Mr. Bourbon, why did we leave Paris?

Genevieve Tote looks inquisitively at Bobby Bourbon, seated across from her in the cabin of the helicopter. Bobby is busy watching the world out the window as she does. Beside him is Bouncy Brickhouse, his lady friend.

Sweetie, Paris is overrated. For one, it smells like New York City pissed on a crematorium, and all those French men, ugh.

Bouncy shudders as Bobby continues to marvel at the world from on high. Genevieve clears her throat.

Mr. Bourbon, I had an entire schedule of appearances lined up, a trip to the Louvre, interviews, and, yes, Miss Brickhouse, I had plans with a specific French man in my free time.

Bobby glances up at Genevieve, a sly smile on his face.

Oh? Miss Tote, I do apologize for interfering with your social life, nor discussing any of this previously, but…

Bobby smiles at Bouncy, then back at Genevieve. Genevieve still looks annoyed.

…I assure you, Miss Tote, not only is this exactly what I want to do, but I will more than make it up to you.

A wisp of smoke curls from beside Genevieve. She turns and is surprised to see Doctor Louis D’Ville sitting there.

Hello, my friend!

Doc waves coyly and extends his hand. Miss Tote reaches to shake, then looks at Bobby in consternation.

Why is he here?

Bobby shrugs.

So we don’t fight. We agreed it was too risky if he stayed on a separate continent entirely, this was the only way.

Doc chortles.

Mr. Bourbon, I fail to see the logic in that, but, well, if it’s what you want then so be it. I do wish you would have told me you were flying to the French countryside. Where are we going?

Montluçon.

Bouncy beams, her giddy smile glowing. Genevieve notices, and types away at her tablet.

Mr. Bourbon, are you using your trip to France for a date with your friend here?

Bouncy laughs as Bobby looks at Genevieve, the same sly smile on his face.

No, Miss Tote, I’m getting a house.

Genevieve places her tablet down.

Mr. Bourbon, pardon me if I seem disrespectful, it may just be the jet lag, but don’t you think you should have let me know about this sooner?

There wasn’t time, Miss Tote. You’ll see.

He is erratic, you must have noticed by now, Miss Tote.

Genevieve clears her throat.

I have noticed that Mr. Bourbon often makes decisions very quickly.

Doc and Bouncy share a laugh, as though Genevieve wasn’t in on the joke just yet. Bobby looks at Genevieve, sensing her discomfort at being dragged along for the ride into the unknown.

Miss Tote, I assure you, this is well within my interests. Given the rise of the stocks in BourbCo, I thought it wise to gain a foothold into the European market, and where we are headed is absolutely the place for me to establish as such.

Genevieve types away at her tablet, no doubt searching for information on Montluçon. Her eyes widen with delight as she looks up and smiles at Bobby.

Mr. Bourbon, I apologize for my trepidation!

The helicopter touches down in front of a castle.



This, Miss Tote, is the Château of the Dukes of Bourbon.

Outside of the castle, a slew of press have come to this tiny rural town. The helicopter’s doors open and Bobby disembarks, waving to the crowd, followed shortly by Bouncy and Genevieve. Bobby approaches a man who is waiting in front of the crowd and greets him with a handshake.

Who is that?

Louis XX, sweetie. Head of one of the oldest and most influential houses in Europe, the House of Bourbon.

Genevieve cocks an eyebrow as she taps away on her tablet. Louis XX addresses the people on hand in front of the castle in the middle of bumfuck, France.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am honored and pleased you all could make it here today. As head of the House of Bourbon, it is my duty to ensure that my family’s prestige, honor, and dignity are preserved, even extending to those of our House who found themselves across an ocean! As such, I am pleased to welcome one such man, and perhaps the greatest performer in the history of the XWF, Bobby Bourbon!

The scene is illuminated by flash photography. Bobby stands, his arm snuggly around the shoulders of Louis XX as he towers over him, a huge thumbs up being given to the crowd from Bobby’s right hand and Louis XX’s left.

Folks, and pardon my American accent, but this beautiful château has been in disrepair, and as is the way of American philanthropism, I must find my way here to not only restore some splendor to this ancient landmark, but to the entire people of Europe! As Louis XX has been preoccupied with being, well, old money that is being phased out of relevance by the super wealth of capitalists, I have come to visit with my cousin here to restore the same sense of import that I have given the name Bourbon. I have purchased this property from Montluçon, and will gladly reopen it after renovations within five days! Cousin?

Louis XX looks up at Bobby with a smile.

Let’s go into our house!

Bobby leads Louis XX into the château. Bouncy and Genevieve follow as well. Inside, the place is barren, and sad. Modern attempts to keep the building standing have been crude, at best, and the inside is akin to an unfinished basement. Once inside, Louis XX drops whatever facade he was using outside, and looks dead serious.

I do hope you have my payment, Bobby.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get what’s coming to you alright.

Wait, Payment? Mr. Bourbon…

That man is not a Bourbon.

Louis XX looks sternly at Genevieve.

Tell your bitch to be quiet, Bobby.

Bobby’s gaze settles on Louis XX. From within, we hear the sound of a lighter igniting, and from the shadowy corner of the otherwise empty château, Doc walks forward, eagerly watching. Louis XX looks back at Bobby.

She does not know?

Mr. Bourbon, what don’t I know?

Bobby continues to stare a hole through Louis XX.

Back during prohibition my great-grandfather changed our family name to Bourbon, he thought it sounded cool since he was a bootlegger. It gave his hooch a sense of credence the other smugglers didn’t quite have. Kennedy, Capone, they had their mark on society, my family just quietly kept the booze flowing into both their hands. This man is correct, we’re not at all related whatsoever, I’m pretty sure the family name was Byrd or Blom or something, but that doesn’t matter. I went out and carved a place for my name, proudly. I was whatever I needed to be to become what I want to be, as opposed to Louis, here.

Ahem.

I said Louis here, you’re over there.

Thank you.

Nah, this guy who can trace his family lineage back centuries is only known because of a family lineage that dates back centuries. As such, he gets a piece of bonafide American flash and sizzle to spice up his clout, as my proximity to others will do to some, just ask Bearded War Pig.

Bobby, enough, do you have my payment or do I walk back out there and expose you as the fraud that you are?

Bobby smirks.

I’m no fraud, Louis, I’m the genuine article, and yes, I have your payment.

Bobby reaches into his pocket and pulls out Tacky, or the reverse tachyon generator.

The fountain of youth!

Genevieve furrows her brow.

Wait…

Bouncy begins to shake her head.

Okay, I’ve seen this before, I’m headed outside.

Genevieve stops Bouncy, and speaks in a hushed tone.

I thought Mr. Bourbon said he couldn’t use that thing on organic material.

Bouncy looks at Genevieve.

Sweetie, he showed me why, and seeing it once was enough!

Bouncy walks through a door and leaves the room as Genevieve turns and watches.

Yes, Louis, I have come back from the new world and I have indeed found the fountain of youth, as you European aristocrats were so fond of finding centuries ago. This handy little device will indeed reverse the aging process, but I warn you, it’s kind of rough.

Louis XX snatches Tacky from Bobby.

Yeah, like that Dr. Pimple Popper show, I know. How does it work?

Bobby grabs Tacky back from Louis XX and slaps it onto his forehead. Bobby then presses a button on the device. Doc has sidled up beside Genevieve.

I’ve been waiting to see this!

Miss Tote takes note of the sinister tone Doc has struck. Louis XX begins to twitch, stuck standing in place, sheer agony and terror contorting every muscle on his face.

Louis, there is growth and there is change, and you want the opposite, and so you shall have it. Did you know that the human body replaces 330 billion cells daily? Did you stop to think what would happen if they just, oops, came back?

Louis XX screams in agony as he claws at his face, which begins to bloat and twist.

Ah, yeah, that would be every shave you’ve ever had undoing itself. All those hairs coming back at the same time in the same places can’t be comfortable.

The clothing on Louis XX begins to tighten as he himself bloats, his screams now empty and hollow, almost soundless as his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

Yeah, those would be the cells of your trachea overwriting one another right now. Pretty sure your blood cell count rising at such an exponential rate has to feel pretty rough too, huh bud?

Louis XX falls to the floor, twitching, the barely audible voice uttering one thing.

Please..

..kill..

..me.

Bobby crouches and looks at Louis XX as he continues to morph into a lump of human tissue, second by second becoming more and more of a tumor of himself. Genevieve looks on in abject horror at the sight as Doc inhales slowly, relishing in what he’s witnessing.

Not yet. Your treatment isn’t finished!

Bobby retrieves a sealed cotton swab from his pocket, and runs it inside of the gaping maw of the now deformed and hideous blob in front of him. He places the swab back into a container, and as he does, Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, walk into the room. Bobby stands up straight and hands the sealed swab to Cyberjaw.

Get that to the lab, start working on the clone as soon as possible, leave it crashed into a tree on some ski slope somewhere in the Alps.



Gotchu.

Cyberjaw and Diamondback leave.

Louis, I know this isn’t quite what you bargained for, but you can ask anybody who’s had the misfortune of facing me in an XWF ring, but I have a knack for being more than you bargained for.

Firstly, Dionysus, how do you do sir? I would say I’d be pleased to make your acquaintance finally, but, well, you’re a bashful sort it seems, and at the Eiffel Tower with a 24/7 Briefcase on the line is the last place you should consider meeting me for the first time.

I admire your ambition. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, and I get it! You’re trying to make some lemonade because you lost the TV Title to Angie Vaughn.

Granted, with our size, I would have squashed her like a grape and she’d be contributing to a bottle of Sauvignon blanc by now, but, well, there’s big, which we are, and there’s great, which I am. Sorry to cut the rebound short.

Now that I think of it, though, you even beat someone we both know for the TV title, didn’tcha!

Hell, just take a look at Isaiah. Hey, King! Isn’t that something, you’ve made it into the Leap of Faith match by coasting in at second place, and you’re welcome! Fuck, I could have let Jay Jay the I’ve-Gotta-Jet Plane pin your silly ass and still wound up here now that I think of it, but is that what I really wanted?

Absolutely fucking not!

No, Isaiah, what I want is for you to open your eyes and come to terms with reality buddy! You’re lacking that one thing that would put you over the top of any obstacle set in front of you, and that sir, is scope! All that noise you spout, all that nonsense about trying to make Ned see the truth, and Nedly, I’ll get onto you in a minute, but all of that jibbajab you spout about getting to Ned, to show him a thing or two? Why even bother?

I am everything you wish Ned was. Cunning. Ruthless. Endless. You wanted to showcase some measure of that, I suppose, but really, you haven’t! I did. Time and time again. Ask James Raven, I cracked a chair against him like I was in a home run derby to get a chance for my first Universal Title. Ask Chris Page, he got ousted from B.O.B. so I could remake it in my image along with better talent.

You, Isaiah, you can be that better talent. Come to the dark side, son. We have cookies. Also, limitless resources to help you reach into that untapped potential you just can’t find in yourself.

Then of course, and how could I forget, Ned.

The guy who held the now defunct Hart Title after beating me for it to, well, stall out. Several times. And I heard you Ned, you said it loud and clear, you would never find yourself making the same mistakes I have made, nor struggle to cope with the ramifications of the decisions I have made.

Thanks for stating the obvious.

You couldn’t walk a mile in my shoes while holding the hand rails on a treadmill, let alone going into the depths I have gone, the places I needed to be and the things I needed to do to become who I wanted.

And yes, I am absolutely who I wish to be, heh.

See, Isaiah, you thought pegging me with some cheap pyrotechnics would rattle someone other than me. That's a lack of scope.

I brought out the man’s mentor and turned him into an adversary.

Bobby grins a sick smile as he cocks an eyebrow. On the floor in front of him, the mass of organic matter that was once Louis XX twitches and gurgles, the trillions upon trillions of dead cells his body shed now returning via the device Bobby concocted to rewind time.

For funzies, no less! See, Ned, that’s the thing you don’t grasp, and I suppose it may come with time and maturity, but until then I can do this little dance with you as often as the higher ups deign I must. Life is short, time is precious, you can try to make sense of it, you can try to make the most of it, or, heh, you can simply enjoy yourself along the way and savor every second you can.

Of course, though, Isaiah will be sweating your nutsack hard enough to be the cup you always seem to wish you were wearing. You won’t beat me alone.

However, I am not alone!

Enter Dolly Waters and Jenny Mist.

So, look back a little ways to War Games, and there was some evil, wicked chicanery at play, all perpetrated by Sarah Lacklan, and Dolly and Jenny were all about being a part of the conspiracy.

Bobby looks around bemusedly. The gurgling, suffering mass of humanity in front of him struggles for breath behind lungs with too many overlapping cells.

Well, I don’t see Sar anywhere, looks like I eliminated her from the equation, so I guess that leaves the current and former members of B.O.B. searching for a new beacon of hope to get behind.

Bobby points to his own face.

Hiya there.

Dolly knows what is at stake here, and that is the continued rise of B.O.B., with none other than myself spearheading it, steering us all towards a brighter, better horizon.

A more fun horizon, for certain.

And Jenny, well, if she had any clout whatsoever she wouldn’t be chasing after it ceaselessly. Instead, she’d be content with her place in history instead of seeming to always fall behind it. Offer Jenny a fight, and she’ll refuse it, but dangle a carrot in front of her, such as a title shot or say a spot in the Leap of Faith match? She can’t help herself then.

Flat out, if she wanted to do the leg work and earn a legacy, she wouldn’t have colluded with Lack.

She likes the path of least resistance.

And she knows the easy way right now is by being on my good side.

Miss Tote quietly takes note, documenting every moment. Bobby stoops and boops Tacky, retrieving it from the lumpy mass that was Louis XX. Bobby wipes some matter from the device with a sterile demeanor and puts it back into his pocket.

Miss Tote, I want to deliver something the French people have never experienced. Good American cooking. Have a smoker brought to the location.

Genevieve nods smoothly, regaining her composure. Doc puffs on his cigarillo. Bobby smiles, pointing at Doc.

Not him, I mean the funky grill.

Doc smiles. Bobby raises his right foot, and brings it down swiftly and sharply on the tragedy that was Louis XX’s skull, smashing it like a watermelon. Bobby looks down.

Get a meat grinder, too. Waste not, want not.