Post by The Future Elements on Apr 28, 2016 14:41:02 GMT -5
[Scene: Antarctica, LA; fourteen years ago. We see a peaceful suburban neighborhood; past that, we begin to focus in on one unassuming looking yard where a young man swings a classic Japanese flail (made out of broomstick pieces and rope) around and whips a bush with it. This young man is a young Cameron Bankston, Junior- he will someday grow up to become Kid Phantasm, and his fate past that is of WCF public record. Eleven year old Cam is playing with nunchucks in his backyard, whacking the shit out of his mother's rosebushes; with an artful swing, he shatters a branch and inadvertently tags himself with thorny shrapnel. He looks down at his arm in brief panic, seeing his blood run; we watch as he shakes himself into composure, then decides to look inside the white-painted wooden tool shack in the backyard for assistance. He heads into his father's toolshed in search of a first aid kit; he finds an old metal first-aid box marked 'ZEE' in really big green-and-white letters and digs in, reaching past a tube of snakebite antidote and a bottle of mercurochrome. As he Band-Aids his left arm, he notices a milk crate of spray paint cans... at first he appears to be suffering from the drifting thoughts of boredom, but then we see his focus has set itself solely on the paint cans. We see him staring into the crate for a few more seconds, then lifting out a can of Krylon Metallic gold and giving it a quick once-over. He exits the shed, leaving the door hanging open and meandering toward the back fence as if in a trance. Young Cameron then hops the fence into the adjoining property, landing with a crunch onto a handful of rotten tree branches... a second later, we watch as he approaches a rotting wooden shack at the rear of the empty 'Antarctican' neighborhood home. He jiggles the can with a spastic shake; he pops off the cap with his thumb as if he does this sort of thing all the time. With no amount of measure or even a dash of explanation, he proceeds to paint a four-foot tall golden triangle across the back of the rotting wooden shed. As he steps back to the fence to inspect his paintjob, he hears an outraged woman's voice shout his name.]
Mrs. Bankston: CAMERON JUNIOR-
[He calmly looks away from his handiwork, jumping the fence once more and approaching his mother as if he has done nothing wrong. Without a further word, she slaps the can out of his hand, then practically drags him inside by his t-shirt. The backyard is then quiet, save for the chirping of birds in the distance and the droning of a lawnmower somewhere on the block. We cut to inside the house; more specifically, the office Cameron Senior built off of the living room (so he'd have somewhere to hide out from Junior's mom- guys, you know what I mean). Cameron Sr. calmly smokes a Black'n'Mild as he lectures his son.]
Mr. Bankston: You know that's tresspassing and destruction of private property; son, you're not even in high school yet and you're already committing felonies.
[Cam Junior does not respond; if one knew his body language, one might notice this as the Phantasm's 'don't know what to say' posture. It's rare, but every once in a while you'll see it.]
Mr. Bankston: What the hell were you trying to do, anyway? What's with the triangle? You weren't trying to huff that stuff, were you?
Cameron Junior: No! I- look, I'd have spray paint all over myself if I was. Jesus, dad, I- I don't know why I did it, alright? I just felt like I should do it.
[Cam Senior puts his Black'n'Mild down in an earth-toned ashtray straight out of the 70's. He shakes his head.]
Mr. Bankston: Well, your mother and I have to think about what your punishment is going to be- for starters, you're going to go sit in your room and think about what you've done. And then- hey, I'm talking to you!
[Cam Junior walks out of his father's office, headed to his room with determination. He enters a bedroom at the back of the one-story family home; sunlight streams through the open blinds at the window, illuminating a room that seems to stay dark out of habit. The room is otherwise only lit by a reading lamp on a computer desk and a strand of partially burned-out Christmas lights (indoor, all white bulbs). Atop the computer desk we see an old school tower PC next to a massive CRT monitor; on the front of the computer tower is a masking table label, "ICEBERG-TWO" written across it in black Sharpie. As he enters, Cam Junior plops onto his bed and sighs... after a moment, though, we see him get up and approach his window. From there, he gazes out with... perhaps determination? Yes, that looks like Polar's determined face. He gazes out with determination at his perfect view of the adjoining property... and the golden triangle he decided to decorate it with.]
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[Scene: New Antarctica, NV; today. We cut to adult Phantasm standing alone in his bedroom closet; it's a nice walk-in job with rotating racks and storage for Crystal's remarkable amount of shoes. He picks up a singlet and pants, hung carefully for (perhaps his son's) future use; we can see it's his old Kid Phantasm attire, complete with a familiar golden triangle emblazoned on its back. He stares at it, distantly off in his mind... after a moment of woolgathering, Iceberg-Seven interrupts his wistful silence.]
Iceberg-Seven: Hello, user 'Polar Phantasm'. This unit has updated collected profiles for 'Project Bluebonnet'. Would you like to examine them now?
[Without changing his point of focus, the Phantasm responds.]
Phantasm: Bluebonnet comes later, Eye-Seven... Trios. Trios comes first. Load up the conference table, would you? Trios Round One.
Iceberg-Seven: Affirmative; sending profiles marked 'Trios Round One' to conference table.
[As Polar exits his bedroom, he thanks his intelligent computer slash guardian angel.]
Phantasm: Thanks, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Good luck in your battles, user 'Polar Phantasm'. Iceberg-Seven is idle, awaiting command.
[Polar mounts the stairs, mumbling to himself...]
Phantasm: Polar Phantasm is ignorant, awaiting massive shitpile of input.
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"Well you can tell ev'ryone I'm a down disgrace
Drag my name all over the place...
I don't care anymore.
You can tell ev'rybody 'bout the state I'm in
You won't catch me crying 'cos I just can't win
I don't care anymore. I don't care anymore.
I don't care what you say
I don't play the same games you play.
Cause I've been talking to the people that you call your friends
And it seems to me there's a means to an end
They don't care anymore.
And as for me I can sit here and bide my time
I got nothing to lose if I speak my mind...
I don't care anymore. I don't care no more.
I don't care what you say
We never played by the same rules anyway." -Phil Collins, "I Don't Care Anymore"
"Games people play, you take it or leave it
Things that they say just don't make it right
If I'm tellin' you the truth right now, do you believe it?
Games people play in the middle of the night." -Alan Parsons Project, "Games People Play"
Achieving greatness first as a BMX champion and then as a WCF wrestler, he is a man who many would say has conquered apprehension and fear; those who haven't met the obsessive compulsive young father of two. He is a hero of the present; he is THE FUTURE, JEFF PURSE!
Born with genius intelligence, his parents thought he might become a doctor or a lawyer; to everyone's surprise, all the Kid wanted to do was wrestle. Breaking into the business as a teenager, he worked his way up to the WCF bigtime as Kid Phantasm. Now a father and (more importantly) a grown ass man, he has returned- he is THE POLAR PHANTASM!
Coming up on the mean streets of Oakland, California; he survived on street knowledge, a blistering backhand and one hell of a mouthpiece. He has earned his place among the greatest in WCF history, to say nothing of his standings at each years' Players Ball; those who have underestimated him have learned firsthand not to mess with "THE MACK", STEVE ORBIT!
[It's that time again; Spring in WCF always means one thing. The annual Trios Cup tournament is upon us! This week the first elimination round will take place, and the Future Elements find themselves up against The Pride and Tiffany White. Their partner, Steve Orbit, has had plenty of experience lately dealing with Ethan King, but will his insight give them an edge? Or will King once again eke one out over the Mack?]
[As they have been known to do in the past, the Future Elements are having a strategy session; since beginning his WCF career, Polar (formerly Kid) Phantasm has found his consultations with Iceberg-Seven to be quite revealing. One would assume our three heroes are about to learn a thing or two from Polar's artificially intelligent computer... or at least be reminded of a few things. But will knowledge alone be enough to tip the scales in their favor? After all, they have experience and unity on their side; knowledge atop that pile should add to their immense gravity. But it may not be enough... this thought sticks in the Phantasm's mind as he heads into his research, as well as the scene before him. What happens when you leave wrestlers unattended in your home? Let's find out, shall we?]
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FUTURE ELEMENTS #2: Games People Play
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[Scene: New Antarctica, NV; interior, dining (conference) room. The dining room is sparse as far as home furnishings go; there's not much room for bric-a-brac in a house constantly being terrorized by inquistive young Jeffrey Bankston (Age 3, destructive capabilities beyond measure). The centerpiece of the room is a twelve-seat conference table with a holographic display embedded in its surface; in an informal bullshit session, seated around the table, we see Polar's wife, manager and teammates all waiting on him to quit fucking around upstairs and get on with it already... 'it', of course, being the reason for their convening on this night. 'It', of course, being a strategy session with everyone's favorite piece of artificial intelligence. Mrs. Polar Phantasm, of course, lives there- around WCF she is known as Nightmare, though around the house she's just 'Crystal' (or 'Mom' these days)... the look on her face says that Jeffy is safely tucked in for the night and she's enjoying the chance to be 'one of the guys' again. Cornelius Casanova, the Funkiest Brother Alive, tips back a 40 ounce; one would assume (with all the beverage choices he could've made) that he was just in an Olde English mood this evening. Steve Orbit - the one and only true Mack - seems to be deep into explaining a theoretical double-team maneuver to Jeff Purse; The Future seems to understand Orbit, but perhaps disagrees with his particular part in the plan... the look on his face says something doesn't add up to the young father of two. They all stop in their tracks for a moment as the surface of the holographic table lights up; from the top of the stairs, they hear the Phantasm mumbling to himself.]
Orbit: Nah, it'll work man, trust me.
[Orbit smiles his usual disarming smile.]
Purse: But there's no way I'm flexible enough to bend that far back and not fall over-
[Stepping back from the table, Jeff Purse attempts to bend himself backwards and catch himself with his hands. He awkwardly arcs himself into a 'table' shape. Orbit covers his face; suddenly, Nightmare pushes away from the table and bends herself backward as if trying to out-Purse Jeff Purse. With a shrug, Casanova flips himself backwards and gives a little leg kick to boot.]
Casanova: Yeeah. Check it out.
[At this, Steve Orbit cannot hold his laughter anymore. He cracks up at the scene before him, noticing Polar has finally joined them; he stops himself, then helps Purse up from the floor.]
Orbit: Man, I was just fucking with you- seriously, tripping people with the old table gag, and backwards? I thought you'd know I was fuckin' with you, now I kinda feel bad.
Nightmare: You couldn't have told us, maybe?
[She kips up from the dining room floor, dusting herself off a bit.]
Nightmare: Shit, I need to vacuum. Hey Corndog, you got a cheerio in your 'fro.
[The Funkiest Brother Alive picks a cereal piece from his hair-dome.]
Casanova: Good lookin' out.
Purse: How would that have even worked anyway? You should be thinking of stuff we can use, Steve.
[Finally interjecting himself into this scene, Polar speaks.]
Phantasm: No plan is too crazy from where I sit...
[He sits.]
Phantasm: Eye-Seven, we're all here.
[The conference table glows brightly for a second.]
Iceberg-Seven: Are all users prepared for 'Trios Round One' match profile?
Casanova: Yeah, we on it-
Purse: Go ahead, computer.
Orbit: Hell yeah we're ready.
Nightmare: Quit stalling, Eye-Seven.
Phantasm: You heard the lady, Eye-Seven.
[With that, Iceberg-Seven begins.]
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Eddie Felt'. Height six feet, weight two hundred five pounds. Hometown: Los Angeles, California.
Nightmare: An LA boy! That's what's up.
[She sighs.]
Nightmare: Makes me miss home, honestly. Not that this isn't home, per se-
Phantasm: No, I get it. If you call your parents later, tell 'em I said hi.
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style mostly brawling with some minor technical influences. Physical weaknesses unknown; there is a lack of medical data in WCF records. Assume opponent 'Eddie Felt' in optimal condition.
Phantasm: Eh, it doesn't always pay off, but sometimes you find little things in medical histories-
Orbit: Lookin' for a sore spot, I get it.
Nightmare: I still think there's a weak link somewhere in their chain, whether Eye-Seven finds one or not. Worst case you can hope White's on her period or something.
[She smiles a sarcastic smile.]
Purse: Gross.
Phantasm: Yeah, that'd actually make things harder on us; no way Purse picks her up for a scoop slam without sanitary wipes.
[Iceberg-Seven continues, interrupting the awkward conversation.]
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Eddie Felt' is a well-known conspiracy theorist-
Phantasm: -crap.
Iceberg-Seven: -one must expect the unexpected.
Phantasm: Exactly.
Orbit: What, so the guy's spooked... oh, I see where you're leanin' here, P.
[The team's manager, Cornelius Casanova, takes a quick sip from his 40 before interjecting.]
Casanova: Man's suspicious of everything, means he's probably doubly suspicious of us.
Phantasm: With good reason. We are literally sitting in a room somewhere plotting to defeat him, you know.
[Purse blows out the side of his mouth.]
Purse: I'm not scared- they see us coming already, what's there to worry about?
[Polar smiles.]
Phantasm: What we'll do to them when we get there, Jeff. Eye-Seven, what else you got?
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Ethan King'; height six feet two inches, weight two hundred twenty-five pounds. Hometown: Los Angeles, California.
Nightmare: Yeah, y'all are in for it- two young LA kids out for blood, no one to reign 'em in...
Purse: Let's hope these two aren't as crazy as-
[Nightmare freezes Purse to a dead stop with her stare.]
Purse: -uh, some people. Who will remain nameless. Your hair looks nice, by the way.
[She smiles.]
Nightmare: Thank you. Continue, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style technically based, but unmanicured; King has been known to botch moves due to exuberance and enthusiasm, as well as a dearth of proper training.
[Phantasm rubs his chin in thought.]
Phantasm: Hmm. Something's not sitting right with me here- Eye-Seven, what's King's background?
Iceberg-Seven: Eschewed upbringing and life as a college student to become a professional wrestler.
Phantasm: Yeah, that's what I was thinking.
Purse: It's eerie, isn't it? He's got practically the same backstory that you do, Polar. Or that Kid Phantasm did, anyway-
Phantasm: Exactly. It's troubling as hell. It's like looking into a mirror that only reflects your old idealistic self at you.
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Ethan King' and opponent 'Eddie Felt' are collectively known as 'The Pride'; opponent 'Ethan King' is WCF United States-
Orbit: Yeah, we know, Eye-Seven. Look, you may be onto somethin' with the Kid P parallels; don't sleep on Ethan King, Polar. I took my eye off the little bastard for a minute and now he's wearing that belt instead of this pimp.
Phantasm: Brash, raw, talented, underestimated constantly... yeah, that about sums it up.
Purse: What, the Pride?
Phantasm: Yeah.
Nightmare: And also how Kid Phantasm was like, 20-3 in 2012.
Phantasm: That too.
Purse: So we're agreed; we can't underestimate these kids-
Phantasm: -we can't call them kids, either. Shit, Jeff, we're only in our mid-20s. You wanna sound like one of those old 'heads like Gravedigger or somebody? There's still assholes in this 'fed who think calling me Kid P is cute.
Casanova: Yo, we're not done yet; y'all forgetting they've got a third for this shit?
[Cornelius raises an eyebrow; the others pause for a moment.]
Phantasm: Yeah, that's true. We're already thinking strategy and we're still just 2/3 done research. Hit it, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Tiffany White'; height five feet ten inches, weight one hundred forty-five pounds. Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada.
[Nightmare whistles.]
Nightmare: Two LA boys and a bad bitch from 'Vegas... you guys sure know how to pick 'em, that's for sure.
Orbit: Man, Lerch stuck us with these three-
Purse: I think she's fucking with you, Steve.
[Orbit makes a face as if he just smelled spoiled milk.]
Orbit: -man, you think I don't know that?
[He begins mumbling under his breath.]
Orbit (mumbled): Tellin' me when bitches are fuckin' with me. Like I don't know jokes from shit-
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style aerially based; obviously opponent 'Tiffany White' has had some training, perhaps even a stint in Mexico. Weaknesses are all as expected for a woman wrestling taller, stronger men-
Nightmare: Which means she's tough. Really fuckin' tough. I already like this chick.
Phantasm: She's the pro poker player, right? I remember reading up on this girl when I saw her win the TV title. Always impressive to see a woman make it in this company, especially one who's not as fuckin' psycho as-
[He catches his wife's stare, but winks at her in reply. Off to one side, something seems to register in the mind of one Steven Orbit...]
Phantasm: -Twilight... baby, you thought I was talking about you, right?
Nightmare: Of course not. I hardly 'made it' in WCF by anybody's standards.
Phantasm: We were tag champs!
Nightmare: For like, two weeks-
Phantasm: Still totally counts.
Purse: Yeah, what's up with that- how come we've never gotten a Tag Title shot, but you got one with your wife?
Phantasm: I think Seth just likes watching women get dropped on their head.
[They all laugh, even Nightmare.]
Nightmare: I can't hate on that; at least the fucker booked me without instituting some kind of 'women's division'.
[She shakes her head.]
Nightmare: I don't know what to tell you guys; I mean, I'm behind you the whole way, but I can't play favorites when you're goin' up against two LA boys and this chick. If y'all weren't in, I'd probably be pulling for them to win.
Casanova: You're no help, Crys.
Nightmare: Hey, I'm being honest at least-
Orbit: This is why I don't listen to women when they talk.
[She tries to kick Orbit under the table, but misses and hits Purse.]
Purse: OW!
Nightmare: Shit- I'm sure you've done something to deserve that, but my bad anyway-
Purse: Son of a bitch, right in the shin-
Phantasm: Eye-Seven, update Purse's records to say he has a sore shin.
[Purse looks shocked for a second.]
Purse: Relay that, Eye-Seven. He's totally fucking with you.
Casanova: So back to strategy- what do y'all do to combat a team like this?
Orbit: Show up and do the damn thing.
Phantasm: Yeah, that works... more specifically, though, we'll have to try and use their speed and youth against them. Ground 'em early and often, try to keep them in our corner and out of theirs. Fast tags, double-teams when possible... and legal.
Purse: Obviously.
Orbit: Don't either of y'all get our asses DQed in the first round; I swear I'll smack the piss out y'all.
Phantasm: Duly noted, and completely understandable.
Nightmare: Well, you could always try and sneak some weapons in, maybe use the old loaded elbow pads... I've got some switchblade boots upstairs, if any of y'all can fit in my shoes... god damn I wish I was in this match. I think I could take this Tiffany chick, totally. Pull the bitch up by the hair and start kicking her across the face...
[Nightmare sighs wistfully, scripting this theoretical match-up in her head; her violent fantasies do not go unnoticed by the Phantasm, who clears his throat and continues.]
Phantasm: That all said, I think it'll all come down to chance; we just have to make sure the odds are on our side. Legally. These three seem about as straight-up as we'll be facing in the tournament; we owe it to them to give it to them straight, and give them the best we've got.
[There is a silent moment as Polar's words settle; The Mack chooses the time to voice an idea (perhaps, in fact, an idea he came up with while Polar and Nightmare discussed their WCF tag history).]
Orbit: Yo, now that we're done with Eye-Seven- what say we take this meet on the road, chat this out over some dinner?
Casanova: Shit, I could eat.
Purse: It's like eleven thirty, a lot of places are closed I bet-
Phantasm: There's Justman's Diner around the way, they stay open all night... good french toast, too.
Orbit: Nah, man, I was thinkin- we're already in Vegas anyway, right? So let's hit the buffet at the Guiliano.
[Nightmare stands up excitedly.]
Nightmare: Yes! I could totally fuck up a casino buffet right now.
Phantasm: It's not far to the Guiliano from here, we could do that.
[They all stand to leave; Nightmare quickly does the math in her head, realizing she'd be the fifth wheel in a four-seater (and as comfortably as the Mothership seats five, she's still non-plussed by the idea of being crammed into the Olds with this crew).]
Nightmare: Ah, shit- I can't go, Jeffy's upstairs asleep and if he wakes up and finds Mommy gone he's gonna flip his cute little lid.
[The others continue toward the door, half-heartedly waving behind them; the Phantasm approaches his bride, embracing her and gazing into her eyes.]
Phantasm: Promise to stay out of trouble.
Nightmare: You don't have to lie to me, Cameron. We've met before, you know-
[They kiss deeply. Phantasm breaks off with a smile.]
Phantasm: -love you more than life itself. You know.
Nightmare: Shut up and go play with your friends. And win this mother fucker, would you? That trophy would look great on our mantle.
[...A few moments later, Crystal Bankston stands alone in the living room of New Antarctica. She sighs, mumbling to herself.]
Nightmare (mumbled): Go get 'em, boys.
[With that, she turns off the lights in the dining room and heads up to bed, alone.]
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[Scene: Guiliano Hotel and Casino (Las Vegas, NV). Allen Guiliano, known to WCF fans as legendary Hall of Famer Slickie T, is owner and operator of this successful Las Vegas mainstay; the casino is huge, having grown significantly in size since we last saw it in 2012*. Casanova finally finishes his 40 as the four enter the bustling hotel; though it is almost midnight, the place is buzzing with guests and gamblers. Following Orbit, the foursome head straight for the four-star buffet; as if a football team's offense, they huddle briefly and grab their trays and then split up and handle up on the buffet. Purse takes the longest choosing his food, though this should surprise no one; he finally ends up choosing some fried fish and garlic mashed potatoes. Cornelius is seated at the table chowing down on a plate filled with grilled chicken breasts and mixed wilted greens; the Phantasm's plate features two thick slabs of prime rib dripping with juices. Auspiciously, next to Polar's plate of beef we see a saucer filled past capacity with vanilla pudding. Orbit has gone to Jamaica in the time it took the others to choose their meal; at least, that's where his plate seems to have been. He's got a nice setup going, complete with jerk chicken, curried goat and fried plantains.]
(* - In Breakout Kings of the Ring #3, "Fear and Loathing at the Guiliano Hotel Pt. 2". -B.)
Casanova: Damn, I didn't even see the Jamiacan setup over there-
Orbit: Son, I smelled the jerk chicken from the lobby. You coulda followed me, I knew what was up.
Casanova: Whatever, I'm trying to eat healthier... Angela's always on a diet, and she's got me watching my caloric intake.
Orbit: Man, your old lady ain't here- you want some of these plantains?
[Polar takes a sip from a soda, slurping at the straw; Purse looks over to ask him to stop the slurping, but laughs when he sees the pudding on Polar's tray. Jeff then gives Polar a high-five.]
Orbit: What'd I miss?
[Still chuckling a bit, Jeff explains.]
Purse: Polar spent most of 2012 trying to eat pudding out of the Trios Cup trophy.
Phantasm: Correction- I did eat pudding out of the trophy, remember? Crystal and I 'borrowed' it on our honeymoon in Japan*... these days, though, I feel my cravings for pudding coming back in spades.
(* - Unstable Elements #10, "Postcards From the Pacific Rim". -B.)
Casanova: Not to get back on this, but y'all got your hands full with these three this week. And Eye-Seven didn't find anything hush-hush for y'all to use...
Phantasm: ...sometimes it's like that, Corndog.
Casanova: So what do you do?
[Polar slurps at his soda again, shrugging.]
Purse: Please stop that- seriously, I'll go refill your cup, whatever.
Phantasm: You just go with it. There's no shame in winging it.
Casanova: It's the WCF way, right?
Phantasm: Absolutely. How else do you think Lerch books this shit?
Purse: Dartboard.
Orbit: I figured he starts each card as a 20-person clusterfuck match and breaks it up into easier to swallow pieces so it'll fit down the fans' throats.
Casanova: Ouch.
Phantasm: Yeah, maybe not the best analogy when we're trying to eat.
[Polar notices that both Steve and Cornelius are almost done with their plates. He takes one last bite of prime rib, then pulls his pudding toward him and wields a spoon menacingly. As he consumes pudding, Orbit pushes his plate off to the side; Casanova swallows one last bite of greens, following in suit. Polar shovels the rest of his pudding gracelessly into his mouth, wiping a bit of vanilla from his chin... they all look over and see that Jeff Purse still has a few minutes to go. Then, as if it wouldn't fuck with him, they watch him carefully chew his fish.]
Purse: What?
[Polar begins picking his teeth, removing errant strands of beef from them. Orbit taps out a beat with his fingers. Casanova wrinkles his forehead in a look of disbelief.]
Purse: Eating too quickly is bad for your digestion. How do you three not know this? Especially you, Polar- I thought you were smart about stuff like that.
Phantasm: I figure digestion will happen for me whether I'm trying it or otherwise, once I actually put the food in there- you should try that. It totally works.
Casanova: Jeff, brah, come on- I had like twice as much chicken as you got fish and I still wrapped earlier than your ass.
[Purse tries to chew and defend himself at the same time, however briefly; he catches himself, glaring at them while he occupies himself solely with processing his food.]
Orbit: Come on, man, you're almost there- you got this, Purse, you got this.
[They watch as Jeff crams the last of his fish into his mouth; the awkward display is enough for Orbit and Casanova, who stand and stretch a bit. Phantasm takes one last hard slurp at his soda, glaring at Purse as he does so.]
Purse: It's best to sit for a few minutes to let the food go down-
[As he finishes saying this, he looks up to see the other three headed for the casino floor. He gets up and chases after them.]
Purse: Come on, guys- is nobody worried about my gastrointestinal tract but me?
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[Scene: Guiliano Hotel and Casino, continued. The room is filled with gamblers and casino employees; though it is after midnight on a weekday, business continues as usual for the city of Las Vegas. Now in the casino proper, we see the team with their piles of chips scan the room in an attempt to 'pick their poison'... Orbit eyes a craps table a ways away from them, then notices Cornelius eyeing a waitress (in what only the most liberal of people would call a 'skirt').]
Casanova: Man, I thought I saw somebody-
Orbit: Come on, why you gonna lie to me? I ain't your bitch, I'm your boy- and I'll tell you, straight up. You're a playa, Corndog. Don't fight the feeling.
[This time, Purse takes the lead; without explanation, the others follow Purse toward the roulette table.]
Purse: I've always been fascinated by roulette. Poker's alright, though it gets to me having five cards all the time... blackjack I don't understand at all. How does 21 beat 20? It's... 21. It just sits there, all uneven and shit. Staring at me.
Phantasm: I would've loved to see what kind of math teacher you'd have made, Jeff.
Casanova: There go the LEAP test scores.
[Purse would've responded, but he had already busied himself with gambling. We watch the wheel spin, ball finally landing in '10'... and we see Purse double his money, his chips stacked firmly on the space marked 'EVEN'. Another spin of the wheel produces a '22', as well as a height adjustment to Purse's stack of chips... as Jeff and Cornelius lean over the table with excitement, Orbit nudges Polar to the side. They drift from the table, not noticing Purse's third attempt at numeric bliss... perhaps cursed by odd numbers, Jeff receives a '17' and loses a sizable amount of plastic casino money. He watches as the chips, stamped with Allen Guiliano's face, are scraped toward the dealer by a wooden hook. Meanwhile, a few feet away in the crowd, Orbit and Polar case the joint... Orbit prods Polar once more, nodding very slightly toward the blackjack table.]
Orbit (mumbled): Guy in the sportcoat on the end and the guy with the polo and the blonde in his lap. They're card counters.
[Polar notices a telltale glance between the blonde and the mystery man in the sportcoat. Orbit then nods slightly toward a burly pit boss, hand clasped at his ear.]
Phantasm: Somebody else is onto 'em, too-
Orbit: Yeah, shit. If we noticed, bet eyes in the sky had them dead to rights a hot minute ago.
[Orbit pauses for a moment, then nods toward the craps table.]
Orbit: P, watch this.
[The Mack heads for the craps table, Polar in tow... as they settle in, we see the card counters being led quietly toward the offices. We watch Steve and Polar as they wait through a few throws; finally, the Mack gets his turn as the Shooter. We see him select two dice from the five he is offered, as if he's done this a thousand times before. He leans in, whispering to Polar.]
Orbit (whispered): I've done this a thousand times, it ain't a thing.
[Orbit rolls an eleven; at this development, the table begins to get rowdy. Polar is almost knocked over by an exuberant old black lady... she playfully pats his shoulder in apology, then leans over and gives Orbit a small peck on the cheek. With a laugh he offers the dice to her; she blows on the dice for the Mack, who gives her a sly wink before shooting an eight. The table grows louder, as arguments swell as to whether or not Orbit can make this point; confidently, the Mack pushes the rest of his chips into play and then rolls yet another eight. The table roars once more; Purse and Casanova come over just in time to see the Mack holding court. Orbit once again bets all his chips, now a pretty massive pile; this time, though, he shoots a seven and craps out. The old lady awkwardly gives him a consolatory hug, which Purse and Casanova (not having seen the proceeding events) find hilarious.]
Orbit: Man, y'all shoulda seen it; Granny practically body-checked Polar trying to get her some of this pimpin'.
Casanova: Looks like she got some, though-
[Cornelius rubs one cheek, trying to signal Orbit.]
Purse: You got old lady lipstick all over your face, Steve.
Orbit: Man, fuck-
[Orbit looks around, snatching a cocktail napkin off a table; he blots his face off as Polar looks around cursively.]
Orbit: Come on, P, all you. You're pretty good at poker, always bluffin' us and shit- get in there, see if you can hang with the pros!
[Sure enough, nearby there is a side room marked by a standing sign reading "World Poker Tournament ---->". Following Polar's lead, the four peek into the room only to see a ten foot tall curtain hanging floor-to-ceiling complete with faces of Poker Tournament giants worldwide; specifically, the face of Tiffany White stares back at them from her lofty position overhead.]
Phantasm: Eh, I'm not feeling this.
Orbit: Yeah, my bad.
Purse: Gross.
Casanova: Vibe's all fucked up, now.
[As they duck out of the room, we see Tiffany White peek from behind her poker hand.]
Tiff: Pfft- Amateurs.
[Back in the casino's main floor, Purse spies the baccarat table.]
Purse: Hey, Polar- there you go, baccarat.
Phantasm: What? I've never played baccarat in my life.
[Orbit laughs.]
Orbit: Man, I thought they taught that shit in spy school. P, you were a spook for two years- you mean to tell me you ain't played baccarat even once?
Casanova: I thought that was a European spy thing.
Orbit: Still, though, what the fuck they spending my tax dollars on if they ain't makin' y'all as badass as your average garden variety James Bond?
[Polar doesn't respond; he's too busy considering the option. Without word, he begins to approach the table; as they follow, he warns them off.]
Phantasm: Gimme a minute... I need some room to figure this game out.
Casanova: Whatever, man.
[The three post up in their current spot, a quiet corner of the bustling casino... quickly, they get caught up in checking out the 'local talent'.]
Orbit: Girl in the white dress with the strawberries on it; ten o'clock.
Casanova: She's hoin'?
Purse: Even I called that one; look at those shoes. Nobody wears shoes like that unless there's a paycheck involved.
Orbit: Sheeit, she's probably not even charging a grand an hour; that ain't a paycheck, that's a kid's allowance. Check out the one bitch, white girl in the blue dress, red streak in her hair-
[Orbit nods slightly behind Purse; he turns around and sees a beautiful woman on the arm of a man that appears to be in his late 60s.]
Purse: God damn-
Casanova: -now that's a fuckin' dimepiece.
Orbit: That bitch is ten grand at night at LEAST. At least she would be if she knew how to market that ass-
Purse: No way that man's getting a girl like that unless he can afford those kinda rates...
Casanova: ...and no way he's getting that kinda 'service' from a bitch that don't charge, even if he's got paper.
[As they watch, the girl puts one of the older man's fingers in her mouth and sucks on it a bit.]
Purse: Gross.
Orbit: Fuckin' classic. Now that's a bad bitch- she's makin' some playa rich, fo sho.
Purse: Yo, check it out- Polar's already in the shit!
[They approach the table, noticing Polar's got quite a pile of Guilianos before him... as they reach the table they see Polar rake in another windfall, his chips falling over haphazardly and causing Purse to have a bit of a nervous tick.]
Purse: Polar, your chips-
Phantasm: I know, right? I'm up to about 100k right now, I think-
[Orbit does some quick math, then responds.]
Orbit: 'Bout 105 and change, actually.
Casanova: Damn, the Kid's got game!
[The dealer expectantly looks to the Phantasm; he ponders for a moment.]
Phantasm: Everything on the bank.
[The team all subconsciously hold their breath; as both banker and player reveal their hands, Polar pumps a fist in celebration.]
Dealer: Banker wins. Payout is double.
Phantasm: I'm cashing out- here, for your hard work.
[He tips the dealer roughly five thousand dollars.]
Dealer: Thank you, sir! Enjoy your winnings.
[As the Phantasm leaves the table with roughly 200k in chips, Purse and Orbit highfive.]
Casanova: Kid, we gotta celebrate-
[Polar stops for a second, looking back toward their point of entry as if he's forgotten something. He looks over to Jeff Purse and asks a question...]
Phantasm: Jeff, give me a number between-
[Without a thought, the number of his misfortune rolls off Jeff Purse's tongue. He almost growls his answer.]
Purse: Seventeen.
[Realizing what he's just said, Jeff tries to correct himself- he then notices that Polar is making a beeline back to the scene of the crime, aka the roulette wheel. The three catch up with Polar just in time to see him drop every last chip on the number seventeen; the wheel comes to a stop, the white ball sitting in '00'.]
Purse: Polar, I'm sorry- I tried to stop you, but-
Orbit: Holy shit, P- did you just drop 200k ON THE WAY OUT THE FUCKING DOOR?
[Cornelius whistles.]
Casanova: You've got some huge balls, Kid- holy shit, my woman would kill me if I dropped enough money to buy a whole neighborhood in Detroit!
[As he heads toward the exit, Polar shrugs; the others follow, intent upon finding out just what the fuck the Phantasm was thinking.]
Phantasm: It's all good- the money wasn't important. I've got plenty from savings and residuals on those patents I license out; we'll get by, trust me. We had a great night, we got a lot done, and most importantly we had fun doing it.
Purse: Yeah, but... we lost.
[They exit the casino, then head toward the hotel lobby entrance (or in this case, exit).]
Phantasm: Sometimes the game's rigged. I took a chance and I lost- but I lost with you guys, as a team. I could've played it safe and I would've been a winner... I blindly trusted you, Jeff, and I must live or die by the results. I lost, but I lost on my terms and I came out none the worse.
Orbit: I got fucked over by a seven-
Purse: I told you, it's the odd numbers that fuck you up! God, seventeen- what was I thinking?
Casanova: Normally guys don't ask that question unless they're up for a statutory charge.
[They all have a laugh at Cornelius' punchline, even Purse (who shakes his head at his wide-open inadvertent set-up line). They walk out of the casino just in time to see two men in white-on-white suits with thin ties shove two men and a woman wearing headbags into a GMC Suburban.]
Orbit: Shit- could be worse, at least we ain't those three.
Phantasm: Some things never change- Slickie T still doesn't fuck around with perpetrators.
[Orbit checks his watch, expressing surprise.]
Orbit: Damn y'all, it's barely two o'clock- y'all wanna hit a strip club?
[Phantasm chuckles, shaking his head.]
Phantasm: Yeah, that settles it. You're definitely Fly's brother.
[Scene fades on the four men strolling out of the Guiliano, Orbit explaining his heredity as only he can...]
Orbit: What can I say? Hoes be scandalous.
[(c) Wrestling Championship Federation 2016. Steve Orbit appears courtesy of Oakland, California, USA; Tiffany White appears courtesy of random happenstance (we swear). All rights reserved.]
Mrs. Bankston: CAMERON JUNIOR-
[He calmly looks away from his handiwork, jumping the fence once more and approaching his mother as if he has done nothing wrong. Without a further word, she slaps the can out of his hand, then practically drags him inside by his t-shirt. The backyard is then quiet, save for the chirping of birds in the distance and the droning of a lawnmower somewhere on the block. We cut to inside the house; more specifically, the office Cameron Senior built off of the living room (so he'd have somewhere to hide out from Junior's mom- guys, you know what I mean). Cameron Sr. calmly smokes a Black'n'Mild as he lectures his son.]
Mr. Bankston: You know that's tresspassing and destruction of private property; son, you're not even in high school yet and you're already committing felonies.
[Cam Junior does not respond; if one knew his body language, one might notice this as the Phantasm's 'don't know what to say' posture. It's rare, but every once in a while you'll see it.]
Mr. Bankston: What the hell were you trying to do, anyway? What's with the triangle? You weren't trying to huff that stuff, were you?
Cameron Junior: No! I- look, I'd have spray paint all over myself if I was. Jesus, dad, I- I don't know why I did it, alright? I just felt like I should do it.
[Cam Senior puts his Black'n'Mild down in an earth-toned ashtray straight out of the 70's. He shakes his head.]
Mr. Bankston: Well, your mother and I have to think about what your punishment is going to be- for starters, you're going to go sit in your room and think about what you've done. And then- hey, I'm talking to you!
[Cam Junior walks out of his father's office, headed to his room with determination. He enters a bedroom at the back of the one-story family home; sunlight streams through the open blinds at the window, illuminating a room that seems to stay dark out of habit. The room is otherwise only lit by a reading lamp on a computer desk and a strand of partially burned-out Christmas lights (indoor, all white bulbs). Atop the computer desk we see an old school tower PC next to a massive CRT monitor; on the front of the computer tower is a masking table label, "ICEBERG-TWO" written across it in black Sharpie. As he enters, Cam Junior plops onto his bed and sighs... after a moment, though, we see him get up and approach his window. From there, he gazes out with... perhaps determination? Yes, that looks like Polar's determined face. He gazes out with determination at his perfect view of the adjoining property... and the golden triangle he decided to decorate it with.]
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[Scene: New Antarctica, NV; today. We cut to adult Phantasm standing alone in his bedroom closet; it's a nice walk-in job with rotating racks and storage for Crystal's remarkable amount of shoes. He picks up a singlet and pants, hung carefully for (perhaps his son's) future use; we can see it's his old Kid Phantasm attire, complete with a familiar golden triangle emblazoned on its back. He stares at it, distantly off in his mind... after a moment of woolgathering, Iceberg-Seven interrupts his wistful silence.]
Iceberg-Seven: Hello, user 'Polar Phantasm'. This unit has updated collected profiles for 'Project Bluebonnet'. Would you like to examine them now?
[Without changing his point of focus, the Phantasm responds.]
Phantasm: Bluebonnet comes later, Eye-Seven... Trios. Trios comes first. Load up the conference table, would you? Trios Round One.
Iceberg-Seven: Affirmative; sending profiles marked 'Trios Round One' to conference table.
[As Polar exits his bedroom, he thanks his intelligent computer slash guardian angel.]
Phantasm: Thanks, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Good luck in your battles, user 'Polar Phantasm'. Iceberg-Seven is idle, awaiting command.
[Polar mounts the stairs, mumbling to himself...]
Phantasm: Polar Phantasm is ignorant, awaiting massive shitpile of input.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Well you can tell ev'ryone I'm a down disgrace
Drag my name all over the place...
I don't care anymore.
You can tell ev'rybody 'bout the state I'm in
You won't catch me crying 'cos I just can't win
I don't care anymore. I don't care anymore.
I don't care what you say
I don't play the same games you play.
Cause I've been talking to the people that you call your friends
And it seems to me there's a means to an end
They don't care anymore.
And as for me I can sit here and bide my time
I got nothing to lose if I speak my mind...
I don't care anymore. I don't care no more.
I don't care what you say
We never played by the same rules anyway." -Phil Collins, "I Don't Care Anymore"
"Games people play, you take it or leave it
Things that they say just don't make it right
If I'm tellin' you the truth right now, do you believe it?
Games people play in the middle of the night." -Alan Parsons Project, "Games People Play"
Achieving greatness first as a BMX champion and then as a WCF wrestler, he is a man who many would say has conquered apprehension and fear; those who haven't met the obsessive compulsive young father of two. He is a hero of the present; he is THE FUTURE, JEFF PURSE!
Born with genius intelligence, his parents thought he might become a doctor or a lawyer; to everyone's surprise, all the Kid wanted to do was wrestle. Breaking into the business as a teenager, he worked his way up to the WCF bigtime as Kid Phantasm. Now a father and (more importantly) a grown ass man, he has returned- he is THE POLAR PHANTASM!
Coming up on the mean streets of Oakland, California; he survived on street knowledge, a blistering backhand and one hell of a mouthpiece. He has earned his place among the greatest in WCF history, to say nothing of his standings at each years' Players Ball; those who have underestimated him have learned firsthand not to mess with "THE MACK", STEVE ORBIT!
[It's that time again; Spring in WCF always means one thing. The annual Trios Cup tournament is upon us! This week the first elimination round will take place, and the Future Elements find themselves up against The Pride and Tiffany White. Their partner, Steve Orbit, has had plenty of experience lately dealing with Ethan King, but will his insight give them an edge? Or will King once again eke one out over the Mack?]
[As they have been known to do in the past, the Future Elements are having a strategy session; since beginning his WCF career, Polar (formerly Kid) Phantasm has found his consultations with Iceberg-Seven to be quite revealing. One would assume our three heroes are about to learn a thing or two from Polar's artificially intelligent computer... or at least be reminded of a few things. But will knowledge alone be enough to tip the scales in their favor? After all, they have experience and unity on their side; knowledge atop that pile should add to their immense gravity. But it may not be enough... this thought sticks in the Phantasm's mind as he heads into his research, as well as the scene before him. What happens when you leave wrestlers unattended in your home? Let's find out, shall we?]
----------------------------------------------------------
FUTURE ELEMENTS #2: Games People Play
----------------------------------------------------------
[Scene: New Antarctica, NV; interior, dining (conference) room. The dining room is sparse as far as home furnishings go; there's not much room for bric-a-brac in a house constantly being terrorized by inquistive young Jeffrey Bankston (Age 3, destructive capabilities beyond measure). The centerpiece of the room is a twelve-seat conference table with a holographic display embedded in its surface; in an informal bullshit session, seated around the table, we see Polar's wife, manager and teammates all waiting on him to quit fucking around upstairs and get on with it already... 'it', of course, being the reason for their convening on this night. 'It', of course, being a strategy session with everyone's favorite piece of artificial intelligence. Mrs. Polar Phantasm, of course, lives there- around WCF she is known as Nightmare, though around the house she's just 'Crystal' (or 'Mom' these days)... the look on her face says that Jeffy is safely tucked in for the night and she's enjoying the chance to be 'one of the guys' again. Cornelius Casanova, the Funkiest Brother Alive, tips back a 40 ounce; one would assume (with all the beverage choices he could've made) that he was just in an Olde English mood this evening. Steve Orbit - the one and only true Mack - seems to be deep into explaining a theoretical double-team maneuver to Jeff Purse; The Future seems to understand Orbit, but perhaps disagrees with his particular part in the plan... the look on his face says something doesn't add up to the young father of two. They all stop in their tracks for a moment as the surface of the holographic table lights up; from the top of the stairs, they hear the Phantasm mumbling to himself.]
Orbit: Nah, it'll work man, trust me.
[Orbit smiles his usual disarming smile.]
Purse: But there's no way I'm flexible enough to bend that far back and not fall over-
[Stepping back from the table, Jeff Purse attempts to bend himself backwards and catch himself with his hands. He awkwardly arcs himself into a 'table' shape. Orbit covers his face; suddenly, Nightmare pushes away from the table and bends herself backward as if trying to out-Purse Jeff Purse. With a shrug, Casanova flips himself backwards and gives a little leg kick to boot.]
Casanova: Yeeah. Check it out.
[At this, Steve Orbit cannot hold his laughter anymore. He cracks up at the scene before him, noticing Polar has finally joined them; he stops himself, then helps Purse up from the floor.]
Orbit: Man, I was just fucking with you- seriously, tripping people with the old table gag, and backwards? I thought you'd know I was fuckin' with you, now I kinda feel bad.
Nightmare: You couldn't have told us, maybe?
[She kips up from the dining room floor, dusting herself off a bit.]
Nightmare: Shit, I need to vacuum. Hey Corndog, you got a cheerio in your 'fro.
[The Funkiest Brother Alive picks a cereal piece from his hair-dome.]
Casanova: Good lookin' out.
Purse: How would that have even worked anyway? You should be thinking of stuff we can use, Steve.
[Finally interjecting himself into this scene, Polar speaks.]
Phantasm: No plan is too crazy from where I sit...
[He sits.]
Phantasm: Eye-Seven, we're all here.
[The conference table glows brightly for a second.]
Iceberg-Seven: Are all users prepared for 'Trios Round One' match profile?
Casanova: Yeah, we on it-
Purse: Go ahead, computer.
Orbit: Hell yeah we're ready.
Nightmare: Quit stalling, Eye-Seven.
Phantasm: You heard the lady, Eye-Seven.
[With that, Iceberg-Seven begins.]
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Eddie Felt'. Height six feet, weight two hundred five pounds. Hometown: Los Angeles, California.
Nightmare: An LA boy! That's what's up.
[She sighs.]
Nightmare: Makes me miss home, honestly. Not that this isn't home, per se-
Phantasm: No, I get it. If you call your parents later, tell 'em I said hi.
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style mostly brawling with some minor technical influences. Physical weaknesses unknown; there is a lack of medical data in WCF records. Assume opponent 'Eddie Felt' in optimal condition.
Phantasm: Eh, it doesn't always pay off, but sometimes you find little things in medical histories-
Orbit: Lookin' for a sore spot, I get it.
Nightmare: I still think there's a weak link somewhere in their chain, whether Eye-Seven finds one or not. Worst case you can hope White's on her period or something.
[She smiles a sarcastic smile.]
Purse: Gross.
Phantasm: Yeah, that'd actually make things harder on us; no way Purse picks her up for a scoop slam without sanitary wipes.
[Iceberg-Seven continues, interrupting the awkward conversation.]
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Eddie Felt' is a well-known conspiracy theorist-
Phantasm: -crap.
Iceberg-Seven: -one must expect the unexpected.
Phantasm: Exactly.
Orbit: What, so the guy's spooked... oh, I see where you're leanin' here, P.
[The team's manager, Cornelius Casanova, takes a quick sip from his 40 before interjecting.]
Casanova: Man's suspicious of everything, means he's probably doubly suspicious of us.
Phantasm: With good reason. We are literally sitting in a room somewhere plotting to defeat him, you know.
[Purse blows out the side of his mouth.]
Purse: I'm not scared- they see us coming already, what's there to worry about?
[Polar smiles.]
Phantasm: What we'll do to them when we get there, Jeff. Eye-Seven, what else you got?
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Ethan King'; height six feet two inches, weight two hundred twenty-five pounds. Hometown: Los Angeles, California.
Nightmare: Yeah, y'all are in for it- two young LA kids out for blood, no one to reign 'em in...
Purse: Let's hope these two aren't as crazy as-
[Nightmare freezes Purse to a dead stop with her stare.]
Purse: -uh, some people. Who will remain nameless. Your hair looks nice, by the way.
[She smiles.]
Nightmare: Thank you. Continue, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style technically based, but unmanicured; King has been known to botch moves due to exuberance and enthusiasm, as well as a dearth of proper training.
[Phantasm rubs his chin in thought.]
Phantasm: Hmm. Something's not sitting right with me here- Eye-Seven, what's King's background?
Iceberg-Seven: Eschewed upbringing and life as a college student to become a professional wrestler.
Phantasm: Yeah, that's what I was thinking.
Purse: It's eerie, isn't it? He's got practically the same backstory that you do, Polar. Or that Kid Phantasm did, anyway-
Phantasm: Exactly. It's troubling as hell. It's like looking into a mirror that only reflects your old idealistic self at you.
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Ethan King' and opponent 'Eddie Felt' are collectively known as 'The Pride'; opponent 'Ethan King' is WCF United States-
Orbit: Yeah, we know, Eye-Seven. Look, you may be onto somethin' with the Kid P parallels; don't sleep on Ethan King, Polar. I took my eye off the little bastard for a minute and now he's wearing that belt instead of this pimp.
Phantasm: Brash, raw, talented, underestimated constantly... yeah, that about sums it up.
Purse: What, the Pride?
Phantasm: Yeah.
Nightmare: And also how Kid Phantasm was like, 20-3 in 2012.
Phantasm: That too.
Purse: So we're agreed; we can't underestimate these kids-
Phantasm: -we can't call them kids, either. Shit, Jeff, we're only in our mid-20s. You wanna sound like one of those old 'heads like Gravedigger or somebody? There's still assholes in this 'fed who think calling me Kid P is cute.
Casanova: Yo, we're not done yet; y'all forgetting they've got a third for this shit?
[Cornelius raises an eyebrow; the others pause for a moment.]
Phantasm: Yeah, that's true. We're already thinking strategy and we're still just 2/3 done research. Hit it, Eye-Seven.
Iceberg-Seven: Opponent 'Tiffany White'; height five feet ten inches, weight one hundred forty-five pounds. Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada.
[Nightmare whistles.]
Nightmare: Two LA boys and a bad bitch from 'Vegas... you guys sure know how to pick 'em, that's for sure.
Orbit: Man, Lerch stuck us with these three-
Purse: I think she's fucking with you, Steve.
[Orbit makes a face as if he just smelled spoiled milk.]
Orbit: -man, you think I don't know that?
[He begins mumbling under his breath.]
Orbit (mumbled): Tellin' me when bitches are fuckin' with me. Like I don't know jokes from shit-
Iceberg-Seven: Wrestling style aerially based; obviously opponent 'Tiffany White' has had some training, perhaps even a stint in Mexico. Weaknesses are all as expected for a woman wrestling taller, stronger men-
Nightmare: Which means she's tough. Really fuckin' tough. I already like this chick.
Phantasm: She's the pro poker player, right? I remember reading up on this girl when I saw her win the TV title. Always impressive to see a woman make it in this company, especially one who's not as fuckin' psycho as-
[He catches his wife's stare, but winks at her in reply. Off to one side, something seems to register in the mind of one Steven Orbit...]
Phantasm: -Twilight... baby, you thought I was talking about you, right?
Nightmare: Of course not. I hardly 'made it' in WCF by anybody's standards.
Phantasm: We were tag champs!
Nightmare: For like, two weeks-
Phantasm: Still totally counts.
Purse: Yeah, what's up with that- how come we've never gotten a Tag Title shot, but you got one with your wife?
Phantasm: I think Seth just likes watching women get dropped on their head.
[They all laugh, even Nightmare.]
Nightmare: I can't hate on that; at least the fucker booked me without instituting some kind of 'women's division'.
[She shakes her head.]
Nightmare: I don't know what to tell you guys; I mean, I'm behind you the whole way, but I can't play favorites when you're goin' up against two LA boys and this chick. If y'all weren't in, I'd probably be pulling for them to win.
Casanova: You're no help, Crys.
Nightmare: Hey, I'm being honest at least-
Orbit: This is why I don't listen to women when they talk.
[She tries to kick Orbit under the table, but misses and hits Purse.]
Purse: OW!
Nightmare: Shit- I'm sure you've done something to deserve that, but my bad anyway-
Purse: Son of a bitch, right in the shin-
Phantasm: Eye-Seven, update Purse's records to say he has a sore shin.
[Purse looks shocked for a second.]
Purse: Relay that, Eye-Seven. He's totally fucking with you.
Casanova: So back to strategy- what do y'all do to combat a team like this?
Orbit: Show up and do the damn thing.
Phantasm: Yeah, that works... more specifically, though, we'll have to try and use their speed and youth against them. Ground 'em early and often, try to keep them in our corner and out of theirs. Fast tags, double-teams when possible... and legal.
Purse: Obviously.
Orbit: Don't either of y'all get our asses DQed in the first round; I swear I'll smack the piss out y'all.
Phantasm: Duly noted, and completely understandable.
Nightmare: Well, you could always try and sneak some weapons in, maybe use the old loaded elbow pads... I've got some switchblade boots upstairs, if any of y'all can fit in my shoes... god damn I wish I was in this match. I think I could take this Tiffany chick, totally. Pull the bitch up by the hair and start kicking her across the face...
[Nightmare sighs wistfully, scripting this theoretical match-up in her head; her violent fantasies do not go unnoticed by the Phantasm, who clears his throat and continues.]
Phantasm: That all said, I think it'll all come down to chance; we just have to make sure the odds are on our side. Legally. These three seem about as straight-up as we'll be facing in the tournament; we owe it to them to give it to them straight, and give them the best we've got.
[There is a silent moment as Polar's words settle; The Mack chooses the time to voice an idea (perhaps, in fact, an idea he came up with while Polar and Nightmare discussed their WCF tag history).]
Orbit: Yo, now that we're done with Eye-Seven- what say we take this meet on the road, chat this out over some dinner?
Casanova: Shit, I could eat.
Purse: It's like eleven thirty, a lot of places are closed I bet-
Phantasm: There's Justman's Diner around the way, they stay open all night... good french toast, too.
Orbit: Nah, man, I was thinkin- we're already in Vegas anyway, right? So let's hit the buffet at the Guiliano.
[Nightmare stands up excitedly.]
Nightmare: Yes! I could totally fuck up a casino buffet right now.
Phantasm: It's not far to the Guiliano from here, we could do that.
[They all stand to leave; Nightmare quickly does the math in her head, realizing she'd be the fifth wheel in a four-seater (and as comfortably as the Mothership seats five, she's still non-plussed by the idea of being crammed into the Olds with this crew).]
Nightmare: Ah, shit- I can't go, Jeffy's upstairs asleep and if he wakes up and finds Mommy gone he's gonna flip his cute little lid.
[The others continue toward the door, half-heartedly waving behind them; the Phantasm approaches his bride, embracing her and gazing into her eyes.]
Phantasm: Promise to stay out of trouble.
Nightmare: You don't have to lie to me, Cameron. We've met before, you know-
[They kiss deeply. Phantasm breaks off with a smile.]
Phantasm: -love you more than life itself. You know.
Nightmare: Shut up and go play with your friends. And win this mother fucker, would you? That trophy would look great on our mantle.
[...A few moments later, Crystal Bankston stands alone in the living room of New Antarctica. She sighs, mumbling to herself.]
Nightmare (mumbled): Go get 'em, boys.
[With that, she turns off the lights in the dining room and heads up to bed, alone.]
--------------------------------------------------
[Scene: Guiliano Hotel and Casino (Las Vegas, NV). Allen Guiliano, known to WCF fans as legendary Hall of Famer Slickie T, is owner and operator of this successful Las Vegas mainstay; the casino is huge, having grown significantly in size since we last saw it in 2012*. Casanova finally finishes his 40 as the four enter the bustling hotel; though it is almost midnight, the place is buzzing with guests and gamblers. Following Orbit, the foursome head straight for the four-star buffet; as if a football team's offense, they huddle briefly and grab their trays and then split up and handle up on the buffet. Purse takes the longest choosing his food, though this should surprise no one; he finally ends up choosing some fried fish and garlic mashed potatoes. Cornelius is seated at the table chowing down on a plate filled with grilled chicken breasts and mixed wilted greens; the Phantasm's plate features two thick slabs of prime rib dripping with juices. Auspiciously, next to Polar's plate of beef we see a saucer filled past capacity with vanilla pudding. Orbit has gone to Jamaica in the time it took the others to choose their meal; at least, that's where his plate seems to have been. He's got a nice setup going, complete with jerk chicken, curried goat and fried plantains.]
(* - In Breakout Kings of the Ring #3, "Fear and Loathing at the Guiliano Hotel Pt. 2". -B.)
Casanova: Damn, I didn't even see the Jamiacan setup over there-
Orbit: Son, I smelled the jerk chicken from the lobby. You coulda followed me, I knew what was up.
Casanova: Whatever, I'm trying to eat healthier... Angela's always on a diet, and she's got me watching my caloric intake.
Orbit: Man, your old lady ain't here- you want some of these plantains?
[Polar takes a sip from a soda, slurping at the straw; Purse looks over to ask him to stop the slurping, but laughs when he sees the pudding on Polar's tray. Jeff then gives Polar a high-five.]
Orbit: What'd I miss?
[Still chuckling a bit, Jeff explains.]
Purse: Polar spent most of 2012 trying to eat pudding out of the Trios Cup trophy.
Phantasm: Correction- I did eat pudding out of the trophy, remember? Crystal and I 'borrowed' it on our honeymoon in Japan*... these days, though, I feel my cravings for pudding coming back in spades.
(* - Unstable Elements #10, "Postcards From the Pacific Rim". -B.)
Casanova: Not to get back on this, but y'all got your hands full with these three this week. And Eye-Seven didn't find anything hush-hush for y'all to use...
Phantasm: ...sometimes it's like that, Corndog.
Casanova: So what do you do?
[Polar slurps at his soda again, shrugging.]
Purse: Please stop that- seriously, I'll go refill your cup, whatever.
Phantasm: You just go with it. There's no shame in winging it.
Casanova: It's the WCF way, right?
Phantasm: Absolutely. How else do you think Lerch books this shit?
Purse: Dartboard.
Orbit: I figured he starts each card as a 20-person clusterfuck match and breaks it up into easier to swallow pieces so it'll fit down the fans' throats.
Casanova: Ouch.
Phantasm: Yeah, maybe not the best analogy when we're trying to eat.
[Polar notices that both Steve and Cornelius are almost done with their plates. He takes one last bite of prime rib, then pulls his pudding toward him and wields a spoon menacingly. As he consumes pudding, Orbit pushes his plate off to the side; Casanova swallows one last bite of greens, following in suit. Polar shovels the rest of his pudding gracelessly into his mouth, wiping a bit of vanilla from his chin... they all look over and see that Jeff Purse still has a few minutes to go. Then, as if it wouldn't fuck with him, they watch him carefully chew his fish.]
Purse: What?
[Polar begins picking his teeth, removing errant strands of beef from them. Orbit taps out a beat with his fingers. Casanova wrinkles his forehead in a look of disbelief.]
Purse: Eating too quickly is bad for your digestion. How do you three not know this? Especially you, Polar- I thought you were smart about stuff like that.
Phantasm: I figure digestion will happen for me whether I'm trying it or otherwise, once I actually put the food in there- you should try that. It totally works.
Casanova: Jeff, brah, come on- I had like twice as much chicken as you got fish and I still wrapped earlier than your ass.
[Purse tries to chew and defend himself at the same time, however briefly; he catches himself, glaring at them while he occupies himself solely with processing his food.]
Orbit: Come on, man, you're almost there- you got this, Purse, you got this.
[They watch as Jeff crams the last of his fish into his mouth; the awkward display is enough for Orbit and Casanova, who stand and stretch a bit. Phantasm takes one last hard slurp at his soda, glaring at Purse as he does so.]
Purse: It's best to sit for a few minutes to let the food go down-
[As he finishes saying this, he looks up to see the other three headed for the casino floor. He gets up and chases after them.]
Purse: Come on, guys- is nobody worried about my gastrointestinal tract but me?
------------------------------------------------
[Scene: Guiliano Hotel and Casino, continued. The room is filled with gamblers and casino employees; though it is after midnight on a weekday, business continues as usual for the city of Las Vegas. Now in the casino proper, we see the team with their piles of chips scan the room in an attempt to 'pick their poison'... Orbit eyes a craps table a ways away from them, then notices Cornelius eyeing a waitress (in what only the most liberal of people would call a 'skirt').]
Casanova: Man, I thought I saw somebody-
Orbit: Come on, why you gonna lie to me? I ain't your bitch, I'm your boy- and I'll tell you, straight up. You're a playa, Corndog. Don't fight the feeling.
[This time, Purse takes the lead; without explanation, the others follow Purse toward the roulette table.]
Purse: I've always been fascinated by roulette. Poker's alright, though it gets to me having five cards all the time... blackjack I don't understand at all. How does 21 beat 20? It's... 21. It just sits there, all uneven and shit. Staring at me.
Phantasm: I would've loved to see what kind of math teacher you'd have made, Jeff.
Casanova: There go the LEAP test scores.
[Purse would've responded, but he had already busied himself with gambling. We watch the wheel spin, ball finally landing in '10'... and we see Purse double his money, his chips stacked firmly on the space marked 'EVEN'. Another spin of the wheel produces a '22', as well as a height adjustment to Purse's stack of chips... as Jeff and Cornelius lean over the table with excitement, Orbit nudges Polar to the side. They drift from the table, not noticing Purse's third attempt at numeric bliss... perhaps cursed by odd numbers, Jeff receives a '17' and loses a sizable amount of plastic casino money. He watches as the chips, stamped with Allen Guiliano's face, are scraped toward the dealer by a wooden hook. Meanwhile, a few feet away in the crowd, Orbit and Polar case the joint... Orbit prods Polar once more, nodding very slightly toward the blackjack table.]
Orbit (mumbled): Guy in the sportcoat on the end and the guy with the polo and the blonde in his lap. They're card counters.
[Polar notices a telltale glance between the blonde and the mystery man in the sportcoat. Orbit then nods slightly toward a burly pit boss, hand clasped at his ear.]
Phantasm: Somebody else is onto 'em, too-
Orbit: Yeah, shit. If we noticed, bet eyes in the sky had them dead to rights a hot minute ago.
[Orbit pauses for a moment, then nods toward the craps table.]
Orbit: P, watch this.
[The Mack heads for the craps table, Polar in tow... as they settle in, we see the card counters being led quietly toward the offices. We watch Steve and Polar as they wait through a few throws; finally, the Mack gets his turn as the Shooter. We see him select two dice from the five he is offered, as if he's done this a thousand times before. He leans in, whispering to Polar.]
Orbit (whispered): I've done this a thousand times, it ain't a thing.
[Orbit rolls an eleven; at this development, the table begins to get rowdy. Polar is almost knocked over by an exuberant old black lady... she playfully pats his shoulder in apology, then leans over and gives Orbit a small peck on the cheek. With a laugh he offers the dice to her; she blows on the dice for the Mack, who gives her a sly wink before shooting an eight. The table grows louder, as arguments swell as to whether or not Orbit can make this point; confidently, the Mack pushes the rest of his chips into play and then rolls yet another eight. The table roars once more; Purse and Casanova come over just in time to see the Mack holding court. Orbit once again bets all his chips, now a pretty massive pile; this time, though, he shoots a seven and craps out. The old lady awkwardly gives him a consolatory hug, which Purse and Casanova (not having seen the proceeding events) find hilarious.]
Orbit: Man, y'all shoulda seen it; Granny practically body-checked Polar trying to get her some of this pimpin'.
Casanova: Looks like she got some, though-
[Cornelius rubs one cheek, trying to signal Orbit.]
Purse: You got old lady lipstick all over your face, Steve.
Orbit: Man, fuck-
[Orbit looks around, snatching a cocktail napkin off a table; he blots his face off as Polar looks around cursively.]
Orbit: Come on, P, all you. You're pretty good at poker, always bluffin' us and shit- get in there, see if you can hang with the pros!
[Sure enough, nearby there is a side room marked by a standing sign reading "World Poker Tournament ---->". Following Polar's lead, the four peek into the room only to see a ten foot tall curtain hanging floor-to-ceiling complete with faces of Poker Tournament giants worldwide; specifically, the face of Tiffany White stares back at them from her lofty position overhead.]
Phantasm: Eh, I'm not feeling this.
Orbit: Yeah, my bad.
Purse: Gross.
Casanova: Vibe's all fucked up, now.
[As they duck out of the room, we see Tiffany White peek from behind her poker hand.]
Tiff: Pfft- Amateurs.
[Back in the casino's main floor, Purse spies the baccarat table.]
Purse: Hey, Polar- there you go, baccarat.
Phantasm: What? I've never played baccarat in my life.
[Orbit laughs.]
Orbit: Man, I thought they taught that shit in spy school. P, you were a spook for two years- you mean to tell me you ain't played baccarat even once?
Casanova: I thought that was a European spy thing.
Orbit: Still, though, what the fuck they spending my tax dollars on if they ain't makin' y'all as badass as your average garden variety James Bond?
[Polar doesn't respond; he's too busy considering the option. Without word, he begins to approach the table; as they follow, he warns them off.]
Phantasm: Gimme a minute... I need some room to figure this game out.
Casanova: Whatever, man.
[The three post up in their current spot, a quiet corner of the bustling casino... quickly, they get caught up in checking out the 'local talent'.]
Orbit: Girl in the white dress with the strawberries on it; ten o'clock.
Casanova: She's hoin'?
Purse: Even I called that one; look at those shoes. Nobody wears shoes like that unless there's a paycheck involved.
Orbit: Sheeit, she's probably not even charging a grand an hour; that ain't a paycheck, that's a kid's allowance. Check out the one bitch, white girl in the blue dress, red streak in her hair-
[Orbit nods slightly behind Purse; he turns around and sees a beautiful woman on the arm of a man that appears to be in his late 60s.]
Purse: God damn-
Casanova: -now that's a fuckin' dimepiece.
Orbit: That bitch is ten grand at night at LEAST. At least she would be if she knew how to market that ass-
Purse: No way that man's getting a girl like that unless he can afford those kinda rates...
Casanova: ...and no way he's getting that kinda 'service' from a bitch that don't charge, even if he's got paper.
[As they watch, the girl puts one of the older man's fingers in her mouth and sucks on it a bit.]
Purse: Gross.
Orbit: Fuckin' classic. Now that's a bad bitch- she's makin' some playa rich, fo sho.
Purse: Yo, check it out- Polar's already in the shit!
[They approach the table, noticing Polar's got quite a pile of Guilianos before him... as they reach the table they see Polar rake in another windfall, his chips falling over haphazardly and causing Purse to have a bit of a nervous tick.]
Purse: Polar, your chips-
Phantasm: I know, right? I'm up to about 100k right now, I think-
[Orbit does some quick math, then responds.]
Orbit: 'Bout 105 and change, actually.
Casanova: Damn, the Kid's got game!
[The dealer expectantly looks to the Phantasm; he ponders for a moment.]
Phantasm: Everything on the bank.
[The team all subconsciously hold their breath; as both banker and player reveal their hands, Polar pumps a fist in celebration.]
Dealer: Banker wins. Payout is double.
Phantasm: I'm cashing out- here, for your hard work.
[He tips the dealer roughly five thousand dollars.]
Dealer: Thank you, sir! Enjoy your winnings.
[As the Phantasm leaves the table with roughly 200k in chips, Purse and Orbit highfive.]
Casanova: Kid, we gotta celebrate-
[Polar stops for a second, looking back toward their point of entry as if he's forgotten something. He looks over to Jeff Purse and asks a question...]
Phantasm: Jeff, give me a number between-
[Without a thought, the number of his misfortune rolls off Jeff Purse's tongue. He almost growls his answer.]
Purse: Seventeen.
[Realizing what he's just said, Jeff tries to correct himself- he then notices that Polar is making a beeline back to the scene of the crime, aka the roulette wheel. The three catch up with Polar just in time to see him drop every last chip on the number seventeen; the wheel comes to a stop, the white ball sitting in '00'.]
Purse: Polar, I'm sorry- I tried to stop you, but-
Orbit: Holy shit, P- did you just drop 200k ON THE WAY OUT THE FUCKING DOOR?
[Cornelius whistles.]
Casanova: You've got some huge balls, Kid- holy shit, my woman would kill me if I dropped enough money to buy a whole neighborhood in Detroit!
[As he heads toward the exit, Polar shrugs; the others follow, intent upon finding out just what the fuck the Phantasm was thinking.]
Phantasm: It's all good- the money wasn't important. I've got plenty from savings and residuals on those patents I license out; we'll get by, trust me. We had a great night, we got a lot done, and most importantly we had fun doing it.
Purse: Yeah, but... we lost.
[They exit the casino, then head toward the hotel lobby entrance (or in this case, exit).]
Phantasm: Sometimes the game's rigged. I took a chance and I lost- but I lost with you guys, as a team. I could've played it safe and I would've been a winner... I blindly trusted you, Jeff, and I must live or die by the results. I lost, but I lost on my terms and I came out none the worse.
Orbit: I got fucked over by a seven-
Purse: I told you, it's the odd numbers that fuck you up! God, seventeen- what was I thinking?
Casanova: Normally guys don't ask that question unless they're up for a statutory charge.
[They all have a laugh at Cornelius' punchline, even Purse (who shakes his head at his wide-open inadvertent set-up line). They walk out of the casino just in time to see two men in white-on-white suits with thin ties shove two men and a woman wearing headbags into a GMC Suburban.]
Orbit: Shit- could be worse, at least we ain't those three.
Phantasm: Some things never change- Slickie T still doesn't fuck around with perpetrators.
[Orbit checks his watch, expressing surprise.]
Orbit: Damn y'all, it's barely two o'clock- y'all wanna hit a strip club?
[Phantasm chuckles, shaking his head.]
Phantasm: Yeah, that settles it. You're definitely Fly's brother.
[Scene fades on the four men strolling out of the Guiliano, Orbit explaining his heredity as only he can...]
Orbit: What can I say? Hoes be scandalous.
[(c) Wrestling Championship Federation 2016. Steve Orbit appears courtesy of Oakland, California, USA; Tiffany White appears courtesy of random happenstance (we swear). All rights reserved.]
Win-loss record: fairly epic
