#never heard of trinity blood but looks neat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Game #3: Dirty Laundry

“OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKIN’ GOD. I CAN’T BELI— ACTUALLY NO. I TOTALLY CAN BELIEVE IT. I NEVER DOUBTED YOU FOR A SECOND.”   The way Mike McGuire was acting, you’d think that she was the new TV Champion. But she wasn’t. Her partner, John Bishop Church was. That seemed completely irrelevant though. He’d won a hard fought victory over the legendary veteran Ruthann Hunter, gone the distance, and prevailed. She’d stood beside him in his moment of triumph and, as she looked to him then, he shone. As if for a moment, all the misfortune he’d borne was gone.   Now, though, a lot of that shine had been knocked off. His brow was furrowed in concern for his opponent, and still as before, his partner was beside him. She settled down, her own jubilation dropping a bit. You never wanted to see this sort of thing happen to a peer, especially not due to a match you were in.   “…you okay?” “This is what I mean. Inside there, Mike, you turn it off. But what I saw afterwards. That didn’t feel right.” “Course it doesn’t. It sucks when this sort of thing happens. But don’t start blaming yourself for it, okay? I know you. Turning it off or not, you’d never hurt somebody in a way they couldn’t bounce back from.”   She patted him on the shoulder, then fidgeted a little.   “I got you something. I knew you were gonna win, I’ve known for a while. We’ve worked too hard, YOU’VE worked too hard. So I got you a congratulations present. You… still want it? I get it if you want me to sit on it a bit.” John looked down at the title and stared at his own reflection in the silver plate. “You’re right. And a part of me wants to wait until later but this is special. And I couldn’t have done this without you.” She smiled at him, and reached into her bag. Shuffling some things around, she pulled out a box wrapped in shiny green paper, tied up with an orange satin ribbon. Reaching out, she handed it to her partner. “It ain’t much. Just somethin’ I thought you could use on the tour comin’ up.”   And much to her amusement, John neatly removed the ribbon, removed the tape on either side of the gift, and carefully undid the wrapping paper. John stared at the box and she knew this wasn’t disappointment, it was just him. “What is it?”   “It’s a Kindle Fire. Kinda like an iPad, sort of, but this one’s special. Cuz it does the stuff a tablet does, but at heart? It’s an e-reader. You can buy books on Amazon and they get downloaded right to the Kindle, and then you can read ‘em on here. I can get it set up for you later, and there’s even a gift card in the box so you can get a couple e-books to get you started.” She rolled her shoulders a little, smiling.“Figured it’d save you from having to pack extra to bring your books along.”   “This is really neat. Thank you.”   So they’d spent their first evening with one of them as champion playing with the Kindle- getting it set up, picking books out, learning how to navigate the pages. Picking out which apps to add and which to avoid, at least for now. Church was still trying to get the hang of it a while later, but Mike was certain he’d learn. He always picked things up eventually- after all, he was ridiculously smart. But with that out of the way, it was time to look forward. And oh, what a forward they had to look toward. Finally. At long last, after ducking and dodging them for weeks, Rob ‘Cherry’ Garcia was finally going to be standing across the ring from them. Granted, he had a friend- a turncoat, no-good piratey friend- but still. This is what they’d wanted. Title on the line or no, it was well understood between the upstart members of NSFW that they wanted to test their mettle against the best. They had stood toe to toe with the Trinity in a match that Mike could barely remember- being dropped on one’s goddamn head onto steel will do that- and had come out on the losing end, but had proven that they weren’t going anywhere.   She’d felt awful, though. And not just in the physical sense- her head had been splitting for two days, during which her partner insisted she stay down and rest- she’d felt that the failing had ultimately been hers. After all, through her hazy memory she could distinctly recall she ate the pin. She’d been slumped against the cold painted cinderblock afterward, holding an icepack to the opened goose egg on her head, trying to keep blood from dripping into her left eye.   “…sorry, dude. Really. I shoulda done better.” John, who was sitting on the well-worn wooden bench, drenched in sweat and slumped against the concrete wall of the now emptied out locker room, shook his head. “Why are you apologizing?”   “…I dunno. Fuckin’ can’t remember the last fifteen minutes so good. Pin was mine though. Musta been me who fucked up.” “We are a team. One perceived setback would never shake the foundations of this partnership. A million of them, even.” “Jeezus, you’re sweet.” She smiled a little before wincing in pain, hissing softly through her teeth. “Okay. Won’t… beat myself up anymore. Reckon I got beat up enough, huh?” And she didn’t. She’d felt plenty terrible over the next couple days, but none of it was from guilt. By the third day she’d been on the mend, and now she only had a scab under her hairline that she supposed would wind up forming a pretty righteous scar. A lesson learned and the rest of it left behind them, their eyes now firmly focused ahead on what was shaping up to be the most exciting week of their young partnership.   Her eyes flicked over to her partner, nestled in the window seat, clouds and blue sky drifting past. He had been messing around with the Kindle she'd gotten him for a while, but eventually opted to stop playing with it, stuck it in the magazine pouch, and was now deeply focused on what he was doing, pencil scribbling away in a notebook- one she recognized right away from the slightly rain-warped cover. It wasn’t just any notebook- it was the one he wrote his prose in. His really, really good prose. She’d read a piece of it- not exactly on purpose- and Church'd caught her. It’d been late- way later than she thought it was. She had to have read the entire thing four or five times, though she at least had the tact to not venture elsewhere in the notebook. She was captivated by this story, but part of her knew she really shouldn’t be reading it. In fact, she should probably stop altogether. Just as soon as she finished this read through��   “…what are you doing?”   It was a soft inquiry, but it nearly made Mike jump out of her skin. It was 1 in the morning- holy shit, had that much time passed?- and he usually got up for a drink of water around now. But here she was, her hair still mussy and a little damp, clothes likewise, sitting in the dark by tablet light. All she could muster was a very sheepish smile and a statement in the tone of someone who knew they were in some degree of trouble.   “…it’s really really good?”   “Okay.” Church pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “It’s just … something to pass the time.” “I still don’t think I oughta’ve read it.” She closed the notebook, sliding it across the table to him. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw it was out in the ring when it started raining fuckin’ buckets, and I didn’t want it to get ruined, so I ran out and got it but it still got wet so I opened it to make sure the words didn’t get all fucked up and kinda got sucked in.” She was rambling a little, and she scratched the back of her head, looking down at the tabletop, fingers fidgeting with each other. She might not have felt so guilty about it, but something told her that what she read hadn’t been ordinary prose. The name of the spaceman was a big clue, and the entire series of events just rang way too familiar. No, she’d accidentally stumbled on some sort of fictionalized diary or something. Had to be. “It’s okay. Th-thank you. I would just like if you asked. That one. I didn’t have access to a pencil so when the lights went out and I couldn’t read anymore I’d think of my own stories. But I think I forgot most of them. They all got replaced with stuff i don’t like to remember.” “Hey. Just so you know, if that ever happens here- like if the power goes out again or somethin’ and you can’t sleep and it’s too dark to read… you can wake me up. It’s okay, I won’t be mad’re nothin’. I don’t want you t’ have to have nothin’ but thoughts you don’t wanna think. Cuz I know what that’s like and it sucks.” A brief vision of a hospital room in the dead of night passed through her head. She shook it out and sighed, her fingers fidgeting a little more. “So… you really almost left, huh? I thought I heard the front door open and shut in the middle of the night, but I was also half asleep. Thought I dreamed it.” Suddenly, the power flicked back on, the AC sputtering a bit before kicking back to life and the lights illuminating the previously dark kitchen in a sudden flash of brightness that made Mike blink. She’d felt suddenly exposed, though, her expression more pensive than she’d really wanted to be revealed. Church looked at her and at first it was the same blank expression he always seemed to give her. Sometimes when when they conversed, she imagined a complicated set of cogs, pulleys, and levers working in his mind to put together a careful calculated response, but here it seemed very different. His fingers pinched at the corner of one of her green plastic placemats. His mouth was slightly agape. Church looked down for just a moment but when his face raised up to her hers, the normal expression resumed. “Yes. I guess I did. My life has been for public consumption for a long time now, Mike. I thought it would have gotten better but at that time I had been made to feel like I was nothing. And then you come along. You’re the first person to come along and lend a helping hand.” Church shook his head. “It was a shock to the system. And I hated it. I just wanted to have what i had before. I know, I know that sounds weird. Because it was nothing. But it wasn’t, Mike. It was all I had. But then even, you appeared in my door way and brushed away all of that pity. You wouldn’t allow it. I’d been thinking about that a lot recently. I wanted to tell you but sometimes I can’t figure out how to say. I feel so frustrated sometimes. I can’t seem to put the pieces together.” “It’s okay. You don’t have to. If it’s meant to come, it’ll come. And if it ain’t… you don’t need to say stuff out loud for me to get it. I mean I ain’t psychic or nothin’, shit no, but… heh. I guess that don’t make a lot of sense either but, eh. I dunno. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, even if I ain’t really some super cool space hot-rod rescue ranger, I think I’m really startin’ to get you. Maybe. I’m trying anyway. But either way… I’m glad you changed your mind, bud. I’m really… really glad you did.”  Stretching, she stood up, striding along the aisle and swishing aside artfully to avoid a flight attendant pushing a minibar. First class had its perks- they’d decided to treat themselves. The big cushy seats and special amenities were fantastic, and Mike had to say that even the staff even seemed cuter. Allowing herself a slightly longer than necessary glance at the liquor-serving blonde’s firm posterior, she loped along the length of the aisle before turning back. Comfy chairs or not, this was a long flight- both she and Church’s first overseas. She’d never dreamed of going someplace like eastern Europe, and yet, here she was, on a plane bound for Minsk- not quite the dramatic, romantic setting of Moscow, with its distinctive colorful onion domed cathedral and palace-like seat of government where Putin made late night overtures to his favorite tangerine puppet, but still. A country she’d never been to. Sights she’d never seen. There was a serious thrill in her gut that had nothing even to do with wrestling, and it harmonized well with the thrill that absolutely had everything to do with it.   She was so happy and excited that she could almost forget about that morning. She’d been all packed, with Church putting his last few odds and ends in his suitcase. She was pacing around the house, giving everything a once-over- lights off, back doors locked, tarp over the ring, et cetera- when she saw a figure through the front door window.   It was too early for the Uber she’d sent for and she didn’t think she recognized his face. Slipping out front, she narrowed her eyes, folding her arms, sizing up the unfamiliar man standing before her. Dark hair. What she’d call an outright punchable face, with a big awkward looking grin and almost weaselly looking eyes. He looked, in her opinion like a complete shitheel, and she squared up a bit. One would get the distinct mental image of a ferocious guard dog, set to rip any perceived threat to hearth and home to fucking shreds.   “Who are you an’ the fuck do you want? Make it snappy, bucko, we got places to be that ain’t here.” “David Hodges. I’m a reporter.” the suit looked past her and eyed the house number plate that was drilled into the wall beside the door, “Miss McGuire, I presume?” “You certainly fucking do. News hound, huh? Unless you’re here to tell people about the greatest fucking tag team the world’s ever seen since the goddamn Hart Foundation, you don’t got shit.” However, he didn’t react to that all. “I see. Miss McGuire, do you know a Melissa Perez?” “Yeah, she’s a feckless fucking cu*t. What about her?” Mike’s stance didn’t start out warm and welcoming, and was getting more hostile by the second. She didn’t seem to have any intention of backing down. David looked down at a sheet of paper clutched in his head, “Melissa recently tweeted that you, an employee of…” The paper rustled.“Extreme Wrestling Corporation, are living with a fellow employee John Bishop Church. The same John Bishop Church that was exonerated for the murder of his wife Christina. And their unborn child. I’ve talked to her. She has texts between you two that prove this connection. It’s one thing to appear at the work place together. That’s a job. It’s another thing all together to … well, I’m not going to say what Melissa says you’re doing with him. I think it’s quite obvious.” “Yeah, if you’re a fuckin’ rube.” She took a deliberate step forward. “You don’t know shit and I ain’t telling you shit, and I’ll tell you why, fuckwad. You said the magic word with your own stupid mouth. Exonerated. The whole fucking thing is online. The facts are right there on any public fucking record, black and white. Anything else ain’t your business, or anybody else’s business, and you’re almost lower than rat shit if you came all the way over here for dirt based on a tip by my FUCKING EX GIRLFRIEND.” He smirked in the face of all of this anger. “Is John in there right now? I met him a few months back. Not too talkative, is he?” “I wouldn’t want to talk to your stupid weasel-lookin’ ass either.” She deliberately avoided the question, though her poker face was immediately wrecked by a flick of her eyes to the door behind her. Stay in there, buddy. Just stay put for a little while longer, you don’t need to get mixed up with this. Just stay there. Please. “So you mentioned exoneration, Miss McGuire. He confessed. Quite vividly. It’s all there for the public to listen to.” It’s at this point that most people would have acted shocked. Or, perhaps, began to germinate a seed of doubt. But Mike was not most people, and if the reporter expected her to waver at all in her stubborn refusal to cooperate, he was about to be sorely disappointed. She bared her teeth in a snarl, and the emeralds of her eyes could cut glass. “People confess to a lot of shit. Drill into somebody long enough an’ they’ll tell you they’re fucking B.D. Cooper just to get you to lay the fuck off.” “He said he did it.” “Piss fucking Christ, are you deaf and stupid? Did you not hear what I just fucking said? What, you want me to toss you in a room for thirteen fucking hours and ask you the same questions over and over and not let you eat or fucking sleep till you answer ‘em in a way that suits me?” “Right. Detective Ray Geschkes was in charge of that interrogation. I’ve listened to the whole thing. He was on the force for thirty five years. 13 hours or not, that interrogation was by the book. John confessed. He wrote it down. He signed off on it.”   “By the book. By the FUCKING BOOK. Don’t you dare say that. That fucker planted evidence. And it was STUPID evidence. You know how I know? Church doesn’t fucking drink. At all. Made margaritas yesterday afternoon cuz it was fucking hot. Regular for me, virgin for him, and he still didn’t have any. So Mister By-The-Fucking-Book is a nasty little mental midget for planting DNA on something that Church wouldn’t have fucking touched to begin with.” Another step forward. “Go ahead. Say one more stupid thing. I fucking dare you to not just turn around, get in your ugly-ass car, and leave like a decent human being.” He raised his hands defensively. One hand clutched a pocket-sized tape recorder. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Miss McGuire. Speaking of saying stupid things - they’re all right here. And you’re right. But that doesn’t explain everything else. Decent human being, huh? You fell for that dopey aw, shucks act hook, line, and sinker, didn’t you?”   Her movements were whip-quick. One hand jutted out like a striking cobra and grabbed ahold of the reporter’s necktie, dragging him with it halfway across the yard before stopping. She was just a few short inches from his face. “Listen up. You know what I have to do? I get up at five in the fucking morning. I filter through hundreds of fucking Facebook and twitter comments and delete the vilest shit you could ever imagine. Small, cruel little fucks like you, calling him the worst kind of names and tellin’ him to do shit that you oughta be doin’ yourself. But I delete it. All of it. Because he don’t deserve to see that. He gave you fucking people twenty fucking years. That’s enough. That’s more than fucking enough. Now get off my fucking property before I get all Stand Your Ground on your pathetic ass.” And the reporter backed away slowly. “That’s alright.” And he was half way into his tan Corolla when he shouted over the roof of it, “Miss McGuire. Send me a DM when John becomes your next Steve. Maybe then we can work together to shine a light on this whole ugly ordeal.” And seconds later, he was gone.   Mike was speechless. She was absolutely livid. Her hand was shaking as she checked her phone. Five minutes. Not a ton of time. She ran to the driveway and threw Alundra’s door open, slammed it behind her, and screamed. She screamed for about a solid minute. She would’ve very much liked to hit something but she’d recently finished repairing damage to her baby- she didn’t want to cause the Mustang any more. Panting, she slipped back out, and opened the front door, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and trying to sound chipper.   “Hey buddy, Uber’s gonna be here in three. You ready?” “Yes. Hey, who were you yelling at outside? Another salesman? It seems a common occurrence these days.”  “…nobody. Nobody worth a pint of horse piss. Doesn’t matter. Next couple hours, we’ll be headed to motherfuckin’ Belarus. … Fuck, you know what? Let’s do something ridiculously indulgent. We deserve it. Let’s upgrade our tickets to fuckin’ first class. Cushy seats, leg room, open bar, and no dickfucks allowed.” Church nodded. “I trust you.” She bit her lip, paused, leaned forward, and gave him a quick but firm hug. As brief as it was, there was something fierce in it, something incredibly protective. She pulled back just as a lime green Volkswagen with an Uber sticker on the back windshield pulled up in front of the house. She locked the door behind them.   But that was this morning and thousands of miles away. And as she headed back to her seat, she couldn’t help but pause, a huge grin crossing her face. The gangly teenager in the aisle seat was likely the child of one of the wealthy people occupying one or two of the other cushy chairs. Or maybe they’d gotten a cheap upgrade and decided to fly in style. But either way, one eye was covered by a deliberate shocking violet comb-over of bangs, their grin had the telltale silver gleam of new braces, and they were wearing an NSFW t-shirt. And fiddling with one of their ridiculous fidget spinners. Good to know at least one of those things sold.   “Holy crap, you're Mike McGuire. Awesome.”   “Nope. YOU’RE awesome.”   Mike gave the kid a clicking wink and a double finger point, and found her seat next to her partner, closing her eyes. It was still a long way to Minsk. A couple hours’ nap later, the camera clicked on. Two mildly jet lagged but happy travelers grinned into it- one muted, one big and toothy.   “Say hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW- one of us, who I really need to mention, is YOUR NEW REIGNING AND DEFENDING EWC TELEVISION CHAMPION- and we are currently on a plane- IN FIRST CLASS, BAY-BEE- headed to Belarus. It’s our first trip overseas, and frankly? We’re pretty fuckin’ hyped.” “I am ecstatic.”   “We’re gonna be landing before long, but before we have to fasten our seatbelts, put our tray tables in the upright position an’ turn off all electronic devices, we thought we’d take a couple minutes to say… Jesus fucking Christ last week. The so-called top of the pops around here may have got the better of us, but at the end of the day, does anybody really give a shit? Same old rhetoric, different fuckin’ day. Yeah yeah, I know we didn’t come out on top and I got knocked fuckin’ loopy for my trouble, but our opposition totally failed to live up to our expectations. And they’ll totally be crowing their asses off about it too, dollars to fuckin’ doughnuts. They’ll come out with their cool music and awesome pyro and toss a couple Benjys to the monkeys in the truck for some nice piped in crowd noise, and go on about how they put down a couple of big-mouthed upstarts. IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE PROPHECY. VOLUME 2 COMING SOON. Maybe Reid’ll even get a new Xbox One from his parents for doing an extra good job.” The camera panned to Church’s blank expression towards his partner. “The Trinity. They’re in our rearview mirror. Mike, some would say that we are the masters of foreshadowing.” “And why is that, my erstwhile compadre?” “Our friend. And I am being insincere when I say that. Our friend found himself a partner after all.” Mike gave a curt nod.   “He did indeed. Or should I say- a pARRRRRtner.” “You’re allowed one of those. Only one.” “Noted. It was fuckin’ worth it. But somethin’, no pun intended as I’ve hit my limit, smells real fuckin’ fishy here. Cap’n Darkwater isn’t supposed to be the kind of pirate that would associate with a bilge rat like Cherry Garcia. Ain’t he supposed to be a nobler breed of buccaneer? What, did his morals and sense of fucking decency walk the goddamn plank? And don't think that sad line about being keelhauled into this is gonna make us shed a fuckin' tear for you. Who in their right goddamn mind would believe a fuckin' pirate, one who's obviously just proven he's a fuckin' moral degenerate?” “Seems like that charade of his burned to cinder when his greatest opportunity blew up in his face.” “Bitter, bitter pirate. So now he’s back in fighting form, and he decides to put the screws to Nostalgia and get in bed- oh, sorry, was FORCED into bed- with Garcia. Come on, dude. I kinda really hoped you were better than this.”   She shakes her head and looks, if briefly, sincerely disappointed. John’s reaction to that isn’t the same. It’s unflinching. “I’m not surprised. His charming roguish qualities seemed to be an act. It’s easy to mug for your adoring public when everything seems to be going his way. There is no explanation. No excuse. No wiping away the cowardice he displayed. Many eyes were opened that evening to his true nature. But his transformation was a long time coming. He has weathered the storm of his would-be challengers and when they seemed to be out of play - here he comes to take possession of something he never earned.” “What a combo. A guy handed a belt and a guy who had to fucking make one up.” “They do have something in common, though, don’t they?” There was a plain sense of amusement plastered on Mike’s face as she looked up at her partner, brows raised inquisitively.   “What’s that?” “Delusions of grandeur. One’s obvious enough. It drips out of every word he says. The other. The big guy. Mike, I want to level with you on something. The virtuous marauder act only suited him when he needed it. He’s a charlatan afforded the privilege to buy his way into this fantasy of his. He’s a stereotypical romanticized idea of a pirate and believe me, it’s easy to rationalize the crimes committed against the oppressors that were the English and Spanish. But like that matters to him. If he stopped playing pretend and looked into the mirror, he’d see that he’s become the very thing that his predecessors fought against.” “What he oughta do, frankly, is use those big bucks of his to buy a DeLorean, slap a Flux Capacitor in that son’bitch, and head Up North circa 1995. He’d be right at home with all the plumbers, clowns, and garbage men. But before you go and do that, Cap’n, some food for thought. See, Garcia here. You know why he is, or was before you sailed into the picture, a tag champ all by his lonesome? I’ll tell you. All his buddies fucking ditched his sleazy egomaniac ass. How long before it grates on you too? And once it does, then what’ll you be left with? Your reputation’s fucking shot, dude, and you’ll have pissed it down your leg for nothing, and that, me hearty, is just sad.”   She shook her head, tisking. “See, we are pretty good at foreshadowing because what waits for us at the end of this journey?” “A decisive victory over the tag champs, that’s what. The belts may not be up for grabs this time around but that’s okay. Ain’t nothin’ new for ol’ Cherry Garcia. We ain’t ruffled. Us beating you is gonna send a big fat message to the guys in the front office. If they ain’t noticed us yet we are gonna MAKE ‘em take notice by swabbing the deck with the goddamn champions- not too tall an order considering one was just handed the belt out of nowhere and the other’s too lazy an ass to ever defend the fucking things.”   She leaned forward.   “Speaking of tall orders. Don’t think I’m scared of you, Captain Kangaroo. You’re a big guy.” “For you.” Mike held up a finger and tilted her head off camera. There was audible snorting before she rejoined the shot. “God Bless the fucking internet. But yeah. You’re way bigger than me. Maybe even a tad bigger than my partner, but that ain’t stopped him from chucking guys about as big as you around. How about he sends you sailing for real? I’d sure like to see that, but not before I take a nice chunk out of your pirate’s booty myself.” “With his looming visage, it’s so easy to forget the other part of this equation and just what he is capable of.” “What… IS he capable of? Making his own belt and pretending it’s a fucking accomplishment? Perpetually coming up shorter than he says he will?” Church smiled at her. “She means that it’s a constant part of the remnant’s makeup. There is something that he is good at. He’s gonna take one look at NSFW and he’s gonna laugh. We’ve got ourselves an easy night, he’ll say. That’s the delusion kicking in. This newly minted duo, they’re going to overlook us. They’re the superstars here and we are their tune up. That about cover it?” “Other than him being a delicious nut-free ice cream? Nope, that’s it. But, oh dear team of Pirate and Puss, you’ve got us pegged all wrong. This won’t be a night off. This may well be the worst fucking night of your lives. Because we want this. We’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks, and now that we’ve got it, we ain’t lettin’ you take your eyes off us. We’ll be haunting you like the fuckin’ Flying Dutchman from here on out. And there’ll be a whole fuckin’ fleet behind us. Do you hear that? The dead ships are comin’ up from the maelstrom and they’re comin’ for your stern. You’ll come out and they’ll be chanting our name. The people who want something different, somethin’ to fuckin’ believe in. Like this awesome kid right here.”   She swung the camera around. The purple haired teenager across the aisle and a few seats back, suddenly realizing they were in an honest to God NSFW promo, waved a skinny arm wildly and gave a whoop.   “NSFW, YEEEEAH!”   The camera swoops back onto them, Mike giving a smirking nod.   “Just like that. Every fuckin’ week. Louder and louder until you’re left with one single solitary question.”   Her face splits into a huge jawbreaker of a grin.   “What’s cauuuusin’ all this?” “It’s us. In some small way, we quantify the idea that the time for polite discourse is over. Whether it’s bigots, wanna-be fascists, ideological frauds, or text-book case of narcissism and a scalawag who talks out of both sides of his mouth, we are going to show the world how to take them down.” “By playing fair… and maybe a little dirty too.” Church opened his mouth to object, or at least that is what Mike anticipated. “Just a little.”   That huge grin grew a little more devilish. “But how we do it ain’t as important as the fact that we are. Don’t look behind you for us, mates. Look beside you, and later, look in fucking front. Cuz we’re Not Sailing in your Fucking Wake.”   There was a tinny voice over the intercom that they were approaching their destination, and the camera cut out.  

#archive

1 note · View note

mechagalaxy · 5 years ago

Text

John T Mainer 28840: Hellbunny is born

Hellbunny is born

St Christopher’s Home for Wayward Pilots was a convent run hospital for those who had lost their mind and body to the ravages of mecha combat and starship piloting. The dump shock that was a constant risk for those who jacked bare brained into the great niode powered artificial intelligences that drove mecha, stargates, starships, and the great Thinking Engines of the noble houses and great trading empires left a trail of human wreckage across a thousand suns. The sisters of St Christopher’s tended to the Illyrian militaries refuse pile of broken humanity.

Given a few rubles and table scraps, St Christopher’s supported itself through charitable donations from the wealthy and powerful nobles, and a huge sideline in smuggling illegal weapons, nanotech, bioenhancements, and the ever popular Holy Trinity. The Holy Trinity in biosculpt consist of facial and skull alteration to defeat facial recognition programs, fingerprint and pheromone adjustments to stop print and chemtrace, and of course, a genetic chimera meld so your surface skin cells do not leave DNA to match existing records of whoever it was you were running from.

Sister Bunny was a hard eyed blonde whose soft reasonable voice was all most people ever heard, and the few who pushed her far enough to see the eyes go gunmetal grey and smile turn into the wide white grin of a wolf seldom would, or could speak of it. She described her life before St Christopher’s as “sort of like teaching pre-school for the disturbed”, which she allowed people to assume meant special needs teacher. It wasn’t a sin if you didn’t lie. Stupid was on their account.

When the alarm went off, and the shooting started, she keyed her implants to summon the guards, and alert the mecha pilots. Some of those who were being cared for here were dangerous to themselves and others, and the rest were worse. She assumed no one would wonder who was giving the orders, as they never had in the past. The voice of command came to her without thinking, from long years leading troops, and when that guttural rasp snapped an order, people obeyed. When things cooled off, no one would match that to sweet Sister Bunny.

The gunfire got louder, then the signals got worse.

[BOOM] The explosion of the hydrogen tank by the fuel cell knocked down the guard Boreas. Looking at the camera feed, Sister Bunny saw a patient in flapping hospital gown expertly throw the pilot to the ground and shoot him once. Then, staring again, he screamed in rage and fired 11 more times into the pilot before starting up the Boreas and looking for the mecha exit route.

Sister Bunny swore a most un-nunlike oath, and ran to the store house where seasonal supplies and yard machines were kept.

As the Boreas struggled to find a way out, he made the mistake of trying to force the ambulance exit, and it was too small for anything over fifty tons to turn swiftly. That is how Sister Bunny caught him with her Nephillax. Golden Bunny was graven on the cockpit, along with a King of the Mountain medal, and crown for first in a clan to win one. More importantly, a blue Galaxy Eye blazed from the Nephillax and its fierce heterodyne beam punched through the Boreas shields above the spine, and disrupted the shielding on the Boreas Nanotech conduits to feed its great ice guns.

For half a second, absolute zero temperatures washed the sides of the power and plasma conduits running through the torso, then the freeze/heat fractures disrupted the internal buffers and white fire shattered the power distribution system above the right hip, sending the Boreas face first into the ground.

Crawling from the machine, the disturbed pilot, clearly seen in gun camera with blood red ears affixed to his head screamed “Hellbunny, I am Hellbunny, I will purge the heretic!” As he fired into the door frames beside the hospital security staff, scattering them without injuring any.

Sister Bunny drew her Glock 17L from beneath her habit, and let the familiar hum of the smartlink fill her soul, as the cross hairs suddenly filled her eye and tracked with the pistol muzzle. She let a brace of 9mm slugs punch the wall to either side of his head to hurry him along, then walked her rounds down the hall to keep him running.

Finally pulling into the chapel, he shouted he claimed sanctuary, and would shoot anyone who tried to get him out. Sister Bunny kneecapped him with a neat double tap and let him crawl behind the altar for cover. Using that time, she closed and externally bolted the only doors to the chapel.

The Abbess came down to find Sister Bunny thumbing rounds into her magazines and puffing on a long Russian cigarette that stank of bad decisions and worse motives.

“Sister Bunny! I thought you quit smoking?” The Abbess asked horrified

Sister Bunny took a good long drag off her cigarette and smiled a wide disturbing smile to her Abbess,

“I thought I was done shooting people too, but Christ has a sense of humour today. Relax, I will call someone to get him out”

The Abbess winced as Hellbunny screamed and punched five quick rounds into the lock on the chapel door, only to discover the door was ferrite cored and the old fashioned bar holding it shut was as much out of reach as one of the planets four moons.

“You mean a SWAT team, or a commando team?” The Abbess said looking frightened.

Sister Bunny patted her hand “No Abbess, just a priest I used to know”

The Abbess fingered her rosary and looked concerned “I don’t think a priest will do it Sister”

Sister Bunny laughed, and flicked the slide lock chambering a fresh round. “Well, there are priests and then there are priests”

-----Spirit of Bunny compound----

I grabbed my spear and loaded up my Redeemer, shouting at my command company to mount up. We hit the gate and I gave a quick and dirty Sitrep to my crew.

“Alright, we are on a medical retrieval. St Christopher’s gave us a call. One of their brain burned pilots went on a bit of a rampage and shot the place up, stole a Boreas, made a small music critique and then lost a shoot out with a heavily armed nun before locking himself in the chapel” I thought it sounded reasonable enough, but my team had issues.

“A nun? He took out a Boreas and got shot down by a nun?” Antillar Maximus was convent educated himself, and had problems thinking about one of the Sisters of Mercy even having a gun, let alone using it. I had to give him some background.

“Yes well Sister Bunny used to be Lt Stephanie Robbins, scout/sniper team leader of the Defenders of Bunny. There are nuns, and then there are oh-shit-nuns! She is the party of the second part.

I dismounted from my machine and walked over to the downed Boreas. The dead pilot was on a gurney beside it. Sister Bunny was smoking again, which said a lot, and smiling which said that at least she got to shoot someone, so she wasn’t actually stressing out.

“Looking good Sister Bunny. So, what’s the deal on the shooter. This guy kill any of yours besides this guy? Any particular reason you didn’t just cap him?” I was a bit curious. She tended to shoot first, and avoid mentioning it altogether just to save paperwork. I used to really appreciate that when I was her CO.

Sister Bunny grinned at the bearded pilot in front of her, a Thor’s hammer dangling from his dog tags just above his Valknut tatoo marking him most definitely as not Christian. The rune carved spear in his hand filled in the rest of the blanks, like something out of an old Viking story, he was a very different kind of priest. She filled him in with the swiftness of a practiced scout.

“Oh this one is a lunatic alright, but not a mad dog. More of a mad bunny. He calls himself Hellbunny, and he didn’t hit one of the nurses or orderlies during the firefight, and the only one he shot was this pilot right here” She pulled back the sheet, and the pilot, with a chest shot to doll rags lay there dead as a doornail.

“Still seems excessive” I said, and then Sister Bunny pulled the dead pilots T shirt back into position and I laughed. It had been a Nickleback concert T shirt, and 14 very precise bullets had shot the word NO right through Nickleback. Ok, not a dangerous lunatic, just a regular lunatic with serious music taste. That I could live with.

We both laughed as we walked to the chapel. The Abbess looked at me, in my pagan gear and made a terrified squeak. I smiled gently.

“Not to worry Abbess, looting chapels is one of our specialities. We will have him out of there in two shakes of a bunnies tail” I waggled my eyebrows and she beat a hasty retreat.

I thought my smile was gentle, but when Sister Bunny laughed, hers was flat scary, and her Glock rested lightly in her hand.

I heard the pilot raging inside the chapel, swearing to bring blood and fire upon the unrighteous. Yep, full on lunatic, but with style. I had a weakness for those. I slid the bar off the door gently, then gestured to Sister Bunny. She adopted a weaver stance in front of the door, and I booted it open.

Hellbunny stood on one leg, his second tied off in a bloody bandage formed of altar cloth. His pistol snapped down to aim at us, but Sister Bunny fired one clean shot into the hand holding the pistol and it flew from his hand in a welter of blood.

As he stood in shock for one half second, I threw my spear ith a shout of “MINE” and pinned him to the altar like a butterfly on a collector’s board. I followed through my cast and charged up to where he was pinned.

Rabbit ears drooping above his face, his mad eyes stared back at me defiantly. There was no end to the fight in him. Crazy as a bedbug, and dangerous with it. I liked him already.

He snarled defiance at me “You can’t keep me penned up. I will get free. I will find battle again! You cannot stop me!”

I grabbed the spear and yanked it down hard, freeing the head, and tearing his wound, causing him to both shut up, and groan in pain. I looked him in the eyes, madman to madman and grinned.

“Hellbunny, I claim you for the Spirit of Bunny, for the Spirit of Bunny lives in you. Sister Bunny called me, and swore she had one of mine here, and I came to collect. I won’t keep you from battle. I will send you to battle. I will send you against DRAGONS!”

Hellbunny strained against the spear, pulling himself forward. His eyes mad and wild, but suddenly filled with hope.

“Will there be hell and blood?” He asked

“I expect we will be up to our little fluffy tails in hellfire and ass whooping when the dragons arrive. They don’t take cheques, and they don’t give mercy. You want a piece of that fight, you swear to obey your orders, and don’t shoot non combatants, even Nickleback fans” I broke it to him gently.

He looked a little crestfallen about the Nickleback fans, but given the lure of Dragons, he was willing to give up even music criticism for a higher calling.

Thus came Daniel “Hellbunny” Halbany to the Spirit of Bunny.

John T Mainer 28840

0 notes

trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

Text

5 Superhero Movies That Are Only Worth It For One Scene

Bad superhero films are a treasure. Not only does one make you disappointed with Hollywood for creating a bad movie, but it also makes you doubly frustrated because they’re messing up something that you know is good in comic book form. However, we shouldn’t write off a bad superhero movie immediately. Upon closer examination, these terrible films can contain little glimpses of promise — little glimpses that make you say “This might be a secret masterpiece.” Or at least, “This doesn’t suck every poop.”

Batman & Robin — The Criminal Property Locker

In the annals of bad superhero films, Batman & Robin stands alone. It isn’t a “Well, maybe it’s not THAT bad” film like Superman Returns or Spider-Man 3. It isn’t a “I’ll forget the plot of this before I even leave the theater” film like X-Men: The Last Stand or Daredevil. It isn’t a “That’s a damn shame” film like Superman IV: The Quest For Peace or Robocop 2. And it isn’t a “If there is a God, they wouldn’t let this happen” film like Catwoman or Spawn. Instead, it’s a film that somehow gets both more amazingly terrible and more inexplicably enjoyable with time. I hate it and I love it in equal measure, and years after I’m dead, researchers will discover my skeleton clinging to a VHS copy of it, like Quasimodo and Esmeralda at the end of Hunchback Of Notre Dame.

But the movie does have one extremely cool split second. Now, there is a well-known Easter egg in Batman & Robin: When Bane and Poison Ivy are breaking Mr. Freeze out of Arkham Asylum, you get a glimpse of the “Criminal Property Locker.” And in the locker are the costumes of the Riddler and Two-Face from Batman Forever. That’s kind of neat — though since Two-Face died by falling into a spiky underwater pit, it does imply that some poor Arkham intern had to dry-clean and sew his fucking suit back together.

Warner Bros.