Wasting All This Time by punk-pop band Graystar (vs. Odin)
Oct 16, 2021 21:04:56 GMT -5
Lissie Hope, Trey Bouchet, and 1 more like this
Post by Max f'n Daemon on Oct 16, 2021 21:04:56 GMT -5
A secluded room with a single LED O-light that shines on a black fabric couch is where we find our…hero?
He walks into frame with a few things in hand.
Okay, he stumbles into frame with a few things in hand.
He leans over and it all is set on a wooden coffee table in front of the couch. The bottle of Jack Daniels and the taller-than-a-whiskey-glass tip over (I’m serious how do you measure cups), but Max is quick to remedy that. He opens up the bottle and pours the glass about half-full. He then does the same for the bottle of cough syrup until the glass has a decent lip at the top.
Once those are set down, he pops the bottle of Advil and takes a handful of tablets into his mouth. He then drinks about a quarter down from the glass to drown the taste of nothingness that pills provide.
When he’s done he sets the glass on the table and breathes a sigh of content.
“So let’s not get this story twisted.
I won the inaugural Pure Cup—congratulations me—and then immediately, after Odin Balfore, in his infinitely missing wisdom, decided ta’ attack me from behind and put me through a table.
Shit sucks.
But shit was also not the worst thing a fucker has done ta’ me, and trust me Balfore, you are, 100%, a fucker.
From then on out ya' decided ta' tell the world that it wasn’t ‘personal’, it was just ‘business’, and then proceeded ta’ fuck off and get your dick kicked in for two weeks straight.
Yeah we went through some production shit together and probably coulda’ died, but we’re better than that. Ya’ got right up and fucked off again, all without tellin the world why the fuck ya’ decided ta’ attack me in the first place.
Honestly if ya’ had given me a reason I probably woulda’ been more okay with…whatever this has become, but nah, ya’ve remained radio silent since that one promo in the ring that wasn’t even about me.
Look, I don’t like Pasta Mack as much as the next guy, but if ya’re focusin more on him than the guy you attacked, than clearly your priorities are as fucked as your dick is.
Is it cause I won the Pure Cup? I’d sorta understand given your lack of spot in the tournament, but if that’s all ya’ had a problem with, I totally woulda’ fought ya’ then and there that night and not wasted both of our fuckin times.
Is it cause ya’ lost ta’ Dune? I know a big loss can fuckin suck, but if that’s how ya’ go about treatin things than I honestly worry that your mind just isn’t in the right place, which is fuckin terrible for ya’ because there isn’t much left for your mind ta’ go. If that loss really fucked with ya’ than ya’ coulda just gone ta’ Pasta or Dune and gotten a rematch and not wasted both of our fuckin times.
Is it cause you’re on the last lengths of your dwindling career and ya’ decided ta’ challenge somebody ya’ see as a younger version of yourself, or somebody with a higher upstart who can surpass your own career? If that’s the case than just fuckin talk ta’ me like a man and not blindside me like a fuckin pussy and ya' didn’t have ta’ waste our fuckin times.
I hope ya’ understand where I’m comin from so I don’t have ta’ waste our fuckin times explainin it.
You’re a 7 foot freak of nature with more accolades than I’ve got years in this business, and ya’ decided that the best case scenario ta’ get somebody’s attention was ta' attack ‘em while they're not lookin after they're tired from winnin two matches in the same night.
Not only have ya’ officially lost any goodwill ya’ mighta’ had from your honestly stellar matches with Walter and Dune, but now ya’ve gone and decided that I’m your best bet for a next opponent.
Congratulations, ya’ choose poorly. Prepare ta’ be turned ta’ ash like I already know your moments away from doin.
Honestly, it’s pretty fuckin sad that the final moments of Balfore’s career will be on his back, bleedin and wounded because he just couldn’t hang anymore.
It’s not disappointin. It’s fuckin cathartic ta’ watch a supposed legend like Balfore try so hard ta’ make himself look tougher than he is.
Is that why ya’ call yourself Odin? The all-seein god?
I’ve faced gods before. Three, in fact. And it’s fittin that these three gods have somethin in common with ya’.
The first one is…probably the easiest documented.”
Max looks around the room where glimpses of posters of himself are seen. A few of them have a bald man in a suit ominously looming over him.
“And he was a real piece of work. He also overinflated his ability and thought he was still as powerful as he used ta' be, but found out real fuckin quick that young and fast out-beat old and slow any fuckin day of the week. Ya’ might be tough, Balfore, ya’ might be strong, but that’s nothin that I haven’t fought and beaten before.
The second guy was a bit of a bitch, at first. He also liked ta’ blindside people. He was more of a trickster than a fighter, so unfortunately the similarities stop at blindsidin. He was a lot more susceptible ta’ talkin and communicatin and actually explainin what the fuck the point was in whatever he was doin.
I now consider that man my father, for clarity.
The last guy is a lot more on your level, Balfore. Big, scary, always lookin ta’ fight, and doesn’t care about the consequences. He was the most recent God-tier threat, which, for those not in the know, are threats that surpass any known level of strength and power, and are given ta’ those deemed as enemies, or, fittingly, threats.
That big, scary fucker challenged my whole fuckin universe and any other around him.
That big, scary fucker also took on anybody who wanted ta’ end him, and got his fuckin body cut in half before havin it sent into a portal ta’ nobody-fuckin-cares.
Now I’m not gonna do that ta’ you. But I wanted ya’ ta’ be aware of who I’ve faced and make it clear that, quite frankly, Balfore…you’re not a fuckin god.
You’re not worthy of the name ‘Odin’. Not anymore.
When Derrick fuckin Vayden puts up more of a fight and has more of a reason ta’ wanna blindside me, than that says a lot more about you Balfore.”
Max takes another drink from his glass, followed by popping a few more Advil.
“But hey, this is the match Pasta made. You and I, no disqualification, and holy shit, if ya’ weren’t fucked before ya’ sure as shit are now.
Pure Rules and the Hardcore, I Quit style matches I’ve fought in weren’t warm-ups, they were reminders. I’ve fought people outside of this company and how I’ve won is by doin whatever the fuck I need ta’ ta’ whomever the fuck I need ta’ do it ta’.
This style of match might be easier for a lotta guys, but for me, it’s what I was raised with. So yeah, I have the advantage here, 7 foot fuck-all with nothin ta’ show for it or not.
Cause that’s the thing, Balfore. Ya’ might’ve been a marquee wrestler, somebody ta’ keep an eye on, but those years have come and gone. That match at Evolution was a dream match, a ‘main event’ worthy match not in the main event.
Then ya’ had the match at Tokyo Fite. And ya’ fuckin lost. A match that, at that point, nobody truly gave a fuck about. Because nobody gives a fuck about Balfore in Two-Thousand-Twenty-fuckin-One.
But Pasta caved ta’ your whinin and put ya’ in the main World Title match. Your most recent, and I fuckin hope for everyone’s sakes, your last main event.
Oh, and ya’ failed that too.
Ya’ were a fuckin afterthought along with your ‘dream match opponent’ Dune.
And now you’re a fuckin afterthought goin inta’ Execution.
I’m makin my name goin forward; I have a future in this company.
All ya’ have is a past that’s quickly fadin the more ya’ decide ta’ stick with it.
This isn’t Balfore takin on a young guy like Daemon and the latter is gettin his ass beatin with respect by the former.
This is a sad, pathetic, giant tryin his luck against the next big-league shooter and findin out that two firm hands…are better than a shaky one.”
Max takes another drink of his glass. No pills this time.
“It’s fuckin ironic, but it’s true.
It’s futile ta’ resist the truth, Balfore. Ya’ can’t do it anymore and ya’ shouldn’t be given the chances ta’. In a No DQ match against me? Not even the ‘legend’ ya’ mighta’ had stands a chance.
I don’t know why ya’ve come ta’ fight me, but it’ll be your worst, and your last mistake. I have no problem buryin your career inta’ the ground. You wouldn’t be the first old-timer I’ve had to dig a grave for.
And finally…the battle is already won. Why? Because I’m Max fuckin Daemon. And when I have my mind set on somethin so damn much, it’s remembered. I’m not just iconic, the people I face end up bein iconic. Ask Bacchus, ask Baker, ask Kidsgrove in Hollywood, ask Metzger. The only difference between them and you, Balfore, is that they’re not the old man lookin for one last duel.
Ya’ put me through a table.
I’ll put ya’ through the ground.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don’t let the dead bite.”
Max finishes his glass before standing up and exiting the frame.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Once he has traded a glass for a red Solo cup and mixed a new concoction, we see Max standing in the living room of his home.
He takes a sip from the glass before Rebecca takes it from his hand.
She sniffs it once and takes a sip. With a grimace she tosses it over her shoulder, not caring that it’ll probably stain the carpet.
“Fuckin rude…” Max mutters.
“Don’t care. We got a job. Dad’s orders,” she says.
“Great. What’s the gig?”
“Some asshole thought the best way to make himself known is by callin out David’s group.”
When Max raises an eyebrow, Rebecca snorts.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“So we’re, what, the B team?” he asks.
“Pretty much. Let’s go. Dad’s waitin at the docks.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
With the Trio of Two Hands loaded with their eponymous weapons, they ride the boat onwards towards the unnamed island off the coast of this yet unclear version of San Mateo.
“Anybody know why the fuck this guy is in this universe?” Max asks.
“David said it was the closest to his own,” Nathan says.
“Whatever the fuck that means…” Rebecca mutters.
The three of them slowly approach the island off the coast of San Mateo. It’s not a big one, which makes the giant robot that dwarfs the forest there hard to miss.
Why the fuck there’s an island this small unhabituated with a dense forest off the coast of any California is not something Max has ever decided to question.
When the boat lands, the Trio hop off
“Thanks Benny,” Max says.
Benny, the blonde driver in the Hawaiian shirt, tips an imaginary hat before riding off back to shore.
“That thing is hard to miss. When it is defeated, Benny will be back to pick us up,” Nathan says.
“Right. So let’s make this quick,” Max says. “I’ve got plans tonight.”
“What’s her name?” Rebecca asks.
“I dunno, Kenzie, I think.”
“Classy,” Rebecca responds.
“Is that before or after you plan on drowning yourself in that concoction?” Nathan asks.
“Before, duh. I don’t fuck without havin a clear mind. Come on Dad, ya’ know me better than that,” Max says.
“Do I? At this rate I would not be surprised if I find you dead in the hospital from poisoning your system,” Nathan says.
“Let me fucking grieve, okay?”
The Trio pause, noticing the lack of accent in Max’s tone.
“I’m fucking working on it. It’s not fucking easy getting over somebody like her, and I don’t need the worrying father or troubling sister routine to fuck me up here. Let’s just do this fucking job and get back to our lives.”
Max resumes walking, unnoticing of the glance that Nathan and Rebecca share. With a quick, understanding nod, they follow Max.
Once they clear past a set of bushes, they enter the fray where they see the robot stomping around.
And not really doing much else.
With a groan, Max approaches the robot.
“Hey! Big guy!”
His voice goes unheard.
“Hey! Fucker! Open up!”
Once again, the robot continues stomping around seemingly without a care.
“Hey asshole—whoa!”
He dodges a foot that nearly crushed him into the dirt. Nathan and Rebecca approach, their pistols and Berettas respectively at the ready.
“Oh fuck this,” Max says.
He pulls out his own two pistols and fires a some shots into the legs.
Rebecca fires her babies at the middle while Nathan aims for the head.
After emptying their guns into the robot, it stops.
“Oh good we got its attention,” Max says.
The face of the robot opens, revealing…
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Rebecca mutters.
“Fuckin kill me…” Max joins in with a mutter.
“He certainly looks more…vibrant,” Nathan outright says.
“Greetings heroic fools!” the shrill voice at the top of the machine squeaks.
“Rebecca, let me borrow your Beretta,” Max says.
“No, I’m takin your pistol.”
As the two begin arguing and fighting over the other’s handgun, Nathan approaches the machine.
With a look of confusion, the voice at the top looks down.
“Um…what’s happening?” it squeaks.
“Revy! Max!” Nathan exclaims.
The two immediately stop with the other’s gun pointed at themselves. Pointless as it might’ve been with no bullets, they still stop and stare at their dad.
“Yo,” they say simultaneously.
“It is really not worth it,” Nathan simply says.
They let go before staring up at the boy at the top.
“I feel like this isn’t going the way I planned it,” said boy squeaks.
“Get down here Eugene,” Nathan orders.
“Um…”
“Yo! BB! Let’s stop this shit and go home! You’re wastin everyone’s time!” Max calls out.
“Seriously! Let’s fuckin go!” Rebecca shouts.
After a few moments of confusion more than anything else, the boy at the top closes the face of the robot. Some noises in the robot’s middle are heard before the boy…exits out of the robot’s ass.
Creation of a true boy…
The Trio approach said boy, who stands to his feet and looks up at the older three.
“Who the fuck rebooted this kid…?” Max asks.
“Reboots are all the shit right now. The real question is why the fuck the Council let him out,” Rebecca says.
“Because he’s harmless,” Nathan says.
“I am not harmless! I am a rich, evil boy genius who will fight your insidious fourth group out of love!” Eugene exclaims to the heavens with a point to the sky.
Max and Rebecca share eye contact and a smirk for a moment before simultaneously slapping the boy’s head.
“Ow! My newly animated head!”
“Eugene, go back to your own universe,” Nathan orders.
“Why aren’t you calling me Bling Bling? It’s weird to hear people call me by real name who isn’t my beloved or her sister,” Eugene says.
“We will slap you again,” Rebecca says.
“That isn’t a threat. It’s a promise,” Max says.
Eugene shrieks and starts to approach the robot’s…ass.
“Tell whomever sent you that if they want to talk to David’s group, or start a fight, to come see me,” Nathan says.
“You got it sir!”
After Eugene reaches the top of the robot, it raises its fists in the air and flies to the sky via jet packs on its back.
When the wind has died down and the Trio are left standing there, they just watch the poor rich evil boy fly away into the clouds.
Rebecca then turns towards Max.
“Look, I get that losing somebody you love fuckin sucks. Trust me, I get it,” she says.
“Ya’ lost Rock for like a month because he’s a fuckin moron too into his own head sometimes,” Max states.
“But! And here’s the fuckin but, Max, so shut the fuck up. But…I took some time to think on it. I didn’t just keep goin with my life, I—”
“Ya’ fell into a bottle, same as me. Ya’ just had your Company there ta’ pull ya’ out tits first when ya’ started ta’ forget ta’ breathe.”
Rebecca turns red, growling and starting to fume.
“Fuck this! Dad, talk to him before he kills himself for good!”
She storms off back through the bushes. Max watches her leave with narrowed eyes.
“You are going to have to apologize to her,” Nathan says.
“I know,” Max says with a sigh.
“I know that our advice might be the same as Pagan’s, but it is true. You forcing yourself to work, either in wrestling or with whatever David has you doing, isn’t good. And drinking your concoction and popping pills in order to forget what she looked like, how she sounded like, and what it was like to be with her is not going to solve anything.”
Max looks at Nathan with a growl.
“I’ve made my bed. I’m ready ta’ fuckin lie in it.”
Nathan sighs and places a hand on Max’s right shoulder.
“No matter how many times you want to act like you’re alone, like this is it, trust me, Max. There will always be a future. And you will always have me.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not.”
Nathan’s grip tightens.
“It’s a promise.”
He walks into frame with a few things in hand.
Okay, he stumbles into frame with a few things in hand.
He leans over and it all is set on a wooden coffee table in front of the couch. The bottle of Jack Daniels and the taller-than-a-whiskey-glass tip over (I’m serious how do you measure cups), but Max is quick to remedy that. He opens up the bottle and pours the glass about half-full. He then does the same for the bottle of cough syrup until the glass has a decent lip at the top.
Once those are set down, he pops the bottle of Advil and takes a handful of tablets into his mouth. He then drinks about a quarter down from the glass to drown the taste of nothingness that pills provide.
When he’s done he sets the glass on the table and breathes a sigh of content.
“So let’s not get this story twisted.
I won the inaugural Pure Cup—congratulations me—and then immediately, after Odin Balfore, in his infinitely missing wisdom, decided ta’ attack me from behind and put me through a table.
Shit sucks.
But shit was also not the worst thing a fucker has done ta’ me, and trust me Balfore, you are, 100%, a fucker.
From then on out ya' decided ta' tell the world that it wasn’t ‘personal’, it was just ‘business’, and then proceeded ta’ fuck off and get your dick kicked in for two weeks straight.
Yeah we went through some production shit together and probably coulda’ died, but we’re better than that. Ya’ got right up and fucked off again, all without tellin the world why the fuck ya’ decided ta’ attack me in the first place.
Honestly if ya’ had given me a reason I probably woulda’ been more okay with…whatever this has become, but nah, ya’ve remained radio silent since that one promo in the ring that wasn’t even about me.
Look, I don’t like Pasta Mack as much as the next guy, but if ya’re focusin more on him than the guy you attacked, than clearly your priorities are as fucked as your dick is.
Is it cause I won the Pure Cup? I’d sorta understand given your lack of spot in the tournament, but if that’s all ya’ had a problem with, I totally woulda’ fought ya’ then and there that night and not wasted both of our fuckin times.
Is it cause ya’ lost ta’ Dune? I know a big loss can fuckin suck, but if that’s how ya’ go about treatin things than I honestly worry that your mind just isn’t in the right place, which is fuckin terrible for ya’ because there isn’t much left for your mind ta’ go. If that loss really fucked with ya’ than ya’ coulda just gone ta’ Pasta or Dune and gotten a rematch and not wasted both of our fuckin times.
Is it cause you’re on the last lengths of your dwindling career and ya’ decided ta’ challenge somebody ya’ see as a younger version of yourself, or somebody with a higher upstart who can surpass your own career? If that’s the case than just fuckin talk ta’ me like a man and not blindside me like a fuckin pussy and ya' didn’t have ta’ waste our fuckin times.
I hope ya’ understand where I’m comin from so I don’t have ta’ waste our fuckin times explainin it.
You’re a 7 foot freak of nature with more accolades than I’ve got years in this business, and ya’ decided that the best case scenario ta’ get somebody’s attention was ta' attack ‘em while they're not lookin after they're tired from winnin two matches in the same night.
Not only have ya’ officially lost any goodwill ya’ mighta’ had from your honestly stellar matches with Walter and Dune, but now ya’ve gone and decided that I’m your best bet for a next opponent.
Congratulations, ya’ choose poorly. Prepare ta’ be turned ta’ ash like I already know your moments away from doin.
Honestly, it’s pretty fuckin sad that the final moments of Balfore’s career will be on his back, bleedin and wounded because he just couldn’t hang anymore.
It’s not disappointin. It’s fuckin cathartic ta’ watch a supposed legend like Balfore try so hard ta’ make himself look tougher than he is.
Is that why ya’ call yourself Odin? The all-seein god?
I’ve faced gods before. Three, in fact. And it’s fittin that these three gods have somethin in common with ya’.
The first one is…probably the easiest documented.”
Max looks around the room where glimpses of posters of himself are seen. A few of them have a bald man in a suit ominously looming over him.
“And he was a real piece of work. He also overinflated his ability and thought he was still as powerful as he used ta' be, but found out real fuckin quick that young and fast out-beat old and slow any fuckin day of the week. Ya’ might be tough, Balfore, ya’ might be strong, but that’s nothin that I haven’t fought and beaten before.
The second guy was a bit of a bitch, at first. He also liked ta’ blindside people. He was more of a trickster than a fighter, so unfortunately the similarities stop at blindsidin. He was a lot more susceptible ta’ talkin and communicatin and actually explainin what the fuck the point was in whatever he was doin.
I now consider that man my father, for clarity.
The last guy is a lot more on your level, Balfore. Big, scary, always lookin ta’ fight, and doesn’t care about the consequences. He was the most recent God-tier threat, which, for those not in the know, are threats that surpass any known level of strength and power, and are given ta’ those deemed as enemies, or, fittingly, threats.
That big, scary fucker challenged my whole fuckin universe and any other around him.
That big, scary fucker also took on anybody who wanted ta’ end him, and got his fuckin body cut in half before havin it sent into a portal ta’ nobody-fuckin-cares.
Now I’m not gonna do that ta’ you. But I wanted ya’ ta’ be aware of who I’ve faced and make it clear that, quite frankly, Balfore…you’re not a fuckin god.
You’re not worthy of the name ‘Odin’. Not anymore.
When Derrick fuckin Vayden puts up more of a fight and has more of a reason ta’ wanna blindside me, than that says a lot more about you Balfore.”
Max takes another drink from his glass, followed by popping a few more Advil.
“But hey, this is the match Pasta made. You and I, no disqualification, and holy shit, if ya’ weren’t fucked before ya’ sure as shit are now.
Pure Rules and the Hardcore, I Quit style matches I’ve fought in weren’t warm-ups, they were reminders. I’ve fought people outside of this company and how I’ve won is by doin whatever the fuck I need ta’ ta’ whomever the fuck I need ta’ do it ta’.
This style of match might be easier for a lotta guys, but for me, it’s what I was raised with. So yeah, I have the advantage here, 7 foot fuck-all with nothin ta’ show for it or not.
Cause that’s the thing, Balfore. Ya’ might’ve been a marquee wrestler, somebody ta’ keep an eye on, but those years have come and gone. That match at Evolution was a dream match, a ‘main event’ worthy match not in the main event.
Then ya’ had the match at Tokyo Fite. And ya’ fuckin lost. A match that, at that point, nobody truly gave a fuck about. Because nobody gives a fuck about Balfore in Two-Thousand-Twenty-fuckin-One.
But Pasta caved ta’ your whinin and put ya’ in the main World Title match. Your most recent, and I fuckin hope for everyone’s sakes, your last main event.
Oh, and ya’ failed that too.
Ya’ were a fuckin afterthought along with your ‘dream match opponent’ Dune.
And now you’re a fuckin afterthought goin inta’ Execution.
I’m makin my name goin forward; I have a future in this company.
All ya’ have is a past that’s quickly fadin the more ya’ decide ta’ stick with it.
This isn’t Balfore takin on a young guy like Daemon and the latter is gettin his ass beatin with respect by the former.
This is a sad, pathetic, giant tryin his luck against the next big-league shooter and findin out that two firm hands…are better than a shaky one.”
Max takes another drink of his glass. No pills this time.
“It’s fuckin ironic, but it’s true.
It’s futile ta’ resist the truth, Balfore. Ya’ can’t do it anymore and ya’ shouldn’t be given the chances ta’. In a No DQ match against me? Not even the ‘legend’ ya’ mighta’ had stands a chance.
I don’t know why ya’ve come ta’ fight me, but it’ll be your worst, and your last mistake. I have no problem buryin your career inta’ the ground. You wouldn’t be the first old-timer I’ve had to dig a grave for.
And finally…the battle is already won. Why? Because I’m Max fuckin Daemon. And when I have my mind set on somethin so damn much, it’s remembered. I’m not just iconic, the people I face end up bein iconic. Ask Bacchus, ask Baker, ask Kidsgrove in Hollywood, ask Metzger. The only difference between them and you, Balfore, is that they’re not the old man lookin for one last duel.
Ya’ put me through a table.
I’ll put ya’ through the ground.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Don’t let the dead bite.”
Max finishes his glass before standing up and exiting the frame.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Once he has traded a glass for a red Solo cup and mixed a new concoction, we see Max standing in the living room of his home.
He takes a sip from the glass before Rebecca takes it from his hand.
She sniffs it once and takes a sip. With a grimace she tosses it over her shoulder, not caring that it’ll probably stain the carpet.
“Fuckin rude…” Max mutters.
“Don’t care. We got a job. Dad’s orders,” she says.
“Great. What’s the gig?”
“Some asshole thought the best way to make himself known is by callin out David’s group.”
When Max raises an eyebrow, Rebecca snorts.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“So we’re, what, the B team?” he asks.
“Pretty much. Let’s go. Dad’s waitin at the docks.”
-----------------------------------------------------------
With the Trio of Two Hands loaded with their eponymous weapons, they ride the boat onwards towards the unnamed island off the coast of this yet unclear version of San Mateo.
“Anybody know why the fuck this guy is in this universe?” Max asks.
“David said it was the closest to his own,” Nathan says.
“Whatever the fuck that means…” Rebecca mutters.
The three of them slowly approach the island off the coast of San Mateo. It’s not a big one, which makes the giant robot that dwarfs the forest there hard to miss.
Why the fuck there’s an island this small unhabituated with a dense forest off the coast of any California is not something Max has ever decided to question.
When the boat lands, the Trio hop off
“Thanks Benny,” Max says.
Benny, the blonde driver in the Hawaiian shirt, tips an imaginary hat before riding off back to shore.
“That thing is hard to miss. When it is defeated, Benny will be back to pick us up,” Nathan says.
“Right. So let’s make this quick,” Max says. “I’ve got plans tonight.”
“What’s her name?” Rebecca asks.
“I dunno, Kenzie, I think.”
“Classy,” Rebecca responds.
“Is that before or after you plan on drowning yourself in that concoction?” Nathan asks.
“Before, duh. I don’t fuck without havin a clear mind. Come on Dad, ya’ know me better than that,” Max says.
“Do I? At this rate I would not be surprised if I find you dead in the hospital from poisoning your system,” Nathan says.
“Let me fucking grieve, okay?”
The Trio pause, noticing the lack of accent in Max’s tone.
“I’m fucking working on it. It’s not fucking easy getting over somebody like her, and I don’t need the worrying father or troubling sister routine to fuck me up here. Let’s just do this fucking job and get back to our lives.”
Max resumes walking, unnoticing of the glance that Nathan and Rebecca share. With a quick, understanding nod, they follow Max.
Once they clear past a set of bushes, they enter the fray where they see the robot stomping around.
And not really doing much else.
With a groan, Max approaches the robot.
“Hey! Big guy!”
His voice goes unheard.
“Hey! Fucker! Open up!”
Once again, the robot continues stomping around seemingly without a care.
“Hey asshole—whoa!”
He dodges a foot that nearly crushed him into the dirt. Nathan and Rebecca approach, their pistols and Berettas respectively at the ready.
“Oh fuck this,” Max says.
He pulls out his own two pistols and fires a some shots into the legs.
Rebecca fires her babies at the middle while Nathan aims for the head.
After emptying their guns into the robot, it stops.
“Oh good we got its attention,” Max says.
The face of the robot opens, revealing…
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Rebecca mutters.
“Fuckin kill me…” Max joins in with a mutter.
“He certainly looks more…vibrant,” Nathan outright says.
“Greetings heroic fools!” the shrill voice at the top of the machine squeaks.
“Rebecca, let me borrow your Beretta,” Max says.
“No, I’m takin your pistol.”
As the two begin arguing and fighting over the other’s handgun, Nathan approaches the machine.
With a look of confusion, the voice at the top looks down.
“Um…what’s happening?” it squeaks.
“Revy! Max!” Nathan exclaims.
The two immediately stop with the other’s gun pointed at themselves. Pointless as it might’ve been with no bullets, they still stop and stare at their dad.
“Yo,” they say simultaneously.
“It is really not worth it,” Nathan simply says.
They let go before staring up at the boy at the top.
“I feel like this isn’t going the way I planned it,” said boy squeaks.
“Get down here Eugene,” Nathan orders.
“Um…”
“Yo! BB! Let’s stop this shit and go home! You’re wastin everyone’s time!” Max calls out.
“Seriously! Let’s fuckin go!” Rebecca shouts.
After a few moments of confusion more than anything else, the boy at the top closes the face of the robot. Some noises in the robot’s middle are heard before the boy…exits out of the robot’s ass.
Creation of a true boy…
The Trio approach said boy, who stands to his feet and looks up at the older three.
“Who the fuck rebooted this kid…?” Max asks.
“Reboots are all the shit right now. The real question is why the fuck the Council let him out,” Rebecca says.
“Because he’s harmless,” Nathan says.
“I am not harmless! I am a rich, evil boy genius who will fight your insidious fourth group out of love!” Eugene exclaims to the heavens with a point to the sky.
Max and Rebecca share eye contact and a smirk for a moment before simultaneously slapping the boy’s head.
“Ow! My newly animated head!”
“Eugene, go back to your own universe,” Nathan orders.
“Why aren’t you calling me Bling Bling? It’s weird to hear people call me by real name who isn’t my beloved or her sister,” Eugene says.
“We will slap you again,” Rebecca says.
“That isn’t a threat. It’s a promise,” Max says.
Eugene shrieks and starts to approach the robot’s…ass.
“Tell whomever sent you that if they want to talk to David’s group, or start a fight, to come see me,” Nathan says.
“You got it sir!”
After Eugene reaches the top of the robot, it raises its fists in the air and flies to the sky via jet packs on its back.
When the wind has died down and the Trio are left standing there, they just watch the poor rich evil boy fly away into the clouds.
Rebecca then turns towards Max.
“Look, I get that losing somebody you love fuckin sucks. Trust me, I get it,” she says.
“Ya’ lost Rock for like a month because he’s a fuckin moron too into his own head sometimes,” Max states.
“But! And here’s the fuckin but, Max, so shut the fuck up. But…I took some time to think on it. I didn’t just keep goin with my life, I—”
“Ya’ fell into a bottle, same as me. Ya’ just had your Company there ta’ pull ya’ out tits first when ya’ started ta’ forget ta’ breathe.”
Rebecca turns red, growling and starting to fume.
“Fuck this! Dad, talk to him before he kills himself for good!”
She storms off back through the bushes. Max watches her leave with narrowed eyes.
“You are going to have to apologize to her,” Nathan says.
“I know,” Max says with a sigh.
“I know that our advice might be the same as Pagan’s, but it is true. You forcing yourself to work, either in wrestling or with whatever David has you doing, isn’t good. And drinking your concoction and popping pills in order to forget what she looked like, how she sounded like, and what it was like to be with her is not going to solve anything.”
Max looks at Nathan with a growl.
“I’ve made my bed. I’m ready ta’ fuckin lie in it.”
Nathan sighs and places a hand on Max’s right shoulder.
“No matter how many times you want to act like you’re alone, like this is it, trust me, Max. There will always be a future. And you will always have me.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not.”
Nathan’s grip tightens.
“It’s a promise.”