Saturday April 26, 1986
Leningrad Gardens Apartment Complex
Pripyat, Ukraine
1:15 AM Local Time
Ivana Ganiyeva smiled softly as she watched her sleeping five-year old lying in his bed. Slowly, she slid the door to his bedroom shut, and walked towards the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of milk, and sitting down, slowly sipping the dairy and thinking to herself.
She should probably be in bed herself, she knew, but she still hadn’t found herself tired yet. It had taken til just an hour ago for even Yuri to calm down enough to be able to sleep, so excited was he at the prospect of tomorrow. It wasn’t often, after all, that a brand new amusement park would be opening in one’s hometown. Tomorrow’s opening would begin the buildup to the massive May Day celebrations the next week, a week long festival that would consume the small, newly built city of 50,000.
That annoyed her. Why should she be looking forward to a Communist Russian Holiday? She hand’t forgotten what those thugs had done to her country, to her brother, several years ago. Sometimes at night she dreamt about that day in Belfast, still seeing the desperation on Vassily’s face as he bid her to run. Unsurprisingly, she had never heard from her brother again, or even a hint of what had happened to him. She could only hope that his death had been quick and painless.
She tried not to think about what the coming week would mean for so many of the sheep surrounding her that had bought into the Soviet way of life. So many people would appear for the celebrations, and sing the songs, as if Mikhail Gorbachev himself was to be the honored guest.
But of course it wouldn’t do to say such things, especially not in public. Dissenting opinions never led to a happy ending in any Soviet city, much less one of these engineered ‘atom cities’ that had been built to house workers for a nearby powerplant. So she would do what she always did, keep her mouth shut, and smile, and hope that Yuri would enjoy tomorrow, and never learn of the horrors that these bastards committed after the parades were over.
She thought briefly of New York, and Coney Island, and thought about how much fun it would have been to take Yuri there, instead. To show him the wonders of Manhattan, or out into the country to enjoy the nearby Catskill Mountains. He loved mountains, she knew, and he would have loved the Catskills. Or even the Rockies, further west. How much fun would that have been, to take a road trip, just him and her, to Colorado?
But no, she was here. Forced back into the Ukraine because a man she trusted suddenly decided she was a liability to himself. What made that soul-less bitch of a wife he had, and the little brat she had squeezed out (and what kind of a stupid name was Wendy anyways?) more important than her and Yuri was beyond her comprehension. But Gus had made his terms, and she had accepted.
He had made good on his terms, too. Every week, she found another two thousand dollars deposited into the bank account Gus had set up for her. It had made it so that she and Yuri could live comfortably- not every family could live in an apartment with seperate bedrooms. But it had created another problem- keeping the money hidden from the corrupt local officials that would no doubt find some way to extort it out of her.
Ivana stood up suddenly, no longer thirsty, or in the mood to consume anything. She dumped the milk into the sink, washing it down, then placing the empty glass in the basin to let it sit overnight. Best to stop thinking of the bad, and just go to bed. And tomorrow, she would fake her best smile, and go attend the amusement park’s opening, pretending that just as usual, nothing was wrong. That sense of denial was one thing the Soviets were certainly good at.
Ivana turned towards her bedroom, but stopped as she heard the sound. An explosion, deep and booming, as if someone had set off the largest firecracker they could find. Such was the force that she could hear the glass she had set in the sink tip over with a clatter from the vibration. She listened for anything else, but heard nothing else. Even her son’s bedroom remained quiet- the sound apparently hadn’t woken him.
Curious, Ivana walked towards her apartments balcony, swinging open the door, and stepping out. The mid-spring air was cool, a beautiful evening as she looked out into the night. The amusment park sat glittering in front of her, the glittering lights of the Ferris wheel promising an entertaining time. Ivana turned her gaze to the north, and paused, her jaw dropping with astonishment.
Even here, ten miles away, she could see the flames roiling from the power plant, a column of smoke billowing into the night sky. She could see the flashing lights, as a small parade of emergency vehicles made their way from Pripyat’s facilities, heading north towards the conflagration.
“My God,” Ivana muttered in Ukrainian. The sight was fascinating, awe-inspiring, and terrifying all at once. She was almost reminded of the song she had heard back in America. About the flames climbing high into the night, and Satan laughing with delight. But what had caused the explosion? And how bad was it?
Even from ten miles away, she couldn’t begin to fathom the infernal hell that the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant had just become.
====================
Sunday February 12, 2012
Target Center- Backstage Hallway
Minneapolis, Minnesota
11:17 PM Local Time
“God-Dammit” Daniel Pollaski grumbled as he shuffled through the hallways. Wincing with each step he took. He was bettered and bruised, to be sure, but the biggest problem was the feeling he was experiencing in his pride.
He hated admitting it... but the Pollaskinator... the Northwestern Nightmare, had just been played.
Tonight was supposed to be the night that he and Anders and Cara and Belle finally put Anthony Gambini out of SVW once and for all. Tonight was supposed to be the coronation of Spencer Mackenzie as the rightful President of Sex & Violence Wrestling. Instead, thanks to hijinks that no one in their right mind could have possibly prepared for, it was Spence who was out, and it was Gambini who was in charge.
And Pollaski had a very strong, sinking feeling that his pro-wrestling career was about to be screwed up beyond all hope.
“God dammit,” Pollaski grumbled again, turning the corner, and stumbling towards his locker room. He was going to have to think of something to deal with his new Lord and Master, but for the moment, all he wanted to do was head back to the hotel, and take the next flight back to Indianapolis, and leave this rotten weekend behind him.
With a grunt, he grabbed the handle of his locker room door, and flung it open, storming inside. He began to tug off his football jersey, but stopped, when he realized that his locker room was already occupied. And being destroyed.
The table had been long broken, but still Wendy continued to kick it, wincing every now and then as another piece cracked off, occasionally flying through the air. Pollaski blinked, stunned to see the redhead taking her frustrations out on the unfortunate piece of furniture. She continued to kick the shattered table, stomping hard on a leg and bending it, before finally realizing she wasn’t alone in the room anymore. Slowly, she turned around, and Pollaski smiled half-heartedly.
“You know, I really wasn’t planning on trashing my locker room, even after that bullshit out there. But thanks for trying to get a head start, though.”
Wendy glared at her manager, but stopped kicking the table. She stepped away from the wreckage, and paced back and forth, her fists clenched at her side. “What do you want, Dan?”
“Well, considering this is MY locker room, I’d really like to use it. You know, take off these clothes. Shower. Jack off to the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Get dressed. Go home. The usual.”
For once, his lewd humor didn’t actually make Wendy’s mood any worse, although he was more willing to chalk that up to it being a physical impossibility that her mood COULD get any worse. Still, the No Surrender Champion glared at him.
“So, now, flipping the tables... no pun intended... can I ask what YOU are doing here?” Pollaski asked. “And why you’ve suddenly taken to vandalism of arena property?”
“Because I can’t do it to Brad Jackson,” Wendy sighed, throwing another, halfhearted kick at the table. “Or Johnny Moxie. Or Starla McCloud. Or Alvin Shepherd. Or Anthony Gambini. Or...”
“Yeah, I get it.” Pollaski smiled. “You want to kick a lot of asses, but don’t have time to say all the ‘Hail Mary’s’ as a result?”
“Don’t mock me. I’m not in the mood for it.” Wendy sighed, shooting a look that would have melted steel. She began to pace again, but stopped quickly, wheeling around at her manager. “What did I do wrong? I called everything down the middle! I did EVERYTHING I was supposed to do, and it STILL got out of control!”
“Well, too be fair, I think everyone was surprised a bit to see Brad Jackson actually managed to interfere a second time. I would have thought they’d have cleared him outta the arena by that point, but... gotta admire that man’s persistence.”
“The only thing about that man I’m going to admire is my foot up his...” Wendy paused, and took a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sick of this Dan. I’m sick of giving everything I have in EVERYTHING, and it being blown up time and time again by crap! I put EVERYTHING I had into that match at Cold Blooded, you know that! And all I get for it is my boss telling her hometown adorers that I don’t deserve the belt! I put on a CLINIC against Moxie, and everytime I get a chance to finally put that IDIOT in his place, Starla pulls a stunt, to the point where I finally end up making a mistake and getting disqualified. And worse, I have to listen to these... IMBECILES go on and on about how Starla wasn’t just justified, she was the bloody soul of COURAGE because she “stood up to me!” And then tonight...”
Wendy broke off her speech, kicking the splintered wood again. She began to pace. “And it’s not even over. I have to deal with this all over again at Chaos Theory. And over and over it’ll be justified like I’M the villian, because Samantha cares more about SPINNING everything to her favor than she does about actually RUNNING her company!”
“You know the fan’s don’t buy that bullshit, right? Well, other than the people in LA. But goddamned if Los Angelinos aren’t the dumbest bunch of mother-”
“Yeah, because having the fans standing around jeering makes it ALL so much better.” Wendy growled. She paused, standing still for just a second, before laughing and shaking her head. “I’m screwed at Chaos Theory. There’s no way around it. Well, at least I’ll get two months with the belt this time.”
Pollaski arched an eyebrow, shocked to hear his client saying something so negative. He had seen Wendy’s frustration as she had officiated the SVW Championship match, but never had he thought it would have discouraged her this much. “I’m sure we can think of something..”
“What?” Wendy snapped. “My opponents HUSBAND is the official for it, for crying out loud! And Samantha actually thinks this is FAIR? Even if Adonis was the most evenhanded man on the planet, which he certainly ISN’T, even the mere IMPRESSION of impropriety should be avoided, simply for the sake of... oh, but who am I talking about. This is Samantha Star. She’s interested in HER agenda, not what’s best for her company. How the HELL did that idiot ever get successful in ANYTHING?”
Wendy paused, taking a few deep breaths, as Pollaski watched silently. Finally, she sighed, and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that. Like her or not, she is my boss, and I knew that the day I signed my contract. Saying stuff like that just isn’t going to help.”
“It’s okay. I doubt she heard you. I don’t think you quite were yelling loud enough to be heard in LA..” Pollaski quipped, drawing another glare from Wendy, although the glare softened quickly.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m whining. And that’s not going to help things. Just... what am I going to do?” This time the look had some pleading in it, Wendy begging her manager to think of something... anything.
Pollaski remained silent, which didn’t really matter, as Wendy continued to rant. “I’m scared of this match, Dan. Not of losing my title, not of being beaten. Not even of being submitted. I’m scared of what losing to Starla is going to mean for our sport. Because as much as I proclaim that hard work and fair play wins in the end... what’s it going to say if Starla’s allowed to ust walk right in and claim the title simply because Samantha and Alex want her to?”
“Even the best of us can’t overcome every obstacle, and that what’s important is moving on from it?” Pollaski guessed.
“No, it’s going to show that I was wrong. That I’ve been wrong for ten years. That every single time I passed up an opportunity in the name of fair play was a waste. That all this... everything I’ve stood for in wrestling was a lie. And the person I most deluded with it was myself.
“I think you’re looking at it a bit extreme there, Wendy,” Pollaski said quietly. “I think the stress and disappointment of tonight has gotten to you, and it’s making you say things that you normally wouldn’t.”
“Maybe. But I don’t even know what to say anymore. It just feels like everything is being turned upside down. Moxie’s a talentless cheater, and he’s the SVW Champion... at my hand! Gambini’s a worthless thug, and he’s ran Spencer out. I’ve done everything I could to be No Surrender champion, and I’m facing stacked match after stacked match to get the belt off me. And instead of rotting for the rest of his life up in Michigan City, my Dad’s out, and god knows where. So yeah, this whole ‘good guys win’ thing is looking pretty hollow right now.”
Pollaski nodded. He had been there when Wendy had fielded the call from the FBI just before the show. Apparently someone thought they had spotted Gus in San Diego, and the Feds were looking into it. Pollaski wasn’t holding his breath for a capture- it had been the fourth such call this month. Gus was back in Ireland, out of the FBI’s reach. Of that, Pollaski was certain. But it had been the prelude to what would turn into a miserable night.
“You done?” Pollaski finally said, a little more callous than he had intended.
Wendy looked a bit taken aback, and blinked, but said nothing in response.
“I hope you are, because if that’s the attitude you’re going to take beyond tonight... you’re fucking screwed. You’re a fighter, Wendy, and that’s why I like you. That’s why the FANS like you, for that matter. Not because you’ve wrapped yourself around in this shiny little moral code, no matter how stringently you follow it, and how much you believe in it. The fact is, the fans like you because you’ve never given a shit about the odds, you’ll do what you think is right.”
“And that’s what you’re going to do at Chaos Theory,” Pollaski continued. “Because as bleak as it fucking looks, it’s not over, and nor is it going to be until that bell rings on the thirty-first. There’s a way out of this, and by god, we’ll figure it out.”
Wendy shook her head, and sighed. “I just don’t see...”
“There. Is. A. WAY!” Pollaski said sternly, cutting Wendy off. “You still have the belt, you’re still the champion, and until Starla beats you, that ain’t changing. So don’t act so goddamn defeated. It’s an insult to those of us who are already screwed.”
Wendy opened her mouth to protest, but paused as she realized what her manager was getting it. It was true- Pollaski had lost his fight, and barring some miracle, all he had to look forward to as a competitor was months upon months of punishment from Gambini. Between the two of them... her situation was loads better.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy finally sighed. “I’ve been selfish. You’re the one who took the biggest hit tonight, well, you, Anders, Cara, and Belle. And despite that, I’ve made you stand around listening to my hand wringing.”
“Yeah, well, just remember it,” Pollaski said, giving a small grin. “I ain’t gonna get all down over tonight, and neither should you. We’re better than that. The important thing is that we remember the fights tomorrow, and prepare for then.”
“Well, thanks for listening, anyways. And the kick in the rear. If there’s anything I can do for-”
“THere is.”
“Oh?” Wendy blinked, suddenly nonplussed.
“You can get the hell out of MY locker room, let me change, and go find Terrence and Theresa so we can get the hell outta here!”
“Oh... right,” Wendy grinned sheepishly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”
She quickly slipped out the door, and shut it behind her. Pollaski stared after her, then at the broken table, and then at the ceiling, sighing as he finally begun to remove his jersey.
Thank god for college basketball he mused, because otherwise he had a feeling they were about to be in for a very long, very miserable March.
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