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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 3 RP Board 2021
The Kenta Kobayashi Maru - Part 1 (RP #1)
Author Message
Mark Flynn Offline
24/7 Briefcase Holders get their name in GOLD
The 24/7 Shot!



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
09-17-2021, 10:25 PM

The Story So Far…


And NOW, the story continues...


The flickering light of a computer screen.

The sound of keys clattering.

And sitting in front of the monitor…

A haggard, red-eyed Mark Flynn.

He was querying government databases about the KFC! Yum Center, cross-referencing for XWF special events that had taken place there in the past…

He found the X Dolly marked on a map for him…

“You Are Contractually Obligated to SHOVE-IT!”

Oh God, the multiverse is gonna feel this one…

‘Nefarious’ Ned Kaye had apparently opened a portal to a parallel universe where kooky opposite versions of XWF superstars all fight in an organization called the Federation of X-Treme Wrestling…

And people say Flynn is crazy for believing XWF is trying to collapse this plane of existence.

The event had a cavalcade of clowns, hence why it took place April 1st… Though apparently a broadcasting delay…

...Wait, what? The event didn’t air until the 12th? And the results are incomplete?

Flynn scrolls back up the page, squinting, double-checking info. What the fuck? Nine matches and only three have endings... Just a small little holdover message that says "Please Standby! Show Still in progress!"

Things weren’t adding up. Thankfully, he had other resources… It was time to call his man on the inside. His connection to the inner machinations of the XWF.

The only other insider the feds had in the XWF...

He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a 2005 Motorola V3x, (he had gotten jealous of NK’s neat flip phone and bought the subsequent model for himself).

He dials… and waits through two rings.

*click*

“...H-h-hello, this is Steve Sayors. Whoever this is, please don’t hurt me!”

“Sayors, this is Mark Flynn.”

“...Oh my God, Flynn, It’s you! I’m so sorry for… Whatever I did!”

“Shut up, Sayors.”

“Oh Jesus, I knew you’d be the one to kill me. You’re #4 in my Top 25 people I’m most afraid of! Are you going to kill me over the phone? Can you do that?!?”

Flynn retrieves from his opposite pocket and pulls out a note card. On the card is a list of ten words.

“Longing, rusted, furnace...”

“...Is that a killing curse?”

“...Shit, wrong list.”

Flynn throws away that notecard. He folds his hand back into his pocket and retrieves another card… Again, containing a list of ten words.

“TItle, Unorthodox, Legal, Potato, Maneuver…”

“Flynn, what… What’s happening…?”

“Vanilla, Midget...”

“S-S-Stop…! I don’t know what you’re doing!”

“Spanish, Suplex, Business.”

....

...

“Still there, Sayors?”

“Sayors is out at the moment. But the Ringworm is here to aid you, Agent Flynn.”

Flynn chuckled. He didn’t frequently see eye-to-eye with Agent Davenport. But picking up Steve Sayors on a parking infraction, bullying him with a mark on his permanent record until he begged to cooperate with the feds, then putting him under and surgically implanting an alternative personality in Sayors’ head? Genius on her part.

However... Calling him ‘The Ringworm’? C'mon. Of course, that was Flynn’s idea.

Steve Sayors, while he had taken a big step back from the broadcast team, was still most frequently the first person new XWF competitors would promo with when first arriving at the company. His mind was a steel trap, containing a comprehensive biography of every single event, both major and inconsequential, that has ever happened in company history. You give him a name that only worked one show in 2014, Sayors could rattle off their hometown, win-loss record, shoe size, their beliefs on circumcision...

And The Ringworm was the backdoor designed to get at Sayors’ knowledge without his awareness. Sayors has been the lore keeper for 22 years of XWF's every move. And the XWF, while very powerful, hadn’t yet figured out how to password-protect a human brain.

“Ringworm, tell me about You Are Contractually Obligated to SHOVE-IT!”

“Of course... The event took place live on April 1st, 2021. Nine matches. Louisville, Kentucky. The KFC YUM! Centre...”

“Yes, yes. April 1st... My sources indicate that the event didn’t go out to PPV buyers until April 12th.”

“Correct.”

“...Do you know why?”

“...Hmm. Sayors does not. But he did at one point.”

“...Meaning?”

“I can find a place in Sayors’ memory which, at one point, held the information you seek. It has been… clouded.”

Clouded? Shit. Flynn might have underestimated the XWF. They couldn’t keep Flynn from Sayors’ head so they might be editing what he can and can’t remember? Either that or Sayors is finally hitting early onset dementia from all the years of goober rookies looking to prove how tough they are by cracking his head open with own microphone.

Fuck, this is getting real heavy. Flynn would feel pity for Sayors if Steve didn’t disgust him so much.

“Any info in there about why there are only three matches worth of results in the XWF database, while there were nine matches on the card?”

“There is...The matches… have not taken place yet.”

Flynn’s brow furrows.

“...The event was April 1st. The matches haven’t happened…? What the Hell does that mean?”

“It is not my place to interpret Sayors’ knowledge, Agent Flynn. Only to report it as accurately as possible.”

Clearly, there was still a little Sayors in The Ringworm. Journalistic Integrity is just about Steve’s only inherent trait, besides cowardice and self-preservation.

Flynn glances at the time on a clock sitting at his desk... He's spent four minutes with the Ringworm...

“All right, Ringworm, clear the last... let's say, seven minutes of memory and put me back on with Sayors.”

“As you wish, Agent Flynn. The Ringworm burrows again into his home...”

A light popping sound over the phone. Flynn puts on his best customer service voice.

”Sir! Sir, are you still there?”

“Oh God! Who is it? Are you calling to hurt me?!? I don't remember picking up my phone! Did you make me do this?!?”

“No, sir, we’ve been trying to get ahold of you for months about your car’s extended warranty.”

“Thank God you called! I was terrified something would happen! Please, I beg you! I’ll take the longest warranty you have!”

Flynn pinches the bridge of his nose. Jesus Christ, how is Sayors even alive at this point? Shouldn’t fear make him less susceptible to scams…?

“Actually, sir, I’m looking at your file now and, according to our records... Your car was totaled 15 years ago...”

“...Wait, did I die? Have I been dead this whole time? Am I IN HELL?!?”

Flynn hangs up, rubbing his eyes.

The event was five months ago and the matches haven’t happened yet? What kind of Pandora's Box did NK’s TV delay question open up…?

That moment, Flynn gets a notification in the top-right corner of his computer.

[STUDENT NK HAS COMPLETED HIS CARDIO FOR THE DAY]

Flynn nods. Well, this investigation is making less and less sense, but at least his student is getting his exercises done…

He clicks a button that says ‘Open Video-Feed’...



NK is on a treadmill.

Wearing a pair of rollerskates.

WIth a rope tied around his waist to the beam of the treadmill.



“I’m actually going to kill him.”

***


Flynn walked down from his tiny corner office, down several flights of stairs, and down a long hallway to the office gym the bureau had.

There was a visible discomfort to the rest of the gym-goers when Flynn dropped NK off, telling him to run five miles. They had since cleared out, not wanting to share a gym with a North Korean spy.

So the entire state-of-the-art gym was occupied only by a North Korean War Criminal.

On roller skates.

On a treadmill.

Headphones on, blaring Japanese Urban Pop.

Comically large, hot pink Sunglasses so no one could see he was taking a treadmill nap… A fact that was, of course, given away by his thunderously loud snoring.

Flynn gently approached the side of the treadmill, and very delicately disentangles the plug from the wall outlet.

The treadmill gradually dies… NK very slowly, but surely rolls to the front of the treadmill… And comes to a stop.

Flynn tip-toed up to the side of his tag-team partner, very gingerly shifts his weight onto the side of the treadmill to get just inches from NK’s face.

Then BAM!

Flynn bats the War Criminal across the back of the head with his right fist.

War Criminal jerks his arms and shifts to defend himself! However, still on the roller skates, he spins and collapses onto the treadmill! His legs dangle over the side of the track, semi-conscious. He swings wildly in the air to oppose his attacker, but smacks his arm against the side of the machine, then sucks in air in pain, squeezing his fist as agony oozes in his limb…

"OWWWWWWW OW OW OW OW!"

Flynn gives the suffering spy a single smack on his right cheek.

“MY OFFICE. THREE MINUTES.”

NK tries to scramble to his feet… But he’s still tied to the beam of the treadmill. When he runs to leave behind Flynn, the rope goes taut and he rubber-bands, rolling backwards onto the track and ending up on his face.

Flynn looks back at this slapstick horror show.

“...Eh, let’s make it seven.”

***

NK holds up a number of ice packs to a number of places… He’s holding one to his hand that threw the punch… Then, his injured hand is pressing a second icepack against his ass that he landed on… So, he’s sitting on his hands AND two ice packs.

He’s also duct-tape a third and fourth ice pack to his shoulder blades.

Flynn is behind his desk, amused by this display, but trying to be firm with his disobedient pupil.

“So, you tried to cheat cardio day, huh?”

NK scratches the inside of his leg with his uninjured, somewhat-encumbered hand and smiles.

“I ‘cheat’ everything, Mark Flynn. It’s my nature. Every system is designed to hold down the working class and each system should be exploited in seeking its every weakness. From the highest office of government to your fitness plan’s mandatory five-mile run.”

NK smiles like the cat that ate the canary… Somehow proud and embarrassed simultaneously… But most importantly, full-stomached. Satisfied by his actions.

Flynn… smiles.

“I’m not against you cheating, NK. Rule-breaking is an important component of the Optimal Path Lesson Plan, seeing beyond the construct of rules and understanding the unstated knowledge… That the system is feeble and its rule-keepers and bean-counters are inept and incapable of upholding it.”

Flynn gets down to NK’s eye level.

“But, In order to fully tap into the Optimal Path, in order to truly maximize results… I need you in top physical condition.”

“So don’t FUCKING cheat my training.”


NK’s eyes narrow… Then, across his face, that fake plastic, android smile breaks out.

“Of course, Mark Flynn. Perhaps I should do double cardio today to make up for this insubordination?”

Flynn doesn’t break eye-contact.

“I’ve noticed you break out THAT particular smile when you’re angling to achieve a personal objective...”

“Or when I know I’m being fed bullshit.”

Flynn’s eyes flutter. He takes a deep breath.

“I have a feeling… A STRONG FEELING…” Flynn says, gritting his teeth together… “That you have something you want to get off your chest.”

NK slowly rises from his chair, rising until he stands. Flynn leans back in his seat.

“I merely ask that you think about the last few weeks of… partnership... From my perspective, Mark Flynn”

“We nearly lost our tag match against Dolly Waters and Latina Submission Machina. The only reason we pulled it out is because of MY dragon sleeper counter.”


“That counter I taught you. The only reason you had to whip that counter out is YOUR showboating lost us the isolation play.”

“Semantics!”

“...I'm pretty sure that's not actually what semantic…”

“Then, your match against the Wizard? I was prepared to be dazzled by a dominant display of the Optimal Path. Your first singles match in seven years!"

“Sure. And I won the match.”

“Narrowly. And only after being made a fool of with his cavalcade of magical ruses. Getting mesmerized by card tricks and smoky disappearances!”

“Which, BY THE FUCKING WAY, NK! YOU said he wasn’t a real wizard!”

“I did. He’s not a wizard. But I didn’t say he wasn’t a magician!”

“...Okay, THAT’S semantics. Magicians and Wizards are basically the same.”

“THAT’S your rhabdophobia on display. Saying Magicians and Wizards are ‘basically’ the same would be like saying Noble North Koreans and Lowly South Koreans are ‘basically’ the same.”

Flynn raises his index finger… Then retracts it, not seeing the point in continuing down that rabbit hole. NK digs in closer.

“Moreover, your fate as a loser in that match would have all been sealed without my involvement! I interfered multiple times to save you from defeat!”

“Certainly. But I knew I had you in my corner as a variable. I counted on it and was paid dividends for my investment in your presence. If you weren’t present, that would have completely changed my approach and strategy. Part of the Optimal Path is carefully accounting for every variable and including those most conducive to victory in your execution.”

“So your strategy included me CHLOROFORMING the official and PULLING A GUN on The Wizard?”

“I had accounted for the match to play out within a finite number of scenarios. The means by which the match transpired was the most efficient victory route I determined possible.”

Flynn leans back, still confident that his point is flawlessly made.

“I keep telling you, NK. Every match we’ve fought thus far has fallen within the parameters of my design.”

NK wiggles his fingers in the air, dismissively.

“Mark Flynn, your description of the optimal path is voodoo and pseudoscience. There’s no way you can be wrong. If Thaddeus Duke was hit by a bus, couldn’t make it to Relentless, and had to surrender the title to you by forfeit, you would subsequently claim that events ‘fell within the parameters of your design’.”

Flynn grins… an odd crooked smile… Then, he reaches over to the side of his desk and brushes a manilla folder into a trashcan. NK is horrified.

“Wait… Mark Flynn, you didn’t!”

“Well, I wouldn’t now! It would be hack now that you’ve said it aloud... Then again, you can’t get the deposit back from ‘bus assassins’, maybe I should go through with it...”

“MARK FLYNN!”

“I’m joking, NK!”

Flynn retrieves the folder from his trashcan and opens it, revealing that it’s empty. He snaps it shut and tucks back into his desk

“I’m excited to fight Thad. Both for the chance to demonstrate my methods… And it’ll be a chance to get a vibe from Duke's boy. This match might be our best chance to pick up intelligence on the Ares Project and XWF’s potential involvement in McGovern’s siege.”

NK shakes his head.

“That’s another thing, Flynn! Your investigation of Thaddeus Duke has been one giant dead-end. The only lead we have is based on my inquisition into Dolly Waters’ double-booking! A discovery that I brought to YOUR attention!”

Flynn nods.

“Yes, absolutely. NK, you’ve been instrumental to the forward momentum of this investigation.”

NK opens his hand and gestures forth with a smile, as if his point has been thoroughly proven.

“Which is exactly why it was in my design to bring you in on this case.”

Flynn mimics NK’s motion exactly, as if his point has been thoroughly proven.

NK squints, like a rabbit caught in a cardboard box by a carrot on a string. Retracing his last logical steps to see how he fell into this trap…

“Flynn, I'll grant you this, you've drawn an arrow between the events that have transpired and your faith in the Optimal Path. You have... let's say, a working theory."

"However, allow me to present an alternative, equally plausible theory.”

“I.”

“Am.”

“Infallible.”


NK sticks a finger in the air like this is a ‘eureka’ moment. Flynn is unamused.

“I’ve remained undefeated my entire career. I’ve forwarded this investigation farther than ever before! I've bested every challenge since I've made my return! I even defeated Corey Smith at the Quiet Game!”

“And you also bankrupted…” Flynn checks a sheet of paper on his desk… “31 Baskin Robbins franchises… And that now your wrestling company is running out of funds. Is that infallibility?”

“You might say, those enterprises going bankrupt… fell within the parameters of my design.” NK laughs, as if he’s caught Flynn in his own trap.

Flynn chuckles. Which kills NK's laughter.

“Mark Flynn, you may laugh, but you have failed to answer my question. The optimal path is designed to lead its user to the most efficient route of success… But on every path, the North Korean War Criminal succeeds! Victory is in every fiber of my DNA. My people succeed in every glorious quest they undertake!”

“What use do I have of the Optimal Path when I am DESTINED to pass every test set before me with flying colors?”

Flynn’s eyes suddenly glimmer. An opportunity for… a re-education session… has crawled onto his plate…

“Ah… You are correct. You’ve passed every test... Thus far. I won’t deny that. I couldn’t deny that.”

“...However, what if you were challenged with a test designed to ensure failure?”


NK squints, puzzled.

“A test DESIGNED to be failed?”

“Your opponents will test you in ways that aren’t… fair. Specifically, your corporate hunters… the XWF. They already have tipped scales out of your favor. They’ve attempted to manipulate your trajectory in ways to dispose of you from the roster.”

“They aren’t going to make things easier from here. They may even set upon you with challenges they anticipate you are incapable of passing, regardless of your approach.”


Flynn taps his nose.

“NK. If you were presented with a test that was impossible to pass, would you solve it? Could you?”

NK scratches his head, his nose wrinkles… He rubs his fingertips against his brow, pondering this riddle.

“...By the strict definition of these parameters, I could not.”

Flynn grins and wags his finger.

“This is the function of the Optimal Path, NK. It not only finds the most efficient route of success. It also creates routes along journeys designed for dead-end travelers like us. It guarantees forward momentum when the roads present all spiral off-course.”

NK attempts to open his mind to comprehend this conundrum.

“Bah!” He mutters dismissively. “This exercise is fruitless. What kind of test could be impossible to pass!?!”

Flynn narrows his eyes. This conversation…. Is going exactly as planned.

“I have one in mind… Tell me, NK. Are you familiar with the Kenta Kobayashi Maru?”

“What is that?”

“One might describe it as… a sort of GAME.” Flynn’s toothy, empty-bellied grin, like a leopard unsheathing its fangs after spotting a gazelle.

NK’s eyes go wide. Beads of sweat immediately form on his forehead. His mouth generates a sea of saliva. His eyes dilate, every gland in his body just became dedicated to pumping wave after wave of endorphins to his brain.

He can tell this is a trap… Or even worse, a LESSON...



But, god dammit, he loves games.

His fist hammers on the table once. Twice. Thrice! His smile goes wide, both completely genuine and somewhat maniacal. Starving for an opportunity to compete.

“Please tell me every rule of this Kenta Kobayashi Maru! We must begin play promptly, immediately after you’ve explained every subset and condition of victory!”

NK reaches for his notebook in his jacket pocket… Flynn catches his hand mid-air… NK spins to look at Flynn… Still grinning that predatory grin.

“Oh… You won’t need to take notes. These rules will be very... very simple.”

***

A short walk down a long corridor.

A dark room with a single computer. On its desk is a visor and gloves.

“...Wait, this ‘Kenta Kobayashi Maru’... It is a video game?”

“Of sorts. It’s a combat simulator.”

Flynn blows a little dust off that’s collected on top of the visor.

“I designed it myself. I needed a sparring partner while I was taking my seven-year sabbatical in the deep freeze.”

NK doubles back, stunned.

“Mark Flynn, YOU made a video game?”

Flynn shrugs.

“I had seven years sitting in a folding chair in a storage unit waiting for you to re-surface post-hanging. I had to find some way to occupy my time. I got into some odd hobbies.”

NK looks around the dark computer room… As his eyes adjust, he can also see tucked away in the corners… needlepoint projects… diorama miniatures… And like forty ships in a bottle…

To be clear, there weren’t forty ships-in-bottles. It was forty ships, perfectly geometrically folded into one bottle.

“Oh My Glorious Leader…”

Suddenly, and without asking permission, Flynn straps the visor around NK’s head and slips the gloves onto his hands…

SMACK! Flynn whacks NK across the left, then right knees with an open palm.

Before NK can protest, he looks down and sees a pair of luminescent stickers just above his shins.

“Now, this gameplay experience should approximate a 1-to-1 recreation of your physical expressions. It might take a little bit to get comfortable, but hopefully, after a few seconds, you should feel like you’re just moving completely normally. Ideally, you’ll forget you’re in a virtual environment at all.”

NK squeezes the gloves… They do feel light. The visor does nothing to block his vision… Will he have to play this game looking at Flynn’s miniscule computer monitor…?

“QUICK TEST!”

Flynn smashes on the keyboard’s spacebar.

Suddenly, a jolt fires through NK’s spine!

“AH!” NK howls in pain. He’s suddenly deeply confused.

“What was that?!?!... Mark Flynn, I didn’t land on my spine when I fell on the treadmill! Why did that hurt me?!?”

“One-to-one physical recreation of pain sensations. Your body’s sensory receptors are ready to make this virtual fight feel as real as one of its in-person counterparts.”

“...You’re telling me this game will inflict an actual physical toll on me?”

Flynn squints like that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard.

“NK, if the enemies can’t hurt you, what’s the point of combat training? Do you think the rats in the Skinner experiment got a stern talking-to from Skinner when they didn’t press the correct lever? NO, they got PAIN. And they learned to respond correctly. As you will.”

NK rubs his spine…

“There’s no sticker on my spine, though… How did you send a jolt there?”

“The stickers are hooked into reading and sending impulses into your central nervous system. They may just be on your knees, but that’s all the machine needs to get a roadmap of all five senses… And all three kinds of pain neurons, everywhere they exist in your body... ”

NK strokes his chin, amazed.

“...Incredible.”

Flynn turns away… leans over the machine and begins pounding at the keys… He clicks, opening up a program called ‘KENTA_KOBAYASHI_MARU.exe’...

A small prompt comes up on the screen that reads ‘Ready to Play?’ with a single button beneath it, with the message ‘Yep yep yep, What it Do’.

“Shall we play?”

“A moment, Mark Flynn! I am, of course, eager to foil your confidence in your virtual combat simulator. However, You haven’t told me the rules yet!”

Flynn puts a hand to his face in mock embarrassment.

“Gosh, NK! You’re right! I completely forgot the rules!”

Flynn spins around to NK.

“Okay, listen carefully.”

“Rule NUMBER ONE!”

“Beat this Game.”


NK purses his lips, impatiently stamping his foot for more valuable intel.

“Yes, fine! But HOW! Describe the game’s mechanics, please!”

“RULE NUMBER TWO!”

“You can’t exit the game until you beat the game.”


NK squints, parsing the threat of that statement.

“Wait, what? Mark Flynn, what is th-”

NK tries to remove the gloves… But they cling onto his skin. His fingers no longer open...

“RULE NUMBER THREE!”

NK reaches down to pull off the stickers off his knees...

They have… actually sunken into his skin… Just below the surface...

“You can’t beat this game.”

The mouse clicks. The game... seems to swirl open... Out of the screen and directly into NK's eyes!

“Have fun!”

NK’s vision blackens at the edges…

“MARK FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNN!”

And suddenly he is submerged in darkness. The world before him vanishes…

To Be Continued…
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