Post by The Sky King on Jul 17, 2011 15:05:17 GMT -5
Residence of Maynard Hetfield, David Markinson, Zack Cornell and Amber Riley
Las Vegas, NV
9:35 pm
In this small, compact room deep within the bowels of the mansion that hung over and watched Las Vegas like a nameless, faceless guardian, the four members of the Las Vegas Commission were sat around a varnished table cut from oak. Within the middle of this table, embossed deep within the grain, was the graphic of crossed sabers in front of two pairs of dice displaying ‘Snake Eyes’, double ones, with the words ‘Las Vegas Commission’ embossed underneath it. Over this graphic lay a leather-clad briefcase, a briefcase which held the contract that Mister Luck had won just weeks prior at Brawl for it All.
Dave leant forward, grasping the handle of the briefcase and pulling it towards him before thrusting his wooden seat out, dragging it along the ruby-red carpet and standing up, effectively symbolizing the briefcase as a conch, granting the holder the ability to speak to his peers.
This wasn’t just a regular meeting to discuss finances, this was a meeting for war. This was a meeting regarding the fiery conflict raging between the Las Vegas Commission and Oblivion and his company. This Sunday, the company they would be facing was a group known hilariously as Chaos Theory, a group combining the charmless vacuum known as Xplode with the man who has all the social charm and intelligence of a tick, Jack Bull.
“Come Sunday, we are going to have more than our fair share of problems in handling Xplode. With Jack Bull now entering the mix, this has strayed from the preferable one-on-one scenario with Xplode or Oblivion, and has now spilled over to include several of Oblivions lackeys, since he cannot defend himself nor victor in singles competition. It is crucial that we destroy both Bull and Xplode to ensure that they can no longer interfere in wars that are not their own. Bull is simply getting involved because he is a arrogant pile of shit, and it’s time that we finally shut him up by force!” exclaimed Dave.
Luck, sat at the head of the table with his hand rested on his chin and over his lips, was sat back in his chair, swallowed deep in the abyss of thought.
It was his job as the leader of this outlaw posse to ensure that victory would come Sunday, and that true victory against Oblivion would follow. However, Luck found himself swallowed more and more by inane, violent thoughts which had become difficult to control. He often found himself waking up at the strangest hours of the morning in a cold sweat, having dreamed of becoming a whirling dervish of fury and anger, smiting all those who oppose him. More than one dream has been of his own body cast asunder into a blood-red river after being slain, but Luck had locked away these dreams and swallowed the key.
He couldn’t afford to show weakness. He knew the noose was tightening, but only a fool and a coward believed that their end wouldn’t come. Luck had already embraced the fact that playing with fire was going to get him burnt, but he so loved the feeling of the flames licking his tender skin. After all, wasn’t that what wrestling was all about? Digging deep under the skin of your opponent like a Botfly maggot, digging deeper and deeper into the hot flesh until your opponent sobs and gives up, doing their best to scratch you out. You did everything you could to survive in this business: If that meant mentally destroying an opponent by taking a woman your enemy loves and holding her hostage, then so be it. Why were they so surprised that Luck would resort to doing so?
Jack Bull and Xplode are just two more idiots in the farcical parade of wrestling: When will they wake up and realise that this isn’t the Boy Scouts? There are no unwritten codes of honor in wrestling. You show up, you beat the living snot out of your opponent, and you collect your paycheck and ride into the sunset. There is no prize for ‘Best behaved troop’. It’s the survival of the strongest and most ruthless out there, not the people who run around in polished armor, waving their broadswords and displaying their Templar banner while pretending to be the defenders of all that is good and righteous.
That is what truly irritated Luck the most: Oblivion still believed he was the innocent one in the grand scheme of things. Oblivion believed he was pure. Oblivion believed that smiting the Las Vegas Commission and costing them the titles would be the end of the road. How could one man be so incredibly dense? Not only that, but now everyone was getting involved to help Oblivion, as evidenced by Sundays match. The entire situation had taken an irritating turn with Jack Bull now getting involved, a man who has been and probably always will be an infection upon Lucks back. All Luck wanted was to grab Oblivion by the neck and choke the life from him, but now Luck has to deal with someone who is the single most irritating person on the roster. A man he had faced several times before, and had absolutely no desire to face again.
Luck swallowed, shrugged off the tightening noose, and twitched two fingers towards him, allowing Dave to slide the briefcase across the table and towards Luck who slammed his palm down upon the leather, stopping its movement and slowly looking up across the dimmed room, specifically focusing on Zack who was sat opposite him, a face that showed no fear nor apprehension. Luck felt encouraged that even the one who was perceived as the weakest of the team wasn’t showing regret nor mercy.
“Enough of messing around and playing games that schoolchildren would enjoy. Around this table, we all know that the Devils Due are out hunting for us, and we all know that one day, a rogue member could beat us, cripple us..maybe even kill us if we walk down the road. While I pray within the deepest annals of my cold, cold heart that this never happens and that there is no risk of this happening, it is now time to ensure that we have friends in the right places and the right people watching out for us. Now, we have Bull entering the fray. The importance of this is that the brainwashing tendencies of Xplode and Oblivion are clear with Bulls involvement, as they drag him into a war which he has absolutely no business in. It is time that we mobilise the troops and begin the process of wiping this planet of the life unworthy of life. We start with Jack Bull and Xplode on Sunday. We show them what war is like. We give them nothing more than hell. It is time that they are torn apart by the iron claw of the Commission.” Explained Luck calmly. Zack coughed, causing Luck to thrust the suitcase across the table with such force that it landed into Zacks lap. Zack grasped the suitcase, quickly setting it onto the table.
“While I agree with the notion of recruiting more members of the Commission, I believe our current focus should be on Sunday. Both you and Dave MUST focus on the match at hand: Sunday is make or break, and any bit of momentum is precious to you following the upcoming showdown at Scars and Stripes. THAT has to be your number one priority! Xplode and Jack Bull aren’t just pushovers: Jack Bulls taken you to the limit repeatedly, while Xplode showed what he was capable of last week. It can’t be a double disqualification this week, gentlemen, we HAVE to finish the job. We have to do this effectively or not at all. If we are to eradicate our enemies, then we are to do it through a mixture of humiliating defeats and systematic executions of those who stand before us, and not just a violent brawl to end a match. Remember Dante Holly. Remember the blood we spilt of his. It is time that Bull or Xplode received the same treatment this week!” exclaimed Zack, tapping the table with his index finger as he spoke to further exclaim his points. Luck gave a small nod, flicking his fingers towards him and causing Zack to slide the suitcase back across the table, stopping just short of Luck.
“Of course it’s the priority. After all, me and Dave have already trained physically and mentally for this battle. We are prepared to go to war. However, knowing that we are secure in our own home, as opposed to waiting for the hornets to strike. Rest assured, Sunday has already been taken care of in terms of planning.” Replied Luck sharply, twisting his left arm and sliding the suitcase towards Amber. Amber placed her hands on it, looking around the table before stopping at Luck, her eyes fixated on him.
“And what is your plan, Hetty? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Xplode and Jack Bull isn’t exactly the best team to be facing with the prospect of facing Oblivion just around the corner. Veterans are feasting on you, but the question is: Can you feed on the veterans?” Snapped Amber, swiftly sliding the suitcase back to Luck who slammed his palms down upon it to stop it from hitting his chest.
“Of course I can feed on them, for my plan is simple: Complete and total decimation.” Replied Luck simply, sliding the suitcase over to Dave and leaning back further in his seat, setting his sock-clad feet upon the table and crossing them over eachother as he placed his arms behind the back of his head, sitting comfortably.
“That’s the plan. Me and Luck are going to wrestle as well as we can while also making it our job to pound them down. This match is about sending a message to two old assholes about who the new dogs are. Xplode walks around with his nuts stuck out, thinking that he’s some kind of big shot, when the fact is that when he walks to that ring, he’s going to meet a damn near unstoppable force. Jack Bull is the worst of the worst: A pathetic little runt who walks around, spewing off about how he’s the best before whining and complaining about his current situation, a runt who seems to think that he holds some kind of leverage within the company, when in fact if it wasn’t for Xplode carrying him both in that ring and in training, he’d be about as useful as a fucking teaspoon against a rhino. Bull and Xplode combined? You have two men who are a swarm of locusts: A pest, but not much in terms of damage. Something quite easy to scratch away. Take out Xplode, and Bull will be lost. They will expect us both to be focused solely on victory, when in fact all we want to do is to ground him into a fine powder. I believe that this can work wonders for us.” Explained Dave. Zack coughed against, causing Dave to swing the briefcase lightly towards him. The bronze catches scraped the varnish as Zack grasped it, pulling it greedily towards him.
“I do admire your talk, but I hope and pray that you put this plan into action and follow it. it would be hugely demoralizing to Oblivion, and it might just send Xplode back into retirement while finally shutting the giant mouth of Jack Bull. I do, however, see the benefits of possibly crippling both men. After all, what could be better than sending another message like the one we sent along with Dante Holly’s broken body?” Replied Zack, sliding the briefcase across the table and against Lucks feet. Luck lifted his feet slightly, propping them up on the suitcase.
“There is still one more thing that I want to do, and that is to talk to an old friend of mine down in Vegas. There will be no ifs, ands or buts: Dave, you’re coming with me. Zack, you and Amber stay here.” Commanded Luck. Amber gave a small, whining snort.
“Why? Why do I have to stay here??” asked Amber, slamming her palms roughly on the table. “I’m your damn public relations woman!”
“The person is a friend of mine, not of yours. Besides, I could use a drink. God knows I’ve been abstaining in preparation of fighting those two.” Replied Luck.
“So, is the meeting over?” asked Amber.
“The meeting is over. We have nothing more to say. In concerns to this match, I could act like Jack Bull with Dave as my Xplode and talk for several hours about how much I’m going to win, my words interspersed with some forced humour or perhaps a catchphrase thought up one day while on the can, but I won’t. You see, unlike Jack Bull, I’m going to win this week through skill, and not by whining and bitching for Xplode…or rather, Dave, to pick up the slack so he can carry the team to a win. Not only that, but I don’t plan to be the same old fucking disappointment Bull is whenever he steps in the ring for a high-profile match. God knows I’ll try not to whine like a little bitch if I lose either and blame it on the ring or Sarah Thompson.” Muttered Luck.
Luck yawned, stretching his arms and pushing himself away from the table, leaning over it, kissing his palm and slapping it upon the embossed graphic, strolling towards the lone wooden door in the north-east corner of the room and grasping the bronze handle, nodding at Dave before opening it and sliding through into the darkness. He groped out beside him, switching the light into the entrance hallway and filling it with a burning bright light.
He strolled towards the twin set of maple doors that separated the mansion from the harsh world outside, stopping beside a coatrack and grasping a fedora to compliment his already pressed black suit and turquoise tie, slipping it upon his head. Even though he was confident now, and thankful to be leaving the mansion in favour of meeting a friend, Luck still felt apprehension wringing his gut dry. After all, could a biker be waiting in the shadows, ready to stab him in the chest? Could a trip down Las Vegas be dangerous? Could he be just one wrong turn away from being beaten and left for dead on the sidewalk, where he knew half of Las Vegas would spit on him?
In some ways, it was a glorious thing to behold: This rivalry, this upcoming match at Scars and Stripes had transcended the very boundaries of competition and had became something that everyone was interested in. It had become like a Hollywood film, with women captured, men beaten and left for dead, and promises of violence and swift retribution, with Luck himself in the starring role. His trademark arrogant grin once again crossed his lips, but it slowly faded as he realised just how serious it had become.
“Is everything alright?” asked a young, tired, tender voice from behind him. Luck spun around on his Cuban heels, noticing a tired Ava, wearing pink pyjamas, stood at the foot of the spiral staircase several feet away from the doors to the outside. Luck slowly strolled over, flattening the brim of his fedora and squatting down opposite her, looking into her eyes and placing a hand on her head.
“Go get some sleep, alright? I have to go meet with someone.” Said Luck quietly.
“..Be careful. I know that your match this Sunday is going to be hard..and I don’t want you getting hurt..Xplode and Bull want to hurt you…and they want those bikers to hurt you too..” whined Ava.
“I know, sis..I know. Just go get some sleep, alright? I won’t be gone for too long. I promise.” Replied Luck. “Don’t worry about Bull or Xplode. Just remember that all they can do is talk a good game, but when it comes to bringing the talent, they are utterly incapable of doing so.”
“Cross your heart?” asked Ava. Luck gave a small smirk, crossing his thumb over his heart.
“Cross my heart. I don’t want to get into trouble anyway, because when Sunday comes, I’ve got to go and defeat those bad men. I have to go and stop them from hurting my friends.” Replied Luck.
“I hope Xplode doesn’t hurt you..I like him, but he’s mean..” grumbled Ava. Luck gave a small laugh. “…I don’t like Jack Bull either…”
“I know, but all will be sorted come Sunday. Go get some sleep.” Said Luck, leaning up and kissing her forehead. Ava kissed his forehead lightly, turning around and strolling back up the staircase. Luck watched as the embodiment of innocence did so, pushing himself onto his feet and turning around, strolling towards the door as the lumbering form of Dave stomped through, pulling a pinstriped blazer over his thick, muscular frame.
“She up? She worried?” asked Dave.
“Yeah, she’s worried. I don’t know why, because it’s not like this match is going to be any competition. I’m telling you, Dave, I’ve faced Jack Bull so many times that I know what he’s like: A giant arrogant crybaby with unwarranted self importance. As for Xplode? Well, he didn’t seem to do much in the last match other than fling punches and try and go for the Drop Zone repeatedly.” Replied Luck.
“You can see why she’s worried though: Walking into Vegas with those assholes hanging around like buzzards. Wouldn’t surprise me if Bull decided to put on a leather jacket and induct himself into Oblivions own little Suck My Dick And Bow Down club.” Muttered Dave darkly.
“Wouldn’t surprise me either. Of course, we do have to make arrangements about the buzzards..” muttered Luck, unbuttoning his black blazer and reaching into one of the silk-lined inner pockets, pulling out a Colt Python revolver with a six-inch barrel which gleamed in the moonlight which lightly trickled through a window above the door. Luck gave a small sigh, pulling out the cylinder and looking at it, ensuring each chamber was loaded before sliding it back into the revolver and activating the safety, slipping it back into his pocket.
“What? You plan to shoot someone?” asked Dave.
“Self defence. This entire saga has made me realise just how seriously most of these inbred hicks take wrestling. Homo sapiens fought itself to the top of the food chain, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting the walking, talking equivalent of a fucking cucumber take me down.” Replied Luck.
“I know what you mean. When we walk into the ring this Sunday, people are going to be hating our very guts. That’ll give Bull and Xplode something to smile about..but I guess we should make it our job to wipe the smiles from their faces..After all, that’s what gives us our kicks.” Added Dave.
“Yes, seeing Bull or Xplode in a wheelchair or on a mortuary slab would be fun.” Replied Luck honestly. Dave himself grasped the rear of his blazer, pulling it down over his black leather belt which held a horn-handled Bowie knife with a polished steel blade against his rear.
It was all getting real out there, and it was just a reminder that the tension between the Commission and the Devils Due was turning from a heated rivalry into a full-scale war. Luck was going to make sure that he would still be able to walk into Scars and Stripes. And he was going to make sure that neither Xplode nor Jack Bull were going to walk out of Sunday Night Vengeance.
=*=*=
The Double Aces
Las Vegas, NV
10:47pm
The elevator pinged. The polished steel doors ornately decorated with flowers upon vines parted gently open, revealing a darkened coridoor decorated with a tiny of violet before their eyes. Luck took in a deep breath, the sweet smells of blood, sweat and gunpowder mingling in his nostrils.
“It will be interesting to see just what he can do for us this Sunday. Who knows, maybe one of his bodyguards can snipe Xplode or Jack Bull in the skull, take them down and allow us an easy victory?” mused Dave, smirking coyly. Both of the Las Vegas Commission stepped out of the elevator and onto the violet shag carpeting, flanked by walls consisting of nothing more than ruby-coloured maple wood decorated with the occasional garish painting of a cubists nightmare, or a print of a naked glamour model. Ahead of them stood a lone wooden door, either side guarded by bodyguards who stood thick and heavy, arms clasped over their waists, black suits clinging and stretching tightly over their bodies, black sunglasses obscuring their eye movements. Behind them and the door was a figure whom, while he wouldn’t be useful in such episodes of direct conflict like those coming up Sunday, would prove to be a key part in the long run.
“I’d like that, but he won’t be helping us physically. He’s always been a man satisfied with sticking behind the scenes. While he won’t necessarily have Bull or Xplode garrotted, he will make sure that we keep our heads at least. No point on walking out on Sunday if those two little peons to Oblivion are going to have an entire gang at their backs. Trust me, it’s a possibility.” Replied Luck calmly.
“Of course it is. But I think Bull is a man much too in love with himself to enlist the help of a biker gang. Remember all the times you’ve faced him before? Pure Championships, Grudge Matches? One common theme from him was that he always delivered the same scathing, self-worshipping speech beforehand. I highly doubt Bulls changed his style. He’s completely incapable of doing so. Hubris, my friend.” Added Dave. Luck gave a small laugh.
“Ah, Hubris. A mechanic slowly approaching Bull. Maybe this Sunday will finally see his downfall following his elongated, bloated expressions of pride?” wondered Luck.
“Same applies to Xplode, Hetty. God knows that guys biggest fan is himself.” Added Dave.
“Of course. Sad that Sundays showdown will be overshadowed by those two posturing assholes. We could spend our times in this damned federation a lot better than taking on two little pricks.” Replied Luck. Both men approached the door, stopping suddenly mere inches away as the bodyguard to their left grasped the silver handle, pushing the office open and motioning them both inside. Luck filed into the office, followed by Dave who was quickly flanked by the two bodyguards.
Lucks eyes scanned the office. A security console displaying the various cameras on the rear wall, posters of attractions from days gone by on the surrounding walls, and a desk just in front of the console. Lucks eyes suddenly met the brown eyes of an African-American man who sat in a violet velvet chair behind his desk.
Josef Nzogbia. A Jamaican native from the town of Portmore who arrived in Las Vegas at the age of fourteen. While some people may see the cheery demeanour, the soulless, bright grin and tight dreadlocks forced up into a bun and immediately force themselves to believe the cliché that he’s a practicing Rastafarian with a partiality to marijuana, Nzogbia couldn’t be further from it: He’s as cold and as ruthless as they come, with a blistering intelligence and silver tongue that could allow him to discuss the theory of creationism with an atheist and turn the atheist into a priest if he so wished. Not to mention that he abstained from drug use, and the Double Aces was the first casino to employ extra security to clamp down on drug use within the casinos.
Luck felt calm in the office. If the Devils Due were skulking around, they would be sniffed out and ejected within the blink of an eye. Not to mention that the guards packed enough heat to turn a mountain into a pebble.
“Hey, Joe. How are things going?” asked Luck politely. Nzogbia. gave a small nod.
“Going very well. Very well. The economy may be hitting us all hard, but people still want to toss their money away in the hopes that they’ll come across an easy win and thus a new life. Couldn’t be further from the truth, but I don’t care! Please, do sit.” Said Nzogbia, waving towards the two chairs in front of his desk. Luck reached into his inside pocket, grasping the barrel of his Colt Python. The bodyguards twitched slightly, reaching into their own suits, but Nzogbia threw his hand up, stopping them instantly. Luck pulled out the Python, simply letting his right arm drop by his side.
“I take it that you don’t like people packing heat in here, so I figured it would be only good manners to give it up.” Replied Luck to a question that hadn’t been asked. Nzogbia simply gave a small nod, flicking his wrist in a circular motion. The bodyguard flanking the right of the door held out his hand, and Luck simply placed the weapon into his palm before strolling forward and sitting down, clasping his hands together. Dave took his seat beside Luck, moving his chair forward.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t packing..Unless you count a Bowie knife as packing?” mused Dave, reaching into the back belt of his pants. Once again, the bodyguards slowly reached into their suits.
“Dammit, will you guys just chill? I’ve known these two since college, and I know they’re not going to put a gun in my mouth and blow my damn brains out! I want both of you to go outside, lock the door, and make sure that none of those fucking disgusting, unbathed, revolting bikers are gambling away their chump change in my beautiful casino!!” snapped Nzogbia. The bodyguards slowly removed their hands from inside their suits, wordlessly shuffling outside the door and locking it with a resounding snap. Nzogbia shuffled back in his seat, sighing happily as Dave set down the thick-bladed knife on the desk.
“So, you two are packing because of Oblivion and Xplode?” asked Nzogbia.
“Mostly Devils Due. Turns out that messing with the two little brothers kind of stirred the hornets nest, and now we’re just making sure that we can walk into the arena on Sunday long enough to send our message.” Replied Dave.
“A Bowie knife. And a Colt Python. Seems like those bikers have a really thick skull, huh?” chuckled Nzogbia. “I heard about your rivalry, Hetty. Pretty nasty stuff. Although I did crack a big ol’ smile when I saw you absolutely dismantle Dante Holly. That’s one of your best traits: You can turn a loss into a victory and a victory into a loss. Poor old Oblivion was so close to crying that the patrons could taste the tears.”
“Of course, now we seem to have awoken his brother. Two brothers who hate eachother, uniting under one common goal..to see that the Las Vegas Commission is destroyed and its very memory wiped from the face of the Earth. Sadly, that just won’t be happening. Although now a third man has entered the fray: Jack Bull.” Replied Luck. Nzogbia linked his fingers together, placing them over his mouth as he scanned Luck carefully with his bright eyes.
“I see.” Muttered Nzogbia quietly.
“We know that whatever Oblivion can do, he WILL do to get back at us. We know that those bikers will be out hunting for our blood. We don’t really give a fuck, because we know that, on Sunday at least, we’ll be pretty much safe as long as we keep our friends close.” Added Dave. “But our carefree attitude does not change the fact that the noose is tightening, and we need at least one place where we can sit back and say: ‘None of those greasy bastards will hurt us.’. We know that something could happen, but we want to reduce our chances. You can sure as hell bet that, come Sunday, it will just add fuel to the fire when we annihilate Xplode and remove him from the grand scheme of things.”
“And you came to me for protection.” Replied Nzogbia.
“No, we came to you because we want to make sure that you’re doing your part in keeping those dogs away.” Reassured Luck.
“Hetty, I don’t mind if you came to me for protection. One snap of my fingers, and I’ll have five bodyguards sent to your house packing RPGs if you so wish. We’ve been friends for a long time, you invested in this place, so just remember that you only have to ask—“
“I’m not asking, though. Although now that you do bring it up, there is one thing I want.” Replied Luck. Nzogbia raised an eyebrow. “I want you to join up with the Las Vegas Commission.”
Nzogbia remained silent for a few seconds, glancing at Luck momentarily before shifting his eyes to Dave, then back to Luck.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Nzogbia.
“I need someone behind-the-scenes who can make sure that we are guarded. I need someone who can ensure that the Devils Due won’t so much as get a sniff of us before we get to Oblivion. I want someone who can make sure that my friends and I remain safe.” replied Luck. Nzogbia looked at him, stroking his chin.
“..What about Dave?” asked Nzogbia.
“Dave wrestles beside me. We ride together, we die together. I don’t want him to be worried about handling several bikers while wrestling at my side.” replied Luck.
“Make no mistake, I can deal with them, but I don’t want to have to deal with an entire army. I want to have Lucks back without having to watch my own. I also don’t want anything happening to Zack. That is why we’re here: Sundays match and the rest of the matches will be easy to handle enough ourselves, but we want a guardian angel.” added Dave.
“So, you can deal with Xplode and Bull, can you?” asked Nzogbia, pouring a glass of Armagnac from out of a polished carafe at the side of his lamp into a already-prepared crystal tumbler over ice and sliding towards Luck who took it gratefully.
“Xplode and Jack Bull will provide absolutely nothing in terms of competition. One is a mere fool, a man whose time has came and gone. A man who has been thoroughly beaten down by his own brother on several occasions, and whom is no more immortal than a tree standing in polluted air. The other is a pile of arrogant shit who can simply be kicked aside like a piece of glass on the sidewalk. A man whose wrestling abilities are at zero and has to rely on brawling like some common thug just to gain an upper hand.” Explained Luck. Nzogbia nodded, slumping back in his seat once more.
“Jack Bull and Xplode. A match that shall provide relatively good income for this casino when we air it on the big screen in the bar, of course. The real question is, though: Can both of you get the job done? Don’t get me wrong, I’m investing my talents into the Commission because I know that both of you are ruthless, and have long since learnt the lesson that if you don’t use someone’s skull as a stepping stone to greatness, then someone else will use your own skull, but Xplode and Jack Bull are no laughing matter. Jack Bull is a former Pure Champion. Xplode is a Hall-Of-Famer.” Nzogbia replied with a tone of hesitation in his face, eagerly awaiting an answer.
“That’s the thing: They’re accomplishments are in the past. So Xplode wears a fancy ring, should that immediately make us frightened? Other has-beens like Oblivion, Warrior, Meltdown and Tom Roberts are also Hall-Of-Famers, does that mean they are dangerous? In their prime, they probably would be, but at this moment in time? They are not. You see, Xplode has fallen into the pit: The rust is showing from the months spent sitting at an announce table, doing nothing but disregarding every single person who has shown their face and acting incredibly fickle in concerns to the talent that passes him by without so much as a passing glance at the old, senile, sour fool. Why do you think he’s in yet another Tag Team Match? Do you think he can take on one of us mano é mano? No, he’s stuck to relying on having a partner because he knows his endurance has been sapped, he’s got all the agility of a peanut, and he needs to be helped along just in case his time spent running his mouth with a bad case of verbal diarrhoea hurt him more than it helped him. Now, this leads us to Jack Bull, and what instantly makes this match a hilarious one: Bull will NEVER reach the true heights of the federation without riding someone’s coat-tails to success. He’s Pure Champion. Wow. Big deal. He’s challenged for the World Championship many times, and yet he always comes up short. He is constantly put in multi-man matches, where all he do is ride the hunters coat-tails until they finish an opponent before scuttling in like a vile rat and making the cover. Oh, and not to mention that every so often he has to grab a handful of tights just to score a victory. Do you think that man poses a threat? Do you think that bawling, shit-talking, uninteresting, unskilled little rat is a threat? He isn’t, Joe. In this match, Xplode will be carrying him. Xplode, a man who is completely unfit and shouldn’t be allowed within several feet of a ring just in case his hip gives way and we have to stand aside and let the stretchers wheel his old ass out into the ambulance. Bull is fucking doomed. He’s scraping his nails on the floor, continuing to whine and pray that someone pities him and gives him his World Championship shot, his one shot at actually becoming a household name and not just some tiny little scuttling rat whose only on posters because he is a stubborn little fuck!” ranted Luck venomously, slamming his tumbler down on the table. “I have seen this man time and time again, and to insinuate that he might just be a threat is a complete and utter fucking insult to me and my friend! He will never be a threat! He will never be a star! All he can do is ride coat-tails to victory! My God, the mans spent time training under Xplode just because he can’t even break through the glass ceiling without hanging onto someone’s back! It’s the two stooges! Xplode and Bull form no threat. It is a case of the decrepit leading the blind. The Las Vegas Commission has had it’s troubles before, yes. It would be purely ignorant to deny it, but this week? It’s nothing. It’s a game. It’s a walk in the park.”
“Look at both men, Joe, and realise that what we are going to do will be no more than difficult than swatting away a fly. Bull? Nothing. Xplode? Nothing. Together, they bring to the table nothing. All they have done is trained together, and the last time they tagged together Abraham Lincoln was running for office. We have tagged together constantly, we train together, we live together, we’re a single unit. What are Bull and Xplode but two little boys playing games while the adults make their claim for fame in the federation?” laughed Dave. “Xplode getting involved and sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong, and Bull desperately clinging onto the hope that aligning himself with Oblivion and Xplode might actually get him famous.”
“Hm. Your words are strong, but for now that’s all they are: Words. Last week, I would have thought both of you would be concerned with winning, but instead you turned the match into nothing more than a street thugs brawl. Give me your words that you will actually try this week, and the Commission will rise further.” muttered Nzogbia. Luck took a quick swig of Armagnac.
“Of course. We will dismantle them, we will destroy them, and we will beat them.” reassured Dave. “But realise that we do not always go for a win. If we can gain a stronger foothold by completely obliterating them without having to score a win, then we will. Just look at Dante Holly.”
On Daves words, Luck reached into the inside pocket of his jacket where the Colt Python was holstered, pulling out a folded piece of red fabric and placing it on the desk in front of Nzogbia. Nzogbia shuffled forwards, taking the piece of lycra between his thumbs and forefingers and stroking the fabric, pulling it apart and looking down at the scabs of blood formed upon it, a dangerous and sadistic reminder of the day that the Las Vegas Commission shed the final scrap of skin of its merciful nature and adopted a cunning ruthlessness that would result in their ever-growing infamy to this very day.
“Just look at him. You are looking at the face, hopes and dreams of Dante Holly: Ended at our hands. Jack Bull, Xplode, Oblivion..All will share the same fate, trampled beneath the feet of the Legion as it marches to the top of the mountain.” muttered Luck darkly, draining the final drops of amber Armagnac from the crystal tumbler. Nzogbia flicked the mask towards Luck, clapping his hands together and pushing his chair away from his desk, getting to his feet and extending a hand. Luck rose to his feet instantly and shook it, placing his other hand over the back of Nzogbias hand.
“My friend, may your ruthlessness guide you to victory or Valhalla against Bull and Xplode. Rest assured I will remain backstage to ensure that none of those filthy, disgusting bikers get their hands on you.” assured Nzogbia. Luck gave a small smirk, nodding thankfully as Dave got to his feet.
“Thank you, Joe.” thanked Luck. Dave extended his hand, which Nzogbia quickly shook.
“Best of luck, my friends, and here’s hoping you can end this war on Sunday!” exclaimed Nzogbia cheerily.
“End it? My friend, come Sunday, this war will have only just begun.” chuckled Dave.
=*=*=
Las Vegas Strip
Las Vegas, NV
11:51pm
The heat of the Nevada sun was extinguished as the dark violet blanket of night covered the Las Vegas sky and cast a cool breeze down upon the glittering Las Vegas Strip as Luck and Dave exited the Double Aces, turning right to walk down the concrete slabs that glittered as if they were made of precious metal.
The surroundings of the strip glowed down a shade of gold and red down upon them, drowning out the stars in the sky and replacing them with their own shining light. Lucks back was straight, his head held high as he walked down the strip, feeling the warmth of the neon lights of his hometown glow down upon him. Daves steps were slightly heavier, slightly more reluctant.
“Sunday Bloody Sunday..” muttered Dave.
“It will be, friend. It will be bloody.” replied Luck.
“Even after all the times you’ve faced Bull and lost to him, you’re still confident that you can pick up the win here?” asked Dave.
“Of course I am, my friend, because not only will I have you at my back bearing down upon the rat, but because I know that all Bull will bring to the ring as a tongue of copper and a fist of paper. I fear plenty of things: Death, taxes, the thought of losing my money, but I never have and never will fear Jack Bull. The same for Xplode as well.” replied Luck.
“Look around us though, Hetty: We’re in the middle of a war. The battle lines have been drawn. Bull’s on us, Xplode’s on us. Even Las Vegas doesn’t seem safe. This Sunday, we’re walking into a hostile environment yet again. Are you truly fearless?” asked Dave. Luck stopped suddenly, causing Dave to stop too, looking back at him. Luck simply gave a small grin, the pearly whites in his mouth highlighted by the golden neon that bathed the strip.
“Let me tell you something, friend. Come Sunday, Bull and Xplode will walk into that ring, knowing that the odds are in their favour. They will stroll in, calm as a cucumber, knowing that Oblivion and the Devils Due could ride in at any second and snatch victory for them from the jaws of defeat. They will look at us, and they will laugh. We are in a hostile environment, yes, and we are surrounded by people who hate our guts. We’ve got the support of a man with paper for a spine, and we can’t really defend ourselves against an army of leather-clad thugs, can we? But I’ve come to terms with something, my friend: My own mortality. Look at me, Dave. Look at me. My father has a genetic condition that will make his ticker break down around the age of eighty. I was told that when I was nineteen, and you know what? I don’t really care. I know I’m going to die. I know that I can lose matches. I know that a stupid biker could rev his engine going past me, put twenty Ingram Mac bullets in my spine and just kill me without blinking. I know Jack Bull and Xplode might beat me. I know they want to hurt me, but guess what? Only the ignorant walk into wars like these and think that they’ll walk out without scars. I know war is coming, friend, and I know that Xplode and Jack Bull are going to try everything they can to decimate us. I know that Xplode wants to secure his brothers safety, and I know Bull wants to secure his place in history, but guess what? Just guess what?” asked Luck.
Dave opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a passerby strolled past both of them, his eyes catching sight of Luck.
“Hey, Mister Luck! Keep fighting the good fight, man! Don’t let the vocal minority get you down, you’ve got the support of Vegas, champ!” hollered the passerby, slapping Luck on the shoulder before walking off.
Dave watched as he did. That was when he realised just what Luck was alluding to.
“..We’ve already secured our places in history. We’re just digging the chisel further.” answered Dave.
“Exactly.” replied Luck. “We could die tonight, we could tomorrow, but even if we do, one things for sure: We’ve already secured our infamy. Sunday will just be another battle, with both of us against the world. Do you fear it, Dave?”
“No. Only the cowards and the fools believe that they will leave a war unscathed.” answered Dave calmly. Luck strolled forward, slapping both his hands on Daves giant shoulders.
“And that is what seperates us from Bull and Xplode. We know and accept our fate. Someone has yet to teach them theirs.”
Las Vegas, NV
9:35 pm
In this small, compact room deep within the bowels of the mansion that hung over and watched Las Vegas like a nameless, faceless guardian, the four members of the Las Vegas Commission were sat around a varnished table cut from oak. Within the middle of this table, embossed deep within the grain, was the graphic of crossed sabers in front of two pairs of dice displaying ‘Snake Eyes’, double ones, with the words ‘Las Vegas Commission’ embossed underneath it. Over this graphic lay a leather-clad briefcase, a briefcase which held the contract that Mister Luck had won just weeks prior at Brawl for it All.
Dave leant forward, grasping the handle of the briefcase and pulling it towards him before thrusting his wooden seat out, dragging it along the ruby-red carpet and standing up, effectively symbolizing the briefcase as a conch, granting the holder the ability to speak to his peers.
This wasn’t just a regular meeting to discuss finances, this was a meeting for war. This was a meeting regarding the fiery conflict raging between the Las Vegas Commission and Oblivion and his company. This Sunday, the company they would be facing was a group known hilariously as Chaos Theory, a group combining the charmless vacuum known as Xplode with the man who has all the social charm and intelligence of a tick, Jack Bull.
“Come Sunday, we are going to have more than our fair share of problems in handling Xplode. With Jack Bull now entering the mix, this has strayed from the preferable one-on-one scenario with Xplode or Oblivion, and has now spilled over to include several of Oblivions lackeys, since he cannot defend himself nor victor in singles competition. It is crucial that we destroy both Bull and Xplode to ensure that they can no longer interfere in wars that are not their own. Bull is simply getting involved because he is a arrogant pile of shit, and it’s time that we finally shut him up by force!” exclaimed Dave.
Luck, sat at the head of the table with his hand rested on his chin and over his lips, was sat back in his chair, swallowed deep in the abyss of thought.
It was his job as the leader of this outlaw posse to ensure that victory would come Sunday, and that true victory against Oblivion would follow. However, Luck found himself swallowed more and more by inane, violent thoughts which had become difficult to control. He often found himself waking up at the strangest hours of the morning in a cold sweat, having dreamed of becoming a whirling dervish of fury and anger, smiting all those who oppose him. More than one dream has been of his own body cast asunder into a blood-red river after being slain, but Luck had locked away these dreams and swallowed the key.
He couldn’t afford to show weakness. He knew the noose was tightening, but only a fool and a coward believed that their end wouldn’t come. Luck had already embraced the fact that playing with fire was going to get him burnt, but he so loved the feeling of the flames licking his tender skin. After all, wasn’t that what wrestling was all about? Digging deep under the skin of your opponent like a Botfly maggot, digging deeper and deeper into the hot flesh until your opponent sobs and gives up, doing their best to scratch you out. You did everything you could to survive in this business: If that meant mentally destroying an opponent by taking a woman your enemy loves and holding her hostage, then so be it. Why were they so surprised that Luck would resort to doing so?
Jack Bull and Xplode are just two more idiots in the farcical parade of wrestling: When will they wake up and realise that this isn’t the Boy Scouts? There are no unwritten codes of honor in wrestling. You show up, you beat the living snot out of your opponent, and you collect your paycheck and ride into the sunset. There is no prize for ‘Best behaved troop’. It’s the survival of the strongest and most ruthless out there, not the people who run around in polished armor, waving their broadswords and displaying their Templar banner while pretending to be the defenders of all that is good and righteous.
That is what truly irritated Luck the most: Oblivion still believed he was the innocent one in the grand scheme of things. Oblivion believed he was pure. Oblivion believed that smiting the Las Vegas Commission and costing them the titles would be the end of the road. How could one man be so incredibly dense? Not only that, but now everyone was getting involved to help Oblivion, as evidenced by Sundays match. The entire situation had taken an irritating turn with Jack Bull now getting involved, a man who has been and probably always will be an infection upon Lucks back. All Luck wanted was to grab Oblivion by the neck and choke the life from him, but now Luck has to deal with someone who is the single most irritating person on the roster. A man he had faced several times before, and had absolutely no desire to face again.
Luck swallowed, shrugged off the tightening noose, and twitched two fingers towards him, allowing Dave to slide the briefcase across the table and towards Luck who slammed his palm down upon the leather, stopping its movement and slowly looking up across the dimmed room, specifically focusing on Zack who was sat opposite him, a face that showed no fear nor apprehension. Luck felt encouraged that even the one who was perceived as the weakest of the team wasn’t showing regret nor mercy.
“Enough of messing around and playing games that schoolchildren would enjoy. Around this table, we all know that the Devils Due are out hunting for us, and we all know that one day, a rogue member could beat us, cripple us..maybe even kill us if we walk down the road. While I pray within the deepest annals of my cold, cold heart that this never happens and that there is no risk of this happening, it is now time to ensure that we have friends in the right places and the right people watching out for us. Now, we have Bull entering the fray. The importance of this is that the brainwashing tendencies of Xplode and Oblivion are clear with Bulls involvement, as they drag him into a war which he has absolutely no business in. It is time that we mobilise the troops and begin the process of wiping this planet of the life unworthy of life. We start with Jack Bull and Xplode on Sunday. We show them what war is like. We give them nothing more than hell. It is time that they are torn apart by the iron claw of the Commission.” Explained Luck calmly. Zack coughed, causing Luck to thrust the suitcase across the table with such force that it landed into Zacks lap. Zack grasped the suitcase, quickly setting it onto the table.
“While I agree with the notion of recruiting more members of the Commission, I believe our current focus should be on Sunday. Both you and Dave MUST focus on the match at hand: Sunday is make or break, and any bit of momentum is precious to you following the upcoming showdown at Scars and Stripes. THAT has to be your number one priority! Xplode and Jack Bull aren’t just pushovers: Jack Bulls taken you to the limit repeatedly, while Xplode showed what he was capable of last week. It can’t be a double disqualification this week, gentlemen, we HAVE to finish the job. We have to do this effectively or not at all. If we are to eradicate our enemies, then we are to do it through a mixture of humiliating defeats and systematic executions of those who stand before us, and not just a violent brawl to end a match. Remember Dante Holly. Remember the blood we spilt of his. It is time that Bull or Xplode received the same treatment this week!” exclaimed Zack, tapping the table with his index finger as he spoke to further exclaim his points. Luck gave a small nod, flicking his fingers towards him and causing Zack to slide the suitcase back across the table, stopping just short of Luck.
“Of course it’s the priority. After all, me and Dave have already trained physically and mentally for this battle. We are prepared to go to war. However, knowing that we are secure in our own home, as opposed to waiting for the hornets to strike. Rest assured, Sunday has already been taken care of in terms of planning.” Replied Luck sharply, twisting his left arm and sliding the suitcase towards Amber. Amber placed her hands on it, looking around the table before stopping at Luck, her eyes fixated on him.
“And what is your plan, Hetty? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Xplode and Jack Bull isn’t exactly the best team to be facing with the prospect of facing Oblivion just around the corner. Veterans are feasting on you, but the question is: Can you feed on the veterans?” Snapped Amber, swiftly sliding the suitcase back to Luck who slammed his palms down upon it to stop it from hitting his chest.
“Of course I can feed on them, for my plan is simple: Complete and total decimation.” Replied Luck simply, sliding the suitcase over to Dave and leaning back further in his seat, setting his sock-clad feet upon the table and crossing them over eachother as he placed his arms behind the back of his head, sitting comfortably.
“That’s the plan. Me and Luck are going to wrestle as well as we can while also making it our job to pound them down. This match is about sending a message to two old assholes about who the new dogs are. Xplode walks around with his nuts stuck out, thinking that he’s some kind of big shot, when the fact is that when he walks to that ring, he’s going to meet a damn near unstoppable force. Jack Bull is the worst of the worst: A pathetic little runt who walks around, spewing off about how he’s the best before whining and complaining about his current situation, a runt who seems to think that he holds some kind of leverage within the company, when in fact if it wasn’t for Xplode carrying him both in that ring and in training, he’d be about as useful as a fucking teaspoon against a rhino. Bull and Xplode combined? You have two men who are a swarm of locusts: A pest, but not much in terms of damage. Something quite easy to scratch away. Take out Xplode, and Bull will be lost. They will expect us both to be focused solely on victory, when in fact all we want to do is to ground him into a fine powder. I believe that this can work wonders for us.” Explained Dave. Zack coughed against, causing Dave to swing the briefcase lightly towards him. The bronze catches scraped the varnish as Zack grasped it, pulling it greedily towards him.
“I do admire your talk, but I hope and pray that you put this plan into action and follow it. it would be hugely demoralizing to Oblivion, and it might just send Xplode back into retirement while finally shutting the giant mouth of Jack Bull. I do, however, see the benefits of possibly crippling both men. After all, what could be better than sending another message like the one we sent along with Dante Holly’s broken body?” Replied Zack, sliding the briefcase across the table and against Lucks feet. Luck lifted his feet slightly, propping them up on the suitcase.
“There is still one more thing that I want to do, and that is to talk to an old friend of mine down in Vegas. There will be no ifs, ands or buts: Dave, you’re coming with me. Zack, you and Amber stay here.” Commanded Luck. Amber gave a small, whining snort.
“Why? Why do I have to stay here??” asked Amber, slamming her palms roughly on the table. “I’m your damn public relations woman!”
“The person is a friend of mine, not of yours. Besides, I could use a drink. God knows I’ve been abstaining in preparation of fighting those two.” Replied Luck.
“So, is the meeting over?” asked Amber.
“The meeting is over. We have nothing more to say. In concerns to this match, I could act like Jack Bull with Dave as my Xplode and talk for several hours about how much I’m going to win, my words interspersed with some forced humour or perhaps a catchphrase thought up one day while on the can, but I won’t. You see, unlike Jack Bull, I’m going to win this week through skill, and not by whining and bitching for Xplode…or rather, Dave, to pick up the slack so he can carry the team to a win. Not only that, but I don’t plan to be the same old fucking disappointment Bull is whenever he steps in the ring for a high-profile match. God knows I’ll try not to whine like a little bitch if I lose either and blame it on the ring or Sarah Thompson.” Muttered Luck.
Luck yawned, stretching his arms and pushing himself away from the table, leaning over it, kissing his palm and slapping it upon the embossed graphic, strolling towards the lone wooden door in the north-east corner of the room and grasping the bronze handle, nodding at Dave before opening it and sliding through into the darkness. He groped out beside him, switching the light into the entrance hallway and filling it with a burning bright light.
He strolled towards the twin set of maple doors that separated the mansion from the harsh world outside, stopping beside a coatrack and grasping a fedora to compliment his already pressed black suit and turquoise tie, slipping it upon his head. Even though he was confident now, and thankful to be leaving the mansion in favour of meeting a friend, Luck still felt apprehension wringing his gut dry. After all, could a biker be waiting in the shadows, ready to stab him in the chest? Could a trip down Las Vegas be dangerous? Could he be just one wrong turn away from being beaten and left for dead on the sidewalk, where he knew half of Las Vegas would spit on him?
In some ways, it was a glorious thing to behold: This rivalry, this upcoming match at Scars and Stripes had transcended the very boundaries of competition and had became something that everyone was interested in. It had become like a Hollywood film, with women captured, men beaten and left for dead, and promises of violence and swift retribution, with Luck himself in the starring role. His trademark arrogant grin once again crossed his lips, but it slowly faded as he realised just how serious it had become.
“Is everything alright?” asked a young, tired, tender voice from behind him. Luck spun around on his Cuban heels, noticing a tired Ava, wearing pink pyjamas, stood at the foot of the spiral staircase several feet away from the doors to the outside. Luck slowly strolled over, flattening the brim of his fedora and squatting down opposite her, looking into her eyes and placing a hand on her head.
“Go get some sleep, alright? I have to go meet with someone.” Said Luck quietly.
“..Be careful. I know that your match this Sunday is going to be hard..and I don’t want you getting hurt..Xplode and Bull want to hurt you…and they want those bikers to hurt you too..” whined Ava.
“I know, sis..I know. Just go get some sleep, alright? I won’t be gone for too long. I promise.” Replied Luck. “Don’t worry about Bull or Xplode. Just remember that all they can do is talk a good game, but when it comes to bringing the talent, they are utterly incapable of doing so.”
“Cross your heart?” asked Ava. Luck gave a small smirk, crossing his thumb over his heart.
“Cross my heart. I don’t want to get into trouble anyway, because when Sunday comes, I’ve got to go and defeat those bad men. I have to go and stop them from hurting my friends.” Replied Luck.
“I hope Xplode doesn’t hurt you..I like him, but he’s mean..” grumbled Ava. Luck gave a small laugh. “…I don’t like Jack Bull either…”
“I know, but all will be sorted come Sunday. Go get some sleep.” Said Luck, leaning up and kissing her forehead. Ava kissed his forehead lightly, turning around and strolling back up the staircase. Luck watched as the embodiment of innocence did so, pushing himself onto his feet and turning around, strolling towards the door as the lumbering form of Dave stomped through, pulling a pinstriped blazer over his thick, muscular frame.
“She up? She worried?” asked Dave.
“Yeah, she’s worried. I don’t know why, because it’s not like this match is going to be any competition. I’m telling you, Dave, I’ve faced Jack Bull so many times that I know what he’s like: A giant arrogant crybaby with unwarranted self importance. As for Xplode? Well, he didn’t seem to do much in the last match other than fling punches and try and go for the Drop Zone repeatedly.” Replied Luck.
“You can see why she’s worried though: Walking into Vegas with those assholes hanging around like buzzards. Wouldn’t surprise me if Bull decided to put on a leather jacket and induct himself into Oblivions own little Suck My Dick And Bow Down club.” Muttered Dave darkly.
“Wouldn’t surprise me either. Of course, we do have to make arrangements about the buzzards..” muttered Luck, unbuttoning his black blazer and reaching into one of the silk-lined inner pockets, pulling out a Colt Python revolver with a six-inch barrel which gleamed in the moonlight which lightly trickled through a window above the door. Luck gave a small sigh, pulling out the cylinder and looking at it, ensuring each chamber was loaded before sliding it back into the revolver and activating the safety, slipping it back into his pocket.
“What? You plan to shoot someone?” asked Dave.
“Self defence. This entire saga has made me realise just how seriously most of these inbred hicks take wrestling. Homo sapiens fought itself to the top of the food chain, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting the walking, talking equivalent of a fucking cucumber take me down.” Replied Luck.
“I know what you mean. When we walk into the ring this Sunday, people are going to be hating our very guts. That’ll give Bull and Xplode something to smile about..but I guess we should make it our job to wipe the smiles from their faces..After all, that’s what gives us our kicks.” Added Dave.
“Yes, seeing Bull or Xplode in a wheelchair or on a mortuary slab would be fun.” Replied Luck honestly. Dave himself grasped the rear of his blazer, pulling it down over his black leather belt which held a horn-handled Bowie knife with a polished steel blade against his rear.
It was all getting real out there, and it was just a reminder that the tension between the Commission and the Devils Due was turning from a heated rivalry into a full-scale war. Luck was going to make sure that he would still be able to walk into Scars and Stripes. And he was going to make sure that neither Xplode nor Jack Bull were going to walk out of Sunday Night Vengeance.
=*=*=
The Double Aces
Las Vegas, NV
10:47pm
The elevator pinged. The polished steel doors ornately decorated with flowers upon vines parted gently open, revealing a darkened coridoor decorated with a tiny of violet before their eyes. Luck took in a deep breath, the sweet smells of blood, sweat and gunpowder mingling in his nostrils.
“It will be interesting to see just what he can do for us this Sunday. Who knows, maybe one of his bodyguards can snipe Xplode or Jack Bull in the skull, take them down and allow us an easy victory?” mused Dave, smirking coyly. Both of the Las Vegas Commission stepped out of the elevator and onto the violet shag carpeting, flanked by walls consisting of nothing more than ruby-coloured maple wood decorated with the occasional garish painting of a cubists nightmare, or a print of a naked glamour model. Ahead of them stood a lone wooden door, either side guarded by bodyguards who stood thick and heavy, arms clasped over their waists, black suits clinging and stretching tightly over their bodies, black sunglasses obscuring their eye movements. Behind them and the door was a figure whom, while he wouldn’t be useful in such episodes of direct conflict like those coming up Sunday, would prove to be a key part in the long run.
“I’d like that, but he won’t be helping us physically. He’s always been a man satisfied with sticking behind the scenes. While he won’t necessarily have Bull or Xplode garrotted, he will make sure that we keep our heads at least. No point on walking out on Sunday if those two little peons to Oblivion are going to have an entire gang at their backs. Trust me, it’s a possibility.” Replied Luck calmly.
“Of course it is. But I think Bull is a man much too in love with himself to enlist the help of a biker gang. Remember all the times you’ve faced him before? Pure Championships, Grudge Matches? One common theme from him was that he always delivered the same scathing, self-worshipping speech beforehand. I highly doubt Bulls changed his style. He’s completely incapable of doing so. Hubris, my friend.” Added Dave. Luck gave a small laugh.
“Ah, Hubris. A mechanic slowly approaching Bull. Maybe this Sunday will finally see his downfall following his elongated, bloated expressions of pride?” wondered Luck.
“Same applies to Xplode, Hetty. God knows that guys biggest fan is himself.” Added Dave.
“Of course. Sad that Sundays showdown will be overshadowed by those two posturing assholes. We could spend our times in this damned federation a lot better than taking on two little pricks.” Replied Luck. Both men approached the door, stopping suddenly mere inches away as the bodyguard to their left grasped the silver handle, pushing the office open and motioning them both inside. Luck filed into the office, followed by Dave who was quickly flanked by the two bodyguards.
Lucks eyes scanned the office. A security console displaying the various cameras on the rear wall, posters of attractions from days gone by on the surrounding walls, and a desk just in front of the console. Lucks eyes suddenly met the brown eyes of an African-American man who sat in a violet velvet chair behind his desk.
Josef Nzogbia. A Jamaican native from the town of Portmore who arrived in Las Vegas at the age of fourteen. While some people may see the cheery demeanour, the soulless, bright grin and tight dreadlocks forced up into a bun and immediately force themselves to believe the cliché that he’s a practicing Rastafarian with a partiality to marijuana, Nzogbia couldn’t be further from it: He’s as cold and as ruthless as they come, with a blistering intelligence and silver tongue that could allow him to discuss the theory of creationism with an atheist and turn the atheist into a priest if he so wished. Not to mention that he abstained from drug use, and the Double Aces was the first casino to employ extra security to clamp down on drug use within the casinos.
Luck felt calm in the office. If the Devils Due were skulking around, they would be sniffed out and ejected within the blink of an eye. Not to mention that the guards packed enough heat to turn a mountain into a pebble.
“Hey, Joe. How are things going?” asked Luck politely. Nzogbia. gave a small nod.
“Going very well. Very well. The economy may be hitting us all hard, but people still want to toss their money away in the hopes that they’ll come across an easy win and thus a new life. Couldn’t be further from the truth, but I don’t care! Please, do sit.” Said Nzogbia, waving towards the two chairs in front of his desk. Luck reached into his inside pocket, grasping the barrel of his Colt Python. The bodyguards twitched slightly, reaching into their own suits, but Nzogbia threw his hand up, stopping them instantly. Luck pulled out the Python, simply letting his right arm drop by his side.
“I take it that you don’t like people packing heat in here, so I figured it would be only good manners to give it up.” Replied Luck to a question that hadn’t been asked. Nzogbia simply gave a small nod, flicking his wrist in a circular motion. The bodyguard flanking the right of the door held out his hand, and Luck simply placed the weapon into his palm before strolling forward and sitting down, clasping his hands together. Dave took his seat beside Luck, moving his chair forward.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t packing..Unless you count a Bowie knife as packing?” mused Dave, reaching into the back belt of his pants. Once again, the bodyguards slowly reached into their suits.
“Dammit, will you guys just chill? I’ve known these two since college, and I know they’re not going to put a gun in my mouth and blow my damn brains out! I want both of you to go outside, lock the door, and make sure that none of those fucking disgusting, unbathed, revolting bikers are gambling away their chump change in my beautiful casino!!” snapped Nzogbia. The bodyguards slowly removed their hands from inside their suits, wordlessly shuffling outside the door and locking it with a resounding snap. Nzogbia shuffled back in his seat, sighing happily as Dave set down the thick-bladed knife on the desk.
“So, you two are packing because of Oblivion and Xplode?” asked Nzogbia.
“Mostly Devils Due. Turns out that messing with the two little brothers kind of stirred the hornets nest, and now we’re just making sure that we can walk into the arena on Sunday long enough to send our message.” Replied Dave.
“A Bowie knife. And a Colt Python. Seems like those bikers have a really thick skull, huh?” chuckled Nzogbia. “I heard about your rivalry, Hetty. Pretty nasty stuff. Although I did crack a big ol’ smile when I saw you absolutely dismantle Dante Holly. That’s one of your best traits: You can turn a loss into a victory and a victory into a loss. Poor old Oblivion was so close to crying that the patrons could taste the tears.”
“Of course, now we seem to have awoken his brother. Two brothers who hate eachother, uniting under one common goal..to see that the Las Vegas Commission is destroyed and its very memory wiped from the face of the Earth. Sadly, that just won’t be happening. Although now a third man has entered the fray: Jack Bull.” Replied Luck. Nzogbia linked his fingers together, placing them over his mouth as he scanned Luck carefully with his bright eyes.
“I see.” Muttered Nzogbia quietly.
“We know that whatever Oblivion can do, he WILL do to get back at us. We know that those bikers will be out hunting for our blood. We don’t really give a fuck, because we know that, on Sunday at least, we’ll be pretty much safe as long as we keep our friends close.” Added Dave. “But our carefree attitude does not change the fact that the noose is tightening, and we need at least one place where we can sit back and say: ‘None of those greasy bastards will hurt us.’. We know that something could happen, but we want to reduce our chances. You can sure as hell bet that, come Sunday, it will just add fuel to the fire when we annihilate Xplode and remove him from the grand scheme of things.”
“And you came to me for protection.” Replied Nzogbia.
“No, we came to you because we want to make sure that you’re doing your part in keeping those dogs away.” Reassured Luck.
“Hetty, I don’t mind if you came to me for protection. One snap of my fingers, and I’ll have five bodyguards sent to your house packing RPGs if you so wish. We’ve been friends for a long time, you invested in this place, so just remember that you only have to ask—“
“I’m not asking, though. Although now that you do bring it up, there is one thing I want.” Replied Luck. Nzogbia raised an eyebrow. “I want you to join up with the Las Vegas Commission.”
Nzogbia remained silent for a few seconds, glancing at Luck momentarily before shifting his eyes to Dave, then back to Luck.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Nzogbia.
“I need someone behind-the-scenes who can make sure that we are guarded. I need someone who can ensure that the Devils Due won’t so much as get a sniff of us before we get to Oblivion. I want someone who can make sure that my friends and I remain safe.” replied Luck. Nzogbia looked at him, stroking his chin.
“..What about Dave?” asked Nzogbia.
“Dave wrestles beside me. We ride together, we die together. I don’t want him to be worried about handling several bikers while wrestling at my side.” replied Luck.
“Make no mistake, I can deal with them, but I don’t want to have to deal with an entire army. I want to have Lucks back without having to watch my own. I also don’t want anything happening to Zack. That is why we’re here: Sundays match and the rest of the matches will be easy to handle enough ourselves, but we want a guardian angel.” added Dave.
“So, you can deal with Xplode and Bull, can you?” asked Nzogbia, pouring a glass of Armagnac from out of a polished carafe at the side of his lamp into a already-prepared crystal tumbler over ice and sliding towards Luck who took it gratefully.
“Xplode and Jack Bull will provide absolutely nothing in terms of competition. One is a mere fool, a man whose time has came and gone. A man who has been thoroughly beaten down by his own brother on several occasions, and whom is no more immortal than a tree standing in polluted air. The other is a pile of arrogant shit who can simply be kicked aside like a piece of glass on the sidewalk. A man whose wrestling abilities are at zero and has to rely on brawling like some common thug just to gain an upper hand.” Explained Luck. Nzogbia nodded, slumping back in his seat once more.
“Jack Bull and Xplode. A match that shall provide relatively good income for this casino when we air it on the big screen in the bar, of course. The real question is, though: Can both of you get the job done? Don’t get me wrong, I’m investing my talents into the Commission because I know that both of you are ruthless, and have long since learnt the lesson that if you don’t use someone’s skull as a stepping stone to greatness, then someone else will use your own skull, but Xplode and Jack Bull are no laughing matter. Jack Bull is a former Pure Champion. Xplode is a Hall-Of-Famer.” Nzogbia replied with a tone of hesitation in his face, eagerly awaiting an answer.
“That’s the thing: They’re accomplishments are in the past. So Xplode wears a fancy ring, should that immediately make us frightened? Other has-beens like Oblivion, Warrior, Meltdown and Tom Roberts are also Hall-Of-Famers, does that mean they are dangerous? In their prime, they probably would be, but at this moment in time? They are not. You see, Xplode has fallen into the pit: The rust is showing from the months spent sitting at an announce table, doing nothing but disregarding every single person who has shown their face and acting incredibly fickle in concerns to the talent that passes him by without so much as a passing glance at the old, senile, sour fool. Why do you think he’s in yet another Tag Team Match? Do you think he can take on one of us mano é mano? No, he’s stuck to relying on having a partner because he knows his endurance has been sapped, he’s got all the agility of a peanut, and he needs to be helped along just in case his time spent running his mouth with a bad case of verbal diarrhoea hurt him more than it helped him. Now, this leads us to Jack Bull, and what instantly makes this match a hilarious one: Bull will NEVER reach the true heights of the federation without riding someone’s coat-tails to success. He’s Pure Champion. Wow. Big deal. He’s challenged for the World Championship many times, and yet he always comes up short. He is constantly put in multi-man matches, where all he do is ride the hunters coat-tails until they finish an opponent before scuttling in like a vile rat and making the cover. Oh, and not to mention that every so often he has to grab a handful of tights just to score a victory. Do you think that man poses a threat? Do you think that bawling, shit-talking, uninteresting, unskilled little rat is a threat? He isn’t, Joe. In this match, Xplode will be carrying him. Xplode, a man who is completely unfit and shouldn’t be allowed within several feet of a ring just in case his hip gives way and we have to stand aside and let the stretchers wheel his old ass out into the ambulance. Bull is fucking doomed. He’s scraping his nails on the floor, continuing to whine and pray that someone pities him and gives him his World Championship shot, his one shot at actually becoming a household name and not just some tiny little scuttling rat whose only on posters because he is a stubborn little fuck!” ranted Luck venomously, slamming his tumbler down on the table. “I have seen this man time and time again, and to insinuate that he might just be a threat is a complete and utter fucking insult to me and my friend! He will never be a threat! He will never be a star! All he can do is ride coat-tails to victory! My God, the mans spent time training under Xplode just because he can’t even break through the glass ceiling without hanging onto someone’s back! It’s the two stooges! Xplode and Bull form no threat. It is a case of the decrepit leading the blind. The Las Vegas Commission has had it’s troubles before, yes. It would be purely ignorant to deny it, but this week? It’s nothing. It’s a game. It’s a walk in the park.”
“Look at both men, Joe, and realise that what we are going to do will be no more than difficult than swatting away a fly. Bull? Nothing. Xplode? Nothing. Together, they bring to the table nothing. All they have done is trained together, and the last time they tagged together Abraham Lincoln was running for office. We have tagged together constantly, we train together, we live together, we’re a single unit. What are Bull and Xplode but two little boys playing games while the adults make their claim for fame in the federation?” laughed Dave. “Xplode getting involved and sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong, and Bull desperately clinging onto the hope that aligning himself with Oblivion and Xplode might actually get him famous.”
“Hm. Your words are strong, but for now that’s all they are: Words. Last week, I would have thought both of you would be concerned with winning, but instead you turned the match into nothing more than a street thugs brawl. Give me your words that you will actually try this week, and the Commission will rise further.” muttered Nzogbia. Luck took a quick swig of Armagnac.
“Of course. We will dismantle them, we will destroy them, and we will beat them.” reassured Dave. “But realise that we do not always go for a win. If we can gain a stronger foothold by completely obliterating them without having to score a win, then we will. Just look at Dante Holly.”
On Daves words, Luck reached into the inside pocket of his jacket where the Colt Python was holstered, pulling out a folded piece of red fabric and placing it on the desk in front of Nzogbia. Nzogbia shuffled forwards, taking the piece of lycra between his thumbs and forefingers and stroking the fabric, pulling it apart and looking down at the scabs of blood formed upon it, a dangerous and sadistic reminder of the day that the Las Vegas Commission shed the final scrap of skin of its merciful nature and adopted a cunning ruthlessness that would result in their ever-growing infamy to this very day.
“Just look at him. You are looking at the face, hopes and dreams of Dante Holly: Ended at our hands. Jack Bull, Xplode, Oblivion..All will share the same fate, trampled beneath the feet of the Legion as it marches to the top of the mountain.” muttered Luck darkly, draining the final drops of amber Armagnac from the crystal tumbler. Nzogbia flicked the mask towards Luck, clapping his hands together and pushing his chair away from his desk, getting to his feet and extending a hand. Luck rose to his feet instantly and shook it, placing his other hand over the back of Nzogbias hand.
“My friend, may your ruthlessness guide you to victory or Valhalla against Bull and Xplode. Rest assured I will remain backstage to ensure that none of those filthy, disgusting bikers get their hands on you.” assured Nzogbia. Luck gave a small smirk, nodding thankfully as Dave got to his feet.
“Thank you, Joe.” thanked Luck. Dave extended his hand, which Nzogbia quickly shook.
“Best of luck, my friends, and here’s hoping you can end this war on Sunday!” exclaimed Nzogbia cheerily.
“End it? My friend, come Sunday, this war will have only just begun.” chuckled Dave.
=*=*=
Las Vegas Strip
Las Vegas, NV
11:51pm
The heat of the Nevada sun was extinguished as the dark violet blanket of night covered the Las Vegas sky and cast a cool breeze down upon the glittering Las Vegas Strip as Luck and Dave exited the Double Aces, turning right to walk down the concrete slabs that glittered as if they were made of precious metal.
The surroundings of the strip glowed down a shade of gold and red down upon them, drowning out the stars in the sky and replacing them with their own shining light. Lucks back was straight, his head held high as he walked down the strip, feeling the warmth of the neon lights of his hometown glow down upon him. Daves steps were slightly heavier, slightly more reluctant.
“Sunday Bloody Sunday..” muttered Dave.
“It will be, friend. It will be bloody.” replied Luck.
“Even after all the times you’ve faced Bull and lost to him, you’re still confident that you can pick up the win here?” asked Dave.
“Of course I am, my friend, because not only will I have you at my back bearing down upon the rat, but because I know that all Bull will bring to the ring as a tongue of copper and a fist of paper. I fear plenty of things: Death, taxes, the thought of losing my money, but I never have and never will fear Jack Bull. The same for Xplode as well.” replied Luck.
“Look around us though, Hetty: We’re in the middle of a war. The battle lines have been drawn. Bull’s on us, Xplode’s on us. Even Las Vegas doesn’t seem safe. This Sunday, we’re walking into a hostile environment yet again. Are you truly fearless?” asked Dave. Luck stopped suddenly, causing Dave to stop too, looking back at him. Luck simply gave a small grin, the pearly whites in his mouth highlighted by the golden neon that bathed the strip.
“Let me tell you something, friend. Come Sunday, Bull and Xplode will walk into that ring, knowing that the odds are in their favour. They will stroll in, calm as a cucumber, knowing that Oblivion and the Devils Due could ride in at any second and snatch victory for them from the jaws of defeat. They will look at us, and they will laugh. We are in a hostile environment, yes, and we are surrounded by people who hate our guts. We’ve got the support of a man with paper for a spine, and we can’t really defend ourselves against an army of leather-clad thugs, can we? But I’ve come to terms with something, my friend: My own mortality. Look at me, Dave. Look at me. My father has a genetic condition that will make his ticker break down around the age of eighty. I was told that when I was nineteen, and you know what? I don’t really care. I know I’m going to die. I know that I can lose matches. I know that a stupid biker could rev his engine going past me, put twenty Ingram Mac bullets in my spine and just kill me without blinking. I know Jack Bull and Xplode might beat me. I know they want to hurt me, but guess what? Only the ignorant walk into wars like these and think that they’ll walk out without scars. I know war is coming, friend, and I know that Xplode and Jack Bull are going to try everything they can to decimate us. I know that Xplode wants to secure his brothers safety, and I know Bull wants to secure his place in history, but guess what? Just guess what?” asked Luck.
Dave opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a passerby strolled past both of them, his eyes catching sight of Luck.
“Hey, Mister Luck! Keep fighting the good fight, man! Don’t let the vocal minority get you down, you’ve got the support of Vegas, champ!” hollered the passerby, slapping Luck on the shoulder before walking off.
Dave watched as he did. That was when he realised just what Luck was alluding to.
“..We’ve already secured our places in history. We’re just digging the chisel further.” answered Dave.
“Exactly.” replied Luck. “We could die tonight, we could tomorrow, but even if we do, one things for sure: We’ve already secured our infamy. Sunday will just be another battle, with both of us against the world. Do you fear it, Dave?”
“No. Only the cowards and the fools believe that they will leave a war unscathed.” answered Dave calmly. Luck strolled forward, slapping both his hands on Daves giant shoulders.
“And that is what seperates us from Bull and Xplode. We know and accept our fate. Someone has yet to teach them theirs.”
