The New View

It's been a long beat since we’ve seen the Arch Duke of Downin’ Doggies and, to be honest, he looks pretty damn good. The screwdriver scar courtesy of one Max Kael remains but, all in all, he's showing signs of life that's been missing for quite some time. He seems to have forgotten how the Heroes backs are still against the wall, and that the mountain of PRIME gladiators is steep and full of danger, and that Violent Purple’s recovery is taxing each and every day, and the fact that Mexico is lacking in the Hot Dogs department. There's light in his eyes again.

“And what the fuck are you smilin’ at?”

Greg looks up from doom scrolling “Olympics accidents” videos on the IG (that's Instagram for all you boomers, lolz) long enough to notice New York’s Finest in nothing but a towel and admiring the view of Mexico City. His eyes take it all in before opening the double doors to the balcony to bring in the sounds of the city. Crash closes his eyes before inhaling deeply through his nose. He waves in the scents with both hands, welcoming in even the bad smells. He steps to the balcony's edge and grips the railing, gliding his hands across it with intrigue.

And yes, it's wood. Not some metal bullshit.

That's when things get weird because Crash straight up licks the railing for a solid 4 seconds. Greg can't help but put his phone down and giggle a little bit.

“Welp. That's about all I needed to see here. Good luck, kid.”

Greg gestures to stand up before Crash finally turns around and locks eyes with Greg, still smiling like a King. He maintains that same expression before sending a not so subtle wink. That’s when the towel drops.

“Aww, what the hell!?”

Greg turns away, plopping back into his seat, with a frown on his face. Crash doesn't see how it’s a big deal, however, and opens his arms wide.

“Ya know what, Greggo? This place has got me feeling alive, bro!”

There’s a good few seconds of shock that sits with Greg. He finally convinces himself to just maintain eye contact while Crash swings around all willy nilly. Crash makes sure to block that temptation by propping one of his legs up on the ottoman in front of his elder. Still smiling.

“Can you not put your nuts in front of my face?”

“Dude. This is Mexico. Relax a little bit.”

Crash spins back to the city in front of him, still fuckin’ smiling.

“I think I wanna get out there, see the real deal, meet the people.”

Greg notices the authenticity in his voice. He nods, agreeing to join, and begins to get up.

“Just me and Purps, though…”

That’s unusual to hear from the Hot Dog Hero. They usually travel in the pack, the HOTDOGterouge, all in force. So that’s when Crash returns the eye contact. They exchange a questionable look before Crash nods, knowing he’s sure.

“We’ll be fine.”

🌭

I don’t think I’ve been this ready for what’s coming than right now.

It’s been a long, hard road to get here, bro.

Now is when most people would crumble. 

Call it quits. 

Make bad decisions that change who they are.

Fuck that.

I’m me and that’s all I’ll ever be.

If it gets tough?

It gets tough.

Fuckin’ deal with it.

But not gonna throw in the towel.

Not now.

Not ever.

🌭

Wandering the streets of Mexico City is an experience all in its own. The sights, sounds, and smells have Crash wanting to stop at every single street meat taco spot he sees. Throw in a violent mute who he cares deeply for? That adds a whole other element to the experience. She clutches his arm, unsure of the new environment, as they stroll through the innards of the city.

“Hey. Let me get you a drink, maybe some food?”

Violent Purple’s eyes swell a bit. She’s sporting a short length bob these days so it’s kind of hard to tell but it comes with a soft smile. The fact that JJ knows when to feed her is monumental in its own but for him to offer more has her over the moon. He gestures to the cantina down the street on the corner.

“Let’s check this place out, Purps.”

“¡Consigue tus hot dogs aquí!”

No way, bro…

Crash goes through that moment of want versus need. His eyes shoot over to a glorious looking doggie with jalapenos, queso, and rice and beans. It looks too good to be true. That’s also when he realizes that today isn’t just for him. His eyes drift to VP, which reminds him that she’s not too keen on the hotdogs, and has to fight every ounce of his stalky body to not get 45 of those things.

“Hmm, guess they do do doggies.”

VP jabs him in the ribs because he said “Doo doo.” She’s mute, after all, not fuckin’ deaf. They get close as that surprises him and laugh together, knowing damn well it’s at the same thing. The pair of maniacs drift well away from the hot dog cart and continue their path towards the aforementioned cantina. When they get to the door, VP hesitates but is met with a gaze of assurance in Crash’s eyes.

“I’m right next to you.”

🌭

So let’s get one thing straight, Sport.

I’m not comin’ after you.

I’m comin’ for the chance to keep the good guys alive in PRIME, pal.

If you wanna get in my way from a win, go for it.

But you don’t wanna be on the wrong side of the justice that I wanna deliver to balance the scales.

🌭

The front door slams with a bang which sends VP into the feral monster crouch next to her chair. Crash spins in his seat to discover the cause is the boys from the ‘burbs. All of them, dressed like doucebags, and being loud as hell. The tall one stumbles in, sporting a blue blazer, no undershirt, and white linen pants. His eyes land on Crash and VP. The Northern Light postures himself accordingly, knowing something doesn’t feel right.

“What’s up, mami?”

He drifts towards their table without caution. VP shuffles to Crash’s side, snarling and fists clenched. The douche notices she left her tequila unattended then reaches for it. He’s quite surprised as Crash grips his wrist and slams his hand down before reaching his destination. They lock eyes.

“Excuse me, bro… but that’s not your’s.”

The words take some time to register with the douchey dumb dumb before he can respond.

“Looks free to me.”

Crash stops the fucker from trying to grab it again. He stands up, well shorter than the younger man, but doesn’t stand down. VP grows more ferocious. The douche looks down at Crash, smiling arrogantly.

“It belongs to the lady, buddy.”

The Hot Dog Hero gives this shit fuck the benefit of the doubt and releases his grip. They still stay eye to eye. The tall kid gives a glance at VP and chuckles, rubbing his wrist a little, before looking Crash dead in the eye.

“Who cares? Not like that freak is gonna be giving me any pussy tonight.”

SMASH 

The right hand, closed fist Jason Jackson delivers is so strong it sends the tall douchefuck through the next two tables. Then it’s on with boys in the background. They respond like they're on que. Crash doesn't back down.

Never back down, bro. 

Ever.

The group of five get on him like a swarm of bees. He takes a few quick shots but pulls his chair around and cleans house. The one he missed swings but misses. Our Hero swings his foot around and sends him to the floor before mounting him. That's when Violent Purple jumps in on the others, pulling on his ankle before a gruesome pop.

Let's get it, girl.

Crash props up to see two of the douches and the tall douche back on their feet. He feels like that's too long before taking two short steps and planting one with a front kick to the guy and elbowing the other fuck in the face. The tall douche watches both of them go down in seconds. He looks at Crash again, this time with a serious lack of confidence.

“Not my call, sport.”

VP rushes, vaulting off a chair, using Jason’s shoulder like a gymnastics beam, and spins through the air. She wraps tall doucher’s head between her legs, pinning him down on his back and squeezes as hard as she can. Then she punches him in the nuts.

Repeatedly.

His cries for help are stifled with each consecutive strike from her free hand. The other hand is pulling his shitty blond hair to the point of removal. It's not a penance anyone should go through. Except this fuck. That's when Crash pulls her off by the waist, VP clawing at the dickhead, wanting to deliver more pain.

Whistles blow. The Federalis are here.

🌭

There’s not a lot I haven’t been through.

Max Kael.

The Red Army.

The Whoresmen.

Glue.

Yet… here I stand.

And now, I’m alive.

More alive than ever, Sport.

Not much to know about you other than you’re on the other side of the ticket from me and I want a fight.

A real fight.

A fight where I can show that I’m not fuckin’ done, son.

Brings me back to the times when I went up against Kerry and gave everything I had.

Everything I thought I had.

Secret is…

I’ve got a lot more than that.

🌭

When the dust settles, the only culprit the Mexico City Policia can land on is Crash. Knowing he has to protect VP from any more torture in her life, he throws his hands up. Doubly, not being a Spanish language speaker or understander, he figures the smartest move right now is to comply. VP stands at his side but can’t tell what he’s about to do. They turn Crash around, placing him in handcuffs, before the two lock eyes again.

“I’m right here.”

Violent Purple hears his words but her mind darts to the dark times. In Winter’s custody, she went through Hell, and she refuses to go back there. So when the clickclickclick of the cuffs come, she reacts. VP launches past Crash, swinging her fists and feet and takes down the three officers on the other side of her Hero. More officers rush in as she tries to free the Northern Light. It’s simply a case of numbers against the pair as Crash tries to calm her down. She fires a right fist to one of the oncoming officers before getting a rifle butt to the top of her thigh. They pin her down next, Crash still pleading for her to stop her resistance, before handcuffing her as well.

“Purps, are you okay?”

She looks back at Crash, eyes open, and doesn’t give him a snarl. She just nods as they prop her up on her feet before escorting them both outside. Side by side, the pair of unlikely companions stand as they are about to be put in the back of the patrol car. She gives him a look as they wait. Crash sees the motivating factor. Then they are both stuffed into the back seat. After the doors close, Crash turns to VP.

“I’m right next to you.”

Violent Purple drops her head into his chest. Without his hands free, Crash leans his head onto hers and they share an exchange he has never truly felt.

Love, bro. Real life love.

🌭

On occasion, justice should be delivered with a hammer.

A gavel.

A fist.

Now we have to test that logic by putting a nobody against me.

The hammerin’ Hot Dog.

The Hero thrown to the wolves without a care as to what happens.

Fun fact?

I eat it up.

I live for it.

I wanna see if you’ve got what it takes to beat me when I’m fighting something soooo much bigger than you.

Or me.

So let me be the one to welcome you to the fuckin’ deep end, dude.

We’re here, at ReVival 83, in Mexico City…

To put on a show, bro.

And a show is where it’s gonna go. First match, first meeting, first shot to make more noise.

Let’s give it a fuckin’ go, bro.

🌭

Behind bars sit our Hot Dog Hero and his muse in Mexico City. What a wild sentence to say but, yeah, that’s where we are now. They’ve been separated by the same bars and with other fools that have acted out of line. That’s what they get for standing up for themselves against spoiled rich kids on Spring Break. So that’s why Crash is against the bars, pleading with the authorities.

“She’s mute, amigos. She’s not bein’ rude. She doesn’t even talk to me…”

It’s clear that there’s not much reception to his words. That’s when Crash slams his hands against the bars, hoping to get some attention. VP just huddles in the corner of her cell, snarling and angry. Crash pulls his eyes away, thinking if it weren’t for him, she wouldn't even be here. His brains spins for the quickest solution, drawing him back to Junior year Spanish class.

“MI PANTELLONES EN FUEGO!”

Two officers rush in with proper urgency. They his pants are in fact not on fire and then relax a touch. Crash points.

“She doesn’t need to be here.”

They look at him like an idiot, turning to walk away. Our Hero can’t help but do everything he can to get VP out of here.

“Hablo Anglais?”

One of the officers turns around.

“Yes, I do.”

Crash points at Purps.

“This is my fault, bro. Let her go. She doesn’t deserve to be here.”

The officer grins, stepping close to the bars, before looking back at his partner. Crash waits for his next chance to speak but knows better than to dig the hole deeper. He watches the officer in front of him, seeing his reluctance to explain what’s going on, before they lock eyes.

“She assaulted an officer, senor… she belongs he-”

A buzz from the metal door cuts him off. In walks a man in a button down, badge on his belt, with slacks and a pair of nice shoes. The pair of fellow policemen share a look as the uniformed officer steps backwards, giving the better dressed man room to approach.

“Senor Jackson…”

The pause is enough to cause concern for our Hero. He doesn’t show much up front but simply nods. The man looks over his shoulder before VP’s cell door opens. Then Crash’s does the same. Without being sure of what’s going on, Senor Hot Dog steps back before the well dressed man grins, waving his hand towards freedom.

“Forgive us for… the misunderstanding.”

Greg Davis steps into the doorway. Crash watches VP leave her cell without conflict and hand her belongings back (a switchblade). The well dressed man does the same to Crash, but in a plastic evidence bag. Crash shakes the man’s hand before looking at Greg.

“Maybe we don’t let you two out alone, anymore?”

🌭

“Hey son, how are ya?”

Shiiiiiiit. Answered on the first dial!

“Dad! I’m so good.”

Hold back, bro. Don’t be so eager for this convo.

“How’s Mexico?”

Crash turns away from the phone, happy to know his father is keeping track of where he’s at in the world, and what he’s doing. Calling his Dad during his work hours also means there’s not gonna be any interruptions with Mom.

“Great, Dad. Really just been great. I got out on the town last night, saw the city, got arrested.”

“Arrest- are you in jail? I’m on the wa-”

“Nope, out of jail. Back at the hotel, me and Purps.”

Good to know Pops would be here for me. 

“That’s the girl you’re seeing?”

That’s kind of complicated… but yeah, man.

“I think she’s my soul mate but no, just got into a fracas on her behalf. Then shit got out of hand and, yeah, we landed in the clink.”

There’s an audible silence. Jason’s Dad sighs. Jason winces at that silence.

“Jason… you’re a good kid. I don’t want this… job… to change who you are. You need t-”

“I think that’s why I’m callin’, Dad. I’m sick of bein’ the good kid. There’s a lot of fuckheads that need to get rocked around here. I think that’s what I’m here for.”

Another, audible silence. There’s shouting in the background but Jason’s old man knows this conversation is heading in a direction he might not be able to handle. Crash notices the lack of words.

“I’m sick and tired of being the punching bag… and I’m not done showin’ it. I don’t wanna be the matchstick burnt because he stood up for the right things.”

His dad sighs.

“I’m gonna be the beacon of light.”

Crash anticipates the next sigh and long pause and cuts it off with the only thing he thinks can let his light shine.

“I’m gonna shine so bright that I burn this fuckin’ shit to the ground.”