Meltdown XXXV & Fallout 035 || Promo Thread

[Dubb]

Jason Randall & Z3R0 Buddy Bowl Promo

Buddy Bowl




Those words Sawyer Xavier said kept ringing in The Wildcard's head. He couldn’t stop hearing it repeated in his head over and over again.

Who did Sawyer Xavier think he was to speak to me like that?

The Wildcard thought to himself.

Deep down, he knew what Sawyer had said was true; every word he spoke to Randall had a semblance of truth. He knew it was true, and that hurt. This is one of those moments in time where the truth hurts.

However, Randall didn’t want to admit it because he was too stubborn. He didn’t want to admit to Sawyer that he was right, so he walked away from the problem. Randall had become complacent, though.

He wasn’t used to his full potential, but somewhere along the way, he stopped caring. He would act like he did care, but that was all a farce.

Maybe this Buddy Bowl thing will help him start caring again.

***************

The Wildcard had yet to learn who his partner would be for The Buddy Bowl. He had forgotten he had signed up for it in the first place.

He didn’t play well with others these days, and the last time he tried to find a new alliance in The Nephews, they vanished off the face of the earth without saying a word to him. After all he did for them with those tests and missions, he gets the thanks in return.

He wasn’t ready to trust someone so soon after that, but nothing else was going on. He figured this would be his chance to return to the swing of things and help him find himself again.

He had nothing to lose anyway.

He’d been burned many times, so what’s the worst that could happen here?

One day, he checks his email and finds out who his partner is.

Z3RO.

“What the hell is this?”

“Hello, Jason. You may not know who I am, but I know you. I have watched you, studied you. I know you better than you may even know yourself. I understand that if we are to succeed or go anywhere, you and I must trust one another. Do you want the answers? If you want peace of mind, seek it at this address.”

The email entails an address leading him to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

He reads the email and shrugs.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

***************

Randall arrives at the shoddy-looking warehouse; he enters it without any hesitation. Upon entering the warehouse, he finds a room with a VR setup with a chair. There are computers all around telling him to sit down to find the answers he seeks. Still not hesitating, Randall takes a seat in the chair. The room starts to pixelate; the dark, empty warehouse starts to take shape, and it begins to build upon itself. The different pieces come together like a puzzle as they spin around Randall like a hurricane, and he is in the eye of the storm. Randall hears a voice echoing from the sky.

“Jason.”

The voice sounds robotic, as if it’s being disguised; there is a brief tone that he can’t seem to place in it.

“Go ahead, walkthrough; there is nothing to fear.”

Randall doesn’t wait; he goes on in, and the rest of the puzzle pieces form. Randall is standing on a rooftop that overlooks a generic city below, and the lights of different buildings glisten across the skies. There is a flashing billboard ahead of Randall, and it has an arrow pointing to the right. This takes his eyes to a hospital. A yellow pixelated brick road starts to form block by block and Randall rolls his eyes.

“Really?” Don’t you think that’s a little cliche?”

A glitch appears in front of Jason and starts to take form. There is no natural body. Instead, it’s more holographic, and Randall can see right through it, watching as the yellow bricks still lay in place.

“It all will make sense; please step forward.”

Randall moves through and walks on the brick road. Looking down, he can see the air beneath him. Randall gets closer, and he can see a window leading to a hospital room. There, the glitches start to form into fragments. Randall is standing right in front of the window. His hands are on the glass. He is staring at himself, a younger version of himself. His younger self has his head against the glass window.

“I thought you were going to tell me about yourself,” Randall replies.

“We will. First thing first, I want to ask you a question. What does she mean to you?”

A glitch is forming in the bed as a flurry of puzzle pieces and fragments makes Penny lie in the bed. She stands up and walks towards Jason. She stumbles, and Randall turns to her, catching her before she falls.

“What does any of this have to do with you? Why is she here?”

“I know what it’s like to feel alone. I know what it’s like to feel underappreciated; I know what it’s like to be no one, to be nobody. You think this name didn’t have meaning to it. Z3R0. Z3R0 is who I am. Z3R0 is what I have been; I don’t hide behind a mask; I wear it as a reminder. I wear it as a consequence. I wear it for every wrong decision I have made.”

“Okay, but she doesn’t need to be involved in this. She’s gotten hurt one too many times before when she’s been involved with me in this business.”

Z3RO doesn’t say anything but looks at Randall as if he understands.

The pieces start to break away like glass and fall to the ground; a few moments later, Randall is in an empty black void.

“Why should I trust you? What are you hiding from? What does any of this have to do with me?”

"One moment…"

The world starts to come together again, rapid pieces flying by Jason’s head. The black void beneath Randall fills up with a white floor that illuminates. He then sees a painting in front of him, almost in a Renaissance style, with a Z3R0 avatar walking towards it. Randall follows suit, and the image is now in complete picture. The painting shows a great battle, and in the middle stands a knight covered in blood, his sword plunged into the back of another knight.

“What is the meaning of this painting? Why aren’t you being forthcoming? What is with the vagueness?”

The painting starts to come alive, and the knight who plunged the sword into the other holds it close to him before tossing it to the side. Jason turns to the avatar, noticing that it’s not moving. He puts his hand through it, seeing if maybe there is some problem with the VR.

“Sorry.”

The avatar walks away, going to another painting. Jason stands there studying the painting, trying to gather information. He yells back at the avatar.

“We aren’t done yet. Get your fucking ass back here.”

There is more to this Z3R0.

The avatar raised its hand, and the room started to come apart.

“You know? Fuck this; I knew this would be a bad idea. I knew I shouldn’t have signed up for this shit.”

“Wait.”

This was the first time Jason could hear a more human distinct voice than he was used to.

“I understand that this isn’t the ideal situation, and I understand your reluctance. What I need you to realize I have been in your shoes. A great man once said you can’t know a man if you walk in his shoes. Jason, you walk alone; you have your whole life. Jason, you’ve been someone who has been a man broken and sought into hanging on to the belief that it has to be a set way. You think that the only way you can do anything to anyone is when your back is up against the wall, your chips are down, and there’s no one left to call. I see right through it because I’ve been there. I’ve had the whole world in my hands and had it taken away from me. I have seen the best of men, I’ve seen the most wicked, and time after time, day after day, the ones that we swore we never keep getting powerful, keep getting rich, keep getting every accolade while we are meant to be nothing more than a stepping stone. We are so blinded by our self-loathing, depriving decisions.”

“Yeah, I’m alone, so what? Do you think that you’ve been through what I’ve been through? Do you think that because you can try to relate to me, maybe I’ll be more reluctant to go along with this charade? Think again.”

“Maybe you’ve been through a lot, I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even know you, or maybe I do. I don’t even know anything anymore. I don’t know if I can trust you because you refuse to answer clearly. For once, please quit speaking in riddles and spit it out. I don’t have the time nor the patience for this crap.”

The room comes together again; this time, there is a table and two seats, one in between on each side of the table. The X championship is sitting on the table itself, and the avatar, now on the other side, extends his hand out, telling Jason to take a seat.

“The two of us, we both held this championship. We both know that this was the biggest thing we’ve ever done at one point. We both scratched and clawed to get to this championship. We left our blood, sweat, and tears in that ring.”

Jason asked himself the question as he stared back at a mirror across the table.

“Okay, but what does this mean? Why are we still here? I don’t understand. You keep asking me to trust you, you keep wondering why I don’t, and yet you don’t tell me anything worth of note. You say you have walked in my shoes, I say bullshit. I say you are scared; I say that you are a coward. You don’t get to tell me you hide behind that mask, that you hide behind these computers for no reason other than being scared. I faced everything head-on, no matter what was at cost. Buddy Bowl, what a joke. You know what fuck this shit. You can stay here with all your technology. I am better off alone.”

“You’re right, Jason. You want the truth. You deserve some real answers. It’s right here.”

In front of the table is a thumb drive with the words Project_Z3R0 on it. Jason grabs it and looks directly at the avatar.

“No games?”

“No games.”

Jason is teleported into a motherboard room with servers, and a computer sits in the center. He walks to it and plugs it, and the files start to load as he does.

Buzz…

Buzz…

With the sound of a phone ringing, the room starts to come apart around him. Randall is in the middle of a storm as it tears itself apart, the computer still downloading 5%, 10%, 30%,
60% 80% 90% 95% 99%.

And nothing. He snaps back to reality. The front light of the warehouse opens. He runs to the door, but no one is there. On the floor, the Z3R0 mask, and off in the distance, a car burns out. Jason holds the mask and once again is alone.​

 

[Dubb]

weaselperson & Madison Gray Buddy Bowl Promo
​

Promo link: graders click here!

Plaintext:

Spoiler

The Weasel and the Lioness.

Prologue: The Palace.

It was hard to imagine what had ever led to 'The Void' deciding that having a base of operation in the middle of the desert was ever going to be a good idea. Madison was impressed on two counts. The first was that building a private railway line must have been incredibly expensive and difficult on a logistical level. Still, secondly, the palace, although it looked more like an Arabic desert fort, appeared to have been designed to look worn and crumbled. The way it was presented as old was not possible considering the scale and time period of American history. This meant that whoever had designed the palace had done so with the intention of making it look older than it was and less luxurious than suggested.

The truth of the situation was that the Palace was nothing more than a ruse. A diversion or distraction, so if anyone were to get too close, they would think nothing of the outside of the building but abandoned ruins. That is why Madison would be left completely stunned when she realised what the Palace actually was. It was a front, and as she stepped out of the elevator, she found herself present in an underground city that looked far older than seemed possible. As if it had been built within an old cave system hundreds of years ago, long before even The Americas were considered as being ‘The New World’.

Trying to wrap her head around that idea was truly mind-boggling for Madison. It left her wondering whether, even though on the surface 'The Void' presented itself as some exclusive members club, this society might have once been known by a very different name. However, for Madison, this wasn't her area of expertise, and she wished she had some knowledge of her own to provide her with strength or intellectual benefit as she ventured into uncharted waters, not merely as a guest but as one of the group's newest members.

Madison was ushered into a foyer where she was greeted with a drink and a refreshing hot towel to wipe herself down. Despite still being far from her best condition, she was as close to being sober as she would ever be. As time passed, she seriously considered never touching alcohol again. She was committing herself to a whole new lifestyle and inner objective, realizing that in order to become the person she needed to be, she had to change everything to build a strong future she could be proud of.

*****

The next three days would be a Rest & Relaxation experience for Madison, akin to a Spa Day she had only heard about in the past but never had the means to enjoy herself. During that time, she spoke to very few people. Some of the girls administered the treatments, and she shared breakfast with Horatia each morning. Despite her inquiries, Horatia always deflected the questions, insisting that Madison be patient and promising that all would be revealed when the time was right.

On her fourth morning at the Palace, an unfamiliar face entered her private suite. The person sat at her table without saying a single word, just smiling at her as if they were old friends.

Madison couldn't help feeling intimidated. She sat across from a woman who was at least six feet tall, possessing an incredible figure. The woman wore a luxurious dress, a gown befitting royalty, crafted from a combination of jewels and antlers. What was more striking was the face, painted with white geisha-like makeup adorned with a purposeful coloured pattern that must have taken hours to design and apply. The silence was overwhelming, and Madison found herself compelled to speak first, as the quiet had become truly deafening.

Madison Gray: “Is there any chance I'll find out the exact reason I'm here? And are you a Queen or some sort of Princess? I mean, you truly have an extraordinary appearance, but I have a lot of questions, and so far, I haven't been given many answers.”

???: “I must apologise for any confusion you may have experienced, Lady Gray. When 'The Palace' was originally established, a set of procedures and protocols were put in place. These measures have endured over the centuries, and even if this isn't the first site where we have held our tenets and practices, they have never wavered. Certain assessments, both behavioural and physical, needed to be conducted before you would be granted an audience with me.”

Madison continued to be more confused. It really felt like she was supposed to have an inkling of who she was talking to, but she really didn't.

Madison Gray: “I apologise again, but granted an audience? I really don’t know who you are, not to cause offence.”

???: “It is very rare for someone to know my name or my title upon first meetings, and on this occasion, I can only inform you of my official title within the society: The 54th Grand Matriarch Sunflower.”

Madison Gray: “Sunflower?”

Sunflower: “It is fine for you to simply refer to me as that. It was the name selected for me when I took on this position within the Ordo Hammer Fracti.”

Ordo something something? Now Madison was really confused. This woman was speaking to her in Latin, and she had no idea what was going on. She felt so out of her depth; it was almost like she was drowning, and an unknown force was pulling her down into the deep.

Madison Gray: “Order Hammer Fraction? Now you have really lost me.”

Sunflower: “I suppose you might be deserving of a history lesson. On a basic level, 'The Void' is often seen as an elite social society, but our historical roots and the influence we offer to the world reach far deeper than you might think.”

And for not the first time in the last week, Madison found herself being given a history lesson, and once again, she really felt like she should be taking notes.

She would be given a short history of the founding and creation of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, better known as the Knights Templar, and how the order had been in the Crusades before officially ceasing to exist in the year 1312. After the ending of the Templars and the witch hunt that followed, many members were killed and executed. However, those that survived went into hiding, and like all organisations no longer able to practise or carry out the tenets of the Knights Templar, it isn’t at all surprising that splinter groups would form, as surviving members scattered around the world, getting as far away from Rome and the reach of the Pope and the Church as they could.

This particular splinter group seemed to be involved in the ‘discovery of the new world.’ Although the former Templars that were part of Columbus' voyage, as soon as they made land, would do everything in their power to break away from Columbus and disassociate themselves with that voyage. They formed strong relationships with native people, aiming not to pollute their culture but rather to coexist and, on a long-term basis, blend with them to form one nation and one people. By the time the British began settling Jamestown in 1607, the Ordo Hammer Fracti was already in existence and had formed a strong network with as many indigenous groups as possible. More often than not, bonds were formed through marriage and children.

In the 17th Century, (The Order of the Broken Hammer) created a position known as the Grand Matriarch, and there had already been nine women to hold the position. The requirement for the position was for both parents to be members of the Ordo Hammer Fracti and willing to hold a position for a minimum period of five years. With this position came responsibilities and a position of authority, but it required the Matriarch to remain within the walls of the established headquarters of the Order. What had been originally seen as a chance for a new beginning was marred by countless events in America's short history, but the end of the Civil War would be seen as a day of great import. It was suggested that the war had only taken place because of the influence and suggestions made by the Ordo Hammer Fracti.

Since the start of World War I, the influence and power of the group had dwindled. It was strongly believed that The Illuminati had penetrated the organization, causing members to either betray the tenets of the Order, or those unwilling to turn had been simply killed off, allowing the Illuminati to fully control the situation. Now, the Order was just doing its best to survive. Just like when the Knights Templar had been expelled by the Catholic Church, this invasive cult was doing its best to remove all power and influence that members of the Broke Hammer had. ‘The Void’ was just one of many fronts that the Order used to attract members and attempt to change the landscape for the benefit of humankind.

After this overload of information, Madison was left with just one question, but a question that had to be asked.

Madison Gray: “What has any of this got to do with me? I’m an effective nobody in the wrestling world, so I don’t know what I am really able to offer this Templar Order that you seem to all be part of. Like where do I fit in?”

Sunflower: “The truth is that you shouldn’t even be finding out this information. This is something you would find out after a few years of working for ‘The Void,’ so normally you would only be told half-truths. However, you have not been influenced by anyone, nor have you been tainted, so you are perfect for a task I am going to ask of you if you are happy to oblige.”

Madison already felt like she was obligated. This whole situation was confusing and was really giving her imposter syndrome. It wasn’t the first time she had felt this way, and it didn’t feel like it was going to be the last time she would feel this way.

Madison Gray: “What do you need me to do?”

Sunflower: “I need you to solve a murder for me.”

Madison Gray: “A murder? Shouldn’t you contact the police about something like this? Who has been killed?”

Sunflower: “No one yet, but they will be killed. And I need you to network and create relationships so that you can offer answers when it is needed.”

Madison felt like she was going to throw up. She was overstimulated and had no idea why this Grand Matriarch thought she was the person best suited to solving a murder.

Madison Gray: “So who is going to be murdered?”

Sunflower removed her crown and placed it on the table, before taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

Sunflower: “You’re looking at her.”

Sunflower smiled. And now Madison just wanted to laugh. She felt like she had woken up in an Agatha Christie novel, except she was out of her depth and had no idea what she was going to do in this situation. She truly was drowning.

*****

The Pyramid.

“You know,” Wanda began, sidling up to an as yet unrevealed criticism in the manner that she often did. “Most athletes don’t smoke.”

“I’ve never really considered myself much of an athlete,” Michelle responded. She punctuated the point by exhaling a thick plume of smoke in her handler’s direction.

“Then your opinion is in line with that of the general public,” Wanda quipped. Michelle liked it when she quipped. Well, as much as she liked anything these days. “But most wrestlers consider themselves athletes.”

“Most wrestlers are trogs,” Michelle said. Wanda smiled. Since she had first met Michelle, six weeks ago in Shanghai, Dreamer had been little else but sullen, somber, and generally disagreeable. This cocktail of negative and mundane characteristics resulted in a passivity and defeatism. Wanda hoped some of her trademark misanthropy was returning to the surface.

Now, if only I can get her to take the mask off, Wanda thought. Either the weasel or the scaramuccia…

“Even your tag team partner?” Wanda asked.

“Gerald?” Michelle answered, whilst adjusting her black scaramuccia mask and throwing her cigarette end into a nearby drain. “The Nephews are different. That’s why they’re Nephews.”

“Well, there was a time when he wasn’t a Nephew,” Wanda replied. “Back when you were thrown together in the Elite Tag Team Classic.”

Michelle narrowed her eyes. Wanda couldn’t see it through the mask but she could feel the change in the other’s countenance.

“What are you getting at?”

“You heard about the Buddy Bowl?”

“Buddy Bowl? Are we talking about the FWA or something else?”

Madison couldn’t help but feel a little bit confused. Sydney was her personal trainer, so it wasn’t normal for her to make any suggestions to her in regards to her wrestling career.

Sydney lifted up a leaflet and presented it to Madison.

“Someone from your management group sent this over and told me that I need to tell you about it, and it was in your best interest to be part of it. She said her name was Horatia,” Sydney explained.

Horatia? Now Madison was even more confused. When it came to ‘The Void’ normally, all business had always come directly to her, and they had never used a middleman before.

“And what exactly is this Buddy Bowl then?”

“Well, I did my research, and it’s some sort of tag team tournament where all the entrants are randomly paired together. The winning team earns the right to challenge for the tag team titles. Sounds great, doesn’t it?”

“I mean, I suppose it’s the thought that counts, but honestly, I don’t think this is going to be a good fit for me. I really need to figure out how to win on my own before I learn how to work well with others, if you know what I mean?”

“I mean I suppose so, but I thought it was best to listen to Horatia - so I phoned up FWA management and signed you up to make sure you didn’t miss out.”

“I didn’t even agree to this!”

“I would never agree to this,” Michelle replied, with narrowed eyes. “You’d know that if you asked.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Wanda said. She began to lead Michelle away from the busy market that they’d been perusing and through a quieter sidestreet. “That’s why I didn’t ask.”

Michelle sighed. Shook her head. Lit another cigarette. She thought back to the beginnings of her relationship with Gerald and how far removed that seemed from where they were now. She had been belligerent towards him at first, owing to the fact that he’d quickly come into possession of the X Championship that she’d vacated thanks to a backstage assault. Things had changed slowly and with painstaking effort, moreso from the Daredevil than herself. Part of her thought that, if she was to go through it all again with another (and, if Wanda had her way, that seemed like it was going to be the case) she might do things differently with the new charity case. Give them half a chance, maybe. But the rest of her wanted to run the other way and have nothing to do with whichever clown the big tent had paired her with.

Run, the voice in the back of her head whispered. Hide.

“And if I just say no?” Michelle asked.

“You can’t say no,” Wanda answered. “That’s not how this works.”

Run, she heard once again.

“Be quiet,” Michelle said.

“Sorry?”

“Not you.”

Wanda looked around at the other occupants in the sideroad. She wondered which of the tea-drinkers, hookah-smokers, or marketeers Michelle was talking to. It was best not to push the point, she thought.

“So, who is my partner?”

“So, who is my partner?” Madison asked, looking across the table at Sydney. She was still far from pleased. She felt like ‘The Void’ had really overstepped the mark by getting Sydney to sign her up for the Buddy Bowl, and she was not a fan of decisions being made on her behalf.

“weaselperson.”

Madison’s nose wrinkled as she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Did you just say weaselperson? That really scary wrestler that wears the horrific mask?”

“That’s the one. It is great, isn’t it? You’re going to have to have a memorable partner, and you are really going to help put your little club on the map.”

“Then why a person that is dressed like a weasel? I mean, that isn’t good for my brand. Couldn’t they have used some of the private funds and made sure I got a partner that fits my vibe? I mean, I could be teaming up with Bellatrix. They know I think the Coven are really cool.” The frustration in Madison’s voice was very much present.

“I can’t answer for the Void,” Sydney replied. She was absently perusing the dirty, dank backroom that Madison’s new ‘friends’ had arranged for the meeting. “Maybe you can ask Horatia yourself when she gets here. Besides, I really don’t think FWA would respond well to us trying to fix the draw and get you a different partner. Plus, you have to remember that weaselperson is just a gimmick and that it's Michelle von Horrowitz beneath the mask.”

Madison wasn’t the biggest wrestling fan. She had admitted on more than one occasion that, before signing with the promotion, she had next to zero knowledge of the history of the sport or who the previous champions were. Michelle being a massive name in wrestling - this sort of information was totally lost on her. It wasn’t ignorance, it just wasn’t being in the know.

“I don’t even know who that even is!”

“Madison Gray?” Michelle asked. “Who the fuck is that?”

“She was new and then she dipped,” Wanda explained as the pair crossed through a busy thoroughfare and into another alley. This one was, if it was possible, even busier and more cramped with people than the previous one. ”Now she’s back. She lost to Gabrielle last week.”

“Gabrielle’s back?” Michelle said, somewhat passively. She asked the question but didn’t seem particularly interested in an answer.

“You really are out of the loop, aren’t you?” Wanda shook her head with a wry and vaguely disappointed smile upon her face. “You should really read my briefing notes.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Michelle replied. “Barely enough time to read what I want to read.”

“Well, maybe attend one or two of the meetings I set up instead, then,” suggested Wanda.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“Smoking a cigarette and making us late,” Wanda answered. She had come to a stop in front of a large hookah bar with an open front, the tables from within spilling out into the alleyway.

“This it?” Michelle asked. “Looks pretty full.”

“We’re in the backroom,” a third woman said, after approaching the pair and looming over them from behind. Both Michelle and Wanda turned to face her, regarding her pale skin, blue eyes, the red highlights in her hair, and - most ostentatiously of all - the bowler hat that sat delicately atop her head. “Follow me, when you’re finished smoking.”

The woman walked away, turning every head in the hookah bar as she approached a nondescript door at the back of the room.

“Is that Madison Gray?” Dreamer asked.

“No,” Wanda answered. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Huh,” Michelle said, whilst stubbing the end of her cigarette out beneath her shoe. “I thought you knew everything.”

“Just most things,” Wanda said.

***

Wanda led the way into the backroom. Inside, two women sat on the other side of a long, wooden table with a third - the one wearing the top hat - leant against a wall behind them with her arms folded.

“You’re late,” one of the two women at the table - the older and more muscular of the two - stated. “Where’s the weasel?”

“She’s not actually a weasel,” Wanda replied before Michelle had the chance to. “It’s a person beneath the suit. Surprising, I know.”

“Better late than never,” the woman in the top hat said, as she approached the table. “My name is Horatia. I’m here to represent Madison.”

“She can’t represent herself?” Wanda asked.

“Only as well as your client can, apparently,” the muscular woman said. Horatia tapped Madison on the shoulder and the young woman - maybe eighteen or nineteen years old by Michelle’s estimation - vacated her chair. Horatia took a seat in her place, offering Wanda the one across the table.

“Now now,” Horatia began. “We’re meant to be a team.”

“A little larger of a team than I was expecting,” Wanda replied with a sideways glare at the muscular woman. “If I’d known that we’d be outnumbered I’d have brought one of my associates. Are you her bodyguard?”

“Personal trainer,” the other replied.

“And do you have a name?” Wanda enquired. Michelle could sense a condescending edge to her handler’s tone. She liked that.

“Sydney,” Sydney said.

“Excellent,” Wanda began. “Now that we’re all properly introduced, shall we make a start? I’d like to get this done with before my client needs a smoke break.”

“Filthy habit.”

“Please, ladies,” Horatia interjected. “We’re not going to get anywhere with petty squabbling. And we wouldn’t have entered this tournament if we didn’t expect to go somewhere. As you are aware, Madison is relatively new to this company and to professional wrestling as a whole. We are building a brand, hopefully one to match or even outstrip that of your client’s. Even if you’ve chosen to burn that brand down and start again, a decision that I can’t even begin to fathom. Though, I guess your reasons are your own.”

“Our reasons are our own,” Wanda confirmed.

“Regardless,” Horatia began. “This tournament is a huge opportunity for Madison. And for us, really. Unexpected triumph here would put us on the map. Despite the weasel costume, Michelle’s reputation has been well-earned: her legacy is not dissimilar from that which we plan to build for Madison. We were somewhat concerned that your new gimmick would lead to a new Michelle, but her match against Violet Dreyer last month proved otherwise.”

Michelle almost found herself interjecting at the use of the word gimmick. The utterance of it here, out of unfamiliar lips, stirred something resembling aggression within her. She managed to subdue this urge, mostly because Horatia promptly continued with her impromptu monologue. It didn’t appear as if Dreamer’s input was desired, nor her presence strictly required. The same could be said of Madison Gray, who still lurked in the opposite corner to Michelle. Both wrestlers watched proceedings in silence, occasionally locking eyes across the backroom.

“Even though your general aura doesn’t quite fit in with that of the Young Lioness, we really couldn’t have asked for a better partner. Because our intention here is to win. We believe that your client could help us accomplish that. We only hope that she holds up her end of the bargain.”

Horatia fell silent, giving the impression that it was Wanda’s turn to speak. Wanda prolonged the silence in a somewhat provocative manner, smiling in an oddly serene fashion in the direction of her counterpart.

“Excuse me,” she began, finally. “But I don’t believe any bargain was made.”

“Your entry in the tournament is an implied entry into this bargain,” Horatia said.

“Well, I’m afraid that it is not really our intention to win this tournament at all,” Wanda replied. Horatia narrowed her eyes in response.

“You mean you intend to throw the tournament?” Horatia asked, her indignation palpable.

“Not at all,” Wanda said. “But I have bigger things planned for weaselperson, and those things do not reside in the tag team division. We are interested, though, in some of the other names that have also announced their participation. One named Peacock, for instance. And another named Bell.”

“If you didn’t intend to win,” Horatia began. “Then you never should have entered.”

“Did you hear that, Michelle?” Wanda asked, her smile growing as she became increasingly flabbergasted. “It sounds like our new friend is offering us some advice.”

Wanda paused, seemingly suggesting that now was the moment for Michelle to involve herself in the conversation. Surprisingly, though, no such interjection was forthcoming.

“Michelle?” Wanda repeated. She glanced around at the corner she expected Michelle to be in and found it empty.

“It appears you’re struggling to control your client,” Horatia chided. It was her turn to smile with condescension.

“Mine isn’t so compliant,” Wanda lamented. “And she’s a bad influence.”

“Bad influence?” Horatia asked with a puzzled countenance. Wanda nodded towards the opposite corner of the backroom to where Madison was standing. Was. Past tense.

When Horatia noticed that both wrestlers had left their company, she stood up so suddenly and with such indignation that her chair toppled over and her top hat fell from her head.

***

“I just had to get out of there,” Michelle said, whilst sucking on the end of a cigarette and looking out over the city, before and below them. “Away from them. The air was too thick there. Clogged in the throat. Much clearer up here.”

Right on cue, a plume of cigarette smoke filed down the wrong pipe, clogging it up and reducing her into a harsh, sudden coughing fit. She was doubled over and had to extend both hands either side of her to steady herself upon their precarious perch. The expulsion from her lungs distorted the image before her, the vast cityscape taking a few moments to resettle itself and come back into focus. When it finally did it was breaktaking in an altogether different and less literal sense. The sprawl seemed endless, illuminated up by a million or more lights that glowed like fireflies in the night. The buildings, unregimented in their formation and each different from every other, climbed against and over one another, the sprawl occasionally relenting occasionally to make space for a handful of souks and minute gardens. From up here, perched atop the closest pyramid to the city and looking back over it, she felt that Cairo was hers.

Hers. Not theirs. Not yet, anyway.

Scrambling up the side of the immense landmark had been the easy part. Convincing a taxi driver to take them to the base of it had provided more difficulty. He had explained that it would be closed to tourists at this time, the day having been swallowed up by the night before they’d finally managed to escape from their handlers. They’d waited patiently after climbing out of the car for the driver to get bored of watching them suspiciously - possibly out of the same sort of misplaced national pride in his country’s most famous landmark - and drive back towards the city. Then, they began. The climb to the top had been dull and arduous, but now that she was here, in possession of the city that sprawled out beneath her, it seemed worth it.

“So,” Michelle began, breaking the silence that had descended between them. “Do those people really speak for you?”

“It's complicated. They do and they don’t. Does that make any sense, or do I just sound like a stupid teenager doing their best at pretending to be a real adult?”

Madison couldn’t lie. This whole experience was exhilarating. Michelle didn’t answer right away. Part of her felt a simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed, but the rest of her knew that this wouldn’t be conducive to team harmony.

Team harmony? Since when did she care about team harmony? Another thing that she had Gerald to blame for, she guessed.

“I wouldn’t be in such a rush to reach real adulthood, if I were you. Being a stupid teenager doesn’t seem so bad when considered in retrospect.”

She hesitated. This was beginning to sound too much like advice, which is something she never gave willingly. She adjusted the scarammucia mask around her eyes and stubbed her cigarette out on the limestone apex of the structure.

“But I can understand your conflict,” she continued in a more sympathetic tone. “Better since I ended up in Wanda’s pocket. That’s not regret. I’m not sure that I’m capable of such complex emotions anymore.”

Another pause. More hesitation. She wasn’t sure what about this girl was drawing out such candour. Michelle sensed that, rather than any misplaced sense of comradery, it was the lack of any discernible relationship that allowed these hitherto unvoiced thoughts reach the surface. Maybe it was the night and this place. She stopped herself before she could let any more of her being leak out through her pores. Madison was staring at her with an inscrutable expression upon her face.

“I didn’t even know who you were when they told me you were my partner,” the young woman said finally. Michelle let out a deep sigh, one that originated from the pit of my stomach.

“I don’t really know who I am, either,” Dreamer replied. And then, somewhat unexpectedly, she reached up to her face and - for the first time in months when in company - removed the scaramuccia from her eyes. Madison noticed large, heavy bags beneath them. The older woman squinted and blinked, as if creation was a little too much for her to contemplate.

Finally, Gray removed her gaze from her partner and realigned them with the city below.

“So you are like a big deal in this company right? I think that is why Horatia and my financial backers are so interested in us working together, but you can be honest with me. Do you really want to be doing this, was this Buddy Bowl top on your agenda?”

As soon as Madison said it out loud she sounded like one of those basic bitch 101 interviewers she grew up watching after football games where they asked the most cliche of questions. She had never thought she was “cool”, but in close proximity to Michelle she felt very insignificant.

“You shouldn’t worry about the past. Everyone lies to you and pretends to be your friend when you are winning, and as soon as you fall down the totem pole, they are gone like autumnal leaves in the wind. Just try and enjoy yourself while you can, and don’t worry about championship belts, Buddy Bowls, or anything else packaged as the most important thing in the world. As soon as the sun sets, they stop being relevant straight away.”

Michelle didn’t feel sorry for Madison. She didn’t feel anything, but if she was going to be working alongside her, she at least wanted this young kid to be tolerable.

“Just do whatever it is that you normally do, kid. High chance we aren’t going to win outright. Let's be real. Neither of us is fully invested in this tournament or, in all honesty, with each other.”

Madison wasn’t sure what to say, largely due to the fact that she was surprised how honest Michelle was being. Michelle took a cigarette out of a packet and then turned to Madison.

“Smoke?”

“I don’t actually, but thank you.”

Michelle smiled.

“Well, I am going to have a smoke at the top of a pyramid, and you are free to stay here. But there is going to be one rule.”

“And what is that?”

Michelle wondered what on earth had possessed this young girl to pursue this lifestyle. She seemed out of her depth and fairly clueless about everything; they literally had nothing in common. Maybe her response was going to sound rude or blunt, but ultimately it was just honest.

“No more talking. We’ve done quite enough for one day. We sit at the top of that pyramid and just enjoy the silence.”

 

[Dubb]

GG & Giunti Buddy Bowl Promo​

LINK to RP:

Spoiler: Plain Text Version

The Daredevil and The Maltese Falcon in…
“Ride or Die”

Egypt is hot, dry, and I’m sweaty - I hate it here. I’d rather be back with my wheely baby-girl on the tracks, but we don’t always get what we want. A tragedy of life that I have learned to live with. The hallways almost feel claustrophobic. I have been in these sorts of passages countless times, either before wrestling or before going on a race, but today especially feels heavy.

I have to find this guy. I don’t personally know him, which might add to the tension of the situation a bit. Then again, making acquaintances is one of the many reasons I came to be a part of this. So, suck it up, buttercup and go meet this guy, okay?

Okay.

I like to think that I’m an easy-going guy and all the hearsay tells me that the guy presented to me by the two-faced luck of the draw shares similar qualities to mine and I’m not just talking about our personality traits.

A stranger that’s about to be my tag team partner for the upcoming tournament. Uncle used to tell me that a stranger is someone you haven’t stepped on yet. Uncle is cut-throat like that. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I love him a lot.

So, my intentions do not lay with stepping on anybody. Ideally, I want to make this team work and win the Buddy Bowl. Wouldn’t that be very nice?

Guess I can always ask the man himself as I finally stand in front of his locker room door. Maybe I should stop and take a minute for myself before making a first impression. Uncle used to tell me that a first impression is the best opportunity to fool someone. Uncle is cut-throat like that. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I love him a lot.

Just vibes here. I don’t even knock on the door or anything, after figuring out the door is unlocked, I just invite myself in, which does not sound like the wisest move, but if we applied traditional wisdom to everything then the world would be a way more boring place.

Speaking of places, this locker room is not a happy place. As I look at the pair of eyes that stare back at me, I realize my entrance isn’t well-received. If I could read social cues better, maybe I would be able to tell if I turned his happy day upside down by just appearing or if he was already having a bad one in the first place.

I choose to believe the former of the two. I’m a good guy. No happy person can see me and immediately turn sour. Some people, however, can see me and look like they demand an explanation right now. Maybe demand is a strong word, but I just got that feel, you know? Vibes aren’t as immaculate as they should be.

“Yo,” I decided to introduce myself as I offered my hand. “Name’s Giunti. Alejandro Giunti,”

Even though the bewildered look in his eyes does not wane, Gerald Grayson decided to shake my hand anyway. No one can resist the charms of the Falcon, I do tell you.

“Mostly known as The Maltese Falcon around these parts,” I continued. Still, it does not take a rocket scientist to figure out that Geraldo over here wants to know ‘why’ rather than ‘who’. Okay then, Mr. Unusually-Grumpy-Pants, I’ll tell you why.

“Don’t know if you know, but you look like you don’t know, so I’ll clue you in, mio fratello: You. Me. Buddy Bowl. Tag partners. Boom.” That should be the gist of it - and Gerald agrees! I can see his expression soften.

“Ah, yes. The Buddy Bowl,” See, he’s coming along nicely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise!” I maintain my enthusiasm in the face of his relatively lower energy.

“Interesting approach you’ve gone with with your introduction. More sass, less tact,” He would be right to demand something like that from anyone else, but I always found it harder to digest advice like that, not going to lie.

“That’s what people always tell me,” I admit with a shrug. Carries an implied ‘and I don’t listen’ with it. Gerald probably picks upon that as well.

“I can tell,” he laughs. Yes, he laughs. We cool. We very very cool. “Apologies for the least enthusiastic reaction to your entrance, my mind’s elsewhere it seems.”

“We cool, we cool,” I reassure him. I sit on a bench, close to him but not that close. There’s a fine line in the unwritten rules of personal space that separates entering a private locker room uninvited and sitting very close to someone on a long bench.

That’s like going into a public restroom and taking the very next urinal that someone is using. Gross. That’s why I don’t use public restrooms. If you have enough money for it, then you should avoid those too.

“I’ve been a little pre-occupied even though I’ve just returned,” Gerald continues to explain himself. It’s okay, mate. Let it all out. I’m no therapist but I can look like one with the proper glasses and a turtleneck, maybe. So, let the waves of your problems wash upon my handsome shores. “Making a return, getting back into the full wrestling schedule, Death Walker and then some more. Couldn’t find the time to contact you or even look up what you really do after I got the message that I was partnering with a character from a 1940’s cop movie.”

I feel like I should be offended, but I’m really not? I’m a NGW guy, I arrive at the arena, deal with my cute boss’ shenanigans if she’s feeling extra frisky, beat up Johnny Johnson and then leave. Rinse and repeat. I don’t feel like other wrestlers are dying to follow what I do down at developmental, especially someone who had been away from the ring like Daredevil over here.

“We’ll have time to catch up,” I told him. It’s only natural to expect to spend a lot of time with my tag partner for the remainder of the tournament at least. “In a nutshell, you know my name. I’m also a NGW guy who signed up for the Buddy Bowl to get a feel for the main roster. I’m a high flyer. I like racing.”

“Racing?” Gerald is amused by our shared hobby. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Indeed it is,” I just smirk now. “No pansy two wheels either, I race with proper four wheels.”

“We call those training wheels my friend, but whatever strikes your fancy.” Damn, he’s good.

“Anyway…” I try to recollect myself. “That’s what I do. I’m young, most people that watch me say that I have potential to be a great wrestler while my father says I don’t have potential, but that’s related to family business instead of wrestling, so you can just discard what my father says. I like long walks on the beach and love to have a good time. If you need someone who can drive your Daredevil to its Dare-st, then I’m your guy!”

I watch his expression again, his lips remain forming an amused smile.

“Solid pitch,” He shakes his head. “Not that you needed it. Whatever Jeremy Best used to choose tag team partners for this Buddy Bowl is set and we can’t change it. I appreciate it though.”

“And I appreciate you appreciating it.” I give him the finger guns. The vibes are, finally, immaculate. “So, as the more experienced member of this team, even though I really see experience as the death of creativity and experimentality, what do we do in the tournament?”

“I’m pretty certain not being able to plan is a part of the ‘randomized tag teams’ package, my friend,” Gerald tells me, tapping me on the shoulder. “So, we’ll just go there, win. Unless you really surprise me by being the type to think of every single possibility then I can safely tell you that… we have to get creative and experimental. So, as the more ‘creative’ and ‘experimental’ member of this team, what do you want to do?”

Damn, he’s good.

“We go out there. Do our thing. Let the chips fall where they may,” I tell him honestly. From my own research I do know that Gerald used to be in a tag team with a particular someone who is good at planning things out, but this is the hand that we are dealt with. “I’m no good at math, let alone the very specific topic of permutation, so who we face or who others team up with would be far from my esteemed expertise.”

Gerald approvingly wags his finger at me, but I can see that his eyes are glued in on his phone. The happy expression turns sour too as he’s probably reading a text message or something. At least I can only hope that it’s a text message. Social media rots your brain, man.

“Oh, come on,” I hear him say with an annoyed tone. The vibes were immaculate just a few seconds ago! Whoever is texting Gerald, I hope you’re real happy with yourself.

“One normal day is all I ask,” Bummer. Gerald is unhappy and complaining. Not to me, he is still staring at the screen. I’ve done nothing. I’m an innocent, law-abiding citizen. Though not a citizen of the country we are currently in or even the United States. Your boy’s a proud dual Maltese-Italian citizen.

You might’ve got it by now that I’m not really the sort who ponders over a decision for a long time. You might call it ‘reckless’ or ‘inconsiderate’ but I simply call it ‘fast decision reflexes.’. So, it should not surprise you in any shape or form that I immediately interject myself into the woes of my tag team partner. It is kinda my duty now, isn’t it? I’m not his wife or husband but I am something close to that.

“What’s going on, dude?” I ask as I lean in a bit further, making it clear that I am indeed privying. I would be playing hide-and-seek if stealth was my game, not wrestling. I will also neither confirm nor deny if I was trying to take a look at his phone, just use the context clues for that.

“Just… some Nephew business,” and now he looks truly reserved and withdrawn from me. I would be taken aback if I wasn’t a bit excited by the mention of the Nephews. Of course, Gerald was a part of that. I would assume, like most cases in professional wrestling, returning after an absence like Gerald’s would kind of reset your allegiances, but I suppose I was wrong.

“OOOoooohh!” I might come off as more excited than I intended to be. “The space-faring freakshow guys who I still have no clue what they are doing in a professional wrestling ring? Yeah, I know them!”

It’s not nice to say things like ‘freakshow’ when talking about someone’s group of friends, but I was under the impression that those were the sort who would embrace being called things like that rather than being offended by it. Judging by Gerald’s expression, I think I assumed wrong once again.

“It looks like I’m on clean-up duty once more,” I watch him get up from the bench and reach for his jacket. I follow suit. “It was nice meeting you, Falcon. Thanks for the company. We’ll talk about the tournament more in depth later, alright?” he tells me and I raise an eyebrow. Is he leaving just like that?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.” I cut him off as I tried to follow him. “Come on, dawg, are you just leaving your new tag partner alone while you go do your thing?”

He seems surprised by the sheer mention of me questioning his lone ranger schtick. Does he always do that type of thing alone? ‘The clean-up duty’, I mean.

“I’m doing you a favor by not bringing you along, Falcon. I don’t think you would want to get involved in that… what was it that you called it? Freakshow?” He tells me and boy does he look offended by that term. I’ll apologize later, when we aren’t in the middle of something. “Unless you want to help me deal with a mysterious extraterrestrial being who bears a grudge against Nephews in the way of intense bike racing?”

The silence in the room is deafening. Gerald looks like he is evaluating what he just said and I just stare at him in awe. I open my eyes wide and have to make a weird noise to bring my Nephew partner back into boring reality.

“Alright, so you’re exactly the type of person who would want to get involved with that.” aaaand Geraldo finally figures out the obvious. “So, will you help?”

“Ride or die, amigo,” I give him the finger guns, then a thumbs up and I also wink for good measure. I considered giving him the puppy eyes too, but that combination would be simply too deadly for anyone to withstand and I need a living partner for the Buddy Bowl, not a corpse who got vaporized by the sheer charisma of the Maltese Falcon.

“Follow me,” he finally says. I’m in. “I’ll give you the details on the road.”

Egypt is still hot and dry. The heat goes through my helmet. I was born and raised in the Mediterranean as much as the next guy here but holy hell is this unbearable. I decided to glance over at Gerald, wondering if the furnace-levels of heat were getting to the man of the hour as well. Just like how I was checking on him, he frequently turned to check on me throughout our ride together. More frequently than I did, really. Gerald, my man, I understand your concerns and I do appreciate them, but come on man, no need to baby the Falcon here. I came here this far with you, haven’t I? We spent a solid 40 minutes on our bikes, maneuvering through the chaotic Cairo traffic, garnering an abundance of shouts and honks from passing cars and motorists alike. I don’t take much pleasure in riding a two-wheeler, but I also realize that going through this traffic with a car would be even worse.

Finally, Gerald signaled a left turn, lifting his helmet visor, casting a questioning look my way. God, if you are there, please just tell me that we have arrived. I need this so bad. I followed him and it seemed like my prayers were answered. We were approaching the stadium and it would not be the last time this week that we would visit this place together.

Anyway, I turned my gaze to Gerald and gave him a little nod to indicate that we’re here, to which he responded with a nod of his own. Taking a sharp left turn, we were now on stadium grounds. Here, about two dozen security guards were stationed at the entrance, standing in a line, eyes forward with an unwavering focus. I didn’t know what kind of ancient Egyptian drug they took but damn, did I want some as well.

Gerald brought his bike to a halt and deployed the kickstand. He did look concerned about the situation. I did the same, positioning myself a few feet behind him. Just blending in, acting as if I belonged. That’s what I do … maybe not best, but that’s what I do the most frequently.

Gerald approached the biggest dude out there and I respect that hustle a bit. Nobody would be surprised at seeing someone like that dude take on me or GiGi in the ring as a proper wrestler, really. I watched my tag partner snap his fingers in front of the security guard's face, but there was no response. Weird as hell.

He then shot me a worried glance, and I shrugged in return. Look, Gerald, you are the weird Nephew adventure man. You should be knowing what kind of freakshow this is better than I d-

Oh. ‘Freakshow’. Right. Not a nice word.

Eventually I decided to take a turn to attempt to gain the guard's attention by snapping my fingers in front of his face, but it was all in vain. This was some deep shit, I’m telling you.

"What kind of drug did they give to these guys?" I muttered. Gerald had his hand on his chin, deep in thought as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"I think I know what's going on," he finally said. "Based on the information Harry sent me about Cuenta, she possesses the power of compulsion. She probably compelled these security guards not to react."

"Brother I’m not going to lie to you, this is total follia." I replied, trying my damnedst best to see a light side in this. “At least they aren’t beaten up or something.”

"I guess so," Gerald conceded. "However, these people are aware they're being compelled. They want to move, but their brains won't allow them to, and that's going to take a toll on them! We need to deal with Cuenta as soon as possible."

"Let's not waste any time then!" I exclaimed. We quickly mounted our bikes as Gerald was on his phone again, probably securing the coordinates or something like that.

We went down a seemingly endless corridor, ultimately reaching the grand entrance of the Mokthtar El Tesh Stadium. From the outside, good venue. I watched the Egyptian national football team play here once, Mo Salah is a football god. My older brothers used to gush about Ronaldinho all the time and I only saw what they meant after watching Salah live. So, being here once again and even witnessing it up close and personal was giving me the absolute chills.

Ah, to be a football player and play here… but that’s not the life I chose. Football is my first love, but pro wrestling is my wife. And car racing is my mistress, but that’s not relevant to our discussion right now.

I looked around and I didn’t even have to imagine what the stadium would look like if it was packed with people. Because around the perimeter of the area that Gerald’s going to be racing, we could see a multitude of people circling around it in an oval shape. Over a thousand people, if I had to make a very crude estimate. Much like the compelled security guards at the entrance, these were innocent people under some form of influence. Or I thought so, why else would they be here?

A mysterious voice echoed, breaking the surreal moment. "Hola, sobrino Gerald y chico misterioso," the voice greeted.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Before Gerald and I stood a hunched, menacing figure, levitating above the ground, draped in a maroon tunic and robe.

And I didn’t even know they spoke Spanish in space.

With a beckoning gesture, the figure urged us closer.

"Is this a good idea?" I voiced my reservations to Gerald and I’m right to do so. This is not a good idea.

"That must be Cuenta," Gerald pointed out. Thank you El Capitano Obvioso.

"You don't say," I quipped, my annoyance being prevalent at this point. I got myself into some deep shit, that much was certain. I don’t pray often (except for the times that I do) but this got me reciting something already, not going to lie.

Without a moment's hesitation, Gerald advanced towards Cuenta, and I reluctantly followed suit.

"God damn it," I muttered as I trailed right behind him. Probably not a good look on me with such specific profanity right after praying to God for safety.

But here, there was no God. There was only the menacing space entity that controlled people and looked at Gerald as if she wanted to destroy him. I’m thankful that I have all that practice in sharp turns during my races because I would probably throw off right now.

Gerald brought his bike to a stop, positioning himself about 30 feet away from Cuenta. He lifted his helmet from his face and rested it on the seat of his bike. Meanwhile, I remained on my bike, prepared for a quick escape if the situation took a turn for the worse. Look, the Turks have a saying, ninety percent of being a man is knowing when and how to flee.

"Why are you here, Cuenta?" Gerald inquired of the mysterious figure.

"No eres con quien deseo hablar," Cuenta responded immediately. She’s not even using a universal translator or whatever Star Trek bullshit I would expect from a scenario like this.

Just plain Spanish.

Gerald turned his head, perplexed by her response. He took his phone out and activated an app, which I wanted to believe could be useful. It’s not like he’s going to take a picture of Cuenta and put it on Instagram.

I would probably do something like that, though.

"One more time?" Gerald questioned, leaning closer to Cuenta as if leaning forward would help him understand Cuenta more.

"¡No eres con quien deseo hablar!" Cuenta responded, this time with more intensity.

"Who do you wish to speak to? Maybe I can relay a message for you," Gerald suggested. I didn’t understand a lick of what was going on, but Gerald was playing this so cool, calm and collected.

Guess I can stay a bit more and watch.

"Deseo hablar con el tío y el resto de los sobrinos. Tienen lo que deseo. Tráemelos," Cuenta stated.

"You want to speak to the Nephews? That's not how it works, Cuenta. But hey, I'm here. Is there something we can discuss? Maybe we can reschedule, because as much as I'd like Uncle and the Nephews to deal with you, they're off on another planet handling some business," Gerald said casually.

"Humano tonto! ¿No entiendes el poder que poseo? Mira a tu alrededor. Tú y tu amiguito detrás de ti podrían terminar como estas personas que he alineado aquí," Cuenta shouted, causing me to wince at the shrillness of her voice.

I always wanted to learn Spanish but damn this space alien lady is making me reconsider that desire.

Before Gerald could respond, Cuenta closed the gap between us, leaving me frozen in place. In an instant, she was mere inches from my face.

If I write an auto-biography sometime down the line, I will explicitly write that it was a near-death experience. Exaggerating a bit, but it was what it felt like. Jesus Christ.

"Este chico que trajiste contigo está tan asustado que está congelado en su lugar. Ni siquiera tengo que obligarlo," Cuenta gloated, releasing a wicked laugh.

"What do you want from us, Cuenta? I can't just summon the Nephews whenever I please," Gerald asserted with determination. Go get her ass, my man.

"Por alguna razón, los poderes fácticos valoran lo que tienen algunos de los sobrinos. En mi poder tengo la mano de Harry. Estoy a la caza de souvenirs especiales que posea cada sobrino. Ahora que está aquí, déjeme decirle lo que deseo de usted, Sr. Daredevil. Codicio ese casco tuyo," Cuenta pointed at Gerald's helmet, placed on the seat of his bike.

"You want my helmet?" Gerald paused. I paused mentally as well. She just wanted … a helmet? "You damn well know I'm not going to hand over my helmet willingly, especially if it helps with your nefarious cause."

"Por supuesto que no. Pero ya que estás aquí, Gerald. Déjame proponerte algo. Como has visto, había alineado el estadio con personas en forma ovalada, muy parecida a una pista de carreras. Dado que eres un entusiasta de las motos, ¿qué tal si hacemos una carrera? Si ganas, no molestaré a los sobrinos hasta que estén a mi alcance. Pero si gano, renunciarás a ese casco tuyo, lo que hará que mi poción se vuelva aún más fuerte. ¿Qué dices?" Cuenta proposed.

I of course understood what she was saying. No, I didn’t. I hope she wasn’t rambling about western countries not willing to hold themselves accountable and finding out the reason for it next week on Fallout.

Concern radiated from my eyes as I looked at Gerald once more, still immobile at the sight of Cuenta standing mere feet from me. I felt utterly powerless, how could I now?

"You want to race me for my helmet? How do I know you'll uphold your end of the deal?" Gerald inquired.

"No lo harás. Esta es la propuesta que les he presentado. O lo aceptas o no lo aceptas. Necesito estos souvenirs para sobrino. Sin la presencia de los Sobrinos no puedo adquirir estos souvenirs. Entonces, en ese sentido, tienes la ventaja," Cuenta replied.

Gerald looked at me, searching for any advice, but all I could do was shrug helplessly, still frozen in place. Dude, if you have no idea, what do you want me to say? Get real for a minute.

“You want me to race you for my helmet, knowing full well you probably won’t hold up your end of the deal if I win? Tough choice you’ve given me, Cuenta,” Gerald said sarcastically.

After a brief contemplation, Gerald nodded and stated, "Let's do this."

"Excelente. Encuéntrame en el punto de partida en diez minutos," Cuenta instructed.

Cuenta swiftly departed, vanishing into thin air, leaving Gerald and I even more perplexed.

"Are you alright?" Gerald inquired.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful back there. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what’s currently happening," I admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring my cheeks red.

"No need to apologize. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve had the same reaction. Being with the Nephews has provided me with a unique set of experiences, and I've learned to expect the unexpected," Gerald reassured me.

"So, what's the plan now?" I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. But if there's one thing I'm confident in, it's my ability to race. This isn't the first time I've competed against extraterrestrial beings," Gerald stated, a chuckle accompanying his words.

Of course it wasn’t. "Of course it’s not," I said in a deadpan voice.

"Yeah, remind me to share that story with you sometime. But for now, we need to prepare," he said with determination.

I nodded in agreement. If we can recover from this enough to share stories with each other, that is. If we get through that milestone, then it’s all cool.

"I'm certain Cuenta's going to pull out underhanded tactics during this race, so I need you to be my eyes and ears," Gerald informed me, handing over an earpiece. I took it and put it on my ear immediately. I needed to be some use in this."You'll be in the stands, with a full view of everything. If Cuenta tries anything sneaky, you've got to alert me immediately. I just need a quick heads-up, and I'll handle the rest," Gerald said, giving me proper instructions.

"I’m going to be real honest with you, dude. I don’t know if I can do this. This is not just weird shit, but it’s weird shit that is actually real. Cuenta is using real people to line the track! We need to call the police or some shit! We can't deal with this on our own, man!" I panicked.

"Listen," Gerald said, gripping my shoulder. "Take a breath. It'll be alright."

And I tried. I needed to calm down if I was going to be any help. He was trying his best and I was doing my best to follow. "You're panicking because you've never been in a situation like this—high stakes. Guess what? It won't be the last time."

"If you come out of this with the best possible outcome, anything the Buddy Bowl or the FWA throws at you will feel like a walk in the park. Use this as a learning experience," Gerald advised, releasing his grip on my shoulder. "I never used to dive headfirst into situations like this. Well, extreme sports, sure, but that's different. The Nephews teach you to be strong, even when the situation seems grim."

Well, weren’t those some fighting words.

"Plus, I've got a plan," Gerald said, pointing to his phone.

Please don’t be just telling this to reassure me. I really hope that you have a good plan, Gerald. We’re all toast if you don’t.

"Don't worry, just be my eyes and ears, and I'll take care of the rest," he assured, patting me on the shoulder. “I can’t do this without you. You’ve got this,”

I was still sweating with nerves (and from the regular heat). However, we traded fist bumps in confidence anyway. He needed to know that I’d be able to do this as much as I needed to know that I could do it.

Just then, Cuenta reappeared at the starting line, showcasing an impressive bike. The glossy black base was adorned with numerous motors on each end. I counted eight on each side, making it a powerful bike. The engines, twice the size of Gerald's bike, roared to life as Cuenta demonstrated its power. The odds didn't seem in Gerald's favor. He glanced back at me, offering a thumbs-up before positioning himself next to Cuenta.

"Nice bike," Gerald quipped as Cuenta revved her intimidating bike in an attempt to scare the Daredevil.

"No tienes ninguna posibilidad. Prepárate para perder ese casco tuyo y ser mi rehén," Cuenta taunted.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Gerald retorted, accelerating his bike, the sound not as deafening as Cuenta's.

"Una vuelta al estadio y listo. Como has visto, he alineado la pista con gente inocente, trata de no atropellarlos. Hehehehe," Cuenta said, probably her last words of shit-talk before the race, or something about the rules, I didn’t know really.

"Nosotras comenzamos en 3, -!" Before Cuenta could finish her countdown, Gerald took off.

Well, wasn’t that slick! I took my seat in the stands at the end of the track, still bewildered by Gerald's confidence in this race, but his boldness to pull off something like this, even leaving Cuenta herself without a word … that was admirable. A real professional move.

"Did you see that, Falcon?!" Gerald exclaimed over the comms. "Rule #1, never play by the villain's rules – they cheat all the time anyway."

"Noted! Keep that foot on the pedal – she's right on your tail!" I responded back, I really hope he focuses more on the race than gloating at me.

"Thanks," Gerald acknowledged, taking the inside corner of the track to stay ahead of Cuenta.

Seizing an early lead, Gerald floored the accelerator, wanting to end the race as soon as possible. Despite building a substantial lead, Cuenta remained unfazed, and soon, we discovered why.

"She's closing in on you, Gerald!" I exclaimed through the comms, panic evident in my voice. Come on man, secure this before my voice breaks.

Now, it was Cuenta's turn to surge alongside Gerald. She swerved to the right, attempting to collide with Gerald's bike – and she succeeded. Damn, she's good.

“Why didn’t you get out of her way?!” I questioned, why would you be willing to get hit by that thing?

“She would’ve hit the innocent bystanders if my bike didn’t absorb the brunt of that hit!” Gerald yelled in response. I shut up.

Damn, she's good, but he was right, too. Putting others before himself even in a situation like this. Gerald was a good dude and probably needed a better dude to have his back in a situation like that, but just like the Buddy Bowl, we make do with what we got.

With Gerald's bike taking damage, Cuenta seized the lead halfway through the race. Despite this setback, Gerald remained unfazed. He lifted a tab covering a red button.

“You ready to see something cool, kid?” Gerald teased over the comms. I could sense a cheeky smile on his face. This time I fully believe that he has something in mind.

Gerald pressed the button, and in an instant, it was as if he warped to another dimension.

“Nitrous oxide?! You’re a maniac!” I exclaimed, not knowing where I should feel concerned or impressed at Gerald’s trick up his sleeve. But you can be assured that I was laughing my ass off.

“Woo-hoooooo!” echoed through the comms, accompanied by the sight of Gerald raising his right arm in the air, exuding the confidence of someone who had already won the race.

Meanwhile, Cuenta was more annoyed than anything. Due to the raw power of her engines, she managed to catch up to Gerald, but not without effort.

Wait, what was that? With my keen vision, I witnessed Cuenta extracting something from within her tunic. This is the part where the villain reaches her own bag of cehats and tricks and makes the situation worse for our valiant hero, isn’t it?

“GiGi! Cuenta’s up to no good! She just pulled something out from her shirt!” I warned urgently.

As soon as I relayed that message, the track began to fill with smoke, so much so that I could barely see. Hell, ‘barely’ is a very generous word here. Looking down at the track, I couldn’t see Cuenta and Gerald at all, but I could hear Cuenta laughing maniacally.

A smoke bomb, that's what caused all this. I saw that clear enough before it went off. I attempted to clear the smoke with my hands, but it seemed endless. Cuenta was still laughing, exclaiming more phrases in Spanish, probably more shit-talk directed at Gerald’s way.

And at that moment, I started fearing for the worst. This is already some deep science fiction chaos that I am in. Cuenta literally controls thousands of people here. Who’s to say that this is a regular smoke bomb? What if it’s something more?

Oh dear, I can already imagine it. Gerald Grayson is a cheerful dude, all my research on him prior to this only confirmed that he had a free spirit and a will that could not be broken easily.

Wouldn’t Cuenta’s primary tactic here be to try and achieve exactly that? From everything she did, she made it clear that she was a maniac. A sadist. Of course she would want to break Gerald Grayson at his core.

To break a man, you attack his insecurities. I know that much.

I can imagine Cuenta’s laughter being replaced by J.J.JAY’s very own.

More Nephews—Quiet, Harry, Thomas West, and Jay would all point and laugh at Gerald, who would be curled in a fetal position, repeating that he didn't belong with the Nephews. Each Nephew would affirm Gerald's statement. I couldn't comprehend what was happening, and I didn't like it.

“Gerald, get up!” I urged, but to no avail. Trying to reach out and break him free from his visions. But, I was merely a ghost in this premonition.

I don’t know where my assessment ended and where reality began.

The visions would get worse. Gerald is in the gorilla position at the Timbuktu Fallout show. He performed some breathing exercises as he prepared to make his appearance after a good while.

“You’re alright, Gerald. You’ve got this,” He repeated to himself. “No matter the reaction you get, it’ll be good to get this out of the way. They’ll love you.”

He continued with positive affirmations before his theme song finally blared through the sound system. The roar of the crowd was audibly loud, which had to feel for Gerald.

The scene transitioned to Gerald's locker room, probably a few minutes before I barged in and introduced myself.

“What if what they’re saying was right?” I heard Gerald express aloud.

“No, stop it,” he implored, covering his face with his hands.

Of course anyone who would be away from the ring that long would be insecure about their imminent return. Some kind of intense pressure would be on them, but he would be imposing that on himself in unnecessary levels. Yet, Gerald seemed the sort that would go harder under that kind of pressure. No wonder he had a successful career like his.

But still, he was still going too hard on himself despite everything he managed to achieve. No brakes. Only gas. Only speed.

And Cuenta would be the brick wall that would stop that car here. Of course, when Gerald harbored thoughts like these, she would use her smoke bombs to make him hallucinate about his insecurities, making it easier for her to break him.

Was he putting on some additional pressure and stress on himself, especially with a rookie like me by his side during this Buddy Bowl? I hoped not. After learning that Gerald would be my partner, I felt excited about what we could achieve. We were similar in both our in-ring style and parts of our personalities. Sure, we didn’t mesh right away, but what tag team did?

“Ger!” a voice echoed from afar. I couldn't see who it was.

“Gerald!” the voice exclaimed once more, louder this time.

“Gerald! Wake up! It’s Jay,” the voice shouted at the top of his lungs.

Despite being barely able to make out his features, the figure looked stunningly similar to Gerald, but older. He … had a brother, right?

Suddenly, I was back in the stands, examining the track to understand what just happened. The smoke had cleared enough for me to see the track clearly. Gerald's bike was out in front! He faced all those visions and came out on top!

It feels like history in the making.

"What?!" I could hear Cuenta audibly question. Oh now you speak English you bastard.

She got back on her bike, tailing Gerald. Attempting a repeat performance from earlier, she aimed to ram her bike into Gerald's.

“Gerald! She’s at it again!” I screamed over the comms. We had this. We so had this.

“10-4!” Gerald responded, a little too casually.

Standing on the seat of his bike to maintain balance, Gerald met Cuenta's gaze. He performed a BACKFLIP off his bike, landing perfectly on the ground. Holy fucking shit.

With Cuenta seeking to ram him, a smile appeared on Gerald’s face.

“¡Ven aquí, monstruo!” Gerald screamed with all his might.

Suddenly, Cuenta's body contorted into unimaginable patterns. It was unlike anything I'd seen before. Her voice shifted from tenor to a bass of agony and pain. In a matter of seconds, Cuenta vanished.

Out of all the weird sci-fi shit I’ve seen today, that was one of them.

Looking at Gerald, he had his phone out, capturing the last remnants of Cuenta entering it. Did he just teleport her away?

Damn, he's good.

After the events of yesterday, I don’t think my life will ever be the same. Look, don’t tell me that I knew what I was getting myself into because I clearly didn’t. I thought all this Nephew business was mostly super-advanced CGI or something like that, but seeing things up close and personal really makes a man think, yanno? I actually stopped to think about things - that should tell you how serious this shit might be.

One thing was certain though, I respected Gerald a lot more now… and maybe even feared him a bit. How does one do stuff like this on a regular basis?

It would take a serious amount of consideration to decide if I even wanted to go and see Gerald today and relive yesterday’s events. I can afford a lot of luxuries in life, but ignoring what happened yesterday isn’t one of them. Today’s the day of the show. The Buddy Bowl kicks off today baby, and I have a partner who can backflip on a moving motorcycle! We should be eating well.

Yet, this still means confronting Gerald and addressing the hypothetical elephant in the room at some point. Fun. Super fun. Hooray.

I knocked on his locker room door, hearing a confused sound from within before being granted entry. I half-expected him not to open the door after what he went through yesterday with the visions caused by Cuenta's smoke bombs.

Usually, I prefer to deal with my insecurities privately. And by privately, I mean cr-

No. Don’t think I will be clarifying that. Sorry. Ahem.

Gerald, on the other hand, confronts them head-on in a motorcycle race. It's kind of depressing realizing that gap between me and him, but we ball regardless. I'll step into that ring tomorrow and give it my all to make it up to him.

"You seem deep in thought, Falcon," he pointed out. "A lot to process after yesterday?"

I remain silent. I'm reluctant to admit it outright, but he easily picks up on my hesitance.

"Everyone feels that way after witnessing what the Nephews go through for the first time. Take your time," he advises, offering veteran wisdom. Go on, GiGi, enjoy your veteran status.

"I've been meaning to thank you, by the way. We won. I couldn't have done that without your help. That smoke bomb she pulled out was some real nasty stuff," Gerald acknowledges, holding out his hand in a fist as we share a fist bump.

"Yeah, tell me about it, dude," I responded in an uncharacteristically humble tone. Guiding someone through hallucinations about their insecurities wasn't something to boast about. "Must've been a hell of a strain on you, seeing all the Nephews discarding you and the fans booing you. Then that stuff with your brother must've been real rough as well."

There, I've addressed it. I hope he acknowledges it, and we can move on to discussing our plans for the day.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asks with a serious and confused tone.

"What?" I said, turning my head slightly.

Gerald looks perplexed, and internally, I echo that sentiment.

"Nephews? Fans? My brother? What are you on about?”

"Didn't you have to face all your insecurities one-by-one under the vivid hallucinations caused by Cuenta's smoke bomb?" I ask with a deadpan face. Isn't that what happened?

"Huh?" Gerald looks out of words for a moment.

"I am so confused right now," I admit.

"Yeah, so am I!" he responds.

I take a seat on the nearby bench, trying to make sense of everything. I was sure he would be seeing illusions like that.

"It was a regular smoke bomb!" Gerald clarifies further. "Why would you think I hallucinated? Let alone hallucinate about those things you mentioned?"

"Isn't that usually how your Nephew adventures would go? I feel like an absolute cretin right now," I admit to him, and he looks like he needs me to elaborate. Yeah, man, sure, I'll do it. "You guys go around and meet some foes that teach you valuable lessons in defeating them, lessons you can also apply to other areas of your life. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?"

To that, I expect a laugh to be the last thing to come out of my esteemed tag partner's mouth.

"Oh, you were definitely overthinking and overcomplicating things, Falcon," he chuckles, his laughter resonating in the room. I can't help but feel a bit embarrassed at the moment. "That also explains why your words of encouragement sounded weird too. It's nice to know that people will still love me despite my insecurities, but it was a bit off-beat to hear it during a race, you know?"

He probably senses that and stops laughing, but he still looks very amused.

"Nephew adventures are Nephew adventures. To try and put deeper meanings into them would go against the very core beliefs of the Nephews," he explains, or rather, he seems to lecture me about it. "Nephew adventures are what you make of them."

"So, no hallucinations, illusions, or lessons learned through them?" I inquired once more, seeking complete clarity. Though I've already confirmed this in my mind, the repetition serves as a lifeline to escape the headspace of denial.

The intensity of the situation weighed on me. It felt as though the balance of the universe were on my hands, anticipating whether Gerald would be engulfed by the ghosts of the past or present.

His confirmation that there was no mystical play with the smoke bombs inadvertently deepens my self-perception as a doofus. It's unpleasant to entertain such thoughts about oneself, but the acknowledgement persists.

"You know what, Falcon?" he poses with a curious tone, and I find myself crumpled on the bench like a discarded carpet. This is awkward. I nod out of formality, awaiting Gerald's revelation.

"It sounds to me like you're the one who experienced hallucinations, learning lessons about yourself in the process," he grins once more. "You've grasped the importance of not assuming just because you conjured up a whole set of illusions about things you think I might be insecure about. It's nice to be cared for, but jeez, what you put yourself through seems more harmful to you than beneficial to me."

All I could do was shrug.

"In a way, it seems you encountered your own Nephew adventure, in your very own description!" he continued.

I respond with a confused look.

"I don't think I'd want another one," I bluntly told him.

"Shame," he retorts. "You'd make a good one. Your imagination looks like it may even surpass Harry's."

I roll my eyes, further rejecting the notion.

"You didn't seem thrilled about this one either," I gently reminded him. I vividly recall his initial complaints about embarking on this adventure during our first meeting. "I say this with the utmost respect, my man, but it looks like you won't find much peace as long as they continue to make you do stuff like these?"

"You're not wrong, Falcon. But I love it," he paused, a grin playing on his lips. "And do you know why I love it?"

Leaning forward, I awaited his response.

"It might sound cliché, but the Nephews make me feel like I belong," he chuckled. "No matter how many silly or challenging situations we face, we go through them together. Even if, technically, I went on this adventure alone as a Nephew - Harry provided crucial information needed to get the job done. You helped me out as well, Falcon."

"And that's enough for you?" I inquired. “Come on dawg, you gotta demand more sometimes, you know? Nothing wrong with that sort of thing.”

"It may not be much, but it's more than enough for me. Knowing I can fail, and the Nephews will be there. Knowing I can succeed, and the Nephews will be there," he said with a smile in his voice.

"I'm not sure that'll be enough for me, if I'm being honest," I responded. This kind of thing is a bummer to talk about, but yeah, it has to be done before we can actually get down to business so it doesn’t affect our in-ring performance.

"Care to explain?" Gerald prompted. Of course he wanted to know more. It was his right to demand that, I suppose, after he told me his story.

"I'm the ninth son of a billionaire. Nothing is expected of me. Hell, I probably wasn't supposed to exist. An accident, not that it bothers me much. Took enough teasing from my brothers growing up." I paused. Because of that, my life has pretty much been decided for me. Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t get involved in actual business. ‘We have the heir and the spare and six more spares before it even comes to you.’ "Because of who my dad is, failure or success doesn't really matter because I'll have my dad's money to fall back on. The day I realized this is the day I learned not to take life seriously. Live it day by day. Go with the flow.”

"All the more reason to find a reason, don't you think?" Gerald suggested, looking me straight in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked, wondering where he’s going with this. I hope this isn’t another pitch for Nephews but I judge Gerald to be a character that would let that go after one rejection. Reliable, reliable man.

"Now's the time to take control of your life, Falcon. Seeing you in action against Cuenta, you're a natural! There's no way I would've brought you along if I didn't think you couldn’t handle it. Sure, you had some jitters, but who wouldn't?" Gerald complimented me. Aww, you’re sweet. Though…

"I didn't do much, man," I said, assessing the situation honestly. “You might’ve performed even better if it wasn’t for my delusions.”

"You did enough, Falcon. That's why I know that once the Buddy Bowl kicks off, you're going to come out with the fire like I know you can and lead us to victory," Gerald asserted with confidence.

A tingling feeling surged inside me, and I didn't quite know how to handle it. It felt different, yet undeniably pleasant. Having someone believe in me for once was nice.

"Sign with the FWA and be a part of the Nephews. We could use more oddballs. And trust me, after working with you, you're definitely an oddball," Gerald chuckled. Ah fuck, so that was a pitch. "What do you say?"

Uncle Massimo used to tell me that a man should strictly have one and only one family that he’s responsible for and he should discard the rest. Uncle is cut-throat like that. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but that’s okay. I love him a lot.

“Maybe that’s a talk we should save for after this is all said and done, eh?” I said, knowing it wasn’t the answer Gerald wanted to hear.

“You guys are on in 10 minutes!” A knock on the door came from a backstage worker. To be honest, I didn’t get to know the backstage guys a lot throughout my doings in NGW. Maybe I should, I even heard that Ryan Rondo got inspiration from a backstage worker that he talked to many years ago before he went on to win the world title at Back In Business.

"Thanks, Will!" Gerald shouted in return. So, his name is Will. Maybe I’ll look for him some day. "Well, time to get going."

At the gorilla position, we took a few moments to get some stretches to get loose. I could tell Gerald was focused by the look of his eyes. He was ready to kick off the Buddy Bowl with a bang. I needed to match his intensity.

“You know what, Falcon?” Gerald told me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You go first. Take it all in, enjoy it. I’ll follow you after.”

“... but whatever teams that are going to compete with us … they will be left behind by the speed of two great racers, left to collect dust. Maybe except Michelle.”

To that, I give him a fierce nod, tap him on the shoulder back and offer one last fist bump before I get out of the locker room.

My heart is pumping. It’s showtime. I was not born for a purpose, so I had the privilege to follow my heart.

And it brought me here. In the heart of Egypt. In front of thousands. Tens of thousands.

I’m passing the gorilla position as I hear my music hit.

♫PUT YOUR LOVIN’ HAAAAAND OOOOUT … baaabbyy….

‘CUZ I’M BEEEEEEGGGGGGIIIIINNNNNN!♫