Post by Andrew Logan on May 16, 2020 18:45:31 GMT -5
~Andrew Logan sits back in his seat, filling up the majority of it easily while still looking uncomfortable. He looks out the window at the buildings going by, as if analyzing their structural integrity. He has the sack he took from the drug peddler sitting to the side, with the dead man's cell phone sitting on top. Logan wants nothing more than to be left alone for the next thirty minutes.~
Woman - Excuse me!
~Andrew slowly looks up at the woman standing nearby him. She is wearing an N95 mask across her face, and her two children are masked up as well. Neither looks particularly happy. The woman isn't exactly shooting sunshine out of her ass, either.
Woman - Don't you know that you should be wearing a mask while on public transportation?? Don't you care about the dangers of the Corona Virus? You're putting all of us at risk!!
~Andrew glances left, then right. There are no other passengers on the bus at the moment. The driver can be seen looking into his rearview mirror, expecting trouble.~
Woman - Well? What do you have to say for yourself??
Andrew Logan - Take your kids to the other side of the bus, and leave me alone. That's your only warning. Miss.
~The woman looks shocked at Andrew's comments, even as he sits back and lays his head towards the window, still staring out. She thinks about saying something else, stepping forward... and noticing what appears to be dried blood on the side of Andrew's shirt. She immediately shuts up and directs her children away towards the back of the bus. Andrew doesn't watch her go. He keeps staring out, with his eyes closing ever so briefly...~
~Andrew is standing in a ratty, torn up living room. He's got a newspaper in his hands, with the headline "Brutal Murders Stump Police Force" across the front page. Andrew lets the newspaper fall to the floor, watching it seem to disappear under the layers of the carpet as if it never existed. He slowly turns to the woman standing to his right. Her face is caked in blood, her eyes rolled back in her head. Yet she still seems to see Andrew, smiling at him.~
Blonde - I miss you... I miss you so much...
Andrew Logan - I miss you too... every day...
~The wrestler tries to walk towards her, but there seems to be a distance between them that can't be breached. She smiles at him, raising her hand his direction.~
Blonde - All you have to do is find him, honey. Find him and get your revenge. Once you do that, we can be together forever, you and I...
Andrew Logan - He will never escape me. I swear to you!
Blonde - I hope to see you soon...
Andrew Logan - Wait!
~But the woman is already dissolving into mist. She fades, as Andrew once again feels the rage that drives him, the rage that will lead him to his own brother.~
~Andrew shakes himself awake, looking around for a moment and checking the next stop. He's still got a few more to go, so he leans back, still lost in his thoughts. A voice-over begins, as we watch the journey continue.~
My return to OCW did not meet expectations. Roach turned out to be just as big a waste of time as I thought he would be. I don't know why someone like him was put into a big-money tournament like this. It was like Richard Simmons fighting Muhammad Ali. Everyone knew the ending before it even started. The management in OCW should give me a bonus just for having to soil my hands with his fucking ass.
In the meantime, I've watched the other bracket become an absolute fucking joke. Some chick who never did anything in OCW but fail has somehow become the Women's Champion by beating a retired, forgotten old hag and is now the favorite to go through. Her only foe? Jason Chase, a complete and utter loser who should have been in the same class as Roach. Unfortunately, it was Lilith's time of the month or something. The only thing to worry about with Chase is if he's gotten his hands on a magical genie or a monkey's paw or something, because there's no way that fucker should still be here.
Our bracket looks a little bit better, but almost any bracket would. Chad Vargas, the old codger, took down his woman, The Incredible One lived up to his name, and I broke Roach in two. Like a leveling up RPG, though, now I have to face the mother boss: Cheyenne Tabernacke, lover of roaches. A total freak-show who somehow got into the second round. I've already shown I can stomp roaches into paste; she should learn the lesson of the first guy I trashed and not show up on Monday.
If she doesn't... I'm an equal opportunity bug smasher. I don't take it easy on anyone, woman or man. You step into my ring, you pay the price, no matter who you are.
~The bus hits its next stop, with Andrew looking up to check. Seeing the address he was looking for, he gets up, making his way to the front. The bus driver doesn't even look his direction, while the woman and her kids got off a few stops ago. Andrew steps down, looking around the street as the bus quickly leaves behind him. He takes a couple of steps, only to see a police car waiting for him. The two police officers get out, stepping towards him. Both are wearing masks.~
Police Officer #1 - Hold it right there, sir. We had a complaint called in about a guy on that bus. Was it you? Is that blood on your shirt?
~Andrew looks down at it, laughing. It sounds... unnatural coming from him.~
Andrew Logan - That? I spilled some ketchup on me earlier. Stupid hamburger was leaking, didn't realize it until it was too late.
~The two police officers get a little closer, studying the shirt. It's hard to say that it's ketchup and not blood, but who knows for sure when it comes to Andrew Logan?~
Police Officer - Can I see some identification?
~Obediently, Andrew pulls his wallet out slowly and takes out a driver's license, handing it over. The officer studies it for a minute and calls back on the radio, asking for a check, while the second officer stays ready. It's clear he's a little nervous about Andrew's size, as pretty much anyone else would be. The radio comes back with a response, and the first officer finally smiles and hands the ID back.~
Police Officer #1 - Okay, you're cleared, Mr. Robertson. Just get your shirt cleaned, okay? And you might want to think about wearing a mask. No one can force you, but it would be good for your own health and the health of others.
Andrew Logan - Yeah, I'll look into that right away, officer. Thank you.
~The two police officers get back in their car, shaking their head at having wasted time chasing an innocent bystander. "Mr. Robertson" turns and walks away, hefting his sack over his shoulder. He's headed right down the street, towards a three-story building.~
It's not that I hate you, Cheyenne. You might actually be a good wrestler in your own right. You beat Bob Grenier, even made him pass out. Good for you. But a win over someone like Grenier is worthless to me. He was never considered a threat to anyone. Neither are you.
You think The Incredible One or Chad Vargas are sweating you? They probably don't even know you exist. If they do know about you, they can't possibly care, because they're more worried about someone like me. A force of nature, a man who will gladly do whatever it takes to have things end in my favor. You're a crazy old bitch who needs a good trip to the mental institution. Maybe an enema will wash out those cockroaches you let nest deep inside.
When I lift you up in the Believer, your pets will just have to watch as you scream your guts out. Maybe you can tap out, and I'll let your pain end there. Maybe I'll drop you to the ground and shut your lights out. Or maybe I should follow your own example. There's no reason I should let you out the hold until you're passed out, is there? And just before the blackness overtakes you and puts you into blissful slumber, you'll hear my voice... laughing.
I'm on my way up, Cheyenne. I'm showing these OCW fans once again why I was the monster of the Omega years, and why I should be in that fucking Hall of Fame. I'm showing the world that Andrew Logan wasn't just a tag-team partner of a skilled brother, but a star in his own right. A star that will be burning right through you on Monday night. Prepare yourself for judgement.
~Andrew walks up to the building, which looks similar to most structures around it. There is a security panel on the door, most likely placed there to keep out people who look like Logan. But he pulls a card from his pocket and slides it in, listening for the beep. He takes the card back and enters into the building. We go inside with him, seeing an average-looking space with several workers sitting at computer terminals in different areas. Andrew stops at one, looking at the occupant.~
Andrew Logan - Malcolm?
~The man starts, then turns around, pulling out his head phones.~
Malcolm - Andrew? Fuck, didn't know you were back in town, pally!
Andrew Logan - Can you take a look at this phone for me? There's a record on it with info about... Anthony.
Malcolm - You serious? What am I saying, you're always serious. Let me take a look and I'll get back to you.
Andrew Logan - Thanks, Malcolm. Gotta go see the boss.
~Andrew heads on towards one of the offices, knocking on the door. He then goes inside, barely waiting for a response. An older, fit man is standing there, having gotten up from behind his desk.~
Andrew Logan - Hello, Arthur.
Arthur Logan - "Arthur", huh? No "Uncle Art"?
Andrew Logan - I thought were were past these games.
Arthur Logan - And I thought you were over your anger issues. Do you remember me sending you to deliver a message to Rocko and his boys?
Andrew Logan - I think they got the message, Arthur.
Arthur Logan - But they're dead, so it doesn't fucking matter! Shit, Andrew... nobody's going to miss them, but there was always a chance they could be valuable in the future. You shouldn't have done it.
Andrew Logan - I got what I was looking for, and I think you'll see the 'message' gets carried around just fine to the other drug pushers in the area.
~Arthur sighs and sits back down at the desk.~
Arthur Logan - Did you at least get us anything to help me clear things with the guys upstairs?
~Without a word, Andrew puts the sack up on the table. Arthur opens it and looks inside. Slowly his smile returns to his face as he starts taking out blocks of cash.~
Arthur Logan - I think I can sell this to them. Rocko must have been holding out, to have this much cash available. So I heard you're wrestling again.
Andrew Logan - You heard right.
Arthur Logan - Don't know if that's a good idea. You might get distracted from your other duties.
Andrew Logan - You want to try and stop me?
Arthur Logan - No, I know better than to step in front of a moving train. Just keep in mind that I can't always protect you, especially from yourself.
Andrew Logan - Words of wisdom heard. Can I go?
Arthur Logan - Yeah, get the fuck out.
~Arthur goes back to counting, as Andrew turns and leaves. He played that whole interaction with his uncle as if he actually cared, but both know he doesn't. Not anymore.~
Will anyone remember you, Cheyenne, once your wrestling career is over? It might sound like a trite question, but I ask it honestly. Many wrestlers are after fame and fortune in some order or another. The money is great, but being recognized as a star is on a whole other level. I once thought I would be one of those wrestlers that went down in history like Scott Syren or Scorpion. But it didn't happen. I was disappointed. I was left behind in a pile of misery and bullshit the likes of which you've probably never seen... wait, you enjoy bathing in cockroaches. Never mind.
The honest answer for me, Cheyenne, is that you could actually be remembered. But it will be for your gimmick, not for any semblance of skill in the ring. People won't speak of the amazing run of Cheyenne Tabernacke at the top of any company. They'll talk about that disgusting whore who played with bugs and somehow didn't die of multiple diseases. They'll remember you only by how gross you are. Maybe that's enough for you. I don't know.
If I have my way on Monday, maybe I can make them remember you for a different reason. Maybe I can break you of your cockroach habit and send you on a better path. Maybe I will just break you. But the ending's the same, Cheyenne: you fall, you lose, and I win and move on. There is no other possible outcome.
~Andrew walks out of his uncle's office, making his way towards the front. But Malcolm waves him down, directing him to come over. Andrew, intrigued, approaches him.~
Andrew Logan - You can't have something already...
Malcolm - You doubt my unholy powers of the Internet, ma man? Get a load of this!
~Andrew leans in, checking out the information on the screen. He doesn't move, reading intently, but you can see both hands are now gripping tightly on the edge of the desk, probably leaving little impressions where he's squeezing.~
Malcolm - Honestly, it was surprisingly easy to track him down with the info you gave me. Too easy, in my opinion. Feels like a trap, pally.
Andrew Logan - Given the location... I'm sure it is. But it makes a lot of sense. Glad I kept a little of the cash instead of giving it to the old man. I'm going to need it.
~Andrew, looking a little shaken for the first time in forever, turns and walks away. Malcolm, confused, punches up more information on the destination: a little place called Chillingham Castle, where Andrew Logan once spent a year in torture and supernatural horror thanks in part to OCW. It was hell on earth for Andrew Logan.~
~And now, it's time to go back.~
