Post by Bonnie Blue on Dec 6, 2015 11:46:12 GMT -5
Prologue:
"Heya, Hank. Been a while," said the cat. The nervous twitch of his whiskers belied his apparent good humor.
Hank Brown -- the cyborg version, that is -- leveled a cool stare at Brian Setzer. "I thought I told you not to show your furry face around here again."
"Oh, come on, Hank...."
"Don't 'come on' me -- " A snort from the cat cut him off, made him roll his eyes. "You know what I meant. Every time you show up, there's trouble. I'm out of the business, now. Retired. Got it?" Hank's voice dropped to a menacing tone.
"Relax, Hank. I just need some gear." Brian Setzer unholstered his weapon and put it on the wooden counter with a heavy thud! "Something a little more... current..."
He lifted his feline brows in a meaningful way. CyberHank sighed. He had a feeling there was more the cat wasn't telling him.
"All right. In the back," Hank said, lifting up part of the counter and gesturing Brian Setzer through.
The cat mindlessly swiped at a dangling cord as they passed through a doorway hung with a curtain, then walked down a short, darkened hall and into a large storeroom. Crates were stacked neatly against three sides of the room, waiting to be unpacked. The fourth side was dominated by a workbench -- a number of half-completed projects scattered across the surface -- and several boxes full of various machine parts. The room smelled strongly of fresh oil and hot metal. Brian Setzer let out a soft hiss of surprise.
"Impressive," he said, and meant it.
Hank beamed with pride. "It is, isn't it? Ok, so what you want is this..."
He reached beneath the workbench and withdrew something that looked like a grandfather clock had forcibly mated with a wireless radio, supported on a frame of leather-wrapped steel. There were dials and gauges all over the surface, with a trio of small amber bulbs on top. A pair of shoulder straps seemed to indicate that the contraption was to be worn on the back. Brian Setzer looked at it dubiously.
"Just what in the hell is that thing?" he asked, skeptical.
"Watch," Hank replied, slipping his arms through the straps.
He picked up a length of clear tube encasing a thick braid of copper wires, and jammed one end into a receptacle on the underside of the backpack. At the other end, the hose was tipped with a copper nozzle, which Hank directed at an empty crate. Reaching back, Hank turned a dial; a low hum started within the machine, rising in pitch as each indicator light winked on in succession. Adjusting his aim, Hank cut loose with a volley of electricity; the crate burst into flame immediately.
"Holy shit!"
"Right?" CyberHank shut the machine off again. "That's my latest design. The power's adjustable, but much higher than that, it'll knock you off your feet."
"Uh, fire?" Brian Setzer pointed at the rapidly burning crate.
Hank's left hand swung back, the wrist bending unnaturally far; from an opening in the wrist, a stream of fire-suppressant arced toward the fire, expanding on contact with the flames and smothering them with ruthless efficiency.
"Upgrade?" the cat asked.
CyberHank smiled enigmatically as his hand slotted back into place. "I've been experimenting. So... what's the real reason you're here?"
"I told you, I came for gear. You're the best in the business."
"Don't bullshit me," Hank warned. "You came an awful long way just to trade for hardware."
Brian Setzer sighed heavily. The jig was most decidedly up. "Ok, I'll level with you. I was hunting Rippers, and I caught one. Alive. We had a real enlightening discussion. Long story short, they've breached the last barrier."
"What? No, they can't have! My sensors -- "
"Are being jammed, my friend. Something's going down, and it's soon. We have to get to the Rock, see what Reb knows."
A moment's hesitation; Hank's brow furrowed in thought. More than thought. The sensors buried in his cortex woke from their passive scan mode. He was being jammed, all right. There was a blanket over the whole area, maybe fifteen miles in total. He wasn't equipped for long-range, so that's where Hank's investigation ended. At last, he nodded his reluctant agreement.
"All right. I'll go get the unicycle."
Here & Now:
Bonnie Blue: You'll pardon the departure from my usual style, but this seemed more appropriate, under the circumstances. I find myself in a reflective mood of late.
The young woman folds tape-swathed hands, steepling two fingers and pressing them to her lips as she gathers her thoughts. Blue-green eyes take on a distant look.
Bonnie Blue: Been a lotta questions goin' around; questions I ask myself, then find them echoed back at me through social media, like fractals of thought. An' foremost among them -- why do we do it? Those who stand before the great juggernaut that is Beach Krew, daring them to crush us beneath the inexorable, unstoppable momentum. Why do we oppose such a force, when surely the only outcome can be ultimate defeat?
I'd like to say it's simple; that it's purely altruistic. But that wouldn't be quite honest. I mean, it started personal. Yeah, I was bein' a smartass, an' maybe that was a little immature on my part. Just... when people start insistin', tellin' me what to do -- or else -- that don't sit right. Here's the thing -- y'all demand respect; y'expect it, just 'cause y'all got yourselves put in charge. Thing is, respect has to be earned, an' y'all ain't done nothin' to earn mine.
You've tried to force it, though. You pushed me an' pushed me. You put me in matches y'all intended me to lose. Y'all threatened me with literal death -- repeatedly. Tried to pull it off last week, too.
Her hand goes to her throat, unconsciously; fingers dance along pale flesh, and her expression darkens ever-so-slightly.
Bonnie Blue: Worst part is, y'all reckon you can get away with that shit. Probably could -- were it not for those of us with the courage to stand up to ya. Y'all reckon there ain't consequenses to your actions. You commit acts of profound atrocity, then claim that we're all as amoral as y'all are. Bitches, please.
To void the moral dichotomy of good an' evil don't give none of y'all the right to impose your will on others. The fans ain't payin' to watch y'all run roughshod over the roster; demandin' obedience, conformity, or you'll come down hard with them hobnailed jackboots. What the people wanna see is folks like me, like Preecha Kamon -- even Occulo an' Mikey -- stand up for not only ourselves, but the integrity of this sport; of this company. It's not about anythin' as simple as "good" an' "evil."
It's about honor, which is a concept that clearly no one in Beach Krew has ever heard of. It's about the sanctity of that squared circle. It's about the purity of competition. It's about fightin' for what you believe in. 'Cause let me be real honest for a sec -- that shit hurts! Every time y'all put me on my ass, it hurts! I leave, every Sunday night, bruised an' sore from head to toe, an' most of that is courtesy of Beach Krew -- whether I got a match with any of y'all or not. But I get up, I work through the pain, an' I keep comin' back for more. Because I believe in things.
No, not silly metaphysical things. I don't need to be afraid of an invisible man in the sky or obscure Karmic Law to be a decent human bein'. In the end, the only one I'm accountable to is myself -- an' I got enough self respect, I don't wanna wind up like any of y'all. Not like Rabid, not like Beaver or Kemp, certainly not like Moor.
Another pause, her gaze drawn away from the camera. Bonnie rises from the chair, feminine grace with a fighter's edge. She paces the confines of the room, back and forth, tension written into every step.
Bonnie Blue: It ain't just that. That's surface stuff; easy answers. These last couple weeks, they've led to some introspection on my part. There is another level, a deeper reason as to why I oppose y'all. It's because each of y'all brings out somethin' in me I don't like. Somethin' I aim to put to bed once an' for all, an' if takin' out Beach Krew is the way to do it... so much the better.
Let's start with you, Wade. I don't know what it is; honestly I don't, but you just piss me off. Seriously, every time I see you, I wanna slap you. With a brick. You keep baitin' me on the internet, an' that's part of it. But just a little. I don't take that shit half as serious as the crap you pull in the ring. Like sucker-punchin' me after I pinned your good buddy Oblivion -- in a match you an' Sharkboy orchestrated specifically so it would wind up the way it did: little ol' Bonnie Blue all alone in the ring with two brutal monsters. What was the point of all that? To teach me a lesson? Didn't take. To scare me into obedience?
A laugh, soft and teasing, bubbles forth for the briefest of moments.
Bonnie Blue: Oh, I'm scared. You better believe that. I'm on a team of guys I can't trust, except one -- goin' against a team of guys who all want to shut me up in the most permanent way. Does it not occur to y'all that I'm an asset? Have you seen how that crowd reacts to me? They love me, 'cause they know I got heart...
She taps her right fist, twice, just over her left breast.
Bonnie Blue: I'm genuine, in everythin' I say an' everythin' I do. That love is real, an' that love is reciprocated. Y'all wanna take that away from them? That's how Beach Krew treats the people who spend their hard-earned money to watch us put it all on the line for them? Well -- some of us put it all on the line. Others stack the deck against their opponents, or find excuses not to fight at all.
Wade, you keep runnin' your mouth about how you made my career; like I didn't come sailin' through my debut with a win over Vic Venable. Like I ain't proved myself every week since. This ain't just about winnin' and losin' -- it's how ya come through; how ya comport yourself in the ring, an' out. If you wanna talk about makin' my career, you need to step into the ring with me more'n once. Oblivion's more responsible for my success than you are, Wade, so do us all a favor: Sit back an' enjoy a hot, steaming mug of shut the fuck up.
Her pacing slows as the anger simmers down, and Bonnie slides the chair back a little before taking her seat once more.
Bonnie Blue: Now, Kyle... Kyle Kemp. You're sorta the odd man out, 'cause you fail to inspire much of anythin' in me. You're an irritation; a mosquito bite. Beyond that... I don't know, man. Is this your great ambition? Livin' in the shadow of these would-be tyrants? I mean, I guess that's cool, if that's your thing. It's just kinda sad. You're not really like the rest of them. Yeah, you said hurtful things the last time we went head-to-head, but none of it truly unforgiveable. Y'ain't nippin' at my heels on a daily basis, like Wade. You're an unholy terror in the ring, though, I'll give ya that. Sorry, "brah", that's about the extent of the emotions you evoke in me. Which is a problem in itself. I recognize in you that part of me that is lazy and would rather not have much ambition. We all got it. It's just that you exemplify it so...apathetically. Your partner... no, I'll save you for last, Mr. Rabid.
Which brings us to Dustin.
Her hands ball into fists reflexively at her sides as a new, fresher rage flares behind her eyes; she stands abruptly enough to cause the chair to tilt at a dangerous angle before it rights itself. Bonnie takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out through clenched teeth.
Bonnie Blue: You dirty son of a bitch! The indignities I suffered at your hands will be answered for! I took you for a clown at first, underestimated ya; that won't happen this time. Now I know what a sadistic piece of shit you are. What most vexes me, though, is your motivation come from Wade Moor's say-so. Y'ain't even got the decency to find a legitimate reason to hate me the way he does. You're just so desperate for approval that you'll be the trigger man, no matter which way he aims the gun. Not even your own man... shameful.
She shakes her head in mock regret.
Bonnie Blue: I bet your buddies are gonna keep you safe at Slam tonight. Won't let you into the ring -- unless there's an advantage you can press. Don't wanna risk the possibility of actually losin' your precious TEE-VEE belt. Do that, an' the whole illusion starts to unravel. If one of you is shown to be fallible, logic dictates the others are, too. And Beach Krew's stranglehold of fear an' divisiveness loosens, just enough...
I'm gonna be square with ya, Dustin. I look forward to gettin' my hands on you, one way or another. Your shiny gold is a secondary consideration at this point. What I want...is to make you suffer, the way you made me suffer.
The glare she casts at the camera is full of malicious promise, a hint of her own potential sadism. Bonnie clamps it down tightly, closing her eyes as she takes another deep breath. This time, her features ease and the tension fades; though she's far from serene.
Bonnie Blue: But that would be vindictive, an' I am above that. There's gonna be a reckonin', Dustin, but it will be well within the dictates of honor -- not to mention the rules. You've heard of those, right? TIme's comin' when you won't be able to violate them so flagrantly anymore. That, however, has no bearin' on our upcomin' confrontation. Tonight, we're gonna clash. Diff'rence is, I know what to expect; you won't catch me unawares. You'd be best served to stay behind your teammates an' let them protect you, 'cause I ain't gonna be the only one gunnin' for ya -- an' my compatriots ain't near as concerned about rules as I am.
My... compatriots....
Her expression turns thoughtful once more as the stream of consciousness meanders in a new direction.
Bonnie Blue: How do I trust any of them? Their goals, their ambitions, come before any idea of teamwork -- under ordinary circumstances. I don't think it's escaped any of us, though -- it's damned obvious -- that this match is more or less a farce. The expectation is that we'll turn on one another in our blind, unrelentin' ambition for gold. That we'll tear each other apart, an' the Beach Boys won't hardly have to lift a finger. Now, I got my questions about a partic'lar individual, but we'll leave that be. What happens, happens; an' countin' on him ain't the bulk of the plan.
An' Occulo, well... I reckon I owe the fact that I'm still breathin' to him. Here's hopin' I can acquit that debt at Slam. I hate owin' folks, 'specially folks I ain't too sure about. But Preecha, on t'other hand; he's never not had my back, never given me cause for suspicion. Which is ironic, considerin' the dubious nature of his outside dealin's. Of him alone am I certain.
Well, him, an' our mutual loathin' of Beach Krew. I'm hesitant to build an alliance on hate; but desperate times call for desperate measures. If none of us can count on anythin' else, it's that we are all committed to a singular goal: payback. We've all been subject to y'all's efforts at humiliatin' us; we all got enough motivation to put our diff'rences aside... temp'rarily. It's all about teamwork.
A slight frown creases Bonnie's brow.
Bonnie Blue: Teamwork... This is what makes us or breaks us this time 'round. I been doin' my homework; watchin' an' re-watchin' match after match. The words "well-oiled machine" come to mind; an' if y'all was anybody else, I might even find it admirable. But y'all use this singular gift to oppress an' terrorize. It is rather unique -- this ability to share in a universal mind; figuratively speakin', of course. Such a notion is...well, speculative, at best.
An' in all my reviewin', there's one thing I come to realize: while Sharknado -- to whom, in spite of our constant snipin' at each other, I wish a speedy recovery -- but while he's the nominal leader of your little band of not-so merry men... there's another figure who seems to permeate every aspect of y'all's interactions... Like Poe's raven, it's the shadow of Johnny Rabid that looms over Beach Krew; quietly dominant. Perched on the bust of Pallas, even; fear outweighing wisdom. I could go on with the metaphor, but I reckon y'all got the idea.
Her blue-green eyes turn as troubled as an ocean storm. Micro-expressions, nearly unreadable, play across her face.
Bonnie Blue: There's somethin' about you I can't quite put my finger on, Mr. Rabid. Somethin' alien, an' yet... a little too familiar. Somethin', to be perfectly blunt, just flat-out wrong. Maybe it's the folks you associate with. I can't express enough just how much I despise Beach Krew -- an' I'm a nice person! I don't despise anybody! Usually. There's somethin' about the whole bunch of y'all that brings out the worst in me -- no matter how hard I try to control it.
An' you, Mr. Rabid... I ain't even got nothin' personal against you. As I recall, that tag match was somewhat more on the level than I was expectin'. Like I've said before, you got the appearance of class, even if it's part of the act you put on. I know you like playin' mind games; that's what got me the last time. I'd like to say it was Doc's fault, bein' as he's the one that got himself pinned; but I'm mature enough to accept responsibility for my shortcomin's. And then work to change 'em. To fix 'em. That will always be the fundamental difference between me an' people like you.
You seem to delight in misery, to take joy in pain, to revel in the sufferin' y'all cause. Not only do you an' your allies fail to see anythin' wrong with it; y'all pride yourselves on it. It's sickening. An' I, for one, have had enough. The fans have had enough. That's why tonight is gonna be diff'rent.
Beach Krew's downfall started at XIII, when Holmes got himself taken out in what was, arguably, Pantheon's last meaningful act. Tonight, me an' my boys are gonna put the next nail in that coffin; pull the thread that will, in time, unravel this whole tangled mess. How long before it all comes crashing down around you, Rabid? What happens when Beach Krew ultimately fails, falls apart, dissolves like so much foam on the waves? What happens when you lose your dominion over those weak minds, weaker hearts?
Tonight continues that downward slide. Y'all's days are numbered, that ain't no secret. Beach Krew chose the wrong folks to pick on, an' now we got our chance at ...puttin' right what has been goin' oh-so-wrong. You've harassed us, humiliated us, harried us at every turn; an' y'all thought maybe puttin' us all on the same team would finish us. 'Cause we don't like each other, but we like y'all even less. Tonight, we're gonna show y'all just how strong a truly united front can be.
Oh, and Dustin -- keep that belt shined up nice. It may be a secondary consideration next to makin' you eat canvas... but it's still a consideration.
Bonnie gives the camera a wink; a hint of a smile plays across her lips as she reaches forward to switch the camera off.
There & Then:
Bonnie Blue: Hey, wait a minute! Before you go, I wanna say something.
He hesitates, giving her a look more of annoyance than curiosity.
Bonnie Blue: I know you don't like me. That's fine; I ain't exactly fond of you, neither. We ain't gotta like each other. But I also reckon you don't trust me much, an' that's gonna be a problem.
Look, BeachKrew are a team. More than a team. They're complete scumbags, but they know how to operate as a cohesive unit -- an' they do, week in an' week out. We gotta be able to do the same, 'cause those sons of bitches are gonna pull every dirty trick they can think of. And that means trust, at least long enough to get the job done.
So, as far as I'm concerned, whatever's between us is water under the bridge. The minute we step into that ring, nothin' else matters. You're my brother-in-arms, an' I got your back. I won't let you down; I won't let the team down. Just wanted you to know that.
Bonnie flashes him a confident smile.
Bonnie Blue: Afterwards, you still wanna bash my head in, well... you're more'n welcome to try.
A derisive sneer crosses Mikey's face. He looks down at Bonnie, as if contemplating taking that action now. With a shake of his head, though, he turns away. muttering something about "revenge" and "another time." She watches him go, misgiving plainly written across her face.
Epilogue:
Brian Setzer walked over and held out a hand, which CyberHank gratefully accepted as the bipedal cat pulled him to his feet. Hank picked up the Unicycle, inspecting it for damage.
"I am never letting you talk me into that again," Brian Setzer stated firmly.
"Only way we could both get here." Hank shrugged. There was a whirring sound as servos inside Hank's head began to spin. "Uh-oh."
"What?" demanded the cat, fur bristling in alarm.
CyberHank looked at him, his expression crestfallen. "Slam was last night. We're too late..."
(To be continued....)
