Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2014 20:04:37 GMT -5
We've been on the road for several hours now, and my eyes were starting to get sore from watching all of this footage. Thus far, I've watched the last three "War" events with the hopes that I got to see the strategies that were employed by current members of the WCF that has already competed in "War" before. I especially paid attention to the winners of the matches, in particular Logan, who despite all of the trash talk and his poor performances, has won the event a record three times. I would hate to be the only guy in the WCF to underestimate him even now. I get the feeling he'll be getting up for this match and actually logging in some time to get ready.
But my eyes were tired now, and I needed another diversion. I had smoked a blunt earlier, but I was apprehensive about taking any more drugs. I really needed to focus on learning everything that I could about every opponent in this match, and the drugs were too big of a distraction. I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a lemon lime Powerade and guzzled about half of it in one gulp. Damn cottonmouth!
Lazlo was busy on the computer, jabbering on in Urdu. I figure he's talking to his obligation partner in Michigan. Boring! I decided to go grace TMac with my presence instead. As I open the door to the "Cockpit", the first thing I hear is "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. I've got to say this about T, but he has pretty good taste in music. None of that rap crap or any other non-talented fucks on his radio. But another of my senses caught the smell of coffee. A heavy smell. I ask...
Gonzo: You spill some coffee?
TMac: (sighs) The whole fucking Thermos spilled when it fell out of the cup holders.
Gonzo: Damn. Hopefully you can clean it. I really don't want to be docked the security deposit. Dude, stop here!
TMac: What? You mean the military surplus store?
Gonzo: Fuck yeah! You know how many awesome shit you can find in places like that? I once found live hand grenades at one. And I'm talking the old pineapple, banned by NATO-type of grenades. The good ones! Just pull in. I've got to go grab some stuff...
I went into the back of the bus to grab my paperwork. Somewhere inside of it was my DD-214, which usually allowed me some sort of discount, especially in a place like this. I got so excited about the prospect of checking this place out that I almost tore my DD-214 when I pull it from my bag. I also pull out my Glock with the holster and I clip it to my hip before heading back to the front of the bus.
Lazlo looks confused, as he quickly ends his Skype chat with his wife, before saying...
Lazlo: What's going on? Why are we stopping?
Gonzo: Its a military surplus store! You coming?
Lazlo: Oh Hells yes! Let me get my gun. I need new springs for my magazines.
Lazlo went to the back to retrieve his pistol, as the bus comes to a soft halt. The door pops open thanks to the wonders of pneumatic power, and I step off the bus into the hot and dry Arizona afternoon. I walk around the bus to meet TMac, who used his own door to get out of the bus. His face drops when he sees my pistol on my hip. He says...
TMac: What are you? A fucking cowboy? Can you even open carry in this state?
Gonzo: Fuck yes, you can open carry in this state. Do you have your pistol permit?
TMac: Well, duh!
Gonzo: Then you have nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the gun laws of almost every state like the Pope knows the Bible.
TMac looked a bit skeptical, but he doesn't push the issue further. The door to the bus slams, and Lazlo rounds the corner, the only difference I spot is that he now has a sport coat over his large torso, but I could still see the pistol poking from underneath his left armpit.
We looked fucking bizarre. I was dressed like I was going on a hunting and fishing expedition, Lazlo had a suit on, and TMac was wearing his chauffeur outfit on, complete with the combination cover. We went in, where we were greeted by a man of Native American descent. The first thing he does is inquire about the pistol.
Old Indian: You guys got permits?
We pull out our permits. He hands my Texas carry permit back almost immediately. He eyeballs Lazlo's Michigan permit for a moment, then looks at him, before giving it back to him. He comments on TMac's licence, saying...
Old Indian: So this is what an Illinois carry permit looks like. Alright gentlemen. The store is yours to browse. We've got apparel over there, the projectile weapons are over there, the camping and fishing gear is in that corner, and I keep the ammo behind the counter. You guys have any questions?
Gonzo: Do you offer discounts to veterans? We're all vets. Here's my DD-214...
Both TMac and Lazlo also pull theirs out. It looks like I'm not the only one who thought of this. The old guy looks mine over, then passes it back, as he states...
Old Indian: Navy man, eh? And a Chief? What happened? You didn't get your 20.
I pull up my right pant leg to show him just why I wasn't able to complete my 20 years of service. The old man pulls both of his pant legs up, to reveal the same issues. He then states...
Old Man: Vietnam. Que-san Valley. Mortar fire blew up a vehicle and landed on me. You?
Gonzo: Afghanistan. Kabul Region. Land mine. It did all of this, too...
I pull up my shirt, to reveal his entire right side of his body up to his armpits are covered in burn and laceration scars from the land mine. Even the old man cringed at that one, as he hands back the DD-214. He looks at T's next, and says...
Old Man: Marines, eh? I ain't gonna knock it. They saved my ass once, before this shit happened...
He hands TMac's DD-214 back, and looks at Lazlo's quickly, before handing it back to him, before he says...
Old Man: Gentlemen, I'd be honored and privileged to offer you guys a 15% discount. Feel free to browse the store, guys.
I nod, as I make my way back to apparel. The first thing that I encounter are uniform items for every branch of service. Even the Merchant Marines! I find a flat black CPO anchor and I move on to the tactical gear. All sorts of camo schemes were available, from the old BDU pattern to the new MultiCam pattern, and everything in between. I grab a blouse, a pair of pants, and tactical boonie hats in both a tiger stripe desert pattern and the tiger stripe woodland pattern.
I then spot the protective gear. Ballistic vests, brain buckets, and the like. They were expensive as fuck, but then I started to think about "War", and then I started thinking about REAL war. There wasn't any rules dictating what I could wear to the ring, and I know that I can fight with all of this gear on. It might slow me down, but it can also be removed, and it can also cause a lot of heartache for whoever steps in front of me later on in the evening.
I grab both a ballistic vest and a brain bucket, and decide that I'm done for now. I don't need anymore guns for the time being, and I had plenty of camping gear. I bring it all to the front, where Lazlo and TMac were already waiting. Lazlo already had his new springs, and was working on changing out the old ones, while T stands by, holding a large box of ammo in his hands. I drop all of the stuff on the counter, right as two guys come in, masks over their face, with firearms in hands. The guy with the shotgun fires in the air, which catches the attention of TMac and Lazlo.
I didn't even think about it. I pulled out my pistol, as both T and Lazlo hit the deck. The old man did the exact same thing, as we started pumping rounds into the would-be armed robbers before they knew what hit them. Both were taking awhile to go down, indicating to me they had body armor on, or they were on something. I started aiming lower at their kneecaps, when both men go down. The one I shot in the knees started screaming, while the other laid still and quiet, as blood ran from his head. The old man goes to the screaming one and raises his gun to shoot him, when I stop him...
Gonzo: No! He's not worth it...
I'd seen that look before. Hell, I'd seen ME use the same look. It was the look of kill or be killed. He was locked in a moment where it was him or the other guy. He was back in Vietnam. And then he came back. He lowered the weapon quickly, and says...
Old Man: I'll go call the police...
The living creep on the floor starts to cry, as he says...
Gunman: Oh thank God. Thank you...
Gonzo: Shut the fuck up! You're lucky I don't put a bullet in your brain pan right now, cocksucker!
The creep obliges me, and shuts the fuck up. Lazlo grabs a nearby tourniquet kit, and starts working on the bastard, while T and I cover him with our pistols, in case this asshole has something up his sleeve. I doubt it, but I've seen stranger things...
Several hours later, and we're still stuck in the store. Cops were everywhere, crime scene analysis had taken my pistol, and everyone in the store had been interviewed. None of us were arrested, but this was getting ridiculous. I had already missed one autograph session and was about to miss the commemoration dinner for all the competitors in "War" if we didn't get our asses in gear.
An investigator cleared us, told us to expect a summons to court in the future, and allowed us to leave with our property, which became gratis, thanks to the old guy. He was the one that I felt the most sympathy for. This man had probably been out of the game for almost 50 years, only to get brought back in like this. And I know he'd seen some shit, and he had a Silver Star to prove it. It still didn't stop me from shaking his hand and complimenting his marksmanship skills. He'd scored three hits to the dead gunman in the head and face. He gave me the same compliment, though he said if I had put his ass out for good, I probably wouldn't have to return to the state for a trial. I just nodded my head, before I turned away and got on the bus. As soon as I got on, I said...
Gonzo: Alright, T. Lets blow this fucking pop stand. Z, did you get a hold of someone from the WCF about this?
Lazlo: Yeah, and Seth is not thrilled at this latest development, either. We're going to get fired.
Gonzo: Not for this, we're not. We didn't do anything wrong and you know that. And if anybody says otherwise, you put your foot up their ass. Hell, I'll light Seth's ass up myself if he fires us. At least then he'll have a good excuse to fire us. Until then, you tell his cracker ass that if he fires me for this incident, he can expect a lawsuit, and I will win. Understood?
Lazlo just sighs, as he gets back on the phone to relay the message. I go up front to T, and find that there is no music playing whatsoever. I sit down, only to get from T the cold shoulder, as he says...
TMac: Forgive me for asking, but I'd like to be left alone, if you don't mind.
Gonzo: I was just about to ask if you are okay, but I can see that's not the case right now.
TMac: Not right now, but I'll be okay. Can you make me some coffee?
Gonzo: You got it, Bromego...
I got up and made my way to the kitchenette to make a pot of coffee. I figure I can do this solid for T, he needed it. I look down the bus and see Lazlo, furious on the phone, as he throws the phone straight to the ground, smashing it into little pieces, as he shouts...
Lazlo: FUCK!!! SON OF A BITCH!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?
I raise my hands up to show I don't mean anything by it, as I turn back to the coffee. Never mind sideways, the whole bottle has been dumped at this point. I finish preparing the coffee and set the maker to brew it, before I move past Lazlo, who had planted himself on the sofa/bed with his head in his hands, as I go back into the bedroom.
The days events had an effect on me as well, but I didn't show it. Hell, at this point, I couldn't show it as much as I wanted to. If we were in the shit, I'd have to maintain that front of strength. I was the ranking person on the bus, and that was the burden that I had to bear. I closed the bedroom door, and I just let it go. Seems to me that I've been doing this quite a bit as of late, but it had been over a year since I had to make that decision of whether it was them or me. Once again, I chose me, and I feel like shit for it. At least the fucker I shot isn't dead. Critical, but not dead.
The tears stopped after a few minutes, and I get myself together. I roll up a joint and light it, with the hopes that this newest wound would be forgotten in a few puffs. After I tire of the weed, I turn my attention back to the computer and start focusing on the more obscure and newer wrestlers that will be participating in "War", like Walker Flyocker Flame? Of course, all I get once I realize who it is is a bunch of wrestling clips with him and Biohazard. Those guys were a total Dumpster fire in progress. There were others like him. Total unknowns, raw at best, but really had a snowball's chance in Hell of pulling off a victory. But I'll find the time to address them all at a later date. Especially those who have won events before, and those who have a really good shot at winning.
The smell of brewed coffee reaches me, and I get up to fill TMac's Thermos. I finish the job and hand it to TMac without a word. When I went back, I saw Lazlo laid out on the sofa/bed, fast asleep, with a bottle of Ambien sitting on a nearby ledge. I reach past him and grab one of his blunts. I light it and I hold the smoke in, exhaling slowly. This was one clusterfuck of a day, and I need to call it quits for the day. I get back to the bedroom, I close the computer and set it off to the side. I strip down to my drawers and remove my prosthetic from my leg. I look at my leg, as I see all the burnt-up scar tissue up the side of my leg. To this day, I'm still not clear on what happened that day. All I remember was a flash, followed by either me slamming into something or something slamming into me. That might've been the ground, now that I think about this. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital in Germany. I couldn't speak, see, or hear and I thought I was dead, until I struggled and someone put hands on me.
It took me six months to recover from the wounds. And now that I think of it, I was coming up on a year since the incident, yet it felt like yesterday. I had lost a lot on that day. My foot, my mental stability, about 20% of my skin, my lady, and about 30 pounds. I still sometimes consider putting a bullet in my head and calling it a day, but something stands in the way. It wasn't the stigma or the sin revolving around suicide that stopped me, but rather my will to die "The Good Death" overrides the urge to kill myself.
I feel my eyes grow a bit heavy, and I eventually drift off into sleep.
Next Morning
We managed to make it just in time for the toast that Seth probably gave at every Pay-Per-View event. He wished everyone the best of luck and hopes to see you shortly after War to talk about a contract to wrestle for the World Heavyweight Title. Granted, the speech was a little generic and short, but he did it with good presence and projection. Got to give credit where credit is due.
I had arrived with Lazlo in tow, but shortly after the speech, he bailed out on me. And he had all of the weed! Bastard! I swear to God he's turned into a goddamn narcotics agent! And worse, he left me in this room with all of these animals! Everyone was dressed real nice, and were playing nice, but you could feel the tension in the air. So thick you could taste it in the back of your throat, and the taste just sticks there like a terrible burp.
I had to find a way out of here. But I had to look casual. If these beasts sensed my discomfort, they may pounce, and throw me on the fire. They were hungry for blood! I make my way slowly to the exit, only for my attempt at escape to get cut off by a very attractive blonde working the banquet. We exchanged pleasantries and engaged in small talk before she made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Oh, who am I kidding? It was an offer I WASN'T GOING to refuse. Who turns down pussy and free weed when it throws itself at you?
We eventually ditch the party and headed back to the bus. But if you want details on what happened once we got on the bus, contact me personally, so I can personally tell you to get your own sex life and go fuck yourself. In that order. But I will tell you about the morning after, which was probably going to be awkward once again.
Once the young lady woke up, she was still feeling a little frisky. Still. This woman were insatiable! I indulged their desires a bit, before we got ourselves as ready as we could for the day. I gave her some of my weed and she happily accepted, and showed her gratitude once again. Who needs the gym when all I need are wild days and nights of marathon sex?
They finally departed the bus, and I watched them leave. What can I say? I'm an ass man. I also see Lazlo on the sofa/bed, smoking a out of the bong with the table set up for eating or work. I walk over and say...
Gonzo: What the fuck happened to you last night? You left me in that goddamn room last night with all of those animals!
Lazlo: I had to conduct some business, and you're not going to like it.
Gonzo: Well, tell me as I get ready for the autograph signing. You said it was at Best Buy, right?
Lazlo: I cancelled all of your appointments.
I had thought that maybe I misheard what he said, but I think he said he cancelled all of my appointments. But why?
Gonzo: And why would you cancel all of my engagements for today?
Lazlo: Because you don't have time for that shit. You've got to get your head on fucking straight, man. And the last thing you need to do is get carpal-tunnel from signing autographs.
Gonzo: You know you work on commission, right?
Lazlo: That might not matter in the near future, when we're both out of a fucking job because you're fucking broken.
I look at my lawyer with bewilderment, as I say?
Gonzo: Me? Broken? I may not be whole, but I'm not broken.
He all of a sudden rage-clears the table, smashing a coffee cup and his own favorite bong in the process as he shouts...
Lazlo: What the fuck is the matter with you, man? You think this is some kind of fucking game? Yesterday, I saw you wound a man when the old Murdock I know wouldn't have bothered with kneecaps when a bullet to the brain pan can end it all. The same fucking Murdock wouldn't have acted like a goddamn pussy and ran out of that dinner like that, either! Even if it was uncomfortable. Hell, you probably would've added to the discomfort by pissing on Seth's shoes while he gave that lame-ass and super generic speech!
Gonzo: I didn't see you do anything but drop to the ground like a little girl, yesterday. What's your fucking excuse?
Lazlo: I'M A FUCKING LAWYER! YOU'RE NOT! I put my guns down a long time ago! But you! You're still in the shit! Even if you don't want to admit it! And that denial is fucking you in the ass as we speak! You get inside of that ring week in and week out, and its like you're just going through the motions until you OD or get shot! And I'm sick of dealing with it week in and week out! You need to get back your killer fucking instinct before you fuck this opportunity in the ass like you did last week when Alpine pinned you!
Gonzo: He got fucking lucky, and you know it. Everyone in that fucking match fucked me that night!
Lazlo: EXCUSES ARE FOR PUSSIES! Isn't that what you said back in the squadron days?
That fucking bastard! I wanted to kick a hole through his chest so goddamn bad. I wanted to give him a crimson mask he wasn't going to soon forget. But what would have that accomplished? Ten years ago, he would've had a decent shot at kicking my ass. But now he's just a sodded lawyer who once upon a time joined the military for the college money. He wasn't a lifer, and he knew it and admitted it openly. I was able to respect that and we built our friendship on that respect. And that respect kept me from kicking his ass out of this world.
Somewhere along the line, however, I snapped...
I grab him by his necktie and I slam my fist into his face three times before he responds to the sudden attack. He managed to get to his feet, but I immediately threw him off balance with a hip toss that rattled the bus and knocks everything off the walls. I get to my feet and grab one of his legs, but he kicks me in the top of the head with his other leg. He does this again, until I drag him off balance. He kicks at my hands and it catches my fingers, so I let go and I drive my other fist into his yogurt factory. He immediately curls up into the fetal position, as I get to my feet. As I walk past him, I drive my knee into his ribs. Hopefully it leaves one hell of a bruise he won't soon forget. I then bend over his curled up body, and I say...
Gonzo: Go fuck yourself. And you're fired! GET THE FUCK OFF MY BUS, FUCKER!
Just as I grab him to toss his ass unceremoniously off of the bus, TMac comes onto the bus and immediately rushes to stop me from tossing his ass. I immediately slammed my head into his nose, and he backed the fuck off. He readied himself for a fight, so I dropped Lazlo, and immediately drove my foot straight into his solar plexus, sending him down gasping for air. He grabbed a hold of my foot, however, and dragged me off balance. I see him trying to reach into my pant leg to remove my prosthetic, only to find my other foot slamming into the side of his head. I slam to the floor in the process, but I continue to pound away on his face with my free foot until he let go. He finally let go, and I got to my feet, while grabbing his. I roll him over and I put him into the Phantom Itch, and I continue to apply pressure until I hear the his kneecap pop.
Lazlo starts to recover, until I boot him in the face, sending him sprawling backwards in the process. I wasn't holding back, and I was about to cross that threshold. I had to leave this bus, before I kill one of them. I was sure that I had just hobbled our driver, and Z was going to feel this beating for weeks to come. But I didn't care. The feeling was in me.
I had to go kill something...
The Next Day
I woke up sick as a dog. I found myself inside of a hotel room on a bed. I was still fully clothed and my leg was still attached. But I was a mess! I could feel the grime on my body and all over my clothes. I noticed that after I got a look at myself that I realized that I had caked blood underneath my fingernails.
What the fuck did I do? Did I really just kill someone arbitrarily?
I find a remote control to the television and I switch it on to a local news station. I let it play, while I go to the bathroom to handle my morning business. I completed my business and came back out to the television, when I saw the banner at the bottom of the news feed. It stated that a dog fighting ring was broken up, according to witnesses, by an unidentified white male with a limp. Investigators state that 18 people were injured and three men were killed during the act, and that the perpetrator was at large.
I pulled out my pistol and checked my magazines, only to find them full. I checked my survival knife, and found blood in the hilt. Fresh blood.
My heart started to race. I checked my pockets, and found a wad of $100 bills. Did I just go Punisher-style on a dog-fighting ring?
I pulled out my phone and called Lazlo. Granted, I was still pretty pissed at him, but it probably pales in comparison to how angry he was with me. Hell, he might turn my ass in! But he picked up the phone before the first ring could even finish...
Lazlo: Where the fuck have you been?
Gonzo: Dude, I fucked up real bad.
Lazlo: Where are you?
Gonzo: I don't know. I woke up in a hotel. But its bad, man. I fucked up bad...
Lazlo: Calm down. Is there some stationery on the nightstand?
I looked around for a desk, and found one. I saw the stationery, and I made a sigh of relief, as I say...
Gonzo: I'll be at the bus in about 20 minutes. I'm close by. How is TMac?
Lazlo: T's fine. You dislocated his kneecap, but he popped it back in place himself. He's still pretty pissed off. As for me, you cracked a few ribs, but I'll be fine. I'm sorry I pushed you over the edge.
Gonzo: We can worry about that later. Right now, we've got to figure out what the cops know. Can you go down to the police station and find out?
Lazlo: Yeah, I'll see what I can find out. Just get your ass back here. And if anybody asks, you were in the trailer all day, under the weather. That's the excuse I used when I cancelled all your events. I'll talk to T and let him know you're on your way. I take it I'm not fired?
Gonzo: (sigh) No, you're not fired.
Lazlo: Alright. I'll see what I can find out.
Gonzo: Alright, later.
I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket, before I turn off the TV and leave the room. I reach into my pocket and I pull out the wad of $100. I go to the front desk and I check out, leaving $500 with the front desk clerk with instructions that should anybody ask, I wasn't there.
I walk the three blocks to the arena and I find the bus. I knock on the door and the door pops open, as T just scowls at me. I board the bus and walk back to the bedroom. I take all of my clothes off and I bag them up in a garbage bag. I then put on a change of clothes and grab the old clothes. I walk to the door and pop it open, and I walk to the nearest Dumpster, stuffing the bag of clothes deep into the Dumpster. I look around to see if anybody saw me, and find nothing.
As I walk back to the bus, I see T sitting in the front, reading a magazine. I board the bus and I go to open "The Cockpit", only to find that it is locked. I knock on the door, and got no response. I consider kicking the door in, but what was the point? Just to start another fight? I go to the back of the bus and I sit down. I look around for a little bit, and I find a tank of amyl nitrite. I grab the mask, turn the pressure regulator on and I inhale deeply. A euphoric rush hits me, before my emotions run to the surface.
The anger was at the surface again, and I get to my feet and walk up to the front compartment, before kicking in the door. I immediately grab TMac, and I dragged his ass out of "The Cockpit". He grabs me back, but he releases his hold when I grab a hold of his hand and twist it around. As I have him bent over locked in an armbar, I said...
Gonzo: Yesterday you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you paid dearly for that. And now you want to be angry? FUCK THAT SHIT! You attacked me first, and you lost. GET THE FUCK OVER IT! And if you can't get over it, find yourself another job. YOU UNDERSTAND, FUCKER?
TMac: Let me the fuck go, asshole!
I twist his arm more, causing him to tumble over, landing hard on the floor of the bus. I then drive my knee into his chest, as I say...
Gonzo: Wrong fucking answer, buddy! Do you want your fucking job? Because if that's not the case, I can toss your ass out of this fucker, and I'll drive the damn bus! But if you do, you know this. You ever fucking cross me again, and I'll fucking crucify you in front of every fucking person that has ever given a shit about you, and you will die slowly. Now what's it going to be, jarhead? You done?
T could barely breathe, but he nods his head. I let him go, and I walk back to the bedroom. T says something about how I destroyed the door, but I was in my own world now. The focus of anger had shifted. In all of this excitement, I almost forgot that I had a match to attend to. Probably one of the biggest matches in my career. The odds were against me, but when have they ever been in my favor? I fought hard to escape the dreary confines of my poor white trash upbringing, and I beat the odds when I moved on up in the world. All of it accomplished through grit, determination, and skill. And this match will be no different.
The Countdown to The Show
Two hours prior to "War"
Deuce was standing in front of the camera, with a WCF backdrop that is obscured by an American flag. The very first thing that everyone can see on the countdown show that is bothering to watch any television in the building is that he is not his usual, loopy-looking self. Rather, there was a truly intense look that is etched on his face in the form of a scowl. He is also dressed in woodland tiger stripe from head to toe, and is wearing a ballistic vest and a combat helmet. The camera rolls for a few seconds, as he lets the visage of his "war face" really sink in for everyone he is going to face later this evening.
He begins to speak...
Deuce: This is what I was born to do...
Since the day that I squirted out of my mother, I hit the ground having to fight for every fucking thing that I can lay claim to. And it seems that tonight will be no exception. But the difference between me and you. Yes you, fuckers! I know that every one of you is glued to a monitor somewhere, so listen the fuck up because I'm going to let you know just what the fuck you're up against!
The difference between you and me is that I've been preparing for this my whole life, and I just didn't know it until today. Can any of you assholes say the same? I'm sure some of you came from money, had the easy life, and just want to see just how tough you are, so you bought your way into a professional sport, so you can be on TV, and be popular and all the girls will want to blow you, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I didn't come from that. I grew up knowing and learning one thing, and one thing only. Take a wild fucking guess what that is.
A few days ago, I shot down a man that was trying to rob a surplus that I happened to be a customer in. And it still amazes me just how fast I react to imminent danger. And now that fucker may never walk again. I held back that instinct to kill, but tonight may be a totally different story.
I spent my violent youth constantly competing, and scraping together everything that I could to master the martial arts. And when that failed to pay the bills, I moved into wrestling. I was trained by two very violent men who lay claim to me as their son. One biologically, may he rest in piece, and one who took responsibility, may he also rest in peace. AND I HATED THOSE MEN!!!
What makes you fuckers think that you're going to leave the ring alive when I'm done with you? I don't fucking know you OR like you! You think your records, your past titles, and precious accolades are going to mean shit when you're face to face with an animal like me? Do you think they'll win this match for you? I piss on your titles, and I'll piss on my own, because what has transpired in the ring before tonight has led up to this moment. And this moment. And now that the time has come, the past is just that. The past. Now, all 32 or however many fuckers there are in this match, may have coming to the ring tonight can talk with all the bravado you want about how you did this or that. Let me say it again, real loud, in case you didn't catch it the first time. YOUR PAST DOESN'T MEAN SHIT! Your little wins and losses? SHIT!
Deuce stops for a moment, and produces what appears to be an oxygen tank. He places a mask over his face and inhales deeply a few times, before he removes the mask to reveal his new face. His eyes are bulging, and the veins in his forehead and temples are throbbing. He just looks like an outright psychopath that had just snapped. And then he charges the camera, and the camera goes flying. It crashes to the ground, the lens breaks, and the cameraman is seen laying sprawled out on the ground. The cameraman gets up screaming and runs away from Deuce. All of this transpires as Deuce yells...
Deuce: DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LOOK AT A TRUE BLUE FUCKING WARRIOR! I'VE SPILLED AND LOST MORE BLOOD ON THE BATTLEFIELD THAN ANY OF YOU FUCKERS WILL EVER FUCKING FATHOM! AND NOW YOU'VE CROSSED ME, PRETTIES! AND YOU ARE ALL GOING TO PAY DEARLY! YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCK?
Several indistinguishable noises can be heard in the background, but the camera continues to lie on the ground. Then the camera moves upward, before focusing in on Deuce's face. That psycho look still etched on his face, as he inhales more of the gas.
Deuce: You... Look at me... All of you... You're all very lucky to be alive right now... LOOK AT ME!
He shakes the camera a bit, before he focuses back in and continues...
Deuce: You put your life into my hands when you step into that ring tonight. ALL OF YOU! Don't put your life at risk, or I'll send you on vacation, INTO THE GROUND, FUCKER! And when I send you on vacation, YOU DON'T COME THE FUCK BACK!
DO YOU FUCKERS UNDERSTAND? I'LL SEND YOU ALL STRAIGHT TO HELL, FUCKERS!
And I'm a man of my fucking word! TEST ME IF YOU FUCKING DARE!
And with a furtive grunt, Deuce launches the camera up in the air. The camera spins at a very fast velocity. Fast enough that if there were some bright flashing colors, someone at home would probably have an epilepsy attack. The camera then descends, still spinning at a high velocity, and crashes into the ground with a very loud crunch, before the entire feed cuts off completely.
But my eyes were tired now, and I needed another diversion. I had smoked a blunt earlier, but I was apprehensive about taking any more drugs. I really needed to focus on learning everything that I could about every opponent in this match, and the drugs were too big of a distraction. I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a lemon lime Powerade and guzzled about half of it in one gulp. Damn cottonmouth!
Lazlo was busy on the computer, jabbering on in Urdu. I figure he's talking to his obligation partner in Michigan. Boring! I decided to go grace TMac with my presence instead. As I open the door to the "Cockpit", the first thing I hear is "Piano Man" by Billy Joel. I've got to say this about T, but he has pretty good taste in music. None of that rap crap or any other non-talented fucks on his radio. But another of my senses caught the smell of coffee. A heavy smell. I ask...
Gonzo: You spill some coffee?
TMac: (sighs) The whole fucking Thermos spilled when it fell out of the cup holders.
Gonzo: Damn. Hopefully you can clean it. I really don't want to be docked the security deposit. Dude, stop here!
TMac: What? You mean the military surplus store?
Gonzo: Fuck yeah! You know how many awesome shit you can find in places like that? I once found live hand grenades at one. And I'm talking the old pineapple, banned by NATO-type of grenades. The good ones! Just pull in. I've got to go grab some stuff...
I went into the back of the bus to grab my paperwork. Somewhere inside of it was my DD-214, which usually allowed me some sort of discount, especially in a place like this. I got so excited about the prospect of checking this place out that I almost tore my DD-214 when I pull it from my bag. I also pull out my Glock with the holster and I clip it to my hip before heading back to the front of the bus.
Lazlo looks confused, as he quickly ends his Skype chat with his wife, before saying...
Lazlo: What's going on? Why are we stopping?
Gonzo: Its a military surplus store! You coming?
Lazlo: Oh Hells yes! Let me get my gun. I need new springs for my magazines.
Lazlo went to the back to retrieve his pistol, as the bus comes to a soft halt. The door pops open thanks to the wonders of pneumatic power, and I step off the bus into the hot and dry Arizona afternoon. I walk around the bus to meet TMac, who used his own door to get out of the bus. His face drops when he sees my pistol on my hip. He says...
TMac: What are you? A fucking cowboy? Can you even open carry in this state?
Gonzo: Fuck yes, you can open carry in this state. Do you have your pistol permit?
TMac: Well, duh!
Gonzo: Then you have nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the gun laws of almost every state like the Pope knows the Bible.
TMac looked a bit skeptical, but he doesn't push the issue further. The door to the bus slams, and Lazlo rounds the corner, the only difference I spot is that he now has a sport coat over his large torso, but I could still see the pistol poking from underneath his left armpit.
We looked fucking bizarre. I was dressed like I was going on a hunting and fishing expedition, Lazlo had a suit on, and TMac was wearing his chauffeur outfit on, complete with the combination cover. We went in, where we were greeted by a man of Native American descent. The first thing he does is inquire about the pistol.
Old Indian: You guys got permits?
We pull out our permits. He hands my Texas carry permit back almost immediately. He eyeballs Lazlo's Michigan permit for a moment, then looks at him, before giving it back to him. He comments on TMac's licence, saying...
Old Indian: So this is what an Illinois carry permit looks like. Alright gentlemen. The store is yours to browse. We've got apparel over there, the projectile weapons are over there, the camping and fishing gear is in that corner, and I keep the ammo behind the counter. You guys have any questions?
Gonzo: Do you offer discounts to veterans? We're all vets. Here's my DD-214...
Both TMac and Lazlo also pull theirs out. It looks like I'm not the only one who thought of this. The old guy looks mine over, then passes it back, as he states...
Old Indian: Navy man, eh? And a Chief? What happened? You didn't get your 20.
I pull up my right pant leg to show him just why I wasn't able to complete my 20 years of service. The old man pulls both of his pant legs up, to reveal the same issues. He then states...
Old Man: Vietnam. Que-san Valley. Mortar fire blew up a vehicle and landed on me. You?
Gonzo: Afghanistan. Kabul Region. Land mine. It did all of this, too...
I pull up my shirt, to reveal his entire right side of his body up to his armpits are covered in burn and laceration scars from the land mine. Even the old man cringed at that one, as he hands back the DD-214. He looks at T's next, and says...
Old Man: Marines, eh? I ain't gonna knock it. They saved my ass once, before this shit happened...
He hands TMac's DD-214 back, and looks at Lazlo's quickly, before handing it back to him, before he says...
Old Man: Gentlemen, I'd be honored and privileged to offer you guys a 15% discount. Feel free to browse the store, guys.
I nod, as I make my way back to apparel. The first thing that I encounter are uniform items for every branch of service. Even the Merchant Marines! I find a flat black CPO anchor and I move on to the tactical gear. All sorts of camo schemes were available, from the old BDU pattern to the new MultiCam pattern, and everything in between. I grab a blouse, a pair of pants, and tactical boonie hats in both a tiger stripe desert pattern and the tiger stripe woodland pattern.
I then spot the protective gear. Ballistic vests, brain buckets, and the like. They were expensive as fuck, but then I started to think about "War", and then I started thinking about REAL war. There wasn't any rules dictating what I could wear to the ring, and I know that I can fight with all of this gear on. It might slow me down, but it can also be removed, and it can also cause a lot of heartache for whoever steps in front of me later on in the evening.
I grab both a ballistic vest and a brain bucket, and decide that I'm done for now. I don't need anymore guns for the time being, and I had plenty of camping gear. I bring it all to the front, where Lazlo and TMac were already waiting. Lazlo already had his new springs, and was working on changing out the old ones, while T stands by, holding a large box of ammo in his hands. I drop all of the stuff on the counter, right as two guys come in, masks over their face, with firearms in hands. The guy with the shotgun fires in the air, which catches the attention of TMac and Lazlo.
I didn't even think about it. I pulled out my pistol, as both T and Lazlo hit the deck. The old man did the exact same thing, as we started pumping rounds into the would-be armed robbers before they knew what hit them. Both were taking awhile to go down, indicating to me they had body armor on, or they were on something. I started aiming lower at their kneecaps, when both men go down. The one I shot in the knees started screaming, while the other laid still and quiet, as blood ran from his head. The old man goes to the screaming one and raises his gun to shoot him, when I stop him...
Gonzo: No! He's not worth it...
I'd seen that look before. Hell, I'd seen ME use the same look. It was the look of kill or be killed. He was locked in a moment where it was him or the other guy. He was back in Vietnam. And then he came back. He lowered the weapon quickly, and says...
Old Man: I'll go call the police...
The living creep on the floor starts to cry, as he says...
Gunman: Oh thank God. Thank you...
Gonzo: Shut the fuck up! You're lucky I don't put a bullet in your brain pan right now, cocksucker!
The creep obliges me, and shuts the fuck up. Lazlo grabs a nearby tourniquet kit, and starts working on the bastard, while T and I cover him with our pistols, in case this asshole has something up his sleeve. I doubt it, but I've seen stranger things...
Several hours later, and we're still stuck in the store. Cops were everywhere, crime scene analysis had taken my pistol, and everyone in the store had been interviewed. None of us were arrested, but this was getting ridiculous. I had already missed one autograph session and was about to miss the commemoration dinner for all the competitors in "War" if we didn't get our asses in gear.
An investigator cleared us, told us to expect a summons to court in the future, and allowed us to leave with our property, which became gratis, thanks to the old guy. He was the one that I felt the most sympathy for. This man had probably been out of the game for almost 50 years, only to get brought back in like this. And I know he'd seen some shit, and he had a Silver Star to prove it. It still didn't stop me from shaking his hand and complimenting his marksmanship skills. He'd scored three hits to the dead gunman in the head and face. He gave me the same compliment, though he said if I had put his ass out for good, I probably wouldn't have to return to the state for a trial. I just nodded my head, before I turned away and got on the bus. As soon as I got on, I said...
Gonzo: Alright, T. Lets blow this fucking pop stand. Z, did you get a hold of someone from the WCF about this?
Lazlo: Yeah, and Seth is not thrilled at this latest development, either. We're going to get fired.
Gonzo: Not for this, we're not. We didn't do anything wrong and you know that. And if anybody says otherwise, you put your foot up their ass. Hell, I'll light Seth's ass up myself if he fires us. At least then he'll have a good excuse to fire us. Until then, you tell his cracker ass that if he fires me for this incident, he can expect a lawsuit, and I will win. Understood?
Lazlo just sighs, as he gets back on the phone to relay the message. I go up front to T, and find that there is no music playing whatsoever. I sit down, only to get from T the cold shoulder, as he says...
TMac: Forgive me for asking, but I'd like to be left alone, if you don't mind.
Gonzo: I was just about to ask if you are okay, but I can see that's not the case right now.
TMac: Not right now, but I'll be okay. Can you make me some coffee?
Gonzo: You got it, Bromego...
I got up and made my way to the kitchenette to make a pot of coffee. I figure I can do this solid for T, he needed it. I look down the bus and see Lazlo, furious on the phone, as he throws the phone straight to the ground, smashing it into little pieces, as he shouts...
Lazlo: FUCK!!! SON OF A BITCH!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?
I raise my hands up to show I don't mean anything by it, as I turn back to the coffee. Never mind sideways, the whole bottle has been dumped at this point. I finish preparing the coffee and set the maker to brew it, before I move past Lazlo, who had planted himself on the sofa/bed with his head in his hands, as I go back into the bedroom.
The days events had an effect on me as well, but I didn't show it. Hell, at this point, I couldn't show it as much as I wanted to. If we were in the shit, I'd have to maintain that front of strength. I was the ranking person on the bus, and that was the burden that I had to bear. I closed the bedroom door, and I just let it go. Seems to me that I've been doing this quite a bit as of late, but it had been over a year since I had to make that decision of whether it was them or me. Once again, I chose me, and I feel like shit for it. At least the fucker I shot isn't dead. Critical, but not dead.
The tears stopped after a few minutes, and I get myself together. I roll up a joint and light it, with the hopes that this newest wound would be forgotten in a few puffs. After I tire of the weed, I turn my attention back to the computer and start focusing on the more obscure and newer wrestlers that will be participating in "War", like Walker Flyocker Flame? Of course, all I get once I realize who it is is a bunch of wrestling clips with him and Biohazard. Those guys were a total Dumpster fire in progress. There were others like him. Total unknowns, raw at best, but really had a snowball's chance in Hell of pulling off a victory. But I'll find the time to address them all at a later date. Especially those who have won events before, and those who have a really good shot at winning.
The smell of brewed coffee reaches me, and I get up to fill TMac's Thermos. I finish the job and hand it to TMac without a word. When I went back, I saw Lazlo laid out on the sofa/bed, fast asleep, with a bottle of Ambien sitting on a nearby ledge. I reach past him and grab one of his blunts. I light it and I hold the smoke in, exhaling slowly. This was one clusterfuck of a day, and I need to call it quits for the day. I get back to the bedroom, I close the computer and set it off to the side. I strip down to my drawers and remove my prosthetic from my leg. I look at my leg, as I see all the burnt-up scar tissue up the side of my leg. To this day, I'm still not clear on what happened that day. All I remember was a flash, followed by either me slamming into something or something slamming into me. That might've been the ground, now that I think about this. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital in Germany. I couldn't speak, see, or hear and I thought I was dead, until I struggled and someone put hands on me.
It took me six months to recover from the wounds. And now that I think of it, I was coming up on a year since the incident, yet it felt like yesterday. I had lost a lot on that day. My foot, my mental stability, about 20% of my skin, my lady, and about 30 pounds. I still sometimes consider putting a bullet in my head and calling it a day, but something stands in the way. It wasn't the stigma or the sin revolving around suicide that stopped me, but rather my will to die "The Good Death" overrides the urge to kill myself.
I feel my eyes grow a bit heavy, and I eventually drift off into sleep.
Next Morning
We managed to make it just in time for the toast that Seth probably gave at every Pay-Per-View event. He wished everyone the best of luck and hopes to see you shortly after War to talk about a contract to wrestle for the World Heavyweight Title. Granted, the speech was a little generic and short, but he did it with good presence and projection. Got to give credit where credit is due.
I had arrived with Lazlo in tow, but shortly after the speech, he bailed out on me. And he had all of the weed! Bastard! I swear to God he's turned into a goddamn narcotics agent! And worse, he left me in this room with all of these animals! Everyone was dressed real nice, and were playing nice, but you could feel the tension in the air. So thick you could taste it in the back of your throat, and the taste just sticks there like a terrible burp.
I had to find a way out of here. But I had to look casual. If these beasts sensed my discomfort, they may pounce, and throw me on the fire. They were hungry for blood! I make my way slowly to the exit, only for my attempt at escape to get cut off by a very attractive blonde working the banquet. We exchanged pleasantries and engaged in small talk before she made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Oh, who am I kidding? It was an offer I WASN'T GOING to refuse. Who turns down pussy and free weed when it throws itself at you?
We eventually ditch the party and headed back to the bus. But if you want details on what happened once we got on the bus, contact me personally, so I can personally tell you to get your own sex life and go fuck yourself. In that order. But I will tell you about the morning after, which was probably going to be awkward once again.
Once the young lady woke up, she was still feeling a little frisky. Still. This woman were insatiable! I indulged their desires a bit, before we got ourselves as ready as we could for the day. I gave her some of my weed and she happily accepted, and showed her gratitude once again. Who needs the gym when all I need are wild days and nights of marathon sex?
They finally departed the bus, and I watched them leave. What can I say? I'm an ass man. I also see Lazlo on the sofa/bed, smoking a out of the bong with the table set up for eating or work. I walk over and say...
Gonzo: What the fuck happened to you last night? You left me in that goddamn room last night with all of those animals!
Lazlo: I had to conduct some business, and you're not going to like it.
Gonzo: Well, tell me as I get ready for the autograph signing. You said it was at Best Buy, right?
Lazlo: I cancelled all of your appointments.
I had thought that maybe I misheard what he said, but I think he said he cancelled all of my appointments. But why?
Gonzo: And why would you cancel all of my engagements for today?
Lazlo: Because you don't have time for that shit. You've got to get your head on fucking straight, man. And the last thing you need to do is get carpal-tunnel from signing autographs.
Gonzo: You know you work on commission, right?
Lazlo: That might not matter in the near future, when we're both out of a fucking job because you're fucking broken.
I look at my lawyer with bewilderment, as I say?
Gonzo: Me? Broken? I may not be whole, but I'm not broken.
He all of a sudden rage-clears the table, smashing a coffee cup and his own favorite bong in the process as he shouts...
Lazlo: What the fuck is the matter with you, man? You think this is some kind of fucking game? Yesterday, I saw you wound a man when the old Murdock I know wouldn't have bothered with kneecaps when a bullet to the brain pan can end it all. The same fucking Murdock wouldn't have acted like a goddamn pussy and ran out of that dinner like that, either! Even if it was uncomfortable. Hell, you probably would've added to the discomfort by pissing on Seth's shoes while he gave that lame-ass and super generic speech!
Gonzo: I didn't see you do anything but drop to the ground like a little girl, yesterday. What's your fucking excuse?
Lazlo: I'M A FUCKING LAWYER! YOU'RE NOT! I put my guns down a long time ago! But you! You're still in the shit! Even if you don't want to admit it! And that denial is fucking you in the ass as we speak! You get inside of that ring week in and week out, and its like you're just going through the motions until you OD or get shot! And I'm sick of dealing with it week in and week out! You need to get back your killer fucking instinct before you fuck this opportunity in the ass like you did last week when Alpine pinned you!
Gonzo: He got fucking lucky, and you know it. Everyone in that fucking match fucked me that night!
Lazlo: EXCUSES ARE FOR PUSSIES! Isn't that what you said back in the squadron days?
That fucking bastard! I wanted to kick a hole through his chest so goddamn bad. I wanted to give him a crimson mask he wasn't going to soon forget. But what would have that accomplished? Ten years ago, he would've had a decent shot at kicking my ass. But now he's just a sodded lawyer who once upon a time joined the military for the college money. He wasn't a lifer, and he knew it and admitted it openly. I was able to respect that and we built our friendship on that respect. And that respect kept me from kicking his ass out of this world.
Somewhere along the line, however, I snapped...
I grab him by his necktie and I slam my fist into his face three times before he responds to the sudden attack. He managed to get to his feet, but I immediately threw him off balance with a hip toss that rattled the bus and knocks everything off the walls. I get to my feet and grab one of his legs, but he kicks me in the top of the head with his other leg. He does this again, until I drag him off balance. He kicks at my hands and it catches my fingers, so I let go and I drive my other fist into his yogurt factory. He immediately curls up into the fetal position, as I get to my feet. As I walk past him, I drive my knee into his ribs. Hopefully it leaves one hell of a bruise he won't soon forget. I then bend over his curled up body, and I say...
Gonzo: Go fuck yourself. And you're fired! GET THE FUCK OFF MY BUS, FUCKER!
Just as I grab him to toss his ass unceremoniously off of the bus, TMac comes onto the bus and immediately rushes to stop me from tossing his ass. I immediately slammed my head into his nose, and he backed the fuck off. He readied himself for a fight, so I dropped Lazlo, and immediately drove my foot straight into his solar plexus, sending him down gasping for air. He grabbed a hold of my foot, however, and dragged me off balance. I see him trying to reach into my pant leg to remove my prosthetic, only to find my other foot slamming into the side of his head. I slam to the floor in the process, but I continue to pound away on his face with my free foot until he let go. He finally let go, and I got to my feet, while grabbing his. I roll him over and I put him into the Phantom Itch, and I continue to apply pressure until I hear the his kneecap pop.
Lazlo starts to recover, until I boot him in the face, sending him sprawling backwards in the process. I wasn't holding back, and I was about to cross that threshold. I had to leave this bus, before I kill one of them. I was sure that I had just hobbled our driver, and Z was going to feel this beating for weeks to come. But I didn't care. The feeling was in me.
I had to go kill something...
The Next Day
I woke up sick as a dog. I found myself inside of a hotel room on a bed. I was still fully clothed and my leg was still attached. But I was a mess! I could feel the grime on my body and all over my clothes. I noticed that after I got a look at myself that I realized that I had caked blood underneath my fingernails.
What the fuck did I do? Did I really just kill someone arbitrarily?
I find a remote control to the television and I switch it on to a local news station. I let it play, while I go to the bathroom to handle my morning business. I completed my business and came back out to the television, when I saw the banner at the bottom of the news feed. It stated that a dog fighting ring was broken up, according to witnesses, by an unidentified white male with a limp. Investigators state that 18 people were injured and three men were killed during the act, and that the perpetrator was at large.
I pulled out my pistol and checked my magazines, only to find them full. I checked my survival knife, and found blood in the hilt. Fresh blood.
My heart started to race. I checked my pockets, and found a wad of $100 bills. Did I just go Punisher-style on a dog-fighting ring?
I pulled out my phone and called Lazlo. Granted, I was still pretty pissed at him, but it probably pales in comparison to how angry he was with me. Hell, he might turn my ass in! But he picked up the phone before the first ring could even finish...
Lazlo: Where the fuck have you been?
Gonzo: Dude, I fucked up real bad.
Lazlo: Where are you?
Gonzo: I don't know. I woke up in a hotel. But its bad, man. I fucked up bad...
Lazlo: Calm down. Is there some stationery on the nightstand?
I looked around for a desk, and found one. I saw the stationery, and I made a sigh of relief, as I say...
Gonzo: I'll be at the bus in about 20 minutes. I'm close by. How is TMac?
Lazlo: T's fine. You dislocated his kneecap, but he popped it back in place himself. He's still pretty pissed off. As for me, you cracked a few ribs, but I'll be fine. I'm sorry I pushed you over the edge.
Gonzo: We can worry about that later. Right now, we've got to figure out what the cops know. Can you go down to the police station and find out?
Lazlo: Yeah, I'll see what I can find out. Just get your ass back here. And if anybody asks, you were in the trailer all day, under the weather. That's the excuse I used when I cancelled all your events. I'll talk to T and let him know you're on your way. I take it I'm not fired?
Gonzo: (sigh) No, you're not fired.
Lazlo: Alright. I'll see what I can find out.
Gonzo: Alright, later.
I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket, before I turn off the TV and leave the room. I reach into my pocket and I pull out the wad of $100. I go to the front desk and I check out, leaving $500 with the front desk clerk with instructions that should anybody ask, I wasn't there.
I walk the three blocks to the arena and I find the bus. I knock on the door and the door pops open, as T just scowls at me. I board the bus and walk back to the bedroom. I take all of my clothes off and I bag them up in a garbage bag. I then put on a change of clothes and grab the old clothes. I walk to the door and pop it open, and I walk to the nearest Dumpster, stuffing the bag of clothes deep into the Dumpster. I look around to see if anybody saw me, and find nothing.
As I walk back to the bus, I see T sitting in the front, reading a magazine. I board the bus and I go to open "The Cockpit", only to find that it is locked. I knock on the door, and got no response. I consider kicking the door in, but what was the point? Just to start another fight? I go to the back of the bus and I sit down. I look around for a little bit, and I find a tank of amyl nitrite. I grab the mask, turn the pressure regulator on and I inhale deeply. A euphoric rush hits me, before my emotions run to the surface.
The anger was at the surface again, and I get to my feet and walk up to the front compartment, before kicking in the door. I immediately grab TMac, and I dragged his ass out of "The Cockpit". He grabs me back, but he releases his hold when I grab a hold of his hand and twist it around. As I have him bent over locked in an armbar, I said...
Gonzo: Yesterday you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you paid dearly for that. And now you want to be angry? FUCK THAT SHIT! You attacked me first, and you lost. GET THE FUCK OVER IT! And if you can't get over it, find yourself another job. YOU UNDERSTAND, FUCKER?
TMac: Let me the fuck go, asshole!
I twist his arm more, causing him to tumble over, landing hard on the floor of the bus. I then drive my knee into his chest, as I say...
Gonzo: Wrong fucking answer, buddy! Do you want your fucking job? Because if that's not the case, I can toss your ass out of this fucker, and I'll drive the damn bus! But if you do, you know this. You ever fucking cross me again, and I'll fucking crucify you in front of every fucking person that has ever given a shit about you, and you will die slowly. Now what's it going to be, jarhead? You done?
T could barely breathe, but he nods his head. I let him go, and I walk back to the bedroom. T says something about how I destroyed the door, but I was in my own world now. The focus of anger had shifted. In all of this excitement, I almost forgot that I had a match to attend to. Probably one of the biggest matches in my career. The odds were against me, but when have they ever been in my favor? I fought hard to escape the dreary confines of my poor white trash upbringing, and I beat the odds when I moved on up in the world. All of it accomplished through grit, determination, and skill. And this match will be no different.
The Countdown to The Show
Two hours prior to "War"
Deuce was standing in front of the camera, with a WCF backdrop that is obscured by an American flag. The very first thing that everyone can see on the countdown show that is bothering to watch any television in the building is that he is not his usual, loopy-looking self. Rather, there was a truly intense look that is etched on his face in the form of a scowl. He is also dressed in woodland tiger stripe from head to toe, and is wearing a ballistic vest and a combat helmet. The camera rolls for a few seconds, as he lets the visage of his "war face" really sink in for everyone he is going to face later this evening.
He begins to speak...
Deuce: This is what I was born to do...
Since the day that I squirted out of my mother, I hit the ground having to fight for every fucking thing that I can lay claim to. And it seems that tonight will be no exception. But the difference between me and you. Yes you, fuckers! I know that every one of you is glued to a monitor somewhere, so listen the fuck up because I'm going to let you know just what the fuck you're up against!
The difference between you and me is that I've been preparing for this my whole life, and I just didn't know it until today. Can any of you assholes say the same? I'm sure some of you came from money, had the easy life, and just want to see just how tough you are, so you bought your way into a professional sport, so you can be on TV, and be popular and all the girls will want to blow you, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I didn't come from that. I grew up knowing and learning one thing, and one thing only. Take a wild fucking guess what that is.
A few days ago, I shot down a man that was trying to rob a surplus that I happened to be a customer in. And it still amazes me just how fast I react to imminent danger. And now that fucker may never walk again. I held back that instinct to kill, but tonight may be a totally different story.
I spent my violent youth constantly competing, and scraping together everything that I could to master the martial arts. And when that failed to pay the bills, I moved into wrestling. I was trained by two very violent men who lay claim to me as their son. One biologically, may he rest in piece, and one who took responsibility, may he also rest in peace. AND I HATED THOSE MEN!!!
What makes you fuckers think that you're going to leave the ring alive when I'm done with you? I don't fucking know you OR like you! You think your records, your past titles, and precious accolades are going to mean shit when you're face to face with an animal like me? Do you think they'll win this match for you? I piss on your titles, and I'll piss on my own, because what has transpired in the ring before tonight has led up to this moment. And this moment. And now that the time has come, the past is just that. The past. Now, all 32 or however many fuckers there are in this match, may have coming to the ring tonight can talk with all the bravado you want about how you did this or that. Let me say it again, real loud, in case you didn't catch it the first time. YOUR PAST DOESN'T MEAN SHIT! Your little wins and losses? SHIT!
Deuce stops for a moment, and produces what appears to be an oxygen tank. He places a mask over his face and inhales deeply a few times, before he removes the mask to reveal his new face. His eyes are bulging, and the veins in his forehead and temples are throbbing. He just looks like an outright psychopath that had just snapped. And then he charges the camera, and the camera goes flying. It crashes to the ground, the lens breaks, and the cameraman is seen laying sprawled out on the ground. The cameraman gets up screaming and runs away from Deuce. All of this transpires as Deuce yells...
Deuce: DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LOOK AT A TRUE BLUE FUCKING WARRIOR! I'VE SPILLED AND LOST MORE BLOOD ON THE BATTLEFIELD THAN ANY OF YOU FUCKERS WILL EVER FUCKING FATHOM! AND NOW YOU'VE CROSSED ME, PRETTIES! AND YOU ARE ALL GOING TO PAY DEARLY! YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCK?
Several indistinguishable noises can be heard in the background, but the camera continues to lie on the ground. Then the camera moves upward, before focusing in on Deuce's face. That psycho look still etched on his face, as he inhales more of the gas.
Deuce: You... Look at me... All of you... You're all very lucky to be alive right now... LOOK AT ME!
He shakes the camera a bit, before he focuses back in and continues...
Deuce: You put your life into my hands when you step into that ring tonight. ALL OF YOU! Don't put your life at risk, or I'll send you on vacation, INTO THE GROUND, FUCKER! And when I send you on vacation, YOU DON'T COME THE FUCK BACK!
DO YOU FUCKERS UNDERSTAND? I'LL SEND YOU ALL STRAIGHT TO HELL, FUCKERS!
And I'm a man of my fucking word! TEST ME IF YOU FUCKING DARE!
And with a furtive grunt, Deuce launches the camera up in the air. The camera spins at a very fast velocity. Fast enough that if there were some bright flashing colors, someone at home would probably have an epilepsy attack. The camera then descends, still spinning at a high velocity, and crashes into the ground with a very loud crunch, before the entire feed cuts off completely.
