From Russia With Love

“What do you think?”

Hessian looked over and down at the back of his tag team partner, as he stared off the port side of the Svet Fanyi. The permanently scarred grin struggled to hide the doubt on Tony Gamble's face, so he did his best to avoid eye contact with the mountain of a man he shared a championship with.

“About our match?” Hessian asked. The challengers for their first title defense had been a bit of a surprise. Not only had Daytona Diamonds and Rob Williams done nothing to earn a title shot, they had never been in a tag team match together.

“No,” The Grin replied, he knew that it could easily be said that they had been in a similar situation when they challenged the The Wise Guys at least year's Coolossus. Though there was the glaring difference in that Tony and Bobby had actually earned that title shot before Dean wasn't able to compete. Daytona came back from a four month hiatus and was handed a Universal title shot, so why not give him a tag team title shot since he came up short there. But we digress, since that isn't the conversation being discussed by our heroes at this time. “About Ivan pretty much giving us a pass for that loss.”

“I think his position on the situation is genuine.” Stanislav placed the loss solely on the shoulders of the referee, claimed Elvis Nixon clearly had some sort of vendetta against The Red Army, but in the devious mind of the Permascar Superstar it was clear that Nixon had his sights set on the Bandits. “We all know who pulls Nixon's strings.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Man-hands…” Tony finally turned and angled his neck back to face Big Hess, as he revealed the true crack in the Bandits shell.

“Troy has made it obvious that she doesn't want us to succeed,” the former Universal champion stood up from his seat on the bench, towered over the smaller Hall-of-Famer as he continued. “Which is why we threw our dice in with Stanislav and his Red Army.”

“The enemy of our enemy, which was also our enemy…” Tony shook his head and looked back out at the emptiness that surrounded them in Ivan’s hometown of Arkhangelsk, or at least what he could see from where the ship had been docked. They had come at the behest of their new comrade, but Tony didn't plan to spend more time here than he needed to. “Strange how that works out.”

“No stranger than you joining Cancer when you did,” Hessian walked up behind Gamble, draped his hand over the Grinemigo's shoulder, then crouched down a bit. “Look how that turned out.”

“**There are our clowns,**” Alexie Ruslan approached the duo from behind. They turned toward the voice that spoke to them in his native tongue, while unfamiliar with the language the two were certain he was not a big fan of them joining The Red Army so they figured it was nothing nice.

“Alexie,” Hessian greeted Ruslan with a nod as he turned, while Gamble fumed his arms across his chest.

“Let's skip the pleasantries, gentlemen,” he patted and adjusted his coat as he spoke, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed while his lips curled into a scowl. “Starshy Praporshchik may not blame you for embarrassing loss to train wreck that is Vae Victis, but it is clear to me that he may not be thinking clearly.”

“Wait,” Tony waved his hands as he shook his head. “You’re not really trying to put this loss on us, are you?”

“Why wouldn't I, were you not the ones caught cheating by the referee?” He paused, while a curt smile creased his lips and his eyes widened slightly as he lifted his hand to cut off the answer from the two time Alias champion. “A familiar pattern for you Bandits, yes.”

Bandits…Ruslan clearly did not view them as members of The Red Army, and to tell the truth The Grin kind of felt the same way. Hell, he kind of felt the same way as a member of the eGG Bandits…as a father. A man on borrowed time, unsure of his expiration date, never really committed to anything long term.

“So, shall we discuss your punishment?” Alexie clasped his hands behind his back, a grin on his face that would rival Gamble's own.

=-=-=-=-=

“You ever stop to think what Cancer would make of all this?” Tony asked as they made their way down to the lower deck. “Jumping ship? Commandeering the Octane?”

“He’d congratulate us on a job well done,” Hessian said confidently, “and tell us how proud he is of us for bringing gold back to the Carton...”

Tony seemed perplexed by the admission. A pregnant pause followed.

“...Just as soon as we stab Ivan in the back again and reclaim the Octane.”

The Grin’s guts twisted into a cold knot. “Are you serious?”

“No,” Hessian snorted. “Of course not. The Red Army was there for us when Cancer wasn’t. That counts for something.”

“So what do we do when Cancer comes back?”

“If he comes back,” Hessian corrected his partner. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. As for right now, I want you to get on my shoulders.”

“You want me to what?” Tony asked as Hessian manhandled the trolley down the last set of stairs and set it on the floor with a clatter.

“Get on my shoulders,” Hessian repeated casually, as though it was a perfectly reasonable notion. “You take the high ground and I’ll take the low ground.”

Tony balked as Hessian rummaged through the bins and produced two full-face respirator masks and two pairs of black rubber gloves, offering a set to his partner.

“And why are we making this more difficult than it has to be?” Tony asked as he donned the PPE.

“When have we ever done things the easy way?” Hessian proffered as he tied his beard up into a tight bun and fitted the mask over his face. “Think of it like a conditioning exercise; sharpening our balance and dexterity while we work.”

Tony sighed, causing a patch of fog to blossom inside his mask. He chewed on the thought for a moment while it evaporated and, begrudgingly, found himself in agreement. “I guess if we’re going to be stuck down here doing manual labor we might as well get something out of it for ourselves.”

“Good lad!” Hessian exclaimed, thrusting a wire brush into The Grin’s hand.

As Tony examined the tool, he suddenly found himself being grabbed under the armpits. “Hey! What the hell!” He cried out as he was hoisted up onto Hessian’s shoulders like a toddler.

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go,” Hessian sang merrily while fishing another brush out of the trolley.

Tony sat frozen in indignation. Glaring down at Hessian’s crown, he tightened his grip on the brush handle and raised it as if to strike the big idiot’s skull.

“Pull that stunt on me?” He seethed under his breath. As Hessian grabbed the trolley handle and eyed up the nearest patch of rust, a wicked grin played across Tony’s lips. “Two can play that game.”

“Hm? You say something?” Hessian asked absent-mindedly.

“Hyahh! Giddy-up horsey! Yeehaw!!” Tony hollered, jostling up and down, kicking his heels into Hessian’s ribs and pulling on the mask straps like reins. He clung on for dear life as his partner flinched and bucked with each dig.

“Ow! Hey!” Hessian protested, smacking Tony’s legs with his brush. “Quit that! I’m not your goddamn horsey!”

“And I’m not a damn child!” Tony yelled back, slapping the backside of his brush off Hessian’s dome. “Why’d you pick me up like that??”

“I didn’t mean to!” Hessian roared as Tony beat him like a drum. “I’m sorry, alright! Stop it! Uncle! UNCLE!”

Unrelenting, The Grin goaded his partner further. “Just think of it like a conditioning exercise! I beat enough sense into you to where you stop treating me like a little kid!”

“ALRIGHT!” Hessian bellowed, dropping to one knee and hunching forward.

Tony promptly hopped off and, keeping his back to his partner, stared off down the corridor while Hessian cradled his ribs and rubbed his sore head.

“That was ignorant of me,” the giant admitted eventually. “I apologize.”

“And?” Tony snarled, slowly turning around.

“And…” Hessian repeated tentatively.

Tony folded his arms.

“I won’t do it again,” Hessian twigged after a moment. “Promise.”

“That’s more like it,” Tony nodded firmly. “Now, let’s take it from the top.”

“As you wish,” Hessian mumbled, bowing his head. “Climb aboard.”

The Grin took a moment to appreciate Hessian’s submissive posture before straddling his partner’s shoulders, clinging on as the giant rose to his full height again. He smiled broadly astride his mount as Hessian pulled the trolley along to the first patch of rust.

=-=-=-=-=

With almost 200lbs of extra weight on his shoulders, Hessian’s knees popped loudly as he squatted to scrape off the bottom of the rust patch, making sure to keep his back straight at all times.

“You might be onto something here y’know, feels very wax on, wax off,” Tony affirmed, pressing his brush into the rust and allowing Hessian’s motion to drag it downwards with minimal effort, scouring reddish-brown flakes off that fell over Hessian’s head and down his front.

The giant brushed himself off with a sigh and retaliated with an exaggerated stoop . Tony lurched at first but quickly clamped his legs tightly around the giant’s sides to maintain his balance, all without complaint. Hessian straightened himself again, quietly impressed.

“Now you’re getting it,” said Hessian. “We need to exploit every opportunity we can. I bet Alexei would just love it if we fumbled the titles. He’d rub it in our faces, convince Ivan it was a terrible idea to bring us into the Red Army and throw us overboard. We need to lock in.”

“Is that so?” Tony chuckled.

“You saw what Daytona did to Ivan,” Hessian reminded him. “We can’t take him lightly. He’s not the same guy that rode into WarGames with us.”

“No, he’s not,” Tony agreed. “That Daytona was a fun-loving romper stomper. This new version is the result of the World’s Greatest Crash-Out from dropping the Intense to Snow. But he’s gotta tag with the World’s Most Miserable Piece Of Crap. Dude’s an Olympic-level moper and he’s on his third go-around at the titles to boot…”

“So what you’re saying is they’re more dangerous and hungrier than ever,” Hessian chimed in as he scraped off the last of the rust and spun towards the trolley.

“What I’m saying is-hey! Steady on!” Tony yelped as he careened once more.

“Steady yourself,” Hessian rebuked, retrieving two microfibre cloths from their supplies. “You’re meant to be engaging your core, remember. Here, wipe the surface down once you’re done,” he added, passing one to his partner.

“Engage my damn foot up your ass,” Tony grumbled, snatching the cloth. “Yes they’re hungry and dangerous, but they’re hotheads. And they have tunnel vision. They thrive on directing all their hate and testosterone in one direction. It’s how Daytona was able to topple Ivan. He’s one of the most capable men on the roster in a one-on-one situation…”

Hessian nodded in agreement as he finished wiping off his section of wall, grabbed a tub of rust converter along with a horsehair brush and started laying down a coat.

“But when it comes to tag matches?” Tony continued, “The Whoresmen absolutely suck – every which way you cut it. They fall to pieces when they’re confronted with multiple targets. But you and me? That’s when we’re in our element. We’ve always got a plan.”

The Grin tossed his cloth aside, clicked his fingers and waited with his hand held out. Hessian finished painting his section and passed the converter up.

“Speaking of plans, got anything in mind?” Hessian asked.

“We use their narrow-mindedness against them,” Tony said, grinning his awful grin. Using the converter, he started painting X’s and O’s onto the wall and streaked lines across the gaps. “Get them riled up here, hit them with the misdirect there, lure them in and put a hurtin’ on them.”

Tony took a moment to admire his makeshift coach board before coating over it.

“And try to stay out of the splash zone while we do it,” Hessian said with a frown as he was spattered from above.

“That’s the trick,” Tony said as he finished covering up the bare patch. “Alright, what now?”

“We scour and coat the rest,” Hessian said, gesturing along the corridor. “Then, once the converter’s dried, we prime and paint.”

Tony cast his eye over the numerous patches of rust along the walls. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“No,” Hessian concurred, though his tone was ominous. He walked down the corridor a little bit and turned into the darkened hallway that led down to the Gallows. “This on the other hand…”

Tony scanned the walls on either side and let out an exasperated groan. They were riddled with rust from top to bottom along the full length. “Aw damn.”

“We could always leave it,” Hessian suggested. “Ivan and Alexei seemed pretty spooked by this place, I doubt they’ll be venturing down here again.”

He let that percolate while Tony seemed to be fixated by the bulkhead door leading to the Gallows proper.

“Hey, last time we came down here…did you find anything?” Tony asked.

“No,” Hessian shook his head mournfully. “No sign of Cyril. He’s long gone.”

Tony felt his partner’s shoulders sag beneath him. Rather than let him stew, The Grin nudged him back to attention. “Come on, we can leave this for another day. Let’s finish up out there then head topside. I feel like sending Mopey and Dopey a message…from Russia with love.”

A moment passed before Hessian nodded silently in retort and stepped back out of the darkness, returning them to their duties.

=-=-=-=-=

“What happened to the crazy, dependable son of a bitch that jetskied across the Atlantic to go to war alongside the Bandits?” Hessian asks, thumbing at the open sea behind them. “The guy who dove off a shark cage draped in Old Glory. The Commander of the Slut Truck. That’s the Daytona I know. If you think we’re about to let some psychotic bacne-ridden gorilla and his towel boy take our titles from us, you got another thing coming. Somewhere inside that deranged ball of muscle is the good ol’ boy I remember, and if it takes putting your ass through the ring to humble the beast and remind you who you really are then so be it. As for your bitch?”

The giant spits on the floor.

“Don’t think I forgot about that chairshot at Forty-Nine, Rob. Payback is long overdue. You’ve got a receipt coming at Colossus.”

“Please stop,” Gamble waves his arms in front of Hessian's chest, since he couldn't reach high enough to wave them in front of his face. “You're doing it all wrong.”

“Is there a wrong way to talk trash,” the big man's eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Yes,” with his hands on his hips, The Grin shakes his head. “The way you were doing it. ‘As for your bitch’... What are you, a fifth grader?”

“Rob Williams is a bitch,” Hessian shrugs nonchalantly.

“Trust me, I'm not disputing that. I'm pretty sure every member of the roster knows he is, the Whoresmen probably know it better than anyone else.” Tony takes a few steps, his back now to his partner. “What I'm saying is, you don't need to say it. It makes you come off as weak and childish.”

“Do I look weak to you?”

“Not at all,” Tony turns to Hessian, looks up at the barrel chest that belongs to the other half of the PRIME tag team champions, and grins…naturally. “But you sure do sound like you are.”

A grunt.

A whimper.

A smile.

A grin.

“Look, we all know you're big and strong, so it's expected that you're going to say stuff like cashing in a receipt and putting Daytona through the ring.” A brief pause while the forever grinning tag team champion paces slightly. “Being big and strong didn't work out too well for Ivan when he faced Diamonds, so we need to be smarter than that.”

Tony stops pacing as something dawns on him, and heel to toe turns to Hessian.

“We need to be better than we ever have before, Hess,” Tony starts. “No one believes we can win this on our own, and we have eyes on us waiting to catch us doing something wrong.”

“So we can't cheat.”

“Did I say that,” Tony runs his hand through his hair, thoughts racing in his mind. “Look, if all else fails, we need to cheat in order to keep the titles.”

“Lose the match, but remain champions.”

“Exactly,” Tony nods his head. “But only if it looks like we're going to lose.”

“Understood.”

“I want to win though, Hess.” Tony looks up at the Murder Show. “We need to win.”

“I know that we can win,” Hessian snarls, arms folded across his barrel of a chest. “The Whoresmen don't have the experience together that we do.”

“They're unpredictable though,” Gamble chimes in. “And while Rob isn't really a pushover, Daytona just had a match against Farthington. We need to be ready for anything, so this is what we're going to do.”

=-=-=-=-=

“What happened to the crazy, dependable son of a bitch that jetskied across the Atlantic to go to war alongside the Bandits?”

Tell me if you heard this one before.

“The guy who dove off a shark cage draped in Old Glory. The Commander of the Slut Truck. That’s the Daytona I know. If you think we’re about to let some psychotic bacne-ridden gorilla and his towel boy take our titles from us, you got another thing coming. Somewhere inside that deranged ball of muscle is the good ol’ boy I remember, and if it takes putting your ass through the ring to humble the beast and remind you who you really are then so be it.”

The Murder Show is live.

“Speaking of the towel boy…don't think I've forgotten about your little love tap, Rob. Time may have passed since ReVival Forty Nine, but that isn't something I would forget.

His co-host grinning on his left.

“The two of us have unfinished business, but the four of us…well, let's just say we're a little sad that Anna has her hands full with Ria. That is, unless you've figured out what has fucked your tag team out of winning the tag titles the last two times you've tried to win them.”

Tony cocks his head to the right, the crooked grin permanently scarred on his face hiding his true expression.

“I have to say, Daytona is truly an upgrade to the team Rob. The thing is, I'm not really sure if Daniels was the weak link of FYTT. We'll know soon enough though, won't we.”

They both nod, but it is Tony who continues talking.

“You've all had success individually. Anna, you, and Daytona have proven yourselves on singles matches on countless occasions, but when you step into the ring together it just fizzles and stalls. Well, it has for you and Anna, but you think things are going to be different with Daytona in your corner.”

The Grin has lost his main attraction, the reason people even watched these things, but he gained a Murder Show.

“Guess we're going to find out soon, but I have to say…I don't think you're going to like the outcome, because what you fail to realize is that Hess and I didn't win these titles just to lose them in our first defense. No, we're ready to fight, ready to prove that we deserve these titles. So bring whoever you want, and the outcome is going to remain the same…”

With Hessian towering over him, Tony states into the camera.

“There isn't going to be an and new, because we are and will continue to be the only true and deserving PRIME tag team champions. So FUCK YOUR TAG TEAM.”