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Doctor Louis D'Ville · (09-28-2016)

008

N E W L I F E

"You want me to what?!"

Trevor says in between dry heaves as Doc stands over him. He pukes again and his body cringes in pain.

"What the fuck?! What are you doing to me?!"

"Just relax, Trevor. Give us a moment, if you please."

Doc gets a little testy with Trevor's groaning. He looks across the bridge to see Unknown Soldier dragging the body of a fat Irishman across it. Trevor manages to look up for a moment to see this.

"What? What are you doing?!"

The Irishman sings away his drunken melodies. Laughing away as some stranger drags him effortlessly alone over a bridge unknowing of his fate. Doc observes him for a moment, looks at Trevor, and laughs.

"I like it."

Doc looks down at Trevor who's still withering in extreme pain on the ground. He leans down to his patient and touches him on the shoulder.

"Now, you know Trevor, there aren't too many other places to go right now."

Doc motions over towards the fat Irishman lying belly up on the ground.

"There IS an important mission we're on here, so, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a move on things here. So, whether you're driving us with a hole in your head and stomach, or ....."

He smiles.

Trevor looks up at the doc with a horrific look on his face and over to the Irishman. He then begins to slowly crawl over to the fat man leaving a streaky trail of blood behind him.

Doc reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigar.

"You know, watching my friend here struggle for dear life reminds me of another situation. What do you think?"

The doctor looks up to his tag team partner.

"It's kind of like listening to Robbie Bourbon announce his half ass accolades."

"I'd have to agree you with you there, my demonic friend! Did you know he participated in a War Games and won?"

"Didn't you do that, Doc?"

"I did. I did. Hey, didn't you win Lethal Lottery?"

"I did. I did."

"I would say that is QUITE impressive. Especially considering you have a new partner week in and week out through out that entire tournament. Makes this look easy!"

"See, friends, in Soldier's case, it doesn't matter at all who his partner is. I'm not so shallow to give this gentleman credit. Long standing Xtreme Champion, and he's holding that title now, unlike most others, just to piss all of you off. Isn't it fun? Only 664 cases to go until that title will be up for grabs again, folks. Sorry GT, but I wouldn't get your hopes too high. Your dreams of holding that retched title may never come."

Trevor manages to crawl over to the Irishman and knows exactly what he must do when he gets there. He crawls inside the fat man's mouth. Unknown Soldier watches this feat with a bag of popcorn as the fat man's jaw dislodges as Trevor makes his way down the man's esophagus.

"Mister Bourbon, Mister Beef, I just have to say it's been an absolutely ridiculous week. It's time to put you in your place, gentlemen. It's not a personal thing, it doesn't matter whether you were the champions or the titles were vacant or whatever the case was. You weren't our goal. Of course you weren't. The titles were. Winning the tournament and winning the titles the same night would have been just as good as beating you two for them."

"I'm curious now.... After we've defeated the current champions, and IF they remain a team, are they the ONLY other competitors we have for the titles? You would think that all of those MEDIOCRE teams that we beat back in the tournament wouldn't exist anymore, since they were just thrown together and what not. Unlike Robbie Beef. You know, I think the most experienced team working together the night was Mister Gilmour and Brother McBride. I mean, besides the Mexican amigos across the way there, but we didn't get the pleasure to meet them."

"So, is this what we will have to work with? The clan of mediocre teams we defeated in the tournament and Arby Bourbon? Almost doesn't sound worth our time, doesn't it?"

"Why WOULD two superstars like ourselves choose to go after ANOTHER mediocre team let alone even team up and bother with this whole thing?"

"Just to do it, I suppose. Because we can. And because we will. It's that simple, my friends. Mister Bourbon just can't walk into a match expecting the victory. There's always that voice in the back of his head, that voice of denial because it's happened SO many times before. We're all glad you've learned to take each of those losses in stride. We need you around, after all. Every FINE federation needs a decent punching bag to pass around from time to time. You, Mister Bourbon, are indeed that punching bag."

"You know, I nearly forgot that you have an Intercontinental Title shot lined up shortly after all of this. You're just pissing gold, are you not? After years and years of just slobbering all over yourself, addressing the people, and eating Big Mac after Big Mac, you've finally made it."

"Meh, if you say so, right?"

Doc laughs.

"In my opinion, judging by the two competing for that title now, you'd better just stick your thumb out again and hitchhike to the next opportunity. It must really suck to be you, Mister Bourbon. Always prepared for that loss. I suppose it IS a good security blanket for something like that. I'm sure there's lesser men out there that would've eaten the pipe by now, but not you. Not the President."

The most disturbing noises can be heard, from the movement of air to the grunt and groans and pushing of internal organs.

"Now that we've reached the end of our travels here, let me reassure that two of you that there is hope on the other side. Unlike what Mister Bourbon said about greener pastures, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. You may have to go searching for it, but it's there, and it's waiting for the both of you. Especially YOU, Arby Beef, because this is actually the last time that I figure I'm going to be seeing you. Once you're little spitter spatter with Robbie Bourbon is finished and those gold straps are around someone far more worth a damn, you're free to go. This is no place for a fellow like yourself anyway. For as little time as you've spent here, you sure claim to know an awful lot, which is a little creepy if you ask the doctor."

"And if I think it's creepy...."

Unknown Soldier begins to laugh as the big old fat Irishman stands up and faces the next two tag team champions.

"You guy's couldn't have picked a fatter one could you?!"

The Irishman speaks and slurs aloud, obviously Trevor speaking through the man. Doc and Soldier chuckle to themselves a bit.

"It's not like we had that many options, Mister Dedntik."

"Don't Mister Dedntik me, Doc. I thought we were preparing for this shit."

Trevor moans and bitches through his new suit and Irish accent as he attempts looking around behind him on both sides.

"Everything's coming together smoothly, my friends. The UNIVERSE is in the palm of our hands, whether any of you fools wish to admit it or not. One thing you might want to comprehend first is there isn't a competition between Soldier and I and there never was. The talks of him avoiding the cash ins against me and what not... Well, to be honest, we didn't see much of the guy after Lethal Lottery now did we?"

"He TOOK THE CASE AND RAN LIKE A BITCH, didn't he?"

"I'm sure that's crossed a few heads there unless this is the first time you've heard it. Just like a I ran off after losing to Lane, then ran off again after losing to Miss Riot. It's funny though, Soldier came back and has been dominating all of you for months now. Months."

"Months."

"Just as I did all that time ago. It's funny you folks only like to talk about my downfalls rather than all of those victories. Here's some insight for you, Mister Bourbon, are you aware that I've beaten Mister Vinnie Lane TWICE before he beat me for the Universal Title? A couple of those may have been before your time here... Oh, what's that?"

The doctor places his ear to the wind.

"That's right, the XWF most definitely existed before you arrived. In fact, long before you arrived. This may be hard to believe, but the place ran once without Peter Gilmour in the ranks even. And I'm talking, way back. It's funny how you've reshaped this place, too. Funny as in, it's the same exact thing that I left. Which is why I still believe I'm still King of the Mountain around here. It doesn't matter whether you're Robbie Bourbon, Peter Gilmour, Frodo, Vinnie Lane, or anyone else for that matter.... EVERYONE here has experienced or at least witnessed the carnage that my partner and I are capable of. I'm not blowing smoke or screwing around when I talk about a mission, my friends. I was on a mission a few years back too and there wasn't too many things in my way to stop it. Robbie Bourbon. You, my friend, are the last thing I'm worried about stopping us from our goal. First the Tag Team Titles, then the world baby."

Trevor stands beside his fatself and breaks serious wind and nearly crapping all over himself. Soldier's eyes perk up and her nearly tackles Trevor to the ground.

"You have the fucking diff! How the FUCK did he get the diff?!"

The doctor laughs and watches as Trevor barely manages to wrestle himself off the ground.

"I told you the answers would soon come for all of us. Both of our agendas fulfilled along with both of our missions."

Soldier looks like a kid on Christmas morning. He watches as the fat Irish Trevor clenches he stomach and wishes for a bathroom. Soldier digs in his pockets and pulls out a large rubber band and wraps it around his arm as a tourniquet while pulling a small hose with hollow point needles on the ends from his other pocket. He shoves the needle in his own arm and prepares for a blood transfusion with Trevor!

"Hold still a minute."

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