Previously on "North Korean War Criminal”...

Quote:“Okay. Let’s talk… Diversity.”

“Do we have to?”

Quote:“It’s Asian American and Pacific Islanders Heritage month... and it’d be a slam dunk to have an Asian performer on the show.

Quote:“Great, sign one.”

Quote:“The only other Asian competitor of note was LYNCHED on live television. He died in the ring.”

Quote:“...Part of a non-disclosure agreement set up by our legal tea-”

“HE’S STILL ALIVE?!?!”

Quote:“El Wormo” just risked his health, his limbs, his very life to be the proud holder of…

“El Wormo” sticks a three inch by five inch card into the air, in befuddlement.

Chris Webber: … Is that a $25 gift card to Red Lobster?

Quote:“SIR! Your plans to fundraise for our efforts to expand North Korea’s influence have led only to our financial ruin.”

Quote:“So. IF what you say is true... We probably shouldn’t get an Edible Arrangements fruit basket on the way to this meeting?”

Quote:“We also appreciate your… generous gift of… one-third of a partially-used Edible Arrangements gift basket.”

Quote:“Section 5, Clause 4 stipulated that upon winning your first match, you would receive an XWF title shot among some of our secondary champions.”

Quote:“You realize my ascent is inevitable and have called me here to beg that I shall be a benevolent champion!.”

Quote:“We were… interested in a… financial solution.”

The frizzy-haired woman reaches under the table and retrieves a briefcase.

She opens it… its content fill the room with golden light. Both Koreans are mesmerized, hypnotized by the bountiful wealth the case holds.

“Our aim is to… buy you out of that… option...”

And now, the continuing story of "North Korean War Criminal..."

***
I’ve gotta be a maaaaaan… I can’t let it sliiiiiiiiiide

“I. Am. The. Greatest. Man. To. Ever. Live.”

Buttons click in rapid succession.

Kato’s thumbs silently wove across the tiny keyboard of a 2005 Motorola Razr, the official phone of North Korea.

Kato exhaustively punches every letter into the sleek, outdated flip phone. As he finishes, he looks back up at the message’s source.

“My. Steel. Chair. Possum. Technique. Has. Never. Failed. Me.”

Kato, with mechanical efficiency in every motion, typed each letter flawlessly.

“My. Face. Only. Hurts. When. I. See. Out. Of. It.”

Kato… paused.

“Sir, are you sure you want to include that last bit?”

The camera spun, and we got our first glimpse of the man dictating this message.

And who is this venomous vagabond? This vexingly vivacious virus of a viper, vociferously volatile, vomiting vulgarities?

Who else but that big dumb jerk, the North Korean War Criminal?

Although, he wasn’t quite in his typical form. After he slapped the taste out of that False Korean’s fan mouth in the front row, (in self-defense, of course), he brought a steel folding chair into the ring.

To rest his legs briefly.

Then, instead of adhering to the unspoken rules of mid-match intermission under article 4.31 of North Korean wrestling rules, Betsy Granger cravenly rose to her feet, which would have ended the intermission.

Meaning the obese American fans would have no time to grab their 17 pound bags of popcorn and full rotisserie chickens and their insulin-laced Twizzlers.

Normally, what interest would NKWC have in Americans and maintaining their blood sugar and their layers of blubbery under-titties? But he was feeling compassionate and tried to return Betsy to the ground… to resume the intermission, of course. And what did he have at that point to exercise his will but his recently-obtained steel folding chair?

THEN, she cowardly and aggressively… ducked. And the chair bounced off the ropes and …

Um…

NKWC hit himself in the head with a steel folding chair. Which, of course, had been his plan all along… Except for the parts that he hadn’t planned for.

...He won the match.

That’s what counts.

And now had his neck wrapped in a full brace, which kept his skull and spine aligned. He also opted to encase his upper body in a cast, in an attempt to hasten his already assuredly superhuman immune system, made as such by his pure North Korean genes.

Kato had insisted NKWC had been hit in the forehead and probably only needed an ice pack, but the doctor…

Well, they hadn’t gone and seen a doctor. Unfortunately, the US had yet to take NKWC’s “Government of North Korea” health insurance card any time he’d gone in to get something looked at.

That time Shane exploded him with a tank? Not covered.

That time he was lynched and hung to death on live XWF broadcast? Not covered.

And now, this time he was viciously attacked by a... woman ducking, his own steel chair and rubber ring ropes? Not covered.

THANKS OBAMA.

Admittedly, his health insurance card was made of cardboard and written in sharpie, but this is all beside the point. And before you even start, no, they weren’t in a hospital. NKWC was resting in the backseat of the limo, in his full body cast, while Kato typed in the front seat.

Kato wiped the sweat from his brow. They had decided not to run the air conditioner to save money. Or run the engine. It was 106 degrees in the vehicle.

“Sir?”

NKWC, just like your narrator on his health insurance diatribe, had lost focus and was attempting to work the bendy straw Kato had gingerly placed at his face into his mouth. He’s accidentally unbent it, and now it swirls dangerously close to his eye. At this rate, he’d never get the delicious taste of Starbucks’ Mango Dragon Fruit refresher. His tongue struggled to wrap around the straw, but just like in his match against Betsy, his grappling attempts proved… fruitless.

“Sir.”

Kato’s hands cut through the air and returned the bend into the straw, lowering the end back into NKWC’s open mouth. NKWC wrapped his mouth around it like a newborn suckling at his mother’s teat LIKE A MAN. LIKE A MANLY MANNISH MAN.

NKWC finished MASCULINELY sipping his fruity beverage before clearing his throat.

“Send it, Kato.”

Kato sent out the statement to every news team CC’d to his email. He sighs.

“Last item of business, sir… We received a follow-up letter from the XWF.”

Kato reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a letter. It had been addressed to ‘That Limo Parked Outside’.

NKWC’s face lit up. His pearly whites beamed like floodlights. He’d pump a fist of victory in the air, if he wasn’t currently held immobile by his aforementioned neck and spinal brace.

“Aha! Surely, now that I have an unsullied record of 2 wins and no losses in my return to their organization, they must be eager to close the deal that will see me gainfully unemployed and off of their roster.”

NKWC attempted to rub his hands together fiendishly, unfortunately forgetting his arms are in a full body cast and cannot meet in his center. So they just limply wiggled in the air.

Despite his lack of fiendish hand-rubbing, morale was at an all-time high.

“Open the letter, Kato!”

Kato’s fingers ripped the envelope seamlessly and slipped the contents of the letter out of its container like a master fisherman ripping a salmon straight from a babbling brook.

“My reading glasses, Kato!”

Kato gingerly removed from the glove compartment a pair of prescription bifocals, and gingerly placed them atop the ears of his commander.

“Finally… PRESENT THE LETTER UNTO ME, KATO!”

Kato… paused.

“Commander, you may want to rein in your expectations. While you did triumph against Betsy Granger, your… performance in the ring had some… gaps.”

“Kato, for shame! Fabricating flaws out of your jealousy. My match was a perfect performance. I had no weaknesses, hence my complete and total victory.”

NKWC would’ve brushed his hand through the air dismissively, but… again, full body cast. So, his hand just kinda flopped once in the air.

“Now, PRESENT IT UNTO MEEEEEEE!”

Kato sighed and held the letter to his commander’s face.

NKWC smirked and read aloud…

Quote:Dear Mr. Criminal,

Thank you for… finding time in your busy schedule to visit our office. We enjoyed having the opportunity to discuss your... future within our organization.

However, after watching your recent... performance on Wednesday Night Warfare against Betsy Granger, we took time to … re-appraise your value and after some assessment, have opted to alter terms of the previous agreement based on this new data.

We’ve included a number of quotes regarding your performance so you might understand the source of our... re-alignment:

“North Korean War Criminal got beaten like he had overcooked Betsy Granger’s pot roast. He defended against punches like every tenth one he took, he’d get a free frozen yogurt. He fought like a Chinese girl baby and died faster than a Chinese girl baby… Wait, are you holding a tape recorder?” - TKW Announcer and Sacramento King Chris Webber.

Instead of further negotiation to buy you out of your contract, we’ve decided to enclose our final compenstation along with this letter. We believe this offer most accurately reflects the risk of your continued success within the XWF. If you’d like to reject this offer, know that we will not entertain your wasting of our time much longer. Oh look, another review of your match.

“NKWC moves in the ring like a boy trying to come out to his father through the art of interpretive dance. If it weren’t for Doctor Bones doing the worst officiating job since the Kings-Lakers series in 2002, Betsy Granger would have shipped him back to Pyongyang in a body bag. I think he’s the worst competitor in… Guys, for real, put away the tape recorder.” - “The Fab Five’s” Chris Webber

Sincerely,
The Management

NKWC furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Kato, was there anything else in the envelope?”

“Yes sir…”

Kato turned the envelope inside out and reveals in his hand…

A small plastic card.

NKWC’s face shimmered ghostly pale.

“...Is… Is that…?”

“Yes sir.”

NKWC’s gaze focused deeper onto the card in his lieutenant’s hand…

A $25 gift card to Red Lobster.

NKWC seethed… He expelled air, hissing like a snake, unleashing corrosive saliva on whatever fieldmouse dared cross his path.

…

This would all be more effective physicality if he weren’t in a full body cast.

He rotated his full torso clumsily to stare out the window. Out at the landscape of a country that has put him down at every turn.

“They underestimate me, Kato. They think I am no threat. And that is their vulnerability.”

Kato chewed the end of his tongue thoughtfully, pressing a fist against his skull.

“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“As freely as you can speak in our homeland, Kato.”

“Sir… They’re assessing you very accurately.”

NKWC’s brow furrows, pondering this statement.

“Pardon?”

“Commander, you are a devious planner, a fiendish plotter and a genius architect of the defeat of your foes. Your mental game is the best in this field of feeble-minded rubes.”

NKWC blushes, as if every word out of Kato’s mouth was the deepest kindness one could speak.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kato. I’m happily married... to my work.”

“But, you’re a terrible wrestler.”

NKWC surges backwards in revulsion and horror.

“Kato!”

***

Buzzing.

Chittering.

The sounds of a rapidly rewinding tape.

Kato and NKWC are in a dark room with a single dimly lit 1979 Sylvania television set with an embedded VCR, the official viewing experience of North Korea.

Static and horizontal bars blur the image of two facing off in the ring with Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan circling the competitors.

“Aha, a chance to raise our morale by rewatching my victory. An excellent idea, Kato.”

“Sir, we’re going to watch the American broadcast of your match.”

A pause.

“Kato, must we watch the biased storytelling of the fat American XWF video editing team?”

“...”

“Hashtag Fake News, Kato!”

Kato doesn’t respond, only hitting play. As the two competitors on the tape walk through the metal detector to enter the Smithsonian, Kato retrieves from under his shirt a notebook, and a ballpoint pen from a pocket inside his sleeve. He opens to a new page and begins marking along with the match...

NKWC folds his arms over his chest defensively as they watch…

...Or he would do so if he weren’t in a full body cast. Instead, his cast bends slightly at the shoulders before he returns them to a ninety degree angle in front of his body.

…

…

…

…

…

“And that’s the match.”

Eight minutes later, NKWC’s face was beet red, humiliated.

Kato, ignorant to his commander’s embarrassment, continued the teaching exercise.

“So, by my accounts, in eight minutes of wrestling, you attempted…”

Kato made a display of tallying up the number of marks on the page.

“Six moves.”

“Four were countered by Betsy Granger. One was that failed jackhammer you’ve still never managed to land. You hit one successful move in eight minutes. The sneak attack inside cradle at the beginning of the match. And that got you a one count.”

“You made as many successful moves on that fan in the front row as you did on Betsy Granger.”

“...I also kneed her in the face once…”

Kato reels backwards, surprised, in mock horror. “Oh noooooo, how could I have forgotten you once lightly grazed her face with your knee, sir? My deepest apologies for downplaying your great triumph.”

NKWC’s eyes narrow venomously, not keen on the mockery.

“Watch yourself, Kato.”

“Or what? You’ll drown me with tears? You started weeping twice when you got cornered in the ring, commander.”

“Low blow, Kato! Being cornered is my third greatest fear, only behind being alone at great heights and speaking in public to a group of clowns.”

“Speaking of low blows, you cheated four times in eight minutes. And half the time, she countered you cheating anyway! You’re predictable and when in the ring with a former champion, she knew how to counter your shenanigans at every turn.”

NKWC, much like when faced with any of Betsy’s moves, didn’t have a retort.

“What is the point of this, Kato? Do you enjoy mocking me for my shortcomings?”

Kato allowed himself the briefest sigh of relief. He had finally broken through his commander’s thick outer shell of hubris. He had gotten him to admit to the existence of shortcomings.

The viper had been defanged, and could now be rebuilt stronger… and more deadly

He knelt down to meet his compatriot eye-to-eye.

“Sir, no one wants you to achieve dominance in the face of these slothful American animals more than I.”

“But, in order to do so, we must do as they do. We must know their techniques, learn their techniques, master their techniques, then use their own techniques to foil them.”

“We cannot wrestle wrestlers without wrestling like wrestlers.”

NKWC’s mind bends inward. After decades on this earth reflexively defending itself from any kind of criticism, it searches every cell, parses every neuron for an argument that would allow NKWC to go on without changing.

NKWC stared a hole back into Kato’s eyes.

And NKWC saw in his gaze, someone who means the things he says. He wants his commander to succeed.

And what happened next? Well, in Pyongyang, they say... That NKWC’s small heart grew three sizes that day.

NKWC, for the first time in eight years, decided to listen.

“Fine, Kato. What do you suggest?”

Kato almost burst into tears with pride, but restrained himself. He had been given this unique opportunity to influence his commander, he could not fumble so close to success.

“In order to succeed… We need a coach. And I have a… contact.”

***

They stood back to back, uncomfortably squished against this glass box.

The Motorola had run out of data after they had sent their one text message for the month earlier that day, so they had to resort to a public payphone booth.

NKWC stares puzzled at the slip of paper in his hands. Ironically, since his pride had been hurt, his body had made a miraculous recovery and he was now out of his full-body cast.

“Kato, where did you get this?”

“I received it years ago after your debut victory against Peter Gilmour, Travis McCoy and Maverick. He said if you ever came back, ‘give him a ring’.”

NKWC peered confused at the request.

“What a curious demand… Do we have a ring to give him?”

“Commander, I believe it is an American colloquialism inviting us to call at our leisure.”

“Ah, of course. And perhaps we’ll pick up a ring for his perusal.”

Kato finished dialing the number into the keypad.

“SWAP!”

The two men took a circle-step in order for NKWC to face the phone. Kato smushed his face and body against the booth wall to maximize space for his commander to take this call.

It rings once…

Twice…

…

Three times…

Fo-

*click*

…

On the other end of the line, a deep breath…

As if a crypt has been unsealed.

As if oxygen is rushing into the lungs of a creature long dwelling at the core of the earth, forgotten by the passage of time.

As if a plague long since banished from these lands has returned...

The voice continues its death rattle…

“...Hello?”

The seizing, struggling breathing continues…

Before it becomes the start…

Of a cackling, hideous laugh.

“You’ve reached the cell phone of Mark Flynn.”

“...A voicemail? I hate these stu-.”

“Hey hey, War Criminal.”

NKWC dropped the phone off the hook in a fit of shock. Kato dove for it, to return it to his commander’s ear.

They both held the phone up...

“Don’t worry about leaving a message.”

“I’ll find you.”

*click*