Midtown

by Lizuka

If they weren't wrestlers, what would they be?

Welcome to Midtown

"We are at the end! Right here, right now. . . In this spot, at this very moment. . . The end is approaching!"

"Brotha, brotha. . . That's one great stache. Heh, ya know, that stache is so good - ya see this stereo? Yeah, I'll give ya a discount. Save ya some money, money, yeah yeah!"

"Dixie! Dixie! Alex and Chris are hosting their own radio show!"

It was all enough to make a man heave a heavy sigh as he walked through the crowded streets. It seemed like every since he moved to this city, all he ever saw wwas the filth of society - no one living an average, clean life.

"Yo, Punk!"

CM Punk's head turned to that voice, a familiar one. "Oh, great. I couldn't be in this town for one minute without running into you, DiBiase?"

"Hey, don't act so confrontational. We're reasonably close to being friends, right?"

It was at that point that the straight edge follower took notice of an unusual sight on his former roommate's arm. Without wasting his breath beating around the bush, Punk asked, "Your daddy pick you up a new girlfriend?"

"Daddy had no part of it. I found Maryse here all on my own. . ." Ted gave a look and a grin at the bombshell on his arm, then said, "Maryse, say hi."

The woman only did so by way of a greeting nod that Punk reluctantly returned; before anyone could say anything, though, the bombshell did stop long enough to question, "Teddy. . . I want to go shopping."

"I need to show Punk around town, baby doll. We can always -"

"Well, I can do it without you then. . ." Maryse gave a little frown, then looked up with eyes like those of a puppy dog as she asked, "You wouldn't mind if I got a little more mileage out of your father's checkbook, would you?"

"Go right ahead, baby doill. You've earned it."

"Yay!" Ted got a kiss on the cheek then, that Punk scoffed at. The young couple ignored it though, with Maryse saying, "I'll see you tonight, Teddy!"

As the woman ran off, Punk gave a cough and a mutter of the word, "Whore."

"Maryse loves me for me. Daddy's money is nothing but a nice perk of the relationship."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Punk crossed his arms, then questioned, "Aren't the other people we used to live with somewhere around here too?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're around. You're surely not wanting to catch up on old times before touring the city, eh Punk?"

"No. God, no. You alone are bad enough."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not funny, and nobody likes you."

"Harsh. . ."

Ted gave a sigh, though, and then opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say a word, though, a voice familiar to both men cut off their thoughts.

"The party's over!"

"Oh, lord. . ." Punk moved a hand up to stroke at his thick beard in annoyance, as both he and Ted turned to spot another familiar face - Drew McIntyre.

"Hey, Punk!" As the Scottish immigrant walked forward, he noticed something and commented, "I like your haircut."

"Of course you do."

Once more Punk groaned, in this case directly before changing the subject, "Listen, does either of you know where I might find any local bars, concert halls, or particularly well-travelled street corners?"

Ted took that, asking, "You never change, do you?"

"Not while there is a war against this country's standards of morality and decency being waged and I am needed on the front lines."

Ted chose not to address that. Instead, he turned to face Drew, asking him, "Anyway, Drew, how's married life treating you?"

"Oh, Tiffany's fantastic. Really. She never gets angry, and when she does it's only because I've done something to deserve it. She's great. Really super. The party's never over when she's -"

"One of you has a high-class French prostitute and one of you handed over his spine as a gift to his wife. Does that sum things up?"

Finally, Punk gripped his nose before asking, "Look, if nothing else save me the trouble and tell me something - what's this town like? A lot of filthy degenerates and wayward souls?"

"A bit of that."

The Scot smirked, though, as he answered, "But it's a more interesting town than all that. Whole lot of people here - it's a big city."

The Steel Asylum

"Okay, you're sure you're ready for this? You're positive?"

"Even if I'm not. . . It's a little late to turn back, isn't it?"

The first voice was deep and scratchy, but sounded unsure and panicking; the other was flat, with no particular tone or emotion to the words. As the two men walked through cold, white halls, the former couldn't help but ask, "Listen, before we go any further, can I say something, Randy?"

"Orton. You will call me Warden, or you will call me Orton. You are not fit to call me by my first name."

"Um, right, Warden. . ."

The man cleared his throat, then explained, "I'm one of the head doctors here, Dr. Stevie. I just thought that I should see if you fully understand what sort of man this place deals with."

"If you've seen one man with voices in his head, you've seen a million. What makes this one so special?"

"His name's Abyss. . . Or at least, that's what he calls himself - his actual one is Chris."

The two men rounded a corner, reaching the main room of the facility. The patients were presently out in the yard, where one could get a perfect view of them from this room.

As the two approached the large, barred windows, Stevie explained, "He likes to hurt people, and he just doesn't seem to recover. He keeps talking about how "They" tell him to do things, and no matter what drugs we give him or how we restrain him, he bursts free and grows all the more brutal afterward. Last week he beat a man with a nail-covered board he ripped from the floor and called Janice."

"Well, this job just got a lot more interesting. . ."

Orton turned and began to walk then - toward the door leading down to the yard. And that instantly got the doctor looking concerned, as he objected, "Randy, what are you doing? He sent the last warden to the emergency the first chance he had to get his hands on him - you're not doing down there?"

"Yes I am. . ."

When Stevie tried to throw himself in Orton's way, he caught a shove in the jaw with enough force that he was knocked clean off of his feet. Then the man stomped down the stairs and out the door to the outside.

When Orton got there, he took site of the man instantly - it was hard not to, with the way he sat in the corner, rocking back and forth in front of the beaten body of some poor, bald dark-skinned man in red glasses.

"Abyss!"

That was a word that seemed to send a shiver down the spines of every man in the yard, with the way they all froze in place and turned their heads to the new warden.

All but one froze, anyway. The other did stop rocking back and forth, but it was only long enough to stand up and ask, in a loud bellow, "Orton?"

"I decided to save you the time."

Abyss came charging in like a freight train with no warning, including not even a sound; but when he neared Orton, he caught a shot in the got painful enough to make the big man hunch over in pain.

Orton didn't waste a second then, catching the man with an uppercut then. Once the mosnter fell, he then swiftly delivered a boot to the side of Abyss's head.

"Let that be a lesson for all of you." People were staring in shocked silence, but Orton didn't hesitate to explain, "Work on your mental health, and you won't have to worry about your physical."

You Dudes Are So Busted (Part One)

"Now, you four need to keep from causing too much trouble while I talk with Jeff and Hulk, got it?"

While Alex Shelley, Chris Sabin, Caylen Croft, and Trent Baretta were all following along behind Dixie Carter, it was Caylen who answered, "Yeah, yeah, no trouble. . ."

Touring a newspaper office wasn't any of the four's idea of thrilling - particularly one as small-time as Total News Analysis. Particularly as, up until recently, Croft and Baretta had been with the much more prestigous World Wonders & Entertainment.

"Good." With a sigh, Dixie explained, "We've got to come up with something big to outdraw McMahon. Right now we're thinking of trying to start our own news show."

"We'll pull for ya!" That was Alex, who then noticed a man standing nearby who caught his eye. A black man, who was only particularly noticeable due to the Troll doll-like hair he was sporting. "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Darren."

Dixie gave him a little wave, which was awkwardly returned. Afterward, she turned her head to the group of young men to explain, "He's a mild-mannered reporter, they don't do much. Now come on, let me show you to my office..."

The five went on then. . . And once he was left alone, Darren Young moved to remove the T-shirt with a big yellow square and black N on it that he was wearing.

With it removed, he was down to a purple shirt that was significantly flashier. At that, he reached for a wet towel he had had prepped before witnesses showed up, and began to wipe down his arms then face.

"Alright, good."

After that, the wig came off and revealed a similarly colored purple hat underneath. His proper identity revealed and with a window open, resident superhero John Cena took to the skies.

Dixie had headed off now, leaving the four in her office unattended. They were quick to divide up into their usual pairs, with a bored Caylen and Trent seating themselves against the back wall on a bench while Alex and Chris took the desk.

"Hm. . ."

From where he sat looking through a collection of upcoming stories, Alex noted, "Chris, these stories are all awfully plain, aren't they? Look - 'Steel Asylum Gets New Warden'? Plain. 'Town Drunk Shaves Her Head'? Boring!"

There was no direct reply from Chris, but after a second Alex proposed, "Wait, I know what we're gonna do today!"

And that set off alarm bells.

"Trent? Trent!"

"Wha?"

Looking up from his magazine, Trent gave a look over at his longtime coworker, across multiple businesses. "What is it, Caylen?"

"Those dudes are up to something. . ."

"Ugh. . . Caylen, can't you just let them -"

"What?"

Caylen looked offended as he turned to Trent, angrily demanding, "What are we called again? What do we call ourselves?"

That was met with a sigh of course, as it was something that Trent had heard many times before. All the same, he half-heartedly answered, "The Dudebusters. . ."

"Right! And how can we be called the Dudebusters if we never bust any dudes?"

"Fine, fine, we'll bust them. . ." Trent gave a sigh, as he stood up and pointed out, "Though you know, if we asked them what they were doing they'd probably tell us."

"And why would they do that? Besides, if we really want to earn our title we've got to do this the old-fashioned way and let Dixie catch them in the act."

"The champ is here!"

That was shouted by John as he crashed through the wall of his recent frequent adversary. There was no sign of the man, though, which prompted John to shout out, "Quit hiding, you Mexican jumping bean!"

"Oh, I am not hiding, John. . ."

That voice sounded near, and in tune a second later the man he was looking for entered from the next room wearing a large smirk. "Alberto del Rio is not a coward. I was merely attending to other matters someone of your lowly position in society would not know."

"You think just because people around this city learned your name fairly quick means you're a big deal, don't ya?"

"A big deal? John. . ."

When a man hits his 200th homerun

That's a big deal

When a woman has her fifth sun

That's a big deal

What I am is bigger than big

The life I have's greater than what you live

I live tall, I live fast

I live like I have some class

I'm an honest man

I'm a good man

And I'm bigger than a big deal

Alberto del Rio, do you know what that defines?

Of course not, you're a man lacking in enough class for wines

You're a Superman, yes, but you're only a man

You say I can't see you, but I do - I see an ant.

What I am is bigger than big

The life I have's greater than what you live

I live tall, I live fast

I live like I have some class

I'm an honest man

I'm a good man

And I'm bigger than a big deal

See, John? I am a king!

And you serve only such petty things

Why should I care who you are?

When I'm the only true superstar?

As the Latino man stopped singing, his smile grew only wider and he tacked on, "Now, John, this time it's done."

The only response was a grin and a, "We'll see about that."

Next Time:
You Dudes Are So Busted (Part Two)
Daddy Bunkhouse
The Melancholy of Wade Barrett