“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.” – Martin Luther King Jr
The barely audible groan that signalled the slow return to consciousness of their guest was immediately followed by a short wave radio transmission, “Justice, the asset is waking up.”
Through light static, a muffled voice, deep and likely digitally altered responds over the speaker. ”Copy. Bring the asset immediately.”
The danger held within her last recallable moments began their assault upon her foggy mind almost instantly. Her head moved only slightly at first, then, much like releasing a captured salmon back into a river, her head rocked side to side as she began her descent back into reality.
What happened?
Her last memory was that she had been walking home, alone. She had taken the same route back to her apartment she always took. The same route she’d taken every night since leaving her time as an ’on camera personality’ behind her.
Years spent drifting from one wrestling promotion that folded to another had weighed on her, made her cynical. Now she was putting her experience to good use as a production assistant, nothing more. Or, at least, she was.
Now she was a captive. She barely felt whatever they shot her with before collapsing to the ground like a tranquilized doe. None of that mattered now.
She was being moved somewhere, yet no one touched her. She could feel and hear the echoing of wheels turning on marble floors and then, a click. She wasn’t moving anymore.
Suddenly her eyes shot open, darting around in a vain attempt to gain some clue as to where she was. Instead, only light greeted her, penetrating her eyes like searing pins of fire.
Tears flowed as she allowed herself the delusion that this was another of Kintaru’s games. Or perhaps Rob Riot had slipped back into the madness and now came to break her mind permanently. She didn’t know what was going on, but somehow she knew one thing.
This had to be linked back to the insane world that was professional wrestling. That was the only place she’d ever truly seen these crazed tactics. This kind of madness. This insanity.
It had to be. Nothing else made sense.
She was just a reporter for Christ’s sake! She’d never even been allowed to be a particularly good one. Why her? Why was it always her? Could Cherry Merciless not be reached?
Riot Star Wrestling was dead, Global Championship Wrestling too. Pinnacle Wrestling Association was years before either RSW or GCW. Every promotion she’d ever worked for was dead. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Her life was nothing like it used to be. So, why her?
PT Merciless, RB Cardone, Tiffany, The Departed, Sophie, Belle, Mikey. All of them, dead. Soon; soon she would join them.
Struggling against her restraints, leather straps bit at her wrists. she pushed her head back against the soft upholstery backing her chair, a shriek came out first, then a scream.
Deep and guttural, it was both terror; and acceptance. She knew now, with certainty, she would die here. Screaming until she was out of breath, no one told her to stop, or that it was pointless.
No fist or backhand came to her cheek to shut her up. It was almost as though her captors were waiting, waiting for her to come back into reality enough to grasp exactly what was happening. They wanted her awake, they wanted her lucid…but most of all, they wanted her terrified.
What little of the hall she now sat in that was visible appeared circular, light was a precious resource that had not been given liberally. The only light was the one directed in her face. Simple, yet effective.
Most everything they did was done with frightening precision. She never saw them coming.
Patiently waiting until she stopped struggling, the voice was even and measured as it asked, ”Do you know who we are?” Again, the voice was heavily digitally altered, and came from a group of shadowy figures that loomed above her from their unseen perch.
Terror gripped her throat, stealing her voice. Nodding rapidly, through her now ex-fiancé, she’d become aware of the group’s existence, but little else.
The sheer number of secrets he was forced to keep from her being one of the multitude of reasons their relationship was doomed to failure.
’They’ were incredibly secretive, their existence only known to their members and those about to die. There were strict rules in place. Very few ways existed where one could be ’released from service’, even fewer existed where the member continued to breathe after ‘release’.
Yet ’he’ had found, not only, a way out, but a way back to competition. He had returned to wrestling. It was like a drug. Except once it was in your system, there was no going back.
As Vengador Oscuro, she’d watched as he somehow fought the instincts ‘they’ had instilled in him and transitioned from dark avenger, back into the enigma of old one last time. Reclaiming his life, his soul and very nearly…his son. Before it all came crumbling down around him.
She was shivering, trembling with fear. Her life flashed before her eyes and all she kept coming back to was him. They’d been made for each other and she had ruined it all by treating it like just another relationship. “Miss Lucchi.” The heavily altered voice shocked her from her nostalgia. Pausing, it continued only when it was sure it now held her full attention. “Welcome to ’Justice’.” You are here because, you know too much. Though our mutual ‘friend’ has told you next to nothing, you have seen too much through your association with ’him’…”
The altered voice went silent.
This was it. Any moment now, they would slit her throat, or inject her with poison, maybe they’d beat her to death…or worse, perhaps they intended to torture her.
Pull her finger and toenails out, one by one. Break each digit, slowly, beat her, rape her. The possibilities were endless.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she prayed that regardless of what method they had chosen, that her end would come quick.
As her imagination shifted from one potential gruesome fate to another, she was blind to what was happening before her.
Several of the shrouded figures were seemingly uneasy about what they were about to do. At least one now stood away from the collective. Could the collective be not in agreement?
”We do not wish you harm. For now.” There was a pronounced delay before they continued, ’For now.’ That was a statement in and of itself, and a reminder that at any time they could make her disappear and only one man would ever know what really happened.
One man who was the common thread winded through them all. A man who had, in fact, been quite busy since leaving the world of wrestling in disgrace.
”You will find him for us. You will bring him back. Then you may go back about your sinful ways. No wonder he rejected you.”
Scared and confused, tears flowed continuously at the cutting insult as activity renewed itself among the figures. Her ex-fiancé had cut her out following the single worst moment of his career.
He simply disappeared seemingly into the aether itself.
In the confusion and swirl of emotions that followed, she kissed his rival when he called upon her to offer his support. ’He’ never forgave her. ‘He’ considered it a betrayal, yet she hadn’t taken another man into her bed since. She still loved him. And he her.
Though love isn’t always enough.
”H-h-how?” Her voice stammered and was little more than a whimper, the emotional exhaustion, and her screaming herself hoarse had left her usually silky toned purr, wanting.
The Justices scattered to each side of a lowering screen as a small white digital projector springs to life.
The typical back and forth of liberal and conservative coverage of the continuing COVID-19 pandemic starts.
Features on New York, Los Angeles…and finally, Atlanta.
Film of protests and police brutality lead to riots, fires and footage of a mass crowd pelting the CNN building with everything from rocks to debris from police barricades. Slowly another story appears.
“Would be mugger brutally beaten by passerby” the words “came from nowhere”, “saved my life”, “laughed as he beat all three at once” and finally “disappeared into thin air” are all zoomed in on from the witness’ statement.
Coronavirus pandemic numbers roll upward and election madness begins showing up, another local Atlanta story emerges. “Bankhead: Attempted rape foiled by homeless veteran?”
A bewildered looking young woman is center screen now, a mixture of terror and fascination held in her eyes. A slight scrape mars her otherwise perfect caramel complexion.
“These boys was fixin’ to do me real nasty…then this dude he comes outta nowhere...” Her arms are flailing as she relays her story in a charming Southern accent. “He didn’t even start out whoopin’ they asses. He looked homeless and started by just asking them to leave, then they told him to go BLEEP himself. Dude said they were being rude….he didn’t like that.” Trailing off, the poor girl is pressed for details by a hapless on the scene reporter motioning for her to continue.
“Is that when he craved into them?” The camera shows two of the three assailants as they are handcuffed and placed into police cruisers. Each sporting fresh bandages to their foreheads soaked with blood.
“Nah lady, he kicked their asses first, then pinned one down while the other two was out. When that one passed out like a bitch…sorry, I probably can’t say bitch on TV huh?” Pointing to the final assailant, the young lady finished with the line the reporter really wanted. “Anyways, that’s when he carved ‘rapist’ into they foreheads. Dude’s a sick f…..”
The report stops flatly, crashing to black. Alyssa sits, long ago ceasing to fight her restraints, she’s in shock.
She had known her former fiancé was a professional wrestler, and that he was a capable fighter. She’d seen him destroy the knee of a would be assailant at a bar years before, but this?
He himself had told her he had done some questionable things whilst grief stricken and acting as a Judge on behalf of the Justices, but this? This was not the man who had shared her bed, was it?
A half a dozen other similar reports followed, eventually christening him ‘the Bankhead Boogeyman’.
Each time, ‘he’ appeared, it was the same story. Usually, but not always, it was a female.
Each time he came to the aid of someone in danger from seemingly insurmountable opposition.
Each time ‘he’ was increasingly brutal, but stopped short of taking life.
Each time, ‘he’ left a message.
And to make sure the message was received, he left it carved into the flesh of the would-be aggressor. He was labelling them. One at a time, he was labelling them.
The wicked would bare their crimes etched upon their skin for the rest of their days. They would carry them wherever they went.. Just as he did.
“You will go to Atlanta and you will find him and bring him back unharmed. Anything less than that voids our agreement. You will be released, given a way to contact us and watched. Any attempt to contact authorities will result in severe penalties…” the projector jumps to life once more, pictures, recent pictures, of her family and friends flash upon the screen.
These weren’t staged pictures or even pics ripped from her social media. These relayed the one final message that they needed her to understand. ‘They’ could get to anyone.
She understood completely, ‘they’ didn’t play games. If she didn’t do as she was instructed, their subtlety spoke volumes.
Failure meant death, sure, but not before she watched everyone she had ever cared about suffer first.
