The Dam Level

🔵

“You don’t deserve this.”

Weightless, I propel myself deeper through azure unknown.

The water is cool, and surprisingly clear. 

And blue.

Perfect blue.

“This fleeting sense of gratification…”

The mission at hand is all that matters.

“This blind feeling of self-assurance…”

Eight bombs.

And a whopping two minutes and thirty seconds to find and defuse every one of them.

“It’s sickening, Face.”

Nah.

Just daunting.

But that’s just what I live for.

🟠

“Nice place you got here.”

Bryan Dawkins broke the ice with the candid observation, looking up impressionably at the Dojo’s high ceilings.

Greeting him at the entrance, Kerry likewise glanced around the room.

“Thanks… we were very fortunate to get it.”

One of the few positive things that asshole Erik Black contributed to his life, now that he thought about it.

Not that it bore mentioning.

“Said asshole still owes us an explanation.”

One that would have to wait until after Culture Shock, Kerry surmised.

For now, the focus was Squad Goals.

And remembering the work they had ahead of them, he promptly waved for Dawkins to follow and led him further through the school.

“How long you guys been here?” Bryan asked conversationally, looking over the banks of weight-lifting equipment and dual practice rings as he followed.

“Set up shop a little over a year ago,” Kerry answered, privately admiring the building’s transition over a relatively short but impactful period of time.

Two of the prospects came out of the locker room, bags at their sides and redressed for the street.

Rush, the lightweight kid from Idaho they put into the Flynn Cup last year. And Shelby, a local exchange student who came to them by way of “accidentally” kicking Sonny Silver in the balls.

They exchanged nods with the passing Kuroyama and Dawkins before heading for the exit.

“Feel free to stop in for a workout whenever you’re in town,” said Kerry over his shoulder. “Or, if you’re just wanting to tangle, there’s usually someone around for a quick sparring session.”

“Sure, bruh…” Dawkins replied. “Maybe after the knee’s healed.”

Kerry couldn’t help but pick up on the sense of weariness clinging to that last set of words.

With everything going on in the PRIME veteran’s life, including but limited to the Intense Title defense with the Russian Bear, Kerry was fairly amazed in his almost superheroic ability to keep it together and press on.

“Take notes, Face.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t find other ways of being productive,” said Kuroyama, reaching into the pocket of his gym shorts.

When his hand came out, he held up a thumb drive.

Dawkins squinted at it. “And what’s that?”

“The reason I invited you out here today.”

They reached the stairway to the mezzanine, and went up. If the Flyin’ Hawaiian had any pain while negotiating the steps, then he did an unimaginable job of hiding it.

“Everything we could scrounge up on Christie and Pepper,” Kuroyama answered, giving the drive a light shake. “In the wrestling ring, or otherwise.”

“You think they could be dark horses,” said Bryan, quickly picking up what the Emerald Apex was putting down.

Kerry nodded. “Cecilworth and Coral are obviously the heavy hitters, but I think it’d be a mistake to overlook the other two. They may be new, but they’ve been making moves. The kind of moves that catch the eye of someone like Farthington, in any case. Could be another High Point and VCU in the making.”

Upon reaching the second floor, they entered the mezzanine lounge, where Kuroyama gestured to the semi-circle of black leather sofas arranged toward a large flatscreen.

“And that’s what we’re doing here then?” asked Dawkins, gingerly taking his seat. “Getting a better idea of what we’re up against?”

Kuroyama nodded again, inserting the thumb drive into the concealed dock behind the screen’s edge.

“I’m of the belief that it pays to be prepared,” he said, sliding a blank tablet of paper across the glass circular table at the center of the sofa arrangement. “And sure, I could  probably do this in my own time… but sometimes it helps having a second set of eyes in the room. Someone I can compare notes with.”

Bryan looked thoughtfully at the blank notepad before him on the table, then to Kerry, brandishing his own tablet and pen as he dropped into the sofa across from him.

“Damn, bruh…” he said with a chuckle. “You really are Leonardo.”

“HA!”

Reaching for the remote to cue up the first video, Kerry groaned.

“Fuck, did you have to bring that up?”

The Intense Champion held out his hands and shrugged.

“Hey, man… just own it,” he contended. “He may not be the flashiest turtle, but that’s also kind of his strong suit, right? Always on the task… planning out the best possible approach… exactly what you’re doing here, yeah?”

Kerry rolled his eyes. “Growing up, I never met a kid who wanted to play as Leonardo.”

“It’s not about anything anyone wants,” said Bryan. “Leonardo balances out all the other turtles’ extremes. He holds everyone together into a complete unit. Every team needs a Leonardo… just like ours.”

Fighting back whatever physical toll required to make the motion, the Flyin’ Hawaiian leaned ahead and looked Kuroyama in the eye.

Looking back, Kerry could see the years of pain, glory, and trauma sustained within the PRIME ring staring back at him.

“Rob, FLAMBO, and myself… we all have a lot of our plates going into Culture Shock,” he said. “Hard saying what shape we’ll be in by the time the bell rings, but I think we can be ready to fight when the time comes. Still, when it comes to getting everyone on the same page, and fighting together for the win? That’s all you, bruh. Because you were made for this.”

As though to accentuate the point, Bryan tapped his notepad.

Then he smiled.

“Just think about it… that’s all I’m saying.”

It was the kind of grin that had a reputation for looking a little goofy, given the personality of its owner.

“This fossil only exists for our sustenance, Face.”

But Kerry could only see in that smile the warmth and earnestness of a seasoned talent trying to pass on a little wisdom.

“Okay, maybe you’re on to something,” he said with acceptance as he hit play on the remote.

The round and rosy face of Big John Pepper filled the screen.

Dawkins squinted, confused.

“...Teddy Roosevelt?”

🔵

Three bombs down.

Five to go, with a little over a minute and a half remaining.

“For the whole of your existence within your tiny little world of posturing, indulgence, and self-worship, all you’ve ever been is a hollow and insecure seeker of validation.”

The gray stone walls of the submerged tunnel ahead of me twist and turn in on themselves. 

I feel like this is strange architecture for a man-made structure, and completely impractical in the uses of a dam, but I really haven’t the time to think about it.

“Now you think you’ve finally earned a sense of respect…”

I am mindful to regulate my breathing as I swim forward, taking controlled breaths off the oxygen the tanks secured beneath the turtle shell on my back.

Yes, the shell has a dragon tattoo on it.

Yes, it also took hours to make.

“But it’s only through the fear of ME, Face, that you had the chance to earn that respect.”

I can barely hear him.

The beast is there, but not there.

As static as the voice of an angry podcaster I put on for background noise.

🔴

The plane landed late in Mexico City.

Still, Rob Williams was right where he said he would be.

The loading dock behind Estadio Azteca.

An ideal, out of the way place for a quiet chat.

“Or a murder.”

Still hot from their brawl that started the last show, Kerry Kuroyama found him sitting on an overturned bucket off to one side of the dock, quietly enjoying a smoke while he watched the local teamsters haul out partitions and segments of the Culture Shock stage set-pieces out the back of the PRIME trailer.

Williams offered him nothing in the way of a verbal greeting. Instead, he extended his arm and held out a cigarette pack that had long ago lost its rectangular shape.

Answering the silence with his own, Kuroyama waved him off.

“Too good to burn one?” tsked Rob. “Fuck, c’mon man, I’m trynna extend the olive branch here, or whatever.”

Kerry shrugged. “I only smoke when I’m stressed.”

The Emerald Apex leaned himself against the adjoined wall and folded his arms, unwilling to leave the grizzled and half-crazed man known as “the Legend” out of his sight.

Noticing the guarded behavior, Williams chuckled mirthlessly.

“Alright then, tightass,” he grumbled. “I’ll try and make this quick…”

Rob took a drag and ashed the tip to preclude his statement.

“I need you to know, I didn’t want the responsibility of being put in charge of this ‘Squad Goals’ bullshit anymore than you wanted to be on this team.”

Weathered eyes drifted up to the night sky. Williams stared transfixed, and somewhat spiteful. As though the stars themselves had damned him with some unnamed curse.

“But you can take it from someone who’s had enough shit handed to him over the course of his life,” he said, pausing to savor another puff. “Sometimes, when life hands you shit, all you can do is make the best of it.”

Rob’s stormy blue eyes found Kerry’s brown.

“So I picked you,” he said, exhaling another column of smoke. “Because--and I say this with complete honesty--you’re one of the meanest motherfucker’s I’ve ever tangled with between those ropes.”

He thumbed over his shoulder, to the building behind them.

“And what you did a week ago?” he said. “Against that motherfucker, Tsonda? Well, that just proves to me that I was right to pick you.”

Kerry could agree that it was a hell of a fight.

The Model Citizen was everything he expected in an opponent. And yet somehow, still more than he anticipated.

The frequent shifts in momentum in that late stretch was nothing short of chaos. At no point did Kuroyama have an idea of how it was going to end.

It was terrifying.

And liberating.

“Pure Heaven.”

“I’ll tell you what…”

Rob extinguishing the nub of his remaining cigarette and flicking it out into the night, and reached down to something folded up on the ground beside him

“How about you help me win this thing,” he offered. “And in exchange, I’ll give you your rematch.”

Out came the Five Star Championship, and it was laid out across the champion’s lap.

“No bullshit this time,” added Williams. “We leave our crews in the back and hash it out ourselves. Like it was meant to be, right?”

A long moment passed, as Kuroyama stared at the belt and considered the offer.

He imagined the faces of those who fought for it reflecting back in its star-etched platinum plating.

Harrison. Battaglia. Hanlon

Scott.

All of whom fought valiantly for the chance to carry that title. All of whom Kerry himself put on their backs, to preserve his own ascension in PRIME.

There was no way in hell he was going to let their sacrifice be in vain.

“Don’t tell me you’re still harboring regrets…”

“You can keep it,” he said at last to Williams. “Just make it mean something, yeah?”

Williams said nothing, and quietly studied the Emerald Apex.

Something in his eyes said that he understood what was actually being implied.

“Also, I’m not helping you win anything,” said Kerry, pushing himself off the wall and approaching his squad leader. “Because we’re going to help each other win this together.”

He extended his hand to the Legend.

“Sound good to you, you rotten piece of shit?”

Rob stared at the hand for a moment before breaking into another gravelly chuckle and accepted it with his own.

“Okay, you stupid motherfucker… it’s a deal.”

🔵

I plunge deeper through the underwater labyrinth. Broad, mechanical strokes propel me forward. I kick off walls at the turns with amphibian-like grace.

It can’t be said that my journey is without obstacles.

“The glory? The acclaim? The recognition?”

No, I mean like the electric barriers that turn on and off at regular intervals. And the passages lined with hot pink seaweed that burns to the touch. And the invisible currents that try to pull me toward unknown pits filled with a strange, glowing reef, with tendrils that look like they want to drag me down to a watery grave.

This dam is… damn weird.

“You don’t deserve it, Face.”

Tell me about it.

What it all adds up to is an underwater gauntlet of absolute punishment.

The kind where one false move could spell instant disaster.

And with seven bombs been defused, only a precious few seconds remain.

But I’m not stressed.

In fact, I feel quite within my element.

“It all belongs to ME, Face!”

No.

It belongs to US.

And we’ve only just begun.

Some ways ahead of me, appearing through the veil of cobalt, I can just barely make out the dark and boxy structure of the final bomb.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

Without a second to lose, I swim ahead.

🟣

“What did you plan on getting out of this?”

Kerry couldn’t be so sure anymore.

The club was one of the highest rated in Mexico City, according to Tripadvisor. It hosted a young and vibrant crowd, a sleek but clean interior design, and exemplary service.

Best of all--at least as far as the Emerald Apex was concerned--the bar’s whisky selection was on point.

Still, given his present company, it was hard to enjoy the evening’s proceedings.

“Apparently, this place was the home to the founder of the Mexican communist party.”

Somewhat unsurprisingly, FLAMBERGE didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Hm.”

“Fucker is stonewalling you.”

Grimacing, Kerry sloshed the ice around in his tumbler and took a drink.

This is how it had been for the past two hours.

He had made his peace with Rob. Bryan had helped him accept his role within the squad.

All that was left was to pick the calculating and alien brain of the lizard king himself.

So privately, he reached out and arranged their parley at a very pricey and very exclusive table at El Defe’s M.N. Roy club.

What he was treated to was a series of prolonged stretches of awkward silences, distinguished by many indifferent grunts and single-word responses to his multiple attempts to strike up a conversation.

The enigma of FLAMBERGE existed in a world of his own. A world where the Emerald Apex was merely something peripheral.

Clearly, he was only here by obligation.

“Then stop pissing around and get to the meat of the matter.”

“So listen…” he began, and cleared his throat. “I know this ‘Squad Goals’ thing isn’t exactly your top priority…”

He looked to the lizard king for a reaction.

Nada. Just the same detached sense of cool.

It felt like talking to a statue, and hoping he’d stumble over the correct set of magic words to bring the neck-collecting automaton to life.

“But I want you to know that Rob, Bryan, and myself are dedicated to winning this thing,” he continued. “And all three of us have your back… so long as we know you have ours.”

From nada, to a nod.

A small, infinitesimal victory.

Though still uncertain whether he was listening, or humoring.

Now Kerry felt his blood boil.

The audacity of this chill as motherfucker.

“I told you to GET TO THE MEAT.”

Cracking, his hand went for the case of Luxury Blacks in his pocket.

“Cigarette?”

The lizard king wordlessly waved him off the offer.

Kerry set one between his lips and lit it with a Baphomet-etched Zippo he’d recently inherited through means that escaped his memory.

“Another thing I wanted you to know…” he said as he took the first drag. “After this show, I’m coming for that title.”

Now FLAMBERGE looked up from his phone, and set his eyes directly at him.

Knowing he had his attention, Kerry stared back.

“I mean, it’s pretty much inevitable at this point, wouldn’t you agree?”

The French Phenom answered only with silence his unwavering gaze.

“We all reach for the pinnacle,” said Kerry, coldly. “And whether it’s you or Cecilworth standing there, that’s where I’m going.”

The beast and the lizard stared each other down, neither willing to show weakness or acquiescence.

At this point, it no longer bothered Kerry that he wasn’t reacting.

Because he knew he was listening.

“Personally speaking, I could give a shit which of you is standing there,” he went on. “Either way, I’m fighting a war. And trust me, I’m prepared for it. But so far as Night Two goes? Whether you’re with the belt, or without it…”

He smiled.

Only because the other could not.

“...you can call me your comrade.”

Kerry raised his glass.

“Ay de los vencidos,” he said as a salute. “Y bendiciones para el futuro.”

The lizard king blinked.

Then raised his own glass.

“Blessings to the future,” said FLAMBERGE. “Kerry…”

🔵

The detonator cord on the eighth and final bomb disconnects without a problem.

I check the timer on my wrist. Fifteen seconds to spare.

I feel like cheering “OK!” for no reason in particular.

I swim up, toward the dancing kaleidoscope of yellow light shimmering above. As soon as I breach the surface, I immediately pull aside the respirator and draw in the first breath of natural air.

My lungs welcome the warmth, as does my skin bask in the sunlight.

I am triumphant.

Even the beast rewards me with his silence.

But then I see Ami, standing above me at the edge of the dam, stopwatch in hand.

She’s looking at the time, and I can already tell by the slight twist in her lips that she ain’t impressed.

“Seen someone on TikTok do this with a minute left on the clock…”

Helplessly treading the water within her shadow, I force a smile.

All while trying my best to ignore that nagging feeling of sudden dread, jolting up from my balls to the nape of my neck.

“Uhh, Mims…?” I begin, quivering and quietly throwing up a silent prayer. “How again is this helping me get prepared for Squad Goals?”

She facepalms.

Shit.

“GAWWWD, I knew I shoulda just gone with Mom’s team…” 

Fury fills her eyes as she points me down with the Finger of Doom.

It’s kinda cute, actually.

But also terrifying.

“LISTEN, Leo-nerd-o…” she growls. “I don’t know anything about Samurai Tortoises, or whatever they’re called, but I did NOT dress up like a BANANA today to stand here and have my methods questioned!”

As she says this, she waves her hands over the bright yellow jumpsuit she’s wearing.

“Now, according to the nerds on Reddit, this is supposed to be the ‘hardest level’ for this stupid cosplay thing you guys are doing,” she says. “And while I have no idea what any of that means, because it’s nerdspeak, anything called the ‘hardest level’ shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

The finger becomes a fist.

A clenched, angrily shaking fist.

She is SURRIOUS about this re-run.

“So, are you just gonna paddle around and filibuster all day, or are you going to save this DAMN DAM?!”

What can I say?

She knows how to motivate me.

I flash a smile as I tighten my goggles, fashioned to look like a blue bandana.

“Minute left?” I say. “Bet I can make it back within a minute and ten.”

Her face almost instantaneously flips to her smile. All rainbows, sparkles, and lollipops.

I don’t quite know if I dodged a bullet, or ducked a boomerang.

“That’s the spirit!” she says, extending her leg to put the toe of her boot to my forehead. “Now get back in there and make me proud, buddy!”

Her leg plunges me back down below the surface.

And I’m back in the silence and perfect blue.

I reset the respirator, and descend.

As I swim for the first bomb, the beast within me shrieks.

“WE DON’T DESERVE THIS!”

Oh yes we do, you son of a bitch.

Yes we do…