen, the front door slammed shut and a rotund silhouette tiptoed across the room, the only sound it made was a gentle click as the front door closed quietly for a second time.

A heavily pregnant Dinah had been standing by the kitchen counter alone, watching both of the men she had lived with for the last few months leave her on her own. As the door closed behind Mikey she felt immense pressure from her stomach heading down. She grabbed the phone and dialled 911.

As Howard made it to the outskirts of the city he saw an ambulance race past, lit like a Christmas tree, it seemed louder and brighter than usual. Howard thought nothing of it as he raced towards the Vodka bar. No stopping for conversation, past the bouncers and through to the cardboard box corridor he’d wandered down too many times recently. Disappearing through the staff only door, he didn’t see Mikey enter the club.

You are Sam Fisher, you are Agent 47, you are a ghost. Mikey thought to himself as he entered the club, he approached the door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ in big black letters on a white sign that shone in the UV light. He pushed the door open and was met by a man almost a foot taller and just as wide as himself. He asked Mikey who is was in broken English.

“I am Sam Fisher” Mikey exclaimed as he tried to push past the man-door. It was to no avail. He was pushed against the wall, held off the ground by the trunk like fingers around his throat. “I’m Mikey Stormrage. I’m with James Howard.” He winced as a second hand came towards him. Heaving an audible sigh of relief when the pan sized hand simply patted him on the head and dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor before the bouncer stepped aside and allowed passage. Crouching behind a low box, Mikey periodically popped his head over the top to see where Howard was. When he saw a chance he would roll or jungle run to the next box ahead. Sneaking unseen from box to box, You ARE Agent 47! Howard made his way to the leather bound door at the end of the corridor and stopped, leaning his head into the cushion he tried to listen in.

“You owed me a favour Sergei, ringing me at the ungodly hours of the morning and demanding I do work for you is not how it works.”

“Mr Howard, I am not asking anything unreasonable of you.”

“I have a fiancée who is heavily pregnant. She could give birth tomorrow and you are calling me in the middle of the night and asking me for favours. Call off your boys from Saxton and Saboteur. They didn’t attack Stormrage.”

“Fine, here is their folio, they are strange, strange men. I will continue to pursue the New Church.”

“I don’t know if you should Sergei, I paid my debts to you and more, you were indebted to me and yet since I saw you you’ve been doing what you did when Alex was in hospital and I was footing his bills.”

“That is how this works. I will never owe you Howard. If anything I own you.”

“No you don’t Sergei. You never will.”

The conversation was interrupted by the ring of Howards phone. The room went silent as Howard took the call, only speaking to say yes periodically.

“I have to go Sergei, this can wait. This will wait.”

“I will speak to you tomorrow friend.”

There was a cacophony of noises through the door, like the sound of boxing without the commentary. After a minute Howard spoke.

“In a few hours I am going to be a father. The only reason I am not embedding your letter opener into your neck is because I intend to see my kid grow up, understand? We are done here. If you ever contact me again I swear you will regret it for the remaining minutes of your life.” Howard walked calmly out of the door, switching off the lights as he went. “C’mon Mikey, let’s go. Dinah is in labour.”

Stormrage scurried down the corridor after his tag partner “what the...”

“Not a word until we are out of here, okay.”

They walked in silence down the corridor as Howard adjusted his jacket. The man-door approached him as they reached the door; blocking their exit.

“Move before I move you.” Howard said, calmly. His whole demeanour had a menacing serenity, gliding nefariously towards the exit totally unafraid of anything or anyone. The bouncer who had effortlessly pinned Mikey to the wall instantly stepped aside.

“We’re taking my car, I’ll drive you to pick yours up in the morning.” With that they were off, speeding through back roads towards the hospital just outside of the city centre.

“What the hell happened in there?” Mikey asked, staring blankly at Howard’s still taped hands. They were not pristine white, but tainted with specs of red.

“Do you really want to know or are you just asking because you think you do?”

“Did, did you just attack a gangster?”

The car was silent for a moment.

“Dinah is in labour; my son is going to be born tonight. Sergei was threatening them if I didn’t do some work for him. I can’t let him do that.”

“What kind of work?”

“Does it matter? He overstepped his boundaries and I had to deal with him. By the way, you can strike private eye off your list of back up careers – you would be terrible at it.”

“I was like Sam Fisher though, I don’t know how you could have seen me.”

“I knew I was being followed when the ambulance went past. I didn’t know it was you until you yelled that in the bar.”

“Oh. What did they find on Saxton and Saboteur anyway?” Mikey said as he grabbed the portfolio, he cleared his throat before reading aloud.

“Action Saxton, real name: unknown. Age: unknown. Height: 6’5”. Weight: 270. At least we know they can google.” Mikey scanned the rest of the page. “Saxton spends the majority of his down time watching movies from the early 70s and being angry at the coffee machine for taking too long. He also is meticulous about his appearance and has spent upwards of an hour adjusting the opening on his shirt before strutting to the sofa and spending his evening at home, alone. On one evening he watched Blacula no less than six times.

“Did they actually follow him or did they just make stuff up about him?”

“They probably realised he had nothing to do with the attack on you and someone got cute with the file. That being said, I wouldn’t be surprised if all of that were true.”

“Hang on, here’s Saboteurs. Blah blah blah... Ah, here we go. During one of our observations a passerby on the street accidentally bumped into Saboteur, he immediately spun around and took a Polaroid of the man, writing ‘Nemesis #4,897’ on the bottom. He believes that the squirrels are conspiring against him and considers sporks to be his kryptonite.”

“Is it weird that I believe that more than what they said about Saxton?”

When they arrived at the hospital, Mikey knew his part. He sat in the waiting room making phone call after phone call informing family and friends that his friend’s child was being born right that instant. Howard meanwhile, popped to give Mikey news when he could and when he needed to get ice chips. Mikey was asleep on a chair by 10:12 am on the 12/12/12, when Dinah Kelly gave birth to a boy, weighing 7lbs 4oz.

“Oh my god, he’s so tiny.” Howard exclaimed as quietly as he could. “Hello little man, I’m your dad.”

The door to the room opened a crack as Howard quietly slipped into the corridor. Ten hours of labour had left Dinah exhausted, so when she drifted to sleep he took the newborn out to meet his tag partner.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in the blue blanket, weighing in at 7 pounds, he is Oliver Michael Howard!”

“He prefers to be called Stormageddon: Lord of all Darkness.” Mikey Heckled loudly.

“Oliver John Howard.”

“Hey!”

“This could’ve been a moment but you ruined it.” Howard said, smiling wryly. “Oliver Michael Howard, your daddy and your uncle Mikey have a big day in a few weeks. We’re going to finally win our titles back from Saxton and Saboteur. Daddy will never quit, and Mikey has been whipped more times than he cares to remember. Admittedly that was from his ex but still, it counts and they’ve never beaten us one on one so a Tornado Match favours us heavily.

“At Unscripted, your dad is going to be standing on a turnbuckle and will be lifting that title over his head and he’ll be doing it for you.”

“If only he was born two hours later.”

“Don’t ever let Dinah hear you say that.”

The next day, Dinah and Oliver were released from Hospital and ready to go home. Walking through the door, James and his family were met by Mikey, who signalled for them to follow him up to his room. He had decorated it and furnished it as a nursery.

“I found an apartment down the street, it should hold me over for a while until I can buy somewhere of my own.”

“Are you sure man?”

“Yeah, you guys have a kid now and I can’t just sit around like an even bigger third wheel.”

Dinah threw her arms around Mikey “Thank you, you’re always welcome.”

“Don’t think this means you can be late for training buddy, I do have a portable alarm clock now.”

“I won’t.”

“Good, get into your training gear then, we’ll meet down there in ten minutes.”

 

[JGlass]

The scene is set with in the study of Saxton/Saboteur tower as the twelve time Blackademy Award winning Action Saxton enjoys is enjoying his Sunday morning with a copy of the morning paper and a mug of hot chocolate to warm him up on this cool, Wyoming morning.

Saxton: Dope ass Marmaduke, you ain’t gonna get into the country club even if you’re carrying a 9 iron in your mouth!

Saxton chuckles and takes a long sip out of his mug of hot chocolate. He turns the page and releases a deep, satisfied sigh.

Saxton: Ahhh, ain’t nothin’ like a lazy Sunday morning. Let’s see what Dennis the Menace is up to today…

Almost on cue, one of the large bookshelves comes crashing down right next to Saxton, causing the blacker half of the Tag Team Champions to leap from his chair for safety.. Emerging from the dust cloud of destruction is none other than Saxton’s own menace, Saboteur.

Saxton: What the hell was that sucka!?

Saboteur: Relax Saxton. I decided that I would use our week off to build a series of secret passageways through the tower. You see, this one leads from that bookcase to the opposite side of the wall! Pretty neat, huh?

Saxton: Not cool Saboteur, that was the bookshelf where I kept my classy Eastern European erotica. If there’s any damage to “The Soviet Coc”, I’m gonna be mighty angry. And furthermore… what do you mean week off? We’ve got training to do if we want to retain our titles at Unscripted!

Saboteur: Train? Why in the world would we do that? We’ve kicked New Church’s butts every time we’ve stepped in the ring with them, so why bother preparing when we have this match in the bag.

Saxton: Earth to sucka? We ain’t facing those unjive New Church fools anymore; remember what Big Dave said?

Saboteur: No, I tend to tune him out whenever he talks.

Saboteur scratches his chin and begins to have a flashback to Meltdown 81…

The New Church and Ricky turn around and see Dave come out to a cheering audience wearing his professional attire. He has a microphone in hand and he raises it up to his mouth.

Dave:

Saboteur: That's one catchy jam!

Saxton: Let me guess, 1970s sitcom theme song?

Saboteur: Sanford and Son. But if we’re not facing New Church, who are we facing?

Saxton: Strikeforce.

Saboteur crosses his arm and slumps into a large chair.

Saboteur: Oh man, not them again! What did they even do to deserve to get this title shot?

Saxton: Well, Mikey Stormrage has been hot since his return and Howard picked up a win over Krypto on Aftershock. Other than that… nothing really. But hey, if I learned anything from my training at Muhammed Ali’s Little Scrapper Day Care Center it’s that you gotta roll with the punches.

Saboteur seems to have been pacified by this comment and shrugs his shoulders.

Saboteur: Well, when you’re right you’re right. Say, can you pass over the comics? I just love that Marmaduke!

Saxton: I know right? Isn’t it funny how he acts like he’s a real person?

The two start giggling as Saxton passes Saboteur half of the comics section, keeping the other half for himself as he sinks back into his original seat. The two start begin reading when Garrett pokes his head into the room.

Garrett: Uh, what happened here?

Saboteur looks up from his comics.

Saboteur: What, the bookshelf? Yeah, I was just making a secret passage between this room and the room next to it.

Garrett: So… a door?

Saboteur: No, because doors have handles and aren’t secret. This is a super secret hidden passage.

Garrett: Because nothing says secret passage like a gaping hole in the wall.

Now Saxton looks up from his paper.

Saxton: Will you suckas put a choke hold on your pie holes? I’m trying to read Dilbert here!

Saboteur starts to chuckle.

Saboteur: Dogs in ties are funny.

Garrett: Shouldn’t you two be training for your match with Strikeforce at Unscripted?

Saxton: Hey man, even God took a day off when he was creating the earth. Now, He might not be as action packed and blackstastic as your’s truly, but that God dude is still pretty tough, so if He gets a break, Action Saxton gets a break too.

Saxton emphatically flicks his paper rigid and continues to read.

Saboteur: Besides, we’ve already beaten those clowns every time we’ve faced them. And they’re little pussycats anyway, nothing like Callahan and Holmes.

Garrett shakes his head in disbelief.

Garrett: I just can’t believe you guys are this nonchalant about the match. Usually you guys get all fired up when you face bad guys.

Saboteur: Strikeforce isn’t so bad. Sure, Mikey Stormrage has manboob sweat and James Howard smells like the dumpster of a cheap Shawarma restaurant, but they’re okay otherwise.

Garrett: Hello? Have you guys forgotten everything they put you through in the past few months?

Saboteur and Saxton both put their newspapers down completely, curious to hear what Garrett has to say.

Garrett: Apparently not. Alright, let’s start at the beginning: Meltdown 76, Mikey Stormrage vs. Saboteur. Saboteur just barely lost the match, but Stormrage kept on attacking him after the bell anyway.

Saboteur: Hey, that’s right! I forgot how that guy used to be a real jerk to me!

Garrett: Then, after you guys beat Strikeforce for the belts at Redemption, they had the nerve to call you jackasses the following weekend on Meltdown!

Saxton: I remember that too! Ain’t nobody gets away with calling Action Saxton by such a foul name, especially in front of the young and impressionable urchins that make up a large portion of the WZCW audience!

Saboteur: And I remember kicking them in their fat and/or hairy behinds in our match later that night.

Garrett: Right, but they still wouldn’t give up. On Ascension 53 they cost you your match against Tastic and Constantine, and then on Ascension 54 they both cheated to win their matches against you in one on one competition.

Saxton crunches up newspaper up in his now clenched fists.

Saxton: I remember those matches! I hate when lyin’ cheatin’ sons of guns make us look foolish!

Saboteur: No good pumpkin eaters!

Garrett and Saxton, both puzzled, look at Saboteur.

Saboteur: You know, because they’re cheater cheater pumpkin eaters?

Saxton: I dig.

Garrett: And finally, after Stormrage went down, James Howard had the audacity of accusing you guys of attacking Stormrage after weeks and weeks of you defending yourself from their sneak attacks! He was so sure it was you that he came out with a steel chair and attacked both of you with it during your first title defense at Apocalypse.

Saboteur has heard enough as he springs from his chair, tossing his newspaper in the air. The insane assassin unsheathes his katanas and starts swinging wildly until the newspaper is cut to shreds. He resheaths his katanas but is still breathing heavily.

Saboteur: That’s IT! So Tweedle Fat and Tweedle Ugly think they can just take a few weeks off and come back and play the hero? I don’t care what those two have been through in the past month; they have not paid for their sins!

Saxton pounds the side table causing it to collapse into a pile of wood and screws.

Saxton: Hell no they haven’t! They’ve attacked us from behind, cheated, and conned their way into wins, but all they can do is try and keep up with us. But the fact is: we beat them every time the four of us step in the ring together!

Saboteur: And now they’ve managed to get a title shot because The New Church did exactly what Strikeforce was doing? All Strikeforce had to do was lay low and play innocent for a month, and now they’re right back in the title scene. It’s not right!

Saxton: Well I’ll tell you what, Saboteur, we gonna make it right! You know, we’ve had a pretty rough title reign. We’ve had to fight off sneak attacks from both Strikeforce and New Church, take on top competition like Constantine and Tastic, or even more impressively Callahan and Holmes, and all the while we’ve had to do publicity work, train our protege Krypto, and even fly out to Japan to be the commentators for All-Stars!

Saboteur: Yeah, we did do all that… and you know what? I kinda liked it. Heck, I loved it!

Saxton: I loved it too, Saboteur. There ain’t nothing like being the tag team champions with your best bud, touring the greatest planet in the galaxy, and beating up unjive suckas every which way to the delight of the best fans in the world. And that’s exactly why the only way to do these title belts justice is to put an ass whoopin’ on them Strikeforce boys this Sunday!

Saboteur: We can’t let a couple of phonies like them steal our belts from around our waist and masquerade as the heroes they pretend to be. These fans deserve champions that appreciate them and are willing to literally travel to the ends of the earth to defend them from all the oppose us!

Saxton: Whether we fighting an army of renegade elves at the North Pole, camel riding Samuai in the Sahara, laser shooting banditos in Mexico, or zombie penguins in the South Pole...

Saboteur shivers.

Saboteur: Ohhh… penguins…

Saxton: We always bring out our best game for them, and this time ain’t gonna be any different. Strikeforce, we commin’ for you suckas!

Saboteur and Saxton run out of the room, rejuvenated by the morning’s discussion. Garrett follows them out, leaving the study empty… except for the collapsed bookshelf, hole in the wall, broken end table, and chopped up newspaper cluttering the room. The scene fades to black.

 

[The Doctor]

Signal Panic, Inc. Presents
Action Saxton & Saboteur
in
"The Roundtable Riot!"

It is evening at The Paper Gangster, the small diner/bar across the way from Saxton/Saboteur Tower, where the locals and the workers in the tower congregate alike to partake in the cozy atmosphere and the damn good food. There's never a dull moment in the Paper Gangster nowadays, and if Marceline were a normal woman, it'd probably burn her out pretty badly. However, a normal woman she is not, and you'd have to get up pretty early to outfox Action Saxton's best friend.

Today is a particularly special day. It had been a while since she'd last seen the current WZCW Tag Team Champions, so when they announced they were going to have their customary post-training meal at Action Saxton's favorite restaurant, she got excited. And when they announced they were bringing friends, it only grew.

You see, Saboteur and Action Saxton were hardly alone. Though they may not have been accompanied by their alien companion Krypto this time, they certainly brought on a cavalcade of characters, all of whom were seated around the table in the corner next to the window, having a very, very animated discussion.

"Well back in my day," Stan Rogers was saying, "the only kinds of parties we had were political, and we quite enjoyed them because they were all we had!"

"And back in my day," responds Saxton, "the old men kept on being old and left the day-saving to the suave suckas like Saxton and Saboteur!"

"I could lick that dandy-boy with my eyes closed!" Rogers retorts.

"The only thing you can lick is prunes! Because you're old!" says Saboteur.

"More coffee?" asks Marceline, refilling the five empty cups on the table.

What started out as a perfectly innocent post-training meal has escalated quite quickly into a mass-bickering matched only by the time a curious scientist locked all of his in-laws in a room with a Thanksgiving dinner and a bottle of 1969 Pinot Grigio. Action Saxton, Saboteur, Stan Rogers, Gordito, and Hunter Kravinoff all glared daggers at each other as the arguing continued.

"I must say, Rogers," says Kravinoff, "your antiquated way of thinking disturbs me. What would Freud think?"

"I don't care what that nancy has to say!" exclaims Rogers. "He's poisoned the youth of America enough!"

"Well, I'm sorry you aren't aware of sophisticated thought."

"And I'm sorry you ever came out of the jungle, now be silent before I drag your rear end back there!"

"Guys, guys," interrupts Gordito, "you're all being loud but you sure aren't being punk rock! Chill out!"

"The only rock we had in my day were the ones that blocked the tombs, and we had to deal with it because they were all we had!"

The other patrons stare at the mob of wrestlers with slack jaws as Marceline rolls her eyes and continues her work. Eventually, she hears Action Saxton's voice.

"Damn, suckas, I'm supposed to be the angry one around here!"

"You don't know anger until you've tangled with the wild boar in the jungles of Uganda," says Kravinoff.

"Are you calling me soft?" Saxton turns to Saboteur. "Is this sucka calling me soft? Because you can be rest assured, sucka, I am hard as a m'sucka right now!"

"My old companion would have quite a bit to say about that," sneers Kravinoff.

"We're not going to get anything done if we just stand around screaming at each other," says Gordito.

"I'll tell you what I'll get done," says Saboteur. But before he has a chance to express exactly what that could be, there is a loud bang as Marceline slams her fists on the counter.

"If all of you don't shut the hell up, I'm throwing you out of the place!" she yells. "And that includes you two, Sax, Sab. Stop acting like morons, drink your coffee, and figure out whatever it is you came in here to figure out!"

Breathing heavily, she walks off, leaving the table to stare after her in stunned silence. Finally, Action Saxton breaks it.

"She's right, suckas," he says. "This is supposed to be a celebration, and all we've been doing is bellyachin'."

He turns to Stan Rogers.

"Sucka, thanks for training us in that goofy-ass black and white world to trick some suckas and do some headlocks."

"Son," Rogers responds. "I have more advice for you two, to help you in this upcoming match. And to tell you it, I want to tell you a story. When I was but a young buck looking to make my name in the business, I had a hard time taking it to this dastardly villain, the devilish Dan Dodgers. He was a mean one, that Dan Dodgers, and every time we clashed I ended up the worse for wear. But you know what I did in the end? I'll tell you - I went to the head of the promotion, and I had him put us in the most horrifying special attraction match known to mankind - The Seasick Smackdown Match!"

Rogers takes a long drink of coffee and harrumphs through his moustache.

"It was a brutal bout atop a ring floating in the middle of the ocean, and when I locked in my devastating technique, the headlock, and threw him over the side, that little fink went in the drink!"

Rogers guffaws loudly. Saboteur stares at him.

"How will this help us defeat Strikeforce in our tag team match?" he asks.

"It's simple!" Rogers responds. "You go to the promoter and tell him 'What ho, chappie! I want all three match stipulations on this silly little poll changed to a Seasick Smackdown!'. If he refuses, lock the old curmudgeon in a headlock! That'll teach him!"

"Sucka, I think there is something very wrong with your tain of thinking."

"And I think you need to toughen up with the help of more bees!" Rogers says, reaching under the table and withdrawing a mysteriously buzzing box.

"Not the bees!" squeals Saboteur, curling into a ball. "Anything but the bees!"

Saxton sighs and turns to Gordito.

"Sucka," he says. "You were damn right when you said that me and Saboteur had to focus on being ourselves. That propelled us to victory against those fools Callahan and Holmes, and solidified us as the best damn tag team champions of all time!"

"You got that right that I was right!" says Gordito. "I remember just last year, you two were going to go against each other at Unscripted, along with me, and now look! You're a team! I'm so proud, guys. So proud..."

He stares at Saboteur, who has since uncurled, with a faraway look in his eye.

"Hey, he's right!" says Saboteur, trying to avoid Gordito's dreamy and unblinking gaze by looking at Saxton instead. "I remember that match! You got voted out, and I lost!"

"Don't remind me."

"So do you have any last-minute advice as well?" Saboteur asks Gordito. Gordito gives the masked man a thumbs up.

"You're damn right I do!" he says. "Get voted out!"

Saxton and Saboteur look at each other.

"What," they ask in unison. Gordito smiles.

"Yeah, you heard me! Get voted out, and that way you can't lose!" He gives the team a thumbs-up again.

"Uh, sucka, those ain't even the things that the fans are voting on this year."

"Yeah! And if we didn't compete, how could we retain these tag team championships?" asks Saboteur, removing his from his waist and holding it up with one hand. "I need to feel like I earned the right to stop my spandex from falling down!"

Gordito stares at the two again, taking a long sip from his mug. He smiles again.

"Whatever, man."

"Sucka, you sure that's coffee you've been drinking?"

Gordito winks. "Maybe."

There is an awkward silence.

"So, Kravinoff," says Action Saxton, but stops when Kravinoff holds up a hand. The Ugandan Wildman has his eyes closed, and is obviously deep in thought. The tag team champions stare in his direction as he continues to meditate. Time passes. The coffee grows cold. Finally, he opens his eyes.

"If one wishes to pursue their prey," he says slowly and carefully, "one must become one with their wild side."

Action Saxton and Saboteur's ears perk up.

"Keep talking," says Saboteur.

Hunter Kravinoff takes another deep breath.

"To become wild enough to defeat your fearsome opponents, you must stay in tune with the jungle. After all, as the ancient Ugandans once said, 'Never drink the milk from a coconut in the dark'."

He opens his eyes and folds his hands on the table, looking our tag team champions in the eye. There is an air of finality about the whole deal. Saxton and Saboteur shrink back, disappointed.

"Hey there, guys!"

Suddenly, a new voice breaks the silence. The occupants of the table swing their heads around to see the owner of the new voice. He is a heavy man, dressed in shredded black jeans and a pretty fashinable button-down shirt. His shaggy black hair brushes his shoulders. He sips his cup of coffee and sighs in contentment before continuing to speak.

"Sorry to intrude, but I heard what you guys were talking about, and I figured I had to step in."

"Uh, who are you?" asks Saboteur. The man's face falls.

"Look, I know I'm not wearing the paint, but I figured you'd at least have heard of me," he says. "I'm Max Karzai."

Saxton frowns. "Who?"

Max Karzai sighs. "You know, Max Karzai! Rock star! WZCW tag team champion! Hardcore icon! Went out in a burst of fire! Max Karzai!"

"Are you the guy who ate a bat?" asks Saboteur.

"No, that was- Look, it's not important," says Max Karzai exasperatedly. "The deal is, you guys are WZCW tag team champs, and I used to be a WZCW tag team champ. I know a thing or two about tag teaming, and I know a bit about tag team wrestling as well."

He winks.

"Now you guys got a big match coming up, right?" he asks.

"Hell yeah we do, sucka!" says Saxton. "Going to kick Strikeforce's asses no matter what stipulation we get handed."

"Exactly," says Karzai. "Now I've been through some brutal stunts in my life, so let me give you some advice, okay?"

"Are you the guy who threw his TV out of the window?" asks Saboteur.

"N- Yeah, I did," admits Karzai, "but that's beside the point. Let me tell you what you need to do, first thing in the match. You need to play some mindgames. You listening?"

The tag team champions nod their heads.

"Okay, so what you have to do is play some mindgames by doing something so crazy they'll never see it coming! So listen up, soon as they hit the ring, no matter the stip, you wrap yourselves in barbed wire, you set fire to the announce table, and you launch your asses through it."

There is a stony silence.

"Eh? Eh?" says Karzai, grinning. "It'll be great, and think of how freaked out they'll be! They'll probably be all 'Woah, we're dealing with some crazy badasses over here, we could get hurt!' and then they'll be easy pickings! It's genius! It's daring! It'll rock!"

"Uh, yeah," says Saxton, slowly. "Thanks for the advice, sucka. We'll consider it."

He turns to Saboteur, raises an eyebrow, and points to his head.

"I don't have an afro," Saboteur replies.

Action Saxton sighs and stands up.

"Listen, suckas," he says to the table at large. "Y'all have all been helpful in making us faster, stronger, and more badass than ever. It's been damn fine working with you and your goofy asses, but now ain't the time for just some mental preparation. Garrett already handled that, and he did it better than y'all. We have a big-ass match against a big-ass tag team-"

"Literally, in Stormrage's case," pipes up Saboteur.

"-and we can't be sittin' around thinkin' about all the ways to psyche them out or whatever the hell. It's the time for action, suckas, and I know and you know and the whole damn world knows that when it comes to action there is no better than Action Saxton and Saboteur."

He leans against a wall.

"In the past few weeks, Saboteur's been stung by bees, I have powerbombed a bear I was allergic to, he went to a fancy party, I found myself on a ranch with some goofy-ass Japanese man, we went to Timbuktu, threw fries in some sucka's eyes, and we've been crushing all comers all over the damn company."

"I had to eat caviar!"

"And you know what all that did, suckas?"

Action Saxton slams a fist against a wall.

"It made us stronger!" he roars. "If we weren't prepared for this match before, we sure as hell are prepared now! I don't give a damn if it's a whipping match, a quitting match, or an anything-goes match. The fact is we are the best damn tag team in the whole damn company, and no jive-ass two-timing suckas we've beaten before are going to stop us!"

He turns to the restaurant at large, and all the customers who weren't already staring at them do so.

"You listen up, suckas, and you listen up good! Action Saxton and Saboteur are your WZCW Tag Team Champions, and ain't no Strikeforce going to change that. Bring on some whippin', hittin', armpittin' action, and we'll bring the power and the pain!"

There is a whistle from the crowd.

"I am the Badass Brother unlike any other! I am the hard-hittin', never quittin', heat-packin' Action Saxton, and this is my main man, the spandex-clad super-sucka Saboteur, and when we hit those Strikeforce suckas with the Saxton Smackdown-"

"-Saboteur Sweep-"

"-we're like the big train rolling down the line - Unstoppable!"

He turns again to the WZCW veterans seated around the table.

"So thanks again, suckas, for all the training and advice, but the time for talking is over. It's time for Action Saxton and Saboteur to do what we do best - Kick some ass!"

The legends burst into applause. The customers burst into applause. Everyone is on their feet, cheering for the tag team champions. Marceline looks over from the kitchen.

"You get 'em, boys," she says to herself, and watches them high five and march out of the door.​