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Peter Vaughn · (02-13-2022)

The Road So Far:

Lord Of The Thrones

A Clash Of The Two Towers

The Return Of The Storm Of Swords

A Secret War Is Brewing, P1

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

As part of his duties with the Custodial Coalition, Peter Vaughn has been sent to El Paso in order to try and track down three missing custodians. Two men and a woman have disappeared from sight, apparently due to the involvement of the Maintenance Mafia, a rival group to the Coalition that may be making a move towards them. At this point, though, it's unclear exactly how the Master Cleaner knows of their connection to the disappearances. Nonetheless, Vaughn has made his way to El Paso, a place he apparently hates for reasons undisclosed.

After meeting with his contact, Roger Simpson, Vaughn has approached the Maintenance Mafia with an offer to join them, just as he did the Coalition. He believed that a show of strength would be enough for them to take him into their group as an undercover spy. Unfortunately, this seems to not be going well...

Saturday, 3:00pm

~The camera slowly comes up on a dark hallway, with very few significant details that would allow you to figure out where it's located. All we know is that, in the distance, we can hear the sound of something hitting flesh. We hear it again and again as the camera begins moving down the hall, approaching where the sounds are coming from. There are also now grunts of pain and swearing words that should probably be getting censored. The camera turns to the left, moving through a doorway... where we see three men. One, a mafioso, is standing to the side, a sadistic smile on his face. The second person is a muscle-bound powerhouse, who is striking away at the third man with his bare knuckles. The third man? That's Peter Vaughn, who is hanging from his arms, secured to the ceiling, unable to do anything to stop the shots that are raining down on him. Vaughn coughs, then spits towards the man hitting him, who grins and swings again, another violent strike to Vaughn's ribs. Vaughn swings back and forth, his head lowered, as the first man begins to laugh. We cut away from the action.~

Fucking El Paso. Am I right?

There's a reason I've always hated this place. Being an actual human punching bag isn't really doing anything to change that. But let's face it: I'm used to being in this position. Okay, maybe not physically... but sort of.

For the longest time, I WAS the punching bag. I would show up to work to wrestle, knowing that I was there to get my ass kicked. I was "The Janitor", a guy people liked to cheer for, but knew would almost never win. My victories, when they occurred, were met with shock and stunned celebration, because it would be seen as the 'upset of the century'. No matter if I won the very next week, it'd still be labeled that way. When I look back on it, I don't know how I put myself through it. I should have cracked long before I did.

The way I see it, Tommy Wish is remarkably similar in that regard. The only main difference is that, at some point last year, I decided that I'd had enough. I trained myself to do whatever it took to win, no matter the cost in mind or body, in flesh or in the soul. Tommy, unfortunately, seems to have gone the opposite route. He's stopped caring about the victories and is now going into matches with that same fatalistic attitude that I used to have.

He's also spending his time dealing with jailbait rather than training, which is just sad, man.

I really want a challenge at this point. I want to defeat someone that makes everyone stand up and say, "Holy shit, Vaughn is the real deal!" I've got those stars coming in the near future, for sure. But Tommy, with your defeatist attitude, it doesn't seem like you're going to be close to what I need. When you're coming into the match already acting like you're defeated, why should anyone else take you seriously? Maybe you should just stay at that little family reunion of yours and not even show up on Wednesday.

It might be better for both of us.

Saturday, 12:00pm

~We cut backwards in time a bit, to when Peter Vaughn first entered the den of the Maintenance Mafia, fighting his way inside. He stands before four men who were just in the midst of a fierce card game, although all the cards have disappeared from the table. The four men step forward into the light, considering Vaughn, with one of them being the man we just saw earlier. The mafioso smirks slightly, before speaking.~

Bernardo: The name's Bernardo, Mamaguebo. So... you think you deserve a spot in the Maintenance Mafia, Cabron? What makes you think we'd want you, eh?

~Vaughn doesn't say anything for a moment, as he just stares at Bernardo.~

Peter Vaughn: ... I thought you were Italian?

Bernardo: What?

Peter Vaughn: I mean, this is the "Mafia", right? And your suit... but the way you talk...

Bernardo: That's racist as fuck, pendejo! Mafias can be run by anyone, not just those damn Italian motherfuckers!

Peter Vaughn: Okay, okay, you're right...

Bernardo: Besides, we're in El Paso, gilipollas! Why would you think we were Italian?

Peter Vaughn: Wait, wouldn't it be racist for me to assume all El Paso residents are Hispanic?

Bernardo: ... Touche.

Peter Vaughn: Anyway, can we get back on track here? What'll it take for me to join the Maintenance Mafia? I can bring you guys a lot. I'm a prestigious wrestler now, known the world over. My fame is growing with every victory I slide under my belts. I'm developing connections here and there, but I'm looking for a strong group to help me consolidate what I'm bringing together, while also adding to it with their own sources. I've heard good things about the Mafia, so I figured this was the best way to get your attention.

~Bernardo glances around at the other men in the room, all of whom are strangely silent. They're apparently letting Bernardo handle this situation, something that doesn't seem to bother the man. He seems to be considering Vaughn's offer, while also trying to hide a faint smirk that's crossing his face. Vaughn doesn't seem to notice it, maybe because of the darkness in the room.~

Bernardo: Let's say I'm interested in learning more from you, Mr. Vaughn. A whole lot more.

~Vaughn grins, missing the deceptive undertone of the comment. A couple more guards burst into the room, having passed by their unconscious brethren to see what's going on. They approach Vaughn from behind, who doesn't show any signs of fighting back anymore. He reaches out a hand towards Bernardo, as if to shake on their new partnership. Bernardo doesn't return the gesture, just waiting patiently as the guards grab onto Vaughn's arms, pulling them behind him. We slowly fade out.~

You've always got to try if you want to succeed. If you don't do anything, you'll never win.

That's what I was always told growing up. I thought it was ridiculous, and always preferred Yoda's training instead: Do or do not. There is no try.

And Tommy, you have the feeling of someone who's barely trying, let alone "doing". You know about my current position, yet you don't do the most basic research into how I've gotten to this point. I mean, I'm barely taking you seriously, and I still looked into your biggest matches and strongest wins, not that there were too many to choose from. I mean, for instance, using the same tired lines of me being a janitor in some hospital. I've been a janitor at many places, but that was long ago. The only place I'm currently cleaning up is my own, and once I have my ranch house fully assembled, I'll be hiring someone to take care of that. Gotta pass along the job to the next generation, right?

I don't even refer to myself as a janitor anymore. I prefer the name "The Mechanic", as bestowed upon me by my friend Bam Miller. I've always been good with my hands, both in the ring and outside of it. I know my way around replacing a catalytic converter or changing out the spark plugs of vehicles. Am I an expert in the field? Of course not. That would take years, and I have no plans of leaving the wrestling business at this time to dedicate myself to yet another art. But in the ring, a Mechanic is a different beast entirely. It's someone who knows all the techniques necessary to break down your opponent's mechanics, leaving them helpless in the ring.

I'll be using these skills on you this Wednesday, and we'll see if you even put up enough of a fight for me to break out my top moves. If I can defeat you with a school boy to just get the hell out of there, I'm all for it. If I need to torture you down to your last breath and leave you begging for the match to be ended, I can go that route too. Really, I'm kind of hoping for the latter, if I'm being honest, because I want an actual fight. I don't need any more talk about flukes or upsets.

Let's face it, Wish: the only true upset on Wednesday would be if you get close to stopping my recent run of dominance, because nobody would expect it. So give up "trying" for it, and just give me the best you've got, and maybe you can get the fans talking about you... well, in better terms at least then they already are.

Friday, 8:00pm

~We've gone back a day now, to the hotel room arranged for Peter Vaughn by his contact in the Coalition, Roger Simpson. The two have apparently been talking for hours, with food having been delivered to their room. The half-eaten plates sit to the side, unlikely to be touched again, as Vaughn continues to study the dossiers sitting in front of him.~

Roger Simpson: It's very important that you remember all of these faces.

Peter Vaughn: I know, I know! I'm working on it!

Roger Simpson: I'm just saying, the details are very important in this one. You'll need to be nearly perfect for us to pull off this plan. It's a one-time-only opportunity that we cannot waste.

Peter Vaughn: And it won't be my fault if it doesn't work out, 'friend'. I'm going to be as prepared as I possibly can be. But there are still factors I can't control.

[color=#FF4500]Roger Simpson: Who? The guy's colleagues? We'll have them handled, don't worry. They won't even realize the issue.

Peter Vaughn: Not just that... there's also the fact that we're doing all of this in... El Paso...

~Roger is taken aback for a moment, before shaking his head. The man's obsession with the city was starting to look like it could be a problem.~

Roger Simpson: What happened to you here, Peter? You clearly hate the city...

Peter Vaughn: It's not a city. It's a cesspool of liars and betrayers. It's the ninth circle of Hell, if I believed in religion.

Roger Simpson: If you believed... wait, aren't you Catholic?

Peter Vaughn: No. I grew up Methodist, spent a little time in Catholic schools, and now... I'm my own religion.

~Roger raises an eyebrow, which Peter catches out of the corner of his eye.~

Peter Vaughn: Okay, that came out a lot more conceited than I was going for...

Roger Simpson: You think?

Peter Vaughn: I'm just saying... after everything I've been through, it's kind of hard to believe in a higher power controlling everything.

Roger Simpson: I suppose. I like to think of it as being tested throughout life to see what we become in the end. But that's just me.

~Both are quiet for a moment, the conversation having turned a little more serious than either expected.~

Roger Simpson: So, anyway, back to the photos. You've studied the missing custodians' faces as well, right?

Peter Vaughn: Yeah, I've got them locked in my mind. The girl's actually not bad-looking for a 40-year-old custodian.

Roger Simpson: I hadn't noticed. Anyway, we've gone over the plan enough. I think it's foolproof. We'll make our move early tomorrow morning, and then everything will come together, I'm sure of it.

Peter Vaughn: Says the man who's not putting his own body on the line...

Roger Simpson: C'mon... you'll be in no danger. What could go wrong?

~Vaughn seems to wince slightly, as if knowing what a jinx that kind of statement is, especially in El Paso. He looks away for a moment...~

In the wrestling business, a million things can go wrong on any given day. All you can really do is prevent the ones you can see coming.

Like flirting with an underage girl who's dating your cousin while at the family reunion. I mean, how can there not be a dozen red flags waving in front of your face there??

When the scenario can cause you to win or lose a match, that's one thing. When it can lead to you going to jail and getting handed the soap by a game named Axel, that's a whole different issue. You probably should not let that girl into your hotel room, your family's boat, or any other location, because it's just asking for trouble. Truthfully, when I said earlier that you could just not show up to our match, prison is not what I had in mind.

But hell, maybe she's older than she looks. Maybe your cousin would understand and not try to beat you to a pulp again. Maybe the sun will suddenly flare out, leaving us in eternal darkness for the rest of our brief lives before we freeze to death.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

For me, I take the responsible steps. I stay away from the fan girls who wait outside the arena for people. It's rather easy, as I know most of them aren't looking for me, but there are always a few that I take steps to avoid. I also stay away from family reunions, as most of my family is either missing or deceased. I'll admit, that makes it easier to avoid that kind of complication. I'm also responsible about what I eat, what I drink, and how I train. Some say that makes me boring. I say it's made me a hell of a champion.

The true facts are that you've put yourself in your position in life, Tommy. A broken-down, older wrestler who has a foot fetish. Not gonna kink-shame, you do you on that front, Tarantino. But you could have been a world-class competitor here in the XWF. Hell, maybe you still could be. You just need to put in the work and put aside distractions. Your distractions may be more unique than most, but maybe it's possible.

There's that "maybe" again.

In your mind, you see yourself as a "filibuster" for me. I don't think you understand the term, but we'll go with that. You're trying to block me from being a success, I suppose, by making me look like a fraud? And yet it's you who doesn't seem to have the confidence necessary to be a star. I hope to see that change, I really do. Because after I defeat you, it could force a change on you and make you become something better. Something greater.

Maybe.

Saturday, 3:15pm

~Another hard shot lands in Vaughn's solar plexus, leaving him both shuddering and swaying. The muscle-bound man punching him hasn't so much as smiled, as he's just a man who knows how to get the job done. He rears back for another swing...~

Bernardo: Hold on, Salvaje. Give the man a few moments to try and breathe.

~The man immediately backs off, not saying a word. He blends into the darkness of the room as Bernardo steps closer to Vaughn, shaking his head and making "tut tut" noises.~

Bernardo: Oh, Peter, Peter... you sure aren't going to be entering any beauty contests for a while. But I guess you wouldn't anyway, would you? Eres tan feo que hiciste llorar a una cebolla.

~Bernardo laughs, then sits back, waiting as Vaughn slowly raises up his bloodied face and looks at him.~

Peter Vaughn: So... I guess... I don't get... to join... the Mafia?

Bernardo: No, senor. You definitely do not. You see, we got alerted about your little undercover attempt an hour before you showed up. We knew you were coming. We know you're working for those pendejos in the Coalition. And we know you have access to their... technology.

Peter Vaughn: That's... what this is... all about? That's... why you've... been kidnapping... custodians?

Bernardo: Si. That's the main reason. Well, two of them, anyway. The third told us all about it willingly. He thought he could make the jump to us, just like you were pretending to do. Stupid pelagato. Like we would take a traitor like him.

Peter Vaughn: So... they're all... dead?

Bernardo: Oh, we are not all wasteful like that, senor. They're doing some good work for us now. You'll be seeing them soon. Once we're done... talking here.

~Vaughn sways for a minute, not saying much, as Bernardo waits, enjoying himself.~

Bernardo: So you've been betrayed, Peter. You've been laid out to dry. You're screwed. Why not give us what we want, eh? Save yourself more pain. Tell us where the system is that they offered up to you.

~Vaughn's quiet, as if considering the offer. His arms have to be killing him at this point. He slowly looks up at Bernardo's waiting face.~

Peter Vaughn: Que te folle un pez.

Bernardo: Heh. Heh heh. HAH HAH HAH HAH!

~Bernardo has a good belly laugh from Vaughn's attempt at a Spanish insult. He turns and walks away, going to the side and talking with Salvaje. We can't hear much of the conversation, but it seems distinctly one-sided. In the meantime, Vaughn glances over at them, then turns away... to hide a small smile crossing his face.~

Peter Vaughn: All going according to plan...

~Vaughn then coughs again, this time spitting out some blood onto the floor. He stares at the pattern it makes on the concrete for a moment, taking it in, as the picture slowly fades out.~

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