It's a temperate day just outside Moscow, Russia and barely 24 hours in the wake of War Games. Lux's flight back to America was about 12 hours away, but Lux wasn't going to let this opportunity to get some additional business done escape her. At least, not again.

She closes the door to her small rented European car and takes one last glance at a photo before folding it up and tucking it in her side pocket. She zips up the track jacket she's wearing and takes her phone out, putting the camera into selfie mode and running it up and down the length of her torso. Does it look like I have a gun?

Corey snaps into view next to Lux. Nope, but the track jacket screams middle aged Russian mafioso.

When in Rome. She quips as she takes a final look around her. She's parking in the lot of a small deli, her actual objective being just up the street. She starts making her way down the sidewalk, Corey in tow. Lux does her best to speak quietly to him so as to not stand out to the scant few pedestrians out and about.

So are we gonna talk about War Games? Because War Games was pretty awesome.

Lux grunts in response.

Corey jogs ahead of her, walking backwards and talking. Dude, you won! You earned Donovan Blackwater a chance at the Universal Championship and you gotta know he's gonna pick you as MVP!

Lux remains eyes forward, and she responds as casually as possible, despite the touchy nature of the content. I had my hands around her neck.

Corey's expression drops, displaying that particular kind of “are you serious?” exasperation. You'll get another chance at her, Lux! And besides, do you really think killing Madison live on pay per view would be a good look for you?

How many more people are going to die while she still lives? She hisses back.

This gives Corey pause. While he didn't exactly see it, the attack on he and Donovan a week prior, an attack that Madison orchestrated, was still fresh in all their heads. And two civilians had been caught in the crossfire. Point. He mutters stoically. But it still wasn't the right time. You can't let her get in your head space. That's what she wants.

Lux is about to reply, when a man walking his dog passes by them. She nods her head in his direction and waits until he's well out of earshot before proceeding. I'm aware of that Corey. Suddenly, she stops. We're here.

Corey turns around to take a gander at “here”, which seems to be a rather divey looking bar. So what did this guy do?

He was one of the most vicious of the enemy's Praetorians. I once saw the aftermath of him tearing out a woman's unborn child with his teeth. He took a “selfie” with it.

Corey's eyes go wide and he blanches. Jesus fucking Christ....


I need to work out some anger.

Corey nods his head, numbly. Yeah, go get 'em tiger. I'll be at the Square. The boy says, referring to their mutual meeting place inside their shared consciousness.

See you later.

Corey disappears back inside her head, and Lux subtly checks the position of the holster underneath her jacket. She then marches up to the bar and through the front door. It's mid afternoon, so it's not crowded, but HELPER'S intel was typically spot on, so there was a very good chance that a 19 year old drug runner, future war criminal, and all around piece of shit named Vladek Egorov was in attendance. Lux kept towards the wall, trying not to be too conspicuous. The bartender, a young woman, notices her immediately though.

Vam dolzhno byt' 18 let, chtoby byt' zdes'! (You have to be 18 to be in here!)

Lux grimaces, annoyed but not unprepared. Mogu ya prosto vospol'zovat'sya vannoy, mne deystvitel'no nado ssat'. (Can I just use the bathroom, I really have to piss!)

The bartender waves her on, and Lux scans the surroundings for the john. Finding it in short order, her eyes coast over the length of the bar trying to find Vladek. He's nowhere to be seen. Lux curses inwardly, already anticipating flying back home having missed two targets. She opens the door to the men's room....and comes face to face with Vladek. Lux stops, blocking the door frame with her body. Vladek, reeking of drink, scowls at her.

Iz puti, pedik. (Out of the way, .) The young Russian's breath is laden with cheap booze, and his eyes are lidded and foggy with it as well.

Vladek?

His blood shot eyes narrow. Otkuda ty menya znayesh'? (How do you know me?)


Taking a gamble, Lux leans in to him slightly. YA slyshal, ty mozhesh' menya podtsepit'. (I heard you could hook me up.) Lux reaches into her pocket, and briefly flashes a small wad of rubles. Her heart hammered a bit as she banked on the largesse she just displayed being enough to counteract any further questioning. Vladek stops, his addled brain taking slightly longer than usual to process the interaction. Finally, he looks behind her and walks backwards back into the toilet. Lux follows him in, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. Taking another gamble, she keeps walking forward, forcing Vladek to step even further back into the narrow bathroom. Making sure she didn't do it aggressively was the key, and thankfully he didn't seem to notice she was deliberately getting him further away from the door. She stops when he is standing next to a stall.

U menya seychas nichego net. Day mne paru chasov. (I don't have anything on me right now. Give me a couple hours.)

Da, konechno. Prosto vernis', ty isportish' vecherinku, yesli ne sdelayesh' etogo. (Oh, sure. Just please come back, you'll spoil the party if you don't.)

Vladek offers up a dull smile, and looks like he's about to slip past her. Lux springs into action, allowing his body to brush past but then taking the back of his head and slamming it down hard on the lip of the sink just before them. She would have preferred doing it in the stall, but Vladek went the wrong way around her. Vladek doesn't even have time to cry out as his skull crashes into the porcelain. Lux takes hold of the back of his shirt, not allowing him to fall before spinning him around to face the stall, tossing him into it and removing the gun. Vladek stumbles into a seated position on the toilet and Lux fires the small caliber silenced pistol, depositing a slug right between his eyes. Replacing the gun, she leaves the bathroom immediately, not even sparing the bastard a parting glance. All too easy...

------------------------------------LATER (COREY TIME)-----------------------------------

The shot reopens on Corey stuffed into a seat on his flight home to America. He looks positively miserable, and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly his seat is jarred forward. A childish giggle can be heard from the seat just behind him. Corey clenches his fists and pushes his anger down before continuing. Sure...yeah....Lux gets to do cool assassin stuff and I'm stuck cutting a promo from coach. He grouses into the camera. But you know what, I'm gonna stay positive! How can I not, Lux kicked tremendous amounts of a- Corey shoots a look behind him, mutters something under his breath and changes course....booty, at War Games! Booty that also included the particularly large and hairy posterior (thank you so so much for that by the way) of one Boston Bruiser.

Hey buddy, first real outing in the XWF and you're rocking a big 'ol goose egg. How's it feel? Pretty poopy I bet. And after all that billing you gave yourself too. Kicking down the front door of the company and instantly going illogically apoplectic about how you were being ignored five seconds past the threshold. Well, if War Games is any indication it seems like Lady Respect is still gonna be writing you weekly Dear John letters.

You know what really bothers me about you, Bruiser? And I'm about to tread a bit political here for a moment so bear with me. But in a world where minorities are finally daring to claim ever bigger slices of opportunity pie for themselves, you are proof positive that, without fail, there will still always be a mediocre white man there to kvetch and moan about how he's not getting a fair shot despite being as unrelentingly middling as dollar store frozen pizza. I mean sure, you can EAT that pizza but the moment you do you're accepting tacit understanding that it's half cardboard and definitely contains the absolute maximum amount of rat feces allowable by the FDA.

That turd and cardboard pizza is you, Boston. You are totally unexceptional in every way. In fact, it's very very telling that you're still complaining about Sarah kicking out of your pin for the Federweight. Because deep down inside, I think a part of you knows that that sneak attack on a 120 pound reformed vampire was about as close as you're ever going to come to touching gold around here.

So whaddya got on Lux, man? Huh? You gonna call her weak? Ineffective? None of that's true. Like, objectively. Case in point, last woman standing at War Games. Or are you gonna take the Big D “but I want it really, reeeeaaaallly bad” approach? Because that didn't work for him. Incidentally, neither did the Gossamer Mesh Bikini with matching boulder holder. Side bar, Bruiser no one wants to see anymore of your exposed flesh and we definitely don't want to see it in black lace, just to cut you off at the pass.

So, I reiterate, whaddya got? What does this mid-90's enhancement talent throwback (I was always an Abe “Knuckleball” Schwartz guy myself) have on the person that is recognized company wide as one of the most dominant talents on the roster? Someone that even Vincent Lane himself admitted would probably dunk on him given the opportunity? The fact is Bruiser that NOBODY is talking about you like that, and it eats you up inside. It KILLS you. But sometimes, the majority is right. Sometimes, there's a reason the wind blows the way it does. And it's because you are just another dumpy, lame, boring white dude who is destined to be wrestling middle management for the rest of your life. A sad khaki and polo shirt wearing nonce, impotently raging at faulty fax machines and being passed up for promotions, yet somehow managing to go home, comb those last strands over that growing bald spot, suck in that beer gut and convince yourself you're pussy slayer supreme.

AWWWW...he said a swear! A child's voice peeps up from the row behind. Corey cringes.

I was doing so good too! Sorry! Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...crushing mediocrity! That's you, boo! But hey, look at the bright side, now you got some material to run with, so wait no longer! And I didn't even have to resort to calling you fat. Oh, and by the way, Lux says you get to call the stip. Lucky ducky!

The kid kicks Corey's seat again, and his entire body tenses up with checked rage. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to take ALLLLL the sleeping pills and pray to God I'm not conscious for the next 7 hours of trans-national torture. Burn in hell, American Airlines. Then, with a big forced smile. BYYYYYEEEEEEE!