TRASH TALK

Through the pitch black air, tinged with the scent of rust and effluent, Tony’s low voice spoke with the flat tone of shame. With nowhere for sound to escape or light to penetrate, Hessian thought for a moment that it had come from inside his own head.

“You gonna get this thing off of us or what?”

Silence. Then the hiss of measured breaths and the creaking of denim, steel and sinew. Then a defeated grunt.

“Sometime today would be great, partner.”

More silence, as Hessian triangulated the source of the complaining and looked up. He reached out and tested the cold ground, blindly searched the void until his fingers brushed against the point of a boot. He patted at it, feeling his way past an ankle and a sharp shin bone until he detected the familiar knobble of a knee and gave it a squeeze just to be sure. Tony was standing up. The giant’s hand was swiftly swatted away with a muted slap.

“What the hell are you -hey!- watch those hands buddy.”

The Murder Show sighed in retort.

“I’m stuck.”

Without an echo Hessian’s voice was stripped of its commanding, resonant boom. In such a tight, black space he actually sounded vulnerable.

“Wait, seriously?”

A series of noises followed; the thud of a palm pressing against steel, the scrape of denim on concrete, strained breaths, then a loud squeak as Hessian’s hand slid up the inside of the dumpster.

Another sigh.

“Seriously.”

…

“Goddamnit.”

Kneeling down, Tony carefully swept his hands back and forth and made contact with a knee and an elbow that were far too close together. Feeling out the situation, he soon determined that his partner was wedged tightly in the fetal position.

“How in the hell did you end up like that?”

“They dropped a fucking dumpster on us,” Hessian snarled raspily. “What was I supposed to do? Stand there and let my head get caved in? Help me, goddamnit, my left arm’s going numb and I can’t breathe.”

The admission was enough of a shock to dampen that of Hessian slamming his forearm into Tony’s gut. The Grin latched on instinctively and began pulling with all his might, only to find himself being dragged forward by the superior strength of the anchored giant.

“Yeah, that ain't gonna work.”

Tony released his grip and instantly regretted it as he flew backwards and hit the far wall of the dumpster with a thud. A purplish hue blossomed in the darkness of his vision as he dropped onto his butt and clutched the back of his head.

“Ow.”

His fingertips were thankfully dry as he rubbed them together, but the relief was short-lived as he heard Hessian’s breaths becoming increasingly labored, along with the sound of skin slapping concrete. The giant was tapping out.

“Damn it.”

Scrambling back over to his partner’s side, Tony ran his hands down Hessian’s legs. Both shins were pressed flat against the steel, as were his feet. Pointed, like a ballerina. But there was just enough of a gap at the ankle for him to slide his fingers into.

“Help.”

The plea wasn’t spoken so much as wheezed. Clutching the ankle in his left hand, Tony grabbed the sole of the boot with the other and braced.

“When I start pulling, I need you to plant your left arm and roll to your left. You hear me? Left.”

Hessian let out a pained grunt. Hopefully he still had enough feeling in his trapped arm.

“Now!”

Again Tony pulled with all the strength he could muster. The leg wasn’t budging, but he could hear the creak of boot leather against steel. The inside of the dumpster filled with an agonized holler as Hessian suddenly lurched. With the momentum working in his favor, Tony heaved with all his might and felt the leg come free. Something thudded, like a coconut hitting concrete, followed by what sounded like the scraping of sandpaper. Then a crack like a wishbone snapping, a flash of white, and a ringing in his ears.

He was slumped against the far wall once more. The pain in his face suggested he’d caught a boot to the mouth. He sniffed and snorted, dabbing his nose and licking his lips. No sign of blood.

“Well that fucking sucked.”

The giant was winded, but, from the direction of his voice, he was sitting up.

“No shit. You gonna get us out of here now?”

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.”

Tony sighed and, despite being in total darkness, nodded his head. They sat in silence, waiting for the aches to subside.

“We can’t keep going on like this,” Hessian said eventually.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, pinching the bridge of his nose to quell the throbbing.

“Like this,” the giant conceded, banging the side of the dumpster. “Outnumbered and outgunned. We’ve lost our Captain. Cancer’s still stuck with his hand in the cookie jar. Who knows where the hell Bobby and Annabelle are. Haven't seen Doozer in like, ever, and Conor's release date keeps getting pushed back more than GTA6.”

“Pretty sure the game will come out before Conor does.”

“We had clean sweeps.”

“I’m aware.”

“Dominated at Culture Shock...”

“Good times.”

“Look at us now.”

Hessian hit the side of the dumpster again. More of a whimper than a bang this time.

“They say one man's trash is another man's treasure, but at this point I'm honestly open to suggestions.”

As Tony waited for an answer, he heard his tag partner shuffling around and felt the warmth of an immediate presence, followed by a downward gust of breathy air.

“I think, ” Hessian replied, his voice coming from directly overhead. “That if we can’t beat ‘em…”

The Murder Show paused, just long enough for Tony to hear the creak and crack of bone and sinew as he braced himself against the floor of the dumpster. Then, with a heaving grunt, light spilled into the void starting at the far corner as the dumpster rose off the ground, tilted backwards and crashed onto its side with a wobble. Tony took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air before Hessian could suck the rest of it up into his massive chest. He rose to his feet, groaning in tandem with his partner as they rolled their joints and stretched out all the kinks. Then the Murder Show fixed The Grin with a very serious look.

“...we might as well join ‘em.”

=_=_=_=

They looked like the walking wounded as they stalked through the backstage area of Amalie Arena. Tony had both hands pressed into his lower back and was sporadically rolling his neck. Hessian moved stiffly, favoring his right leg, while flicking flakes of dirty, bloodied skin from a large graze across his forehead.

“When you say join them, what are you talking about exactly?” Tony asked in a tone bordering on stern, pulling alongside his partner to look him in the eye as he did.

“I’m talking about getting ahead of the problem,” Hessian replied coldly, staring into the middle distance. “Before we’re snuffed out completely.”

A conversation with Coral Avalon was playing on repeat inside the Murder Show’s head, had over lunch in a Denny’s in Tokyo in the days leading up to Culture Shock. Jiles thrives on people hating him, so…expect a lot more enemies. A whole lot more, Coral had said. Given what they were going through as of late, the weight of those words had never felt heavier.

From the note of concern in Tony’s voice, Hessian sensed that his partner understood the severity of his intent.

“I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Hessian tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow in the most foreboding manner.

“Hess,” The Grin barked gravely, grabbing him at the elbow and slowing him to a halt. “We’re Bandits. For better or worse. We can figure this out, without…”

Before Tony could find the words to complete his thought, he found his hand being calmly removed from the giant’s elbow.

“We’re targets,” Hessian corrected him. “Worse than that – we’re sitting ducks. You’ve seen how we’ve been booked. How others have been booked. We’re not equipped to deal with that. They’re gonna keep sandbagging us, chipping away at us, until we’ve been reprogrammed into good little subordinates who don’t cause a fuss. Is that what you want?”

Tony considered that carefully, a snarl playing on his lips.

“We just need to hold out until Cancer's unpaused. As soon as the shock wears off, the rest will fall into place. You know it will.”

A shadow fell over The Grin as Hessian leaned in.

“And what if he doesn’t snap out of whatever daze he's in? How long are you willing to be trampled underfoot before he wakes up to pull us out of the shit?”

As right as his partner was, Tony hesitated to respond. There was something about what Hessian suggested that did not sit right with the Permascar Superstar, especially when the person it involved was not someone high on Tony's list of people he felt he could trust. Hell, he doubted he would ever even like them, but he was running out of time.

“Make no mistake about it, Tony. We are in the shit. Either we let them bury us up past our necks in it…”

The Grin sighed, glancing away for a moment before returning to the Murder Show’s glare.

“...Or we grab a spoon and eat our way out,” Hessian emphasized the next part by jabbing a finger into Tony’s chest. “And smile while we’re doing it.”

Tony’s resolve melted into a dejected expression as his partner turned and continued down the corridor. Without turning around, Hessian called back as he walked.

“You wanna be a champion or not?”

It took a moment for Tony to follow, and when he did his hands were curled into fists.

=_=_=_=

They stood outside the office door in silence, staring at it as though purgatory awaited them on the other side. As though they might step over the threshold and fall into an eternal pit whereupon they would lose themselves completely.

Tony’s hands were balled so tightly that his knuckles had lost all color. But at least he could control the tremors.

“After you, partner,” he urged with a whisper.

Hessian took a deep breath, blew it out through his nostrils and grabbed the door handle, marching into the room with purpose. Tony made to follow as the door hung open, pausing only to gauge the hardness of the response. It was low and deliberate and carried the faintest scrape of amusement.

“Well…this is a pleasant surprise.”

Okay, not the worst start, The Grin thought as he steeled himself and followed suit.

He walked into the office to find Hessian hunched over the gleaming desk, tapping the official title preceding the name engraved on the brass nameplate as if testing the authoritative waters. The plasticky clack of a pen hitting the surface of the desk preceded a leather chair being reclined and a pair of arms being sternly folded as the Murder Show was fixed with an incredulous glare.

“I know,” Hessian began, adopting a mocking tone, “who do you think you are barging in here like that? Do you have any idea how busy I am?” He held up a hand, prompting more disdain. “I get it, I apologize. But this is important and you need to hear it, so can we put a pin in the derision for a moment?”

The chair creaked and the air seemed to shift as a pair of cold eyes peered past Hessian to where Tony was standing in the doorway, meeting him with a stoic gaze to match the tone of voice; absent of worry or care.

“Hmph. When it rains it pours. Make it quick. And close the door behind you.”

Tony obliged, thrust his hands into his pockets and ambled over to the desk beside his partner, staring at the floor the whole time. He did not want to be here, and he really did not want to power anything to this person.

“We need to talk about how things work around here,” he said, looking across the desk reluctantly.

“Right,” Hessian added as he straightened up and folded his arms in kind. “You need to understand something; we’re not stupid. It’s pretty clear where the battle lines have been drawn. We know where we stand. And we know where you stand too.”

“I don’t think you-”

“Please,” Hessian interrupted, raising his hand again. “Just let me say my piece and then we’ll be out of your hair. Please.”

The daggers in the returned stare were so palpable that Tony felt a cold surge down his left side and inadvertently leaned away from his partner.

“You should know, were it anyone else in your shoes, I would have thrown you out on your asses by now. Get on with it.”

The Murder Show bowed his head in deference before continuing.

“Like I said; we’re not stupid. We know when we’re beat. I’ll be the first to admit that The Glueminati have us at a disadvantage.”

A reply snaked its way in at the end of the statement accompanied by a curt, sardonic chuckle.

“Is that so?”

“Sure feels that way,” Hessian growled back. “Point being, we just want things to go as smoothly as possible for our tag title shot. Tony and I have worked hard to get here, regardless of what anyone says about Cancer’s involvement.”

Hessian looked at Tony as he said the last part, for the first time since they’d entered the office. Tony looked back, then across the desk, and smirked.

“He’s got a point. I’m honestly surprised we’ve worked so well together considering the grudge he probably holds against me for beating him three times straight back in the ReVolution era.”

Hessian rolled his eyes at the remark and grumbled.

“As I was saying. With the matches we’ve had lately, and the ones we haven’t, we get the message. And just now we got a taste of our own medicine thanks to FLAMBERGE and Joe.”

“That explains the mark on your face.”

Hessian chose to ignore that one, though its effect was evident in the change in his tone.

“We can’t keep doing this, we just don’t have the power or the sway. So…”

The giant tentatively paused and glanced at Tony as though asking permission. The Grin simply shrugged his shoulders and motioned for him to lay out his offer.

“...we’d like to extend the olive branch.”

Hessian was met with an earnest look of surprise.

“Actually, to be quite frank, we want in. No bullshit, no backstabbing, no surprises. Just an honest working relationship. Bandits for hire, if you will. If you’ll have us.”

While the Murder Show waited in anticipation, Tony found himself staring at the floor again…awaiting the resounding no he desperately desired. The leather chair groaned and the giant found himself being stared at curiously, eye to eye.

Ivan Stanislav rounded the desk and met him face to face. Looked him up and down. Studied him. Then he reached out and placed his great paws on Hessian’s shoulders. For a moment the Murder Show wondered if he was about to find himself thrown through a wall. Or worse.

“Do you understand what it is you are asking?” Ivan asked, searching his fellow giant’s eyes for any hint of crookedness.

“Given the circumstances, yeah, this makes the most sense,” Hessian returned, holding firm. “So is it a yes? Or a no?”

The Russian Bear’s expression was undecipherable. He moved Hessian aside without answering and approached Tony.

“And what about you?”

The Grin’s gaze started at the polished military issue boots and worked its way up past the trousers and suspenders to the crimson coat marked by a plethora of medals. Then to those predatory eyes.

“We’ve got a championship to win.”

With that Ivan grunted and returned to his chair on the opposite side of the desk. Taking his seat, he placed his elbows on the polished steel and steepled his fingers.

“Then let us discuss terms.”

=_=_=_=

“Be careful what you ask for.”

A smile creases the lips of the Murder Show, as he towers over his much smaller compatriot.

“The phrase is thrown around quite often, but hardly ever has any meat on its bones.”

The one time Jewel in the Crown doesn't look happy, despite the Grin on his face.

“That isn't the case here though, is it?”

As usual, he isn't expecting a response.

“While the length of your run isn't that impressive – when you factor in the fact you haven't had the chance to defend it with the Almasy going on – it is crazy that the two of you even tagged together in the first place.”

Tony leans forward, thinking back to how his road toward the tag team champions started with him teaming up with Bobby Dean.

“You can say the same thing about Hessian and I, honestly. Both of us being Bandits was the only thing we really had in common, apart from both of us being part of the PRIME roster, and look at us now.”

The big man put a meaty paw on The Grin’s shoulder.

“With the two of you it's different though, and I'm not even talking about Flamberge being French and you being a Joe, or the fact that he had one hell of a Universal title run.”

“It was alright,” the Murder Show chimes in.

“While my partner is clearly not impressed…having never won the title myself, I was in awe of how many necks the Frenchman collected.”

Tony pauses.

“But he's not the reason the two of you are holding tag team gold right now.”

Another beat passes.

“I can honestly say that who your partner was didn't matter, because you weren't going to fail this time around were you, Joe.”

Tony shakes his head, as Hess continues to look uncertain where Tony is going with this.

“You and Sid fell just short of acquiring that gold a few years ago, and having gone through that against The Anglo Luchador and Morty recently…I know how you felt when you got another shot.”

“Both of us do.”

Tony nods, giving a side eyed glance up over his shoulder.

“We haven't had the easiest road to get here, but I can honestly say we earned this by beating everyone that was thrown in our way…”

Ha.

“Sure Cancer won us a guaranteed shot, but we were already at the front of the line waiting for both of you to get eliminated from the Almasy when that happened.”

“So what does Troy do while we were waiting…sign us up for irrelevant matches that had the odds stacked up against us.”

F them kids!

“But none of that is important anymore, because we finally got what we've been waiting for...”

“You.”

Just saying the word brought a smile to the big man's lips.

“This is what we've wanted…what we've been waiting for.”

Tony leans forward.

“We know how you felt, Joe, when you were given that second chance with Flamberge at your side. We've been patiently Whitby for this shot, but we don't have the time to be careful anymore. It's time to find out if our bite is bigger than our bark.”

Hessian runs his tongue across his teeth.

“Time to find out how hungry we really are.”