Dominance
Chapter 4 : Game start
"It's all about the Game, and how you play it
All about control, and if you can take it."
Smackdown February 9th, 2007
Batista frowned as he looked at the booking for tonight's Smackdown. How come the Undertaker had the Miz for an opponent, while he had to defend his title against Mr Kennedy? Kennedy was double-tough, while Miz was just there to get squashed. Oh, right, when Taker didn't beat the clock a few weeks ago, it was against that scrawny kid. Poor guy, Batista thought, more amused than compassionate.
Something else caught his attention. He knew Kane was supposed to have a match against Finlay tonight, yet Finlay was scheduled against the Bogeyman – another freak Batista couldn't stand. Batista smirked. So the little brother wasn't feeling well, was he? Still traumatized by the little fire Batista lit last week apparently, thought the Animal with disdain. This was why Kane had never been a true champion. Too many deep weaknesses. Physically, Batista doubted he could match strength with the Big Red Machine, but mentally, Kane was too damaged and unpredictable to pose a serious threat to any title. He could capture it of course, but he would loose it right away after a rash decision or a show of weakness, as he did nine years ago. Austin had really played Kane perfectly that night. Stone Cold had taunted Kane, reminded him of his brother's glory, called him weak, and Kane had walked right into the trap. His world title reign only lasted twenty four hours.
Pathetic. And now, Kane was probably still whimpering on his big brother's shoulder just because he got a bit too close to a fire he hadn't lit himself. Or he could have recuperated by now and be on a destroying rampage. Batista felt a slight uneasiness at the thought, and decided to check on the Kane situation a bit later that night. He had already a Deadman to worry about, no need for another rabid monster really.
But for now Batista focused on the small TV screen he had installed in his locker room. Watching the Undertaker in action as much as possible couldn't hurt, he supposed, even if it was against an opponent as ridiculous as The Miz.
Batista let a smirk grace his face as he turned off the TV. Oh, the Deadman was pissed alright. Downright vicious in this match you could say. He had deliberately pulled the helpless Miz out of a merciful three fall and continued to beat on him until he finally got tired of it, ended the match, and performed a beautifully executed Last Ride that destroyed both the ex-reality show star and the announce table. The Animal got the message, loud and clear. It was just like Hunter had taught him back when he was in evolution. Triple H's rough voice echoed in his mind.
This is a game Dave. You've got to play by the rules, but first you've got to know them. Intimidate your opponent. Look unstoppable, confident. When you sense you're at a disadvantage, back off, don't retaliate immediately. Let it slide. You will be underestimated. If you work alone, use every trick in the book to get back the advantage. Don't feel any remorse, don't hesitate. It's all legal when the ref doesn't see it, and it's all legal as well when it's not a match and nobody proves it's you. Always strike at the most unexpected moment. But first and foremost, you've got to know your enemy. Study him, find his weaknesses. Get in his head. Once you've got all the elements in hand, you'll not only be playing this game, you'll be the master of it.
Batista knew that right now he was at a disadvantage. A chokeslam and a serious threat last Monday, a demonstration of a devastating Last Ride just a few moments ago, not to mention the fact that he still had to defend his title tonight. He was fairly confident against Kennedy, but a loss here would definitively put him out of the game. All he could do for now was try to get back the advantage in the psychological warfare. Time to play the card of studying the adversary. Should be easy enough right now, the Taker had just come back from his "match". A little look around couldn't hurt, right?
His match with Kennedy was at the end of the show. Batista had ample time to do the job. His priority here was to not get injured. An air of confidence on his face, but inside extremely on his guard, the Animal went to the Big Red Machine's locker room. He and his brother were together on Raw, and Batista wondered what exactly their relationship was at this point in time. If Taker really cared, and looked out for Kane himself and not just his own pride, it would be easier for Batista to work that new-found brotherly love of his and get inside the Taker's head.
Problem was, nobody was in Kane's locker room. Batista frowned as he considered what to do next. Was the risk of a confrontation worth the knowledge he could get from it? Hunter would have probably backed off by now, unless he had two or three members of Evolution with him. Dave was not Hunter. And backing off was not his style. A billion-dollar body and a two-cent brain, Hunter would have said; but Batista was not stupid. He was just ready to take more risk to get what he wanted. Throwing caution to the wind, he headed down a path he had visualized in his mind for days, and once again found himself in front of the Deadman's door. Anyway, with the Tag Team match coming up on Raw next Monday, they will have to be face to face one way or another. One dollar question : would the Baby Brother be there too? If that was the case, Batista may find himself in deep, deep shit. Taking his time, the Animal pondered his actions for some moments. A shower was running inside the locker room. Good.
Suddenly, before Batista had the time to either barge in or run away, the door was opened, and the Animal looked into the strangely mismatched eyes of Kane. The Big Red Monster was said to have only one good eye, hence the different colours, but staring straight into them right now, Dave was sure that both eyes could see perfectly well. No dead eye could display that much emotion. In an instant, Kane's eyes reflected surprise, a flicker of fear, then pure, insane hate.
Batista could barely see the fist coming. He did feel it crashing on his jaw. The force of the blow threw him back on the wall behind him. Dazed, he tried to gather himself, but was grabbed by two powerful hands, jerked around and thrown into the Brothers of Destruction's locker room. He collided with a bench in the middle of the room, which broke under his weight. Immediately Kane was on him with a furious cry. Batista covered up as punches rained on him, trying to sustain the least damage possible. So much for taking it easy. The blows continued to fall, hard and irregular, on Batista's upper body and arms. Through the pain, the Animal only thought of one thing: protect the head. His armour of muscles could protect the rest of his body, but if his head was hit, he was finished. Protect the head. It lasted less than a minute, really, but to Batista it seemed an eternity until a voice finally saved him from his ordeal.
"Kane. Let him go."
The blows stopped.
"But..."
"Let him go."
The weight pinning him to the ground was lifted, and Batista slowly and cautiously uncovered.
"Come here, Kane."
Looking up, Batista saw Kane obey, walking up to his brother and staying close to him. Staring down at the fallen Animal with a stoic look on his face was the Phenom. A wet, completely naked Phenom too. Apparently just coming out of an interrupted shower. Batista closed his eyes. He was dead. He was sure he was dead now. He was going to get killed by two deranged monsters, and the last image he would see was a very well endowed Undertaker. Life hated him.
The Animal waited, resigned, for a death blow, but nothing happened. Instead, the Phenom was talking to his brother, as if Batista was not even in the room.
"You know I told you not to put your hands on him without my permission", Taker said with a stern tone in his voice, like a parent reprimanding a child for stealing a candy.
"But Bro, he was listening at our door!"
Looking up, Batista saw a scene he could only describe as surreal. Kane and the Undertaker were standing close to each other, Taker still naked and not looking troubled by this state in the least. He had put a protective hand on the back of Kane's neck who seemed to be used to the gesture, to reassure him or restrain him Batista wasn't sure. Then the cold green eyes of the reaper focused on him. The same amused and somehow menacing glint returned in the Undertaker's gaze.
"Are you going to stay like this forever, Batista? Or maybe you like to lie on your back..."
Bastard .
Batista got swiftly to his feet, checking himself for any injury. Nothing, he found with relief. Maybe something could be salvage from this fiasco after all.
The two brothers were still standing disturbingly close to each other, obviously perfectly at ease now. Kane seemed to have been completely appeased by Taker's presence, and had a look of contentment on his face as his older brother stroked lightly the back of his neck. Undertaker never took his eyes off Batista.
Despite his reason screaming at him to quietly get out of there, Batista couldn't help it. He stayed, mesmerized by the sight before him. Batista's eyes followed a single drop coming off Taker's wet dark locks. The small drop of water travelled down the muscled neck, traced the hard chest, lingered on the hips before sliding down the long thigh and continuing its course to die at the ankle. Long, muscled limbs, proportioned for perfect balance, skin adorned by black ink, telling the story of darkness and life. Batista's mouth went dry as he recognized the first signs of an insatiable lust beginning to burgeon in his gut. God how he wanted this man. He wanted him in the ring, as an opponent or a partner, and now he wanted him in his bed, wondering what kind of screams the Deadman cried when he had an orgasm. To be able to possess that man would be the sweetest of bliss. Batista was taken out of his day dreaming by a cold voice.
"Get out. Now."
"What..."
"Look at the screen, moron. Someone's throwing you a pop card."
Indeed someone was. Mr Kennedy had taken the mic and was mouthing out his usual babble. Except this time he was saying he deserved to face the Undertaker at Wrestlemania more than Batista did. It was like shaking a red cloth in front of the eyes of a bull. The Animal saw red and busted off the brothers' locker room, still feeling the Undertaker's eyes lingering on his back as he ran to the ring.
Batista sighed as he not-so-patiently let the trainers examine his left arm. A few moments before, he had interrupted Kennedy's cocky speech about who deserved to be the World Champion. A brawl had ensued, during which Batista had wanted nothing more than to maim and harm Kennedy permanently. Unfortunately, it was the Animal himself who had hit a ring post at full speed, and now he had to check for any injury. Could this night go any worse? Oh, wait it could. He could loose his belt to Kennedy. At that thought a deep anger bubbled inside him again. Batista smirked, relieved. He was still in the game.
God how he hated those doctors. He felt no pain, could move his arm properly, and still they insisted on keeping him for a while, just to be sure, they said. So he was stuck in a clinic smelling white room with lots of beds and faceless medical personal. Twenty minutes until his championship match. Batista closed his eyes, trying to regain his focus. He knew Kennedy well, and while this would not be an easy match, Batista still had the advantage in strength and endurance, as well as experience. As long as he kept his cool and didn't collide stupidly with a ring post again, he should be fine.
"Hello, partner."
Batista jumped out of the bed he was laying in, fell hard on his backside and immediately rolled to a corner of the room where he stopped, squatted down and eyes wide like a deer caught in traffic light.
The Undertaker was standing on the doorway, as stoic as ever, with only a slight amused smile on his face. However, the smile didn't reach his eyes, which were coldly fixed on Batista.
"Why so jumpy? Can't I see how my tag team partner is doing?
"I... I was surprised, that's all."
God, thought Batista, I really need to get myself back together. Easier said than done, with those disturbing green eyes fixed on him.
"They told me you hurt your arm. Let me see it."
Not a question. Batista knew he had no choice and slowly extended his left arm. His elbow was still a bit sore, and the Animal winced slightly as the Undertaker carefully manipulated his arm.
Moments passed, and Batista started to grow uneasy. The Taker was still looking at his arm with a focused look on his face, saying nothing.
"I told you not to approach Kane anymore."
Batista's head snapped as he looked up at the sudden words. The Undertaker had a strong grip on his arm now, and was glaring at him without a shadow of a smile.
"I wasn't..."
Batista cried out as his arm was twisted painfully and he was pushed back against the wall with violence.
"Shut your mouth! I warned yer sorry ass already. I'm still pissed at you, so you better not even think of looking at Kane right now. You get within twenty feet of my little brother again, and I'm gonna hurt ya."
The strong shouthern accent had crept back into the Undertaker's voice as an effect of anger. It should have made him sound more human, but to Batista he sounded all the more menacing. He could almost feel the acid truth in the man's words, as well as the almost unbearable pressure his elbow was put under. Any more and he would have a broken arm.
"You think this is a big game right? Yeah, I played with Hunter too. Guess what, he lost. I don't mind playing boy, as long as you remember the rules of that fucking game. First rule: you do not. Bring. Kane. Into. It. Hope you got the message, 'cause that's the last time you hear it. Now go win that match."
His arm was released. Blood was pounding in his head, and he instantly knew that he was hurt. He looked up to see the Phenom on his way out, glancing back coldly at him.
"Better have that arm looked at before you get in the ring. We wouldn't want you to loose your belt before Wrestlemania now would we?"
And with that he was gone, leaving Batista alone.
That goddamn match was finally over. He had thought he would never make it, but he did. He would not be able to use his left arm at one hundred per cent for at least a week, but at least he retained his title, after much pain and suffering. Which was exactly what the Undertaker wanted, he supposed. Dave wanted only one thing now: to end this bad, bad day. He drove back to the hotel as soon as the show was over, crawled into his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.