As You Were: A Bad Miracle

“PRIME belongs to the Bandits! We’re taking everything! Just try and stop us!” I roared at the top of my lungs, hoping the Red Army and Glueminati were still within earshot, as ReVival 61 went off the air and we made our way through Argyle. You wouldn’t think, to look at us, that we’d just pulled a clean sweep on the competition. Cancer had his face buried in Vickie’s neck and she was giggling tremulously, I couldn’t tell if it was from his kisses or the fact that she was clutching the Five-Star title to her breast. He’d pulled off one of the greatest upsets in company history and yet his new prize seemed to be an afterthought next to the quivering Valkyrie in his arms.

Coral, by contrast, was well aware of the value of the gold in his grasp. His gaze was fixed on the middle distance and I recognized the look in his eyes, I’d been in his position once upon a time. He was already strategizing, after Ivan and Cecilworth had made their presence felt post-main. The pieces were falling into place and the game was afoot for our peerless leader. Tony had a similar look in his eyes and, after toppling the Cowboy Colossus, was likely envisioning where that would take him next. As for me? My gear was sodden and I reeked of alcohol following Cancer’s title win. Despite the defiant victories and dominating presence throughout the night, all I wanted was a shower.

We went our separate ways again after a somewhat halfhearted huddle and a vow to continue forward with the same momentum. I helped myself to one of the tour T-shirts on the way out. The Australian heat did me no favors as I made my way back to the bus, frustration building with every step, eager to get out of my cloying outfit. There was no sign of Cyril, Coocoo or Stevie when I boarded the Hess Express and so I kicked off my boots and stepped into the shower fully dressed without a change of clothes to hand, peeling off my shirt, pants and underwear and wringing them out under the spray. Amber-tinged water frothed around my feet and spiraled down the drain.

I emerged naked and feeling much fresher when the door whooshed open and all three of them appeared. Perfect timing as always. “Oh shit,” Cyril cried as he threw his arms out to halt Coocoo and Stevie, “it’s the abominable bush man!” I hurled the bundle of wet clothes at him, smacking him square in the face, rocking him where he stood and stifling his laughter.

“Throw those in the drying compartment,” I replied casually before making my way to my bedroom. “And throw yourself in while you’re at it.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Stevie chortled, snatching the gear from the dwarf as he arced it overhead for a return throw.

I had only just gotten into a pair of jeans when Cyril barged into the bedroom moments later.

“Those pants have a button on ‘em y’know,” he griped, rubbing the spot on his forehead where said button had indeed left its mark. “What if you’d caught me in the eye?”

I considered that with a wry smile as I pulled on the tour T-shirt I’d grabbed from backstage.

He grumbled, then adopted a quizzical expression as he quickly changed the subject. “Hey, have you checked your phone lately?”

“Cyril, the show just ended. Next booking won’t come through for an-”

“-I’m not talking about your work phone.”

I was about to spritz my throat with Creed Aventus when I paused, curious, taking a second to contemplate what personal matter he could possibly be referring to. Nothing came to mind and I continued nonplussed, eradicating the lingering notes of alcohol in my nostrils with the sweet-smelling cologne.

“Have you checked your phone?” He asked again, more emphatically, as I rubbed my neck and then ran the scent through my beard. I looked down to find him holding his phone up at me, the screen filled with a black image with red lettering across it.

“Why are you showing me a black screen? D’you push a button by accident?”

“No, take a closer look.”

“If this is one of those jumpscare deals, I’ll throw you in the drier myself.” I sighed, taking the cell from him and squinting cautiously at the screen. The red lettering formed an error message of some kind. “What exactly am I looking at?” I shrugged and, assuming it was a picture, attempted to scroll back and forth to no avail. I handed the phone back before anything startling appeared.

“The video feed from the security camera at my front door,” he answered, tapping the screen a couple of times before showing it to me again. “And this should be a view of the driveway from the back of the house.”

Another black image, though with a different error code.

“Oh.” I finally understood, and now he had my attention.

“Yeah. Oh.” He aped. “I got an alert on the home security app during the show. None of the cameras are working.”

“Probably a system update or something,” I said, motioning for him to step aside so I could go fix my post-show whiskey. He didn’t budge, and concern was growing on his face.

“Well could you check your app please? What if it’s vandals..or a burglary?”

I rolled my eyes. “Then the security company will deal with it, that’s what they’re paid for.” But the worrisome look didn’t abate. I groaned, reaching for my kit bag and unzipping the side pouch where my personal cell was stored. “The property’s wrapped up tighter than an Eskimo’s nutsack, Cyril. No one’s dumb enough to-……huh.”

“What? What is it?” He said in a panic.

My skin prickled. The email app and home security app both had several pings, and I’d missed three phone calls. A tap of the receiver icon confirmed they had come from the security company, all within the last few hours while I’d been working. I checked through the unread emails first, then corroborated them with the corresponding notifications from the home security app. It wasn’t just Cyril’s house; every camera on the property was offline.

“It says the whole system is down,” I relayed, bugging my eyes matter-of-factly at Cyril to mask my own apprehension. “Like I said, probably maintenance. I’ll give ‘em a call and see what’s up, go pour me a whiskey, would ya?”

I shooed him out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him as I called the company back and pressed the phone to my ear. A friendly voice picked up after several rings. I introduced myself, gave my account number and explained the situation. I could hear the clacking of a keyboard over the line as the operator looked up my information. Then they said something to me that made my blood run cold.

“...what do you mean, incident?”

The friendly voice took on a grave tone as they confirmed that the company had attempted to contact me and left multiple voicemails that I hadn’t even thought to check. The first call was to inform me that the sensors, cameras and alarms at Parts Unknown had gone down all at once and the company was looking into it as well as dispatching local law enforcement in case of criminal activity.

The second call had been made forty-five minutes later to verify that the system hadn’t glitched and that officers were on the scene.

The third call came ten minutes after the second, indicating that an incident had been logged and I was to contact my local P.D. directly and immediately.

When I asked the operator to elaborate, they suggested I reach out to the sheriff’s office. When I demanded, they insisted. Then they apologized for not being able to provide further assistance and ended the call. Cyril appeared in the doorway all of a sudden, whiskey in hand.

He’d been listening through the door. “What the hell’s going on, Angelus?”

I grabbed the tumbler out of his hands and downed the whole drink as I scrolled through my contact list for the sheriff’s number. “I don’t know. Something’s happened and they won’t tell me what.”

“The fuck you mean they won’t tell you??”

I found the number, dialled out and pushed the empty glass into his chest. “Tell Stevie to take us to the airport. Now.”

“Wha-” he fumbled the glass, dumbfounded. “We’re flying home?”

“I’m going back. You three are staying.”

He tried to argue the point as the call connected. I thrust an open palm in front of his face to silence him, shot him a vicious snarl, then pointed back the way he came. Visibly rattled, mouth agape, he backed out of the bedroom to deliver the order to my driver. As soon as I gave my name to the dispatcher they asked my whereabouts, then urged me to get on the next available flight.

I chased the night for the better part of a day. By the time I landed at LAX, after departing from Sydney in the wee hours, time itself had lost all meaning. My neck was sore from constantly nodding off and jerking awake again. Turbulence and troubled thoughts had robbed me of rest. I searched online for any news of an incident at home and found nothing. After stepping off of my connecting flight I felt like tearing my skin off. I was as uncomfortable in it as when I’d left Commbank stained with sweat and alcohol. My eyes were red and sore, my nerves raw. I must have passed out from exhaustion during the cab ride to the police station because I remember nothing of the journey.

My head was still swimming when I gave my name at the front desk. I was told to take a seat, that someone would be with me momentarily. A grating snore that I recognized as my own caused me to look up all of a sudden. I must have drifted off again. The deputy was standing in front of me, holding a coffee in one hand.

“I’ve been instructed to take you to your lodgings tonight, sir,” he said, offering me the drink. “Please, take this and follow me.”

I drank half the cup on my way out, burning the roof of my mouth and my tongue in the process, and tossed the rest in the bin as I was led out the front of the building and into a waiting SUV.

“Officer, can you please tell me what’s going on? Am I in trouble?” I begged, crawling into the back seat.

I’m not sure if he obliged me or not. The second I rested my head against the window I was out like a light again.

“Mister Von Kelsig? Sir?”

My eyes nipped when I opened them again. The deputy was standing on the sidewalk, holding the door open. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes because when I looked past him at the hotel we’d pulled up to I realized we’d only driven a couple blocks from the police station.

“You’ll be staying in room fifteen tonight,” he said, handing me a keyfob. He’d taken the liberty of checking me in. Smalltown perks of a famous pro-wrestler. “I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up at eight o’clock sharp, and we’ll drive out to your property. You’ll get your answers then, sir. Okay?”

I nodded sluggishly and took the keycard. As I shuffled through the foyer I looked back to see him sitting in the driver seat, watching. I waved wearily, found my room and collapsed onto the bed. I was sound asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

I was still a little groggy the next day, even after a full night’s rest, though I was coherent at least. The deputy was waiting for me by the door when I emerged into the foyer, with another coffee and a sandwich to boot. I accepted them graciously and followed him out to the SUV. Parts Unknown was an hour’s drive from town normally, but the deputy switched the blues on and cut that time by half. I didn’t bother asking any more questions, or even checking my phone, I just sat in silence and wondered what awaited me.

I got my answer, or at least some semblance of understanding, about ten minutes before we reached the entrance to Parts Unknown. A cold sweat came over me as I looked out the window at the hillside surrounding my valley. The topography looked the same from a distance, but the closer we got the more I realized that something was very wrong.

About a year ago I was forced to close the park because of an environmental mandate that saw hundreds, maybe even thousands, of massive wind turbines erected all around my property. Given that pretty much all of the rides and machinery were gas guzzlers, I’d been forced to shut up shop. Thank God for Lindsay Troy and PRIME, or I’d have been up shit creek. Those damned turbines hadn’t just compromised my business, they’d also ruined the magnificent views of the valley.

But the hilltops stood bare now.

I scanned the trees below to find, to my horror, the twisted remains of towers and rotor blades strewn across the hillside as far as the eye could see. Swathes of trees had been felled under their impact leaving vast gouges in the sprawling forestry, some of which seemed to be smouldering. There was debris everywhere.

“Mother of God…” the deputy muttered under his breath. From the sound of it, this was his first time seeing it too.

I was speechless. I couldn’t even make sense of what I was seeing to comment on it. An entire wind farm, sundered. I was so captivated by the devastation I didn’t even register the rows of parked vehicles lining the road outside my driveway, or that the SUV had come to a halt.

“Mister Von Kelsig?” came a gruff voice beside me.

I came back to my senses with a gasp. My window was down and the sheriff was leaning on the door, staring at me from behind his Oakleys. The shock must have been evident on my face, because he promptly removed them so I could see his eyes.

“Thank you for coming back on such short notice, sir. I understand you were out of the country?”

I was too busy staring him up and down to answer, still trying to wrap my mind around what I’d seen on the hillside. It was then that I took a good look around me. The sheriff was flanked by four suits, government men from the look of them. One was holding a metal ring binder and retrieving something from within. Black SUVs and big box trucks, as well as several sedans and station wagons that looked civilian, lined the road. The trucks blocked my view of the property. A small crowd milled around the roadside, I saw several different acronyms embroidered on various jackets – and anyone who wasn’t wearing one was carrying an equipment case or two.

“We’ll take it from here sheriff, thanks,” said one of the suits as the other produced a piece of paper from the binder and secured it over the cover with a clip.

The sheriff nodded solemnly and squinted at me. “Agent O’Shea would like a word, if you’d be so kind as to step out of the car.”

I acquiesced, and the four agents approached me. O’Shea introduced himself and produced his credentials and the binder with the attached document simultaneously. I didn’t recognize the initials on his badge.

“Before we go any further, sir, I’d like you to sign this for me,” he said, handing me the binder and a pen. “It doesn’t change the situation here, nor does it affect your rights. But going forward, in the interest of national security and public safety, we’re going to require your full cooperation.”

My confusion blossomed into utter perplexity in that moment.

“Please,” Agent O’Shea motioned to the document. I looked down at it and my heart skipped a beat as I read the header:

Non-Disclosure Agreement

I did a double-take but, again, O’Shea merely gestured. I’d spent an entire day in the dark at this point, metaphorically and literally. My patience had run out. I signed my name and returned the binder.

“Alright, now can someone finally tell me what the HELL is going on here?” I demanded.

O’Shea dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment before motioning for me to follow him. The other three agents stayed close as we made our way to one of the black SUVs and climbed in. As soon as we drove through the gated entrance my jaw dropped and my guts went into knots.

“Officially, this is being recorded as an earthquake,” O’Shea began as we ambled along. He mentioned something about a tremor, but I’d stopped paying attention when I saw my whole life lying in ruins around me.

The fields on either side of us were littered with tiles, bricks and sheets of corrugated iron. All broken and blasted. I recognized chunks of what used to be exercise and recovery equipment as well as the burnt husk of a speedboat that had been thrown all the way from the boating shed. Cyril’s fridge was sticking out of the ground, mostly intact. I thought I might vomit when I saw my beloved Conquest Knight XV lying belly-up in the grass further along. It looked like a crushed can and, from the great divots in the ground, had flipped multiple times before landing where it was now.

“-valley contained most of the blast, thankfully,” O’Shea continued over the ringing in my ears.

The SUV came to a stop where the houses should have been; my castle mansion, Cyril’s farmhouse, the barn. Gone. Flattened. A smear on the earth. I couldn’t see any trace of the segment of Sequoia that I’d fashioned into an office door and adorned with intricate carvings depicting a scene of biblical destruction. A scene I was living in, in that very moment.

“Off the record however…” O’Shea turned to look at me and pointed at something in the distance. “That was responsible.”

I managed to prise my eyes away from the spot where my home once stood and followed his finger to where the lake used to be. It took a few seconds to even perceive what I was looking at. It was as big as the mansion had been, maybe bigger.

A meteorite. An actual goddamned meteorite.

“You were expecting someone..taller, perhaps?”

In front of the camera, clad in the black glittering robe with electric blue trim that he wore at Colossus, stands all three-and-a-half feet of Cyril Salazar. Also known as Minion the Imp. Posturing proudly with his gloved hands behind his back and his bulky little chest pushed out. Out of sight of the camera he taps his ring finger and thumb together, causing the expression on his ghoulish purple mask to shift animatronically to a sinister sneer.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Miracle Man,” he continues, turning on his heels and pacing back and forth in front of a 60-inch TV showing the PRIME logo. “It’s not that you’re not worth Hessian’s time. See, a few weeks ago we received some disturbing news from back home, and he’s been in a foul mood ever since. I’ve tried to broach the subject of this upcoming match with him on several occasions, and each time found myself at the business end of what you might call a death stare. So you’re stuck with me today.”

A tap of the index finger and thumb skews the sneer into a mischievous grin.

“That’s an interesting moniker you have. When’d you come up with it? Was it before or after Cancer Jiles made you famous in HOW by carrying you to a couple of tag team title reigns?”

Off-camera, a resounding Ha is heard.

“Jiles informed us that tagging with you was harder work than being a man down. That facing you solo would be a cakewalk. Well, the Five-Star Champion has someone he can actually rely on nowadays. A seven-foot tall Murder Shovel that’s gonna bury you deep at ReVival Sixty-Three. Hessian and Gamble are on the warpath to another tag title shot, Phteven. That means eliminating possible contenders like Crash and Clay and anyone else who’s got backup. But you’re all on your lonesome, ain’tcha? That makes you target practice. A side quest. By beating you, the only thing Big Hess proves is that Cancer has upgraded. Hellevate you, elevate himself.”

Another tap. The grin becomes a grimace. The camera zooms in.

“And with the mood he’s in? You’re gonna need a lot more than a miracle to survive.”