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005

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Deal Breaker

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Trevor wakes up in a pile of wreckage from the sidecar. He's lying on his face in the dead, piss-yellow grass between the two large highways. He rushes across the wide highway, avoiding traffic, and luckily no other vehicles going over 600 mph that he couldn't see coming...

He clumsily hurdles over the rail and tumbles down a gravel covered embankment until he slams into a chain-linked fence.

On the opposite side is a parking lot with a few cars parked here and there. The neon lights shining from the building light the lot up like Christmas. Trevor reaches his feet once again and staggers along the side of the fence, using it to help him along the way. He reaches the front and it's plain as day what the building is now.

"A strip club, eh? I couldn't imagine...."

You could barely hear the bass of the bouncy techno music playing inside. After witnessing the sights he has already, he chooses to pass it up and maybe start heading towards that tower the stranger was taking him to.

"On second thought... I COULD use a drink..."

Trevor turns around and heads back towards the building. He enters one door into a short hallway where a large, dark skinned, demonic looking guy stands guarding the door into the club. Now granted, not a single person there looks their absolute best, but Trevor is looking like some serious shit at the moment. The guard stares him down, from head to toe. Especially the side of his head.

"You know you should cover that thing up so everyone doesn't have to stare at it all the time?"

The big bastard says in a deep long growl.

"That's my face, sir."

Trevor goes to pass him, but is stopped.

"Any weapons?"

"Negative."

The guard gives Trevor a quick couple of pat downs to ensure nothing was hiding under his ratty clothes.

"Try not to bleed on any of the girls."

Trevor smiles as the guard opens the door and lets him pass. He looks around and finds this place looks a lot bigger on the inside. Three small stages and one big one off in the front with a decent sized bar in the back. Just what the doctor ordered. Even the girls look half decent in their half-demonlike, undead, corpsey kind of way.

He finds a barstool away from everyone else at the far end of the bar and sits down. The barkeep is an older looking corpsey that looks like she could've done some erotic dancing of her own in her prime.

"What'll it be?"

"Double bourbon, neat. Can I smoke in here?"

The barmaid throws an ashtray out in front of Trevor and a couple splashes of nectar into a small cocktail glass and slides it over to him. He reaches out for it, but she holds the top and cocks an eyebrow.

"Just put it on Doc's tab..."

She looks at Trevor kind of funny for a moment, then walks away. Trevor can't believe it worked and throw the liquid down his throat in a hurry. He lights up a smoke and watches the barmaid appear back behind the bar from the back room. An older looking fellow follows from behind her and looks over at Trevor for a moment as the barmaid pours him another round.

"So, you know... Doc?"

The barmaid asks casually.

Trevor looks back over at the old man as he approaches a corner booth in the back of the club. Several younger gentlemen sit with a corpsey to each of their sides. The old man leans in to speak with them and looks back at Trevor once more, followed by the rest of them.

"I, uh, yeah. Good pal of mine. Going to see him right now actually."

Trevor slams the other drink down and stuffs his cigarette into his mouth.

"It's been a pleasure, ma'am."

He tips his pretend hat and books for the door. The big oaf outside ignores him as he leaves and makes it outside.

"Well, that was a little uncomfortable."

He says to himself as he throws the cigarette burnt away in his mouth and starts up another one. Walking with a bit of urgency, he finally makes it to the end of the block and breaks the corner. He sees a car slowly pull across the crossroads ahead of him and quickly turn his way. With no idea what or why, he turns and runs away, but he's not quick enough. The car pulls up beside him and four men three jump out and beat him down. After he's limp, they all pick him up and throw him into the trunk of the car.

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Trevor comes to when a pot of cold water is whipped into his face. He coughs and gags on the water, but is actually kind of refreshed by it. He kept any sign of that to himself though as he slowly opened his eyes.

His hands were bound behind his back as he sits up on a wobbly wooden chair. A single light shines down onto a white table that's in front of him. Two armed gentlemen stand beside him, each clutching an Uzi against their chests.

"What is all this?"

Trevor says aloud but is shut up with an elbow to the back of the head.

"Shut it!"

He sounded middle eastern. Trevor tries turning around to see, but is hit again. He sees a gentleman sitting across the table now staring at him. He can just make out a silhouette of him, but he's there.

"So, you come into my strip club empty handed... Bleeding profusely....... And you say your here on 'Doc's tab?'"

"Who the fuck are you?"

Another elbow. This time Trevor's head bashes off the table.

"Really, man?! Come on!"

"You will be quiet."

The man speaks up again.

"You will listen to what I have to say. I will ask you questions, but you will not answer them until I wish. Do you understand?"

Trevor sits in silence. The man across the table nods.

Another elbow to the back of the head and Trevor's head, again, hits the top of the table.

"Ooookay. I'm getting a little confused here. Do I respond each time strong arms back here cracks me or no?"

"Name."

The man demands.

"Trevor Dedntik."

"And what is your business here?"

"Well, from what I've come to understand I'm dead. And I'm rotting in hell."

"We could lose the sarcasm, friend. Just exactly what is it you are going to see this 'Doc' about?"

Trevor rolls his eyes.

"Man, I wish I could tell ya. After the shit I've been through, I've walked through a desert for what felt like forever, followed by a century of waiting inside some tiny ass room.... When I get out of there, I get hit by a .... cock... a ... bike motorcycle-thing by some demon. I pass out and wake up strapped to his back and he tells me we're heading to the TOWER."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Well, no, but I'd imagine it would have something to do with my face being plastered all over the place, eh?"

"I would say so. It would seem that HE has certain plans for you then. Now what could he possibly have in store for YOU that he would go through all of this trouble?"

Trevor sits back in his chair and sighs.

"Buddy, I wish I had answers for you, but I'm just as lost as you guys are. Now, could I get the fuck outta here? I'll be happily to fill you in on the details once I know what they are, but in the mean time, is all of this really necessary?!"

"Necessary?"

The man scowls to himself. He leans across the table into the light.

"Saddam Hussein?!"

The Former President of Iraq sits back in his chair away from the light again.

"It is very necessary. If you are so valuable to your friend, then he will surely be willing to give something for you."

"Are you holding me for ransom? Here? NOW?!"

"You don't understand. He's taken something very special away from me, and if he refuses to comply, then I shall keep something special from HIM!"

"Dude, you ARE fucking nuts. What did he take from you?"

The silhouette of Saddam hops down from the chair and tiny footsteps begin stepping around the table. He appears in front of Trevor in the light and barely stands 3 feet tall. He can barely see onto the table.

"He took my legs, and gave me these stupid baby legs!"

It's not that Saddam is short, he indeed does have little baby legs instead of his own. Tiny little legs and a huge body to go with them. Trevor bursts out in laughter unable to contain himself. Another elbow cracks him in the back of the head. No, not an elbow. The butt of a gun. Trevor is out cold.

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Saddam exited to his own private quarters as a couple of his men took an unconscious Trevor to a place they could hold him. The Former Iraqi President hobbles around his little loft and hops up onto a stepping stool to look out a window into the street.

"Hello, my friend."

Saddam nearly falls backwards on the stool and onto the floor, which could have seriously injured him.

"Long time no see, sir."

He catches his balance and glances back at the doctor who sits comfortably in Saddam's favorite chair across the room.

"Yes, long time, indeed! How are you holding up?"

"Just barely if you cannot tell. Look at me!"

Saddam angrily points to his baby legs and jumps down from the foot stool.

"What do you expect? The repeat of how you lived? That would be boring!"

"I want my legs back! I know why you're here. I have something you want!"

"Yes, we'll get to all that."

Doc pulls a pair of cigars from his inside pocket and points one towards the dead dictator.

"Cigar, old friend? Have a seat."

Saddam takes the doctor up on his offer and takes the cigar and the seat. The doctor helps Saddam with his foot as he struggles to climb up onto the couch.

"I CAN DO IT!!"

Saddam shrieks as the doctor chuckles a bit at the struggle.

"You remind me of all of my different friends in this tournament coming up, you know that? Your struggle to do the simplest things that I'm capable of doing without even thinking about. The way you talk like your some giant monster, yet, I could kick you over with hardly any effort at all."

"You all look like fools. You Scampered around this week like you are actually going to prove something in the end. Oh, we'll prove something, alright. Prove that nothing changes around here when it comes to who is who."

"I'll give you all credit though, no one seemed to really back down, I suppose. Peter and GT, especially. Peter has such a boner for Unknown Soldier alone that I'm surprised he didn't forfeit his spot in the tournament just to give Soldier a free pass. Not because he's scared of him or anything like that, but because he's just that cool. Now, me, on the other hand. Peter doesn't feel the same way about me. In fact, for some odd reason I get the feeling he doesn't like me very much at all. It probably burns your briches to see a hero of your's like Unknown Soldier partner up with the likes of me. Not only partner up, Peter, but take the GOLD, as well. Soldier ALONE has held the X-Treme Championship longer than anyone, with NO ONE able to even come close to taking it from him. Imagine that unstoppable force standing next to the doctor."

"Scary thought, am I right? Post Warfare after we win the tournament, Mister Lane should just come down to the ring and announce the title's retirement on the spot. Well, after you engrave Team Doctor Satan! on them, of course. There isn't a faction, a team, a friendship, nor acquaintance that could possibly stop the two of us."

"I admire your persistence, my friends. Knowing your fates long before even entering the match must be discouraging, but you continue to try and stay focused. If you're John Black and Reaver, then you're already planning an early night. John Black has a couple doobies and some Old English backstage to spill out for a couple of dead hoodrats he lost control with. Face it, friends, maybe you should just stick to your day jobs? By day jobs I mean whatever jobs you're doing for Shane behind the scenes. I'm sure it somehow involves his own BLACKEST HOLE. Don't lose all hope though, gents, Soldier and I will be back with another friend some day and relieve you of those three straps that you've been carrying around with no value. A title defense once or twice a year doesn't sound so bad, you know? Then you can go back like Little Saddam here and scrape and claw your way anywhere else without a little boost from behind."

"You'd like to meet my little friend, wouldn't you Mister War Pig? A marine and such that you are, I'm sure you'd LOVE five minutes alone with Little Saddam!"

Saddam looks over at the doctor with a look of disgust on his face.

"Fuck you."

The doctor laughs out loud and offers himself a drink from the drink cart across the room.

"Just get with me after the tournament, I can make it happen."

Doc smiles with a twinkle in his eye.

"So you admit that your experience is a little lacking but you've been through enough combat to get you started. I get that. Kill or be killed, right? That's what it's like around here, too. In this FINE federation, it's not just survival of the fittest, but the strongest thrive. I alone have thrived on those benefits. I will again."

"It's good that you have so many high expectations out of yourself, like I said, I adore everyone's persistence during this whole thing. Do yourself a favor, Mister Pig, go ahead and put this tournament behind you. Robbie Bourbon is shaking in his stupid little mask and boots right now just thinking of this tidal wave heading his way. It's not you or Ghost Tank. It's not Peter Gilmour or Brother McBride. It's not the La Familia.... It's this right here. The next XWF Tag Team Champions."

"I DO believe you have what it takes to at least survive around here, thrive though? I'm not certain. First thing you'll have to do is ditch the dead weight. You'll fly much better on your own little pig. Maybe start chasing the gold that's unattainable by those so high up on the mountain. Rules are rules, know what I mean?"

"I'd be willing to bet that the Hart Title is up for a title defense. Maybe after Ghost Tank under performs right in front of your very eyes, you'll smell some blood and get a craving. Unless you WANT to keep teaming up with the guy. If you fall off the horse, I suppose... I would focus on yourself for a bit after this tournament though, my friend. In my professional honest opinion, I think Ghost Tank will eventually slow you down. IF he hasn't already. You've seen his stupid logic haven't you? His stupid logic AND the guy cannot be trusted. He'd do just about anything for that X-Treme Title, F.Y.I. Keep that in the back if, by chance, you two make it to the second round. The guy would turn on you in a second for a chance to win that damned thing."

"Not that it would be a big deal, I mean, you gentlemen would obviously win the match in the process... Which could never happen, but I'm just saying, GT goes a little goofy when that title is around for some reason. I don't think he thinks straight. Isn't that right, Ghost Tank?"

The doctor laughs to himself and finds his way back to the comfortable chair.

"You've definitely made yourself out to be some kind of bad ass in front of all the new people, didn't you? The LONGEST reigning Hart Champion. The MONSTER from WAR GAMES. The MONSTER IN GENERAL. There's a reason no one takes him seriously, B.W.P., it's because he's a liar. Sure, he's thrown a few people around, but he does so carelessly to the point he can't even continue half of the time. Blatant carelessness, my friend. Your size has been proven more than a decent weapon in the past, GT, I've agreed to that. Why else would I allow you into my Asylum? Why else would I have used you for so long? Tiny brain, big heart, no balls."

"In a couple of weeks you're all going to look back and realize what a waste of time this was and how stupid you all were. If you had the pleasure of meeting Team Doctor Satan! during your journey, than you'll probably still be licking your wounds. Whether you're a newcomer like Bearded War Pig or a seasoned veteran like Barney Green, the team of Doctor Louis D'Ville and Unknown Soldier are leaving Warfare as the number one contenders to Mister Bourbon's titles. And we're taking them. So while some of you have hopes and dreams of becoming a champion from nothing, or maybe, you dream of a day where you finally get your revenge on the good doctor FOR WHATEVER that may be. Ha, ha. Just keep dreaming, my friends. Because today is NOT your day."


Saddam grows impatient with Doc and slams down off of the couch.

"Enough talk! You! You want your friend back?"

"I already have him back, Little Saddam. You know I'm the one cutting the deals around here. What were you thinking? Besides, you know I can't do ANYTHING about your legs. Not for... A long time...."

"What do you mean you have him back already? I have him locked away---"

Saddam continues to scream angrily at the doctor.

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The two men carrying Trevor entire another small room, the other guard holding the door shuts the three men inside. The pull another chair up and begin tying Trevor to that one when they here screaming and loud racket from outside the room.

"Go see what is going on!"

The one says to the other. He runs towards the door and swings it open just in time to catch the guard outside of the door get decapitated by the Cockasawkee ridden by Unknown Soldier!

Soldier zooms up the hallway and back down before jumping off and letting it crazy into the doorway to the room they're keeping Trevor in. Soldier jumps over the wreckage and pulls a long double barrel shot gun out of his ass! He cocks it once and points it at the last guard holding a knife to Trevor's throat! Soldier doesn't hesitate and pulls the trigger sending Trevor flying backwards from the impact of the blast.

"LET HIM GO."

Soldier says with the most demonic voice ever.

The guard freaks out and tries pointing his Uzi at Soldier but isn't quick enough and gets disarmed. Soldier picks the guard up into the air as his head gets real big. Big enough to chomp that guards head clean off, and he does.

The doctor steps through the rubble from behind him and sees Trevor lying motionless, tied to a chair, with a shotgun blast through his abdomen.

"You shot him, huh?"

"Yep."

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