Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2014 4:57:09 GMT -5
Deep within the bowels of the Pentagon, four men and one woman have gathered to speak of the sudden reappearance of one Lieutenant Colonel Michael Steele, presumed dead after the failure of a highly classified mission in Pakistan. The topics of importance was how to debrief Steele, if bringing him back in was in the best interest of the United States, and why he didn't reach out to the United States if he was indeed a prisoner this whole time.
The Chairman of the National Defense Committee, Congressmen Bernard Jenkins, started the meeting with these worlds...
Jenkins: As you all know, we've discovered that one of our own, Lieutenant Colonel Michael Steele, a very highly-decorated soldier, has returned to the United States. It distresses me that he had not made contact with the government upon arrival, but instead we had to find him, of all places, on television, in a wrestling match.
Among the other men, there is a murmur of agreement in this statement. Congressman Jenkins continues...
Jenkins: I'm here with you men to try and determine what is our best course of action in dealing with Steele. Now keep in mind that this has to be handled with the utmost care. He was a star in covert operations, so taking him in hard would probably result in injury or death to himself and several others tasked to bring him in.
Bell: He still needs to be brought in and debriefed on the mission and what has transpired over the last five years. I get the feeling that getting anything out of him would be a very hard sell. We might have to bring him in by force. That option should be left on the table.
Gill: General, that should be left as a last resort. This was one of your soldiers. Don't you want to know how and why the mission failed?
Bell: And that is why I'm saying what I'm saying. All of you may have loved him and what he does, but I actually knew the man. He was a stubborn and difficult man, and if he didn't come back to us, there must be a reason behind it. But protocol needs to be observed. We need to know what he knows about his last five years. And if we have to extract that information by force, so be it.
Reardon: I agree on that part, but I also agree that force should be a last resort. My suggestion would be to let him come to us, but have him put under surveillance for the time being. Perhaps there is something preventing him from coming in and being debriefed. I mean, if he's going from city to city wrestling, it shouldn't be difficult to put an FBI agent on him wherever he goes. Most of those cities have offices in them.
Bell: Steele would smell them coming long before he heard or seen them. Feds are not going to be able to keep tabs on him very well. I'm sure as of this moment, he's still off the grid technologically. He probably doesn't even have a phone or a computer. He has no family to speak of, so it wouldn't be difficult for him to stay off the grid.
Jacobs: That's not entirely true. Part of his wrestling contract states that he must have a Twitter account open in order to allow his fans access to him. Though all he's done on it is basically complain about his fellow wrestlers and how dumb Twitter seems to be. I've looked at the IP addresses, and all of them have been on a public computer in a hotel in New Orleans. If this is a trend, we can find out where he is as he moves from city to city.
Jenkins: Well that solves that.
Bell: I can put one of my best men on him...
Jenkins: No. With all due respect, General, I don't like how you've come across so far. I've actually met Michael Steele, and while I can't say I know him, he is an honorable man who deserves more respect than you've shown him during this meeting. If anything, I'd like Jacobs to continue monitoring his movements. Reardon will coordinate with the feds and get some surveillance on Steele. When I say surveillance, I mean non-intrusive. No bugs, just eyes. We'll wait him out and see if he'll come to us.
The look on General Bell's face was one of livid anger. Of course, he couldn't make his ulterior motive known to this group of pansies who had never had to face death over the course of 25 years of service to his country. As the meeting was adjourned, Bell came up with an idea of his own. Granted, it would probably be frowned upon, and perhaps even force him to resign, but it would be a hell of a lot better than the other option that awaited him if Lieutenant Colonel Michael Steele ever made it into a debriefing room.
_________________________________________
The United States government wasn't the only organization interested in what Michael Steele was doing these days. Though these organization was much more interested in him dead rather than what he knew. The Brother's Circle in Nizhny Novgorod caught wind of his appearance and immediately initiated a transcontinental teleconference to determine how to deal with the man who had ripped them off and destroyed their sex trade.
Triad members in Hong Kong were also interested in the whereabouts of Michael Steele. The man responsible for destroying the infrastructure of their slave trade from Mainland China. It had taken them three years to reform the organization after he destroyed it from the inside out.
The Yakuza also had an interest. Needless to say, their human trade took a hit when Michael took a trip to Japan. As did the Punjabi Mafia, when a large amount of drugs, weapons, and money went missing as a result of Michael Steele. To put it lightly, Michael Steele did a number on several Asian organized crime elements during his time after his escape. Under translation, the representatives of each organization, as well as the heads of a few other criminal elements, were involved in this teleconference. The organizer of the teleconference, Mikhail Grozen, started off with...
Mikhail: Gentlemen, I've organized this meeting for the benefit of us all. After some of my soliders witnessed the reappearance of Michael Steele on television, I've taken it upon myself to organize this meeting for the benefit of us all. As some of you know, certain interests of ours was disrupted by Steele, and all of us would interest in his immediate downfall.
Raj: As was our interests ruined by his meddling! And those in this conference that hasn't been hit, beware! He'll strike at you like a snake in the dark! Be it one of those cartels or a mafia!
Yoshi: He is less than a snake! He's a termite, but a termite that has destroyed much! Despite our own efforts, we cannot find the termite and crush him as we would like.
Mikhail: Ah, but with our collective efforts, along with those that have yet to be hit, we can finally end him for good.
Juan: He's more interested in this wrestling thing. Unless he comes to Mexico, I'm not worried. I think I'll bow out of this unless he becomes a menace to our interests.
Antonio: I think Juan Valdez has a point. And I know the kid from his days in Brooklyn. We don't fuck around with drugs and humans, unlike some of you barbarian assholes in Asia. I honestly don't blame him if he whacked every fuckin' one of ya's. Hell, I have a mind to get a hold of him and let him know just what you fuckers are up to.
Mikhail: I see that our North American counterparts are not as eager to crush this menace. Alas, they seem bent on HELPING him!
Raj: We've never dealt in human trafficking, but we were struck! Don't think that your moral high ground in crime will save you, Antonio. And we will get him. If we don't do anything else, we do murder quite well. So you might want to reconsider our offer.
Antonio: Get bent, towel-head! As for the rest of ya, I'd reconsider it. The kid was harder than a coffin nail growing up, and he's even tougher now. If you antagonize him, he will hurt you more than you could imagine. The kid cut through an entire Irish bar on leave just because some stupid Mick lifted his wallet. What do you think he'll do if you come after him for his life? I'm out of this one...
The click of the phone indicates that the head of La Cosa Nostra. Mikhail is fuming at the prospect of the closest organization to this Michael Steele backed out of this deal. This followed with a click from Juan, indicating that the Mexican cartels are unwilling to deal with this situation. Several other gangs, syndicates, and organized crime groups also hang up at this time, leaving only the four original groups that have been ripped off to conspire to kill Michael Steele. Mikhail then says...
Mikhail: Fuck them all! I hope they all get robbed and killed by that asshole!
Dragon: Never mind them! We have reach into the United States, and we all want him dead! We are four of the biggest organizations in the world, so someone within our organization should be able to kill this man! All we need to do is apply the proper motivation!
Yoshi: How do you propose that?
Dragon: Money, of course. We put it out there for every single hit man, assassin, and murderer out there to grab, regardless of their organizational ties. Hell, I'm sure there's a few people in this man's own country's military and intelligence organizations who would take a crack at him. We each put up a portion of money that would equal one-million American dollars, and every hitter in the world will chase him down!
Raj: I'm not sure that we can commit to something that big. We're still recovering our fields...
Mikhail: Small price to pay to eradicate this man! And who knows how much money this man still has that belongs to us all?
Raj: We're in.
Yoshi: So are we, but all that money will come to us!
Mikhail: In your dreams that money will be yours, but we're in as well.
Dragon: Then its settled. One million dollars on the head of Michael Steele!
_________________________________________
Meanwhile, Michael rests inside of his room in New Orleans, preparing mentally for the next few days of travel ahead of him.
His next destination is San Antonio, Texas. It had been a long time since he had been in Texas. The last time he was in Texas was for training in the desert in El Paso. Though El Paso was more Mexico than it was Texas. He still liked the beer...
His opponents lived up to his expectations, which were very low. The match was quick and relatively painless. Barring a few hits from his opponents, they never got a clean shot at him, and he made them pay for it.
And now for his next trick, he is to be teamed up with the very same man that he made give up in the middle of the ring, Dex Zenith, along with Adam Young. Michael had absolutely zero interest in working with either man, as they were, as one of his drill instructors once said to his platoon, "unwiped asses". Neither man could function well on their own, and had to rely on each other. While teamwork was stressed throughout his military career, it was also stressed that as a man, you had to be able to achieve your goals on your own. After all, as a man, nobody will always be there to hold your dick when you take a leak. Some things you have to be able to do for yourself.
Michael didn't think much of his opponents as well. Jayden Thunder walked around, wearing almost exclusively his t-shirts from his time in the indy leagues, talking about how great he is when he has yet to accomplish much in WCF. The guy was high on his own Kool-Aid and didn't seem to offer much of a challenge to Michael. The Wild Gangsters also seemed like a joke to him. Both men were carcitures of the low-level criminals that America is known for. A street-hustling thug in The OG, and some white trash, hillbilly biker in Zack Wild. Two colliding ideals crammed into yet another team relying on some sort of codependence in order to survive the harsh climate that is the WCF. If you want to call the WCF a harsh climate.
The alarm in his room goes off, and Michael reaches over to shut off the noise. It was now 7:30 AM. Still a bit groggy from his sleep, he rises out of bed completely naked and stumbles to the bathroom. He turns on the water faucet and splashes some water on his face, before pulling out a razor and shaving cream from his shaving kit. His burner phone starts to ring as he pulls these items from the bag...
Puzzled, he looks at the phone and sees that the number is a strange one. Alas, it was a number from New York City. He answers the phone apprehensively, saying...
Michael: Who is this?
Antonio: Its your old buddy from Brooklyn. Now listen carefully, because I don't have a whole lot of time.
Michael: Okay...
Antonio: There's some guys that you supposedly ripped off in Asia that are after you. They know where you are, so you've got to move.
Michael: Who is this?
Antonio: Let's just say that I'm an old friend that owes you a favor. Now I'm no brain surgeon, but I'd get my face off of the TV and get your ass back underground. These guys are not fucking around.
Michael: Okay, then. I'll take your advice under advisement. Now how in the fuck did you get this number?
The only answer that Michael gets is a click, as the phone call ends. Michael dismantles the phone to check and see if there's a bug inside of it. Finding none, he tosses the phone in the waste basket, before he starts packing what little he has. Within moments, he's dressed and leaving the room behind.
As he walks to the lobby to return his key, paranoia starts to settle in. Everyone is a potential enemy. The housekeeper who looks congenial enough, but who knows what that warm smile is hiding? Or maybe the tall, bald guy with the expanding belt line, who is shuttling his wife and kids into the elevator?
This is ridiculous! How in the fuck did the Russians, the Triads, the Yakuza, and the Punjabi Mafia know? Its not like WCF was a global company! He'd even changed the way he looked! The shaved head, the goatee, even the way he dressed! If anything, he'd expected his own government to be on him faster than the crooks he ripped off!
He then got to the front desk, and he turns his key card over to the attendent. The kid, who looked barely 18, says in a lisp exacerbated by braces and a thick Coonass accent...
Attendant: Ev'rythang your likin', thur?
Michael: What?
Attendant: I thaid, ev'rythang d' your likin', thur?
Michael: Uh, yeah...
The lispy coonass takes the card and runs it through the computer. The kid then says...
Attendant: Checkout ain't for few dayths. An' youse got thum peeple cummin' ta thee yuh.
Michael: Listen kid, I'm checking out now.
Attendant: Yaint allowed to 'cordin to WCF. Youse thposed to talk to thum guy...
The paranoia was starting to set in, as Michael started drowning out the kid and started to look around...
Then he saw it...
It was a guy standing outside. He looked the part of some douchebag party animal, complete with several strands of beads around his neck. He was just a regular guy smoking a cigarette, until he turned his head, and Michael saw the earpiece. It was the clear wiring, and most would've missed it from this distance, but Michael saw it clear as day.
Michael didn't bother arguing with the lispy kid anymore. Rather, he just picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, as he headed towards a different exit at what he hoped was a slow and steady pace. The kid shouted after him, but he didn't pay him any attention. The government was on to him as well. That much was apparent...
Talk about a rock and a hard place. Michael makes it to an alternate exit that leads out to a parking lot, where he sees a shuttle loading people to go to the airport. Michael makes a mental note to come back at some point and kick that kid in the dick so hard that it flies out of his mouth. Like that kid needed his dick, he wasn't getting any...
Michael files into the bus with the rest of the riders, and it shortly pulls away from the hotel that was potentially filled with so many spooks and assassins that he didn't dare imagine the shit-storm that was about to come down if he didn't get the hell out of there.
Now was the matter of making it to San Antonio. Airports, railways, busses, and rentals were probably being canvassed and out of the question. So how in the fuck was he going to get the hell out of New Orleans?
_________________________________________
Several hours later, and Michael had his answer...
He was now riding shotgun in the passenger seat of a long-haul truck driver after forking over a few bills for his troubles of taking him to San Antonio with no questions asked. There was a stop in Houston, but at least he was able to get the hell out of New Orleans in one piece. And if he lost his ride in Houston, he was certain that the airports wouldn't be locked down with agents or assassins trying to get at him right away.
Now THIS was a challenge! Staying one step ahead of the government and the syndicates. Nothing like what those clowns in the ring had to offer. These were men and women who have killed rather than die at the hands of another. Unlike most, if not all, of the assholes in the WCF. Facing most of these guys was like shooting fish in a barrel, and it didn't look like anything was changing soon about that. But his main concern going into the next match was how much The Militia was going to drag him down. Jayden was probably thinking the same thing about the Wild Bunch or whatever the fuck they called themselves. Of course, all Jayden did was run off at the mouth about how great he is, how wrestling is all he cares about, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... Listening to his broken record got old very fast. He got groggy just thinking about it...
No, the grogginess was from the comedown from the adrenaline that was pumping through him when he felt he was about to get either pinched or whacked, depending on who got to him first. Michael looked over at the trucker, who was focused on the road. He had that focus that most truckers have when dealing with a general population that don't know how to drive worth a damn. That look that reminded Michael of the focus he felt earlier on when his life was potentially in danger. The look that indicates he's looking for trouble.
Michael abstains from bothering the trucker, and instead reclines the seat back to rest himself. The trucker seemed ready for anything, so he placed a level of trust into the man to watch out over him while he closed his eyes. Within a few hours, he should find himself in Houston, and maybe a few hours after that, in San Antonio. Of course, before he gets to San Antonio, he has to come up with a plan to lay low for a little while.
Lay low...
Stay alive...
Come up with a battle plan...
Prepare for the worst...
Both in and out of the ring...
The Chairman of the National Defense Committee, Congressmen Bernard Jenkins, started the meeting with these worlds...
Jenkins: As you all know, we've discovered that one of our own, Lieutenant Colonel Michael Steele, a very highly-decorated soldier, has returned to the United States. It distresses me that he had not made contact with the government upon arrival, but instead we had to find him, of all places, on television, in a wrestling match.
Among the other men, there is a murmur of agreement in this statement. Congressman Jenkins continues...
Jenkins: I'm here with you men to try and determine what is our best course of action in dealing with Steele. Now keep in mind that this has to be handled with the utmost care. He was a star in covert operations, so taking him in hard would probably result in injury or death to himself and several others tasked to bring him in.
Bell: He still needs to be brought in and debriefed on the mission and what has transpired over the last five years. I get the feeling that getting anything out of him would be a very hard sell. We might have to bring him in by force. That option should be left on the table.
Gill: General, that should be left as a last resort. This was one of your soldiers. Don't you want to know how and why the mission failed?
Bell: And that is why I'm saying what I'm saying. All of you may have loved him and what he does, but I actually knew the man. He was a stubborn and difficult man, and if he didn't come back to us, there must be a reason behind it. But protocol needs to be observed. We need to know what he knows about his last five years. And if we have to extract that information by force, so be it.
Reardon: I agree on that part, but I also agree that force should be a last resort. My suggestion would be to let him come to us, but have him put under surveillance for the time being. Perhaps there is something preventing him from coming in and being debriefed. I mean, if he's going from city to city wrestling, it shouldn't be difficult to put an FBI agent on him wherever he goes. Most of those cities have offices in them.
Bell: Steele would smell them coming long before he heard or seen them. Feds are not going to be able to keep tabs on him very well. I'm sure as of this moment, he's still off the grid technologically. He probably doesn't even have a phone or a computer. He has no family to speak of, so it wouldn't be difficult for him to stay off the grid.
Jacobs: That's not entirely true. Part of his wrestling contract states that he must have a Twitter account open in order to allow his fans access to him. Though all he's done on it is basically complain about his fellow wrestlers and how dumb Twitter seems to be. I've looked at the IP addresses, and all of them have been on a public computer in a hotel in New Orleans. If this is a trend, we can find out where he is as he moves from city to city.
Jenkins: Well that solves that.
Bell: I can put one of my best men on him...
Jenkins: No. With all due respect, General, I don't like how you've come across so far. I've actually met Michael Steele, and while I can't say I know him, he is an honorable man who deserves more respect than you've shown him during this meeting. If anything, I'd like Jacobs to continue monitoring his movements. Reardon will coordinate with the feds and get some surveillance on Steele. When I say surveillance, I mean non-intrusive. No bugs, just eyes. We'll wait him out and see if he'll come to us.
The look on General Bell's face was one of livid anger. Of course, he couldn't make his ulterior motive known to this group of pansies who had never had to face death over the course of 25 years of service to his country. As the meeting was adjourned, Bell came up with an idea of his own. Granted, it would probably be frowned upon, and perhaps even force him to resign, but it would be a hell of a lot better than the other option that awaited him if Lieutenant Colonel Michael Steele ever made it into a debriefing room.
_________________________________________
The United States government wasn't the only organization interested in what Michael Steele was doing these days. Though these organization was much more interested in him dead rather than what he knew. The Brother's Circle in Nizhny Novgorod caught wind of his appearance and immediately initiated a transcontinental teleconference to determine how to deal with the man who had ripped them off and destroyed their sex trade.
Triad members in Hong Kong were also interested in the whereabouts of Michael Steele. The man responsible for destroying the infrastructure of their slave trade from Mainland China. It had taken them three years to reform the organization after he destroyed it from the inside out.
The Yakuza also had an interest. Needless to say, their human trade took a hit when Michael took a trip to Japan. As did the Punjabi Mafia, when a large amount of drugs, weapons, and money went missing as a result of Michael Steele. To put it lightly, Michael Steele did a number on several Asian organized crime elements during his time after his escape. Under translation, the representatives of each organization, as well as the heads of a few other criminal elements, were involved in this teleconference. The organizer of the teleconference, Mikhail Grozen, started off with...
Mikhail: Gentlemen, I've organized this meeting for the benefit of us all. After some of my soliders witnessed the reappearance of Michael Steele on television, I've taken it upon myself to organize this meeting for the benefit of us all. As some of you know, certain interests of ours was disrupted by Steele, and all of us would interest in his immediate downfall.
Raj: As was our interests ruined by his meddling! And those in this conference that hasn't been hit, beware! He'll strike at you like a snake in the dark! Be it one of those cartels or a mafia!
Yoshi: He is less than a snake! He's a termite, but a termite that has destroyed much! Despite our own efforts, we cannot find the termite and crush him as we would like.
Mikhail: Ah, but with our collective efforts, along with those that have yet to be hit, we can finally end him for good.
Juan: He's more interested in this wrestling thing. Unless he comes to Mexico, I'm not worried. I think I'll bow out of this unless he becomes a menace to our interests.
Antonio: I think Juan Valdez has a point. And I know the kid from his days in Brooklyn. We don't fuck around with drugs and humans, unlike some of you barbarian assholes in Asia. I honestly don't blame him if he whacked every fuckin' one of ya's. Hell, I have a mind to get a hold of him and let him know just what you fuckers are up to.
Mikhail: I see that our North American counterparts are not as eager to crush this menace. Alas, they seem bent on HELPING him!
Raj: We've never dealt in human trafficking, but we were struck! Don't think that your moral high ground in crime will save you, Antonio. And we will get him. If we don't do anything else, we do murder quite well. So you might want to reconsider our offer.
Antonio: Get bent, towel-head! As for the rest of ya, I'd reconsider it. The kid was harder than a coffin nail growing up, and he's even tougher now. If you antagonize him, he will hurt you more than you could imagine. The kid cut through an entire Irish bar on leave just because some stupid Mick lifted his wallet. What do you think he'll do if you come after him for his life? I'm out of this one...
The click of the phone indicates that the head of La Cosa Nostra. Mikhail is fuming at the prospect of the closest organization to this Michael Steele backed out of this deal. This followed with a click from Juan, indicating that the Mexican cartels are unwilling to deal with this situation. Several other gangs, syndicates, and organized crime groups also hang up at this time, leaving only the four original groups that have been ripped off to conspire to kill Michael Steele. Mikhail then says...
Mikhail: Fuck them all! I hope they all get robbed and killed by that asshole!
Dragon: Never mind them! We have reach into the United States, and we all want him dead! We are four of the biggest organizations in the world, so someone within our organization should be able to kill this man! All we need to do is apply the proper motivation!
Yoshi: How do you propose that?
Dragon: Money, of course. We put it out there for every single hit man, assassin, and murderer out there to grab, regardless of their organizational ties. Hell, I'm sure there's a few people in this man's own country's military and intelligence organizations who would take a crack at him. We each put up a portion of money that would equal one-million American dollars, and every hitter in the world will chase him down!
Raj: I'm not sure that we can commit to something that big. We're still recovering our fields...
Mikhail: Small price to pay to eradicate this man! And who knows how much money this man still has that belongs to us all?
Raj: We're in.
Yoshi: So are we, but all that money will come to us!
Mikhail: In your dreams that money will be yours, but we're in as well.
Dragon: Then its settled. One million dollars on the head of Michael Steele!
_________________________________________
Meanwhile, Michael rests inside of his room in New Orleans, preparing mentally for the next few days of travel ahead of him.
His next destination is San Antonio, Texas. It had been a long time since he had been in Texas. The last time he was in Texas was for training in the desert in El Paso. Though El Paso was more Mexico than it was Texas. He still liked the beer...
His opponents lived up to his expectations, which were very low. The match was quick and relatively painless. Barring a few hits from his opponents, they never got a clean shot at him, and he made them pay for it.
And now for his next trick, he is to be teamed up with the very same man that he made give up in the middle of the ring, Dex Zenith, along with Adam Young. Michael had absolutely zero interest in working with either man, as they were, as one of his drill instructors once said to his platoon, "unwiped asses". Neither man could function well on their own, and had to rely on each other. While teamwork was stressed throughout his military career, it was also stressed that as a man, you had to be able to achieve your goals on your own. After all, as a man, nobody will always be there to hold your dick when you take a leak. Some things you have to be able to do for yourself.
Michael didn't think much of his opponents as well. Jayden Thunder walked around, wearing almost exclusively his t-shirts from his time in the indy leagues, talking about how great he is when he has yet to accomplish much in WCF. The guy was high on his own Kool-Aid and didn't seem to offer much of a challenge to Michael. The Wild Gangsters also seemed like a joke to him. Both men were carcitures of the low-level criminals that America is known for. A street-hustling thug in The OG, and some white trash, hillbilly biker in Zack Wild. Two colliding ideals crammed into yet another team relying on some sort of codependence in order to survive the harsh climate that is the WCF. If you want to call the WCF a harsh climate.
The alarm in his room goes off, and Michael reaches over to shut off the noise. It was now 7:30 AM. Still a bit groggy from his sleep, he rises out of bed completely naked and stumbles to the bathroom. He turns on the water faucet and splashes some water on his face, before pulling out a razor and shaving cream from his shaving kit. His burner phone starts to ring as he pulls these items from the bag...
Puzzled, he looks at the phone and sees that the number is a strange one. Alas, it was a number from New York City. He answers the phone apprehensively, saying...
Michael: Who is this?
Antonio: Its your old buddy from Brooklyn. Now listen carefully, because I don't have a whole lot of time.
Michael: Okay...
Antonio: There's some guys that you supposedly ripped off in Asia that are after you. They know where you are, so you've got to move.
Michael: Who is this?
Antonio: Let's just say that I'm an old friend that owes you a favor. Now I'm no brain surgeon, but I'd get my face off of the TV and get your ass back underground. These guys are not fucking around.
Michael: Okay, then. I'll take your advice under advisement. Now how in the fuck did you get this number?
The only answer that Michael gets is a click, as the phone call ends. Michael dismantles the phone to check and see if there's a bug inside of it. Finding none, he tosses the phone in the waste basket, before he starts packing what little he has. Within moments, he's dressed and leaving the room behind.
As he walks to the lobby to return his key, paranoia starts to settle in. Everyone is a potential enemy. The housekeeper who looks congenial enough, but who knows what that warm smile is hiding? Or maybe the tall, bald guy with the expanding belt line, who is shuttling his wife and kids into the elevator?
This is ridiculous! How in the fuck did the Russians, the Triads, the Yakuza, and the Punjabi Mafia know? Its not like WCF was a global company! He'd even changed the way he looked! The shaved head, the goatee, even the way he dressed! If anything, he'd expected his own government to be on him faster than the crooks he ripped off!
He then got to the front desk, and he turns his key card over to the attendent. The kid, who looked barely 18, says in a lisp exacerbated by braces and a thick Coonass accent...
Attendant: Ev'rythang your likin', thur?
Michael: What?
Attendant: I thaid, ev'rythang d' your likin', thur?
Michael: Uh, yeah...
The lispy coonass takes the card and runs it through the computer. The kid then says...
Attendant: Checkout ain't for few dayths. An' youse got thum peeple cummin' ta thee yuh.
Michael: Listen kid, I'm checking out now.
Attendant: Yaint allowed to 'cordin to WCF. Youse thposed to talk to thum guy...
The paranoia was starting to set in, as Michael started drowning out the kid and started to look around...
Then he saw it...
It was a guy standing outside. He looked the part of some douchebag party animal, complete with several strands of beads around his neck. He was just a regular guy smoking a cigarette, until he turned his head, and Michael saw the earpiece. It was the clear wiring, and most would've missed it from this distance, but Michael saw it clear as day.
Michael didn't bother arguing with the lispy kid anymore. Rather, he just picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, as he headed towards a different exit at what he hoped was a slow and steady pace. The kid shouted after him, but he didn't pay him any attention. The government was on to him as well. That much was apparent...
Talk about a rock and a hard place. Michael makes it to an alternate exit that leads out to a parking lot, where he sees a shuttle loading people to go to the airport. Michael makes a mental note to come back at some point and kick that kid in the dick so hard that it flies out of his mouth. Like that kid needed his dick, he wasn't getting any...
Michael files into the bus with the rest of the riders, and it shortly pulls away from the hotel that was potentially filled with so many spooks and assassins that he didn't dare imagine the shit-storm that was about to come down if he didn't get the hell out of there.
Now was the matter of making it to San Antonio. Airports, railways, busses, and rentals were probably being canvassed and out of the question. So how in the fuck was he going to get the hell out of New Orleans?
_________________________________________
Several hours later, and Michael had his answer...
He was now riding shotgun in the passenger seat of a long-haul truck driver after forking over a few bills for his troubles of taking him to San Antonio with no questions asked. There was a stop in Houston, but at least he was able to get the hell out of New Orleans in one piece. And if he lost his ride in Houston, he was certain that the airports wouldn't be locked down with agents or assassins trying to get at him right away.
Now THIS was a challenge! Staying one step ahead of the government and the syndicates. Nothing like what those clowns in the ring had to offer. These were men and women who have killed rather than die at the hands of another. Unlike most, if not all, of the assholes in the WCF. Facing most of these guys was like shooting fish in a barrel, and it didn't look like anything was changing soon about that. But his main concern going into the next match was how much The Militia was going to drag him down. Jayden was probably thinking the same thing about the Wild Bunch or whatever the fuck they called themselves. Of course, all Jayden did was run off at the mouth about how great he is, how wrestling is all he cares about, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... Listening to his broken record got old very fast. He got groggy just thinking about it...
No, the grogginess was from the comedown from the adrenaline that was pumping through him when he felt he was about to get either pinched or whacked, depending on who got to him first. Michael looked over at the trucker, who was focused on the road. He had that focus that most truckers have when dealing with a general population that don't know how to drive worth a damn. That look that reminded Michael of the focus he felt earlier on when his life was potentially in danger. The look that indicates he's looking for trouble.
Michael abstains from bothering the trucker, and instead reclines the seat back to rest himself. The trucker seemed ready for anything, so he placed a level of trust into the man to watch out over him while he closed his eyes. Within a few hours, he should find himself in Houston, and maybe a few hours after that, in San Antonio. Of course, before he gets to San Antonio, he has to come up with a plan to lay low for a little while.
Lay low...
Stay alive...
Come up with a battle plan...
Prepare for the worst...
Both in and out of the ring...
