Hey, all. Ddp456 here.
I know this update was a long time coming, and I apologize for that. To be honest, I rewrote this piece several times to try to find the correct tone I wanted to express. Similar to how I try to perfect my thoughts and feelings on the video game universe when writing the "Birthday Rumble" series, I attempted to do so with this story and the spirit of the pro wrestling of yesteryear.
So, again, forgive this wait, and if it happens, any future ones as I work my hardest to bring you the best story possible. Thank you all for waiting, and let me know how you dig the tale below. Enjoy!
"Welcome back, ladies and gents!"
"And just in the nick of time, too!"
"For those just tuning in, this is your ol' friend, Chuck Anderson, joined at ringside by my long-time broadcasting partner, Hoss "The Mad Tyrant" Taylor. And before us, folks, is a definite head-scratcher, I tell you what."
"No kidding, CA! It was only minutes ago, that our much-appreciated OCW crew team unveiled the newest attraction to the OCW universe: the Triple Decker!
Our selected roster of fine athletes would have to transverse past a gauntlet of tables, ladders, and chairs – "
"Oh my!"
"We know, Ty – only to make their way into the narrowing path of a scaffolding nearly 50 feet in the air! And at road's end, they climb one last ladder leading into a steel cage, where only the first arrival will be declared the winner!"
"At least that was the plan for tonight! OCW security arrived on the scene, dragging along an unknown redheaded girl dressed in flannel. They locked that pretty little thing into the steel cage, leaving her trapped and stranded at the top of this arena!"
"And now our mysterious guest is pacing up and down the confines of her cell, testing every square inch for a chance for escape, and shouting her lungs out for the world to hear."
"I'm going to go out on a limb, CA, and guess by her expression, that it's a good thing that the audience is too far down to make out what's she sayin'."
"Well, you know the old expression, Ty: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Stay with us as the Mad Tyrant and I try to get to the bottom of this development…"
"WENDY!"
As soon as Dipper's brown eyes spotted his favorite cashier in distress, pure instinct took over. He bolted down the walkway leading towards the balcony as Mabel called out, "Dipper! Wait a second!"
Rhyme or reason no longer mattered. Dipper's goal was made crystal clear. He had to get to Wendy as soon as humanly possible. Upon reaching the balcony's edge, the twelve year old peered over to see hundreds of confused fans whispering and murmuring amongst themselves along the 20 foot drop.
Sensibility was able to reclaim him as Dipper took a careless step onto the railing. He wouldn't be use to anyone if he injured himself. Defeated, he slapped the balcony's railing with both palms, and dashed towards the back of the arena. Dipper had no other choice but to make his descent to the ground level floor by floor.
"Dipper! Wait!" Exhausted, Mabel used the edge's railing as a rest stop as she watched her twin disappear from insight. She wheezed heavily, trying to catch her breath. "Oh…sure…now…you're-you're…worried…about…her…"
Suddenly, the arena's speakers began to play a sordid, low-key rock theme; a tune similar to that celebrating a villain's arrival. A moment later, a silver-haired, middle-aged businessman strutted from the ramp beneath the monstrous video screen and towards the ring as he was showered with boos and jeers.
"Finally, CA! The boss has arrived to lift the curtain on this situation! If anyone can get to the bottom of things, he can!"
"Hey, Ty. I think you got a little something on your nose. Some kind of brown stain?"
"I do? Well, give me a sec to – oh, real cute, CA."
The man mockingly brushed the insults off his dark-grey, tight-fitting suit as a smirk stretched across his wrinkled face. He jogged up the metal staircase and lifted the upper rope to step into the ring.
"There he is, ladies and gentlemen: the sole owner of the OCW. I haven't a clue to what's going on, but one thing's for certain. If Macallan's involved in any capacity – "
"That's Mr. Macallan to you, CA! As in the same Mr. Macallan that signs our checks each and every week. Show some respect, or else, don't be surprised to find yourself in the unemployment line next payday!"
"Oh, brother…"
Vic Macallan reached into his jacket's pocket and produced a wireless microphone. He held up inches away from his lips, replying sarcastically to the audience, "And a fine "how-do-you-do" to all of you as well…"
The taunts from the crowd grew even louder.
Unaffected, the promoter went on with his presentation, "I might be grasping at straws, but I suppose you lot are wondering about what's happening…" He simply lifted a single index finger towards the sky. "…all the way up there." Macallan turned towards the other end of the crowd. "Well, I believe I can shed some much-needed light on the matter."
"Well, it's about darn time!"
"Quiet, CA! The boss is talking! I wanna hear this!"
Vic began to explain, "The young lady up there is just like you – a lifelong OCW fan, who was eager to see all of her favorite OCW superstars live. But perhaps, she was a little too enthusiastic in doing so. During our brief intermission, this mischief maker thought it would be wise to sneak into the locker room to try to ask for autographs, when she was accosted by security and brought before me."
Despite their hatred for the performer, the audience's reaction had quelled, as the thousands of listeners hung on his every word.
Macallan held a hand crossing his heart, "And because you all know me as a kind and forgiving man, I gave our gawky trespasser a choice: be sent off to juvenile hall for the weekend, and face a lifelong ban from all future OCW events…"
The spectators hissed and jeered in response.
"Or, as our friend above us wisely chose, to accept one of my "gracious" deals…"
The audience groaned upon hearing Wendy's outcome.
"Oh, that poor thing! But Mr. Macallan said that she was a fan. How could that girl not know that making a deal with Vic Macallan is like making a deal with Satan himself?"
"Hey, don't you go feeling sorry for her, CA! That kid did it to herself! You heard Mr. Macallan – she's a deviant, and needs to be dealt with accordingly!"
"And now…" The administrator's smile grew deeper. "She'll pay the price for her crimes. And that is why I made sure that all of you can bear witness to her fate. Let this serve as a reminder to what happens to those who dare to cross me in any way. I now own this useless criminal – "
He spun around in a circle and pointed towards the crowd as his voice became hoarse, "Just like I own each and every one of you worthless piss-ant hicks!"
The horde exploded into screams and threats towards the administrator.
"*GULP*! Oh, boy…"
"What's the matter, Ty? Are you getting a guilty conscience?"
"You know me, CA. I don't have a conscience to be guilty with. But something did come to mind."
"And what's that?"
"I think I know what Mr. Macallan has in mind for our teenaged culprit up there…"
"Really? Pray tell."
"Do you remember what I said about what happens to cheaters on the outside of the steel cage?"
"Yeah. "ZZZZZZZZZZZ!" So what?"
"Well, what do you think happens to someone inside of that cage if the electrical current is switched on?"
"Oh! Well, oh, boy, indeed!"
As the audience somewhat calmed, Vic Macallan could make out a sound coming from above him. He looked up to see Wendy on her elbows and knees on the floor of the cage. She cupped her hands over her mouth as she shouted downwards. Her captor sardonically held up his microphone as far as his arm could reach, enabling her message to be barely held:
"GIMME OUT OF THIS THING RIGHT NOW! YOU NEVER SAID A DAMN THING ABOUT STICKING ME UP HERE! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
Vic laughed, "But, my dear. I just did. And perhaps you should watch your potty mouth. You're already in enough trouble as it is. Maybe next time, you'll take a few moments to read the fine print of a contract…"
His attention shifted as he could sense a growing commotion in the gathering in front of him. From the back of the standing room area, a small line began to part as people were rudely pushed or shoved to the side. As the separation grew closer, Macallan saw that the intrusion came in the form of a pint-sized brown-haired boy wearing a white and blue pine tree trucker hat. The elder could easily see the pure determination on the child's face as he hurried towards the guard rails stationed outside of the ring.
"I can't believe it…"He thought. "It's just as she said…"
"WENDY! HANG ON! I'M ALMOST THERE!" Dipper hopped over the central rail and became caught up by his vest. A nearby security guard had grabbed him in mid-air.
"Hey!" The detective squirmed for freedom. "Let go!"
"What do you think you're doing, kid?" The officer tightened his hold. "You got a death wish or something?"
"No! You don't understand! That's my girlf- I mean, my friend – I mean, my Wendy up there!"
Dipper felt another pair of hands tugging on his back pockets. He glanced over his shoulder to see Mabel trying to pull him back over the rail.
"Dipper!" She pleaded. "This is crazy! You can't go up there!"
""But I have to do something!" He answered. I can't leave Wendy stuck up there like that!"
"Kid," the guard yanked Dipper even harder, sending Mabel along for the ride. "The only place your little butt is going is outta this arena! Now, c'mon!"
Between being caught in the tug of war and having the chants of the crowd blaring in his ears, Dipper felt as if he was losing his mind. Just then, a solid, yet silent tone broke through the madness, restoring the world to a temporary clarity:
"Let that boy pass…"
"Huh?!" Dipper raised his head to see that the strange man in the ring was pointing directly at him.
The lookout found himself just as stunned, "But – But, sir…"
Vic Macallan's voice echoed into the mic, "I said let him go, dammit!"
A second later, Dipper and Mabel were set down into the matted area surrounding the squared circle. The boy looked around to see that the horde had quiet down in uncertainty. Strangely enough, a thin, paled-faced man with glasses sporting an OCW office shirt sped up towards him, making Dipper flinch.
The worker dropped to one knee and clipped a wireless device on his shirt and hurrying away from the scene. Before he had a chance to examine the pin, Dipper was called upon once more:
"Well, what are you waiting for? A written invitation? Get on with it!"
Finding himself lost in hesitation, Dipper gazed towards the top of the arena to see Wendy staring down at him. A thin, brave smile had appeared on her freckled face – the first that had happened since her re-appearance. With his courage renewed, the small rescuer nodded and walked towards the metal staircase.
"Wait up! I'm coming, too!" Mabel followed suit after Dipper as the guard's arm swooped down and block her passage. "Hey! What gives?!"
"Sorry, miss." The patrol apologized, keeping his sights on the events in front of him. "But the boss said only the boy was allowed further. You're more than welcomed to stay here and watch the show."
"Hmph!" The sweater-donning cutie crossed her arms and pouted, "Well, that's just great!"
Dipper took careful step onto careful step up the steel stairway. As he went to slide his body under the middle rope, his foot tripped over the lower beam, making him tumble clumsily into the ring. The speakers of the arena gave a short screech, making everyone in the arena mince in discomfort.
He hopped back up, and dusted himself off, noticing that the newly-acquired pin had been knocked slightly.
"Oh, I get it! It's a wireless microphone!"
Taking care to avoid the towering ladders stationed in the ring, Dipper slowly approached the master of ceremonies that had granted him passage. He cleared his throat, a level of nervousness rose as the small vocal matter were now aired lived via the speakers set up throughout the stadium.
"Um, hello, I guess…"
Vic Macallan remained still, silently analyzing the new arrival from head to toe.
"This may sound really silly, but I'm – "
Before Dipper could finish, Vic raised his mic, "Oh, I already know who you are…"
"You – You do?"
Macallan nodded and lowered himself to Dipper's level, "That's right." His sinister grin stretched further, "You're the one that thinks we're fake…"
Dipper's face immediately turned ghost-white, "I – what?"
The advocate resumed his prim-and-proper stance, "It's true, esteemed members of our OCW universe. The child standing here is nothing more than a hardened skeptic – someone who believes himself better than you, me, and every single person in this entire arena!"
As a roar began in the heart of the crowd, Dipper tried to defend himself, "That's not exactly – "
Vic cut him off, opening a gentle arm towards him. "Someone who sticks his stubby red nose up at our time-honored traditions, and looks down on each and every one of you for being loving and loyal OCW fans to the end – that thinks you to be brain-dead morons for doing so!"
His own words coming back to haunt him, Dipper trembled in dread as he found himself surrounded by countless angered souls howling for his blood.
Macallan dug even deeper, "But it doesn't stop there. In fact, this know-it-all is to blame for the happenings above us. This wretched creature just-so-happens to be a loved one of the young woman in the cage over our heads – heaven only knows why. And with the little bit of money she had, our friend wanted nothing more to share with him the wonderful experience that the OCW can provide…"
The almost-manic crowd gave a cheap pop of applause at the mere name drop.
Playing off the range of emotions, the middle-aged man shot back. "…only to have this ingrate throw the thoughtful gift back in her face, and lump her in with the rest of us pitiful, ignorant fools!"
The new eruption of heckles and ridicules became deafening, with each vibration pounding through Dipper's temples like a jackhammer. With nowhere else to turn, the cornered pariah looked towards the sky, finding Wendy watching his every move with a hint of sorrow in her expression. Dipper returned the stare; their eyes able to communicate in ways that mere words could not.
"Is it any wonder…" Vic Macallan held the audience in the palm of his hand. "That our lady friend was driven to a life of crime, considering the emotional abuse she had to endure by this spoiled brat?"
"You see, CA? I always knew it couldn't have been that girl's fault! She's an innocent bystander dragged down by the dopey-looking company she keeps!"
"Flip-flop much, Ty? Two minutes ago, you wanted her to be fried-up like my mama's homemade chicken wings!"
"Me? Wanting to injure a kind-heart like that? I would never!"
"Sure. Sure. It's not like we have you on tape saying so or nothin'…"
"To be fair…" Dipper tried to counter, "Wendy has been getting into trouble way before we – "
"BOOOOOOO!"
The audience drowned out the rest of Dipper's sentence.
"You see, people?" Vic went back to egging on the masses. "Even when faced with the truth, he refuses to accept responsibility for his actions and the consequences that follow!"
Dipper's head throbbed even harder as the noise attacked him from every possible angle. He turned around, finding himself surrounded by an endless amount of blurred mocking faces, before being met by the leering façade of the devious mastermind. Dipper glanced up at Wendy once more; the sight of her in peril added to his guilt.
A large amount of pressure was building within his shorten frame, making it appear as if all aspects of the world was unfairly gaining up on him. Dipper closed his eyes, clenching his teeth as he tried to shut out everything and find a calming center. With the last of his patience worn thin, the enraged boy exploded out loud, making his off-key voice echo throughout the stadium:
"THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Every being in the dome froze in their tracks.
"Okay, fine!" Dipper confessed at long last, throwing his arms into the air. "It's my fault, alright! I admit it! I'm sorry I hurt Wendy's feelings! I shouldn't have said the things I said! It was stupid and careless, and she deserves better!"
He heard Mabel call out from ringside, "You should apologize for making her go spore-hunting, too!"
"And I'm sorry about the spore-hunting, too! Jeez!"
Unbeknownst to Dipper, a small beam appeared on Wendy's face as she watched her little hero go into a rant of his own.
"But with that being said," Dipper pointed directly at Macallan. "That doesn't change a single thing about how I feel about all this stuff! Everything in this place is as phony as that awful hairpiece stapled to the top of your head!"
Macallan challenged him, "Oh, really?"
"Yeah, really!" Dipper stepped closer, his bravery increasing by the second. "You should be ashamed for trying to pass this crap off as real. And worse of all, you sucker these people into believing it to be so. But hey, you're the owner, right? Why should you care as long as you're making a profit off their backs?"
"OOOOOHHHH!"
"Uh oh! I think junior's about to bite off more than he can chew…"
"Hush, CA! I wanna hear Mr. Macallan tear into his skinny little keister!"
"Now," Dipper sighed as his nerves started to settle. "I've had all I can stand of this place. If you and everybody else here want to go on playing pretend, that's more than cool. The only thing I want is to take Wendy and go home…"
Despite appearing impressed by the boy's moxy, Vic adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid there's just one problem with that, sport…" He reached into the breast of his finely-pressed jacket and retrieved a thick, yet folded piece of paper. With a shake of his wrist, the sheet opened up, exposing itself to a lengthy contract filled to the brim with legalese and fine print.
And sure enough, at the very bottom, was a handwritten signature of a style Dipper would know anywhere: Gwendolyn Corduroy.
"You see, my friend." Vic proudly boasted. "Your pretty girlfriend signed whatever I stuck under her nose to avoid her troubles with the law. Like I said earlier, that means as with the rest of my talent in the back, I own her under lock and key."
"Can – Can he actually do that, CA? Is that really legal?"
"Only here and "Missoura" I'm afraid, Ty…"
Dipper returned his gaze upwards as he could have sworn a raspy voice was calling out to him. "I didn't know, Dipper! I swear I didn't know!"
Macallan held a hand against his chest, "So, if I want your precious – Wendy, was it – dangling helplessly in that cage as I drag her sorry behind from town to town, there isn't a damned thing you can do about it!"
"LET-HER-GO!"
A new chant rose up from within the crowd: "LET-HER-GO! LET-HER-GO! LET-HER-GO!"
By some sort of miracle, the anonymous bystanders seemed to rally behind Wendy and Dipper's plight. However, Macallan appeared to be unmoved by the sudden change. He promptly reclaimed Wendy's contract and returned it into his pocket. "I believe this matter is closed…" Vic started to take his leave.
"Hey, wait a sec!" Dipper called out after him. "Where are you going?!"
The manager paid him no heed as Vic headed towards the other side of the ring. The sleuth gave chase as the man parted the ropes to make his exit. "Come back here! This isn't over with!"
Wrestling with the returning panic in his chest, Dipper knew that his chance to save Wendy was slipping away with every passing moment. "I – I won't let you take Wendy away!" He shot out and grabbed the elder's wrist, and pulled him back, bringing Macallan to a complete halt. "Do you hear me, you – you two-timing, double-crossing, good-for-nothing carny!"
*GASP!*
A collective gasp was heard throughout the entire arena before it was overtaken by absolute silence. Maintaining his grip on Wendy's captor, Dipper took a quick glimpse towards the heavens for guidance. A shocked and horrified expression overcame Wendy, as she shook her head back and forth and mouthed the message, "Oh, Dipper, no…"
"Welp! He's done for!"
"It was nice knowing ya, kid!"
"What…did…you…say…to…me…?"
Dipper could do nothing but watch as Vic Macallan turned back towards him. The man's neck now bulged as veins became apparent. Bones cracked loudly as his dark eyes grew into a deep red like the fires of hell itself. His face twisted into a menacing sneer, exposing several fanged, marbled teeth. A circular spot on each side of his forehead, just below his perfectly-coifed hair, began to poke from beneath his wrinkled flesh.
"How…dare…you! Who are you to speak to me in such a manner, you miserable little bastard!"
The boy remained frozen by the sudden transformation, until a painful sensation awoke his body. The fingertips clutched around Vic's hand became scorching hot. Dipper released his grip and cried out, blowing repeatedly on his hand in an effort to cool it. Macallan advanced on the stunned tween, meeting him face-to-face.
"No one! And I mean no one…" His grave voice grew even deeper, its pitch becoming something not of this earth. "…tells me what I can or can't do! Do we have an understanding?"
"I – I – "
"Not so tough now, are we, bucko?"
"Have a heart, Ty. He's only a boy! Besides, if you asked me, it takes guts to stand up to the most powerful man in wrestling today. He has to defend his lady's honor, after all."
"Maybe, but then again, who asked you in the first place, CA?"
Dipper was left speechless before the monster in front of him. He immediately recalled Wendy's brief OCW history lesson to Mabel:
"That's Victor Leopold Macallan for you. A genius businessman and mastermind to some, and to others, he's said to be the devil himself…"
He turned his head around the ring, finding that the entire audience waited on his next move. Why weren't they afraid like he was? Couldn't they see the demonic changes occurring in the ring before them?
"Unless - he doesn't want them to see – he only wants me to know something's really wrong here…"
All of a sudden, a new voice spoke over the overhead speaker setup, "Well, chief. It really looks like you stepped in it now…"
"It – It can't be! Can it, Ty?"
"I hope not, CA. I thought that jerk was gone for good!"
Both Dipper and Macallan turned away from one another and towards the walkway to the backstage. A man with neatly, slicked-back dark hair and a trimmed beard sat crossed-legged beneath the jumbo-video screen. Sporting a simple shirt with four red stars across it, the stranger lowered his muscular arms onto his bare thighs as he made himself more comfortable.
Dipper noticed that the man's biceps were blanketed with several complex and yet, connecting tattoos. The most noticeable of them all was an oversized Pitt Cola logo covering his entire left shoulder.
The new arrival offered the startled twelve-year old a simple wave with a white-wrapped hand marked with a giant-black X, while dangling his microphone between his fingers. His other covered palm held a sealed frozen treat from the concession stand.
Dipper stole a peek at Macallan, whose anger had temporarily vanished, being replaced with a sense of disappointment and annoyance at the tattooed man's re-appearance.
"Bigosh! Bigosh! It's GB Hood! The self-proclaimed "voice of the people" has returned to the OCW!"
"Bah! I tell ya, CA. This night keeps getting stranger and stranger…"
"GB HOOD! GB HOOD! GB HOOD! GB HOOD! GB HOOD!"
The mob chanted in perfect harmony, celebrating the long-awaited return of their favorite mouth-piece, and yet, he appeared unmoved by the response. Nonchalantly, he used his teeth to open the wrapper to his frozen treat and took a bite. "But considering that you look like a deer caught in the headlights, I'll break it down for you: you ain't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy! This is the OCW universe, where anything can happen! The lines between reality and fantasy are constantly blurred beyond rhyme or reason, like "why did they fire this super-popular wrestler?" or "why didn't GB Hood get his main-event-shot at Wrestlepalooza yet?""
The spectators roared in purpose of the cheated fighter, allowing GB Hood to take a quick breather and another bite of his ice cream. As Macallan rolled his eyes and scoffed at the claim, Dipper walked closer and leaned on the ropes, "But what does all of that have to do with me?"
"Patience, pip-squeak," Hood held his hand up, "I'm getting there. The point of all this is that everything that happens here is controlled by the whims and wills of one man, and one man alone." He smiled and pointed towards the ring, "And that man is the old geezer that you cheesed off two minutes ago."
"Geezer?!" Vic shouted back at GB Hood, though his complaints were drown out by the praise of the horde.
"He might not look like it," Hood warned. "But Vic Macallan is a literal demonwhen it comes to this business. He'll dig into you and drain you dry until he's had his fill." He covered his fuzzy mouth mordantly, "Oops. Broke the fourth wall again. Dropped another "megaton-bomb." My bad…"
"But if things are really so terrible," the pre-teen asked with earnest. "Why are you still here?"
"The job has its perks…" GB Hood confessed, displaying the melting remains of his snack. "For starters, I finally got my ice cream bars…"
He paused to let the fans cheer for a few seconds. "But as I was saying, from the look of things, it sounds like the devil has those claws set real deep into your girlfriend up there – "
"Actually," Dipper admitted. "We're not – "
"Well, forgive me, Mr. Politically Correct!" GB Hood quipped. "It was meant as a generalization rather than an actuality. He raised his gaze towards Wendy, "You don't mind, do you, Red?"
The lumberjane turned captive simply shrugged her shoulders in response.
"Thanks," the wrestler nodded. "At least there's one sensible mind between the two of you…"
As the bystanders laughed at Dipper's expense, he took offense by the off-comment. "Now, what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, Spunky, that you don't seem to realize how far you are over your head on this. The only chance you have at making it outta here with that girl is by beating the devil at his own game. And to be honest, I haven't the slightest idea how you're going to do that…"
Dipper swallowed as he spun around to face his latest nemesis; his mind spinning a mile a second as the man's fiendish eyes burned into his very soul. His gaze shot upwards Wendy, who presented the same amount of concern over her freckled face. Dipper could make out GB Hood asking one last question, echoing from every aspect of the stadium:
"Do we have your attention now-w-w-w?"
