Beyond the Mask



Your typical Blue Tango opening setting.

Ominous, dark alleyway.  Check.

Sour smelling steam rolling out of every crack, crease, seam, and grating.  Check.

Police sirens and heavy traffic in the background.  Check.




In the distance…  From the shadows…  Approaches a dark, hooded figure…

He walks with a purpose.  Fast-paced.  Steady.  Consistent.  His hands shoved deep inside the front pockets of his jacket.  As he gets closer, his features become more and more clear.  It's none other than the Blue Tango, but….  Out of uniform.

His identity is still shielded, however.  The hood from his jacket drapes down over his eyes where his cowl would be and a gator is wrapped around his neck, covering his mouth and the bottom of his nose.

Rather than sticking to the rooftops this evening, Tango took to the streets.  He had a lot on his mind and thought the dank XWF air would do him some good.  Maybe blending in and taking a closer look at the happenings would show him something he would fail to see from the bird's eye view.

He barely takes his eyes away from what's straight ahead of him, but his peripheral vision keeps him honest.  He's alone.  There's no one following him and there's no one watching him.  There was a sense of ease in this smelly, thick air.  A sense of ease that would give a normal, everyday Average-Joe a feeling of comfort as they marched through a dark alley such as this one.

Not Tango.

This quietness and sense of ease only spells trouble for the Night Knight.  When it's quiet, it's too quiet.  And when there's peace, there's only one other direction to go.  Chaos.  Not Chris Chaos, either, the real kind of chaos.  Chaos that has meaning and definition behind it and not just some senseless cry for attention.




We're getting off subject.




Up ahead, a bright, glowing neon sign flickers above a step-down to a doorway.  Tango approaches, but before he takes the steps he leans against the wall and takes a deep breath.




"After a set back right at the start, Battsy and I have since spun things  around 180 and we haven't missed a beat.  The Circle Jerks got lucky.  Things went crazy, didn't work out in our favor, and we got beat.  Shaky debut, but we quickly made an impact and our presence known when we bounced right back.  We easily disposed of the T.H.U.G.S. on Anarchy with the help of Rastamon.  Then a few days later at March Madness we beat Da Buff Dudes for a shot at the tag titles.  Needless to say, we're on fire!"

"This week, our dynamic, impacting duo is on hold while I open up Warfare and a can o' whoopinz on Mastermind and Micheal McBride in a Triple Threat Match.  I know what you might be thinking, 'Yo, Tango!  You're the number one contenders to the titles…  Why the heck aren't you teaming up and, like, training for your match?!'  Well!  A triple threat is actually a great training exercise for a tag team match!  It's one quick alliance away from turning handicapped and if Mastermind and McBride are smart, they'll go after the strongest cat in the room."

"Me, I mean."

"Not saying they're smart, though.  They've got over a million miles of experience between them here in the XWF, but it's kinda like going to your great aunt's 102nd birthday party.  The past four you've been to everyone's like, 'Hey!  Good to see ya!  ….  Good job?'  You're still here and trying your very best day in and day out, but wow, just glad to be here, right?  Every time is a win, no matter which column fills up faster.  Take the fall just to pick yourself back up again and again.  Mastermind and McBride have so many years combined in this place that if they had a child with those years they'd be looking at colleges.  Between the two they have probably had more opportunities than any ten people on the current XWF roster and, sure, they've capitalized on a couple, but really don't have anything to show for it."

"They may as well face the facts as they're plain as a bright sunny day.  They're a couple put-together-nothings that were put on Warfare for one reason and one reason only.  Training exercise.  Even if they don't bother teaming up to take me down, it's still going to be a 2-on-1 because neither of them will have the chance to look over at the other."

"McBride will be the first to go down being the easier prey.  A couple swift kicks and a Hero Cutter and his head will be spinning until after War Games.  I'm sure everyone would feel bad for him this week for being so outmatched, but it's such a common occurrence that I don't think anyone really notices anymore.  You can't really expect the absolute worst out of somebody when they're so consistently bad that you have nothing to compare to.  Mastermind is close to being in the same boat, but he has a whole pack of McBrides that he calls Misfits to follow him around everywhere to make him look better.  It's like being the prettiest in a group of fuggos."

"What exactly is the point of that entourage, anyway?  We can all safely admit that a little back-up and some heat in the back pocket is never a bad idea…  but when that heat is too cold to touch, why even bother with it?  Mastermind has enough cash lying around that he can afford mansions, helicopters, limos…. Ya know…  Pretty much anything your heart would desire…  but he can't afford some decent tagalongs?  Or is it all just to seriously make Mastermind not look as bad as he really is?  The shiniest piece of crap in the pile, alright.  But I still have a hard time believing it.  It's not like Mastermind is sly like a fox to pull off that kind of illusion.  Honestly, I doubt he even sees this picture the same way anyone else does.  In his eyes, he is the Mastermind and they're his followers.  His misfits.  And they're the most brutal, ruthless bunch of ragtag brutes that anyone would ever have the misfortune of running into.  Afterall, you have to go through them to get to the big cheese, right?  Pffft.  Gladly.  Make it a 5-on-1 when it comes down to it.  I'll play and I'll slay.  This Warfare is probably the best opportunity these men have had in a while, ya know?  Cuz it's gonna start off with a bang that's gonna ring out for the rest of the dang night...  and they can always say, looking back into their foggy, hazy, concussed memory and say...  'Hey...  I was a part of that...  I think?"

 

Tango finally descends down the short stairwell and stops in front of the door.  He takes a quick glance around him before pulling out a small scrap of paper and studies it for a moment.  Taking a deep breath, he reaches up with a fist and lands three solid knocks on the steel door.

The sound bellows, like a low pitched bell, and before it can completely ring out a small slide opens up near the top.  A pair of dark eyes peer through the peephole.  They look Tango up and down before asking:

"What's the password?"

The voice through the door growled with a no nonsense tone to it.  Much like the bellowing door.  Even though he had memorized the secret word, his eyes still veer away from the peepers on the other side of the door and down to his hand.  He clears his throat.

"Sassafras."

The world stumbled out his mouth.  The eyes through the hole narrowed and gave Tango one more up and down for good measure before the slide slammed shut and a large hatch to unlock the door let out a long groan.  The heavy door slowly creaked open, revealing a mammoth of a man standing on the other side.  The eyes fit the abominable being and they continue to inspect Tango like a bloodhound on his way by.

The doorman doesn't bother to lead Tango down the hallway.  There is really only one way to go and that's straight and through another door.  He can hear chatter and music from outside the walls, like some kind of party was happening.  When he reaches the door, he takes another quick, but deep, breath before pushing it open.