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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » High Stakes Battle Royale RP Board
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Ruckus Offline
16 wheels will get to you...



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#1
11-12-2020, 03:56 PM

“Scale ticket.”

The low voice came over the old speaker like gravel crushed under a heavy tire. Chet knew it was the same guy again. Fourth time up on the old Cat scale. He had to make sure, though.

“This a re-weigh?”

“Yup.”

“Company name?”

There was a pause when the only thing Chet could hear was his own heartbeat in his eardrums along with the growling engine of the big truck sitting on the big scale across the lot that was coming through the speaker. Chet gulped a swallow and readied himself to ask again, since the line of drivers at his service desk was growing.

“Same as last time. Ruckus.”

“Perfect. Come on in.”

Chet went about handling his customers as the bright yellow ticket started printing slowly off of the old machine. He kept his eyes closed, trying to will the numbers to fall under legal weight limits for the state - but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. It hadn’t happened the first three tries, after all, and it hadn’t been enough time for the driver to have gone out there and pulled some of his load off. Still, he did his best to mentally force the printer to write up some favorable numbers.

The customers in line went fast enough. They had places to go, after all. Later in the evening it would get worse, when the drivers wanted their paychecks printed up or needed advances to go get a suckjob from one of the dozen or so local lot lizards. Right now, though, they just wanted showers and snacks. The occasional fuel-up. This was the part of the evening that they were all afraid to give up their cherished lot spaces for any reason, though, so most of them would wait until the morning for any diesel.

*THUNK*

The big driver was back. His huge hand thudded down onto the fuel desk in front of Chet, complete with the last three scale tickets wadded up in his fist.

“Ticket.”

“Yes sir… two fifty.”

“Ought to be free after two reweighs.”

“I can ask my manager, but… for now, he’s out in the lot helping someone else. I’ll refund it later if he okays it.”

The driver’s eyes looked like they were being held into their sockets by sheer willpower. His ratty hair and unkempt beard, though not uncommon for long haul truck drivers, gave him an air of wildness. It was like looking at the face of a madman. The fact that he had to be at least six and a half feet tall didn’t help things, nor did the knots of muscles rippling under his white, grease stained tank top. Chet held his breath, wondering if he was about to get shouted at or worse.

“Fine.”

Chet let his exhale out through pursed lips, relieved, as the driver pulled out a handful of quarters and nickels from his jeans pocket. It looked close enough. Chet didn’t want to waste any more time counting it.

“Here you go.”

He pulled the ticket off of the CAT printer, tugging until the perforated seams gave way with a muffled zippering noise. Chet signed it quickly and tore off the receipt copy for his stack, then handed over the yellow paper to the driver.

The man’s face twisted into a scowl as soon as he read the numbers on the page.


“Bullshit!”

“Sir…”

“This is fuckin’ BULLSHIT. Your goddamn scale is busted.”

“CAT regularly calibrates the scales and…”

“BULLSHIT! Print me a ticket that’s under.”

“I can’t do that, you know I can’t… CAT will refund any fines if there’s a problem, I can’t…”

Chet’s slip-resistant shoes left the floor as the driver leaned over the fuel counter and dragged him up by his cheap polo collar. Being so close to the driver’s eyes had Chet trembling in midair.

“Where’s the next scale between here and the state line?”

“Th th th th there isn’t one… w-w-w-w-w-we’re the last… ”

“Hey buddy put the kid down and go take care of your overweight rig!”

Another driver behind the angry man in line puts his hand on the angry one’s shoulder. Chet is dropped to the floor, landing on his feet and only stumbling a step or two.

“Take your fuckin’ hand off me, pig.”

The angry one turns toward the interjector, shoving him hard with both hands across the chest. The second driver is sent staggering back into a rack of postcards and flyers, nearly getting knocked onto his ass. Every eye in the truck stop lands on the angry driver, and he reins himself in.

“I catch any hell over this ticket, I’ll be back here, and you’ll be sorry… CHET.”

The driver’s finger wagged in Chet’s face, his bumpy knuckles scabbed over and covered with grime and calluses. He stormed out of the lobby and out into the drivers’ lot by slamming his palm against the glass of the swinging door, nearly sending it off of its hinges as it banged. Chet watched him walk off without so much as a look back over his shoulder.

“You want me to call the cops, young man? I’ll make sure he don’t go nowhere.”

“N-no… no sir. That’s fine. I’m fine.

Chet sighed in relief as the image of the big angry driver vanished in the early evening darkness. No need for cops, he thought. It’s no big deal.





“Fuck!”

Ruckus spits the cuss out of his mouth like it was a wad of tobacco juice. His gloved hands yank out a pallet of fruit. Watermelons, grapefruits, etc. The wooden pallet drops to the asphalt parking lot and cracks, sending some of the heavier specimens rolling away while a small puddle of nectars underneath slowly widens. Ruck tends to his forearm, which has a bright red gash oozing up on it, cut open by the wooden pallet.

“Shit.”

He wipes the blood away, leaving a wing of smeared red across the inside of his forearm. Standing in the truck stop parking lot, Ruckus looks around at the several broken pallets lying in pieces around him. Hundreds of pounds of fruit, cracked open and already drawing flies. Probably going to cost him most of his commission on this run, if not all of it. But, he knew he had to get the weight down or else face the scrutiny of local highway patrol - and he couldn’t afford that.

He looked at the discarded cargo around him and thought to himself that it was just about enough. Maybe one last pallet would do the trick for sure. He’d still get the money from the motors he was lugging, after all, even if he didn’t have this agricultural payday. He could try to say it was stolen, maybe. Food items get lifted out of idling trucks all the time, after all. This was a lot, though.


“One more, Ruck. Just one more.”

Ruckus stepped back into the rig, just enough to get his hands on another pallet. He dragged it to the door, sliding it across the floor of the trailer until it was hanging off the edge.

Then it got stuck.


“MotherFUCKER.”

Ruckus grunted, pulling on it again. It didn’t budge. Probably caught on something underneath or inside. Pain in the ass. Every pallet weighed more than he did.

“Need a hand, pal?”

Ruckus froze. The voice was familiar. From inside. The man he’d pushed away after that useless clerk wouldn’t fix up a ticket for him.

“No.”

“Come on now, that’s too heavy. Let me help.”

“I said no.”

Ruckus turned and saw the man. Definitely the same guy. He was chewing on some jerky and held a one liter of Mountain Dew in his hand. Typical fatass driver. Older, too. Early fifties, most likely. What in God’s name made him think it was a good idea to put his hands on Ruckus?

“Listen - that shit inside is bygones. I get it. I been overweight a bunch in my time.”

No shit.

“But you ain’t gettin’ nowhere without a hand, partner. Let me just help you prop that load up so you can clear ‘er out…”

“I said…”

But before Ruckus could finish, the man was lifting himself up into the trailer. He was on the other side of the pallet in half a second, bent over and looking out and down at Ruckus with a red face as if he’d been doing hard labor all day instead of just stuffing his face with junk.

“On three, okay? I got this side. You grab your end and we’ll lift this thing off of whatever the hell it’s snagged up on.”

Ruckus fumed silently, but he made sure to just nod. He kept the bastard who wouldn’t mind his own damn business looking straight ahead at him. He didn’t need him poking around inside the trailer any more than he already was, after all.

“One, two, THREE! By god it’s heavy as shit…”

Ruckus waited until his internal clock gave him a count of four and a half before really putting any muscle into his end of the lift. As soon as he did so the pallet came up off the floor of the trailer by an inch or two, and then the two men swung it out onto the concrete. Melons cracked open on the ground like eggs in a frying pan.

The older, fatter man sat down on the back of the truck, grabbing at the back belt he was wearing.

“My damn back might be out! You let me do all the lifting! What, you can’t count to three?”

Ruckus just stared at the man.

“Math ain’t really my thing, mister. Neither’s small talk or time wasting.”

“Just let me catch my breath, asshole. Can’t even get a thank you from you types.”

Ruckus continued to stare, then his eyes widened as he watched the blue tarp start to slide off in the back of the trailer.

“Time for you to go.”

“One second, I said!”

Then the tarp fell off completely. The whole setup was revealed. A makeshift rig of old weight benches welded together and fixed to the trailer walls and floor. Cables running from the racks to the ankles and wrists of a young woman standing there in just her tee shirt and panties, mascara running from her eyes down over the cloth gag tied around her mouth.

Ruckus recognized just then that the rope tying the tarp up in the back was what that last pallet was stuck on. Now it was on the floor of the trailer and he needed to get this fat fuck out of here before he turned his head.


“Get the fuck off my damn truck old man. I’m not asking you again!”

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNNNT!!! MMMMMMNT!!!”

“Shit.”

The dumb bitch saw what was going on and tried her damndest to scream out from around the gag. It wasn’t intelligibile, but it was loud enough. The fat old driver turned on his flat ass cheek and stared back at her with his mouth open.

“What in the hell…?”


CRUNK


Ruckus caught the fat man in his arms as if he was going to lay him down for a nap. The shoulder strap of his wife beater started to soak up redder and redder as blood from the back of the man’s head started to flow. Ruck dropped the wrench into the dirt and then dragged the fucker off the back of his truck and into the trees nearby. Good thing he’d got the back corner spot, he thought, otherwise any-damn-body behind him might be able to see what was going on.

He stopped in his tracks. There was a good three or four feet between his truck and the treeline. He hadn’t noticed any security camera out here, but it wasn’t impossible. All they would have picked up so far was this ugly sack walking over near his rig… but if Ruckus was caught on video dragging his limp body into the woods, you could bet he’d get tracked down.


Ruckus turned around and hauled the fat fuck into the trailer. He bent down and picked up the wrench too, wiping it off on his jeans before stuffing it into his pocket and hopping up to grab the handle of the sliding door. He stopped and stared straight back at the half naked woman strung up by those cables, and he watched her shake and cry for a few quiet seconds.

“This man right here is dead because you’re too fucking stupid to keep your mouth shut when it’s good for you. Now you got a partner for the next leg of this ride. And there ain’t no vents back here big enough to keep you from smelling him once the sun comes up.”

She trembled and started to panic. She shook her head vigorously, pleading with her eyes.

“Nope. You can think about your own poor life choices while your friend starts to bloat up and rot. Ain’t even got that tarp to block the view, do ya?”

Ruckus then pulled a cord and turned on the small overhead light, making it plenty bright enough for his captive to watch the dead man bleeding on the trailer floor.

“There you go. Look at what you done.”

She struggled against her bindings, but it was futile. She already knew she wasn’t getting out of those cables. Her wrists and ankles were bruised and chafed from trying, and her hands and feet were purple from the lack of circulation.

“See you in a couple hundred miles, sweetheart.”

She screamed, but the gag held most of it in. The rest bounced off the inside of the trailer door after Ruckus slid it down and slammed it shut. A few moments later, the truck’s engine gunned to life.





“Looks like the XWF is long overdue for a little bit of Ruckus.”

“I know a thing or two about high stakes. The road is always a gamble. Whether you’re a dozen miles from home or a thousand, one bad wheel might end you up in a ditch or the back of a paddy wagon. One dumbass in a Prius more concerned with his text messages and you’re jackknifed in the middle of the interstate. Yeah, you could say those are high stakes.”

“Now, you add a secret or two along the way, and those stakes get higher and higher. You start to look over your shoulder everywhere you go. Get a little paranoid. You double check. Triple check. You make sure to remember every face you run across, just in case you see something on one of them that looks like recognition or suspicion. You do whatever you got to do to stay behind the wheel and rollin’ down the road.”

“At High Stakes, it ain’t gonna be no different. I’m gonna be prepared. I’m gonna be vigilant. And I’m gonna be deadly.”

“Ain’t that right, baby girl?”
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