Notes
Managed to sneak in another side story before the big Deal finale. It's a day later than I wanted, but better late than never, right? Note that I kind of posted this in a rush, so it may be a little worse than usual, and I may have to give it a couple tweaks later on.
I'm not sure if you've noticed, but each of my stories has had a girl in a feature role. One of them didn't have any guys in it at all. (...and I'm a guy. :P ) So when I came up with a story idea that was a sausage-fest, I pounced on it just for a little variety. This one isn't a fixer-upper, or an origin story, or anything like that. This is just Terry being Terry, Joe being an ass, and a brief look at the weirdness that is Strongman.
Hope you enjoy!
Stronger
Joe's visit was not turning out the way Terry expected.
The Lone Wolf had been in a bit of a rut lately. He'd mostly pulled back from the street-fighting scene after taking Rock in, but now Rock was "all grown up" (or so he said at 16) and out of the house. Terry hadn't really filled the void yet, with fighting or anything else. Mary was off with the Ikaris right now; Andy and Mai were back in Japan. He still made appearances at some old haunts - Richard's cafe, King's bar, even Duck's dance club - but he wasn't close to anyone at those places, not even the owners. He was starting to think the old "Lonely Wolf" joke was true when Joe Higashi phoned him, looking for somewhere to crash for a while.
Terry invited him over coolly, but privately - he didn't even tell himself - he was thrilled. Now here was somebody he could party with. He and Joe knew each other from way, way back, and Joe was so borderline-crazy Terry was one of the few people who could put up with him. Together they were gonna light up this town...and on Friday night, they did just that.
On Saturday afternoon, they were still hung over.
Am I getting old or something...? Terry wondered, holding his head and groaning again. He hadn't drank that much; he could still remember the whole night, even. Was it something he ate? Too much coffee? It was "liquor before beer, never fear," right? Whatever it was, it sucked, and he didn't want any part of it.
He was laying on the couch now, trying and failing to read a fitness magazine. Joe was even worse off, supposedly watching TV but sitting in the armchair with his head laid on the back of it. They'd drawn the blinds and set the volume on low, leaving the room still, dark and nearly silent.
"Man, these guys suck," Terry said suddenly, his voice cutting through the air.
"Shut. Up," Joe groaned. "...what guys...?"
"These muscleheads in the new fitness rag," said Terry, showing it to him. (Joe didn't bother looking up.) "They look like goddamn cartoons."
"You're just jealous," his friend snickered.
"Jealous? Of what?" he shot back. "They're friggin' balloon animals, Joe. At least I look like a person."
"You look like you're on steroids, man," Joe laughed (ignoring that his own abs were just as suspect). "But you're not as buff as they are, so you're jealous."
"Why should I give a damn if they're buffer than me?" Terry argued. "I could take these guys down in about fifteen seconds."
"No doubt," Joe gave him. "But that's street fighting. That's not what they do. They go to competitions and lift stuff and crap. Pretty sure they've got you beat there."
"Ahh, you dunno," Terry grumbled. "Strength's not about muscle. 's about discipline. Spirit. Energy flow."
"That why you look like you're on steroids?" Joe asked.
Terry responded by throwing the magazine at him. It hit his stomach hard, and he grunted in pain. "Dude, what the hell⁇" Joe snapped, leaning upright.
"I'm just sayin' I could give those jerks a run for their money," said the blond, pulling down his cap. "Even at what they do."
"Yeah, sure," the dark-haired man sneered. He picked up the magazine, started to throw it back...then stopped. It had opened to a very interesting page, and he decided to take a look.
"...what're you doing? Give it," Terry complained.
"In a minute," said Joe. He tossed over the remote instead, then turned back to the magazine and grinned. "I wanna read this..."
He looked at the tiny print, squinting; then his eyes scrunched shut in pain.
"...if I can," he finished, holding his head.
A few days later, Terry got a late-afternoon call from an unknown number.
"...huh," he said simply, feeling much better than on Saturday. Joe did too, and he put down his sandwich and perked up his ears, knowing who it might be.
"Hello? ...yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh. ...really! The World's Strongest Man competition!" he said, glaring daggers at Joe as Joe started laughing like a maniac. "Sorry, man - there's been a mistake. A friend of mine signed me up for this, not me. ...yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna murder him as soon as I get off the phone."
But then his eyebrows raised. "Really? It pays that much, just for entering?" (It paid nothing for entering, but Terry was a world-famous tough guy; luckily he didn't realize either of those things.) "That's pretty cool. Huh? 'Past the test phase'? ...you mean you could get me straight into the prelims?" He rubbed his chin now, looking thoughtful. "Where is this thing, anyway...?"
As Joe stared in disbelief, Terry listened to the phone for a minute - then grinned. "So there is a prelim in Southtown! Can you get me into that one?" He listened to the answer, then pumped his fist. "Well all right, man, screw it. Count me in!"
Joe laughed even louder, carrying on the whole time Terry worked out the details and finished the call. As a result, he nearly caught the phone in his mouth when Terry threw it at him. Instead he just managed to turn his head, and it hit the chair with a loud slap.
"Quit throwin' stuff at me, prick!" Joe cried, winging the phone back at him - but still laughing.
"You're an asshole, Joe," Terry muttered as he caught it (in his hand). But then he smirked. "It'll come back to bite you this time, though. I'm gonna clean up at that thing, just you watch."
"Oh, I'll be watching," his friend guaranteed, his grin threatening to wrap around the back of his head. "I'll be watchin' front row center."
Let him, Terry thought eagerly. Going through with this thing was just what he needed. He'd have something new to do, something to train for. He'd one-up the hell outta Joe, especially when he kicked those meatheads' butts. And he'd prove to everyone - well, mostly himself - that he wasn't old. He could still go; he could still fight, and then some.
The Legend of the Hungry Wolf was only beginning.
The two weeks 'till the prelim passed in the blink of an eye. Terry hit the gym almost daily, doing more weight training than he'd ever done in his life. About a week in, he started to appreciate the effort those "meatheads" put in: all that lifting was exhausting, and he'd had to start eating more to make up for it. He still didn't like how it made them look, though; in fact, he actually eased up a few days before the show, when he decided he was looking a little cartoony himself.
Then the competition was upon him, held in one of Southtown's bigger and more popular arenas. But for World's Strongest Man, it looked damn near unrecognizable. Most of the astroturf was gone, replaced by fields of chalky-looking sand. Instead of yard markers or stages, the place was full of tests and obstacles, more varied than any non-fan could imagine. Apparently this outfit knew a lot of ways to test strength.
Terry came out to plenty of fanfare, especially for a prelim. Most of the competitors had worn thin, light outfits for comfort, but Terry liked his usual duds. He'd only made two concessions: the jeans were now jean shorts, and the jacket was at home. He put on his usual grin as he played to the crowd; it was heavier than usual, but lighter than he was used to.
As other competitors came in, Terry walked over to the sidelines, seeing a few "fans" he knew personally. Joe had come as promised, grinning like a lunatic again. With him were Rock Howard (looking bored) and, of all people, Ryo Sakazaki (looking pumped). Joe must've told everyone we knew in town, Terry mused; the light turnout among them made him feel a little lonely again.
"So you're really going through with it," Joe said, by way of greeting. "Man, this's gonna be great."
"Yep - and it's all your fault," Terry reminded, as the two bumped fists. "You'll be sorry when I win this thing."
"Hey, Terry," Ryo greeted, his hand up. Then he grinned. "You've really done some training for this, huh? You're even more jacked than usual."
"Uhh...thanks?" replied Terry, shifting uncomfortably. Since when had he become KOF's version of a musclehead...?
"Don't get cocky, though. This competition's tougher than you think," Ryo warned.
His friend smirked. "So you're a fan, huh?" he asked. Of COURSE Ryo Sakazaki's a fan of World's Strongest Man.
"Oh. Well, I - I mean, I watch it on TV, when the new ones come out. And I have time. And nothing else is on." Now Ryo was the one shifting; he wasn't fooling anybody.
Terry turned from him to Rock, trying not to snicker in the process. "Glad you made it, kiddo. Ready to see your 'old man' in action?"
"...just don't hurt yourself, old man," Rock muttered, brushing some hair out of his face.
And THAT is all YOUR fault, Terry, Terry thought with a grim smirk.
By that time, the last competitor was out, and it was time for the show to get off and running. ...well, more like walking, at first. The prelim began with the Car Carry, a visual spectacle that unfortunately had to be done by all twelve contestants one by one. The men all looked pretty different - sometimes even their builds - but most posted similar results, with a half-second at the most separating the leader of the pack.
Then Terry came in. He got into the car (standing in holes cut above and below in the center), gripped it by the top of the doors, then proceeded to lift and carry the thing as fast as he could for twenty meters.
He took the lead by three seconds.
"Okay‼" he howled in triumph, throwing his hat (and picking it up a second later).
"All right, Terry!" Ryo cheered, as Joe and Rock raised their eyebrows.
After the event finished - with Terry in first - the competition moved on to the Pillars of Hercules, another slow event. This time each contestant had to get on a platform, hold up a heavy stone pillar on each side by the handles, and...well...that was pretty much it. It looked easy at first, but the contestants looked more and more impressive as their times went on (and on and on). Terry approached this one with a unique pose, learned from Tung Fu Rue himself; he braced himself as the pillars were let go - and didn't even flinch.
He cleared that lead by fifteen seconds.
"Whoa. Holy shit," Joe mumbled, as Ryo cheered and Rock smirked.
The next two events went by faster, and with just as much success for Terry. These were races between first two, then three men, both involving lifting, moving, or lifting and moving strong weights. The Lone Wolf made it look easy, winning both of them with ease; by the end both Joe and Ryo were cheering like madmen, and even Rock was into it a little.
Then came the second-to-last event: the dreaded Squat Lift.
Fifty-pound kegs were loaded into a caged platform, one by one. With each new keg, the athlete had to lift the platform from a squatting position, using a metal bar attached to it about a yard away. The event didn't look too exciting, but it tested every muscle in the body, and the mens' times (and reps) landed all over the map. When Terry came up, the true fans in the crowd cheered, knowing they were about to see something special.
He handled the first few reps easily - too easily. He couldn't help but grin, looking as cocky as he felt. The kegs kept adding up, but barely seemed to make a difference; after the sixth, Terry asked the operator, "What's the world record for this thing?"
"About eleven kegs," the op replied.
"...oh, I'm going for the high score," said Terry, grinning.
Seven kegs, now. Eight kegs. Nine. With each new rep, the fans cheered louder, including all three of Terry's friends. At this point, Terry was definitely feeling the burn - but he knew he could keep going.
The tenth keg fell in. This lift took a serious effort...but once he did it, Terry eased down the bar and immediately yelled for more. The whole audience was on its feet now; no one else had gotten past seven.
The operator loaded the eleventh keg. Terry squatted down, braced himself, and lifted.
...and lifted.
...and lifted.
...and buckled.
Terry let out a sharp cry, twisting to his knee and then to the ground. The platform fell with a deafening clang to its original position (thankfully well above him). The crowd gasped; the trainers moved up to him quickly. At the sidelines, Joe, Ryo and Rock all grimaced...and then Joe couldn't help doubling over in a snickering fit.
"...you are an asshole," Rock growled, as he vaulted over the guard rail to check on his adoptive father.
"No argument here, Rock!" Ryo called after him, before looking down at Joe with a scowl. "Shut up, Joe. He could be seriously injured! I've seen it happen!"
"Ah, come on," said Joe dismissively, in between laughs. "This is Terry! He'll be fine."
And he would be fine...in a month or three, that is.
The trainers diagnosed the injury as one to Terry's spine, though thankfully he could still move. He went by ambulance to Southtown's second-best hospital, where the doctors confirmed it as a disc herniation. In some ways it was a minor injury, and Terry's medical staff anticipated a short, smooth recovery. In others, it was lousy: said recovery involved a lot of exercise, a lot of painkillers...and as little bed rest as possible.
And he hadn't even gone high enough on the last lift to tie the record.
Despite the injury, the hospital cleared Terry to go home after just one night of observation. He pretty much stayed home, though, alternating between rest, exercises, and popping more pills than strictly necessary. For a while he was an oversized bundle of misery, feeling old and weak - and, even worse, stupid.
And then Joe came back to visit.
"Not one word," Terry warned, as he answered the door with a wince; he'd already seen the smirk on Joe's face through the peephole. "Not one goddamn word."
"Not even a good one?" Joe asked, grinning as he waltzed inside.
Terry blinked. "...what're you talking about?" he asked suspiciously as he shut the door behind him.
"That last lift? Friggin' hilarious. But!" he added quickly, seeing Terry's eyes start to narrow. "Until then? You were the man, dude. I didn't know you had it in you. Even Ryo never saw anything like it!"
"...huh," Terry grunted, raising his eyebrows.
"And did you look at those other jerks?" Joe went on, plopping into his usual chair. "You may be a musclehead, but you sure didn't look like it then. You were seriously the smallest guy out there - and you blew 'em away. That's strength."
"Heh. ...maybe," his friend admitted with a tiny smile.
"So yeah, I'll admit it: you showed me, man. Good going." But then he smirked again. "Probably not like you wanted to, of course..."
"Yeah, yeah," Terry grumbled...but he was smirking, too.
As the week went on, Terry found that Joe wasn't his only friend, either. People he hadn't spoken to in months came out of the woodwork to check on him (and/or laugh at him). Ryo, Robert, Richard, both Kings (regular and Duck)...even Mary flew back in for a couple days, taking care of him as only she could. By the end Terry had forgotten he'd missed them; in fact, he kind of felt sick of the attention.
He was the Lone Wolf, after all.
End Notes
Yyyyep...former Strongman fan, here. :) Not for long; I only watched it for a couple years, when WSM was on ESPN. (...you know, when I had time. ...and nothing else was on.) But it definitely made an impression, especially that squat lift. Never seen something look so easy and so difficult at once. I actually cheated a bit here, as other fans will know: they wouldn't keep adding kegs like that during an official event. That's always what it felt like when I was watching it, though.
All right, then. On to The Deal's big finish! ...after that? Who knows. My mood's so up and down these days...
See you next time!