Guns are like different beasts. Mechanical. Alien, almost. Holding the rifle in my hand, I felt almost disgusted by such a tool. A tool with a simple use for a simple purpose. I aimed up, hands quivering like mad little jumping beans, my eyes trying to follow their tune with how frantic my sight was.

It’s a simple shot. No one was gonna miss this stupid thing.

Right?

I slowly gulped down the forming lump in my throat, trying to concentrate. It was now or never. Slowly, I exhaled…



…



BANG!

The shot went wide, skitting through the dirt with clouds kicking up from the bullet’s presence. The rabbit curiously looked up, twitched its whiskers in realization, and skitted off to God-knows-where.

“You Goddamn-” the voice beside me groaned out, slapping his forehead before walking right over to me. He thumped me on the back side of my head, ignoring my muffled grunt before he turned me around, ripped the hunting rifle out of my hands, and threw the weapon to the ground. “The Hell’s gotten into you, Terry?”

My gaze drifted to the ground from pure shame. I didn’t know what to say, so I settled on a shrug.

That didn’t satisfy my old man. He reached forward, grabbing my chin and forced me to look him dead in the eye. “I asked you a question, boah, so you better answer me. What are you doing out there?”

I couldn’t run from it. I had nothing I could do there, other than just coming out with it. “I’m scared.”

“You weren’t scared, shootin’ those branches and rocks yesterday. Hell, you looked like a natural-born shot, the way you were linin’ up them bastards and pumpin’ ‘em full of holes. So what’s really going on?”

Dejectedly, I let out a soft exhale as he had pressed further. “I’m just… scared to kill ‘em.”

“Scared to ki-” My father cut himself off in disbelief, letting go of my chin as he closed his eyes and shook his head. It lasted for only a minute though before he clapped my shoulder, a flabbergasted grin settling on his face. “You walk with me right now, boah.”

Dad didn’t waste even a second. He picked himself off, dusted off his pants, and led the way deeper into the woodland. I picked up the gun, hating the weight it held in my hands as I followed along after him. Nature called after us with a gentle breeze careening through the trees. Nature was something I knew well from the moment I was born. Whether it was working at home on the fields or these hunting and foraging trips, there was no escaping it for me.

“Terry, you’re gonna be seventeen in less than a month,” my dad frowned. “And I’m about to give you one of the most important life lessons you’re gonna be receivin’ for a while, so you open your ears good and Goddamn well - ‘eat the frog.’”

“Eat the what now?” I scoffed out in response. I kept my gun close to me, practically hugging it in some desperate attempt to try and handle its weight. “You’re talkin’ crazy.”

“The Hell I am!” Dad responded with a roll of his eyes, stepping off a ledge and motioning for me to continue after him. “You ask anybody you meet whether or not they wanna go and eat a Goddamned frog, they’ll tell you the same thing - it’s crazy. They ain’t gonna wanna do it. But guess what? You gotta do things in life that you don’t wanna do. Ain’t gonna stop you from havin’ to do them.”

Dad continued, rounding off on me as he turned around, furrowing his brows together. “You listen to me, you can’t be the one to stop yourself. Not when there’s no takebacks in life. You figure out whatever the Hell you wanna do, and you stop at nothing for it, no matter what gets in your way. No matter what slimy fuckin’ frog jumps up in front of you. You grab that sumbitch and you fuckin’ devour it like you devour every other obstacle in front of you. You hear me?”

Slowly, I found the strength within me to nod again. Dad nodded, but he kept going anyway. “You think the hunters of the ole’ ‘n’ simple days worried about whether it was right or wrong to kill these critters? Fuck no! They did it because they had to! To survive and to keep them on the path of being able to do whatever the fuck they wanted to in life. You keep that same mentality, boah, and you’re gonna take yourself and our farm far when I’m dead and gone.”

There it was again. The mention of the family farm. Dad always said every now and then about how I was going to be the one to run the farm from now ‘til the end of time once he went and kicked the bucket. The thought of being stuck on that stupid plot of land felt more akin to a prison more than anything else, but I didn’t say a word on that. Instead, I just nodded again and mumbled out a simple, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boah,” Dad nodded before jerking his head off towards the distance. I fixed my gaze. In front of a clearing a few dozen yards in front of us, a small deer with a white tail trotted amongst the grass. Its frame was small, yet elegant, standing without a care in the world before finally dipping down to enjoy the fields of grass before it.

“You remember what I told you,” Dad reminded me as I got down onto a knee to get in position. “And you remember our lessons. Aim right for those big ‘n’ beady eyeballs that there doe’s got. You make it quick, you make it painless. Got that?”

The tightness in my chest felt like it was going to circle back to my neck and tighten itself into a noose. I gulped, bringing my rifle up and beginning to aim down the sights. Just one shot. Just one shot through the eyeball was all I needed. Me or them.

My finger tightened around the trigger.





…





BANG!





…That night, I had venison for the first time in my life.

---

The smell of cigarette smoke brought Noah out of his thoughts as he stared out at the open road beside him. He gagged, wafting the toxin away before cranking open the window of the silver Porsche he was riding shotgun in. As he did so, he stared out the side, noting the endless fields of corn they were sliding past. It was like that every couple of minutes, it seemed. First it was wheat, then oats, and just a little ways ahead, Noah could spot the beginning of kale fields.

The driver of the vehicle scoffed, taking another drag off of their cigarette. “Yo, Noah, you mind like… putting up that window? ‘Scold out there, y’know?”

“Wha-” Noah glared back at Orlando, before sighing. “...Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Maybe if Noah held his breath, he could at least try and wait out some of the smoke. Or maybe he’ll pass out and they’ll already be there. Who knows. The running camera’s getting a hell of a first run-through with all this traveling, though. Good footage of the farms, if anything.

“That camera better still be good on battery,” Orlando said, jabbing a finger towards Noah. “If it’s not…”

“It is!” Noah responded, putting an arm up to defend himself. “I’m not sure why we need to keep this stuff running 24/7 once we’re there, anyways…”

“All part of the contract, bub,” Orlando chuckled before taking another hit of the cigarette. Noah tried to hold his breath as well as he possibly could once the thick plumes of smoke came into view, but the best he could manage was about twenty-five seconds before he broke out into a wild coughing fit. Orlando rolled his at Noah, keeping his focus on the road.

“Scoops McGee,” Orlando said, repeating the name with a scowl on his face. “Who the fuck chooses that name, anyway? Better yet, who the fuck chooses to sit all the way out in Bumfuck, Iowa? I could be living the life right now - I could be helping to go film James Shark’s life! Or Aurora’s! Hell, even that Bacchus creep would be better than this!”

Now it was Noah’s turn to roll his eyes as he stared out the window with the camera, trying desperately to just ride out the wave of animosity that was one of Orlando’s rants. He may have been his boss, but he fucking hated the guy and his sense of superiority. Just this once though, Noah couldn’t quite fully blame him. Being trapped on a never-ending farm like this seemed like… hell.

“...And the damn livestock,” Orlando scoffed out with a gag before taking another drag of his cancer stick. “Those little shits are gonna stink up the whole joint! I swear, if one of them tries to take a bite out of me- hey, you listening to me?!”

“Oh, totally,” Noah sighed with an exhale as a ranch began to pop into view on the horizon. Finally, a chance to change the topic. “We’re close.”

“Finally!” Orlando clapped in excitement before anxiously putting out his cigarette. He plastered a fake smile on his face, showing Noah his yellowing teeth as he turned to him. “C’mon, now, best foot forward with smiles on our faces! This is our chance to make something!”

Somehow, Orlando had the talent to just change his mood on a dime like that. Noah wasn’t sure if he was bipolar or just the fakest bastard he’d ever met. As we pulled in, though, Noah just simply forced a nod as he replied, “Totally.”

Stuffed in the back of our car was a lot of the workers’ production equipment. It was simple stuff for a seemingly simple job - some basic microphones, a tripod, some good lighting stands… They’d have to come back for that later, though. Right now, they had a job to do. Orlando took the lead forward as Noah held his camera up high, the two of them going up the rickety steps onto the porch of the ranch before Orlando rang the doorbell.

DING!

Approximately two seconds passed before Orlando rang on the doorbell again.

DING!

Distant sounds of barking reverberated through the house, followed by the hushed sounds of another man. Another three seconds before Orlando rang it once again.

DING! DING!

“Don’t you think he’s coming…?” Noah hesitantly asked with furrowed brows as he looked at Orlando.

“If he’s coming, he’s not coming fast enough,” Orlando shrugged before turning his attention back to the doorbell.

DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING-

The wooden door bringing itself open finally brought an end to Orlando’s door-ringing madness as a rough, haggard face showed itself. The barking was clearer now with the door open, but not quite as frequent as it was before. Lines of age and stress stretched themselves thin along the man’s face, paired with a forehead that seemed littered with faded scars. A pair of small, angular eyes completed the set, fixating themselves sharply on Orlando.

Orlando was none the wiser about the man’s clear level of agitation as he simply smiled and waved. “Hiya! So, uh… Scoops McGee lives here, right?”

“You’re lookin’ at ‘im,” Scoops replied with a haggard sigh, reaching out of view of the doorway to find a red bandana to quickly tie around his forehead, hiding the scars away from the view of the camera. Orlando quickly shot Noah a deadpanned look, as if wondering if this was for real. Noah simply shrugged in response. “If you promise to stop actin’ like a couple of jackasses, I can let you inside.”

“S-Sure!” Orlando replied, closing his eyes and anxiously raising his hands. “We can do that! Totally! Right, Noah?”

Noah silently groaned. Of course - Orlando was the one that had to rile up Scoops like this, and now they were both going to pay the price. He nodded his head to Scoops before quickly adding, “We’re sorry about barging in like this, sir.”

Scoops turned to look at Noah for a brief moment, saying nothing before opening the door. “Come on in, make yerselves at home. Watch where you point that there camera thing.”

Orlando once again led the way inside, taking a moment once he came in to admire the rustic view of the ranch’s living room. Hickory wood creaked beneath his boots, and the spacious walls allowed him plenty of opportunity to drink in the lines of paintings, championship belts and other memorabilia dotted along. From what Noah could see with the camera, it was practically like a small wrestling museum in there. He grinned eagerly, but his grin soon faded as the camera turned to the stone fireplace, and mounted above there was a deer head that jutted from its home.

It was then that the barking returned in force. As Noah swerved the camera around to meet the source, a cream-colored pitbull stared at the intruders with a snarl. Drool dripped from its bared teeth before barking at them again, looking to march forward.

“What the Hell is that thing?!” Orlando shrieked in terror, taking two steps back and hiding behind Noah for safety. “Get that thing away from me!”

Scoops cursed under his breath as he stepped in between to cut off the pitbull’s advance, his voice sharp like a knife. “Jessie! Dammit, girl - I told you to stay back!”

Noah could feel Orlando burying his face into his shirt as he groaned slightly more audibly now. What would he actually do if Scoops wasn’t here right about now…? As Scoops tried corralling his dog away, Noah decided to speak up to try and break some of this building tension. “So, uh… cute dog! Jessie, right?”

Scoops exhaled as he managed to keep Jessie away inside the kitchen, straightening himself out and turning to look back at the two, nodding slightly. “Jessie. She’s my Goddamn pride and joy, alright. Been helping to keep me sane these past eight or so years. Got her as a gift from an old friend of mine in the business, actually.”

Scoops chuckled, walking forward slowly as he rubbed his chin. “Y’see, ole’ Johnny Tay-”

Before Scoops could get far with his story, Orlando poked his head out from behind Noah’s shoulder, cutting in off-screen. “Listen, while we’d love to hear your stories - really, we would - we should get down to business. We’re-”

Now it was Scoops’ turn to interrupt Orlando as he jabbed a finger right at Orlando from afar. “I know who you two little chucklefucks are - Orlando Kennedy and Noah Larson. I got told about you two. First of all, don’t fuckin’ interrupt me again, ya got that?”

Orlando muttered an obscenity under his breath that was just unable to be properly captured by the camera as he walked out from behind Noah again. Scoops didn’t stop though as he continued. “Second of all, I know why you’re here too - you’re the little motley fuckin’ crew sent here to go recordin’ me, huh? I’ve heard about how that XWF place likes recording every single minute of every Goddamn day. ‘Sit true you people record your workers when they’re even tryin’ to sleep?”

Orlando’s mouth turned into a sheepish grin once more as he tried motioning towards Scoops. “M-Mister McGee, I’m sure you’ve read the contract, right? It was clearly stated there about how you’d be having camera surveillance constantly, to help serve as promotional material before matches…”

“And how the FUCK is me sleeping gonna serve as ‘promotional material,’ huh?” Scoops rolled his eyes, clearly unamused by the lackluster response Orlando had to give. “What, don’t tell me the rest of those fans are little weird fucks like Charlie Nickles who’d get their rocks off by watching people sleep!”

“Certainly not!” Orlando flushed, clearly not handling being on the back foot like this well. “Just… you never know when things might happen in the middle of the night, you know? Something exciting could happen, like a break-in, or-”

“If a break-in happens, then I don’t need nobody watching me defending my home and my dog,” Scoops scoffed. “Jessie’ll bite their damn neck off, and that’s assuming I don’t blow a hole in their Goddamn chest with my shotgun first, you hear me? And while you’re at it, you don’t call me ‘Mister McGee.’ That’s saved for my daddy, God rest his soul. You just call me Scoops.”

Orlando gritted his teeth together, clearly flustered as he took a deep breath. “Okay, Miste- I mean… Scoops. I can clearly understand having a bit of apprehension about the whole… filming in your sleep thing. I get it! But we’re also just trying to do our jobs, and…”

“And I’m telling you how it’s gonna go,” Scoops interrupted while hardening his gaze at Orlando. “If you’re gonna stay in my house and film me whenever, you listen to my rules. I don’t need no fancy equipment in this house, and I expect to have some damn privacy whenever I so well please, you got that?”

Orlando gritted his teeth, before violently snapping back with a shout. “I get that you need to have some damn manners! I’d rather be ANYWHERE but here right about now, having to deal with some old coot past his fucking prime, on a farm who knows where, with a dog that looks like she wants to fucking kill me, but I’m doing what I HAVE TO-”

CHOMP!

“AH, FUCK!” Orlando shouted at the top of his lungs, looking down to see Jessie the pitbull sinking her teeth into Orlando’s leg. He shook his leg to try and get Jessie off, but it was no good as she held her ground. Her teeth didn’t quite break through Orlando’s skin, but you weren’t going to tell him differently as he was howling at the moon. “GET YOUR FUCKING RABID DOG OFF OF ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

“Jessie!” Scoops shouted, prying the dog off of Orlando and guiding her back to the kitchen. There wasn’t any rest this time though, for as soon as he did, he grabbed Orlando by the collar of his shirt.

“What are you doing-” Orlando sputtered out, trying to push his way out to no avail. Scoops opened the front door, before throwing Orlando out. He sailed off the porch, landing face-first on the dirt. He turned around, his face like a tomato, only to watch Scoops close the door behind him and lock it.

As Orlando rushed to the door and started pounding on it while shouting obscenities, Scoops kept it closed while turning back towards Noah, who had been recording the entire thing quietly. Scoops squinted, before speaking to him. “Now, you seem like a polite boah, so I’m giving you a chance. Do you even like that Goddamn idiot out there?”

Noah thought on it for a few minutes, before shaking his head. “Not really, sir. No.”

“Good, ‘cause he ain’t coming back in here,” Scoops nodded. “You got everything you need for that there camera of yours?”

“I… I need my suitcase, and my tripod,” Noah admitted with a sheepish tone.

Scoops grunted, ignoring the noise outside. “I can get those things for you before that jackass drives off. We’ll run over some ground rules, later. For right now though… you want some ‘promotional material,’ huh?”

“I-If you’d be willing, sir,” Noah straightened, keeping the camera rolling.

“Show some backbone, boah,” Scoops shook his head. “You just call me Scoops, you got that? Now, I figure we might as well get this over with, nice and easy, since I got some words to say for the fans, and for my opponent.”

“Some of you may not know me, and that’s fine. I don’t expect you to. But I’ve been around the block a few dozen times with companies like this, and I know what’s what. I may not be able to move like I used to, but ole’ Scoops has got plenty in the tank left, and any time I step in that ring, I will give each and every one of you paying bastards what you came to the XWF to see, and that’s blood, sweat and tears coming from this old dog. You’re gonna see why I AM THE! Big Scoop of the wrestling business, and I’m gonna prove it when I step in the ring with that little rat bastard, Charlie Nickles.”

“Nickleman! I’ve seen you in action a fair few times, oh, yes I have. I’m what the people may call a long time listener, first time caller of sorts. When you’re in the ring, you’re just like me - violent, bloodthirsty, crazy, demented even. That’s all well and good - I can respect a little fucker who knows how to get his hands dirty in the ring. But where I take issue with you, Nickleman? It’s when you’re out of the ring, yeah.”

“You’re a sick fuck who likes getting in people’s brains, tell them the last thing they wanna hear, watch the reactions they give you as you prove their fears right every time. I’ve seen people like you all over the biz, and I ain’t scared one bit. I know what you thrive on most of all, and it’s those very reactions, those looks of fear, the power you hold over ‘em. But Ole’ Scoops ain’t gonna give you what you want, no siree. When I step into that ring, you’re gonna find it’s all business with me. When we go into the ring together, you’re gonna find that I know just how to take that power you like lauding over the common folk away from you. How’s that, you ask?”

“By showing everyone that at the end of the day, you’re just a man. A little man who thrives off of controversy, but I might as well be talking about a third of the company when it comes to that shit. You ain’t original with that mindset, so me takin’ you ‘round is gonna be a warning to all the other people in this company with that same mindset. Yeah, that’s right. Falls Count Anywhere, so we’re gonna go ‘round the block. I’m gonna beat you up, bust you up. I’m gonna drag you ‘round and make sure each of the payin’ fans gets to see what a pathetic little disgrace of a man you are when I show them your bleedin’ skull. I ain’t playing no games, boah, and you’re gonna get made an example of because of it.”

“You went from trying for two titles to now having none, and you’re about to slip and slide further on this little downward slope of yours because of it. You lost your touch, but Ole’ Scoops is gonna show that this dog has some new tricks up his sleeve. The only way you had your success in this company is riding the same boat folks like Maddy Dyson, Sinful Syn, Micheal Graves and more got goin’ for them. But when I show you your way of survivin’ and thrivin’ ain’t workin’ anymore? Oh, boah… you’re gonna be in for a world of hurtin’, trust me.”

“First Nickles, then the TV - Ole’ Scoops is finally in the XWF and is a man on a mission, to enjoy as much gold as he can for one last run! It don’t matter who you place in my way, I’ll take ‘em all to school when I show them I can walk the walk like I can talk the talk. You better be ready, because the roughest SOB in this company has just arrived.”

In the distance, the banging outside finally subsides as the scene fades.