Clutch eyes the Anarchy card on the wall of Anarchy HQ offices. Her jaw is crooked in that classic ‘dumb person look.’ She squints her eyes, as if that’ll help.  “Hey, yo, what’s this shit?  I don’t understand.”

A paper pusher is walking by at this moment, and she snatches him next to her.



“You look smart, sugar. Help a darlin’ out. Is that there Spirit Halloween match I’m in a thing where I hafta fight alongside a random Spirit Halloween employee? How do I win? Do I try to beat Tact and Oz, or do I try to beat their random Spirit Halloween employee, or do I try to beat all of them?”

The poor guy pushes his glasses back up to his eyes. “Um, yes ma’am, that’s correct.” The information on the card is pretty self-explanatory, but he is too much of a nice guy or too much of a scaredy-cat to let her know how dumb she is being.

Clutch gives him a once-over, looks at the card, then back to him. “Which fuckin’ part am I correct on?”

He sighs. “All of them.” It’s not nice to interrupt a paper pusher in the commission of their paperly duties, but definitely not cool to drop profanities in their presence. Paper pushers are instrumental in people getting their pay, getting their information; it’s a thankless job. They get no respect. So, he’s told her the least best option.

“SON OF A BITCH!” She replies, snatching off her backwards Tennessee Titans ballcap and stomping it on the ground. “Shitfire! Dayum! Tryin’ to scrap with Oz or Tact one on one would be a fight I’d hafta pack a breakfast, lunch, and dinner for… especially for a rookie like me…. But now I gotta fight both and random ass Spirit Halloween employees?”

She’s flummoxed, hands on her hips. The paper pusher turns to sneak away, but something within him tells him to stay and help.

“Um, well..” The man butts-in. “Mr. Tact is quite old and forgetful; maybe he’ll forget he has the employee partner? Maybe he’ll forget where to go to fight? He is quite hot-headed, too, and it gets the better of him. A real got-it-alone type because people inherently don’t trust him, and justifiably so. If there was ever a match you could win against him, it might actually be this one, ma’am.”

Clutch’s eyes grow. “Goshdamn, Watson! You might be onto something.” She rubs her chin inquisitively like Sherlock Holmes would. The paper pusher’s name isn’t Watson, but he refrains from correcting her as she continues.. “I’ve heard he has as many daggers in people's backs as he does title reigns, so that’s a fuckin’ lot. Ain’t no way his random ass employee partner is gonna trust him, and he’s gonna get tunnel vision like he does in the gym when he’s running another roid stack.”

She paces, hope rising.

Then, on a dime, she stops and looks crestfallen. “That’s all well and good, sugarbooger. Mr. Oz is a different damn beast, though. Dude’s bigger than Tact. Probably has the same roid dealer or whatever. The good shit. But the only weaknesses he has are that he’s not technical at all, but for fuck sake, neither am I, and he has a tough time getting out of submissions, but hot fuckin’ damn ain’t no way my small ass is gonna get him in a submission anyway. So the fucker has no weaknesses.”

Clutch resumes pacing, and the paper pusher’s head and eyes follow her back and forth like a cat watching its owner taunt it with a toy. “Ma’am, um, I mean, Ms. Clutch, you are entirely correct. Mr. Oz is by far the bigger threat in this specific type of match. His work in Chicago, all that he’s provided the city, and how he’s elevated it to nearly a utopia, is a testament to how well he works with people and influences them. He’d fare well with even a random Spirit Halloween employee.”

“Exactly, Watson! He’s that weird ass combo of muscles and mind-might.” She suddenly rips the match card off the wall and wads it in her hand. “I’m not supposed to like the fella, but I do. He makes me wanna move to Chicago. He created hover cars for them, Watson! HOVER CARS! Next will be flying cars, and everyone knows I love my cars!”

He nods slowly. “Right. Well, I dunno about you, but if I were you, since Mr. Oz is the larger threat, I’d strike a temporary deal with Tact when the match starts. It’s an elimination match, right? So, just help Tact take out Oz’s employee.”

Once more, she stops pacing, hope resurfacing.

“Brilliant, Watson!”

For the first time during this encounter, the paper pusher smiles, loving the compliment despite the wrong name. He doesn’t get compliments often. “Thank you.”

She stares dreamily into the distance. “Oh, I get to dress my companion in a costume. What if I costume mine as Tact himself? That arrogant fucker ain’t gonna hurt an image of himself. Or maybe I’ll costume my companion as one of the marginalized folks Oz champions? Ain’t no way he’ll hurt one of them, as nobody should.” She taps her temple like she’s Einstein.

“Well, seems like you got it sorted.”

He turns, leaving, but she yoinks him by the tie. “Naw, hun. You just quit.” She slaps the paper stack out of his hands. “I’m your employer now.” She drags him through he building, he secretly kinda likes it. This is liberating for him despite his pride in doing shitty paperwork. He sees superiors who got the paper-job promotions he should’ve gotten, and he swats papers out of their hands as they exit. Their expressions awaken something in him, and he DX crotch-chops them.

Outside, in her muscle car, she force-drinks him White Claw. He gags.

She yells, “BE A MAN!”

He morphs.

He chugs.

Clutch grins, “YOU’RE FUCKIN’ DANGEROUS, MAVERICK!”

“I’M FUCKING DANGEROUS!”