Robbie Bourbon has recently found himself in the middle of some horrid plot where men in pink tuxedos are causing havoc in the name of impressing him.

Chris Chaos's pink tux must still be in the mail.

HELLBOUND

We open to see Robbie Bourbon dragging a gasoline drenched man in a pink tuxedo named Andy Linguine away from a dumpster. Robbie looks weary, the strain on his mind from learning that there are those out there harming the people just to get his attention evident from the glazed over look in his eyes, his mouth set in a neutral position as opposed to it's normal expressive smile or frown. Andy is bellowing the Thieving Magpie at the top of his lungs. Robbie rolls his eyes.

"Poor fucking cunt, you. I want to smash your skull in right now, shut you up for what you did to those people." Robbie stops and blinks hard. "What you did to those kids." Robbie opens his eyes and his nostrils flare as he makes his way to a door. "I gotta find a place to keep you. Never thought to have a brig or some kind of holding cell here at the dojo. Fucking stupid of me. Hindsight is twenty twenty, I guess." Robbie opens the door and a flood of curious students back away. Robbie says something to them all and waves them out of his way. "Jesus, guys, I know this is a shit show. No need to be a bunch of lookie-loos like a bunch of drivers eager to see the corpses at a car crash. Where the fuck am I supposed to keep this guy?" Robbie continues to drag the man. Blue, Robbie's girlfriend and handler, runs up to him. The sound of the world comes back as we see Robbie's mouth quiver. He drops Andy, who sits patiently, whistling Rossini.

Are you okay?

Robbie embraces Blue, wrapping his arms around her. She is puzzled for a moment, but returns the sentiment.

I don't know what to do, babe. This is big. I've faced my fair share of morons in suits, morons with gimmicks, but...

Blue backs away and looks at Robbie, who gazes solemnly at the ground.

Honey, you can do this.

Robbie looks up at her.

I don't want to, though.

What do you mean?

I don't want to have to track down three more assholes in pink tuxedos. I don't want to have to find this "Marco" guy and deal with him. I want goons, thugs, easy targets to squash.

Babe...

Blue puts her hand on Robbie's shoulder. He looks up.

Someone has to. I know it's hard. I know it's more than you wanted. The thing is the people need you more than ever now. You have the talent, you have the means, and just because you don't have the solution already in your mind doesn't mean you won't find it. I believe in you, and a lot of people are counting on you, especially now. Is this a crisis? Yes. Crisis is what defines us.

But...

Robbie, having suppressed his feelings for long enough, breaks. His mouth quivers as tears stream from his eyes.

Those poor kids. They didn't fucking deserve to fucking die. None of those people did!

Robbie turns and punts Andy, who is still whistling. He keels from his seated position to the floor, a stream of blood erupting and oozing along the concrete.

And this fuck! He's just a fucking patsy! There are more of them, babe! And I have no clue where they came from, what they have planned, or...

*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNGG*

The sounds of a fire alarm cascade throughout the dojo as Robbie stops speaking immediately. Sprinklers from above burst to life, sending a shower of blackened, stagnant water for a moment, followed by a rush of clear fluid. Blue and Robbie, along with the congregated students of the dojo, spin, confused, wondering what has caused this, where the fire is. The Dunkin Donuts panicks and empties, the cooks in the cullinary academy stop what they're doing, glancing at each other to see whom among them started a grease fire. The salon is a panic as people drying their hair and getting extensive work done are now doused with water.

At the front door stands a man in a pink tuxedo, his left hand on the recently tripped fire alarm, a streak of blue ink across it. Robbie's eyes narrow at him.

So, are you Richie, Bill, or Tex?

The man in the pink tux points at Andy Linguine.

Someone spilled the beans.

Robbie starts to march towards the figure who tripped the fire alarm.

I asked you a question, son. Do you want to be a Motherfucker or not?

Oh, yes! Goody! I'm Richie!

Richie, huh? What's your plan, Richie?

Well, it's simple. I just pulled this here fire alarm, and now the fire department is going to show up at your dojo. Then I'm going to kill the firemen and steal their truck, and give it to you as a present! See, you always have some kind of flashy vehicle, be it the Hot Dog Mobile, a parade float, a bevy of vans, I figured a fire engine would be awesome!

Oh, really?

Robbie continues towards Richie in the same pace.

Yeah! Then us Motherfuckers will have a great ride to...

*SMACK*

Robbie levels Richie with an overhand right. An imprint of knuckles in a deep red hue now grace Richie's forehead where the punch was thrown. Richie, collapsed on the ground, looks back up at Robbie with a grin. Robbie stoops and grabs Richie by the throat and drags him back to where Andy Linguine was laying on the floor, frisking him along the way, pulling out another metro pass.

"Georgetown should be safe, no Metro stations anywhere near the place." Robbie slams Richie into Andy. "Fuck, they aren't trying to hurt anybody here at the dojo from the sounds of things, at least." Robbie jaws something inaudible to a few students, who scramble off. Robbie grabs Andy and Richie. "I think I know just where to keep you two for now." Robbie hauls both men down a hallway and to a room marked 'STORAGE'. He opens the door. "It's not a prison, but it'll do for now." Stacks upon stacks of boxes are inside. The boxes are neatly labelled with a month and a year each. "Okay, now, what do I do with you until the students get back?" The sound comes back in a rousing chorus of I, Don Quixote being belted by both Andy and Richie.

Stop!

Both men in pink stop and look up at Robbie in glee.

Okay, so, the first step towards becoming a Motherfucker, we need to lose those pink tuxedos.

Both men in pink begin to disrobe. As they do, the sound of Robbie's phone going off breaks the air. Robbie pulls his phone out and glances at it.

Shit, more horseshit from Chaos? Now's not the time for one of these alerts.

Boo!

Chaos sucks!

Robbie glances back and sees both men getting naked, and shrugs.

Okay, I'll bite. Guys, just be quiet while I watch this.

Robbie starts to watch the latest promos from Chris Chaos. After they finish, he turns to both naked men and glances at them. One of them, Richie, has a prosthetic leg.

Where did you get that?

Iraq!

He looks over and notices that Andy has a mass of scar tissue on his abdomen. Andy notices and points to it.

Kabul! I got mine in Kabul!

Well, Chris Chaos is going to get his in London.

He has this weird bug in his mind that he's going to win before the match happens. Apparently I failed him by not appeasing his tiny ego at some point by talking trash about him. Well, Chris has just flat out failed at talking trash. It's not a shock, really. How can a sociopath like him even attempt to communicate in a way that people would understand?

See, through all the cobwebs, all the flash and bullshit, at root, that's all Chris is. A sociopath. He doesn't want to be around people, he doesn't want to be a person, he wants to be this thing, this idea, this entity of Chaos, of the maelstrom, of something rampant and out of control. It's pretty much why he thinks calling me human is an insult, because he thinks it's the lowest thing someone can be. Human. Fallible.

I think it's why he hates himself so much that he goes off and drinks himself into a stupor all alone then decides to shoot his promos. Who knows, if he sobered up, maybe those words I use that he doesn't understand will actually be a little more cohesive, yeah?

Maybe we just stop using the generic jibbajab about eighty-five percent of the guys who walk in and out of the XWF use instead?

Eh, the ball's not really in your court, though. When it comes to bringing the roasting of a lifetime, well, call Robbie Bourbon if you want someone who'll put the sizzle on your steak.

Chris Chaos is vanilla. Soft serve. Only now he doesn't come with sprinkles. He showed up in the XWF like a storm, and yes, I'll toot your horn because these days you just blow. They say that the cream only rises to the top, you rose, you spoiled, and boy did you drop, can't get an autograph, sell shirts or generate a pop, throwing shit at the wall just to see what sticks, bringing his expired and tired game into the mix, where've I been? Kicking ass taking names while you've been losing fights with chicks. Didn't catch you the first time; I catch you every time, you handle like faded fogey past his prime, I go from zero to sixty in four seconds and stop on a dime. I'm going to break you down, past the bone, to the marrow, you know I'm not a king but that mindset's kinda narrow.

The real reason why is because I'm a god damned pharaoh.

I'm leaving a mark on this world that will last through the eons.

And so what if I make people laugh from time to time. You try. You really do. You don't, though. And that burns your ass so much that you can't grasp why I'll go down in history like Ramesses or Tutankhamun, even though I'm so different than you, huh? You're this, this, and this, I'm all that, but in the end, we're both human.

I'm genuinely asking, are you stupid?

Andy, when you killed all those people, was that make-believe?

Woah, do I get to be in your promo?

Answer the fucking question, Andy.

That was not make-believe!

And Richie, was your plan all make-believe?

Nope!

Is Marco make-believe?

Nope!

Is the place you met him make-believe?

Nope!

Where is that place?

At the VA hospital!

Perfect.

Ooooooh! You spilled the beans!

The students enter the file storage room in the Bourbon Dojo each carrying a few rolls of duct tape.

Okay, Andy, Richie, right now I'm going to duct tape you both up and leave you in here for your initiation ino the Bourbon Men.

I thought Marco said we'd be Motherfuckers!

Same difference. Anyway, this is the first step, alright. I have to go out into the city and look into a few things.

Robbie pulls his phone out as two youths duct tape the naked men on the floor of the file storage room. He presses the screen with a sausage sized finger and puts the device to his head. After a moment passes, he speaks.

I found our third, identified as Richie.

He was carrying a metro pass, pink tuxedo, just like the other two.

They said they met this Marco at the VA hospital.

He didn't say which. Run a check of any within two hundred miles and if any had six men leave within the last week.

Yeah, I'll hold.

Robbie lowers the phone and looks into the file storage room from the hallway. Andy and Richie are beaming with joy, looking back at him. His face curdles again as he hears news from the reciever of his phone.

Where?

The zoo?

I'm on my way.