[S-013] Back in the Swing

[Sentinel]

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- SCENE ONE -

LOCATION: Interstate 25, south of Socorro, New Mexico
TIME: Wednesday, November 19th, 4:17pm
PLAYERS: Rory, Frederick

- BACKGROUND -

A few days removed from his side trip to Vegas with the lovely Talon, one that saw them come away a little bit richer than they arrived thanks to a few well-played games of Texas Hold 'Em and a few lucky pulls of the one-armed bandit, Sentinel received a message from Shawn Crowe, President of the Dead Men, that a rather lucrative job had landed in their laps. With Talon tending to the manager side of things and handling accommodations for the upcoming Mayhem in Albuquerque, Sentinel joins his brethren outside Phoenix as they run down a few high-dollar bounties, jumping back into the game with both feet.

---

Parked as inconspicuously as a vehicle like it can be, an old-school Dodge Charger with an old t-shirt held in place by a rolled-up window sits by the side of Interstate 25 just south of Socorro. From all indications, the beautiful example of American muscle had a breakdown and is awaiting deliverance. Tinted windows do their best to hide the pair sitting in the front seats, specifically two of the Dead Men in the form of Rory McCall in the driver's seat and Frederick Vance next to him. From the looks of the paraphernalia around them, they've been here for a little while, scanning the few cars that pass by before going back to their conversation already in progress.

Rory dusts a little seasoning off his chin from the fries he'd been chowing down on before, without taking his eyes off the road, he queries his brother.

Rory McCall

"So...what do you think of our brother comin' back into the fold?"

Frederick, his eyes likewise masked by a pair of dark sunglasses, turns slightly toward Rory before returning his attention to the road. A long sip is taken from the Styrofoam cup in his hand before he responds.

Frederick Vance

"Speakin' plainly, I don't like it."

Over his own shades, Rory's brow arches and he spares Frederick a glance before turning back to the road as well.

Rory McCall

"Why's that? Lord knows we can use the extra hand."

Frederick Vance

"Let me qualify that, cause speaking plainly I'm happy he's back with it and I ain't doubtin' that his heart's in it. But you remember the reason why he left in the first place?"

Rory McCall

"Aside from...y'know...that?"

There's silence between the two for a moment. Then...

Rory McCall

"To do the wrestling thing that he's stepping back into in a few days if I remember right. What, you concerned that he won't pull his weight or something?"

Frederick Vance

"I know he will. But for how long? What we do is dangerous work. For that matter, so's what he does outside of all this. Can't run full-bore for long till something has to give."

Rory McCall

"Delaying the inevitable, huh? You don't think his life's changed enough that he can keep both going? This place he works with isn't exactly world-spanning. Hell, he's got weeks between shows, right? Don't sell him short too fast."

Frederick doesn't respond verbally, instead draining the rest of the cup's contents and letting out a slow breath. Even with the glasses it's easy to tell he's thinking hard. His thought process is interrupted by the pre-paid phone on the dash going off. The Dead Men exchange glances before Frederick picks it up, checks the number and answers.

Frederick Vance

"What's the word, boss?"

Shawn Crowe

"They just left the diner. Heading your way in about three minutes...blue SUV with Texas plates."

Frederick Vance

"What's the plan? You want 'em stopped or followed?"

Shawn Crowe

"Slow 'em down long enough for us to catch up. This is all four of them, so don't do nothin' crazy. Understand?"

Frederick Vance

"Got it."

Hanging up, Frederick pockets the phone and dusts off his cut. Reaching beneath it he draws a Glock 20, checking the cartridge before snapping it back in place and re-holstering the weapon. In the same moment Rory picks up the .45 ACP sitting next to him on the console and likewise holsters it beneath his leather before popping his neck slightly.

Frederick Vance

"You heard?"

Rory McCall

"Every word. Ready for this?"

Frederick Vance

"For 5k per head and 10k for their leader? Fuckin' right I am. That kind of payday gets us back on our feet in a hurry."

Rory McCall

"Among other things."

Settling back into their seats, their attention galvanized on the road once more, the scene cuts to black.

---

- SCENE TWO -

LOCATION: The Pit, Albuquerque, New Mexico
TIME: Friday, November 21st, 1:32pm
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Talon

- BACKGROUND -

Only a couple days removed from Mayhem, Sentinel is preparing in earnest for his return match under the watchful eyes of Talon and a UWA cameraman. One of the training rooms at The Pit, the whole of them left open for the UWA talents to use at their discretion, serves as the backdrop this time around.

---

His soaked black hair pulled back in a messy-yet-effective ponytail, Sentinel is hard at work as the cameras kick on, the heavy impacts of his taped fists smashing into a punching bag set up in the training room's corner hitting the speakers before the sight of him reaches the eyes of those watching. The excitement of the last couple of days isn't hindering him in the slightest as he pounds away on the bag with measured blows. Each impact sends sweat scattering along skin or off his body entirely, his torso bare for this go-round, perhaps to the delight of some of the female fans watching...certainly to his fire-haired wife watching from a distance. It's her voice that cuts in though her attention is solely on her man.

Talon

"What do you see when you look at that specimen, that uncrowned champion...that Destroyer?"

She can't keep from licking her blood-red lips as she watches Sentinel work, the view extending to include her more fully in the frame. Talon doesn't look far removed from a workout herself, still clad in workout gear that hugs her tall, toned frame.

Talon

"I'll tell you what you don't see: pressure. But every second of every minute of every day it's there, driving down on him from all directions, all of it self-imposed. For most people, the regular pressure of everyday life is enough. More than they can handle in some cases. But not for my Destroyer. For as long as I've known him I have been in awe of his drive, something that extends well beyond the ring. The pressure he puts himself under to be the best wrestler he can be is taxing enough, yet he compounds it by riding with the Dead Men once again on top of all that he does for his family. Their success, my happiness and the smile on his daughter's face is all the proof he should need that he's doing quite well.

But that isn't enough for him. It's never enough. Frankly, I don't think he can even envision enough."

A particularly vicious right hand has the chains holding the heavy bag up groaning as the 100-pound target swings from the impact, forcing Sentinel to stall its motion before he starts up again. He seems to feel Talon's eyes upon him when she glances over again that alone has him tearing into the inanimate victim again.

Talon

"You wouldn't know it to look at him here or in the ring, but he treasures the beauty of life, something that's hard to find anymore these days. Turn on the television and all you hear about are wars, natural disasters and political schemes. And that's on a good day. It's to the point where we don't even turn on the television or computer most days lest we get bombarded by mountainous piles of superficially-charged bullshit about how the world is going to hell. Who in their right mind wants to wake up to that, facing the day with that swirling in their brain?

That's why my Destroyer chooses to focus on what's in front of him, on his family and his career. Six months was too long to stay away from the ring in his mind, yet he would hear nothing of returning until he was certain that I could return as well. You see, Baron, that's where you made one of your mistakes in addressing my Destroyer. Two, in fact: the first was assuming that he went out due to injury and the second was giving the Children of Nephilim far too much credit by thinking that they had the ability to put him down. Their prowess is greatly exaggerated, an illusion we dispelled with a few like-minded allies last Monday."

She's wearing a smirk as she turns back to the camera.

Talon

"Sentinel could have stuck around if he chose, but he didn't want to continue his ascent without me at his side. That was his only motivation for leaving the UWA at that time: to tend to my own injury. I tried to convince him otherwise but he wasn't having it. I do hope you weren't counting on that rust you mentioned being a factor. And as you can see behind me, his power is very much intact."

Her tone gets a little more serious, takes a harder edge, as the pounding in the background finally comes to a stop. Sentinel's taken some months off the lifespan of that punching bag from the looks of things. With his own attention on the camera, gray eyes staring dispassionately into it, he starts to unwind the weathered tape from his hands as Talon refocuses.

Talon

"And so is your ego. This may sound harsh, Baron, but from where we're sitting it sounds as if your ego is threatening to get the better of you. All this talk about teaching people what you're all about and how it doesn't pay to mess with you. For a moment it sounded like you were trying to pump yourself up as the UWA version of the Incredible Hulk which, while amusing, isn't a theory that holds water. If we're wrong, we're wrong, but take a look at your own promo and see if you don't feel the same."

They walk out of the room after Sentinel takes Talon's hand and helps her to her feet, leaving the scene to fade to black as we cut away again.

---

- SCENE THREE -

LOCATION: Interstate 25, south of Socorro, New Mexico
TIME: Wednesday, November 19th, 4:31pm
PLAYERS: The Dead Men

- BACKGROUND -

Shortly after they were last seen, Rory and Frederick took off in pursuit of their bounty with the rest of the Dead Men on their tail, tearing the interstate a new one as they pursue their targets. It's a chase that the latter are destined to lose.

---

---

The four Harley-Davidson bikes roar down Interstate 25, following alongside the black Charger as the Dead Men run down the blue SUV containing their targets. Rory gains on the vehicle steadily and gets close enough that he can use the Charger's passenger-side front quarter to execute a PIT maneuver, making the Explorer spin out in front of them. The vehicle comes close to tipping over but thankfully for those inside of it, it eventually resets itself with all four wheels on the road. Rory and Frederick throw the doors of the Charger open, staying behind them with weapons trained on the vehcile as the rest of the Dead Men pull up alongside it, drawing as they dismount their hogs.

Shawn steps forward first, SP2009-9-BMS drawn and trained on the vehicle. Antonio and Darius stick by their bikes, both men packing Benelli M3s. Sentinel, sticking close to the President, has his own weapon drawn as well, a Browning HP-SFS. His gray eyes are locked on the situation, shifting between the vehicle's occupants and Crowe.

Shawn Crowe

"Out of the vehicle with your hands up!"

There's only a moment's hesitation before the four doors open up and a group of four Hispanic men get out, hands in the air and scowls on their faces. There's a certain continuity to their ink that leads one to believe they're part of some manner of gang. Gesturing with the muzzle of his gun, Crowe indicates that the other two should come around to the other side. The mere indication that they were going for weapons had the Benellis trained on the Ford cocking sharply.

Shawn Crowe

"Hands on the vehicle! No sudden moves, gentlemen!"

Grudgingly, the two already in front of the Explorer do so. Rory and Frederick step from behind the doors of the Charger to advance on them and back up Shawn and Sentinel. At that moment, one of the men behind the Explorer jumps out with a pistol of his own in hand, getting off a shot in the Dead Men's direction. His sudden motion and attempt to fire quickly without much aiming causes the bullet to fly wide but it's still too close for comfort...just like the shot from Darius that shatters one of the back windows of the Explorer and tags the perp with a few superficial, yet stinging wounds. Darius recocks the weapon, bearing down on the fallen shooter.

Darius Edwards

"Stay down, motherfucker! Twitch and I'll blow your goddamn hand off!"

Gang Member

"Fuck are you guys anyway?!"

Shawn Crowe

"People you don't want to screw with. All of you are coming with us, unconscious, bleeding or otherwise. Hands on the vehicle."

Darius allows the damaged man up but is none too gentle as he's cuffing him, nor are Frederick and Rory as they tend to two of the others. The first lesson wasn't learned, though, for the other man coming around from the other side of the vehicle brandishes a sawed-off shotgun, taking aim at Shawn the moment he has a clear line of sight. Crowe sees it a split-second before the trigger is pulled and barely gets out of the way in time. Sentinel is bringing his weapon up as the President dives aside, putting a single shot in the shooter's shoulder and throwing off his aim just enough that Shawn, like the man fired upon by Darius, only takes a few grazing wounds. The weapon clatters to the asphalt but Sentinel keeps the weapon trained on the groaning victim, only gesturing slightly for him to move.

Once he's in place and tended to by Antonio, Sentinel lowers his weapon and gives Shawn a hand up to his feet, dusting him off. Shawn nods, clapping Sentinel on the shoulder.

Shawn Crowe

"Good shot, brother."

Flashing forward a few hours, the perps are dropped off in police custody in Albuquerque and the Dead Men are standing outside the station conversing. Rory and Frederick in the Charger as well as Antonio and Darius on their bikes, take off, leaving Shawn and Sentinel alone. Shawn puts out the cigarette he'd been smoking under his boot heel, a small bandage in place at the side of his neck.

Shawn Crowe

"That could've went better, but at least no one got seriously hurt. I'll be honest with you, brother: I was worried when you said you wanted in on this job...but I was wrong. I'm glad you were there. But you ain't got to spend no more time here. Talon will want to know you're okay. I'll handle the rest."

Sentinel gives him a look as if to say 'are you sure?' but Shawn indicates that it's well in hand. The two clap each other on the back before Sentinel mounts his Road King and takes off. Crowe looks after him with an expression of mingled relief and curiosity, taking a phone out of his pocket and making a call.

Shawn Crowe

"It's me. Just dropped 'em off."

Caller

"Any problems?"

Shawn Crowe

"Nothing we couldn't handle. One of them took a slug in the shoulder and another took a few grazes to the face and arm but that's it."

Caller

"Better than expected then. I'll have the money wired tomorrow morning. Same account as always?"

Shawn Crowe

"For most of it, yeah. Two thousand goes to a separate account. I'll send you the information in a minute."

Caller

"Ah, that's right...the lost brother returns."

Shawn winces slightly at that comment, though it's more of a grimace. There's some amusement in the voice of the man on the other end, something Shawn does not share in.

Caller

"Consider it done. Those four were a real pain in the ass. Glad your reputation held up. I'll be in touch if any other work comes in."

Shawn Crowe

"All right."

Shawn hangs up, shoving the phone back in his pocket with a muttered curse. Lighting up another Marlboro, he takes a long puff from it and leans back against the brick wall of the precinct house near his bike. Shaking his head, he turns to gaze up at the stars as the scene fades to black.

---

- SCENE FOUR -

LOCATION: The Pit, Albuquerque, New Mexico
TIME: Friday, November 21st, 3:00pm
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Talon

- BACKGROUND -

Having completed the day's training regimen, Sentinel and Talon take some time relax in the stands of The Pit's upper bowl, watching as the UWA workers set up the ring, lighting and other details for Monday's show.

---

Talon

"There's one thing you nailed right on the head though, Baron: the fact that my Destroyer doesn't have to speak to get his point across. Finally someone understands that without the need for snark."

The freshly-showered and changed Sentinel smirks at that, his large arms on the backs of the adjacent seats as Talon leans slightly into him.

Talon

"That's a burden he chooses to bear, same as the pressure he puts on himself, but to many it is just fodder for their pontificating and sarcasm. My Destroyer has a voice, make no mistake, but he has good reason for not using it. It's an example several here in the UWA would do well to follow considering the trouble they get themselves into when they open their mouths. There's no need to name names as everyone knows who they are already, whether they want to or not. They're also the sorts that write my Destroyer off as some retarded mute which he obviously is not.

They look at him and they see a powerhouse who wrecks people with his brawn alone. You said as much yourself, Baron, but did you consider the number of years Sentinel has been in the business? No one can be successful forever on size and strength alone. If that's all you have you're destined to be either a novelty act or a steppingstone, and Sentinel is neither. It's trite to say that no one has seen all that he can do yet, but that doesn't make it less true. You said the same of yourself and we believe that. You mentioned it in the same breath in which you pigeonholed my Destroyer as nothing more than a powerbroker in that ring, in fact."

She shrugs beautifully, laying her head upon Sentinel's chest, just over his heart. On reflex his arm wraps around her shoulders as she continues to address Baron.

Talon

"You know better than that. You're not that foolish. Some probably think you sounded even more so when you directly challenged him, claiming that we might attempt to write you off. How quickly you went from borderline egocentric to playing the plucky underdog about to face his greatest UWA challenge yet. Which are you, Baron? Because you can't be both. Either you're going to get in Sentinel's face and give him the fight that he craves without turning a hair until one of you falls or you're going to play defense and hope you can outlast him long enough to pick up the slick win.

Again...which are you? That's a question you'd better answer before Monday night."

Despite how content she looks, the strength of her message is far from mitigated. Sentinel, his eyes watching intently as the ring is put together, looks just as intense. His gaze shifts from her to the camera taking in their message; it's the same cold stare he'd leveled at the men he and his brothers took down mere days prior.

Talon

"Six months. That's what Sentinel has to make up for now. Had he lingered instead of seeing to my health, he would have that championship around his waist and the landscape of this company would look mighty different. He was in line for that shot but instead chose to take up the honor of avenging me against Broderick Montgomery III. Were you aware of that, Baron? Before people even knew your name around here, my Destroyer was in line for the big belt. You can bet your ass that Aerynn Donnelly breathed a BIG sigh of relief when she learned she wouldn't yet have to face him one-on-one. I asked him why time after time...why he didn't take his shot against Aerynn and relieve her of the strap instead of sitting at home tending to me and I got the same answer every time:

Because without me at his side, he wouldn't be half the champion he was capable of being. That simultaneously hurt me and warmed my heart. And now that we're back, the pressure to prove to himself that he hasn't lost a step and is just as dangerous as he once was is great. And he wouldn't have that any other way. The gold will be his one way or another, no matter who gets in his way. Losses will happen, same as they always have. The difference will be in the lack of excuses, the refusal to let inevitable setbacks slow him down. That's why he'll always be a cut above 95% of the opponents he faces in that ring, Baron, possibly including you."

She smirks slightly.

Talon

"Even if you back up your big words, you're just delaying the inevitable. Maybe you'll be the lucky one. Maybe you'll be the first person in the UWA to pin my Destroyer. If so we'll have no problem acknowledging that we were wrong about you and that you got the better of Sentinel. Monday night will tell the tale of whether you'll have the same level of respect for us if my Destroyer puts you through the ring for a one-two-three.

But one way or another, he will be champion. That is the ultimate goal until the gold and leather rests in his massive hands. After that, a longer, harder road will be set before us. And we'll walk it with our heads held high."

Their attention turns from the camera back to the display before them, bringing a quiet end to the proceedings.

- END -