The escalation of conflict is, historically, inevitable as it is usually done by the hubristic.

When battle comes, though, whoever escalated it doesn't matter as much as who finishes.

G EIGHT (THE BLACK KING SIDE KNIGHT)

Moscow. Not the most popular town in the world at the moment. Police litter the streets, looking for protesters. All this worry of insurrection and the paranoia of the state itself is just the Russian way of things. In the streets, we see a woman holding a small sign. In seconds she is being detained by police. Across the street, another person with a vastly different sign, is swiftly detained. Either pro or anti war, your sentiments aren't welcomed. Bobby watches on and shakes his head.

Tsk, tsk. Such a shame that freedom of speech and assembly didn't happen everywhere.

With that, Bobby is approached by police.

Hiya.

Пойдем с нами.

Huh? Any English?

One of the police speak.

"You, come."

Shit. Alright.

Bobby concedes and follows along peacefully. He's quickly approached by a man in a black suit. His English is much better and beset by a thick Russian accent.

Mr. Bourbon! Welcome to Moscow. Come with me.

Sweet, the VIP treatment!

Bobby follows the other fellow, who gestures to his car. Bobby enters the passenger seat as the man enters the driver's seat.

I am glad you came along, I would have been upset if things got nasty back there.

Oh?

Well, your reputation proceeds you, Mr. Bourbon. Big American Wrestler. You made a beer commercial in Ukraine, yes?

Yep. Who are you?

You can call me Chernit.

Huh. Okay, Chernit, where are we going?

Oh? You are a friend of the American President, Mr. Bourbon. In the name of Russian security I must interview you.

Oh. Usually Steve Sayors interviews me.

I feel you might find this interview different, Mr. Bourbon.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Yeah, yeah. Look, Chernit, I wasn't worried about getting into a stranger's car just now, I have a feeling that this interview will wind up precisely like a Steve Sayors interview. Get to the point, what do you want to know.

We're going to play a game.

Yikes, cliché. At any given wrestling show any given wrestler will cut a promo and talk about games.

Right! And now it is your time!

Bobby looks gobsmacked.

No! I told you I'd talk!

Chernit turns down an alley and into a garage. The car shakily decends on a massive lift as another platform covers them.

The old safehouses, Mr. Bourbon.

Pretty neat. When was this even built, the 60s?

Yes.

Ooh, cutting edge technology there.

You have your jokes Mr. Bourbon.

Everyone's a critic.

The lift stops.

Are we here or did we get stuck?

We're, uh, we are stuck.

Chernit steps out of the car and stomps on the ground.

A little help?

Bobby purses his lips and steps out of the car. He starts jumping up and down.

It's not moving.

This is stupid.

The platform suddenly drops an inch. Bobby and Chernit both look very alarmed and get back into the car. The platform continues.

Thank you.

Eh, why not help get to my own interrogation?

What?

Chernit looks hurt. The platform comes to a stop and a series of lights illuminate the chamber, no longer lit by the dull glow of the car's headlights.

Mr. Bourbon, not at all!

Chernit exits and gestures for Bobby to follow. Chernit opens a door, and within we see a massive 90's toy museum.

Holy shit.

How you say, Mr. Bourbon, cowabunga and totally rad.

That's one way to put it.

Let's play Ninja Turtles!

Chernit puts a red mask. He hands an orange one to Bobby.

You can be Michelangelo.

Tubular!

Bobby puts the orange mask on. Both fully grown men, one in a black suit, one in a Bud Light track suit, approach a big wooden bin and start pulling action figures out. They both sit on the ground and make crazy explosion noises, battle sounds, and ninjutsu grunts over the sound of colliding plastic as they make the little vintage Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles clash with one another.

My Tokka and Rahzar are strongest and best!

I have Bebop and Rocksteady and they're awesome!

Tokka, Rahzar, Bebop, and Rocksteady all land in a heap on the ground, their battle nothing more than all four of their bodies haphazardly tossed at each other by Bobby and Chernit. Chernit grins with absolute delight as Bobby surveys the room, noticing large closed circuit cameras monitoring them.

Cool toy museum you have.

You really think! I am honored. Please, I have board games, will you teach?

Sure!

Chernit runs over to the wall and pulls down several boxes. 1313 Dead End Drive. Mouse Trap. Tornado Rex. Connect Four.

You teach?

Sure!

Cool!

Chernit spastically dumps the boxes all over the floor, mixing up all the game pieces together. He runs over to the wall again as Bobby watches on. He grabs a Domino Rally, a rock tumbler, and a Creepy Crawlers oven. He returns.

You teach?

Those aren't, uh, sure. They're a board game now.

Cowabunga!

Such an odd saying made odder by the thick Russian accent.

We will have so much fun playing with my collection of American toys!

Sure thing, buddy. I do need to get back to work, you know, destabilizing the Russian government. The economy is about to go splat and I have a World War to avert. How long do you plan on detaining me?

Mr. Bourbon, we know all about your penchant for subverting the status quo, but until you tell us the secrets found in these…

Chernit points to the floor and the mess a pair of children would create.

I, uh, okay.

Bobby looks down and shakes his head, rolling his eyes. Oligarchy, avarice, and constantly being given what one wants seems to have made Chernit numb to the idea that these toys don't have secrets. At this point, Bobby notices a pristine chess board.

Nice chess board.

Chernit grins devilishly.

Ah, do you play?


We see Bobby Bourbon hunkered down beside a chess board in a park. Off to the side, we see a bevy of white pieces, removed by his opponent, Dr. Louis D'Ville. D'Ville puffs his cigarette and manuevers one piece.

Checkmate.

Bobby sighs, stands up, and kicks over a trash can in the park, startling passers by. D'Ville smiles.

I do indeed.

Oh, what a pleasant surprise! You see, I first mastered this game before collecting all the rest of the American plastic around us. I will make you an offer, Mr. Bourbon, best me and I will let you go, no questions asked. Lose, and you will sit and play with my toys instead of going to March Madness!

So, wait, you were going to let me just go to compete anyhow?

Yes.

Oh. That's, uh, not as nefarious as I thought.


Somewhere else, two men watch the interaction between Bobby and Chernit. One laughs. He speaks in Russian, but there are subtitles on screen.

“This fool will never beat Chernit, the Black Knight. National champion five years in a row! Greatest Russian chess master today!”




Bobby sits down at the chess table and eyes the pieces in front of him.

So, this is what’s in front of me. A scrambled mess of little shapes in two distinct colors on two distinct colors worth of squares. On the one hand, we have TK and Kido, and don’t worry your little head about it, I’ll get to it, but on the other, first and far more pressing, we have Jenny goddamn Myst. Shit. Hiya, Jenn! Good to see you around and, I dunno, doing something for fucks sake instead of diddly farting around like the village idiot had huffed too many cans of spray paint today. You’re not bubbly, anymore, though, you’re just dark and are a poster child for illiteracy and math anxiety. Jenny Myst is like a broken abacus, you can’t count on the bitch. Take it from me, she was in BOB!! What the fuck did she ever do? Not a damn thing! When it was ride or die time, she sure as shit didn’t ride. She played on her phone the entire time. It was nonsense. She still gets royalties for the BOB shirts for the love of Christ! Jenny, if you think I sound upset, oh, yeah, I’m upset, but not for long. Soon enough, we cross paths at March Madness, and sure, you’re final four material, chicken, but the appetizer to the main fucking course as far as I’m concerned. You had to face Latina Submission Machina, the biggest let down going today who is too anxious to step forward and have a match worth a fuck anymore. I had to face a guy with super strength who could fly.

Bobby rolls his eyes and inhales sharply through his nostrils. He exhales quickly and resumes his regular pace of breathing.

I know I’ve said a lot of horrible, terrible, mean, vile, and outright disgusting things about you during your career, Jenny. I know I have. Things that were so grotesque and distorting that it mindfucked you so hard that you’ll probably talk about that shit like it matters compared to the fucking beating I bring to the ring. My heart, beating, strong and hard, I feel the pulse wave throughout my body, I feel my stomach clench up, some butterflies because here it comes, and I just walk down to a ring and am pleased as punch to whoop your ass in Tokyo for the XWF Universe, Billions wide, watches on in awe at the sheer velocity your body will hit the mat courtesy a Bobbybomb. Frisbee Myst, the little thing I throw around, I’ll bounce you so hard security will confiscate you, thinking you're a beach ball. Now, I reckon I could go off on some weird medieval tangent about being a king or some shit, but fucking Fire and Ice was two months ago and rife with that horsehockey. I will be a greater king. A better king. A Sausage King. The People’s King. Whatever we settle on, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter so much as winning the damn matches and going on and winning the March Madness tournament. They could call me a mayor, or a city councilman, or the dog catcher for all I fucking care for winning the whole damn thing, I’m just here to crush bodies on my way to the top, and, well, I’ma crush Jenny Myst’s little-widdle body like she was a rotisserie chicken, pulling her to shreds and leaving her finished and to be cast away as I get into the heart of the evening.

Bobby inhales deeply through his mouth and looks downward, considering his next thought.

Now, to Raion Kido, good on you for making it this far into the tournament. You’ve got some talent, I can respect that, I can definitely recognize it, and don’t you ever forget for a second that means I can analyze it and break it down. Flat out, son, I don’t need to tell people to challenge me, I just keep keeping on, and lookit what I get. Ooh, you went out there and drew Cage Coleman in the elite eight. That guy is as useful as a zit on your ass and you notice it just as often. Big whoop. Again, flights and tights showed up, I put him to bed because he was wearing his pajamas, here I come. Thing is, Raion, no offense, I am prepared for you. More than you know. I don’t fear what you bring to the table, it’s just pieces to a whole that I can rip apart. That, and, well, you’re facing the must ruthless, the most cunning, the most dastardly, conniving, scheming, mind melter of a Relentless Bastard in Thunder, thank Jesus Christ, can I get an amen to that, Knuckles himself.

Bobby smiles at the camera.

Hiya TK. Not only am I going to do better smack talk right’chere, but I’m going to do better hype. You can’t hype me, sir, as much as I hype you. You know it. I know it, and the fans know it. So here goes.

Bobby winks.

Thunder Fucking Knuckles is a horrible bastard who’s mean for nothing and vicious for fun. He knows how to whoop ass harder than Raion Kido, has done more to prove his worth in and out of this ring, time and again, and he’s going to win. Kido is good. TK is better. Boom, bam, said. You think I’d ever say otherwise? Thunder Knuckles is the Waluigi to my Wario. If you’re too old to get that reference, well, that’s okay. TK is the buttery pancakes that come with the omelet Not any omelet. The Bobby Bourbon omelet. You don’t need both, but you’re going to eat us, motherfucker, and then tell everybody how tasty Them No Good Bastards were. Look, I know come what may, seeing you in the finals would be an honor and a privilege. Just remember, I got all those muscles every time I carried all the luggage. I’m the strong one. And a really strong one at that. You hit hard. I throw people into space. Raion Kido would throw his back out trying to pick up on what we’re capable of, either of us, in that ring, none of it good, all of it downright nasty.

Bobby’s eyes widen, his brow furrows, as he looks off camera.

Now, Jenny, don’t you dare think I forgot about you. Real talk, I don’t have your number, I don’t want it, wouldn’t use it, I don’t have you figured out, not at all. I don’t have to figure out garbage before I throw it away. You are an overexposed, super beatable talent, and I don’t mean that as an oxymoron. You have talent. You’re here. You’ve proven yourself. So has Kido. We all earned our way here. You just earned your way out in the process, same as everybody else.

Bobby clears his throat.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. We got Raion Kido, his career here quite precocious. You talk about how bad ass you are, well bud, then I’m atrocious. Roaring like a lion because when I fight I’m that ferocious. There’s the simple, silly, broody, gothie young Miss Jennifer Myst, I will dismantle her with the precision of the incision of a surgeon removing a cyst. Tell us all our history, if that’s what you want to insist, it won’t make me pissed. Thunder Knucklehead over here looking stronger than ever, we’re the Bastards, you assholes! We have a bond you can’t sever. Every thought and whim I have, his are at best equally clever, sorry I corrected your spelling so much, brother, I meant no offense whatsoever. Final Four to the Finals to the end of the thing, March Madness 4 and we settle this down in my ring. I can take every shred of a beating any of you could dare bring, I’m like Godzilla down in Tokyo, among monsters I’m king.

Chernit steps in behind Bobby, dressed in Laser Tag on top of his suit. I think that’s the appropriate way to express someone is wearing a full Laser Tag harness and cap and holding his own laser blaster. Go google what I mean if you don’t know.

Damn, bars!

Bobby nods.

Strike one is Jenny, a flat four seamer screaming across the plate, going so hard and fast she doesn’t know what to do about it. Last time I saw Raion I left flat on the mat, and Kido, you got something, but I don’t have to tell people to step to the plate, son, I throw the curveball you can’t hack. Strike three, Thunder Knuckles, the sinker that just disappears at the last minute like it was teleporting. They’re out, and all hail. The beginning of the Bourbon dynasty. Sausage King. Monster King. The rightful heir to be King BOB.