As You Were: Lifesaver

ReVival 63

“I’m not putting up with that horseshit!”

Cyril was spitting feathers from the moment I walked into Argyle. His Minion mask jostled aggressively atop his bulbous head, his robe flapping wildly as he barked about injustice. No one paid him any attention, least of all me. The more time I spent in Bandit camp the dirtier my hands were becoming; no one cared that I had eGG on my face for a change. I tuned him out and made for the trainer’s room. I knew I’d just been in the ring with Steve Harrison, that he’d done a number on my leg and gotten the win, but I couldn’t recall anything of the match.

I took some ibuprofen while Dr. Fihlguud strapped me up with ice packs and shone a light in my eyes. Most of the staff were aware that my home had been hit by an “earthquake” at this point, Astrid included, and so she forewent the standard concussion protocol – sending me away with a tab of Diazepam instead. She might have been better keeping them for herself, in retrospect, given that I wasn’t the only one-legged giant she’d be attending that day.

I hobbled back to the Hess Express after the show with my manager dancing around me like an irate budgie, insistent on breaking my despondency. Stevie greeted me from the driver seat, dropping his gaze to the pedals as Cyril stormed in behind me. In the lounge, reclining like a walrus on one of the couch seats, Coocoo noted the commotion with a furrowed brow before returning to the souvenir program he’d picked up in Budokan Hall. The old man had the decency to make room, heaving himself into a seated position with sputtering groans, as I eased into the couch across the aisle from him and propped my leg up on the cushion he’d kindly vacated.

“Nixon’s blind as a bat!” Cyril continued with his tirade as he scrambled up onto the seat beside me and fished a tablet out of the dock embedded into the side of the adjacent countertop. Coocoo watched warily as he frantically tapped the screen and thrust the device in front of my vacant eyes. “Look at this!”

He’d pulled up the show feed from the ACE Network app and had it paused at the moment I ate the jawbreaker. Cyril stabbed the pause icon angrily and I watched as Harrison capitalized on the move with the roll-up; hooking my bad leg, pulling my waistband and using the ropes for extra leverage. Sure enough, Nixon missed it all and made the count.

I took the tablet, staring curiously at the screen. Cyril assumed his point had been made, but it was the jawbreaker that caught my attention. I didn’t remember taking it. I thumbed the slider back a bit and saw myself chopping the Miracle Man in the chest, with my other hand wrapped around his skull. That didn’t ring a bell either. I rewound to the top of the match and studied it from start to finish. Cyril’s outbursts faded into white noise as I watched myself enter the ring, wrestle Harrison and even admonish Nixon after the finish. Every movement and expression was textbook, but I had no recollection of any of it.

I’d wrestled an entire match on auto pilot, on veteran instinct alone. As if that wasn’t disturbing enough, I had a horrible, nagging feeling that there was something else I’d forgotten. I restarted the show, skipping through the card incrementally until I got to the main event. There I was, limping out to help even Coral’s odds against the Red Army.

A clicking sound brought me back to my surroundings. Cyril was snapping his fingers at me. “Hey, what’re you watching that for?? Focus on your match! You got screw-”

WHACK!

“-argh!”

Cyril recoiled suddenly. Coocoo had lurched forward and smacked him on the arm with the rolled up program.

“That’s enough outta you,” he growled, taking the tablet from me. He thrust it into Cyril’s arms then pointed the program towards the empty dock. “Put the computer back and leave him be.”

“But, Cooc! I’m-”

“Hup!” Coocoo snarled, eyes bugged and program raised. “You want another smack??”

The dwarf shirked into the corner, shaking his head solemnly as he placed the device back with a pouty lip. He pulled his knees up, folded his arms and withdrew into himself while Coocoo relaxed back into his seat.

“That’s better.” His tone softened. “We got enough shit to deal with as it is, we don’t need you harpin’ on and addin’ to it. Understood?”

Cyril nodded silently without looking up.

“Good,” Coocoo said, then tapped my foot with the program to get my attention.

“You’ll get ‘em next time, champ.”

I grunted in retort and, while Cyril moped and Coocoo went back to reading, pulled the tab of Diazepam out of my pocket, popped two in my mouth and dry-swallowed.

One month ago

“According to my measurements, the damage caused by the impact should have been much more widespread – affecting the entire region, at the very least. A fragment of PU11625’s size is capable of leveling every building within three kilometers and kicking up a dust cloud large enough to darken the skies over the whole country for months, even years…”

The meteoriticist gestured towards the projection screen with remote in hand, cycling through the data they had collected; charts, graphs and maps all showing the potential, and actual, damage caused by the meteorite impact at Parts Unknown. I sat hunched over the conference table, clenching my fists in a futile bid to control the shakes. I was in the grip of existential terror. Not even the fact that the rock had been named after my home, or that by law it belonged to me, gave me any solace.

Two days had passed since I’d flown back from Sydney to find my home, as well as Cyril’s, eradicated – leaving us homeless. To make matters worse, Cyril’s brother’s business associate, Coocoo Haggerty, as well as my bus driver, Stevie Saunders, had been staying with us. All of our belongings had been destroyed, including every memento I’d collected throughout my career. If it weren’t for the tour bus, and the suitcases we’d packed for PRIME’s international loop, we’d have nothing at all. It was pure luck that we were even alive – all thanks to the scheduling.

Upon learning of my cohabitants, lead agent Cameron O’Shea – I learned his forename on the flight to Berkeley National Lab – advised me to contact them and have them fly back immediately. The four of us rendezvoused forty-eight hours later at the research center wherein I was now being bombarded by the science behind the disaster, while Agent O’Shea was collecting signatures from Cyril, Stevie and Coocoo for his NDAs somewhere else in the building.

“...or so I thought, until I examined its composition,” the meteoriticist looked over at me specifically, past several of their peers, two valuation experts and four lawyers. “This should be of particular interest to you, Mr. Von Kelsig.”

Everyone turned to me, as I stared blankly down at the table. Everything about this felt wrong; the routine nature of the meeting, the nonchalance of those in attendance. I’d seen the devastation with my own eyes. My head was swimming with visions of what it would have been like, to be there when it happened – Cyril, Stevie, Coocoo and I. My heart was pounding, my hands so pale that I couldn’t make out the veins or scars.

“Mr. Von Kelsig?”

“I need some air,” I gasped, uttering “excuse me” with barely a wheeze as I rose from my chair and made for the door.

I burst out into the corridor, right in front of Agent O’Shea and the guys as they returned from their meeting. I would have barrelled right into them had I not staggered into the wall first. My vision was blurring and my legs had turned to jelly.

“Jesus Christ!” O’Shea yelled, taking a step back and bumping into Stevie while Cyril and Coocoo looked on in shock.

My head lolled to the side. “I’m fffine,” I mumbled, white as a sheet and full of embarrassment, as I pressed my back to the wall and slid to the floor. “Jus’ nee’a minute..”

“Angelus! You okay??” Cyril asked nervously.

“He’s having a panic attack,” O’Shea replied, rushing to my side and placing a hand on my back. “Knees up, head down, deep breaths. You’re alright, big man. Just breathe.”

He helped me into position and I inhaled every molecule in the air, then breathed out slowly and repeated. The meteoriticist appeared in the doorway as Cyril, Coocoo and Stevie closed in.

“Everyone into the room please,” O’Shea beckoned. “Give him space.”

They did as asked, leaving the agent and I alone in the hallway. Several minutes passed before my heartbeat settled and the color returned to my face, during which he fetched me a cup of water from the conference room.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered.

“Don’t be,” he said with a shake of the head. “The shock finally caught up with you is all. I was expecting this sooner, to be honest.”

“It’s just a lot to take in,” I admitted as he helped me back to my feet.

“No kidding. You okay to head back in?”

“Yeah, I-” I paused, remembering that I’d just made a show of myself. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I’m gonna need you to get everyone to sign another NDA, regarding that little episode. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, y’know..”

O’Shea chuckled. “You got it, big man.”

We entered the conference room to find everyone talking amongst themselves. The guys were seated next to my empty chair.

“Everything okay?” the meteoriticist asked from the other end of the table.

O’Shea gave a thumbs up and stayed posted by the door as I took my seat.

“Very well. As I was saying, regarding the composition of PU11625…”

“Hey,” Coocoo whispered, nudging me in the ribs and leaning in. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I whispered back, expecting him to turn his attention back to the meteoriticist. Instead, he prodded me again and fixed me with a deadly-serious look.

“Listen, this whole thing’s fucked up – but I want you to know something.” He leaned in closer. “If you hadn’t asked me to go to Australia with you? I’d’ve been in the house when that thing hit. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. Y’hear me?”

He clasped my hand tightly, as the realization of what he was saying set in with chilling clarity.

“I’ll never forget that, and I want you to know I got your back. ‘Til the day I do die – Uncle Cooc’s got your back, Angelus Von Kelsig. Understood?”

I reciprocated the handshake and nodded. Cyril gasped suddenly, drawing our attention.

“Holy shit!!” He was pointing at the meteoriticist, but he was staring at me in disbelief. “Did you hear that??”

I’d missed everything that had been said. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

They did, and when I heard what they had to say I shot that look of disbelief right back at Cyril.

Our lives were about to change forever.

Present day

The carton has been assembled aboard the USS Octane and we’re going over the latest mission statement; the Manhunt match at Culture Shock. I should be used to all this by now, but ever since Colossus I’ve felt detached from everything. Tony and I haven’t tagged together since our defeat at the hands of the Wise Guys. I’ve tried hinting at making another play for the tag titles, but he’s been throwing himself at giants, legends and vicious upstarts while I’ve been fed scraps of hot dog flavored milk. I can’t tell if he’s recalibrating or just trying to avoid me.

Maybe I’m projecting, but he seems pensive. Still, he’s giving the 5-Star Champion his full attention. So too is Bobby. He could be awestruck by Cancer’s magnanimous aura, but I’ve also heard him muttering something about Gourmet Street to himself – and fawning over cutlery in the same way that Private Pyle coveted his precious Charlene. I haven’t seen him this alert in months, whatever the case may be. I wonder if Tony is contemplating dropping me and partnering up with him again. I side-eye the Grin every so often, expecting a longing gaze in Bobby’s direction, but it never materializes.

Now that the mantle of Golden Bandit has passed back to Jiles, he’s in his element. There’s a renewed vigor about him, in his swagger and tone, different from his relationship with Vickie or even the 5-Star title that he’s been treating like a redheaded stepchild. Every word is decisive, every movement calculated. He has Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s wife on his arm, Don Winters’s title around his waist and Coral Avalon’s role in the group, yet he doesn’t lord any of it over us. Even though the rest of us have failed to succeed where he and Coral have thrived – he’s rallying us. Inspiring us.

I shouldn’t feel this optimistic, not after everything I’ve been through as of late. I’m plagued by guilt and paranoia whenever I look at Gamble. I’m reminded of the shooting star that I saw during our crossing to Australia – and the disaster that followed, every time I step foot on the deck of the Octane. The other Bandits have loved ones and families; people that care about them or vice-versa. I have acquaintances and dependents.

The closer we get to Culture Shock, the more I feel like going on a murder spree. I thought by now, after a year of shaking off the ring rust, that I’d be back to my old killing ways. But I’ve achieved nothing. Despite Coral welcoming me into the group and Cancer giving me purpose, I’ve fallen short at every hurdle; to peers, prospects and dream opponents alike. Every title and merit has eluded me and, worse still, the accolades I have collected throughout my career have been reduced to ashes and memories. All I can do now is remind everyone who I used to be and hope that they believe me.

What if I just said fuck it all and fought to my last breath, going out on my sword and shield like a warrior should? What if this old war dog taught all the naysayers, all the up-and-comers, a trick they’d never seen or completely forgotten? What if I split the skull of every subordinate who tried to take my legs out from under me, or questioned my integrity, or undermined me, or held me back? What if I summoned my all and cut down the rookies, veterans, champions, enemies – and friends – in my way? The Murder Show is a fable at this point, but what if the tale came true at Culture Shock? An apex predator lies dormant within me, what if it should be unleashed in the Manhunt match?

And yet, as Cancer Jiles calls upon us, I find myself instilled with confidence. My back has straightened, my head is held high and my jaw is set. He speaks of the debt we owe to Coral Avalon, of our responsibility to uphold the values he stood for and forge ahead on the path that he blazed a trail down. They took his title, they took him from us. They must pay – and we must seek vengeance.

“It does not matter who wins, as long as it’s a Bandit. We do this for Coral.”

My skin courses with horripilation. I punch the air as though the opponent stands before me. Vickie shrieks as I unleash a guttural roar. We go to war, in Coral’s name. The Golden Bandit even unveils a secret weapon; a defiant reminder to everyone that his enemies, our enemies, will be brought to heel.

I make a vow to move Heaven and Earth to come out victorious in the Manhunt…

…and should the odds go against me?

Then I’ll make fucking sure that Cancer Jiles wins instead.

Ha.

The next day

I’ve always taken pride in being a man of my word. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it – either because I’m capable, or because I believe in the cause. I gave my word to Cancer Jiles, sure…

…but that doesn’t mean I can’t get a second opinion.

I was reluctant to make the call at first. Were I on the receiving end, under the same circumstances, I might have let it go to voicemail and continued enjoying my newfound freedom. Given the subject matter however, I felt it wise to gain a better perspective before I found myself in over my head. Thankfully, my confidant agreed to meet me for lunch.

I gazed out over the Sumida River as my driver, provided by PRIME, took us across Kachidoki Bridge towards the Plaza of the same name. I was by myself on this occasion – Cyril, Coocoo and Stevie were sightseeing elsewhere. I’d just made an appearance for J Sports at the Telecom Center Building to promote the pay-per-view and, luckily for me in this vast metropolis, the restaurant of choice was only a fifteen minute drive away.

“Good food and a decent view, right by the river,” I was told. I wasn’t expecting it to be a Denny’s. The waterfront view was alright, to be fair.

I like Japan. Even though I’m an attraction and, in any other city, I’d be pestered for pictures and autographs – people here are respectful enough to leave you in peace. I was seated at a window-side table and scanned through the menu while I waited for my guest. I never noticed when they walked in, but I recognized their voice immediately.

“You’re probably tempted by the steak, but I highly recommend the Sichuan-style Dandan noodles.”

I looked up from the menu, smiled, and greeted him with a handshake. “Coral, hey, good to see you. Appreciate you taking the time. Please, take a seat, lunch is on me. I hope I haven’t taken you too far out of your way?”

“Not at all,” he waved casually, his posture stiff as he took the seat opposite. He was moving like a family man who’d been on his feet all day, happy for the respite, as opposed to the longest-reigning Universal champion of the ReVival era who’d had their final showdown against Ivan Stanislav only a few weeks prior. “Annabelle might be a bit miffed – this is taking time out of her shopping spree – but I digress. How’s things? Has Jiles sunk the Octane yet?”

We made smalltalk, placed our order – I took him up on his noodle suggestion along with the steaks – and enjoyed the view while we waited. As we ate, I asked about his vacation plans and he spoke about his nephew’s training. I listened enviously as he went on multiple tangents about his family and friends and all the avenues he was free to explore now. I was enamored by how rich his life was.

“So how about you?” He steered the conversation back as we dug into some parfait. “You must be looking forward to this jamboree at Culture Shock? All aboard the Murder Express, amirite?”

“Oh yeah, full steam ahead,” I chuckled between mouthfuls. “Total annihilation, in the name of the King of Conquerors.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Cancer gave quite the speech yesterday, spoke very highly of you – said we owed it to you to go out there and give it our all.”

Coral chewed on that for a moment. “Did he now?”

I didn’t know what to infer from his tone, but I recognized an opening when I saw it.

“He did – and we will. The two of you have quite the knack for energizing the troops before a…jamboree.” He winked at me and ticked the air with his spoon. “Y’know, If it hadn’t been for you welcoming me into the group – or Cancer asking me to be his Murder Shovel, I don’t know if the last year would have been quite as…productive...for me. So, thank you for having me.”

“No problem. I should thank you too, you’ve made a decent Bandit out of yourself. I appreciate you having my back as well, y’know, when you weren’t war-dogging for Jiles and whatnot.”

“About that…” I asked wistfully, “you’ve always been a reliable moral compass. Now that you’ve hung your boots up and Jiles is steering the ship…where do you see us heading? Jiles only ever seems to rub people the wrong way, and I’ve thrown my lot in with him…should I be concerned at all?”

“Jiles thrives on people hating him, so…expect a lot more enemies. A whole lot more.” His phone buzzed as I contemplated what he said. “Alright, that’s Annabelle. Nice catching up with you Hess, sorry to dine and ditch. Take it easy.”

And like that, he was gone.

Just as the bill came due.