Not All Heroes Wear Half-Shells (Or Know the First Thing About Duvet Covers)

Blaze could feel the crunch of gravel underneath the tires of his rental as he wound his way up a southwestern Michigan road flanked on either side by an endless stretch of oak and pine trees.

It was just warm enough for him to safely roll down his windows and let the scent of the forest crash into his olfactory nerves, flooding his mind with the smell of… family.

The times when, as a little kid, his mother would take him up to Superior National Forest in the summer and they would spend a weekend, maybe a day or two more, taking in the scenery and exploring the unknown. No responsibilities. Setting up temporary roots in a place that wasn’t your home. Whether it was a cabin, a tent, or even some hotel off the freeway – it was an adventure that somehow felt safer than the day-to-day routine of ordinary life.

Like a pocket dimension where the demands of the world just rolled off you.

Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to leave places behind.

Or maybe it was never about where you were, he mused to himself. Maybe it was about who you were with.

Blaze gripped the steering wheel, making what looked to be the final turn toward the side road leading to Rancho Mundo. His home for… however long it was going to take.

"Agent Dale Cooper at your service. Just direct me on where to get a good cup of coffee and slice of apple pie."

Blaze chuckled to himself. Nearly two days of travel and nine hours behind the wheel. Delirium was setting in. He flicked on his headlights and approached the compound; the sun behind him lowering over the tops of the trees.

It wasn’t long before he reached the gate where a wiry man waited. He looked like a cross between Cheech Marin and Charlie Brown, head lowered and shuffling his feet as a joint hung loosely from his lips.

Blaze expected the headlights and engine noise to get the man's attention. They didn’t.

*HONK*

As he blasted the horn, the man stopped reflexively, surveying his surroundings like a sightless cryptid. He soon turned his attention to the source of the noise, then approached Blaze’s driver’s side window.

Blaze lowered the glass. “I’m here for the PRIME retreat.”

The man squinted, looking past Blaze and into some alternate reality only he could see.

“Ah, nah. Like… that was months ago. We’re several layers deeper now. To the delta.”

Blaze lowered his head onto the steering wheel and took some deep, healing breaths.

“No, sorry. I meant I’m here for the … team building project. Sage should be waiting for me. I’m Blaze Claymore.”

The man let out a chuckle. “If you say so. Go on ahead then.”

The gates opened like a miniature version entering Jurassic Park as Blaze nodded, rolled up his window, and then pressed lightly on the gas – thus beginning his venture into the unknown, mysterious, and dangerous realm of … a group project?

🌲 👣 🪨

It didn’t take long for Blaze to find his way to a massive gravel parking lot less than a mile from the main road.

Once parked, he flipped open the trunk and quickly shouldered a pair of duffle bags, before turning and coming face-to-face with Sage Pontiff. The Bodhisattva's ratio of bald-to-beard was impressive to look at, no doubt, but it was a face Blaze remembered all too well looking down on him, his shoulders pinned to the mat, as the referee counted to three.

Before Blaze could open his mouth, Sage nodded curtly at the Lighthouse.

“You’re late.”

As Blaze tried to think of something to say, some sort of excuse, his Squad partner continued speaking.

“Time is ultimately an illusion, though. Westinghouse pushed it to increase clock sales. But I couldn’t hold up the work.”

Blaze’s vacant stare must have been enough acknowledgement for his host as Sage was 10 yards ahead of him, walking with purpose.

The Lighthouse struggled to keep up, adjusting his duffle bags, and yelling after the skinnier version of Kratos to try and fill in the gaps.

“So… what now? Are we staying in one of those cabins?”

Sage didn’t turn to look back as he responded.

“No. You’re building one."

🔨 🏠 🔨

It was clear that a lot of work had been done prior to his arrival. Blaze’s stomach sank as he caught sight of Lindsay Troy examining the framework of a half-built cabin and someone carrying a collection of two-by-fours.

“Wow… seems like I missed a lot. Wait. Who’s that guy?”

Sage laughed, gesturing to where his Squad Goals teammates were hard at work.

“That’s Tom.”

Blaze blinked, his brain not computing.

“You may not recognize him without his mask…”

Blaze’s eyes grew wide as Tom turned to see the pair chatting and tossed a little, nonchalant wave.

“I did miss a lot.”

“Trying to force the flow of time and existence is what we’ve been doing as a species since we learned what control is. Why worry about what happened before you got here? It’ll have happened whether you feel bad or not. Besides, plenty of work to be done. Rancho Mundo isn’t the kind of Hollywood wellness retreat you’re probably used to...”

“Actually, I've never been invited to a—”

Sage continued on.

“Things are different here, man. This is the power of collectivism at work. The ground, graded for living. Over there, crops. We just finished building the pen over there so we can keep goats.  This isn’t just people, we’re a family, right?  And family is why we’re here, because as a group our personal victory lies in treating one another like family. But family is also the reason because Elias and Maven are expecting, y'know? First baby conceived and born on this land, Blaze.  They need a home, and not just their big bell tent. They need floors and walls.  Everyone here does, but we also all agree that they deserve them first. Like I said, collectivism.”

Just as Sage walked Blaze further up the dirt path to the construction site, TAL and Lindsay both turned to see the Lighthouse, duffle bags in hand. Blaze offered a kind wave that was met with a less than enthusiastic response. At least initially.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” TAL said with audible jest in his voice, the stack of two-by-fours now under his arm.

“Is there anything I can do-”

“Yeah,” Lindsay gestured toward the framework of Rancho Mundo’s newest structure. “We need to start laying flooring. Go grab a hammer and we’ll show you what to do.”

A pang of guilt for not getting to the site in time overshadowed his confusion - not even knowing the first thing about flooring - but he was determined to make himself useful.

Suddenly, a whistle pierced the air.

“Hey, everyone,” Sage said, speaking in the tone of an energetic camp leader. “It looks like we’re on track to be finished with everything by this evening.”

The announcement elicited a reserved cheer from the crew, who were already hungry and sweaty just a few hours into day two.

“All except furnishing the interior that is…”

Suddenly Blaze felt every eye, physical and cosmic, on him in that moment. What in the world do I know about interior design?! I’m a stage craft kid, not Martha Stewart.

“I don’t know what I’m doing…”

Lindsay shrugged. “You think I do? I promise nobody’s expecting Nate Berkus or Joanna Gaines, Blaze. Just do the best you can and make it look nice.”

He looked over to Sage for support but he was talking a Rancho Mundo resident’s ear off and TAL had wandered back toward the partially built cabin with lumber in hand.

“How do I do that?”

Lindsay sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. She wasn’t exactly expecting to have to hand-hold in addition to laying planks and mixing concrete.

“Well…” she started, “Sage told you we’re building this for a new family, right? That’s a good place to start. You’ll figure it out.”

Blaze sighed and shook his head as Lindsay began to turn toward the cabin. Then it hit him like a flash of lightning. He shouted, almost too excitedly, after the Queen of the Ring.

“Hey, boss!”

Lindsay stopped and looked back.

“Yeah?”

Blaze flashed a cocky grin.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

🍿 🎥 🍿

Blaze could feel the sun’s glare shooting through the newly-framed windows inside the roofless cabin. It would be dark soon and he needed to get a sense of the space before he could properly figure out what Sage’s followers would need to complete the project.

A smile found its way onto Blaze’s face as he set his duffle bag down and looked around.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

He hadn’t only asked Lindsay - it was his goal to find out everyone’s favorite movie. TAL, of course, and Sage … but also the members (patrons? parishioners?) of Rancho Mundo.

When he and his mother would spend time up in the northern parts of Minnesota, away from the world, they didn’t always see eye to eye – what pre-teen does with their parents? But they would always agree to bring three of their favorite movies up with them to watch.

For every Rocky or Ninja Turtles movie he made her watch she made him sit through Steel Magnolias and The Ice Storm. But it didn’t matter that either of them liked what the other liked. Knowing that they liked something that much was enough.

Ever since then, he knew a person’s favorite movie was the quickest way to understand their soul.

Except for Rat Man Dan. We don’t talk about Rat Man Dan.

Blaze wasn’t thinking when he shouted at Lindsay, but the words fell out of his mouth before his brain could stop them. He was terrified but he also knew if she played along it would be easier for Sage and TAL to agree to the idea rapidly forming in his head.

And she did play along. She made him wait for it though, giving Blaze one of those long, intense stares that tells you someone is either really thinking about what you just asked them or how best to make you feel like an idiot.

With Lindsay Troy, it could be both.

And when the answer came, it wasn’t what he expected.

“It’s Amélie,” she said.

“What?”

Blaze remembered the look in Lindsay’s eyes, almost daring Blaze to push back.

“My favorite movie,” she repeated. “It’s Amélie.”

2001. Jean-Pierre Jeunet. The same guy who somehow made Alien: Resurrection, but better known for Audrey Tautou's wonderfully child-like performance.

It was a whimsical choice. Colorful. Bright. Optimistic. And so not the Lindsay Troy he knew.

Blaze smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to pierce through Lindsay’s defenses.

“That’s…” Blaze started, then stopped. “How come?”

Lindsay smirked, proud that she’d stumped him. Then her lips softened into a smile. “Because it doesn’t matter when I see it or who I see it with, it always makes me feel like I’m watching it for the first time.”

Blaze nodded, thanked his boss, and filed it away like a treasure map into the back of his brain.

TAL had been a bit easier to wrestle an answer from, no pun intended.

“The Wrestler," he answered. “One of the most heart-wrenching and honest portrayals of our business ever.”

It was a film Blaze had seen over and over … and maybe the one thing that convinced him that professional wrestling could be a way out of his Hollywood rut.

“Maybe when things die down a bit, we can discuss that ending. I think there’s a lot of meat on that bone. What makes it a great movie, actually. He says something profound without really ever saying it.”

Even as he was trying to get used to seeing The Anglo Luchador as just “Tom,” the choice made it clear what kind of man he was. Or, at least was trying to be.

Then, lastly, came Sage. The bald, bearded, and barely clothed leader of Rancho Mundo ran a hand along the sheen of his skull like Colonel Kurtz in his own personal performance from Apocalypse Now and spoke without hesitation.

“Ong Bak."

Another one that caught Blaze off guard. Not Singh’s The Fall, or Fricke’s Samsara, or even a sniff of Kubrick and Sage had a damned monolith at his ranch! But… having faced Sage in the ring only a few months ago, Blaze knew that his punches and kicks had the force of Tony Jaa behind them, that was for damn sure.

Somehow, the admission made Sage seem more sentimental than his perception-through-pain mantras; then again, the Buddha was just a normal guy once too. Maybe Sage was on to something at Rancho Mundo after all.

👊🏻 👊🏻 🤝🏻

It took several trips and nearly 150 miles to gather everything. By the time he got back, more walls were up, windows placed, and the rooftop nearly complete.

Sage had been pretty clear about the purpose of the new cabin. No frills. Bare minimum necessities. Just a place to share a meal, clean up, and rest before another day embracing the land and finding redemption through physical sacrifice.

There were five rooms in total… a central gathering space, a kitchen and washroom, and then three bedrooms. As spartan as they come.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

He wasn’t sure if Lindsay, TAL, and Sage understood his motives, but when looking at what the team had already built together, it was only appropriate to celebrate the individual contributions of those who helped make it possible.

It made Blaze wonder — what if he had wound up on Ivan Stanislav’s team? What movie would the Russian Bear have picked?

Battleship Potemkin? Doctor Zhivago? Or maybe he was secretly a Pixar guy. Turning Red.

Blaze smirked, but the thought didn’t leave him. It twisted instead.

Wait… what was Ivan’s favorite movie? Or Scott’s? Or Bobby’s? Or Chandler’s? Did they even like movies?

He didn’t know. He’d never asked.

Maybe after the match, he would. Maybe there was something there — some common ground, some shared language that could turn opponents into something else.

He’d already felt Ivan’s fists twice. And despite the Soviet propaganda that the Red Army spread everywhere, Blaze knew he was within striking distance of toppling one of PRIME’s icons.

Scott Hunter? He’d told TAL he was a human Looney Tune, but Scott was a member of Vae Victis, LT’s own stable, and one-half of the tag team champions. He wouldn’t be in the group if the Queen didn’t think he had the talent to belong. Overlooking him would be a mistake; the same kind that cost Blaze the Alias title against Steve Lemieux.

Chandler was obvious. Hall of Famer. Universal Champion. A career built on surviving everything thrown at him, including Ivan. They’d spent more time across from each other than beside one another, but now they were aligned and neither would let the other be the reason their team ended up on the wrong side of victory.

And Bobby… Blaze didn’t want to beat the shit out of Bobby Neptune. If Blaze was Michelangelo then Bobby was Mondo Gecko; but that didn’t mean he wasn’t someone who was going to lay everything on the line in their match.

That was the thing. Blaze wasn’t looking for a free pass or special treatment from his opponents… he wanted to understand them.

Blaze had been on the wrong side of TAL, Sage, and Lindsay at one point too. Opponents became teammates. Teammates became friends. Wrestling could do that, if you let it.

He’d spent years being a shitheel. The worst kind. Pushing people away before they could get close. Now he was trying to do the opposite — pull people together.

Maybe some would reject it. Maybe some would think it a weakness, like Daytona did.

That wasn’t his call. All he could control was what he contributed. What he was fighting for.

Here at Rancho Mundo, at least for now, he was building something special with his teammates.

Something worth protecting.

☀️ 🌕 ⭐

The sun had dipped below the tree line by the time the last piece was in place.

Blaze stepped back from the cabin and found himself standing next to Lindsay, TAL, and Sage, shoulder to shoulder, looking at what they'd made. Together.

It wasn't much if you looked at it on its own. Four walls, a roof, some furniture that wouldn't win any design awards. But it was solid. It would keep the rain out. It would be warm when winter came. And somewhere inside it, a kid was going to take their first steps.

"Not bad," Lindsay said. She didn't look at any of them when she said it.

TAL nodded slowly. "Could've used more time on the trim work."

"Time is—" Sage started.

"If you say 'an illusion' again, I'm putting you through that wall," Lindsay cut in.

"I was going to say 'time is what we make of it.' But if you want to solve our differences like true members of the Rancho Mundo community, I do believe the arena is free.”

Blaze laughed. Actually laughed — the kind that catches you off guard because you didn't know you needed it.

"Come on," he said. "I want to show you all something."

🚪🚪🚪

Blaze hung back as his teammates stepped through the cabin, watching their faces as they took in the scene.

It was Lindsay who noticed first - pausing in the main room. The warm light from a secondhand copper lamp helped accent a run of reds and forest greens throughout the cabin walls and in the small details tucked into corners: a painted stone on a shelf, a wind chime made of old keys hanging near the window, and an incense bowl on the bedside table.

She didn't say anything. But her hand brushed the edge of a cushion, and Blaze saw her smile. Just for a second.

TAL lingered in the dining area. The long communal table with no head, no foot. The sturdy chairs. A vintage wrestling poster hung on the wall, a Mexican luchador match between El Halcón and Mil Máscaras. Mask vs. Mask match. 1977. Mexico City.

"Where'd you find that?" TAL asked.

"Antique store. Forty miles out."

TAL nodded slowly. "It fits."

Sage was the last to walk through.

He moved slowly, pausing in each of the three small bedrooms. Blaze had kept them simple — warm wood tones, soft lighting, thick curtains that would block the morning sun when someone needed rest. Each doorframe had been sanded smooth and sealed with care. The kind of detail you wouldn't notice unless you ran your hand along it.

Sage ran his hand along one of them. Didn't say anything for a long moment.

But then… "Thresholds matter."

Blaze nodded and smiled. He’d take it.

🐢 🐢 🐢 🐢

The four of them gathered outside as night set in, a fire crackling between them. Lindsay was watching him.

“So what about you?”

He blinked, confused.

“What about… me?”

“What’s your favorite movie? You asked us; if we’re going to be a team then fair is fair.”

Blaze smirked and shoved the fire’s embers around, watching them burst and explode.

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

TAL pointed at Blaze.

“The one with Vanilla Ice?”

“No. The first one. The good one. I mean, yes you’ve got comics and the cartoons, which are great, but when I was a kid? Seeing these weirdo teenage turtles who loved unconventional pizza toppings, fought with their dad, and made mistakes but still did what was right… I guess it just made an impact.”

Sage nodded.

“A family. Not just four individual personalities. Fractured bonds. Reconciliation through struggle. Unity of purpose.”

Blaze smiled, looking around at his squad mates.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Lindsay laughed, gesturing to the cabin.

“I didn’t see anything in there that was Ninja Turtles. It can’t just be our movies in there and not yours. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Oh… it's there. Trust me. Right where it should be.”

Lindsay narrowed her gaze but decided to let it go as the group continued to chat well until the moon hung high above their heads.

Within a couple hours Elias and Maven would see their new home for the first time. And while they may not care about the copper lamp, luchador poster, or the doorframes, they would care that it felt like a home.

“Alright, I’m heading to bed. Let’s all make sure we take in one of Sage’s physical challenges before we leave so we can be ready for Ivan and his team,” Blaze said.

The other three nodded in agreement and slowly got up to head to their tents.

Blaze turned back to the cabin, closed his eyes, and pictured the four miniature, bandana-wearing, weapon-wielding Ninja Turtles he had placed in the rafters.

Watching over the cabin.

Keeping it safe.