Meeting Old Friends Never Felt So Threatening (666 Match)

[David Hunter]

To: All Employees
CC: [e-mail]
Subject: Message to Opponents

To whom this may concern,

Hello there,

David Hunter here. Newer wrestler, still trying to figure things out. I realize this is rather unorthodox, but could you please forward this message to all my opponents for this coming Trauma?

Don’t worry, this will probably maybe be the only time I do this, but I just wanted to send them all a message personally and I couldn’t find any other way to get in contact with them. It’s not like any of them are my friends and I have their phone number or anything.

Oh and I also threw my phone into the Gulf of Mexico, but that’s a different story.

Anywho, I just wanted to talk to my opponents and let them know how excited I am for this 666 Match. It sounds fascinating and a great way to prove myself in a match with five other people for a championship in only my second match here.

That’s right, this is only my second match in PCW and I’m facing for a title.

Now, most people would take that as arrogance, but I take a different route with this.

This just shows that I am good enough to be here…and much better than the current champion. I mean…what other reason would they have to book me in this match than to prove why I deserve that title more than the current champ?

Now Holden, if you’re still reading this and haven’t stormed off in a tantrum because I insulted your perseverance, I want you to know that I watched back your match with Razor at Deadly Intentions. It was good. It was reeeeal good. But for as good as it was…it wasn’t the main event.

Hell, it started the show. That speaks more about you as a champion than it ever will about me. As vicious and violent as your match might have been—most of which you got your ass kicked in, just a reminder—it doesn’t change the fact that it’s clear that Pure Class Wrestling doesn’t see you as talent worthy of a main event. In fact, the only guy in this match that actually was in the main event was…well shit, it was me wasn’t it?

And in my very first match here too.

I’m sorry Holden, but it’s pretty obvious that this company doesn’t believe in you anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to be a proper replacement for you when I win that championship come Trauma. Don’t believe I can do it? Do your homework. Look up some of David Hunter in Georgia for the last six months. You’ll see harder than either you or Razor hit. You’ll see tougher than you or Razor provided. Look closely and you’ll see a focus and drive to win that…clearly Razor lacked.

But don’t worry Holden. A loss here doesn’t mean the end. It only means that there’s probably bigger and brighter things for you.

Just not here. I mean…the front staff obviously don’t want you as champion. That’s why I’m booked in this match, after all.

Oh…hey Razor. If you’re still reading after I insulted your ability and performance, than I’d like to offer you a toast. Feel free to drink your half but I’m going to pour mine to the ground in memory of the career you’ll never have. I mean…it seemed like a fairly easy match to win, right? Theoretically, all you had to do was just keep hammering him until he stopped moving. But you couldn’t do it. You failed at the finish line. In the end, all you have left to show for it…are wounds, bloodstains, and scars that will never heal. That would be fine if they had a story to back it up, but…man, losing makes a shitty story don’t it?

For the record, I’m sending this from the public library in Greenville so…yeah, good luck finding me if you feel insulted. Which you probably do. It’s not that hard.

Don’t blame me, you’re the one that failed. Sure I failed too but I failed in the main event. I didn’t fail for the lowest title in the company. A title that I will personally make the highest level. Surely better than the North American Title and hopefully better than the World Title.

Why better? Because the Underground Tile is about survival. The other titles might have those matches added in, but this championship is always about that same theme. This title should always be the main event. But it’s not.

And, honestly, the fact that guys like Holden, Razor, Tyrone, Tyler, and Malone are competing for it kind of holds credence as to why.

Holden is a fine champion, but is still a champion of the lowest caliber.

Razor failed to win that lowest championship.

Tyler, Tyrone, and Malone weren’t even on the damn card, not even bothering to show up for the Deadly Rumble, an easy main event paycheck.

Why is that?

Maybe it’s because Tyler is a blimey Brit who cares more about beating people up than winning titles. A man after my own heart, sure, but in the end, what’s the point of giving it your all if you’re not doing it when the money’s the best? That makes you a person who enjoys beating people up for fun. That person is disgusting and should be fired.

Maybe it’s because Tyrone is a white trash hillbilly who, while talented and a veteran in some ways, can’t even be bothered to show up. Now, I probably respect Tyrone the most simply for the fact that he’s done the most in this company, but I really can’t completely respect a guy who refuses an easy paycheck, especially when they live in Mississippi. Not just Mississippi, but backwater Mississippi. You need the money more than I do, is my point. And the title, really, but it’s obvious you don’t deserve it with your lackadaisical attitude.

Maybe it’s because Malone is a disgusting individual, arrogant to the core, and uncaring about anything but himself and sex and getting ladies, no matter who that lady was with. To be honest, I dislike you the most Malone, if only because you’re the most reprehensible and…honestly, the biggest asshole in this match. The person who deserves this title the least is you, buddy.

I hope I got my message across. I apologize if this isn’t the most orthodox way of reaching somebody, but please, forward this to the appropriate inboxes?

Thanks.

Sincerely,

David Hunter

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David just kinda sits on his stolen blood-stained couch, staring at his cheap television showing some local broadcast of Friends, clutching a bottle of cheap beer and watching Ross try to pivot a couch up some stairs like an idiot.

You don’t pivot, you lift and get it over the railing.

He’d change the channel, he really would.

Only problem is the remote is located on top of the TV.

David cannot stand up.

Not because he physically cannot but because his hands and feet are bound together with thick (very good, honestly) nylon rope.

Not long after a scene change, the sounds of a toilet flushing are heard. A faucet turns on but soon turns off.

After a few moments, the bathroom door opens. A man with a rifle walks out, releasing a breath of content.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“It’s fine man. I’ve had to take a shit once during an interrogation. It doesn’t get awkward unless you talk about it extensively,” David says.

“Really? I’ll keep that in mind then. Which job was that, out of curiosity?” the man asks.

“One of my trips through Richmond. Some jack-ass stole some important gems from this kid, thinking it any easy target. What he didn’t realize were those gems were actually aliens sleeping. I haven’t seen ‘em since but I’m pretty sure the guy is currently in dimension prison,” David says.

The man nods his head, impressed by what he was just told.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last, as the man points his rifle at David.

“Well, enough pussy-footing around. Do you know why I’m here?” the man asks.

“Because my soul is as dead as a mummy’s and you were feeling nostalgic?” David asks.

The man lowers the gun, staring at David’s face, whose eyebrow has risen.

“Come on man…I have feelings too. And I wouldn’t feel nostalgic for mummies, it’d be more just…anything Egyptian, really,” he says.

“Its fine, Rick, honesty is the best policy,” David says.

The man—Rick—shakes his head before resuming his aim.

“But no, I am here because the Peacekeepers have received word you might have broken your probation, and we were elected to find out,” he says.

“Ah yes, the group chosen to deal with neutral orders that the Council or the Others elect not to take care of. I haven’t see you in a while. How’s Alex doing?” David asks.

“He’s doing fine. Really misses you, though. He graduated college and was bummed his good friend couldn’t make it. Started watching wrestling though, so that’s cool. Curious, how’s your dad?” Rick asks.

David’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t freak out, but merely sets the half bottle of beer on the carpet. David looks back up, staring at Rick, his eyes continuing to narrow.

“Oh, we can drop the bullshit now. I have a gun trained on you and you know how well I can use it, so let’s be serious, shall we?” Rick asks, not caring for a response. “Good.”

He takes a few steps back, creating distance between them.

“Word got out that you broke your probation by staying out longer than the allotted time you were given. You were found to have been at a warehouse downtown for half an hour, breaking your location and time restrictions. Why were you there?” he asks.

“I was meeting an old friend,” David says.

“Argit?” Rick asks, an ounce of disappointment leaking through.

“Nah, Argit’s still with Phil. Feel free to check on that to make sure if you want to. No, this friend and I go back longer than Dad’s been in the Council,” David says.

“Does this friend have anything to do with 'em?” Rick asks.

“Not as far as I know, but I also didn’t expect Ryan to know Nio and…that…other guy, Dexter?”

“Diego.”

“Yeah, sure, him. So…fuck if I know.”

Rick lowers his rifle from his shoulder, keeping it aimed at David but not through the sights.

“Mind telling me a name?” Rick asks.

“Yeah, sure. Uh…Mercury,” David says.

Almost if on instinct, Rick raises his rifle back into his sights, keeping it posed on David’s skull.

He immediately reels back.

“Whoa, Rick, it’s still just me,” David says.

“Would that ‘old friend’ happen to have a last name of Black?” Rick asks.

There is not an ounce of jovial in his voice.

“Holy shit man. Yeah, Mercury Black,” David says.

Rick cocks the rifle. David, for the first time in a while, actually looks scared.

“How do you know him?” Rick asks.

“Fuck, relax. I met him when I went to Remnant with Dad one time. It was some carnival or fair or festival or something. We hit it off pretty closely but I never saw him again. Was surprised to see him in town so we caught up on things for a while.”

“What did you talk about?” Rick asks.

“Just about what I was doing. He didn’t really mention much about his life since. He brought up that he was in a new group or gang but kind of avoided mentioning what they were here for. Rick, dude, you’re like my uncle or something, what the hell is all this?” David asks.

Rick lowers his rifle, keeping it cocked and aimed at David. The seriousness in Rick’s voice is easily picked up.

“David, I like you. I was fine with you breaking probation to catch up with a friend. I was fine with you hanging with Argit. You’re good for him, mostly. But Mercury Black is presently wanted in both his own dimension and this one,” he says.

“Did he sneak in through the laser or something? A lot of villains do that,” David says.

“No, it’s much more serious than that. There’s been Peacekeepers, Others, hell, your dad was personally voted to lead this mission. Look, there’s some serious shit going on behind the scenes here and Mercury is kind of a big target. I’m sorry, but I gotta take you in,” Rick says.

“Whoa, whoa, fuck that. If my dad’s involved I want to be as far away as possible. You’re dealing with a big bad, I get that, but—”

“This isn’t some random big bad, David! This is the biggest bad any of us have ever seen!” Rick exclaims.

David’s eyes widen, leaning back further into the couch but otherwise remains frozen.

Rick lets out a sigh, looking towards the floor.

“I’m sorry, but…”

Rick regains his aim, putting the gun on his shoulder.

“As a member of the Peacekeepers, I, Rick O’Connell, am ordering you to surrender. You will be taken in for questioning until further notice. Compliance is mandatory or I cannot promise your safety,” he says.

“Okay, that’s fine. Point the gun at me. That’s cool. Just don’t be surprised,” David says.

“Surprised at what?” Rick asks.

“Please, lower your gun, Mr. O’Connell,” a voice says.

Rick points his gun behind him, now aiming it at a man in a grey suit, who seemed to just kinda come out of thin air.

Like the song in the third Aladdin.

“That. Don’t be surprised at that,” David pipes in.

“Shut up David,” Rick says. “What the hell do you want Smith?”

The man in the suit—Smith—looks to the two of them before responding. His eyes are unseen past the shades on his face.

“I was told I was required here. Something about a favor?” Smith asks.

“Yeah, that’s me. Good timing, by the way. Um, yeah, I think I got one more in stock right?” David asks.

“That would be correct Mr. Hunter,” Smith responds.

“Sweet. Yeah, uh, Agent, Hugo, Mr. Weaving, Red Skull, Megatron, any chance you could take me in for questioning over Mr. Serious over here?” David requests. “Not that I prefer your place over the Peacekeepers, but at least I won’t be threatened with death if I hesitate to answer anything. Not to mention you're more likely to give me a straight answer if I ask it. I like my life, thank you. No offense Rick.”

“Full offense. The fuck did you do for the Others to get favors?” Rick asks.

At this point, the rifle is still trained on Smith, even if Rick has fallen back into full-on Father Mode.

“I did a couple jobs up in Maine. Retrieval was all it was. They were villains anyway. King ones, so it’s not like the world misses a few psychos and crazies,” David says.

“Sounds like I have the advantage here, Mr. O’Connell. Unless you prefer I speak to your supervisor?” Smith asks.

Rick lowers his rifle, letting out a muffled ‘fuck’ in annoyance.

He turns back towards David, getting out a knife from a holster around his belt.

“I’ll be talking to your dad and making sure he talks to you,” Rick says.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. Has he called Mom yet, by the way?” David asks.

“I don’t know, have you?” Rick responds.

As Rick finishes cutting the rope off his wrists, David grabs onto his hands tight.

The two lock eyes, the dagger holding still despite the grip around both hands tightening with every second.

“I have no problem treating you like anybody else, Rick,” David says.

“Funny, cause in this moment, I’m starting to think the kid I once knew as my son’s best friend might be a lost cause too,” Rick says.

They share a glare for a few more moments before David lets go. Rick gets to his knees, cutting the rope around David’s ankles.

Rick stands up, putting the knife away and uncocking the rifle. David stands up, stretching out his limbs before offering his hand towards Smith.

Smith immediately shakes it, sealing the deal.

“We will make sure all questions are relayed to your supervisors, Mr. Connell, as well as the senior Hunter. In the meantime, I will take Mr. Hunter here and question him thoroughly on his involvement with Mr. Black,” Smith says.

Smith opens the bathroom door, revealing not a bathroom but a bright white, engulfing the entire area.

“Would you like a ride?” Smith asks.

Rick shakes his head, opting to walk towards the actual entrance. It opens and slams shut, leaving Smith and David alone.

Smith looks to David.

“After you?” Smith asks.

David nods, walking into the bright white. Smith follows soon after before closing the door.