Post by The Polar Phantasm on Oct 12, 2012 7:32:29 GMT -5
[Amidst an ocean of nothing, we see the Polar Phantasm... floating?]
Voice: Cameron Bankston! He who is called the Polar Phantasm! You have become a hero to many... you have done many kind deeds and good works. You have also been quite foolish. You have allowed yourself to become soft... and let your mind become weak.
[Shaking his head, the Phantasm objects.]
Phantasm: Wait, wait- what?! I have done no such-
Voice: SILENCE!
Phantasm: -thing.
Voice: You have become lazy. You have grown complacent. You have lost your mission.
Phantasm: Not lost, just got... sidetracked, I guess-
Voice: You have fallen asleep!
Phantasm: ...I'm dreaming, aren't I?
Voice: Your mission is greater than any desire for slumber, Cameron Bankston- you must set right what will be put wrong. You must get back to the path, for your destiny is simple... you must follow your own path, or else dig your own hole.
Phantasm: ...I'll take door number one, Monty.
Voice: You and your woman have pleased us with your union, and it would also please us to see your union save tag team wrestling. But your first step is not an easy one- you must dethrone two righteous and honorable men at the top of their game.
Phantasm: How do I do that, oh gods of pro wrestling?
Voice: You must seek answers as anyone else, he who calls himself Phantasm... but you should remember that the enemy of your enemy is an old friend. Seek solace in your acquaintance with the man in red.
Phantasm: ...an old friend? And an enemy of Prophecy's? Hmm...
Voice: Now awaken! Rise and meet the challenge... rise and make this the day you take back your life! Rise now, Polar Phantasm- and find the mission! And for your sake, find the man in red-
[A shrill scream comes from dangerously close to Polar's head- he whips around but sees only nothingness... then, blinking, he awakens from the blackness to the sight of his wife's confused face.* Yep - it's gonna be that kind of day.]
(* - See Nightmare #1, "Fall", for the rest of this! -B.)
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"Walk throughout the fire
Drive throughout the smoke
See my enemy at the end of the rope
Walk on piles of needles
See what they can do
Walk on gilded splinters
With the King of the Zulus" -Paul Weller, "Walk On Gilded Splinters"
"If the people cannot trust their government to do the job for which it exists - to protect them and to promote their common welfare - all else is lost." -Barack Obama
[Just what kind of a day is it where you're shouted at by the gods before breakfast, anyway? Strangely, it's a fairly average day in your life when you're Cameron Bankston Junior... WCF's Polar Phantasm. Flying around the world, solving problems with alternative thinking while making friends with unusual people... it's the Pantheon way. In this case, though, the unusual people don't just include professional wrestlers or their associates... oh no, nothing that simple! In this case, the Phantasm and his dangerous but beautiful bride will be thrown in the mix with the highest law enforcement organization in the USA... all in an attempt to find Jonny Fly. Will the quest for Fly overshadow Polar's other mission? Will the search for the Unstable Elements' oldest friend in WCF derail their quest to save tag team wrestling?]
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POLAR PHANTASM #2: "Rise"
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[Scene: Pantheon West Coast Headquarters (New Antarctica, Nevada); more specifically, downstairs. We see the Polar Phantasm sitting at his conference table, using a touchscreen pad to guide the holographic projector as if it were a microfilm viewer as he flips through files.]
Phantasm: Ugh... nothing. Nothing, nothing... nothing. Anywhere. Eye-Seven, see if you can find anything in the protected files.
Iceberg-Seven: User 'Polar Phantasm', are you aware that-
Phantasm: Yes, I know- I'm violating federal statutes all over the place. This is important. Fly could be in trouble, Eye-Seven- do it.
Iceberg-Seven: Scanning... search should take about an hour. Is there anything else I can help you with, user 'Polar Phantasm'?
[The Phantasm thinks for a second, then responds...]
Phantasm: Yeah, actually. Go ahead and collate all files I've got on Prophecy and put that together for me...
Iceberg-Seven: Acknowledged. Files will be assembled in-
[The computer's voice stutters for a half-second.]
Iceberg-Seven: You have an incoming call from user 'Corey Black'.
Phantasm: ...Corey? Shit yeah, put him through, Eye-Seven.
[The holographic projection changes to the face of WCF legend Corey Black.]
Black: Phantasm. Figured you might be up at this hour-
Phantasm: ...really? It's fuckin' early, man-
Black: You've got a big week... and I figured you'd sleep like shit until you figured out where Fly's locked up at.
Phantasm: Might know about that later today, even... got an iron in the fire, finally. Eye-Seven's looking into it right now.
Black: Good deal, good deal. So... you think you and Nightmare can make it over here later? I talked to Purse last night, and we're talking team meeting at the DETHFORT tonight.
[Phantasm looks up toward the second floor, where his wife lay sound asleep...]
Phantasm: ...yeah, I think we can make it. Might be late tonight, but... I think we can do Denmark by midnight.
Black: Good enough for me. You think you two can handle picking up Purse and Kari on the way? After all, you've got the plane-
Phantasm: Yeah, I got it covered. Later, CB.
Black: Stay free, motherfucker. See you tonight.
[The image of Corey Black fades, and the bland Department of Corrections files return to view. Phantasm rubs his eyes and stands, headed into his kitchen.]
Iceberg-Seven: Shall I playback files on opponents 'Prophecy'?
Phantasm: Gimme a minute or two to make some coffee, Eye-Seven... then we're golden.
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[Six hours later...]
[Scene: Bridgeport Brewpub (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, the microbrewery's bar. Phantasm and Nightmare saunter up to the bar... he orders a 'red stallion', she orders an 'india pale ale'. A loud squeal from behind them causes them to turn- running toward Nightmare at full speed is a petite but feisty-looking woman with five rings in either ear, short hair in three different colors (blonde, black and pink), a black work t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts.]
Nightmare: Girl, you are looking good!
[They embrace, then jump up and down in joy. Christine - Nightmare's friend, Bridgeport waitress, obvious rocker chick - turns to Phantasm.]
Christine: This your man? Not bad, Crys. Like the hair, for sure...
Phantasm: Cameron Bankston. Or the Polar Phantasm, more famously...
[Polar takes a short bow, spilling a few drops of his ruddy brew on his shoes. They all laugh a bit.]
Christine: Fuck it, I'm off. So you said it was an emergency- must've been if you flew in from... where did you two fly in from, anyway?
Nightmare: Oh, Chris, you've gotta see our place... we've got a mansion in Vegas, right next door to Wayne fuckin' Newton! It's awesome, seriously- beautiful garden, robot in the basement-
Christine: ...a what?
Phantasm: Later, baby- uh, and Christine... there's that 'emergency' to deal with first. Christine... Crystal says your dad's got some pull with the FBI?
[The waitress laughs.]
Christine: He's been the man in charge of the Portland field office since '96... I think he's got some pull, sure. What's the issue?
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[Scene: FBI field office (Portland, Oregon). Poster on the wall says 'WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE' 'Daniel (D.B.) Cooper'. Phantasm looks over at it and smiles... he looks across the desk at a fed in a blue sportcoat talking on a telephone. The nameplate at the desk says "Assistant Director Dennis Morse". The man hangs the phone up, then looks across the desk with confusion.]
Morse: Friend of my daughter's, eh? What's all this about? I'm very busy-
Phantasm: A friend of mine is locked up, I'm pretty sure federally... uh, can you make heads or tails of this?
[Phantasm passes him the 'CONFIDENTIAL' document; the FBI supervisor raises an eyebrow.]
Morse: You know, just having this makes you an offender... I could lock you up right now just for violating the Patriot Act among a dozen other laws. Tell me, Mr. White Haired Twenty-Something... what's keeping me from putting you in whatever rathole they shoved your friend into?
Phantasm: ...charisma?
[Polar smiles... AD Morse frowns a bit as he looks at the page.]
Morse: Well let's see...
[He punches keys for a minute or so as the Phantasm looks around the room.]
Morse: ...wow. Your friend must be a hell of a guy- shit. They put him up there...?
Phantasm: What? Where?
Morse: The kinda place they don't send you for jaywalking. Let's put it that way.
Phantasm: Where?! Send him where?
[The FBI director turns his monitor screen toward the Phantasm, who reacts with a shocked look.]
Phantasm: Holy shit, is that real? And more importantly, can I get a print out of that?
[From across the room, a young agent shouts]
Agent: The Polar Phantasm?! In Portland! Oh man, what's up with this? AD Morse, you know who this guy is? Phantasm, you up here on business or what?
[Polar and Morse both turn to the agent in surprise as he continues]
Agent: We've got a team headed up to check out the Church of the Dark Saints- thought they might've called you in as an 'expert' or somethin'. Hey, you wanna come? You might have an easier time dealing with them than we would- uh, if that's alright with the chief, that is...
[Phantasm looks to Morse questioningly.]
Phantasm: What do you say, new friend? Field trip?
[Morse reaches into a desk drawer, extracting his service weapon and holstering it.]
Morse: I'll drive.
Phantasm: Crystal and Christine are waiting for us out front-
Morse: ...no way I'm bringing my daughter to-
[Ignoring the fed, the Phantasm rushes toward the front door of the FBI field office... he shouts behind him at the Assistant Director.]
Phantasm: Shotgun!
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[Scene: Chapel At World's End (Portland, Oregon). Three black Suburbans pull off of a highway and down a dirt path towards an old church out in a field... a church which, as of late, has become quite active. A black coach bus with tinted windows sits before the structure, parked awkwardly obscuring much of the building. The cars all pull into a formation about 200 feet from the building and park... the rear car's doors open and out come AD Morse and his daughter Christine, as well as their new friends the Unstable Elements.]
Christine: So what is this place?
Morse: Clandestine religious sect. Also known as a cult.
Nightmare: This place could double as an asylum with all the nutbars in there. Guy running the place is a real piece of work.
Christine: You two know these people?
Phantasm: Yeah, you could say that.
Nightmare: One of them kidnapped and tortured me, burned his initials on my ass with a branding iron.
Phantasm: We're not so much friends as acquaintances, is what she's saying there.
Morse: You guys might want to stay back just in case there's trouble...
Phantasm: Wait, you guys aren't going in are you?
Morse: That was the plan- we've done this sort of thing before, you know.
Phantasm: Tell you what... let me knock first, see if they're home. I think I'm supposed to talk to one of them anyway, so you guys'd be doing me a favor besides possibly saving yourselves a conflict with a bunch of psychos.
Morse: Can't let you do that, sir...
[Nightmare tries to interject, but is cut off.]
Morse: Not without backup, anyway. Men, on my signal... we move.
[He motions towards the church... Phantasm takes the cue and heads toward the building. Nightmare and Christine follow. Assistant Director Morse turns slightly to motion them back, but Nightmare cuts him off.]
Nightmare: No way I'm missing this- if the shit does fly, I want to be right there in it.
Christine: And I haven't seen her in years. No way am I missing Crys beating dudes up- that was always so much fun!
[He shrugs, motioning to a half-dozen agents... they fall in behind the group, then fan out around the building as Phantasm approaches the front door. He pushes a button, assuming it is a doorbell- a cascade of demented tones come forth from inside the foyer.]
Morse: Something's not right here, that much is obvious... christ, if there's weapons in there we might have another Waco on our hands.
Phantasm: Crazies need religion too, boss.
[Nightmare gazes up into a window... a half-visible figure looks down at her. A half-visible figure with a red right hand.]
Nightmare: He's here. Von Liebert. NvL is here, Polar! I see the mother fucker!
[She grabs Polar and forces his head up at the window- when they both look up, the figure is gone.]
Phantasm: Shit, is this place tripping you out that bad?
[The door opens, slowly and loudly... out comes Andrew Warhawk, prophet of Oblivion. Six guns are immediately pointed at the man in red, causing no reaction in him and a loud one from the Phantasm.]
Phantasm: Whoa! Easy, fellas, easy! David Berkowitz he ain't.
Warhawk: What is the meaning of all of this? We're conducting a meeting inside, just minding our own business.
Morse: Assistant Director Morse, FBI - just what business is that, Mister..
Warhawk: Andrew Warhawk, Voice Of Its Ministries and Crimson Prophet of Our Lord Oblivion.
Morse: Of course. Uh, Mister Warhawk, then. Just what sort of business are you conducting in this.. temple?
Warhawk: No business of yours, Mister Morse... the business of saving souls and freeing minds. The business of a true church.
[Nightmare rolls her eyes.]
Nightmare: You tell von Liebert to get out here and finish this now-
[Phantasm cuts his wife off before she digs herself a deep hole.]
Phantasm: Andy, ol' pal- what say me and you have a little talk? Show these federal boys you're not the Grim fuckin' Reaper or anything.
[Warhawk looks around furtively.]
Warhawk: That should be fine- provided your associates would remain here, outside the premises.
Nightmare: No way are you going in there alone, Polar-
[The Phantasm nods slightly.]
Phantasm: Out here, Andy.
[The Crimson Prophet shrugs.]
Warhawk: Very well. Over here, I'd say... it's my thoughtful place.
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[Scene: Chapel At World's End (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, in the 'front yard' of the church. Under a few sagging trees we see Andrew Warhawk and the Polar Phantasm sitting across from one another at an old picnic table... "A + Z" is carved into a heart shape on one of the trees, obviously chiseled into the bark by a small child or inebriated adult judging by the haphazard handiwork.]
Warhawk: You were always a curious one, Phantasm... now your curiosity has brought you to us at World's End. Curiouser and curiouser.
Phantasm: Don't quote Lewis Carroll at me, Andy- this isn't a pleasure trip or a pilgrimage, this is serious. We're up against Joe and Tek this week, and I need to know what they're really capable of. I know you- you're not like the rest of this bunch. You got a mind on you, Andy- you always did.
Warhawk: I thank you for your compliments, Mr. Phantasm, but I'm not sure what help I can give you... or why I should, even if I could.
[Polar laughs slightly.]
Phantasm: You don't see it, huh? Well, it's simple- you've got issues with Prophecy above and beyond their titles, right? If Nightmare and I take 'em down a peg or two this week, they'll lose their momentum along with their belts. They'll be right where you'd want 'em.
[Warhawk considers this for a moment... an acorn falls from the tree, clanging against the table loudly.]
Warhawk: You make a valid point, Phantasm. So what can I do for you?
Phantasm: I got facts, I got figures, I got strategies out the ass- that's not my problem. I just need to know what you know- I need to know who I'm really dealing with. I need to know who these guys are when they're up against the wall. I need to see inside these cats... like I know you've done. Like you're trying to do me right now.
[Warhawk smiles an eerie smile.]
Warhawk: An old habit learned by a man of the cloth.
Phantasm: Spill it, Andy. Just who are these guys?
Warhawk: The smaller man, Tek... he is of no consequence. Skilled in the ring though he may be, his flashy nature will always be his undoing. His substance is draped so heavily with style that even he has forgotten who he is. The one called Steeltoe Joe is your real concern- for now, at least. His end shall come right soon.
[Phantasm nods solemnly.]
Phantasm: For the here and now, though-
Warhawk: He's a believer. True or false, beliefs are a dangerous thing in a man- especially when one clings to them so strongly. More than half of his strength comes from inside... this so-called 'Holy Flame' burns brightly, fueled by faith and channeled through a muscular form. He is your true test... and the real danger there.
Phantasm: A man of convictions. Not easy to pull one over on a guy like that-
Warhawk: That would be my play. Zealous men are tricky, as you well know- but that same drive can be used against them. You'd just have to find a way to turn strength to weakness.
[Polar shakes his head.]
Phantasm: Oh, is that all? Well, hell. Shouldn't be much of a problem, then, should it?
[He gives a sarcastic thumbs-up sign.]
Warhawk: While we're congregating... any sins you'd like to confess?
[Polar cocks an eyebrow, then turns to the FBI agents clustered around his wife and her old friend.]
Phantasm: I think we're done here.
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[Scene: Bridgeport Brewpub (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, the dining room. Sitting around a four-top table are AD Morse, Christine Morse, Nightmare and the Polar Phantasm... along with the fried green beans and potato skins and mugs of microbrewed beer on the table sits a manila envelope.]
Morse: I know something's going on up at that church. Too much weird shit's been going on in this area since that place started having activity again, and the locals don't know how to deal with something as unpredictable as a rogue church sect.
Nightmare: Trust me, they're way worse than a religion. Those guys are the scariest group of wackjobs in pro wrestling history- and that's saying something in a business where drinking blood before matches and coming back from the dead at a pay per view are standard operating procedure.
Christine: So what's it like, being pro wrestlers? How IS that, anyway?
Nightmare: If you like beating on people, getting thrown through furniture and occasionally having your civil rights violated to extreme levels it's a hell of a lot of fun.
Phantasm: Plus it pays pretty well... at least at the level we're at these days.
[Unable to help herself, Nightmare gushes a bit.]
Nightmare: For a while there we lived in a closet. Now? Well, let's just say we flew here in a private jet.
Christine: Oh shit- your own plane?! That's AWESOME! Hey, I got the next two days off- you guys wanna catch up? We could go visit my friend in Frisco, or we could go to LA! Crys, we could put together a reunion!
[Nightmare looks to Polar for assistance, which he happily provides.]
Phantasm: As much as I'm sure Crystal wants to spend all week hanging out with her old high school friends, we've still got a few stops to make before we lay our heads down tonight...
Christine: Oh yeah? So what, Nevada to Oregon, then...?
Nightmare: Pennsylvania, en route to Denmark.
Phantasm: Work, work, work.
[He smiles coyly.]
Phantasm: Never a dull moment for us. Hey... maybe you could come with us! Then you two could catch up, plus you could meet the gang... well, except for Fly anyway.
[Polar picks up the manila envelope and looks inside of it, then pulls out the pages, taking a sip of beer while eyeing them suspiciously.]
Nightmare: Yeah, come with! It should be fun- you'll love Jeff and Kari, they're great. Oh... and we're going to Corey's place... oh, this is too good. You're coming. That's it. We're kidnapping you.
Christine: Kidnapped, hell. I'm volunteering for this- unless it's gonna be cramped quarters or something, I'll be fine.
Morse: Denmark, eh? Should I be worried about two deviants dragging my daughter off to Europe out of nowhere? I don't want to hear about you getting your organs cut out in some hostel-
Phantasm: Our friend lives in a castle over there. We'll be fine... even the dungeon's not too bad.
[Phantasm covers one side of his face and excitedly whispers to the federal agent.]
Phantasm (whispered): There's a taffy machine in there!
[Nightmare pats Christine on the hand, nodding to her vigorously.]
Nightmare: You want to come. I haven't been yet, but I know enough to know it'll be fun as hell. I hear the cannons still work.
Christine: I am so doing this. Dad, I'm gonna get to fire a cannon! I'll post pictures on my Tumblr, promise!
[AD Morse looks at the Phantasm and Nightmare, a half-confused look on his face. Finally he blurts out a rhetorical question...]
Morse: Who the hell are you people?
[...which the Phantasm decides to answer, swiftly and thoroughly.]
Phantasm: We're Earth's Mightiest Wrestling Stable, good sir. We're the Pantheon.
[Holding up a hand to signal their waitress, the Phantasm then continues:]
Phantasm: Check please.
Morse: Well, whatever that means- you owe us one now.
[Morse motions to the envelope in Polar's hand.]
Morse: When we need you, we'll call- and don't worry. We'll find you when we need you.
Phantasm: I bet. Thanks for being decent about this, man- and thanks for not turning this all into a 'thing'. We get enough of that where we work, you know?
Morse: You stay out of trouble, Mr. Bankston-
[Phantasm's head turns at the G-man's use of his 'square' name.]
Morse: -we'll be in touch.
[Without waiting for their check, Phantasm tosses a few bills on the table and turns to his wife.]
Phantasm: Pennsylvania bound?
[Christine answers first.]
Christine: Where in Pennsylvania we heading?
Nightmare: Just the nicest part of the middle of nowhere.
[As they stand and head out, Christine waves to her father... he gives a disapproving look, but says nothing.]
Phantasm: We're heading to a place called Reading, dear. It's a strange place full of weird people and margarita bars that use too much salt, but that's where we work... so we take the weird with the less-fun-weird and make the best of it.
[At the sidewalk, Phantasm waves down a taxicab... they pile into the backseat like teenagers.]
Phantasm: As I was saying- oh, airport, please. So yeah, in this case we're just going to pick up our friends who live outside of town on our way to the DETHFORT... hey, neither of you have been there before! You guys are gonna love the place... just don't piss Corey off and we're good.
[Christine looks to Nightmare, then to Polar.]
Christine: Oh, come on. Like I'd do that- dude's got a castle. He's gotta be the coolest guy ever, right?
[Nightmare looks to the Phantasm knowingly, then makes a sharp nod toward Christine.]
Phantasm: Yeah, come to think of it- you two might get along pretty well. Yeah. Yeah, that might work out. Christine... how do you feel about Adam Young?
Christine: ...who the fuck is that?
[He laughs.]
Phantasm: Yeah, you'll be fine. Just fine.
[The Unstable Elements both laugh hysterically as the taxicab passes a sign reading... 'AIRPORT ->'. All in a day's work... a day that is nowhere near over.]
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[NEXT: You wanted it... you got it. The return of Pantheon promos! Join us later this week for PANTHEON #7, "Life During Wartime"! Be seeing you...]
[(c) Wrestling Championship Federation 2012. The views of the Polar Phantasm, Nightmare and Andrew Warhawk are not those of WCF or any of its sponsors or affiliates. All rights reserved.]
Voice: Cameron Bankston! He who is called the Polar Phantasm! You have become a hero to many... you have done many kind deeds and good works. You have also been quite foolish. You have allowed yourself to become soft... and let your mind become weak.
[Shaking his head, the Phantasm objects.]
Phantasm: Wait, wait- what?! I have done no such-
Voice: SILENCE!
Phantasm: -thing.
Voice: You have become lazy. You have grown complacent. You have lost your mission.
Phantasm: Not lost, just got... sidetracked, I guess-
Voice: You have fallen asleep!
Phantasm: ...I'm dreaming, aren't I?
Voice: Your mission is greater than any desire for slumber, Cameron Bankston- you must set right what will be put wrong. You must get back to the path, for your destiny is simple... you must follow your own path, or else dig your own hole.
Phantasm: ...I'll take door number one, Monty.
Voice: You and your woman have pleased us with your union, and it would also please us to see your union save tag team wrestling. But your first step is not an easy one- you must dethrone two righteous and honorable men at the top of their game.
Phantasm: How do I do that, oh gods of pro wrestling?
Voice: You must seek answers as anyone else, he who calls himself Phantasm... but you should remember that the enemy of your enemy is an old friend. Seek solace in your acquaintance with the man in red.
Phantasm: ...an old friend? And an enemy of Prophecy's? Hmm...
Voice: Now awaken! Rise and meet the challenge... rise and make this the day you take back your life! Rise now, Polar Phantasm- and find the mission! And for your sake, find the man in red-
[A shrill scream comes from dangerously close to Polar's head- he whips around but sees only nothingness... then, blinking, he awakens from the blackness to the sight of his wife's confused face.* Yep - it's gonna be that kind of day.]
(* - See Nightmare #1, "Fall", for the rest of this! -B.)
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"Walk throughout the fire
Drive throughout the smoke
See my enemy at the end of the rope
Walk on piles of needles
See what they can do
Walk on gilded splinters
With the King of the Zulus" -Paul Weller, "Walk On Gilded Splinters"
"If the people cannot trust their government to do the job for which it exists - to protect them and to promote their common welfare - all else is lost." -Barack Obama
[Just what kind of a day is it where you're shouted at by the gods before breakfast, anyway? Strangely, it's a fairly average day in your life when you're Cameron Bankston Junior... WCF's Polar Phantasm. Flying around the world, solving problems with alternative thinking while making friends with unusual people... it's the Pantheon way. In this case, though, the unusual people don't just include professional wrestlers or their associates... oh no, nothing that simple! In this case, the Phantasm and his dangerous but beautiful bride will be thrown in the mix with the highest law enforcement organization in the USA... all in an attempt to find Jonny Fly. Will the quest for Fly overshadow Polar's other mission? Will the search for the Unstable Elements' oldest friend in WCF derail their quest to save tag team wrestling?]
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POLAR PHANTASM #2: "Rise"
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[Scene: Pantheon West Coast Headquarters (New Antarctica, Nevada); more specifically, downstairs. We see the Polar Phantasm sitting at his conference table, using a touchscreen pad to guide the holographic projector as if it were a microfilm viewer as he flips through files.]
Phantasm: Ugh... nothing. Nothing, nothing... nothing. Anywhere. Eye-Seven, see if you can find anything in the protected files.
Iceberg-Seven: User 'Polar Phantasm', are you aware that-
Phantasm: Yes, I know- I'm violating federal statutes all over the place. This is important. Fly could be in trouble, Eye-Seven- do it.
Iceberg-Seven: Scanning... search should take about an hour. Is there anything else I can help you with, user 'Polar Phantasm'?
[The Phantasm thinks for a second, then responds...]
Phantasm: Yeah, actually. Go ahead and collate all files I've got on Prophecy and put that together for me...
Iceberg-Seven: Acknowledged. Files will be assembled in-
[The computer's voice stutters for a half-second.]
Iceberg-Seven: You have an incoming call from user 'Corey Black'.
Phantasm: ...Corey? Shit yeah, put him through, Eye-Seven.
[The holographic projection changes to the face of WCF legend Corey Black.]
Black: Phantasm. Figured you might be up at this hour-
Phantasm: ...really? It's fuckin' early, man-
Black: You've got a big week... and I figured you'd sleep like shit until you figured out where Fly's locked up at.
Phantasm: Might know about that later today, even... got an iron in the fire, finally. Eye-Seven's looking into it right now.
Black: Good deal, good deal. So... you think you and Nightmare can make it over here later? I talked to Purse last night, and we're talking team meeting at the DETHFORT tonight.
[Phantasm looks up toward the second floor, where his wife lay sound asleep...]
Phantasm: ...yeah, I think we can make it. Might be late tonight, but... I think we can do Denmark by midnight.
Black: Good enough for me. You think you two can handle picking up Purse and Kari on the way? After all, you've got the plane-
Phantasm: Yeah, I got it covered. Later, CB.
Black: Stay free, motherfucker. See you tonight.
[The image of Corey Black fades, and the bland Department of Corrections files return to view. Phantasm rubs his eyes and stands, headed into his kitchen.]
Iceberg-Seven: Shall I playback files on opponents 'Prophecy'?
Phantasm: Gimme a minute or two to make some coffee, Eye-Seven... then we're golden.
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[Six hours later...]
[Scene: Bridgeport Brewpub (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, the microbrewery's bar. Phantasm and Nightmare saunter up to the bar... he orders a 'red stallion', she orders an 'india pale ale'. A loud squeal from behind them causes them to turn- running toward Nightmare at full speed is a petite but feisty-looking woman with five rings in either ear, short hair in three different colors (blonde, black and pink), a black work t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts.]
Nightmare: Girl, you are looking good!
[They embrace, then jump up and down in joy. Christine - Nightmare's friend, Bridgeport waitress, obvious rocker chick - turns to Phantasm.]
Christine: This your man? Not bad, Crys. Like the hair, for sure...
Phantasm: Cameron Bankston. Or the Polar Phantasm, more famously...
[Polar takes a short bow, spilling a few drops of his ruddy brew on his shoes. They all laugh a bit.]
Christine: Fuck it, I'm off. So you said it was an emergency- must've been if you flew in from... where did you two fly in from, anyway?
Nightmare: Oh, Chris, you've gotta see our place... we've got a mansion in Vegas, right next door to Wayne fuckin' Newton! It's awesome, seriously- beautiful garden, robot in the basement-
Christine: ...a what?
Phantasm: Later, baby- uh, and Christine... there's that 'emergency' to deal with first. Christine... Crystal says your dad's got some pull with the FBI?
[The waitress laughs.]
Christine: He's been the man in charge of the Portland field office since '96... I think he's got some pull, sure. What's the issue?
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[Scene: FBI field office (Portland, Oregon). Poster on the wall says 'WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE' 'Daniel (D.B.) Cooper'. Phantasm looks over at it and smiles... he looks across the desk at a fed in a blue sportcoat talking on a telephone. The nameplate at the desk says "Assistant Director Dennis Morse". The man hangs the phone up, then looks across the desk with confusion.]
Morse: Friend of my daughter's, eh? What's all this about? I'm very busy-
Phantasm: A friend of mine is locked up, I'm pretty sure federally... uh, can you make heads or tails of this?
[Phantasm passes him the 'CONFIDENTIAL' document; the FBI supervisor raises an eyebrow.]
Morse: You know, just having this makes you an offender... I could lock you up right now just for violating the Patriot Act among a dozen other laws. Tell me, Mr. White Haired Twenty-Something... what's keeping me from putting you in whatever rathole they shoved your friend into?
Phantasm: ...charisma?
[Polar smiles... AD Morse frowns a bit as he looks at the page.]
Morse: Well let's see...
[He punches keys for a minute or so as the Phantasm looks around the room.]
Morse: ...wow. Your friend must be a hell of a guy- shit. They put him up there...?
Phantasm: What? Where?
Morse: The kinda place they don't send you for jaywalking. Let's put it that way.
Phantasm: Where?! Send him where?
[The FBI director turns his monitor screen toward the Phantasm, who reacts with a shocked look.]
Phantasm: Holy shit, is that real? And more importantly, can I get a print out of that?
[From across the room, a young agent shouts]
Agent: The Polar Phantasm?! In Portland! Oh man, what's up with this? AD Morse, you know who this guy is? Phantasm, you up here on business or what?
[Polar and Morse both turn to the agent in surprise as he continues]
Agent: We've got a team headed up to check out the Church of the Dark Saints- thought they might've called you in as an 'expert' or somethin'. Hey, you wanna come? You might have an easier time dealing with them than we would- uh, if that's alright with the chief, that is...
[Phantasm looks to Morse questioningly.]
Phantasm: What do you say, new friend? Field trip?
[Morse reaches into a desk drawer, extracting his service weapon and holstering it.]
Morse: I'll drive.
Phantasm: Crystal and Christine are waiting for us out front-
Morse: ...no way I'm bringing my daughter to-
[Ignoring the fed, the Phantasm rushes toward the front door of the FBI field office... he shouts behind him at the Assistant Director.]
Phantasm: Shotgun!
------------------------------------------------------------
[Scene: Chapel At World's End (Portland, Oregon). Three black Suburbans pull off of a highway and down a dirt path towards an old church out in a field... a church which, as of late, has become quite active. A black coach bus with tinted windows sits before the structure, parked awkwardly obscuring much of the building. The cars all pull into a formation about 200 feet from the building and park... the rear car's doors open and out come AD Morse and his daughter Christine, as well as their new friends the Unstable Elements.]
Christine: So what is this place?
Morse: Clandestine religious sect. Also known as a cult.
Nightmare: This place could double as an asylum with all the nutbars in there. Guy running the place is a real piece of work.
Christine: You two know these people?
Phantasm: Yeah, you could say that.
Nightmare: One of them kidnapped and tortured me, burned his initials on my ass with a branding iron.
Phantasm: We're not so much friends as acquaintances, is what she's saying there.
Morse: You guys might want to stay back just in case there's trouble...
Phantasm: Wait, you guys aren't going in are you?
Morse: That was the plan- we've done this sort of thing before, you know.
Phantasm: Tell you what... let me knock first, see if they're home. I think I'm supposed to talk to one of them anyway, so you guys'd be doing me a favor besides possibly saving yourselves a conflict with a bunch of psychos.
Morse: Can't let you do that, sir...
[Nightmare tries to interject, but is cut off.]
Morse: Not without backup, anyway. Men, on my signal... we move.
[He motions towards the church... Phantasm takes the cue and heads toward the building. Nightmare and Christine follow. Assistant Director Morse turns slightly to motion them back, but Nightmare cuts him off.]
Nightmare: No way I'm missing this- if the shit does fly, I want to be right there in it.
Christine: And I haven't seen her in years. No way am I missing Crys beating dudes up- that was always so much fun!
[He shrugs, motioning to a half-dozen agents... they fall in behind the group, then fan out around the building as Phantasm approaches the front door. He pushes a button, assuming it is a doorbell- a cascade of demented tones come forth from inside the foyer.]
Morse: Something's not right here, that much is obvious... christ, if there's weapons in there we might have another Waco on our hands.
Phantasm: Crazies need religion too, boss.
[Nightmare gazes up into a window... a half-visible figure looks down at her. A half-visible figure with a red right hand.]
Nightmare: He's here. Von Liebert. NvL is here, Polar! I see the mother fucker!
[She grabs Polar and forces his head up at the window- when they both look up, the figure is gone.]
Phantasm: Shit, is this place tripping you out that bad?
[The door opens, slowly and loudly... out comes Andrew Warhawk, prophet of Oblivion. Six guns are immediately pointed at the man in red, causing no reaction in him and a loud one from the Phantasm.]
Phantasm: Whoa! Easy, fellas, easy! David Berkowitz he ain't.
Warhawk: What is the meaning of all of this? We're conducting a meeting inside, just minding our own business.
Morse: Assistant Director Morse, FBI - just what business is that, Mister..
Warhawk: Andrew Warhawk, Voice Of Its Ministries and Crimson Prophet of Our Lord Oblivion.
Morse: Of course. Uh, Mister Warhawk, then. Just what sort of business are you conducting in this.. temple?
Warhawk: No business of yours, Mister Morse... the business of saving souls and freeing minds. The business of a true church.
[Nightmare rolls her eyes.]
Nightmare: You tell von Liebert to get out here and finish this now-
[Phantasm cuts his wife off before she digs herself a deep hole.]
Phantasm: Andy, ol' pal- what say me and you have a little talk? Show these federal boys you're not the Grim fuckin' Reaper or anything.
[Warhawk looks around furtively.]
Warhawk: That should be fine- provided your associates would remain here, outside the premises.
Nightmare: No way are you going in there alone, Polar-
[The Phantasm nods slightly.]
Phantasm: Out here, Andy.
[The Crimson Prophet shrugs.]
Warhawk: Very well. Over here, I'd say... it's my thoughtful place.
-----------------------------------------------------
[Scene: Chapel At World's End (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, in the 'front yard' of the church. Under a few sagging trees we see Andrew Warhawk and the Polar Phantasm sitting across from one another at an old picnic table... "A + Z" is carved into a heart shape on one of the trees, obviously chiseled into the bark by a small child or inebriated adult judging by the haphazard handiwork.]
Warhawk: You were always a curious one, Phantasm... now your curiosity has brought you to us at World's End. Curiouser and curiouser.
Phantasm: Don't quote Lewis Carroll at me, Andy- this isn't a pleasure trip or a pilgrimage, this is serious. We're up against Joe and Tek this week, and I need to know what they're really capable of. I know you- you're not like the rest of this bunch. You got a mind on you, Andy- you always did.
Warhawk: I thank you for your compliments, Mr. Phantasm, but I'm not sure what help I can give you... or why I should, even if I could.
[Polar laughs slightly.]
Phantasm: You don't see it, huh? Well, it's simple- you've got issues with Prophecy above and beyond their titles, right? If Nightmare and I take 'em down a peg or two this week, they'll lose their momentum along with their belts. They'll be right where you'd want 'em.
[Warhawk considers this for a moment... an acorn falls from the tree, clanging against the table loudly.]
Warhawk: You make a valid point, Phantasm. So what can I do for you?
Phantasm: I got facts, I got figures, I got strategies out the ass- that's not my problem. I just need to know what you know- I need to know who I'm really dealing with. I need to know who these guys are when they're up against the wall. I need to see inside these cats... like I know you've done. Like you're trying to do me right now.
[Warhawk smiles an eerie smile.]
Warhawk: An old habit learned by a man of the cloth.
Phantasm: Spill it, Andy. Just who are these guys?
Warhawk: The smaller man, Tek... he is of no consequence. Skilled in the ring though he may be, his flashy nature will always be his undoing. His substance is draped so heavily with style that even he has forgotten who he is. The one called Steeltoe Joe is your real concern- for now, at least. His end shall come right soon.
[Phantasm nods solemnly.]
Phantasm: For the here and now, though-
Warhawk: He's a believer. True or false, beliefs are a dangerous thing in a man- especially when one clings to them so strongly. More than half of his strength comes from inside... this so-called 'Holy Flame' burns brightly, fueled by faith and channeled through a muscular form. He is your true test... and the real danger there.
Phantasm: A man of convictions. Not easy to pull one over on a guy like that-
Warhawk: That would be my play. Zealous men are tricky, as you well know- but that same drive can be used against them. You'd just have to find a way to turn strength to weakness.
[Polar shakes his head.]
Phantasm: Oh, is that all? Well, hell. Shouldn't be much of a problem, then, should it?
[He gives a sarcastic thumbs-up sign.]
Warhawk: While we're congregating... any sins you'd like to confess?
[Polar cocks an eyebrow, then turns to the FBI agents clustered around his wife and her old friend.]
Phantasm: I think we're done here.
------------------------------------------------------------
[Scene: Bridgeport Brewpub (Portland, Oregon); more specifically, the dining room. Sitting around a four-top table are AD Morse, Christine Morse, Nightmare and the Polar Phantasm... along with the fried green beans and potato skins and mugs of microbrewed beer on the table sits a manila envelope.]
Morse: I know something's going on up at that church. Too much weird shit's been going on in this area since that place started having activity again, and the locals don't know how to deal with something as unpredictable as a rogue church sect.
Nightmare: Trust me, they're way worse than a religion. Those guys are the scariest group of wackjobs in pro wrestling history- and that's saying something in a business where drinking blood before matches and coming back from the dead at a pay per view are standard operating procedure.
Christine: So what's it like, being pro wrestlers? How IS that, anyway?
Nightmare: If you like beating on people, getting thrown through furniture and occasionally having your civil rights violated to extreme levels it's a hell of a lot of fun.
Phantasm: Plus it pays pretty well... at least at the level we're at these days.
[Unable to help herself, Nightmare gushes a bit.]
Nightmare: For a while there we lived in a closet. Now? Well, let's just say we flew here in a private jet.
Christine: Oh shit- your own plane?! That's AWESOME! Hey, I got the next two days off- you guys wanna catch up? We could go visit my friend in Frisco, or we could go to LA! Crys, we could put together a reunion!
[Nightmare looks to Polar for assistance, which he happily provides.]
Phantasm: As much as I'm sure Crystal wants to spend all week hanging out with her old high school friends, we've still got a few stops to make before we lay our heads down tonight...
Christine: Oh yeah? So what, Nevada to Oregon, then...?
Nightmare: Pennsylvania, en route to Denmark.
Phantasm: Work, work, work.
[He smiles coyly.]
Phantasm: Never a dull moment for us. Hey... maybe you could come with us! Then you two could catch up, plus you could meet the gang... well, except for Fly anyway.
[Polar picks up the manila envelope and looks inside of it, then pulls out the pages, taking a sip of beer while eyeing them suspiciously.]
Nightmare: Yeah, come with! It should be fun- you'll love Jeff and Kari, they're great. Oh... and we're going to Corey's place... oh, this is too good. You're coming. That's it. We're kidnapping you.
Christine: Kidnapped, hell. I'm volunteering for this- unless it's gonna be cramped quarters or something, I'll be fine.
Morse: Denmark, eh? Should I be worried about two deviants dragging my daughter off to Europe out of nowhere? I don't want to hear about you getting your organs cut out in some hostel-
Phantasm: Our friend lives in a castle over there. We'll be fine... even the dungeon's not too bad.
[Phantasm covers one side of his face and excitedly whispers to the federal agent.]
Phantasm (whispered): There's a taffy machine in there!
[Nightmare pats Christine on the hand, nodding to her vigorously.]
Nightmare: You want to come. I haven't been yet, but I know enough to know it'll be fun as hell. I hear the cannons still work.
Christine: I am so doing this. Dad, I'm gonna get to fire a cannon! I'll post pictures on my Tumblr, promise!
[AD Morse looks at the Phantasm and Nightmare, a half-confused look on his face. Finally he blurts out a rhetorical question...]
Morse: Who the hell are you people?
[...which the Phantasm decides to answer, swiftly and thoroughly.]
Phantasm: We're Earth's Mightiest Wrestling Stable, good sir. We're the Pantheon.
[Holding up a hand to signal their waitress, the Phantasm then continues:]
Phantasm: Check please.
Morse: Well, whatever that means- you owe us one now.
[Morse motions to the envelope in Polar's hand.]
Morse: When we need you, we'll call- and don't worry. We'll find you when we need you.
Phantasm: I bet. Thanks for being decent about this, man- and thanks for not turning this all into a 'thing'. We get enough of that where we work, you know?
Morse: You stay out of trouble, Mr. Bankston-
[Phantasm's head turns at the G-man's use of his 'square' name.]
Morse: -we'll be in touch.
[Without waiting for their check, Phantasm tosses a few bills on the table and turns to his wife.]
Phantasm: Pennsylvania bound?
[Christine answers first.]
Christine: Where in Pennsylvania we heading?
Nightmare: Just the nicest part of the middle of nowhere.
[As they stand and head out, Christine waves to her father... he gives a disapproving look, but says nothing.]
Phantasm: We're heading to a place called Reading, dear. It's a strange place full of weird people and margarita bars that use too much salt, but that's where we work... so we take the weird with the less-fun-weird and make the best of it.
[At the sidewalk, Phantasm waves down a taxicab... they pile into the backseat like teenagers.]
Phantasm: As I was saying- oh, airport, please. So yeah, in this case we're just going to pick up our friends who live outside of town on our way to the DETHFORT... hey, neither of you have been there before! You guys are gonna love the place... just don't piss Corey off and we're good.
[Christine looks to Nightmare, then to Polar.]
Christine: Oh, come on. Like I'd do that- dude's got a castle. He's gotta be the coolest guy ever, right?
[Nightmare looks to the Phantasm knowingly, then makes a sharp nod toward Christine.]
Phantasm: Yeah, come to think of it- you two might get along pretty well. Yeah. Yeah, that might work out. Christine... how do you feel about Adam Young?
Christine: ...who the fuck is that?
[He laughs.]
Phantasm: Yeah, you'll be fine. Just fine.
[The Unstable Elements both laugh hysterically as the taxicab passes a sign reading... 'AIRPORT ->'. All in a day's work... a day that is nowhere near over.]
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[NEXT: You wanted it... you got it. The return of Pantheon promos! Join us later this week for PANTHEON #7, "Life During Wartime"! Be seeing you...]
[(c) Wrestling Championship Federation 2012. The views of the Polar Phantasm, Nightmare and Andrew Warhawk are not those of WCF or any of its sponsors or affiliates. All rights reserved.]