The Opening Salvo

[Murdoc]

****

“I JUST DON’T FUCKIN’ LIKE YOU.”

<Well. Now that that’s cleared up, allow me to retort.> 

<-achem->

<GOOD.>

“You’re an asshole. All full of yourself, with this bullshit Emperor of Darkness shtick you’ve got going on.” Jackson’s eyes widen as Murdoc steps forward, the barrel of the gun pressing deep into the large man’s sternum as he advances with clear, malevolent intent.

“I don’t know how many bullets I got in this thing, but I bet it’s enough to drop you, Monster Man.”

<A six-shooter. All he’s got is six shots. He’d only get one shot off before I grabbed the gun. I’m close enough. I think I could take a bullet. Hell, that rapper ... what-his-fuck ... change, his name has to do with change. Not Obama (YES I CAN! Fuck this guy up.), I’m not that politically unaware. That schmuck got out from a few bullets. If he was able to, I guarantee I could.>

The feared, legendary beast of PCW’s history is forced to stand motionless, watching as his lover is escorted away. Eira casts one last glance at him over her shoulder, her silvery hair whipping about in the fitful breeze to get one last look at Murdoc .... the bouquet of crimson roses hanging forgotten in his massive hand.

****

Those roses ...

... that RED ...

... is all Murdoc sees.

Murdoc positions himself between Sadistic and Eira, rooted like a giant oak. The North American Champion glares at the Phenom from behind his expressionless mask. Staring up at Murdoc, Sadistic is clearly having second thoughts about this whole violence thing the Black Hand had planned. The crowd goes silent in anticipation but starts to buzz at the thought of a showdown between the wicked warriors.

<Go ahead. 

<I’ve got some anger to vent.>

<I’ve had a week off.>

<GO AHEAD.>

Reaching into his pocket, Billy slowly begins to backpedal away from the mountain of a man. Pulling a single playing card from his pocket, he nonchalantly flicks it at Murdoc before bailing out of the ring.

The bullet ...

... not a bullet.

The CARD.

Flutters helplessly to the canvas. Eira picks it off the mat with deft fingers and displays it for him to see. The custom-made playing card registers NOTHING on Murdoc’s radar. <Mind games. OooOOOOooooOOOooooh! Please.> Murdoc is unimpressed. There’s not a drop of concern in the steely gaze of Murdoc, not a speck of worry. Just ... anger. So much anger. <Too many people, getting their hands on or TRYING to get their hands on her. First her little former shadow network of fuckups now THIS shadow network of fuckups.>

Grimm was, once a upon a time, respectable.  Showtime, never.

Over the past two months, Grimm has shown rather definitively that he IS nothing more than a man. His aura of legend, his shroud of mythos ... shredded in the light of pure mediocrity. <Grimm and Showtime, THAT’S the big ticket eh? Grimm and Mikey Wryght. Jesus christ.>

Sadistic?  Respectable ENOUGH for someone who's done nothing for a long time.

Murdoc and Eira begin to make their way out of the ring. <The Black Hand ... can we NOT call them the Black Hand? Sounds like a ... heh. Hehehehe. Sounds like a NINJA TURTLE enemy. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA okay, I’ll call them the Black Hand. The Black Hand decides it wants to look dominant. Only problem with that ... Showtime couldn’t get the job done. Sadistic and Grimm? Well done, they beat two fruitcakes. Showtime, with the world’s eyes on him, couldn’t pull the trigger and got snuffed out. Way to be dominant.>

Pull the ...

... trigger.

As the curtain to the backstage opens before them, Murdoc looks to Eira. Watching her closely; she had just endured an intense match. Eira snatching a bottle of water from a table alongside the hallway, downing half of it in one solid gulp. Is it wrong to say how arousing it is, watching that ravenous hunger ... the throat and neck muscles working? Fine. He’ll keep it to himself and just THINK it.

Eira, however, is quick to spy the intense stare and smiles a bit. ‘See something you like?’ Murdoc chuckles as he nods. ‘All of it, if you must know.’ She smiles but doesn’t turn away ... her peripheral vision guiding her to the locker room door. She turns only to open it and peer inside. ‘I need to change. There’s no one in here. Come on in.’

Murdoc watches as Eira casts one last glance at him over her shoulder, her silvery hair whipping about in the fitful breeze to get one last look at Murdoc .... the bouquet of crimson roses hanging forgotten ... no. No roses. The roses are gone. It wasn’t a last look. Never a last look. Murdoc’s hand reaches up and catches the door before it separates them again. His eyes never leaving her frame, she smiles as he enters but ... she seems to notice the rigidity in his movements, the force generated by his muscles for such a mundane action.  She keeps silent no longer.

‘What is it, Beloved?’

He removes the mask once the door is fully closed and locked behind them.

‘What happened the night you were taken from me?’

The first bullet had been fired.

****