Saturday March 10, 2012
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time
As is so often in these videos, the scene opens in the living room of the Thomspon family household. Daniel Pollaski is standing in the middle of the living room looking as if he’s about to start talking. However, as he’s just about to open his mouth, an all-too familiar redhead comes walking into the picture, passing between Pollaski and the camera. Wendy is carrying a basket of laundry, and whistling a song to herself, although she stops and leaps back when she realizes what she is doing.
Wendy: “Whoops! Sorry.. I didn’t know you were filming a promo...”
She quickly scoots out of the picture, although Pollaski only shrugs.
Pollaski: “Oh, no worries, I was just getting started. We can edit this part out.”
Evidently, that didn’t happen. Wendy walks back into the frame, still carrying the laundry basket. She glances back at the camera.
Wendy: “You’re in another idiotic handicapped match again, aren’t you?”
Pollaski nods.
Pollaski: “Yup. Against, Lucas Peek and his... um...”
Wendy: “Peekaboos?”
Pollaski: “I really hate that phrase. I’d rather just call them annoying clones.”
Wendy shrugs in response.
Wendy: “Fair enough...”
Pollaski: “But, you know, Wendy. I’ve been thinking, and Lucas reminds me of a certain... old video game boss from my childhood.”
Pollaski pauses, clearly expecting Wendy to respond. Wendy, who rarely plays video games outside of Dance Dance Revolution, looks completely at a loss of words, before just taking a leap of faith.
Wendy: “Mother Brain?”
Jaw drop.
Pollaski: “Why would you EVER put Lucas Peek and brain together in the same damn sentence?
Wendy: “I don’t know! I don’t know video game villians!”
Pollaski: “Yeah, but... wow. Anyways... NO. I was referring to someone sinister, someone EVIL. Someone who can duplicate themselves at will. Someone, who harnesses the very power of the STARS.”
There’s a very long pause, mostly comprising of Wendy staring slack-jawed at her manager.
Wendy: “Yeah... I’m so lost right now.”
Pollaski: “Then watch and learn, Wendy. Watch and learn. HIT IT!”
The following song suddenly begins to play:
And just like that, the living room is suddenly bathed in the same soft fluorescent lights that made the Gemini Man stage of Mega Man 3 so noticeable. As Wendy continues to stare in slack-jawed amazement, Pollaski grabs a microphone and begins swaying back and forth, while behind them, Theresa and Cassie appear. Theresa is dressed like one of the infamous tadpoles from the stage, and is dancing around (it’s adorable). The rarely-seen Cassie looks as if she wants absolutely nothing to do with this, mainly because she’s dressed in a penguin costume. Behind them, Terrence appears, holding up a large cardboard cutout of a Nitron (those annoying eye-bomber thingies). He begins waving the cutout back and forth across the screen. Pollaski, for his part, simply begins to sing.
Let me tell you about the legend that is Lucas Peek.
Acts like a man but he’s really just a cowardly freak.
Not so good at wrestling but he’s great at hide and seek.
But once I finally catch him you’ll find him face down in a creek!
The expression on Wendy’s face now can only bedescribed as bemused horror. The lyrics aren’t especially well sung, and they barely fit the melody, but Pollaski continues undaunted, backed up by Theresa and Terrence, who obviously have been rehearsing.
(Lu...cas....Peek.)
One of the most pathetic, annoying wrestlers ever known
Pollaski’s not quite matching the mariachi sounding horn line, but bless him, he’s trying
(He’s...a....freak!)
During our upcoming match I’ll break a few bones.
(Hide...and....seek!)
He should be prepared... to be owned
Duplicate all you want.. I’ll kill your clones
Pollaski again begins swaying back and forth as the original baseline of the song begins to play again. Terrence and Theresa begin singing along with the baseline
(Lucas Peek-y... he’s kinda freaky)
(Lucas Peek-y... he’s kinda freaky)
Verse two!
So Gambini thinks he can break my soul with Lucas Peek
But I’m not the kind of guy who just turns the other cheek
Just remember Lucas sucks, in the ring he really reeks.
I’d drive his stock so low you’d swear that he is Greek!
Pollaski turns, and sees Wendy still standing there, just staring at him. He lowers the microphone, looking back at her, as the music behind him fades.
Pollaski: “...What?”
Wendy: “Isn’t this like, Jodie Gray’s area of expertise?”
Pollaski snorts.
Pollaski: “Please. Jodie wasn’t even BORN when this came out. But just like Gemini Man, Lucas seemingly can clone himself. And it makes him more dangerous than he really is. Because once you get Gemini Man down to one guy again... he’s dead.”
Wendy: “Of course.”
Pollaski: “But of course, to make it really easy, all you need is another boss’ weapon. And that boss is...”
Suddenly, the living room is bathed in Green light, more akin to the Snake Man Stage, as the much more upbeat song begins to play. Thresa, still in her tadpole costume, suddenly begins to jump up and down on a pogo stick.
Wendy: “Okay, I’m done.”
Pollaski: “But wait... this one’s better than the last one! I promise!”
It’s no use, as Wendy’s walking away with her laundry, leaving the rest of her entourage behind. Pollaski misses his cue to start singing, and walks after her.
Pollaski: “Aw, come on, Wendy! Cassie! Aw!”
Needless to say, Cassie’s given up on this too, and has walked out, smacking Pollaski over the head with one of her Penguin flippers. Upon contact, the music stops, and Pollaski explodes- Mega Man style with the circles flying out from his final location.
And with that... we’re done.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
EPISODE 161: Yuri's Hell
Thursday December 13, 1988
Soviet Biotechnology Research Facility
Kiev, Ukraine
2:17 PM Local Time
With a loud buzz, the door to the security checkpoint slid open, and Ivana Ganiyeva stepped through, quickly walking away as the door slid shut again. A lone guard stood in the long, brightly lit hallway, assault rifle lazily propped against his shoulder as he eyed her with impassion as she walked by. Ivana paid the guard just as little regard, quickly passing as she headed towards her son’s room, a brightly wrapped package in her arms.
She hated this place, even moreso than she hated most Soviet installments. But as long as Yuri remained a prisoner inside, she would come. Every day, she would come, but especially today, the day of her son’s eighth birthday.
Not a day went by where she didn’t recall that day, two and a half years ago, that had changed her life forever. She and Yuri had been on a bus with the other refugees from Pripyat, unloading at some makeshift camp the Soviets had quickly set up for the refugees. There, they had screened each refugee for radioactive material, “as a precaution”. Combined with the effect of having to abandon their homes, and the reason why, the screening had been a traumatizing enough process. But when the official had hurriedly yanked her and her son out of line, without even initially telling them why, then the experience had been terrifying.
And Terrifying had turned to horrifying when they had finally met a scientist, who had told her the bad news. Somehow, someway Yuri had contracted a dosage of the radiation that had reached fatal levels, and her son, so happy and carefree just a day before, had less than a week to live. Horrifying had turned to infuriating as, with no one else to turn to, she had called Gus to give him the news of her... no, THEIR son. Gus had barely given it a second though, before hurrying her off the phone, telling her to bother his lawyer with her problems.
Infuriating had turned into hope, when the next day, a group of scientists had arrived at the camp. They were researchers, she was told, and they had been experimenting with the idea of using hormones to counteract the effects of radiation. Chernobyl had suddenly given them a fertile ground of potential test subjects, and while no guarantees were given, they were certainly willing to make the attempt to save her son’s life by making him one of their experiments. The utilitarian aspect of the proposal had made Ivana shiver... after all, a child’s life was at stake here. But she had accepted. She had no other options.
Even now, she sometimes wish she had refused. There was no way that dying in a week of radiation could possibly have been worse than what they had done to her son. The needles and syringes, the experiments, the tests they ran every day. To them, Yuri wasn’t a child, or even a human being. He was a subject, to be tested and probed, and experimented on, the only value to his life being the failure of many long-running experiments and resources that had been put into his treatment.
It broke her heart to see these robots treat her son with such dispassion. But what other choice did she have? These injections were the only things keeping Yuri alive, and maybe one day, there would be a chance for him to leave this awful place and live in the real world again. But until that day happened, all she could do was keep coming every day, and reminding her son that at least one person in the world loved him, and would continue to do so.
She had arrived at Yuri’s door, a plain white portal that sported a small window to see inside and nothing else. Through the window, she could see Yuri, curled up on his bed, his body convulsing with sobs. She didn’t know what was worse- the sight she was seeing, or the fact that she was so used to it, it didn’t even break her heart anymore.
“I’m here, Yuri,” she said quietly as she opened the door, trying to keep her voice level. “Are you hurting again?”
Realizing his mother was in the room helped Yuri regain his composure somewhat, and he turned, sitting up with great effort, cringing as he did. Ivana fought back a wave of her own tears as she saw the agony in her son’s face. It was almost as painful to see as what her son had actually become.
The hormones that had been pumped into her son had taken their toll. The face was one of an eight year old, but his body was larger than that of most fully grown men. His size had swelled to well over six feet, and his weight was nearly two hundred fifty pounds. The scientists had expected his gargantuan form to emerge, although they hadn’t bothered to warn Ivana at all. It had been startling at first, but she had gotten used to her son being a giant.
Not so easy to get used to was the fact that these hormones occasionally reacted poorly with his body, causing excruciating pain that no expert on torture could possibly come up with. He tried to put on a brave face for her, but she knew how badly he hurt.
“I’m fine, mom.” Yuri said in Ukranian, acting as if Ivana’ concern was over little more than a scrape. “Honestly, I am.”
“I believe you,” Ivana lied, putting on her best smile. She then leaned forward, and embraced her son, who gently hugged her back. “Happy Birthday, dear Yuri. How did your morning session go?”
“Fine,” Yuri replied, shrugging. “They made me run on a treadmill for an hour. It hurt, especially towards the end, but I made it.”
“Good for you,” Ivana said, smiling. “I know they can be tough sometimes, but the doctors genuinely want you to get better. Just do what they tell you to, they know best.”
It was a lie, but if her son knew it, he showed no sign of it. He merely nodded, and shrugged, his eyes greedily flickering to the package Ivana had brought with her. Ivana wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. For all that was unnatural about her on, he still looked hungrily at a present like any other child.
“Oh, I almost forgot” Ivana handed him the package, smiling. “Happy eighth birthday, Yuri.”
Yuri tore open the paper, excitedly pulling out a book. It was a large book heavy, filled with full and glossy photos of famous landmarks from around the world. Yuri grinned- even before the accident, he had loved looking at pictures of places from around the world. Here, with minimal outside contact, those images became all the more important for him.
Ivana leaned forwards, tapping the book in his hands. “When you get better, you and I are going to go and visit every single one of these locations,” she promised.
The smile faded from Yuri’s face, and he looked over at his mom, suddenly glum. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get out of here,” He finally said. “I just don’t see them letting me, Mom.”
“Don’t say that!” Ivana exclaimed, hushing him. “You’ll get better, and you’ll get out of here. And you’ll have a wonderful life of seeing the world, and being strong, and having as much fun as you possibly can.” Her voice trailed off at the end as emotion fought her voice, especially the notion that her son was probably right.
“So... did you hear anything from Dad?” Yuri asked,
“Of course I didn’t,” Ivana snapped, although she quickly softened her voice. “He’s got his own, ‘real’ daughter to worry about. I don’t even think he knows its your birthday.”
“It’s okay, mom. You’re here, and that’s all that-”
“But it’s NOT okay!” Ivana blurted out, letting her anger get the better of her. “Had it not even been for that asshole, we wouldn’t have been here! We’d have been in America, far away from that horrible explosion, and you’d be in school and playing football and having fun like a child OUGHT TO!”
Yuri put his arm around her, and hugged her. “It’s okay, Mom. Don’t be mad. You’ve always said they will be punished for what they did to us. Someone will do it.”
“They will.” Ivana said. “One day, Augustus Briese is going to get exactly what he deserves. And that little bitch of a daughter he has will too. If not for her, you’d be healthy. Remember that. ALWAYS remember that, Yuri.”
“I will,” Yuri nodded, his jaw suddenly clenched. “I will always remember what they did to me. And to you.”
Ivana smiled, and kissed her son on his forehead. She then reached over, grabbing Yuri’s new book, and opening it. And for the rest of visitation, she and Yuri spent the time going through the book, admiring views and landmarks that they would likely never be able to see in reality.
Saturday March 3, 2012
Drexel University- Courtyard
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1:13 PM Local Time
Philadelphia’s own Drexel University is the scene as we fade into day, where Wendy is standing next to a large mural of a dragon, flying through the air and breathing fire. The day is cloudy and cool, and Wendy is wearing a simple black windbreaker over a pair of jeans, as she stands in front of the mural.
“So, once again, March has come upon us. Spring is returning, flowers will soon start blooming, and the snow finally melts. It’s honestly one of my favorite times of the year, watching everything come back from the dead of winter towards another vibrant new beginning of a year.”
“Of course, for those of us who are sports fans, March is also basketball season. In just over a week, the field of the NCAA Men’s and Women’s basketball tournaments will be set, and already the debate and speculation is rampant about which teams are and are not getting into the final field of 68 teams that will compete for the championship.”
Wendy gestures behind her, at the mural.
“One of the teams that’s receiving the most attention is right here. The Drexel Dragons, who play right here in Philly. Now, Drexel has been amazing.. they’ve won twenty-two of their last twenty-three games, which is incredible. There’s maybe just a couple of other teams that can say they have done anywhere close to accomplishing that this year.
“And yet... even today, the debate is on over whether or not Drexel deserves to go. Critics point to their schedule, their shaky start, their conference, everything they can think of to say that Drexel is not one of the best sixty-eight teams in the nation, despite all they win. Drexel has done ALL they possibly can to this point, and yet, they still can’t seem to get the proper respect.”
A small lopsided smile from Wendy.
“I can sympathize. Now, I haven’t exactly won twenty-two of my last twenty-three... heck, I’m an even five-hundred over my past six matches, but I know what it feels like to do everything you possibly can do, and yet it still isn’t enough for some people. For Drexel, it’s the selection committee they’re struggling to impress. For me? Well, it’s my boss.”
Wendy sighs, and walks away from the mural, towards a small bench where a bag has been placed upon it.
“So, here we go again. Round one, well, didn’t go so well for me. It’s a shame too, because I think I outwrestled circles around Moxie. I hit Moxie with every single thing I could think of, and the only thing he could respond with was shoving me into the referee. But regardless of what people have had to say about it, and believe me, a LOT has been said, the night has to be considered a win for Starla. After all, it sure wasn’t her who was leaving the arena, frustrated beyond all belief.”
“Round two, well, you have to admire Samantha for mixing it up at least somewhat. At least this time Starla’s only the BACKUP referee... because that’s normal procedure around here, right? At least my opponent isn’t the biggest misogynistic jerk to have ever laced up a pair of boots, but I’ll get to her in a second.”
Wendy grimaces, and shakes her head.
“I’m someone who learns from my mistakes, so I’m not even going to bother appealing to anything of Starla’s. Obviously her sense of fair play and her grasp of the bigger picture are fairly non-existent at this point, and the only thing she can get through her head is the irrational notion that she should be the No Surrender Champion, because, you know, the result of the actual match wasn’t good enough for her.”
“I’m not even going to bother pretending otherwise. Whatever Starla wants to do tonight, she’s going to do it. I have to keep my head on a swivel, and try and make sure that when Starla does pull whatever little stunt she’s planning, I’m in a position to do something about it. Because for all that I have issues with my opponent tonight, I know Jenny doesn’t want this match tainted by Starla’s shenanigans either”
“So here’s the deal Starla. Whatever you want to do... I’m probably not going to be able to stop you. But I’m going to remind you of something I told Jo back when SHE had her sights set on me. All this stuff you pull, consider them deposits into an account. And all that stuff is going to be sitting there for the entire legnth of March, but at Chaos Theory, dividends are going to be paid. With interest. I proved that to be true against Jo, so I’d think VERY carefully about how difficult you really want to make the coming month for me, because in just four weeks, it will be time to cash in.”
Wendy has reached the park bench, and she sits down on it.
“As far as Jenny goes... well, this isn’t going to be an easy thing for me to say. But, I’ve promised honesty in this year, and well, I’m trying to live up to it. Even if I’m sure it’s going to annoy a few people, and get me labeled as preachy again.”
“Jenny, as a fellow wrestler, you’re a woman to be respected. You’ve done very well since coming to FFW, including getting a big win over Emma McIntyre. Heck, I’ve even heard whisperings that you’re approaching contention for the FFW Championship. That’s pretty impressive to work yourself into that position so quickly. And it’s certainly better than the ‘title’ you seem to have gotten your sights set on now...”
Wendy reaches into the duffel bag on the bench, and pulls out a title belt. It’s not the No Surrender, but rather a cheap replica belt that can be brought for ten bucks at the FFW souvenier stands. However, taped over the faceplate is a rather sizeable picture of Alexander Stryfe. Wendy takes one look at the belt, and cringes.
“Wow. But really, Jenny... this is what you’ve turned Alexander Stryfe into. A title belt that you’re challenging for, trying to take it away from the champion. You think that wrestling, and constantly beating up a man’s wife is going to make him love you? You think that interceding yourself in his relationship is going to save him? Really?”
“I’ve been down this road myself, you know, and it was NOT a fun one to go down. Back when I was wrestling in a regional company in Louisiana, a guy thought that I was attractive, and he wanted me to leave Terrence for him. When I told him no, he decided that the best way to convince me was to kill my boyfriend. It got more and more out of hand, until Terrence nearly DID get killed in a stretcher match.”
“So I’m sorry if I’m sticking my nose where it supposedly doesn’t belong here, but what you’ve been doing bothers the heck out of me. You can claim it’s not my business, but you’ve made it pretty much everyone’s business over the past six months by turning this into a huge spectacle.”
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and drops the McIntyre Title into her bag.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like Kaitlynn Stryfe. Heck, I don’t care much for Alexander either. In my opinion, those two deserve each other. The thing is... it’s not up to my opinion. It’s not up to yours, and to be honest, it’s not up to Alexander or Kitty either.”
“I know I’m accused of seeing things in black and white and not shades of gray, and maybe people are right about that to some extent. But here’s one thing that’s pretty cut and dry in my opinion- you don’t break a vow. A vow isn’t just a bunch of mumbled words at an altar, Jenny. It’s a bond. It’s putting our very soul into a promise, and it’s not something to be entered into lightly. And if it’s broken... well, you know all too well the consequences of that, don’t you?”
Wendy’s face darkens considerably, as if the sun had just gone behind a cloud. And although the sun was ALREADY behind a bunch of clouds, it’s still a fairly decent indication of where her mood has turned.
“I know that all too well myself, now. I once vowed to a troubled friend that I would always be there for him. I didn’t mean to break it, but I did, and I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most. I wasn’t there for him when he returned to drugs and drinking. And I wasn’t there for him when he picked up a gun one night and put it in his mouth.”
“I’ve always said that we get what we deserve in the end, and I’m no exception. Not only did I lose my friend, but I spent four months in a near living hell thanks to an acquaintence of his who blamed me for his death. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret not being there for him. Atonement for a broken vow doesn’t last a few days, Jenny. It doesn’t last months, or even years. It lasts a lifetime.”
Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath, steadying herself, before looking back into the camera.
“You seem to use that word a fair bit yourself, Jenny. Atonement. And maybe its true, maybe you do want to atone for walking out on Alexander so many years ago, for breaking your marital vows with him. But... you’re going about it the wrong way.”
“Do you really think the way to make up for your own broken vow is by convincing Alexander to break his vow with Kaitlynn? Since when did atonement for sin involve committing more sin? And since when did atonement involve personal gain, and taking things back?”
“Have you ever considered that maybe your atonement is to set your personal feelings aside and let Kitty and Alexander be? That the best thing you could do for the man you still claim to love is to let him go, and to wish he and his wife happiness? Did it ever occur to you that maybe closure in this matter isn’t winning him back, but accepting you blew it, and just moving on?”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and gives a lopsided smile, along with an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry to go off on a tangent there. I guess I am preachy at times. But... six months of watching this circus unfold and... I had to say something.”
“I know you probably don’t like me now, Jenny, and I’m sorry if my speech offended you, but, you’re too beautiful and talented a woman to spend your life and career chasing after something that you rightfully should never have. Look on the bright side though.. at least I said it all just a couple hours before you get a chance to repeatedly punch me in my face.”
Wendy cracks a smile at her joke, then stands up, zipping up her bag as she does.
“You’re right about one thing though. We’re in for a great match tonight, provided certain parties keep their noses from getting where they don’t belong. After all the baloney I’ve gone through over the past couple weeks, I could certainly use a win, so you can bet I’m going to be doing everything I can. And I know you know that beating a sitting champion can propel you up the rankings, towards any belt you might want. So you’ll be wanting the win too.”
“At least this time it’s safe to say that you’ll be working towards obtaining something worthwhile.”
Wendy picks up her bags, and turns to walk away, and the scene fades.
=====================
Sunday March 4, 2012
A Bedroom
London, England,
12:17 AM Local Time
The room was dark, the sole occupant motionless, asleep in her bed. So deep into sleep was she, that she didn’t hear the small chirp her mobile phone gave on her end table. The screen came to life, a new text message on the screen, one that would be unread until morning, but would very certainly be read over and over again.
Ivana- Delaney wants the package. Bring it to Chicago in a week, or I'm dead. He'll find and kill you to. Gus.
Soviet Biotechnology Research Facility
Kiev, Ukraine
2:17 PM Local Time
With a loud buzz, the door to the security checkpoint slid open, and Ivana Ganiyeva stepped through, quickly walking away as the door slid shut again. A lone guard stood in the long, brightly lit hallway, assault rifle lazily propped against his shoulder as he eyed her with impassion as she walked by. Ivana paid the guard just as little regard, quickly passing as she headed towards her son’s room, a brightly wrapped package in her arms.
She hated this place, even moreso than she hated most Soviet installments. But as long as Yuri remained a prisoner inside, she would come. Every day, she would come, but especially today, the day of her son’s eighth birthday.
Not a day went by where she didn’t recall that day, two and a half years ago, that had changed her life forever. She and Yuri had been on a bus with the other refugees from Pripyat, unloading at some makeshift camp the Soviets had quickly set up for the refugees. There, they had screened each refugee for radioactive material, “as a precaution”. Combined with the effect of having to abandon their homes, and the reason why, the screening had been a traumatizing enough process. But when the official had hurriedly yanked her and her son out of line, without even initially telling them why, then the experience had been terrifying.
And Terrifying had turned to horrifying when they had finally met a scientist, who had told her the bad news. Somehow, someway Yuri had contracted a dosage of the radiation that had reached fatal levels, and her son, so happy and carefree just a day before, had less than a week to live. Horrifying had turned to infuriating as, with no one else to turn to, she had called Gus to give him the news of her... no, THEIR son. Gus had barely given it a second though, before hurrying her off the phone, telling her to bother his lawyer with her problems.
Infuriating had turned into hope, when the next day, a group of scientists had arrived at the camp. They were researchers, she was told, and they had been experimenting with the idea of using hormones to counteract the effects of radiation. Chernobyl had suddenly given them a fertile ground of potential test subjects, and while no guarantees were given, they were certainly willing to make the attempt to save her son’s life by making him one of their experiments. The utilitarian aspect of the proposal had made Ivana shiver... after all, a child’s life was at stake here. But she had accepted. She had no other options.
Even now, she sometimes wish she had refused. There was no way that dying in a week of radiation could possibly have been worse than what they had done to her son. The needles and syringes, the experiments, the tests they ran every day. To them, Yuri wasn’t a child, or even a human being. He was a subject, to be tested and probed, and experimented on, the only value to his life being the failure of many long-running experiments and resources that had been put into his treatment.
It broke her heart to see these robots treat her son with such dispassion. But what other choice did she have? These injections were the only things keeping Yuri alive, and maybe one day, there would be a chance for him to leave this awful place and live in the real world again. But until that day happened, all she could do was keep coming every day, and reminding her son that at least one person in the world loved him, and would continue to do so.
She had arrived at Yuri’s door, a plain white portal that sported a small window to see inside and nothing else. Through the window, she could see Yuri, curled up on his bed, his body convulsing with sobs. She didn’t know what was worse- the sight she was seeing, or the fact that she was so used to it, it didn’t even break her heart anymore.
“I’m here, Yuri,” she said quietly as she opened the door, trying to keep her voice level. “Are you hurting again?”
Realizing his mother was in the room helped Yuri regain his composure somewhat, and he turned, sitting up with great effort, cringing as he did. Ivana fought back a wave of her own tears as she saw the agony in her son’s face. It was almost as painful to see as what her son had actually become.
The hormones that had been pumped into her son had taken their toll. The face was one of an eight year old, but his body was larger than that of most fully grown men. His size had swelled to well over six feet, and his weight was nearly two hundred fifty pounds. The scientists had expected his gargantuan form to emerge, although they hadn’t bothered to warn Ivana at all. It had been startling at first, but she had gotten used to her son being a giant.
Not so easy to get used to was the fact that these hormones occasionally reacted poorly with his body, causing excruciating pain that no expert on torture could possibly come up with. He tried to put on a brave face for her, but she knew how badly he hurt.
“I’m fine, mom.” Yuri said in Ukranian, acting as if Ivana’ concern was over little more than a scrape. “Honestly, I am.”
“I believe you,” Ivana lied, putting on her best smile. She then leaned forward, and embraced her son, who gently hugged her back. “Happy Birthday, dear Yuri. How did your morning session go?”
“Fine,” Yuri replied, shrugging. “They made me run on a treadmill for an hour. It hurt, especially towards the end, but I made it.”
“Good for you,” Ivana said, smiling. “I know they can be tough sometimes, but the doctors genuinely want you to get better. Just do what they tell you to, they know best.”
It was a lie, but if her son knew it, he showed no sign of it. He merely nodded, and shrugged, his eyes greedily flickering to the package Ivana had brought with her. Ivana wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. For all that was unnatural about her on, he still looked hungrily at a present like any other child.
“Oh, I almost forgot” Ivana handed him the package, smiling. “Happy eighth birthday, Yuri.”
Yuri tore open the paper, excitedly pulling out a book. It was a large book heavy, filled with full and glossy photos of famous landmarks from around the world. Yuri grinned- even before the accident, he had loved looking at pictures of places from around the world. Here, with minimal outside contact, those images became all the more important for him.
Ivana leaned forwards, tapping the book in his hands. “When you get better, you and I are going to go and visit every single one of these locations,” she promised.
The smile faded from Yuri’s face, and he looked over at his mom, suddenly glum. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get out of here,” He finally said. “I just don’t see them letting me, Mom.”
“Don’t say that!” Ivana exclaimed, hushing him. “You’ll get better, and you’ll get out of here. And you’ll have a wonderful life of seeing the world, and being strong, and having as much fun as you possibly can.” Her voice trailed off at the end as emotion fought her voice, especially the notion that her son was probably right.
“So... did you hear anything from Dad?” Yuri asked,
“Of course I didn’t,” Ivana snapped, although she quickly softened her voice. “He’s got his own, ‘real’ daughter to worry about. I don’t even think he knows its your birthday.”
“It’s okay, mom. You’re here, and that’s all that-”
“But it’s NOT okay!” Ivana blurted out, letting her anger get the better of her. “Had it not even been for that asshole, we wouldn’t have been here! We’d have been in America, far away from that horrible explosion, and you’d be in school and playing football and having fun like a child OUGHT TO!”
Yuri put his arm around her, and hugged her. “It’s okay, Mom. Don’t be mad. You’ve always said they will be punished for what they did to us. Someone will do it.”
“They will.” Ivana said. “One day, Augustus Briese is going to get exactly what he deserves. And that little bitch of a daughter he has will too. If not for her, you’d be healthy. Remember that. ALWAYS remember that, Yuri.”
“I will,” Yuri nodded, his jaw suddenly clenched. “I will always remember what they did to me. And to you.”
Ivana smiled, and kissed her son on his forehead. She then reached over, grabbing Yuri’s new book, and opening it. And for the rest of visitation, she and Yuri spent the time going through the book, admiring views and landmarks that they would likely never be able to see in reality.
Saturday March 3, 2012
Drexel University- Courtyard
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1:13 PM Local Time
Philadelphia’s own Drexel University is the scene as we fade into day, where Wendy is standing next to a large mural of a dragon, flying through the air and breathing fire. The day is cloudy and cool, and Wendy is wearing a simple black windbreaker over a pair of jeans, as she stands in front of the mural.
“So, once again, March has come upon us. Spring is returning, flowers will soon start blooming, and the snow finally melts. It’s honestly one of my favorite times of the year, watching everything come back from the dead of winter towards another vibrant new beginning of a year.”
“Of course, for those of us who are sports fans, March is also basketball season. In just over a week, the field of the NCAA Men’s and Women’s basketball tournaments will be set, and already the debate and speculation is rampant about which teams are and are not getting into the final field of 68 teams that will compete for the championship.”
Wendy gestures behind her, at the mural.
“One of the teams that’s receiving the most attention is right here. The Drexel Dragons, who play right here in Philly. Now, Drexel has been amazing.. they’ve won twenty-two of their last twenty-three games, which is incredible. There’s maybe just a couple of other teams that can say they have done anywhere close to accomplishing that this year.
“And yet... even today, the debate is on over whether or not Drexel deserves to go. Critics point to their schedule, their shaky start, their conference, everything they can think of to say that Drexel is not one of the best sixty-eight teams in the nation, despite all they win. Drexel has done ALL they possibly can to this point, and yet, they still can’t seem to get the proper respect.”
A small lopsided smile from Wendy.
“I can sympathize. Now, I haven’t exactly won twenty-two of my last twenty-three... heck, I’m an even five-hundred over my past six matches, but I know what it feels like to do everything you possibly can do, and yet it still isn’t enough for some people. For Drexel, it’s the selection committee they’re struggling to impress. For me? Well, it’s my boss.”
Wendy sighs, and walks away from the mural, towards a small bench where a bag has been placed upon it.
“So, here we go again. Round one, well, didn’t go so well for me. It’s a shame too, because I think I outwrestled circles around Moxie. I hit Moxie with every single thing I could think of, and the only thing he could respond with was shoving me into the referee. But regardless of what people have had to say about it, and believe me, a LOT has been said, the night has to be considered a win for Starla. After all, it sure wasn’t her who was leaving the arena, frustrated beyond all belief.”
“Round two, well, you have to admire Samantha for mixing it up at least somewhat. At least this time Starla’s only the BACKUP referee... because that’s normal procedure around here, right? At least my opponent isn’t the biggest misogynistic jerk to have ever laced up a pair of boots, but I’ll get to her in a second.”
Wendy grimaces, and shakes her head.
“I’m someone who learns from my mistakes, so I’m not even going to bother appealing to anything of Starla’s. Obviously her sense of fair play and her grasp of the bigger picture are fairly non-existent at this point, and the only thing she can get through her head is the irrational notion that she should be the No Surrender Champion, because, you know, the result of the actual match wasn’t good enough for her.”
“I’m not even going to bother pretending otherwise. Whatever Starla wants to do tonight, she’s going to do it. I have to keep my head on a swivel, and try and make sure that when Starla does pull whatever little stunt she’s planning, I’m in a position to do something about it. Because for all that I have issues with my opponent tonight, I know Jenny doesn’t want this match tainted by Starla’s shenanigans either”
“So here’s the deal Starla. Whatever you want to do... I’m probably not going to be able to stop you. But I’m going to remind you of something I told Jo back when SHE had her sights set on me. All this stuff you pull, consider them deposits into an account. And all that stuff is going to be sitting there for the entire legnth of March, but at Chaos Theory, dividends are going to be paid. With interest. I proved that to be true against Jo, so I’d think VERY carefully about how difficult you really want to make the coming month for me, because in just four weeks, it will be time to cash in.”
Wendy has reached the park bench, and she sits down on it.
“As far as Jenny goes... well, this isn’t going to be an easy thing for me to say. But, I’ve promised honesty in this year, and well, I’m trying to live up to it. Even if I’m sure it’s going to annoy a few people, and get me labeled as preachy again.”
“Jenny, as a fellow wrestler, you’re a woman to be respected. You’ve done very well since coming to FFW, including getting a big win over Emma McIntyre. Heck, I’ve even heard whisperings that you’re approaching contention for the FFW Championship. That’s pretty impressive to work yourself into that position so quickly. And it’s certainly better than the ‘title’ you seem to have gotten your sights set on now...”
Wendy reaches into the duffel bag on the bench, and pulls out a title belt. It’s not the No Surrender, but rather a cheap replica belt that can be brought for ten bucks at the FFW souvenier stands. However, taped over the faceplate is a rather sizeable picture of Alexander Stryfe. Wendy takes one look at the belt, and cringes.
“Wow. But really, Jenny... this is what you’ve turned Alexander Stryfe into. A title belt that you’re challenging for, trying to take it away from the champion. You think that wrestling, and constantly beating up a man’s wife is going to make him love you? You think that interceding yourself in his relationship is going to save him? Really?”
“I’ve been down this road myself, you know, and it was NOT a fun one to go down. Back when I was wrestling in a regional company in Louisiana, a guy thought that I was attractive, and he wanted me to leave Terrence for him. When I told him no, he decided that the best way to convince me was to kill my boyfriend. It got more and more out of hand, until Terrence nearly DID get killed in a stretcher match.”
“So I’m sorry if I’m sticking my nose where it supposedly doesn’t belong here, but what you’ve been doing bothers the heck out of me. You can claim it’s not my business, but you’ve made it pretty much everyone’s business over the past six months by turning this into a huge spectacle.”
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and drops the McIntyre Title into her bag.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like Kaitlynn Stryfe. Heck, I don’t care much for Alexander either. In my opinion, those two deserve each other. The thing is... it’s not up to my opinion. It’s not up to yours, and to be honest, it’s not up to Alexander or Kitty either.”
“I know I’m accused of seeing things in black and white and not shades of gray, and maybe people are right about that to some extent. But here’s one thing that’s pretty cut and dry in my opinion- you don’t break a vow. A vow isn’t just a bunch of mumbled words at an altar, Jenny. It’s a bond. It’s putting our very soul into a promise, and it’s not something to be entered into lightly. And if it’s broken... well, you know all too well the consequences of that, don’t you?”
Wendy’s face darkens considerably, as if the sun had just gone behind a cloud. And although the sun was ALREADY behind a bunch of clouds, it’s still a fairly decent indication of where her mood has turned.
“I know that all too well myself, now. I once vowed to a troubled friend that I would always be there for him. I didn’t mean to break it, but I did, and I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most. I wasn’t there for him when he returned to drugs and drinking. And I wasn’t there for him when he picked up a gun one night and put it in his mouth.”
“I’ve always said that we get what we deserve in the end, and I’m no exception. Not only did I lose my friend, but I spent four months in a near living hell thanks to an acquaintence of his who blamed me for his death. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret not being there for him. Atonement for a broken vow doesn’t last a few days, Jenny. It doesn’t last months, or even years. It lasts a lifetime.”
Wendy pauses, and takes a deep breath, steadying herself, before looking back into the camera.
“You seem to use that word a fair bit yourself, Jenny. Atonement. And maybe its true, maybe you do want to atone for walking out on Alexander so many years ago, for breaking your marital vows with him. But... you’re going about it the wrong way.”
“Do you really think the way to make up for your own broken vow is by convincing Alexander to break his vow with Kaitlynn? Since when did atonement for sin involve committing more sin? And since when did atonement involve personal gain, and taking things back?”
“Have you ever considered that maybe your atonement is to set your personal feelings aside and let Kitty and Alexander be? That the best thing you could do for the man you still claim to love is to let him go, and to wish he and his wife happiness? Did it ever occur to you that maybe closure in this matter isn’t winning him back, but accepting you blew it, and just moving on?”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and gives a lopsided smile, along with an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry to go off on a tangent there. I guess I am preachy at times. But... six months of watching this circus unfold and... I had to say something.”
“I know you probably don’t like me now, Jenny, and I’m sorry if my speech offended you, but, you’re too beautiful and talented a woman to spend your life and career chasing after something that you rightfully should never have. Look on the bright side though.. at least I said it all just a couple hours before you get a chance to repeatedly punch me in my face.”
Wendy cracks a smile at her joke, then stands up, zipping up her bag as she does.
“You’re right about one thing though. We’re in for a great match tonight, provided certain parties keep their noses from getting where they don’t belong. After all the baloney I’ve gone through over the past couple weeks, I could certainly use a win, so you can bet I’m going to be doing everything I can. And I know you know that beating a sitting champion can propel you up the rankings, towards any belt you might want. So you’ll be wanting the win too.”
“At least this time it’s safe to say that you’ll be working towards obtaining something worthwhile.”
Wendy picks up her bags, and turns to walk away, and the scene fades.
=====================
Sunday March 4, 2012
A Bedroom
London, England,
12:17 AM Local Time
The room was dark, the sole occupant motionless, asleep in her bed. So deep into sleep was she, that she didn’t hear the small chirp her mobile phone gave on her end table. The screen came to life, a new text message on the screen, one that would be unread until morning, but would very certainly be read over and over again.
Ivana- Delaney wants the package. Bring it to Chicago in a week, or I'm dead. He'll find and kill you to. Gus.
EPISODE 160: Cold-hearted
Tuesday April 29, 1986
Hudson View Condominiums- Suite 713- Living Room
Manhattan Borough, New York City
5:17 PM Local Time
Somehow I will impress them
I will be firm but kind
And all these children- heaven bless them
They will look up to me and mind me
With each step I’m more certain
That everything will turn out fine
I have confidence the world can all be mine
They’ll have to agree I have confidence me!
To the casual observer, the scene unfolding in the living room would have been nothing short of adorable. The small red-haired girl, one month shy of her fifth birthday, leaping and twirling around the room in rhythm to Julie Andrews’ singing “I have Confidence” on a nearby record player. To Augustus Briese however it was an excruciating thing. A wobble there a mis-step there. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to watching his daughter finishing the song, instead of running over and yanking the record player’s cord straight from the wall.
The song mercifully ended with a final twirl and a pose, as Wendy gave a beaming smile, waving her arms just slightly to keep her balance. Gus’ gritted his teeth further at the sound of applause, coming from the idiotic con artist to his left. He gave the man, a quick, dark glance, before turning back to his daughter.
“What did you think, Daddy?” Wendy asked, still excited and not noticing her father’s dark mood.
Gus remained silent for sometime, chewing on his lip. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to Wendy, but rather to the other man in the room. “Mister Trottier. I was under the impression that I was hiring the best dance coach available in all of New York City. Was I misled?”
Wendy’s face fell at her father’s words and tone, but Gus didn’t see it, having finally turned his full attention to the other man. The Frenchman, not a large man to begin with, seemed to shrink under his piercing emerald eyes. Still, there was an aire of defiance about the man as he replied. “I’m sorry, monsignor. Was there something about the dance that you found distasteful?”
Gus burst out laughing in incredulation. “You call that dancing? That was a three-and a half minute epileptic seisure I saw! I did not pay you GOOD money to teach my daughter to spasm and convulse to music! Where’s the grace, where’s the flow?”
Wendy’s head drooped, suddenly ashamed, but her hurt-feeling were unnoticed by either adult. Monsieur Trottier scoffed, and shook his head, obviously finding his client unreasonable.
“Signor, we’ve only been practicing the dance for a couple days, and the steps are very complicated for a girl so young to be able to grasp...”
“So you’re saying my daughter isn’t up to the task? That girl is a PRODIGY!” Gus snarled, pointing Wendy, who’s head remained drooped.
“Au contraire, Signor, with time, your daughter will be more than up to the task. The girl has a natural talent to her, especially for her age. But you cannot expect a four-year old to nail that routine perfectly after only working on it for three...”
“Those who employ me expect perfection in all that I do.” Gus interrupted. “As will those that eventually employ her. Therefore, I expect no less than perfection in those that I employ, especially those who are to prepare Wendy to follow in my footsteps! You have fallen short of those expectations. You haven’t taught my daughter to dance, you’ve taught her mediocrity, and how to make excuses for it! I should...”
Gus was cut off by the ringing of the phone. He paused, swearing under his breath, before turning back to the dance instructor. “Excuse me. I believe you know where the exit is, and I fully expect you gone by the time I return. I will mail you your pay, ill-earned though it was, tomorrow.”
Leaving the incredulous instructor behind, Gus rose from his chair, and quickly walked to his study, shutting the door behind him, and picking up the phone. “Briese residence, Gus speaking,” he intoned into the receiver.
“Gus?” The voice wasn’t especially loud, but it did sound like the speaker was trying to shout over a din. The voice was female, accented, and all too recognizable.”
“Ivana?!” Gus exclaimed, too loudly, although he was thankful that his wife was at her performances tonight. “How did you get this number?! And how dare you call me here, where I could...”
Ivana wasn’t listening. “Gus, please! It’s... it’s Yuri. He’s sick.”
Despite himself, Gus paused, forcing himself to calm down. Ivana sounded almost hysterical, on the verge of tears. “You’re calling me because he’s sick?” Gus finally replied, coldly, although no longer frantic and angry.
“There was an accident, Gus. At the nearby power plant. Ch-”
“Yeah, Chernobyl. It’s been all over the goddamned news. What of it?”
“They’ve evacuated everyone, Gus. The whole city. They say they’ll let us back in a few days once everything settles down but... I don’t think we’re ever going to go back. But they were screening us and they... they picked up drastically high amounts of material on Yuri.”
Gus was stunned. Ivana had begun to cry over the phone. “I don’t know how it got there, either! He’s been near me the whole time, and I’m fine. And everyone we lived with is fine, but he... they said it’s fatal.”
Ivana broke into sobs again, and even Gus on the line was forced to take a deep breath. “How much time does he have?”
“I don’t know.” Ivana sobbed. “Maybe a week. They’re being really vague.”
Gus chewed his upper lip. “Please, keep me updated. But do NOT call here again. It’s too risky. You have the number for my attorney, and he will make sure I get the news. I’ll... keep payments going for a while longer to help you get through.. this...”
“It’s not about the money, Gus,” Ivana replied, anger seeping into her voice. “I just thought you should know what’s happened... to your so-”
“I appreciate it,” Gus said, cutting her off before the word he simply did not want to hear was spoken. “I need to hang up now, Ivana. These international calls cost a fortune. But... I’m sorry for your loss.”
He didn’t even wait for a reply, setting the phone down on the receiver, and taking a deep breath. Part of him was telling him that he should be devastated by this. To lose a son, and in such horrible fashion...
But he wasn’t devastated. He had never known the boy, barely even known his mother. Yuri had amounted to little more than a bill that had to be paid, one in secrecy to keep Gayle from finding out. And while part of him felt bad for Ivana, another part of him knew that was how the world worked. Misfortunes happened. Yuri wasn’t the first child to die in a catastrophe. He’d likley not be the last.
Besides, he had a child of his own to care for anyways.
“Daddy?”
Speaking of the angel, he heard Wendy’s voice filtering through the door. With one last look at the phone receiver, he turned away, grabbed the handle, and opened the door. Wendy stood looking up at him, her striking emerald eyes not blinking.
“Are you mad at me?”
Gus snorted, and managed a small smile, shaking his head. “No, hon. I’m not.”
Wendy didn’t seem too convinced. “I’m sorry I was a bad dancer.”
Gus knelt down, and embraced his daughter. “It wasn’t your fault, Wendy. The man was an idiot, and a criminal phony for stating he could do what he couldn’t. We’ll find someone else, and they’ll teach you. And you’ll work extra hard for me, right?”
“Of course!” Wendy replied, beaming.
“Good.” Gus forced a smile. “Never forget who you are, Wendy. And never forget what you’re destined for. You’re going to be the greatest actress to ever grace the stage, and I’m not going to let anyone... ANYONE keep that right from you.”
Wendy grinned at the promise, and lunged forward, hugging her father again. “I know, Daddy! And I love you.”
“And I love you, too,” Gus replied, even as he stood up, and retreated back into his study, closing the door so that he could be alone with his thoughts.
Wendy watched the door close, disappointed that her father had left her alone. But the promises of her greatness and the excitement that she knew her father would be good to his word prevented her from being kept down for long at all, and with a happy skip, she ran to her bedroom to find her favorite coloring book.
Hudson View Condominiums- Suite 713- Living Room
Manhattan Borough, New York City
5:17 PM Local Time
Somehow I will impress them
I will be firm but kind
And all these children- heaven bless them
They will look up to me and mind me
With each step I’m more certain
That everything will turn out fine
I have confidence the world can all be mine
They’ll have to agree I have confidence me!
To the casual observer, the scene unfolding in the living room would have been nothing short of adorable. The small red-haired girl, one month shy of her fifth birthday, leaping and twirling around the room in rhythm to Julie Andrews’ singing “I have Confidence” on a nearby record player. To Augustus Briese however it was an excruciating thing. A wobble there a mis-step there. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to watching his daughter finishing the song, instead of running over and yanking the record player’s cord straight from the wall.
The song mercifully ended with a final twirl and a pose, as Wendy gave a beaming smile, waving her arms just slightly to keep her balance. Gus’ gritted his teeth further at the sound of applause, coming from the idiotic con artist to his left. He gave the man, a quick, dark glance, before turning back to his daughter.
“What did you think, Daddy?” Wendy asked, still excited and not noticing her father’s dark mood.
Gus remained silent for sometime, chewing on his lip. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to Wendy, but rather to the other man in the room. “Mister Trottier. I was under the impression that I was hiring the best dance coach available in all of New York City. Was I misled?”
Wendy’s face fell at her father’s words and tone, but Gus didn’t see it, having finally turned his full attention to the other man. The Frenchman, not a large man to begin with, seemed to shrink under his piercing emerald eyes. Still, there was an aire of defiance about the man as he replied. “I’m sorry, monsignor. Was there something about the dance that you found distasteful?”
Gus burst out laughing in incredulation. “You call that dancing? That was a three-and a half minute epileptic seisure I saw! I did not pay you GOOD money to teach my daughter to spasm and convulse to music! Where’s the grace, where’s the flow?”
Wendy’s head drooped, suddenly ashamed, but her hurt-feeling were unnoticed by either adult. Monsieur Trottier scoffed, and shook his head, obviously finding his client unreasonable.
“Signor, we’ve only been practicing the dance for a couple days, and the steps are very complicated for a girl so young to be able to grasp...”
“So you’re saying my daughter isn’t up to the task? That girl is a PRODIGY!” Gus snarled, pointing Wendy, who’s head remained drooped.
“Au contraire, Signor, with time, your daughter will be more than up to the task. The girl has a natural talent to her, especially for her age. But you cannot expect a four-year old to nail that routine perfectly after only working on it for three...”
“Those who employ me expect perfection in all that I do.” Gus interrupted. “As will those that eventually employ her. Therefore, I expect no less than perfection in those that I employ, especially those who are to prepare Wendy to follow in my footsteps! You have fallen short of those expectations. You haven’t taught my daughter to dance, you’ve taught her mediocrity, and how to make excuses for it! I should...”
Gus was cut off by the ringing of the phone. He paused, swearing under his breath, before turning back to the dance instructor. “Excuse me. I believe you know where the exit is, and I fully expect you gone by the time I return. I will mail you your pay, ill-earned though it was, tomorrow.”
Leaving the incredulous instructor behind, Gus rose from his chair, and quickly walked to his study, shutting the door behind him, and picking up the phone. “Briese residence, Gus speaking,” he intoned into the receiver.
“Gus?” The voice wasn’t especially loud, but it did sound like the speaker was trying to shout over a din. The voice was female, accented, and all too recognizable.”
“Ivana?!” Gus exclaimed, too loudly, although he was thankful that his wife was at her performances tonight. “How did you get this number?! And how dare you call me here, where I could...”
Ivana wasn’t listening. “Gus, please! It’s... it’s Yuri. He’s sick.”
Despite himself, Gus paused, forcing himself to calm down. Ivana sounded almost hysterical, on the verge of tears. “You’re calling me because he’s sick?” Gus finally replied, coldly, although no longer frantic and angry.
“There was an accident, Gus. At the nearby power plant. Ch-”
“Yeah, Chernobyl. It’s been all over the goddamned news. What of it?”
“They’ve evacuated everyone, Gus. The whole city. They say they’ll let us back in a few days once everything settles down but... I don’t think we’re ever going to go back. But they were screening us and they... they picked up drastically high amounts of material on Yuri.”
Gus was stunned. Ivana had begun to cry over the phone. “I don’t know how it got there, either! He’s been near me the whole time, and I’m fine. And everyone we lived with is fine, but he... they said it’s fatal.”
Ivana broke into sobs again, and even Gus on the line was forced to take a deep breath. “How much time does he have?”
“I don’t know.” Ivana sobbed. “Maybe a week. They’re being really vague.”
Gus chewed his upper lip. “Please, keep me updated. But do NOT call here again. It’s too risky. You have the number for my attorney, and he will make sure I get the news. I’ll... keep payments going for a while longer to help you get through.. this...”
“It’s not about the money, Gus,” Ivana replied, anger seeping into her voice. “I just thought you should know what’s happened... to your so-”
“I appreciate it,” Gus said, cutting her off before the word he simply did not want to hear was spoken. “I need to hang up now, Ivana. These international calls cost a fortune. But... I’m sorry for your loss.”
He didn’t even wait for a reply, setting the phone down on the receiver, and taking a deep breath. Part of him was telling him that he should be devastated by this. To lose a son, and in such horrible fashion...
But he wasn’t devastated. He had never known the boy, barely even known his mother. Yuri had amounted to little more than a bill that had to be paid, one in secrecy to keep Gayle from finding out. And while part of him felt bad for Ivana, another part of him knew that was how the world worked. Misfortunes happened. Yuri wasn’t the first child to die in a catastrophe. He’d likley not be the last.
Besides, he had a child of his own to care for anyways.
“Daddy?”
Speaking of the angel, he heard Wendy’s voice filtering through the door. With one last look at the phone receiver, he turned away, grabbed the handle, and opened the door. Wendy stood looking up at him, her striking emerald eyes not blinking.
“Are you mad at me?”
Gus snorted, and managed a small smile, shaking his head. “No, hon. I’m not.”
Wendy didn’t seem too convinced. “I’m sorry I was a bad dancer.”
Gus knelt down, and embraced his daughter. “It wasn’t your fault, Wendy. The man was an idiot, and a criminal phony for stating he could do what he couldn’t. We’ll find someone else, and they’ll teach you. And you’ll work extra hard for me, right?”
“Of course!” Wendy replied, beaming.
“Good.” Gus forced a smile. “Never forget who you are, Wendy. And never forget what you’re destined for. You’re going to be the greatest actress to ever grace the stage, and I’m not going to let anyone... ANYONE keep that right from you.”
Wendy grinned at the promise, and lunged forward, hugging her father again. “I know, Daddy! And I love you.”
“And I love you, too,” Gus replied, even as he stood up, and retreated back into his study, closing the door so that he could be alone with his thoughts.
Wendy watched the door close, disappointed that her father had left her alone. But the promises of her greatness and the excitement that she knew her father would be good to his word prevented her from being kept down for long at all, and with a happy skip, she ran to her bedroom to find her favorite coloring book.
EPISODE 159: Meltdown
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.
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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