Robbie Bourbon has been under the control of the demented Mr. Sex of late, and with the assistance of the one and only Bearded War Pig was able to retake his body and come back to existence in the XWF. As a result, BWP and Bourbon have taken it upon themselves to form a team, the Motherfuckers, and take the XWF by storm. They face BX3 at Savage.

As a result of the actions of Danny Sex, using Robbie Bourbon's body, Bourbon owes his girlfriend and handler, Blue, a nice dinner.

STATE DINNER

We open to see the table setting for two in what looks like a rather nice restaurant, with no patrons seated at it. The rest of the establishment is bustling, table after table crowded with eager and happy patrons, feasting on dishes and sipping from wine and water glass alike. The staff of waiters and waitresses, all wearing sterile white dress shirts and black slacks with black aprons, are at the beck and call of the whole house, delivering food, beverage, and check caddies, picking up empty plates, bowls, glasses, beer bottles, and one can safely assume healthy tips.

A maitre dee escorts the couple highlighting the floor, Robbie Bourbon and Blue, Robbie's girlfriend and handler, to the empty table. The host pulls Blue's chair out for her as Robbie takes his seat. Blue is wearing a stunning black gown, Robbie is in his regular guy standard button down, cargo shorts, and as usual, his mask. Robbie is beaming, the atmosphere and his present company lending to his joviality.

Wow, this place is great, and you, as always, are the most beautiful thing in the room. I daresay the atmosphere and my present company are lending to my joviality.

Blue, on the other hand, is a touch more stoic.

This is a nice place. You even wore your nice cargo shorts, thank you.

Well, I owe you.

You do. I mean, I get what happened to you. Our boys at the Agency are working on mind control, the residue on the bottom of your boot from stomping that thing that took you over and made you go have all that sex will go a long way. I mean, I know you weren't responsible, but...

Blue looks downward. Robbie looks perplexed as a waiter approaches and fills up their water glasses.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?"

I'll take an Arnold Palmer.

Blue continues to look down.

Honey, what would you like to drink?

Blue stirs, her thoughts elsewhere.

Oh, I'll have a Jack and Coke.

"I'll be right back with those."

Robbie looks at Blue intently. Blue avoids looking back.

Honey, what's wrong?

Well, I don't know how to put this...

The death knell of a sentence causes Robbie to blink deeply, almost as if he was trying to regain composure.

Tell me, please. I trust you.

Well, it's just that seeing you have sex with all those women in all those promos, it was a lot to process. It's still a lot to process. I mean, how much of that was you, and how much of that was Danny Sex?

Robbie takes a deep breath.

It was all that thing. I only have room in my heart for one woman, and I'm sitting with her, and she's the most beautiful, charming, witty, funny, and incredible thing in my life.

Thanks.

Seriously! Babe, that...

I know, that wasn't you. It was a parasitic organism with an enzyme that dominated your nervous system. It's just, why? Why do we have this kind of life? Why can't we have an easier time of it? My brother has a big house, two kids, is married, and he's happy.

Your brother is the most miserable twat I've ever met.

Well, not really. I mean, yeah, he's an IT guy, his life is dull compared to yours.

Ours. I'm not the CIA operative in charge of pointing the U.S.'s most potent "living weapons" at threats.

True, but what if we both got out of it? What if we settled down? I used to love the life, but seeing you get hurt the way you did, seeing you lose your mind to something just because you are on the front lines. How would you feel if you saw me have fuck a ton of dudes because I was mind controlled to do so?

I'd put whatever did that to you in so much pain Hell itself would shudder.

Blue sips her water. Robbie downs his.

Babe, for all intents and purposes I was raped. Raped. I'm sorry you had to see it, but I had to live it.

I know, and I'm sorry. Just...

Robbie waits for Blue to finish her statement as a moment passes, time standing absolutely still like some pocket of the universe ignored the fourth dimension at a table in this restaurant.

Just these aren't the kinds of things I envisioned when I wanted to save the world. I knew I'd be getting my hands dirty, but watching your body penetrate all those women was more than I bargained for.

I'm sorry.

The waiter returns and hands the beverages to both Bourbon and Blue. Robbie sips his Arnold Palmer eagerly as Blue downs her whiskey and cola in almost a single gulp.

"Woah, thirsty? Can I get you another?"

Blue silently assents.

"Okay, did you guys want to get started with anything?"

Robbie and Blue glance at each other and look down at their untouched menus.

Eh, give us a minute, we're still thinking. Do you recommend anything?

As the waiter starts prattling off the night's specials and top sellers, Robbie reaches across the table and touches Blue's hand. She responds by tightly gripping his. A sheepish smile crawls across Robbie's face.

Eh, nevermind. Just get the lady her drink and give us the check. We're going somewhere else.

"Oh, is it something I did sir?"

Nope. This place is nice. We aren't.

The waiter leaves with a strange look on his face regarding the statement. Blue releases Robbie's hand.

You don't know how hard it is to be a woman.

No, I don't.

Suddenly, two men in suits, sunglasses, and earpieces approach the table. They survey the layout of the restaurant.

Oh damn it.

Work?

Yeah.

Well, I guess you have doubled down on your assets. I'm one thing, but Pig is a whole new dimension.

The restaurant all seems to freeze as more armed agents patrol the place. A pin drop could be heard as two more agents escort Rex Tillerson, Secretary of State, to Robbie and Blue's table.

Mr. Bourbon, Agent Blue, sorry to interrupt your dinner...

We were just leaving.

Oh, well, please come with me.

We're waiting on the check and her drink.

Tillerson pulls out a hundred dollar bill and leaves it on the table.

Your drink will have to wait, Agent Blue. Come with me.

Robbie and Blue stand and follow Tillerson along with the other agents outside of the restaurant. They walk to a large black SUV and enter the back seat as Tillerson takes the passenger front and an agent gets behind the wheel.

What's going on? You couldn't call?

Agent Blue, are you familiar with Otto Warmbier?

The kid that was arrested in North Korea?

He died yesterday.

Damn. Stay the fuck out of North Korea, what was that dipshit thinking going there? Hell, I'll bet his mommy and daddy raised him to avoid going into a bodega, he probably locked his doors whenever he drove through a black neighborhood, but going into North Korea sounded like a good idea? Stupid prick.

Well, Mr. Bourbon, as bad as an idea as it was, he was still an American student who died of strange auspices in a very hostile land under a very hostile regime.

Yeah, yeah. And again, plenty of kids are going to die due to cops in the barrio or ghetto here stateside. Sad is sad, but sensationalized death isn't really more valuable death.

You might want to get to the point, he's a little cranky you're interrupting our first date night in over two months.

Tillerson clears his throat as the agent driving snickers.

Well, to be blunt, we want someone to go into North Korea and find out what killed Otto Warmbier. A foreign country killed an American youth over a poster, Mr. Bourbon.

Send one of your guys.

We've sent plenty. He haven't heard anything back from them. We need special agents in on this one. We need the most courageous and brazen in America to go behind the lines and do some recon.

You need the Motherfuckers.

Exactly.

Well, Rex, we have a tight schedule. We have a match against Bx3 at Savage, and frankly, those guys need to have the shit kicked out of them. As much as it might give hope to the people that we put a dent in Kim Jong-Un's regime, publicly wrecking the shit out of Bilbo Brommer Blumpkinz and Not So Radical Reno will do wonders for them too. Here's two examples of American shit on display stinking up the whole continent. A warped, twisted, broken mind in a feeble body looking to do harm to whomever he can, and a huge crybaby who wants everything to go their way without any work. Neither of these pricks understand the sweat and tears it takes to earn something.

You're describing Kim Jong-Un to a tee.

Bourbon rubs his chin, mulling over what Tillerson said.

Do you have any intel?

None. We were hoping to contract the Motherfuckers to handle the operation their way, off the books.

Bourbon smiles.

Hrmm. Maybe kicking the shit out of the North Koreans would be a good warm-up for Bx3. Maybe a little bit of overkill, since Bx3 are the biggest fucking jokes to walk into the XWF since Gabe Reno and Ghost Tank combined. There's silly, there's fucking goofy, then there's pointless, useless garbage that the people will actually demand their money back because of like those assholes. We have Bilbo, who should be locked up and put on Xanax. Lots of Xanax. Somehow, in this land of the free, someone decided to feed that worthless back of prick a lifetime supply of dick pills and he got the silly notion in his head he's got a right to force himself on women. By women, I mean someone hired actors to dress up like women and pretend to get raped by him to feed his ego. Then you have Reno, who's another massive fucking loser and byproduct of too many consolation prizes in a world where everybody gets participation trophies. It's almost sad, because these silly bastards have been told they're good enough for so long that they think good enough is actually good. And when 'good enough' runs up against excellence, well, that's when the real shitstorm happens. Crying, needing, man-babies who don't even have shame in demanding someone change their fucking diaper for them. Well, in Bilbo's case I mean metaphorically, not the literal sense. It's pretty awful when someone can't literally wipe their own ass successfully, but I'm pretty fucking sure if Bilbo could walk, he'd still demand that the other members of Bx3 wipe his ass for him. Hell, this is the XWF, we have the finest doctors in the universe. Tush went from being a wheelybob dimp to walking and talking like a big boy, Bilbo is just lazy!

Robbie finishes, his voice raised and kind of loud in the confined space of the SUV. Blue is staring at him, a huge smile on her face, and she caresses his thigh. Robbie puts his hand on top of hers, and stares back at her in admiration. Tillerson clears his throat.

So, uh, does that mean...

Let me call my partner.

Robbie pulls out his cell phone. He doddles around with it for a moment.

Shit, Hon, do you have...

Blue chuckles and pulls her phone out. She dials.

Hello Mr. Hatred.

Yeah, I'm good, thank you.

He's right here.

Blue hands Robbie her phone.

Yo broski.

I think we have some work to do.

Big thing.

It's overseas.

Tillerson looks back at Bourbon through the rear-view as Robbie carries out his conversation.

North Korea.

Yeah, they killed that kid, we need to go over and find out how, and why.

Sure.

Absolutely, good idea.

Bourbon lowers the phone and looks up at Tillerson.

He says we need a plot of land.

What? You're going over there, not inviting the whole country over here!

As payment. We need our own compound for training and recreation purposes. Someplace run of the mill folks can't just stumble into, someplace any enemies we make will have a hard time finding.

What about your dojo?

Too public.

Tillerson lets out a deep exhale.

I'll see what I can do.

Bourbon puts the phone up to his head.

He says he'll look into it.

Probably as soon as you're ready.

You're ready now?

Robbie looks up and gives a thumbs up to Rex Tillerson.

Then I guess we'll have them gas up the jet.