Post by Bonnie Blue on Dec 19, 2021 14:33:06 GMT -5
Crimson eyes scan the horizon of a vast, empty wasteland. Wind howls through the canyons of what once had been a shining city.
Their city.
Chicago.
The harbor is dry, its bottom lined with the jumbled wreckage of ocean freighters and pleasure craft. Exposed ironworks rise into the air, the desiccated remains of formerly majestic skyscrapers. Rats, the size of Rottweilers, prowl among piles of rubbish in tightly regimented patrols; carefully avoiding three human figures as they emerge from the city’s barbed-wire perimeter. Sunlight filters weakly through the thick gloom, a solitary shaft spotlighting a campaign billboard: black against a red background, the face of David Sanchez sneers down at them in a mockery of the famous image of Che Guevara.
As if guided by some unseen hand, the sunlight moves down to pick out the trio, revealing the familiar forms of Alex Richards, Rebecca Thatch, and Bonnie Blue.
Bonnie adjusts her sunglasses and glances over at Rebecca.
“Anything?”
Overhead, the clouds rumble ominously. Alex’s girlfriend shakes her head. Thanks to the application of Nikola Tesla’s scientific ingenuity and some alien technology nobody had asked too many questions about, Rebecca Thatch had been gifted with sight after a lifetime of blindness. Sight -- and a little something more.
“Switching to spectral scanning now,” she replies.
Her vision alters, the color draining from the scene before her. Not that there had been much to begin with. She frowns, focusing as she looks for something -- anything -- out of place before them. And then, suddenly, she sees it: a jagged line, faintly glowing in the distance. Rebecca raises a hand to point.
“There. About two klicks due east. But we’ll have to hurry. It’s fading.”
Alex drains the last of his special reserve from a boot-shaped flask and tosses it over his shoulder.
“Let’s get it,” he says decisively, and starts off down the broken remains of a highway.
“Uh, babe?” Rebecca’s voice stops him. “East is that way.”
Richards shrugs and changes direction. He’s had it with this alternate Earth. Not only had David Sanchez been a four-time Chicago mayor, and wildly popular; he had outlawed drinking, so Alex had been forced to ration his precious ZimQuila; had shut down every buffet in Chinatown; and had enacted municipal laws that made the Guardians criminals within the city of Chicago. His actions had laid the groundwork for a large-scale invasion of Earth, and even now, Sanchez watched over his city from an alien starship, having sold out to the Jalaxa-whatevers.
Even now, the Guardians are being hunted, either on the orders of David Sanchez or the alien Jim Thuggin. It doesn’t make much difference to Alex.
With Richards in the lead, and Rebecca striding alongside him, Bonnie Blue keeps watch on their backside. Enhanced senses strain to catch the slightest sound, the barest stirring in the air, the faintest scent; anything that would indicate that their pursuers had caught up. The clouds rumble again, louder this time, accompanied by flashes of light. Uneasy, she lifts a hand to conjure a portal -- before recalling that her time powers don’t work in this reality. Her vampiric abilities remain intact, though she finds herself now subject to weakness when exposed to the sun, which can mean only one thing:
In this reality, her ex-husband is dead -- the only upside to the current situation.
The three Guardians move at a brisk pace, covering the open ground as quickly as they can. They’re almost to the spot Rebecca has her eye on, when the sky opens up with a fierce roar. A dozen or so metal pods shoot down from above them on streaks of greenish lightning, impacting the dusty earth in a broad circle around the stranded heroes. Beside them, a ghostly image appears -- a hologram of a very familiar, very old enemy: Evil Paul Rudd.
“You didn’t honestly think it would be that easy, did you?”
He’s clad in black robes with a high collar, trimmed in gold brocade; knee high boots and black gloves complete the villainous ensemble. Alex’s fist passes right through the hologram.
“Seriously? You get dumber every time we clash, I swear. Why do I waste my time on you? More importantly -- “ his gaze sweeps Rebecca’s voluptious curves -- “why does she? Come on, baby, what d’ya say? Give me a chance to make a dishonest woman out of you.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” Rebecca tells him, moving closer to Alex.
“Wow, you may not be blind anymore, but love sure is.”
Bonnie rolls her eyes at the predictable banter.
“What do you want, Rudd?” she demands.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m distracting you so my troops can move in and capture you. Duh.”
Bonnie spins on her heel. The three are surrounded. The troops are identical manlike forms wearing wrestling tights and full-face masks. Luchadrones. Cheap, easy to produce, and utterly without capacity to feel pain or fear. Ever ready for battle, the Guardians leap into the fray, but the Luchadrones keep coming. When one drops, more are dispatched from above. Just as it seems all is lost -- the Guardians surrounded, outnumbered, and nearly overwhelmed -- a short Italian plumber appears in their midst and starts laying about him with a lead pipe. He eats a mushroom and doubles in size, his long reach sweeping the drones out of the way.
At the periphery, Bonnie catches a glimpse of a harried looking man with unkempt hair and beard, his oversized clothes hanging off his now-slender frame. He’d be unrecognizable, except for the power glove on one hand, fingers dancing across the controls with expert precision.
“8-Bit?!”
He waves them on.
“I’ve got this, just go!”
Another press of a button, and a flaming flower appears beside the giant Mario. He immediately pulls it from the ground and eats that, too. From his hands shoot jets of flame that singe the Luchadrones to a crisp. The Guardians don’t stick around to watch. Alex, Bonnie, and Rebecca haul ass for the unseen rift in the universal fabric. Rebecca grasps an edge and pulls, ushering the other two through before following along after.
They spill out into a grimy alley, just behind the Drunken Dragon. Quickly, Bonnie seals up the tear with her restored time powers. With a sigh of relief, the Guardians go inside to have a drink.
“Well, that was fucking weird,” says Alex, after polishing off his third boot of ZimQuila. “I mean, weirder than usual, even for us.”
“Yeah, and super contrived,” Bonnie agrees.
“Almost like a random setup for no apparent reason,” adds Rebecca.
All three of them look up, as if gazing directly into your soul.
“Would you guys leave the fourth wall alone?”
Shaun Zach comes in from the kitchen, wiping out a glass with a towel and looking pointedly at Bonnie and Alex.
“You’ve got a match to focus on. Both of you.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want to,” Alex tells him. “We already had our match.”
Shaun gives his half brother a mischievous smirk.
“I know. That’s why I’ve prepared this surprise…”
With a flourish, he raises the makeshift curtain obscuring the stage. The band’s equipment has been cleared to make way for a throne. A banner over it proclaims:
Bonnie and Alex trade high fives and take their places on the stage.
Bonnie: Alex, you dumb, bald-headed fuck! You look like somebody drew a smiley face on a dick, you dick-looking motherfucker!
Alex: Oh yeah? Well… time travel is stupid and unrealistic! Also, your blue hair dye smells like rancid fart.
Bonnie lights a joint, takes a huge hit, then passes it to her fellow Guardian. Alex hits it, too, then washes it down with another drink from his boot.
Alex: You had a threesome with Polar Phantasm and that damn adult baby with braces!
Bonnie: That’s slanderous!
Alex: So?
Bonnie: …you drink Bud Light.
Alex: That’s a cheap shot! The DeLorean is better than the Ranchero any day!
Bonnie: Your beard looks like glued-on pubes.
Alex bursts out laughing and takes another hit from the joint.
Alex: Speaking of bad beards… Dion Necurat. More like DONG Necurat, am I right?
Bonnie: Just a little one. But hey, at least he doesn’t wear a toupee, like Walter.
Alex: So fake. Just like ZMAC’s coke. I tried it once -- he’s really just snorting Pixie Sticks.
Bonnie: You think that’s bad? I heard Tort has thirteen baby mamas… but he can’t remember any of their names.
Alex: And Gravedigger had MS-13 kill and bury the monster truck just so people would stop getting them confused.
Bonnie: Ok, but how about those tag champs? I mean, Destro was the worst Cobra. He was so lame, he --
Alex whispers something in Bonnie’s ear.
Bonnie: Oh. I mean, Darkseid was the dumbest DC villain, except maybe -- huh?
Alex whispers again.
Bonnie: OH! Downfall, right! I gotcha! …wait, who’s that again?
Alex: What can I say about our world champion? I'd rather be fisted by Danny Devito then listen to Dandy Divito talk!
From offstage, someone hands Alex a piece of paper.
Alex: Breaking news! Karlie Nash isn’t actually a lesbian -- she’s three llamas in a trenchcoat!
Bonnie: But doesn’t she identify as a lesbian anyway?
Alex: Well yeah, but are the llamas male or female? You want to check?
Bonnie: …moving on…
Alex: Damnnit! I wanted to check…
Bonnie shakes her head.
Bonnie: How about this one? Kancer buys 69 newspapers every day just so he can read all the horoscopes
Alex: Haha nice! But you know about Der Metzger, right? He only wears that mask because he has the most adorable dimples and feels it would totally ruin his image!
Bonnie: Ok, I got one. Jared Holmes once did lines of space coke off Kat Phoenix’s ass! Shit, no, wait… that one’s true. Uh… John Rabid also once did lines of space coke off Kat Phoenix’s --
The hand appears again, with another piece of paper. Bonnie snatches it, reads it, and looks a little nauseous.
Bonnie: Ew. Apparently that one is also true. I feel dirty now.
Alex: Just now?
*Cue laugh track*
Bonnie: But we’re not here to roast each other, or even the Action Wrestling roster. We’re here to roast Corey Bull on his very last professional wrestling appearance right here on the Paramount Network!
Alex: Can we spit roast him?
Bonnie: I don’t think that means what you think it means…
Alex: Either we roast him over an open flame, or we get Kat Phoenix and John --
Bonnie: Nobody even wants to think about that! For real, back to Corey Bull. You know, my mama always told me, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.
*Pointed silence for several seconds*
Bonnie: Then again, she was never a pro wrestler. So, Corey, you bald headed, dick-looking motherfucker...
Alex whispers in Bonnie's ear yet again.
Bonnie: I know, but just go with me on this... Corey Bull always reminded me of Lord Humongous from Road Warrior... But with half the wit and none of the class
Alex: Can I roast Bolas de Arena instead? Because everyrime I look at Corey Bull.. I wish he was Bolas. Speaking of Lord Humongous I hope that at the last dance somebody stabs Corey with scissors Sid Vicious style.
Bonnie: Seriously though enjoy retirement at the end of your tour.
Alex: Wait.. he got a whole retirement tour? We didn't get shit.. let's beat his ass!
Bonnie: I got a retirement match at Evolution.
Alex: Ok... I finally thought of a reason we should fight then!
Bonnie: You want to feud over the fact I got a retirement match and you didn't?
Alex: This is pro wrestling. Didn't Jenson once have a feud over cursed dice?
Bonnie: I was knighted during that campaign!
Alex: But I'm still UCI's only King!
Bonnie: I'm the only hard-core queen.. except for Kennedy mathews.
Alex bursts out laughing.
Bonnie: I knew that was a good joke.
Alex: If I can be serious for a moment. Corey Bull. You are fucking crazy and that's impressive coming from me!
Bonnie: Corey, if I can also be serious for a moment... Dude, like, for real, you're leaving the kind of legacy most people only dream of… For instance, you are one of exactly two people I have never pinned in a match. That takes some real talent. You’ve inspired an entire generation, blazed a new trail for the ones who will inevitably follow in your footsteps, and accomplished more in a few years than most people do in a lifetime. Whatever’s next for you, dude, I wish you only the best!
Alex: Also since you beat me in my last AW match I can only hope you royally get your ass kicked.. then win on a fluke roll up.
Bonnie shakes her head.
Alex: What? That's as nice as I get!
Bonnie: Good point. So in conclusion, we’ve had a lot of fun at a lot of other peoples’ expense. If we didn’t mention you, it isn’t that we forgot or don’t like you, it’s just that we had to edit for runtime. Let me just say this: Corey Bull -- you’re a damn legend. Action Wrestling has been lucky to have you. We’ve all been lucky to know you. And one day, maybe our paths will cross again and bring us back to the ring one last time. But for now, happy retirement!
And with that, the scene fades out.
Their city.
Chicago.
The harbor is dry, its bottom lined with the jumbled wreckage of ocean freighters and pleasure craft. Exposed ironworks rise into the air, the desiccated remains of formerly majestic skyscrapers. Rats, the size of Rottweilers, prowl among piles of rubbish in tightly regimented patrols; carefully avoiding three human figures as they emerge from the city’s barbed-wire perimeter. Sunlight filters weakly through the thick gloom, a solitary shaft spotlighting a campaign billboard: black against a red background, the face of David Sanchez sneers down at them in a mockery of the famous image of Che Guevara.
As if guided by some unseen hand, the sunlight moves down to pick out the trio, revealing the familiar forms of Alex Richards, Rebecca Thatch, and Bonnie Blue.
Bonnie adjusts her sunglasses and glances over at Rebecca.
“Anything?”
Overhead, the clouds rumble ominously. Alex’s girlfriend shakes her head. Thanks to the application of Nikola Tesla’s scientific ingenuity and some alien technology nobody had asked too many questions about, Rebecca Thatch had been gifted with sight after a lifetime of blindness. Sight -- and a little something more.
“Switching to spectral scanning now,” she replies.
Her vision alters, the color draining from the scene before her. Not that there had been much to begin with. She frowns, focusing as she looks for something -- anything -- out of place before them. And then, suddenly, she sees it: a jagged line, faintly glowing in the distance. Rebecca raises a hand to point.
“There. About two klicks due east. But we’ll have to hurry. It’s fading.”
Alex drains the last of his special reserve from a boot-shaped flask and tosses it over his shoulder.
“Let’s get it,” he says decisively, and starts off down the broken remains of a highway.
“Uh, babe?” Rebecca’s voice stops him. “East is that way.”
Richards shrugs and changes direction. He’s had it with this alternate Earth. Not only had David Sanchez been a four-time Chicago mayor, and wildly popular; he had outlawed drinking, so Alex had been forced to ration his precious ZimQuila; had shut down every buffet in Chinatown; and had enacted municipal laws that made the Guardians criminals within the city of Chicago. His actions had laid the groundwork for a large-scale invasion of Earth, and even now, Sanchez watched over his city from an alien starship, having sold out to the Jalaxa-whatevers.
Even now, the Guardians are being hunted, either on the orders of David Sanchez or the alien Jim Thuggin. It doesn’t make much difference to Alex.
With Richards in the lead, and Rebecca striding alongside him, Bonnie Blue keeps watch on their backside. Enhanced senses strain to catch the slightest sound, the barest stirring in the air, the faintest scent; anything that would indicate that their pursuers had caught up. The clouds rumble again, louder this time, accompanied by flashes of light. Uneasy, she lifts a hand to conjure a portal -- before recalling that her time powers don’t work in this reality. Her vampiric abilities remain intact, though she finds herself now subject to weakness when exposed to the sun, which can mean only one thing:
In this reality, her ex-husband is dead -- the only upside to the current situation.
The three Guardians move at a brisk pace, covering the open ground as quickly as they can. They’re almost to the spot Rebecca has her eye on, when the sky opens up with a fierce roar. A dozen or so metal pods shoot down from above them on streaks of greenish lightning, impacting the dusty earth in a broad circle around the stranded heroes. Beside them, a ghostly image appears -- a hologram of a very familiar, very old enemy: Evil Paul Rudd.
“You didn’t honestly think it would be that easy, did you?”
He’s clad in black robes with a high collar, trimmed in gold brocade; knee high boots and black gloves complete the villainous ensemble. Alex’s fist passes right through the hologram.
“Seriously? You get dumber every time we clash, I swear. Why do I waste my time on you? More importantly -- “ his gaze sweeps Rebecca’s voluptious curves -- “why does she? Come on, baby, what d’ya say? Give me a chance to make a dishonest woman out of you.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” Rebecca tells him, moving closer to Alex.
“Wow, you may not be blind anymore, but love sure is.”
Bonnie rolls her eyes at the predictable banter.
“What do you want, Rudd?” she demands.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m distracting you so my troops can move in and capture you. Duh.”
Bonnie spins on her heel. The three are surrounded. The troops are identical manlike forms wearing wrestling tights and full-face masks. Luchadrones. Cheap, easy to produce, and utterly without capacity to feel pain or fear. Ever ready for battle, the Guardians leap into the fray, but the Luchadrones keep coming. When one drops, more are dispatched from above. Just as it seems all is lost -- the Guardians surrounded, outnumbered, and nearly overwhelmed -- a short Italian plumber appears in their midst and starts laying about him with a lead pipe. He eats a mushroom and doubles in size, his long reach sweeping the drones out of the way.
At the periphery, Bonnie catches a glimpse of a harried looking man with unkempt hair and beard, his oversized clothes hanging off his now-slender frame. He’d be unrecognizable, except for the power glove on one hand, fingers dancing across the controls with expert precision.
“8-Bit?!”
He waves them on.
“I’ve got this, just go!”
Another press of a button, and a flaming flower appears beside the giant Mario. He immediately pulls it from the ground and eats that, too. From his hands shoot jets of flame that singe the Luchadrones to a crisp. The Guardians don’t stick around to watch. Alex, Bonnie, and Rebecca haul ass for the unseen rift in the universal fabric. Rebecca grasps an edge and pulls, ushering the other two through before following along after.
They spill out into a grimy alley, just behind the Drunken Dragon. Quickly, Bonnie seals up the tear with her restored time powers. With a sigh of relief, the Guardians go inside to have a drink.
“Well, that was fucking weird,” says Alex, after polishing off his third boot of ZimQuila. “I mean, weirder than usual, even for us.”
“Yeah, and super contrived,” Bonnie agrees.
“Almost like a random setup for no apparent reason,” adds Rebecca.
All three of them look up, as if gazing directly into your soul.
“Would you guys leave the fourth wall alone?”
Shaun Zach comes in from the kitchen, wiping out a glass with a towel and looking pointedly at Bonnie and Alex.
“You’ve got a match to focus on. Both of you.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want to,” Alex tells him. “We already had our match.”
Shaun gives his half brother a mischievous smirk.
“I know. That’s why I’ve prepared this surprise…”
With a flourish, he raises the makeshift curtain obscuring the stage. The band’s equipment has been cleared to make way for a throne. A banner over it proclaims:
THE GUARDIANS ROAST OF ACTION WRESTLING SUPERSTAR COREY BULL
Bonnie: Alex, you dumb, bald-headed fuck! You look like somebody drew a smiley face on a dick, you dick-looking motherfucker!
Alex: Oh yeah? Well… time travel is stupid and unrealistic! Also, your blue hair dye smells like rancid fart.
Bonnie lights a joint, takes a huge hit, then passes it to her fellow Guardian. Alex hits it, too, then washes it down with another drink from his boot.
Alex: You had a threesome with Polar Phantasm and that damn adult baby with braces!
Bonnie: That’s slanderous!
Alex: So?
Bonnie: …you drink Bud Light.
Alex: That’s a cheap shot! The DeLorean is better than the Ranchero any day!
Bonnie: Your beard looks like glued-on pubes.
Alex bursts out laughing and takes another hit from the joint.
Alex: Speaking of bad beards… Dion Necurat. More like DONG Necurat, am I right?
Bonnie: Just a little one. But hey, at least he doesn’t wear a toupee, like Walter.
Alex: So fake. Just like ZMAC’s coke. I tried it once -- he’s really just snorting Pixie Sticks.
Bonnie: You think that’s bad? I heard Tort has thirteen baby mamas… but he can’t remember any of their names.
Alex: And Gravedigger had MS-13 kill and bury the monster truck just so people would stop getting them confused.
Bonnie: Ok, but how about those tag champs? I mean, Destro was the worst Cobra. He was so lame, he --
Alex whispers something in Bonnie’s ear.
Bonnie: Oh. I mean, Darkseid was the dumbest DC villain, except maybe -- huh?
Alex whispers again.
Bonnie: OH! Downfall, right! I gotcha! …wait, who’s that again?
Alex: What can I say about our world champion? I'd rather be fisted by Danny Devito then listen to Dandy Divito talk!
From offstage, someone hands Alex a piece of paper.
Alex: Breaking news! Karlie Nash isn’t actually a lesbian -- she’s three llamas in a trenchcoat!
Bonnie: But doesn’t she identify as a lesbian anyway?
Alex: Well yeah, but are the llamas male or female? You want to check?
Bonnie: …moving on…
Alex: Damnnit! I wanted to check…
Bonnie shakes her head.
Bonnie: How about this one? Kancer buys 69 newspapers every day just so he can read all the horoscopes
Alex: Haha nice! But you know about Der Metzger, right? He only wears that mask because he has the most adorable dimples and feels it would totally ruin his image!
Bonnie: Ok, I got one. Jared Holmes once did lines of space coke off Kat Phoenix’s ass! Shit, no, wait… that one’s true. Uh… John Rabid also once did lines of space coke off Kat Phoenix’s --
The hand appears again, with another piece of paper. Bonnie snatches it, reads it, and looks a little nauseous.
Bonnie: Ew. Apparently that one is also true. I feel dirty now.
Alex: Just now?
*Cue laugh track*
Bonnie: But we’re not here to roast each other, or even the Action Wrestling roster. We’re here to roast Corey Bull on his very last professional wrestling appearance right here on the Paramount Network!
Alex: Can we spit roast him?
Bonnie: I don’t think that means what you think it means…
Alex: Either we roast him over an open flame, or we get Kat Phoenix and John --
Bonnie: Nobody even wants to think about that! For real, back to Corey Bull. You know, my mama always told me, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.
*Pointed silence for several seconds*
Bonnie: Then again, she was never a pro wrestler. So, Corey, you bald headed, dick-looking motherfucker...
Alex whispers in Bonnie's ear yet again.
Bonnie: I know, but just go with me on this... Corey Bull always reminded me of Lord Humongous from Road Warrior... But with half the wit and none of the class
Alex: Can I roast Bolas de Arena instead? Because everyrime I look at Corey Bull.. I wish he was Bolas. Speaking of Lord Humongous I hope that at the last dance somebody stabs Corey with scissors Sid Vicious style.
Bonnie: Seriously though enjoy retirement at the end of your tour.
Alex: Wait.. he got a whole retirement tour? We didn't get shit.. let's beat his ass!
Bonnie: I got a retirement match at Evolution.
Alex: Ok... I finally thought of a reason we should fight then!
Bonnie: You want to feud over the fact I got a retirement match and you didn't?
Alex: This is pro wrestling. Didn't Jenson once have a feud over cursed dice?
Bonnie: I was knighted during that campaign!
Alex: But I'm still UCI's only King!
Bonnie: I'm the only hard-core queen.. except for Kennedy mathews.
Alex bursts out laughing.
Bonnie: I knew that was a good joke.
Alex: If I can be serious for a moment. Corey Bull. You are fucking crazy and that's impressive coming from me!
Bonnie: Corey, if I can also be serious for a moment... Dude, like, for real, you're leaving the kind of legacy most people only dream of… For instance, you are one of exactly two people I have never pinned in a match. That takes some real talent. You’ve inspired an entire generation, blazed a new trail for the ones who will inevitably follow in your footsteps, and accomplished more in a few years than most people do in a lifetime. Whatever’s next for you, dude, I wish you only the best!
Alex: Also since you beat me in my last AW match I can only hope you royally get your ass kicked.. then win on a fluke roll up.
Bonnie shakes her head.
Alex: What? That's as nice as I get!
Bonnie: Good point. So in conclusion, we’ve had a lot of fun at a lot of other peoples’ expense. If we didn’t mention you, it isn’t that we forgot or don’t like you, it’s just that we had to edit for runtime. Let me just say this: Corey Bull -- you’re a damn legend. Action Wrestling has been lucky to have you. We’ve all been lucky to know you. And one day, maybe our paths will cross again and bring us back to the ring one last time. But for now, happy retirement!
And with that, the scene fades out.