Apophis

I’ve been among the stars for so long that I almost forgot that I am an Earthling. Maybe after all the cosmic detritus I’ve voyaged through since Dad died, a grounded perspective might be welcome. Normal threats, normal gravity, an environment I’m used to. Yeah, the problems won’t go away, but at least they’ll be hazards that won’t threaten to vaporize me, crush me, suffocate, spaghettify, flash-freeze me. Terrestrial problems are mostly manageable.

The problem, however, is when the perils of space follow you back down to orbit, things that don’t burn up in the atmosphere. Hell, I’m running a lucha show on the biggest scar left by one of those things a week after I deal with Blaze Claymore. They’re just not likely. One doesn’t think about them that often…

…at least not until they look up and see a meteorite bearing down on the top of their head.

-

“Astronomers have released studies saying there are now three city-sized asteroids that could hit planet Earth over the next decade.”

“Tom, why are you watching the news? You never watch the local news.”

Tam stepped into the living room to see her husband slouched on their sofa, a glass of mezcal on the rocks on the endtable adjacent, and a look as sour as limes on his face.

“Oh. I just didn’t change the channel after The Price Is Right ended.”

“That was hours ago.”

She looked her husband up and down and furrowed her brow.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been lethargic since you got back from Montreal. What could possibly be bothering you this bad?”

He shrugged.

“I mean, you watch the shows. Ain’t exactly been on a hot streak lately.”

She shook her head and stood between him and the television.

“Tough times in wrestling have never bothered you like this before. You spent nearly all of 2023 losing matches to everyone but the anthropomorphic wind-up chatter teeth, and this was after he spied on us, literally. Paxton Ray nearly killed your brother after he shocked you on live television. I don’t think a single loss for the biggest prize ever in your sport and peeing your pants on live television in a company where a guy cut off his own dick is worth getting this down over.”

He rolled his eyes at the monologue. Tam always meant well, but he rarely ever had the heart to tell her that her monologues were self-important and better suited for sexist boardrooms than neurodivergent husbands. He scooched himself up on the sofa a bit and looked his wife in the eye.

“Okay, it’s not exactly what happened, although all things considered, I would really like to take the whole ‘peeing my pants’ thing back.”

Tam scrunched her nose but then nodded. No one likes to have piss-pants in public. Well, mostly no one. Cannot account for the kinky.

“It’s what my Mom said before the Farthington match.”

“Oh Jesus, that’s it, I’m going to go over there and beat her…”

“That’s not going to solve anything,” he interjected. “Besides, it’s not just her. It’s everyone not in my immediate bubble. Like you and the kids and Mikey and The Heroes and your parents and sister and Pedro and the Coltons, you’re one bubble. But I’m in one echo chamber and if I step out of it, there’s another. Both my parents. Guido. The Red Army. Joe Fontaine…”

“I swear to God, I’m going to kick you in the groin the next time you mention Joe Fontaine as someone who bugs you.”

“He does though.”

“He bugs everybody, and he’s objectively not as intelligent as the stuffed goat you burned a few months ago.”

“Regardless,” he continued, “there’s no objectivity. It’s either ‘you went out on your shield in the toughest fed ever’ and ‘haha I always knew you were a scrub.’ It doesn’t matter where I go. I have no way to calibrate.”

“Calibrate? That’s a new word. Did you steal Chick’s Word-of-the-Day calendar?”

“No, Ayame is just really into science. You know she still texts me shit about physics and…”

“You’re getting off the subject, and you’re probably about to tell me that the people who love you and legitimately care about you are just pumping sunshine up your ass, right? Are you going to make me want to kick your ass too and use your body to bludgeon your mother?”

“It’s not that, although really, that would be impressive.”

Tam scrunched her nose again, this time with no nod.

“It’s just that when there are only two sides of a story, it’s a 50/50 shot one of them’s right. And the supporting evidence on either side isn’t strong enough to overcome the other.”

“You really need to tell Ayame to stick to asking about her father.”

“No, I’m really getting somewhere here. Like, I was part of the Tag Team Champions, and my partner just straight up dipped. I almost won Manhunt, and all I have to show for it is a stalker and match at the pay-per-view based on excretion.”

“Everyone has ups and downs.”

“But what if she’s right? What if they’re all right?”

Tam sighed audibly. Tom continued.

“I mean, I’m proud that I even came back in the first place, and I’ve done a lot of good shit in PRIME, but the numbers don’t lie.”

Somewhere in the distance, a man on a street corner in South Philly was yelling something about “freaks and peaks.”

“I’ve been grinding so goddamn hard, and whatever’s left of my physical well being is fading fast. What if I don’t know what the point in doing all of this is anymore?”

Tam just stared at her husband, the anger at what she perceived as the poison his mother planted in his brain crashing like rough surf against the rocky outcropping that was her sympathy for her soulmate in mental anguish. All the while, the news report behind her did not stop to witness their conversation. In fact, in their silence, the newscaster’s voice became sharper and louder.

“And those aren’t the only threats. Apophis, larger and deadlier than any of the ones mentioned, will come within 30,000 kilometers of Earth in April of 2029. Any gravitational disturbances could send it flying tow…”

*click*

Tam found the remote and shut the TV off.

“I think you need something other than a drink to shake this off.”

-

When you’ve got ghosts flying around in your head, your past is always in orbit above you. I guess how much you worry about it dictates whether it stays in a stable ellipse or if it comes crashin’ down, ready to cause another extinction level event. Worry equals weight, at least mentally. Weight equals gravity. Ayame says I sound like a dumbass when I make homespun analogies of the science she’s so interested in, but honestly, being smart is overrated. You are either evil like Stephen Miller or you’re constantly worried to the extreme like the people Stephen Miller is harming. I am a dumbass, and anxiety still keeps me up at night. I don’t need anymore.

The worst part is the anticipation. Once you’re in the aftermath, you deal with it, sure. Things might suck, but you know what to do to try to make them better. Hindsight is always clearer than foresight. With death looming over your head, man, nothing to do but turtle up and brace for impact.

Unless there was a way to deal with it before it smashes into you. City-killer asteroids, that’s not a hyperbole. AT least we don’t think it is. Ayame says the last time one hit was in the middle of a field in Russia way back long ago. When your biggest exposure to science is shit like Ghostbusters, well, hearing what really caused the Tunguska event feels anticlimactic. But she texted me the Wikipedia article. How does she know I fuckin’ love Wikipedia? I saw the pictures there. Looked like one of the biomes from the shooter games Vinny and Zo like to play so much.

How can you stop something that destructive when it’s so close to impact?

-

“You have to face it head on.”

“My mother’s an ‘it’ now?”

“Ugh, you know what I mean, this whole…”

Tam waved her arms around by her head to get her point across.

“…thing.”

“I know. Trying to let the pressure out of the room with comedy. Kinda my thing.”

“And that is kinda why I wanted you in the first place.”

“You mean it wasn’t my bodacious butt?”

Tam groaned and shook her head.

“Focus.”

There was a moment of pregnant silence between the two. He knew going into his mother’s home, his childhood home, guns blazing, might not be the best action. But both of them knew that Joelle Battaglia was not allowed to control the narrative anymore. There was nothing either of them could do about the Red Army or the Glueboiz. Tom outsmarted his brother before, and he’d have willing volunteers to help do it again.

But no matter how shriveled her soul had become, she was still his mother.

“Look, I know she’s your mother…”

“…and I know I have to put my foot down or else shit isn’t getting better.”

He groaned and sighed.

“Why the hell did Dad have to die?”

“Tom, this was all going to surface anyway, whether or not your father was alive. And he probably took the brunt of what you’re getting now. It’s not like she wasn’t lobbing bombs at nobody.”

Tom sat back down on the sofa and leaned forward, thumbs rubbing against his temples.

“Yeah,” he replied, “but Dad also did shit to her and the family with this Vinny Spandex shit, and whatever else she’s not telling me. There are no innocent parties here. Except maybe the kids.”

Tam shook her head.

“What makes you think you’re not innocent, at least in this case? You were a kid who followed your dream, right?”

“Yeah, and I’m barely home anymore. I have health problems driving me into an early grave like my Dad, probably. I’ve done some pretty erratic shit like going off to do drugs in the desert or willingly getting into scams because I was bored.”

Tam went over to her husband and sat next to her.

“Of course, because you’re a dipshit,” she said, smacking him in the back of the head playfully. “But for real, have you ever raised a hand to me or the boys?”

Tom looked at his wife and slowly shook his head.

“Did you ever take money we needed for bills or food and dump it into scammy bullshit so you could get rich?”

Tom looked pensive for a second before shaking his head again.

“And did you ever cheat on me or deliberately endanger me or the boys or even your shitty family?”

“Define shitty, because I did kinda put Mikey in danger that one time, and you guys too.”

Tam shook her head.

“I’ve been a wrestling fan my whole life. I know that there are psychos who take it too far, but you can’t take the blame for what Paxton Ray did to your brother, for what Arthur Pleasant did to our privacy, for what anyone back in the day tried to do to me. You have your flaws. Everyone does.”

Tam rose to her feet, stood over her husband, and looked down at him.

“But being a bad partner or father isn’t one of them.”

Tom got up off the couch again, closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply.

“Well, I guess I know what I gotta do then. But there’s still the nagging feeling. What if it goes south?”

Tam put her arms over her husband’s shoulders.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards then. But this passive aggressive bullshit needs to stop.”

She kissed him on the lips, and he nodded before he walked out the front door.

-

The only thing I know about preventing death from the heavens is fake, apparently. There are some movies from the ‘90s that are somewhat rooted in sound engineering principles, but Armageddon is not. I mean, I always thought implanting a nuke in the middle of an asteroid would work. It sounded cool as fuck, but basically everybody I ever talked to about that movie told me I was a dumbass for believing in it.

I guess that makes a lot of sense, because the one way I know how to deal with conflict, y’know, engaging in fighting people or at the very least yelling at them violently, has done nothing but escalate problems anyway. Even back when me yelling at Guido in the bathroom stall of his precinct felt like a win until it awakened my Mom’s inner dragon of passive aggression.

I can yell at my Mom all I want. Hell, I have on several occasions in the last year. But the problem never really seemed to get better. Some issues require blunt force. Like with Pleasant. And with Paxton too. Even though he did beat me, I think he learned that if you come after my family, even if you think I was wronging your family, you’re going to lose a couple of pounds of flesh.

And that’s really where I’m at with Blaze Claymore. Maybe I’m lashing out at him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time after the events of 67. Maybe I’m sending Bruce Willis and a thermonuclear warhead to an asteroid that will never enter my orbit. I don’t care, really. I pissed my pants on camera, and he was tangentially involved. Unlike with Felix Mullen, it would be a fair fight. Unlike with Fred Dick, he was conscious the whole time. I have to prove a point. I have to put my foot down.

But with my mom, well…

-

There a long enough spot for Tom to park The Shitty Green Explorer on his childhood street without him spending an hour angling it to fit without jutting out into the throughway. That was, in and of itself, a small miracle. He felt, though, that it was the Universe making sure he got this whole ordeal over with.

He rapped upon the aluminum storm door, hoping, almost praying to whatever god would hear him, that there’d be no answer.

Creeeeeeeak

Damn.

“What do you want, coming over unannounced?”

“We need to talk.”

Joelle rolled her eyes as she departed from the foyer, leaving the door open as an unspoken invitation for her oldest son to enter. No sooner did he get his whole body inside the house and shut the door than did she start in.

“So are you finally admitting that I’m right?”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t let me get in the door…”

“Hey, you said we needed to talk. And I know you’re not hard up for money, nor have you run afoul of the mob or the law. And given your recent failures in the last month to capture that belt AND how you embarrassed yourself in live television, I think you finally see the light.”

Tom shut his eyes and went into box breathing exercises. If he was going to lose the fall, it wasn’t going to be a 30-second special. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel his mother’s gaze upon him like daggers. He had to get through one cycle and not melt down. Youngblood and Farthington couldn’t put him down easily. His mother certainly wasn’t going to better two of the most dominant champions in the history of his sport. No.

“I’ll take it by your silence that you ag…”

“No.”

She raised a sharp eyebrow at her son.

“No? You mean to tell me you can show your face at work after you urinated in your pants? You’re lucky few people know what you look like without that silly mask on or else you’d be a laughingstock here too…”

“Mom, just be quiet for once, okay?

“How da…”

“No, ‘how dare you’ would be reserved for what I really wanted to say, okay?”

She stood in stunned silence as her son continued.

“First off, I work in a company where a man who’d become Universal Champion joyrode a forklift through a casino. The guy who could win the Universal Championship, and who has held it before, mind you, was a punchline because he shacked up with the worst woman in the world. The guy I tripped over in that bathroom? Yeah, he cut off his dick. No one’s going to care that I pissed my pants on live television in a week.”

“Your father never would have worked for a company like that.”

Tom exhaled as if he were a dragon breathing fire.

“And another thing, stop this shit with Dad. If he was so great, why didn’t you tell him this when he was alive? Unless it was when I wasn’t paying attention. Like, seriously. He went out to Portland and wrestled some idiot named Daffy Cryhard to a time limit draw. I looked at his records. If you weren’t going to praise him while he was alive, don’t use him as a cudgel now that he’s dead.”

Pregnant silence filled the room.

“I…” she started before trailing off. Tom leaned in, thinking she might break through.

“I just don’t want to see you end up like your father.”

“I get it, Mom. I really do. But while I am his son in some ways, I don’t need nor do I even want to make money in ways that didn’t rely on my talent or my wife’s labor. I’m home every other weekend. I contain multitudes. I’m not going to turn out like Dad, no matter how much you think I am in your shortsighted paranoia. Just because you have unresolved issues doesn’t mean you’re right in telling me to give up who I am.”

She paused a moment before responding.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Thomas Francis Xavier Battaglia, husband, father. And I’m also the Anglo fucking Luchador, a badass wrestler. When I’m done putting Blaze in his place, I’m going to right one of the wrongs of my career and put that Frenchman down and win the Almasy and the title I’ve chased for over three years now. That’s who I am. I know it. My wife and kids and friends and Mikey can see it.”

Tom walked up to his mother and got right in her face.

“Why can’t you?

She recoiled back, putting her hand over her face.

“See, that’s why I can’t reason with men, you’re blind and…”

“Jesus Christ, Mom. You can’t say the same shit over and over again and think it’ll work.”

Tom turned around for the door, leaving his mother shocked. Before he opened it, he turned his head slightly.

“I’m gonna go now. If you’re gonna be like this, I’m not coming back. You’re not invited to my house. You can’t see me or the grandkids. And maybe, when you die, I’ll show up to your funeral and stand in the back while everyone else you loosed your venom upon pretend you weren’t a fake one-woman alienation machine.”

He turned his head to face the door.

“But if you wanna be in my life, you go to therapy, resolve those issues, and accept who I am. You don’t have to like it, but you can stop playing these games with me. Those are my terms.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

He opened the door and left. Joelle’s face turned ghost-white.

-

Turns out you don’t need to impact an asteroid to move it off its collision course. And you don’t need to have a screaming match with someone to let them know you mean business. All you need to do is send something with enough gravity up there to nudge it off its path, and then smooth sailing. You’re free to stop worrying about the extinction level event, and you can go onto playing Asteroids with your pew-pew guns. Blaze Claymore, he’s just an asteroid I can shoot. That’ll be easy. I put him down, and no one remembers he shit himself or I pissed myself the show before. They just remember the beating.

Hopefully, the city-killers in my life, well, they heed the warnings given with gravity. I don’t want not to be able to look at Apophis, or, well, my Mom ever again. But it’d be nice to be able to see her without the threat of her destroying my entire world with each appearance.

Because I don’t know about you, but I quite like the piece of Planet Earth I’ve made for myself.

This roleplay is dedicated to Bruce Willis. Thanks for the movies, bud.