Disclaimer: I own Hell's Security, but not Hell, Michigan. It's real. I also own the OC's and the story. After that, nothing else.
Author's Note: This has been edited a thousand times over. The first time I posted this fic, it was a lot more thrown-together-esque and less organized. There were like five different story lines running around here. Now... There's just two: The main story, and a small story that comes up only in bits and pieces- maybe a bit more than that occasionally, or if you spot the hidden clues.
...Good luck there. Even I can't always spot them, and I wrote the story. XD
...And yes, there is a "Longest Journey" quote in the chapter...
Chicago... Illinois... October…
"Hey man, drive safe!" Phil Brooks, AKA the hunky CM Punk, shouted out the door to a friend as the last guest of his party left. He chuckled as he shut the door, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he sighed.
"You know," he said to his Beagle-Xoloitzcuintli mix, Toledo, "I think I've got to get friends with OCD. I'll never get this place cleaned up before I have to head back to work." He said as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length barked, though, and then went running upstairs.
"Oh c'mon now. I need someone to yell at me when I'm slacking off!" He shouted after the dog, though he was only kidding.
Chuckling again, he went into the dusty room that was his kitchen a grabbed an empty trash bag out of a cabinet. He began collecting all the plastic bottles in the bag as he whistled to himself.
When the bag was full, he grabbed a new one and began collecting the miscellaneous garbage left behind.
As the hands of the clock crept closer and closer to1 AM, Phil heard his phone buzz from within the kitchen.
"Hopefully it's not Vince," he groaned as he put the bag down and went into the kitchen, praying that his employer wasn't calling him back early from his well-earned vacation.
He grabbed the phone and studied the number the incoming call was coming from.
"Huh. I don't recognize that area code or number." He said, thought he wouldn't be surprised if a fellow wrestler was calling him from their hotel. "Hello, you've reached me." He said, as he answered.
There was a lot of background noise, that's what Phil first noticed. Shouts of, "Winter! I need that coffee, NOW!", "Well we can customize that, but it takes a while...", and, "Balance be cursed, Cole! Quit hitting on every woman that walks through that door!", peppered the background. There was also plenty of laughter.
"Hello?" It had to be one of his coworkers. He knew the sounds of a crowded restaurant when he heard them. They all did.
Although, the "Balance be cursed", comment threw him off... It sounded oddly familiar to him too...
He waited a moment longer before someone spoke.
"Hi, Phil?" It was a woman, but not one he worked with. Could someone have given her my number so that we could go out on a date? Phil wondered, a confused grin working its way across his face. "I... Um... We've never met before, but I..."
"Say no more," Phil said, leaning against the counter. "So who gave you my number? Michelle? John? Randy?"
The woman laughed. "Oh Heaven's no, none of them. I... Well..."
Phil quirked an eyebrow. Had a fan somehow gotten his number?
"...I just wanted to say thanks for driving me home last night..."
SAY WHAT?
"...And that I really like you too..."
She has to have me mistaken for someone else. Phil thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"Phil? Are you still there?" She asked him. "This is Phil Brooks, right? WWE wrestler?"
He was going to be sick. Either his memory of a date had been erased and a different one put in, she was mixing him up with someone else, or he was dreaming.
Or she was crazy...
Nah. Can't be that bad... He thought, though his nervous stomach told him otherwise.
"So I'll... Call you later. Bye." She said, sounding dejected, as she hung up.
Phil put the phone down and, for a moment, stood there in shock.
Then he bolted into the kitchen. "Tell me Jeff left behind a beer." He groaned.
The calls kept coming. One after another after another. The woman would talk about some date that had never happened, or gush over his latest gift to her, and he would grow more and more concerned.
The woman was crazy. Had to be.
And it was always the same chatter in the background.
"AGH! Hatsumi- put it out! Put it out!"
"Who let an owl in here? Morrison, I'm blaming you for this one..."
"What possessed you to get a tattoo of the Assassin's Creed insignia on your back, Oliver? Last I checked, you couldn't even work your watch, let alone a game system... Or computer..."
"We are out of bagels ma'am. OUT!"
"Curse it, Kelsey! I told you to quit swapping out our junky cereal with healthy granola! Not everyone likes granola!"
He really wanted to meet the Kelsey who was doing that. She had to have a sense of humor he could understand.
On the third day, Phil had finally had enough.
She was talking about visiting him. She knew his address, his dog's name- and no one knew that, not even his coworkers!- and a lot of other details about him, like his favorite movie, his biggest pet peeves...
Like he had told her.
And wherever she was, the people were always arguing about something. The latest phone call's background argument had been about adding pizza to the menu. It sounded like a fight had broken out when she hung up, because there were threats flying and, "Oh! Cole's really done it this time! Jayn's got him in a headlock!", before she hung up.
This has got to stop.
Lying in bed early one morning, his arm tucked under his head, he thought about what options he had.
"If this gets out, my career may be in serious trouble. And something tells me that this woman isn't that smart. She couldn't have found my number that easily, so I'm willing to bet that she had some help..."
"Rrrrgh..."
He sat up, looking at the floor next to the bed, at Toledo. The dog snored like a diesel engine
He collapsed onto his bed, his arms tucked behind his head.
As his eyes started to drift shut, he faintly recalled Adam Copeland swearing that an old friend of his had a brother who was in the private security sector.
Un... I think I need to ca...
He fell asleep before he could finish thinking.
The next morning, after a lot of coffee and a couple of phone calls to friends- including Adam- he decided that he needed someone to look into this.
Frowning, he closed the blinds in his living room. He swore someone had been lurking outside his house the night before, and while he wasn't really afraid of them... He was a little worried about what could happen to his neighbors.
Cracking his knuckles, he sat down on his couch, his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He booted it up and he logged online before stopping.
Adam said the keywords to search were... Uh... Right. "Hell" and "security". He thought, wrinkling his forehead. Normally he wouldn't even consider those two keywords together, but he was desperate.
The first few links that popped up were mostly religious sites and forum posts... And a random article or two. The next one was for a book on drawing ponies. What that had to do with anything, he didn't know.
Finally, though, he found what he was looking for.
With a name like Hell's Security, something tells me they mean business. He thought, a little curious why they chose, "Hell". Until the web page loaded and it showed a map of Michigan. Hell, Michigan.
"Based out of Hell. Clever." He said, scanning the rest of the first page.
If you're reading this either you took a wrong turn while trying to find an obscure web page or you really need help. If it's the first one, press the 'Back' button. We don't do birthday parties. Ever. What you heard was all lies. If it's the second one- welcome… I guess.
Phil frowned and raised a quizzical eyebrow. They... Didn't sound all that serious. Maybe Adam was wrong...
We, the team and I, are based in Hell, Michigan. Don't bother wondering if I'm joking- I'm not. Seriously. Fill out the form below and we'll get back to you shortly. Hell's Security- danger? Not a chance in... Well, you know.
Piper Charles.
Phil mouthed a few words before shaking his head and scrolling down. The form was… Strange, to say the least, but he was willing to fill it out in hopes that they could help him.
"Why the hell do they need to know if I'm CIA or not?" He muttered, checking the "No" box quickly. Other questions, such as number and types of pets and hair color were equally as baffling, but he filled them out nonetheless.
The one involving "long lost twins with God complexes" got him chuckling though.
After filling out the form, he submitted it and said a prayer. He hoped he just hadn't really stepped in it.
Hell, Michigan…
If someone was looking for Hell's Security's headquarters, they wouldn't find them all that easily.
Located under a cafe on the outskirts of Hell, a metal bunker housed the company. Even their garage was underground, and the exit to that garage was located far enough from the cafe in a grove of trees also owned by H.S. that they rarely used the garage for anything more than a storage unit.
That and where they housed all the food for the cafe.
After heading down one of the security scan hallways, one would almost always end up in the "bull pen", where the majority of the employees of Hell's Security had desks. In one corner there was a cluster of couches, but other than that, the "bull pen" was full of desks.
The "bull pen" had earned it's name after one too many scuffles had broken out between the members of the team.
In an office set away from the "bull pen" and located near the break room, Kirsten Maklor, H.S.'s lawyer, sat, working on her latest report.
...The client, the granddaughter of a famous model from the 20's, contacted us by using a private number given to one of our previous clients...
Her computer dinged as a new request for help appeared in her inbox, capturing Kirsten's attention.
Kirsten, who dealt with most online security requests when she wasn't acting as a lawyer, opened and read over the form, her brows coming together as she tried to figure out where she knew the client's name from.
"Phil Brooks," she said the name, hoping she had said it before. "No," she shook her head. She had no idea how she knew that name.
With a sigh, she made herself get up and leave her office after she printed out the request. She wondered how her cousin, the owner of the building and company and H.S.'s leader, Piper Charles, would take the news that they possibly had a new case when they already were swamped.
Ranging from small jobs such as installing H.S.'s own custom security systems in normal homes to spy-level jobs of taking down rings of thieves in far away countries, Hell's Security did it all. Currently, though, a lot of their agents were in South Africa helping set up a new branch.
She opened the door to Piper's office and was barely two steps in when Piper spoke.
"Did you know that Oliver is actually allergic to elephants?" Piper asked as she referred to one of their agents in Africa, Oliver Ozenthal.
Kirsten shook her head, a little surprised to find her cousin wrapped up in something on the computer. Normally the redhead was wrapped up in a good book or communicating over the phone with some chief security expert. H.S. was always hiring. "No, I didn't know that."
Piper looked up from the computer and spotted the printout in Kirsten's hand. "Who?" She asked with a groan. "And why?"
Kirsten laughed. "Phil Brooks; 30's, well-paying job. Stalker." She explained.
Piper held her hand out and Kirsten handed the file over to her before leaving. "Hmm..."
Fifteen minutes later, Piper had made a decision.
She had to hunt down Kirsten in the break room, where she sat with Aidan Morrison and Rubine Thillion
She tossed the file on the table, startling the trio. "We'll help him. Something about this feels very familiar to me; I just can't place it." She told them.
Kirsten nodded after recovering from her initial shock. "All right. Who's going?"
Piper sighed. "Who else? She's been on the inactive roster for far too long. She could use a change of scenery."
Kirsten nodded as Rubine and Aidan exchanged looks. Finally, Rubine sighed, stood, and snagged the folder. "I'll go tell her." The California native said, leaving the break room.
Moments later, Rubine stepped into the gym. Spotting Kelsey wasn't hard, since Kelsey was nearly as tall as half the guys they worked with.
Typical. Rubine thought, walking past her coworkers Chase Rezon and Dominic Saes to the sparring part of the gym.
"Kelsey." Rubine stopped on the edge of a blue workout mat where Marine and her best friend, a Texan rancher's daughter, sparred.
The two moved at lightning speed, swatting and striking out at the other one, blocking the harmless blows and dodging each other with ease.
Finally, Kelsey got the upper hand when she hooked her leg around Elsie Mitchand's and pulled it out from under her.
Elsie hit the mat with a grunt, and Kelsey dusted her hands off smugly.
"Told ya." She told Elsie before helping her friend up.
Elsie rolled her eyes. "Guess I'm buying tonight." She said, referring to her and Kelsey's once-a-week night of drinks at a local bar.
Kelsey laughed. "You better. I bought the last three." She said as she turned to Rubine, brushing her black bangs off of her forehead. "What's up?" She asked Rubine, her hands on her hips.
Rubine held out the file, recognizing the fear that zinged through Kelsey's expression. "This job is for you. Piper said so."
Kelsey looked at Elsie, who shrugged. She then sighed. "Let me see," she said, taking the file from Rubine.
Two seconds into reading it, her gray eyes widened. "No. No. Hell no with a capital "Hell". I won't take this job." Kelsey said, shaking her head as she shoved the file back at Rubine.
Elsie's jaw dropped as she stared at her long-time friend in shock. "Kelsey... You can't just say no to a request." She said as Rubine cringed. "You know Piper's been pissed that you've stayed out of the field for this long. What keeps her from canning you if you say no?"
Kelsey crossed her arms, her jaw clenching stubbornly. "Since when can't I? I said no last year about going to Guatemala and looking for that missing pilot."
"Yeah, and Yvonne and Oliver took the job and wound up with some weird case of jungle fever, which then forced us," Elsie pushed on Kelsey's shoulder, causing her friend to wobble slightly, "to have to go down there and rescue them and the pilot. Saying "no" means nothing here, Kelsey." She pointed out. "I had to call Dominic while he was at his twin son's birthday party, which I swore never to do, and tell him to get back up here as soon as he could."
Kelsey cringed. Elsie did have a point there. Kelsey's luck was garbage and she knew that, though stubborn and sullen sometimes, she was one of the best security agent's money could buy. That's why she was the leading Security Officer.
"C'mon, Kelsey," Rubine said softly. "Take the job. It looks like it'll be an easy one, and you could use something to do." With that, she offered Kelsey the file once more.
Kelsey's gray eyes clouded over as she gently took the file back. Guilt had hit her like a low-blow; she had been just kind of hanging around for a while now...
...God knows why, but she was.
"I'll... Go. I'll make my own arrangements." She said, brushing past Rubine and Elsie, heading straight for the women's locker room as her friends watched her walk away, concerned.
The moment she knew she was alone, though, she opened the file again and squealed quietly.
She was a wrestling fan, so she knew who Phil Brooks was... And she couldn't believe that she was the one who was going to help him.
Maybe my luck isn't so bad after all.
Chicago...
Phil was about to get offline when his computer started loading an unfamiliar web page.
"What the…" He watched as Hell's Security logo loaded at the top before the rest of the page loaded.
Mr. Brooks, we are sending you some help. They will arrive within a few days. If you were lying about your security issue you should let us know now before the help gets there. It is liable to scare you into hiding and give you several gray hairs. Or stay there and work as your housekeeper. It is advisable that you keep granola in the house, since it makes them happy. And don't ask stupid questions like, "Whhyyyy?". They will not answer. Ever. We've tried.
Phil frowned. "What did I get myself into? Who are they sending? Some little old lady?" He asked out loud before the screen loaded a new page.
You have officially become one of Hell's Security's clients- that's what you've gotten yourself into. The message read. And you wish...
"Not reassuring." He muttered.
The page loaded again. We're not supposed to be reassuring. We do our jobs, and we do them well. We want to help you Mr. Brooks, not knit you a sweater.
"Okay then. Thanks for the help." He said, not wanting to get on this person's bad side. He was still, though with good reason, confused about how they were communicating with him.
He also had to wonder if this was an indicator that he was going nuts.
The page loaded one last time. You're welcome. It said before the window closed and he was left staring at his computer's background.
He rubbed his hand over his jaw before shutting his laptop down. He didn't feel like dealing with any more messages from them.
"Ruff!" Phil looked down at Toledo, who wagged his tail. Reaching down, he picked the dog up and hugged him as he stared at the monitor, thinking about what was to come.
"Well boy," he said, scratching the dog behind his ear, "looks like we're about to even the odds."
Little did he know, God had something extra in store for him.
Love.
Well? What did you think of it? I've been working on this story for years. I have future stories and pairings all planned out too. I just need the time to write them.
Reviews are always lovely. ^_^ Flamers, meanwhile, will be visited by Kane... In a tutu. o.O The Big Red Machine isn't all that nice when he's seen like that.