We Don't Need Another Hero

[Bonnie Blue]

Tuesday, December 8th, 2015 

Morning 

A loud rumbling sound penetrates her consciousness; comforting, restful. But wrong. There is no reasonable explanation for the sound. Exhausted as she is, it can't be passed off as traffic from the highway, a passing helicopter, or heavy construction machinery. Bonnie opens her eyes --

And squeals in shock! Staring down at her are two big, green eyes, wide-set in a gray-furred face.

Brian Setzer: See? I told you she was awake.

The bipedal feline climbs off the bed while Bonnie sits up, trying to figure out what's going on. CyberHank simply shakes his head in exasperation.

Brian Setzer: You got anything to eat? I'm starving!

CyberHank: You ate two cans of sardines on the way over here. That smell isn't ever coming out --

Bonnie Blue: Uh, guys...I've had a real long week, so pardon my French, but WHAT THE FUCK?!

Sitting upright now, sheets pulled up to cover her near-nudity, Bonnie glares at the two uninvited guests.

Bonnie Blue: Tell me you're not here to drag me back into all that time travel, alternate reality nonsense. Please. I got a life here...sorta...

Brian Setzer: Well, if you don't want it to end prematurely, sweet-cheeks, you better come with us.


Cruising down I-40 in a rented Dodge Magnum, with Brian Setzer at the wheel and CyberHank in the passenger seat, Bonnie stretches her legs across the back. Using her gear bag as a cushion, she tries turning on the datasphere again. She hadn't quite trusted it since that match against Occulo and Raymond Hatcher, weeks ago; when it had given her garbled nonsense instead of useful information. And things are getting worse. Now, the unit would barely boot up, despite a power core that was supposed to last a decade, at least. The holographic display refused to function any longer, which doesn't seem to matter, because the stored data is hopelessly corrupted.

Hank glances in the mirror and sees her studying the sphere, frowning.

CyberHank: Give it here. I'll see if I can fix it.

With a noncommital shrug, Bonnie passes him the sphere and settles back to watch the desert flash by in shades of rusty red and flat, dull tans. Hank turns the metal ball over in his hands, his artificial eye scanning the interior. He blinks a few times, adjusting the strength and sensitivity of his imaging equipment. Spotting something, he holds the ball up and shakes it -- and is rewarded with the sound of a small, metallic object rattling around within. Carefully, he looks for a seam in the otherwise smooth surface.

CyberHank: Aha! Well, your data thing is fucked, because there's no transtemporal interface. It's basically a paperweight now. But this is interesting....

He holds up a key, clearly marked with the word "Ford" on the top. Bonnie reaches out to take it, a puzzled expression on her face.

Bonnie Blue: What am I s'posed to do with this?

CyberHank: I'd imagine the answer will become clear, in due... time.

She tucks the key away in her bag, unwilling to consider the implications. Particularly since the datasphere had definitely not come to her in that condition; she'd gotten it straight from the factory, the same as everyone else in her class. Hastily, she squashes that line of thinking. Bonnie doesn't want to recall those carefree, halcyon days; those days when she thought Fate might pass her by, when her friends were alive and safe. Little wonder she can only find it in herself to befriend criminals and ruffians these days.

Brian Setzer: Hank, I need you to drive now. That catnip's starting to kick in! WHOOO! YEAH!

Pretty well buzzed herself -- though not from catnip -- Bonnie relaxes in the back, while her companions pull off the road and swap seats. It isn't long before the steady rhythm of the road and the monotony of the scenery lull her to sleep...

The Next Evening 

Once-white tiles line the walls of a roadside restroom, a geometric design picked out in faded aquamarine about a third of the way up. Palsied light casts dancing shadows in muted relief against the age-stained tile. An ancient hand-dryer rusts in place, no longer capable of carrying out its duties, though some jesting janitor had affixed brand-new screws less than a week hence. They gleam in the fitful light with hiddden import. Bonnie Blue steps into the frame, adjusting her trusty laptop camera to center her when she stands against the bland backdrop. She takes her position, brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and looks straight into the lens.

Bonnie Blue: Howdy, WCF Galaxy! Bonnie Blue, comin' at ya from -- well, I can't tell y'all where. It's a secret. An' I'm gonna have to make this fast, 'cause my babysitters out there --

She nods toward the restroom door.

Bonnie Blue: -- said I shouldn't get on the internet, jus' in case somebody might be tracin' our signal. These are dangerous days; all the more reason to stay in touch with the fans, am I right? Well, the Cyborg an' the Cat don't think so. Jeez, just give me a hologram an' I can crew the Red Dwarf....

Her smile briefly outshines the flickering flourescence. Then it fades.

Bonnie Blue: I'm gonna be straight with y'all, though... There's a bad moon risin'. Got Oblivion snappin' at my heels for weeks, an' now, suddenly Andre Jenson shows up outta nowhere wantin' my blood. Last time we talked, he was actin' a little squirrelly, sure. But we parted on the square. I thought we were cool. No, I know what this is, though. All the signs were there; shoulda seen it before.

Somethin' got in his head, somehow.

With one finger, Bonnie taps at her temple for emphasis.

Bonnie Blue: Possession. More common than folks think. It ain't demons or the devil or anythin' so simple an' tame. These are extradimensional bein's that make Cthulu look like a perfectly reasonable bedtime story for small children. But y'ain't gotta give in.

Listen -- Andre, if you're out there; if you're watchin' this -- don't give in. Fight it! I know you're still in there, an' it ain't too late. There's people that care about ya. People who need ya. They can help you, AJ. All ya gotta do is come back...

The earnestness in her voice, the sincerity in her eyes; gone in an instant. A darkening of her features makes her terrible to behold.

Bonnie Blue: An' if'n I can't get through to Jenson, I'll talk to the motherfucker tryin' to hijack his bone-mecha. You picked the wrong place, the wrong time, an' the wrong girl to mess with. You want me? I ain't hidin'. Well -- at this partic'lar moment, yes, I'm hidin'. But you'll know where to find me Sunday night. I ain't backin' down.

See, I got an inklin' who -- what -- you are. It's specifically me you're after. That narrows the options, 'cause I only got one real enemy now, 'sides Oblivion. How many are you? Just one Ripper, or the whole damn Cult? How d'ya reckon poor AJ's gonna help your stupid cause? Why him? He's innocent in this whole affair -- an' now you're gonna make me hurt him, 'cause you won't stop. Even Oblivion told you to back off. Ain't your kind s'posed to obey ...IT? Wasn't that your whole deal? Reunite the Dark Timekeeper with the Monster so they can finish tearing apart the Metaverse? Hate to break it to ya, but that plan was meaningless to begin with. The Dark TImekeeper was destroyed -- I watched it happen. Ain't no bringin' him back after that.

Look, just turn loose of Jenson. This world is not for the likes of you. I --

From off-camera comes a loud, repeated banging on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

Brian Setzer: What'd you do, fall in? Hurry up! Time to hit the road!

Bonnie Blue: Just a minute!

CyberHank: Hey, somebody's using my WiFI -- BONNIE!

Bonnie Blue: Aw, hell...

The feed abruptly cuts to static.

On the Road 

With Brian Setzer once again behind the wheel, a 64-ounce jug of coffee at his side, and Hank entering what he called "maintenance mode," Bonnie stretches out under a sleeping bag in the back of the car. City lights fade and give way to stars as they pass into open country again. She doesn't know where they are anymore, or what direction they're going. They've driven in strange, unpredictable patterns; in a probably-misguided effort to avoid being hunted down. The steady rhythm of the wheels is relaxing, but rather than drowse, the young woman loses herself in thought.

Nearly a year since me an' Chuy escaped; since the Dark Timekeeper was destroyed. At least, for us. Here, this reality, not so much. Time differential. Some of those wounds are still fresh. The chaos he sought -- that we tried to avert -- it came anyway. Maybe not as widespread as it might've been; we were somewhat successful, I reckon. A dozen other timelines were affected, no more. And in spite of all of it, still here, still standing -- growing more powerful by the day -- Oblivion.

How? What makes IT so resilient? And why me... why is IT fixated on me? I'm not Johnny Reb --but everyone thinks... doesn't matter. Is the Dark Messiah, in fact, behind what's happening to AJ? Maybe the territorial thing is a ruse. Misdirection. They want me to think they're at odds, catch me off-guard. But why? What would either of them want with me?

Hmm.. on second thought, that's probably best left unspeculated upon...

Was it worth it? What Reb went through? He was supposed to be the hero, but he fell, too. Like everyone who came before. Is that what it means to be a hero? That eventually, you will succumb to the dark side? ...Nah. Can't be. Way too Neitschean. Because then, even after all of that, the Timekeeper saved him, at the end. It was a little bit of a devil's bargain; not something I'd have agreed to -- he didn't have the option to refuse. On the other hand, it was never actually Johnny who fell. Oh, sure, he gave in to his own pride and hubris -- that's what really did him in.

Is that a crime? His actions allowed the Entity to take his meatsuit, but he can't be held responsible for all that followed. He was only doing what the Timekeeper had charged him with in the first place, however obscure those instructions may have been. What happened to him wasn't fair, wasn't right. He was manipulated, by both sides, really. And what was accomplished, in the end?

I guess the fact that there's another generation to take up where the previous one left off, that's something. A few improvements on the original specs. But then... does that mean a similar fate awaits me? Can I be the hero Johnny didn't quite manage to be? Some folks think a hero is perfect from the outset -- but that's just in poorly written stories. A saint might be perfect, but I think even they made mistakes from time to time. No... a hero is flawed; that's what sets him or her on the journey. To seek to overcome flaws, or to learn to value the ones that benefit. Not all imperfections are flaws. To believe that a hero is perfection personified is a child's viewpoint, and foolish.

Besides, it was "heroes" that got us into this mess. We don't need another...

Bonnie suddenly becomes aware that the cat has turned the radio on. And as she realizes what's playing, she chuckles to herself.






With the music on, and Brian Setzer distracted, Bonnie fishes her smartphone from her pocket and activates the video function. She smiles at the camera, but purposely keeps her voice low.

Bonnie Blue: Hi again! Sorry about the interruption -- but now I'm back. Where was I? Ah, yes... AJ. There's not much anyone can do for the guy until he shows up again. Maybe his partner can talk some sense into him. Then again, judging by last week, maybe not.

La Gama Blanca, while I know you to be a fine, upstandin' competitor; a man of honor an' conviction... this may be somewhat over your head. An' that ain't a crack at your stature -- I got more class than that. That said, there's reasons AJ sought you out. Surely, you have the fortitude to withstand the storm that's coming. Your partner's a mess; you need to make him see reason. We have a common enemy in that ring this week -- Beachkrew's representatives; the World Champion an' the Monster. Now, if'n you been payin' attention, not all is well in Beachville. Tensions runnin' high. Cracks startin' to appear. Foundation ain't as firm these days. I bet even Sharknado couldn't bridge this gap. Don't let that fool ya. For some unfathomable reason, Oblivion has found kinship with Wade Moor. I guess it ain't that surprisin' -- two psychotic, homicidal giants; it was either become BFF's or kill each other. We ain't lucky enough for the latter.

Now, 'fore you get this twisted, I ain't suggestin' you take it easy on me an' my partner. But Jenson's not in his right mind at the moment, an' there's no tellin' which way he's gonna turn. You're gonna have to watch your own back at all times, 'cause y'ain't gonna be able to count on him. Unless... look, all's I'm sayin' is, this is Wade an' Oblivion we're dealin' with. They'll take advantage of any distraction, use the circumstances to pit us against each other. What I'm gettin' at is a little mutual cooperation -- to wit: keep your partner off my back, an' I'll do my best to watch yours.

It's up to you, Mr. Blanca. But if you want Jenson back the way he was -- or near enough -- first we all gotta survive this confrontation on Sunday.

She gives the camera a wink, smiling with a confidence she doesn't quite feel.

Bonnie Blue: Turnin' our attention to ...less pleasant matters. Wade Moor...

Her expression falters, the smile fading away to be replaced by something approaching -- pity?

Bonnie Blue: Y'know, in spite of everythin' -- the fightin', an' the mudslingin'... even your misogynistic comments -- I've come to realize just how fucked up you really are. An', y'know, believe it or not, my heart goes out to ya. You got more issues than a comic book store. I mean, we all got problems, but you... You're not like Oblivion. Sure, you're mean, petty, vindictive, but underneath it all, you're human. You have a heart, black an' empty an' cold as it may be. An' it seems like everythin' you do is calculated to keep people away. I get that. Used to be like that.

An' then... I stopped bein' a thirteen year old girl.

Bonnie grins at the camera, shamelessly.

Bonnie Blue: Seriously, though, Wade -- fuck you and the dyke unicorn you rode into town. All the shit you continually talk about me, an' how many times have you actually stood up to me in person? One-on-one, without Oblivion backin' you up? Let's see, that would be...zero times. You couldn't get by even one match without involvin' your bestie. A match, I might add, that was already heavily weighted in your favor. The saddest part is -- for you -- that in spite of all your cheatin' ways, you still did not win. Neither did I -- that distinction belongs to Mr. Kamon -- but at least I had a valid excuse.

So with our side down by one -- makin' it, effectively a handicap match -- hist'ry repeats itself. How have y'all not figured this out yet? Strike me down, an' I shall become more powerful than you can imagine. ELL OH ELL, right?

Startin' to get the picture, sugar? We seem to have established a pattern, here. How ya feelin' about your chances this time 'round? 'Cause personally, I'm likin' these odds. One day, you'll wise up; cut out the middleman an' face me all on your lonesome. Then we'd really see, wouldn't we? I ain't even gonna demand that you put your title on the line -- 'cause I know ya won't, certainly not against a fragile lady-type like me.

For reals, though, you need to get some facts straight next time you decide to run your mouth. This thing with Oblivion, I didn't start that. Don't go sayin' I brought this on myself because I wouldn't just put up with his shit. Oblivion fired the first shot in this little war of ours, because apparently, he hates girl-folk even more'n you do. Point is -- I ain't layin' down for nobody. Oblivion may have started this, but you can be damn sure I'm gonna be the one to finish it.

By now, Bonnie's smile has faded; replaced by a gaze of iron-hard resolve.

Bonnie Blue: Oblivion... What's left to say that hasn't already been said? It's pretty clear there's no love lost between us. We're gonna clash at One -- finish this, one way or 'nother. You been after me from the moment I first stepped into the ring. Not a week gone by you ain't harassed me -- if'n I didn't know better, I might think you was sweet on me.

She stops to think about that, and shudders visibly.

Bonnie Blue: Yeah... but no. I mean, I reckon you'd clean up nice. Ya just ain't exactly relationship material. Heh... no, I know better. What I don't get is why. I mean, with AJ, it's pretty obvious -- he wants to kill me in order to open a permanent breach in the boundaries of this reality. You, Oblivion... man, I wasn't even gonna say a word to you, honestly. I was just gonna keep my head down, not make any waves. I might even -- I wanna slap myself for even thinkin' it -- but I might even have just ignored Beachkrew.

Her expression turns briefly thoughtful; then she shakes her head.

Bonnie Blue: Nah. Who am I kiddin'? I was born an' bred to serve one purpose -- to keep Darkness at bay, wherever it may arise; whatever form it may take. It would only have been a matter of time, Oblivion. Better we get it out of the way now. Then I can focus on the rest of these trailer-park Merovingians....

But I digress. Your days of terrorizin' the WCF -- an' the rest of the world -- are numbered. The countdown's begun. Sunday, you get a preview of what's gonna happen at One. I'm through playin'; I'll put your big ass in the hospital, if that's what it takes. An' you can take that to the bank.

Bonnie gives the camera another smile, radiant with self-assurance. Then she cuts the feed again; everything goes black.

Friday Night, Late 

Dreams plague a fitful slumber; nighmares blending with innocuous sequences, blending seamlessly into a collage of disturbing images. Pursuit, again. Formless, smokelike, a wraith in shadow; inexorable, always reaching for her with long, clutching fingers. Thick fog forms, obscures her from view and slows the chase. From the mist, a figure emerges, extends a hand; Bonnie takes it, and the figure pulls her close, folding a protective arm around her.

She glances up -- to see the face of Doc Henry. A fiery passion rises in her breast; helpless against it, she surrenders. Her mind is flooded with a series of disjointed images, sensations. Memories -- the ones she won't face by light of day -- are jumbled in amongst the dream-conjured sequences, a confusing mix that catapults her to full consciousness.

Breathing heavily, Bonnie sits up, rubbing her eyes. Recognizeable shapes come into focus, revealed by the orange streetlamp outside her motel room. From the adjoinng room, she can hear the contented snoring of an oversized housecat. With a sigh, she flips on the light, kicks the covers off, and starts to get dressed. Hastily, she scribbles a note on a piece of motel stationary, then laces up her running shoes and heads outside.

The cool night air begins to clear her head as she eases into a steady jog around the parking lot. Headlights from the busy highway flash past, giving her plenty of illumination. Another lap, and she picks up the pace, trying to shake the remnants of her dreams away. More images crowd her mind, unbidden; images of violence, of death and destruction. Bonnie quickens her pace again, as if trying to outrun the visions. As she completes another circuit, passing headlights pick out a shrouded figure standing watch at the edge of the lot. When she turns to get a better look, however, the figure is gone. Probably just her imagination; she keeps going, pushing herself, unwilling to be put off so easily.

Finally, after an hour or more, she's had enough. It's well after midnight by now, she has appointments to keep, and there are miles yet to drive...

Saturday, December 12th 

The sharp hiss of air brakes; throaty purr of idling engines; bitter smell of diesel fumes mingled with the aroma of cooking grease. Hundreds of orange-yellow running lights glow like a monochrome holiday display in the waning afternoon light. Trucks move ponderously along the lot, stopping to weigh in or fuel up; drivers wander inside for coffee while they wait. Inside the truck stop -- part roadside diner, part convenience store -- Bonnie Blue idly turns a half-empty cup between her hands, gaze roaming across the lot once more. It's getting harder to see outside as the sky darkens.

Bonnie is poking halfheartedly at a slice of pie when the door opens; the man she'd been waiting for arrives, at last. Doc Henry joins her at the counter and signals the waitress for another cup of joe. He takes a seat, and for a while, doesn't say anything.

Bonnie Blue: You're late.

Doc Henry: Late? You been outta touch all week. I couldn't reach you until today.

Bonnie Blue: I got my reasons.

Doc Henry: Why? 'Cause your psycho boyfriends won't leave ya alone?

Bonnie scowls at him; he grins.

Bonnie Blue: Fuck you, Doc.

Doc Henry: Okay.

The smile he gives her is decidedly lascivious. Recalling the dream she'd had just the night before, Bonnie's cheeks turn bright pink.

Bonnie Blue: Anyway... I wanted to make sure we're on the same page this time. No more fuckups. We did it your way before, an' got humiliated.

Doc Henry: And you think avoidin' me all week is gonna help... how?

Bonnie Blue: It's ...complicated.

Doc Henry: Ain't that complicated, darlin'. You ain't as different from ol' Johnny Reb as you might think. Less cautious about who ya piss off, but otherwise...

He trails off with a shrug and sips his coffee, peering at Bonnie over the rim of the cup. Doc's gaze is drawn upward, at the lumbering approach of a pair of men; former jocks, both, and long since gone to seed. Fat... but formidable. One wears a #Beachkrew muscle shirt under a flannel; the other, a stained, faded T-shirt bearing Oblivion's image. Sensing their presence -- or at least, the smell of a four-day road trip without once stopping to shower -- Bonnie slowly turns to look up at the new arrivals.

Bonnie Blue: Howdy, boys. Somethin' we can help y'all with?

In a dazzling display of Midwestern wit, the Oblivion fan stares at her, slack-jawed; his buddy, meanwhile, scratches his head, as if the question is a tax on his mental resources. The two are spared from having to think of an actual response by the arrival of the vigilant, furious waitress. She swoops in like a too-thin, henna-haired eagle, pointing a red-painted talon at the truckers.

Waitress: That's it! I've already told you boys three times to stop harassing my customers! I'm calling the cops if you don't leave now.

She reaches for the phone on the counter. One of the men moves to stop her, his face suffused with a look of brutish, animal cunning. He never reaches her; in a single, fluid motion, Bonnie seizes the man's wrist and slams it down on the counter. In that same instant, Doc is on his feet, chest-to-chest with the other.

Bonnie Blue: Do what the nice lady says. We're done here. Walk away.

Rather than heed her warning, the #Beachkrew fan takes a clumsy swing at her. Her reflex action is far faster. In seconds, the bigger man is on the ground, gasping, while Bonnie kneels on his chest. Unwilling to be left out, Doc drops the other one with a suplex onto the hard tile floor. Then he tosses a handful of cash onto the counter and steers Bonnie out the door, before things can get any more fucked up.

Doc Henry: Now, how come you couldn't do that in the ring last time?

Bonnie rolls her eyes.

Bonnie Blue: Don't you start with me...

Doc Henry: Aww. Sounds like somebody needs to get laid.

Bonnie Blue: That's your answer to everything.

Doc gives her a roguish grin.

Doc Henry: Pretty good answer.

Bonnie Blue: Look, just do me a favor -- trust my experience. I've beat Wade an' Oblivion before, an' was singlehanded.

Doc Henry: Ain't you forgettin' somebody?

Bonnie Blue: Jenson? No, I haven't forgotten. He's not exactly himself at the moment. He needs to be handled... delicately.

Doc Henry: No. That's not Andre Jenson anymore. He's one of them Ripper things now, or near enough. If you're inclined to take it easy on him...

She sighs, looking away and out at the traffic on the I-65.

Bonnie Blue: No. You're right. We're gonna have to put him down hard. Then his party can decide what to do with him.

Doc Henry: Uh-huh. Because they've handled him so well to this point.

The sarcasm is as thick as the miasma of diesel fumes in the air. Bonnie shrugs, turning to face Doc again.

Bonnie Blue: Well, we'll burn that bridge after we cross it. Here.

She hands him a small, cheap cell phone. Doc looks at her questioningly.

Bonnie Blue: Burn phone. Harder to track. Call me when you get to Indy; we still have a few details to work out.

Doc Henry: Why not now?

Bonnie Blue: I don't like to stay one place too long these days. Never know who's out there, lurkin' ...watchin'.

And without further comment, Bonnie walks away, leaving Doc to stare after her in bemusement.