Breaking Bad: Chapter 7

[Obi]

Breaking Bad: Chapter VII

7.1
“Welcome to the Neighborhood.”

The open road. It’s my true element. The feeling of the dust kicking up around me, the sounds of hot rubber bending the pavement to it’s will.. This is bliss. As long as I can remember, it was the road that I turned to during the most stressful times of my life. Unfortunately, I am now currently going through one of them times. My right hand grips unto the handlebar tightly, letting it’s corded leather burrow into my flesh. Ahead of me, the sun begins to set. It reflects well off of the Death Valley Landscape. With temperatures well into the high 90’s, I should be baking underneath my traditional garb of heavy leathers and dark jean clothing but I am not. Those type of inconveniences are meant for normal folks after all..

I am hardly normal.

With my long trench coat bailing out behind me, I let loose on the throttle. I can feel the strength of my engine willing me forward, daring to meet whatever stands in it’s way. A man could learn a lot from his motorcycle. The “Old Ways” of the outlaw are not lost upon me, a 3rd generation rider that I am. With all of this being said, this is hardly any type of solace from the incoming storm that is Scars and Stripes. You see, I have an incoming date with possibly the toughest opponent I have ever faced. That’s saying a lot considering the amount of people that I have stood in the ring with throughout my career. Yeah, I could almost say that I have seen the best in the business and somehow found a way to stand tall through it all. Does that make me a true badass? Not at all. Let's just, the bad don't mess with me though. No, these men all had one thing in common though that this next opponent does not.

None of them ever tried to make things this personal.

Sure, there was some who liked to attack my lifestyle and belittle my legacy. Did it hurt? You bet it did. The Lord gifted me with some tough skin though and I always managed to shrug it off in time to get the job done. If this garnered me a bit of respect in the process from the fans and my peers, then hell.. So be it. This newest “enemy” of mine though… let’s just say that he didn’t just push the proverbial envelope. He instead tried to rip it to shreds! The last few months have been terrible, with my Step Mother being kidnapped, my brother assaulted, and even worse.. The fans belittled all in the name of one man. Mister Luck. You would figure that a guy with a name like that would be handy to have around. Luck is hardly the game that he is selling though.

Somehow I have managed to bring out the worst in this guy without even trying. According to him, I have wronged the man on so many levels that you could spend an evening just counting them! During this little process, one of my greatest advantages have now become null and void. Intimidation has always been a formidable weapon for me in the past but thanks to this intense hatred by Luck and his wanna’ be Spartans, that doesn’t seem like such an option. Nope, if I am to put down this guy just like I have countless others, I am going to have to dig deep into the bag of tricks (Translation: Pull something out of my ass.) and learn a little more about myself if I am going to get the job done. In order to do that though, I am going to need a bit of help.

Luckily for me, I know just the right person for the job.

Pulling into a dust ridden parking lot, I bring my bike to a stop and drop the kickstand. Leaning it to the side, I shut down the engine and glance around me. Various men, all sporting dark long hair of some type, head in different directions as they go about their daily lives. I am hardly a blip on their radar as I dismount and head in their direction. A dry wind rolls in, finding it’s way through the weather beaten shacks that make up the Death Valley Apache Indian Reservation around me. Having not been here in quite some time, I find myself in need of directions. This is somewhat humorous considering the fact that most of the “Homes” here probably have not moved nor even changed their appearance in probably over 100 years. Finding a man who seems to know the area, I do my best to speak to him as he glances back in my direction like I am some sort of idiot. “Excuse me, I'm looking for Omek. Is he still around?”

I receive no answer but I didn’t really expect one either. I am instead pointed in the right direction through a thick frown as he returns to smoking whatever was sitting in his worn down pipe. Now, with a destination in mind, I head on forward, finding my way through a maze of broken down mobile homes and trailers. A thick smell of Peyote tantalizes me as I continue on.

“Hey old man, you don’t belong here.”

Stopping in my tracks, I hear someone shout at me from behind. It’s the voice of a young man, possibly in his early twenties. Realizing that it is probably best to keep the enemy count in my life low, I decide to continue forward. Something’s are just plain unavoidable though I guess.

“HEY! YOU HEAR ME BITCH!?!” continues the voice once again. “Or maybe you don’t hear so good. I will just go check out that pretty motorcycle on my own then. I always wanted one of my own.”

Wrong thing to say. Someone was about to have a very bad day. Turning around, I glare in his direction. My ponytail whips over my shoulder as I now head in his direction. Across from me, my new friend hops down from a set of cardboard boxes and meets me halfway. He is about half my size. I casually think to myself, “No problem, you got this guy.” This is the beauty of being a large man, I suppose. Besides, with the gauntlet that Luck has put me through, I could use a little warm up to let out some steam. Towering over the young man, I shove him hard into a cracked plaster wall behind him and lean into him. I keep my voice even, not betraying my feelings at all. “You got a problem, son?”

“I am not your son, white man.” answers the man defiantly. I am impressed. “..and yeah. I have a problem. So does he!”

So does he? There is always a trick, isn’t there? Before I can turn around, I feel a set of knuckles slam into my lower spine driving me forward. I catch sight of my unknown attacker out of the corner of my idea. He is huge, just as tall as I am. From his build, it looks like he has spent hours in the gym. The tribal chief must be proud. Reaching out to grab him, I am again nailed from behind by the original asshole who started this mess. All I can do is bring my hands up before my face as they repeatedly punch and stomp me into a stack of wooden palettes. Apparently satisfied now, the smaller of the two stands back and picks up my hat that had fallen into the dirt during the fight. He slides it on to his head and begins laughing.

“Look at me! I am OBLIVION! I can beat anybody! Well, except two sexy ass Apaches!”

I glare up at them as they continue to belittle me. Licking my lips, I can taste my own blood as the anger rises inside of me. Having had enough, I launch up from a seated position and grab the smaller one around the back of the neck! Flinging him off to the side like a simple piece of trash, I put him through an already cracked window! His larger friend does not hesitate to jump back in however as I am speared to the earth once more. I can feel his large hands grasp me around my throat as my air is cut off. The world begins to become a bit blurry now as I find myself wanting to puke. I can make out his dark features as he leans into me, face to face. His teeth are gritting as the blood lust kicks in within him. I resign myself to my own doom. I never would have though that after all of the years of throwing these knuckles around to handle my business that I would finally go out like this.

“DIABLO!!”

I find the air entering my lungs once again as my body heaves and chokes upon it frantically. Holding my throat, I roll unto my side and look up, my vision slowly clearing back up. I am surprised to see my large attacker pressed up against the wall, scared shitless… of me? I try to sit up and hold out one hand but all it does is cause him to stumble backwards and fall unto his back. Grabbing my hat, I place it back on my head and stand back up as he rolls over and runs in the opposite direction. Rubbing my neck once more, I say, “Diablo?”

“That’s right.” comes a new voice from behind me. This one is older and with a thicker Apache accent. “He called you Diablo, my friend. It means the Devil. Judging by the way he was kicking your ass, I would have to argue that fact.”

Turning around, I let out a laugh as the man I had originally came to see stands before me. Covered in various feathers and make shift totems, the village Shaman offers me a hand as he greets me with a smile. Clearing my throat, I thank him. “Omek. It’s been awhile, dude. Glad you came when you did, I was just starting to get warmed up.”

“Sure you were. What brings you to the reservation?” he asks with a laugh.

“Well, I have a lot of questions and a lot less answers.” I reply. “I have somehow found myself in a no win situation and I don't know who else to turn to.”

He grunts at me, taking in what I say. Finally, I am directed into a nearby mobile home as he follows close behind. Omek was known around the region as a wise spiritual leader.. Or a Shaman. While I am not necessarily a believer in this type of thing, I won’t ignore the power of good knowledge. Omek has always been a man with plenty of that to offer. I have gone to him through the heavier times in my life in an attempt to learn who I truly am or where I came from prior to my amnesia. (*See The Countdown Origins- Obi) Since then, bits and pieces of my past have returned to me and now seems like as good a time as any to finally get the full story.

As Omek lights a few sticks of incense, I find a seat across from him upon a small stool. He finds one in the same manner after me and looks at me as if he sees something in me that I do not. After a few brief moments of silence, he clears his throat and begins with... “Diablo.”

“Diablo.” I answer. “That again?”

“The boys were right to call you this.” he continues once more.

“I thought Diablo meant Devil.” I respond.

“It does. This is a name that defines you and yet means nothing at all. You are about to face a man who will transcend your life in ways you do not understand. Toby, as of recent you have reverted to your old moniker of Oblivion.. Yes?”

“That is right.” I answer. I am starting to feel a little annoyed. “I went back to Oblivion because I wanted to respect how I started my career. Plus, things have changed for me.”

“Yes, they have. Except, you are not entirely being honest about why you have changed back to Oblivion. You see, as Toby Hunter, you were left facing the world as yourself. No masks and no fancy set ups allowed. It was just a normal man who happened to ride a bike trying to do what’s best regardless of what it took to see the job through. Being a member of a club went with the territory. The MAN who was Toby Hunter could not continue to exist though.. Could he? Especially upon your return.”

I sat there even more confused than I was when I had arrived. “I don’t get it, Omek.”

“Oblivion is another spirit entirely though.” he rattled on. “Oblivion is not a man or a person but something much more. He is a tainted spirit, a being of remorse. He remembers the deaths of his family and lives each day to bring peace to those whom find themselves in chaos. Where Oblivion has been said to be a Demon he was truly an Angel.”

“…and Toby Hunter..” I begin to answer.

“Is Diablo.” smiles Omek now. “All this time you had searched for the evil around you when all along, it was inside of you. You hide what you truly are… though you have also shown that you can choose what you shall be.”

“Let me get this straight.” I begin as I stand up. “You are saying I am a demon. I have been lying to myself this whole time by picking a fake name? If that is so, how come Luck has been having his way with me then?! Tell me, if I am such a dark person, how come I can’t stomach this shit that he has done?! Why do the people cheer me?! TELL ME! IF I AM SO EVIL… WHY DO I WANT TO SAVE MISTER LUCK?!!”

Not even making a move, Omek smokes from his pipe and looks up at me. I pant hard, doing my best to keep control of myself. “You wish to save him, because two spirits live within you now. You must choose who wins this inner war of yours. Will it be the Angel of Mercy.. Oblivion? Defeating Mister Luck will prove to be difficult under those terms. The world will love you for it, but you will fail in the end. For the only way to defeat evil is to overwhelm it with evil in it’s purest form. Or will it be Toby Hunter? A man who sold his soul in the name of his family, only to have it replaced by the Angel of Death. A man with no rules nor hesitations. These traits would serve you well against Luck. You will extinguish his hate and introduce true fear into his world. The choice is yours.”

Having heard enough, I head towards the door after offering a handshake. Grabbing the doorknob, I stop and look over my shoulder. “You forgot one last thing.”

“Oh?” he answers. Somehow from his facial expression, I have a feeling he knows what I am about to say.

“What if I get in the ring against Mister Luck, kick his ass three shades of red as a man who has just had enough? I have been at this game for a long time now, you know that. I have seen plenty of faces come and go and through it all, I have stayed true to myself. Raviel keeps going on about shit coming to an end. Well, if that is true, then let it come to an end with me being true to myself and nothing more. Not as an Angel nor a Devil… just me. I am going to beat Luck fair and square in that ring and that is that.”

“What about the club?” Omek asks. “Zack is still in their grasps.”

“Yeah. No matter which way I turn someone pays for my actions. I am used to that now. Zack will be fine. I will see that he is returned. Luck, well.. He may not walk right ever again but he will live to fight another day. As for myself, I am getting too old for this shit. When all of this is said and done, I am going to take the fight to the one man who I think caused all of this grief… Raviel. It’s time for things to come to an end.”

I walk out the door and look around. A few of the tribesmen stare at me with a fearful look in their eyes. I return it and then step up to the smallest one, removing my club vest and handing it to him. “Here, kid. Take it. I don’t need it anymore.” And with that, I head towards my destiny. One more fight.. one more battle… one more hero.

Once alone in the mobile home, Omek finds his way to the front door and looks out. A smile forms upon his face as he puffs away on his pipe. Footsteps are heard to the left as a man arrives at the steps, stopping to remove his cap. “Hello Omek, long time no see.”

“You are going to lose, Diablo.” answers Omek now furiously. “He knows the truth. You will not have him.”

Stepping towards the steps now, the man nods. “Possibly. Though I would rather you refer to me as.. Raviel. Diablo seems so businesslike..”

7.2
“In the beginning.”

I lace up my boots, something I have done many times before. Of course, this is not really a special event seeing as most people choose to wear some type of shoe. For some reason though, it is this act that I notice as I prepare for battle. I can still vividly remember the first time the ritual started as I listened to the sounds of Back 2 Roots. I was a rookie, virtually unknown in my chosen profession. Beads of sweat poured down the corners of my forehead, much as they do now. Standing in the ring was the newest sensation at the time, Evan Black. He waited out there, ready to beat me to a bloody pulp. I survived that night, beaten down but very much still alive. Black’s career peaked on that night and ended much too soon a few months later. Mine on the other hand, would become legendary.

“Hey Toby?” Comes a voice from the side of me. I have heard this all before so I barely even acknowledge it. This obviously does not bother my new guest as he continues on: “You got 10 minutes until show time, Big Dog.”

I nod. That’s it, just a single nod. In the distance, I can hear others preparing for their big matches as well. The Royal Rumble was still to come and you could cut the tension with a knife. Strapping on my last boot, I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. Turning my head, I catch sight of Jack Bull. The two of us nod at one another as he rises from a chair across the room. No words are spoken nor do they need to be. Jack and I share a common bond, two men who have literally fought wars in the ring. In him, I can easily see the future in this business. It makes me feel good that my legacy will be left to men like him. Adjusting myself in my seat, I drop my gym bag into my locker and slam it shut. I then adjust my black gloves, taking notice of their obvious worn down condition.

Rising up out of my seat, I look over my shoulder at the boys behind me that still sit in the locker room. To this day I still insist on sharing a locker with the boys in the fed. Most of the “main event” stars usually choose to move on to a more private setting but I feel that I am no better than the rest… so why act it? Looking at all of their faces, I am once again taken back to my early days in the EUW. The unknown haunts them, as a shot at the most prized possession in our sport is offered up to the winner of the night. I feel for them, thinking that I should offer up some words of encouragement.. But I don’t.

I can’t.

This is no ordinary night. Never in my career have I felt like a match was a matter of life or death but this time.. It truly is. A win tonight will save a life but at the same time potentially end another one. Stepping through the doorway and entering the hallway, I glance from left to right, half expecting to find Cole and the club keeping tabs on me. Though I don't see them, I know they are out there, waiting in the shadows to scoop up Luck when the time is right. Ironically, somewhere in this same building is Luck himself, no doubt preparing to attack me with as much vigor as possible, his hate fueling him on to victory. He has no clue that while he is busy planning out my demise, I am trying to save his life. It’s almost too much to deal with…

Walking down the hallway, I slap my gloved hands together and crack my neck. I can see my Harley in the distance, waiting for me to mount up and ride on to victory. I almost feel a disgust over this, as the Harley only symbolizes my affiliation with a club that has lost it’s way, becoming no better than some common street thugs. The idea of whether it has always been one doesn’t really matter at this point to me. There is only one focus now. Kissing the crucifix that hangs around my neck, I hop in place in front of the entrance curtain. On the other side, Scars and Stripes is in full swing. Warmed up now, I saddle up on the bike and adjust the throttle.

“Good luck out there, bro.”

Turning to look over my shoulder, I spot Xplode, the special referee of the evening. He has a look in his eye that speaks volumes. I will give the man credit. To this point, he has had my back, putting up the front of a rehabilitated little brother. I know him better than he thinks though. With all of the aches and pains that go along with age, I also enjoy a fair amount of life experience to my name. Xplode, no doubt, has something up his sleeve. I expect that. Even more so, I know he realizes that I am on to him. The man is that smart. I can’t afford to worry over this though. Tonight, I put an end, one way or another, to a war that has gone on too long and hurt too many innocent people in the process. Nodding, I answer, “Thanks,” and crank on the Motorcycle. It rocks and shakes as the engine blares to life. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the shadows of the hallway. Cole is here. I guess the leader of the club has decided to do his own dirty work for a change. He stares at me, pointing to the club patch on his leather vest. I laugh a bit, quietly, in response. Somehow, I now find it quite humorous that I ever took so much pride in such a trivial thing such as a club patch.

The fans begin to chant my name… just as they have for over eight years now. In the past, I have performed the impossible. I have defeated some of the greatest names in this business. If tonight is the night I fall for the last time, then I do it with no regrets. Dante Holly left under the same premise, offering his career for the greater good. At first, I didn’t understand why. After thinking it over a bit, I do now. He sacrificed himself to spur me on to see the truth about the state of the Asylum. I lost myself somewhere along the way, surrounded by liars and jackals. This made things easier for Luck and his cronies to have their way with me. Thanks to Dante, that all has come to an end. I will make sure that Luck is defeated soundly and sent home safely. His friend Travis will be rescued thanks to a certain anonymous phone call to the authorities. It will take a miracle to pull off all of this without a hitch but I think I am due for one. As I hear John Walt announce my name, I kick the clutch into drive and turn the handlebars. It’s time to do business.. and no one does it better than I do. Mister Luck’s “countdown” has finally..

Come to an end.