Chapter 29: Worth Fighting For
Orton stormed down the hallway, pulling Elektra along behind him. He yanked on her wrist so forcibly that she felt as though her whole arm might pop out of its socket. But despite the pain, Elektra didn't cry out, didn't wince, even though her entire limb was throbbing. If there was one thing she was not going to do, it was showing any more signs of helplessness toward the Legend Killer. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the back of his head, glowering balefully. Superstars they passed stared at them with open mouths, but neither one of them noticed; they were too wrapped up in their own personal clash of egos.
Elektra could hear cheering, a sound that increased in volume as they neared the end of the corridor. They must be approaching the entrance to the Titantron. The grey-eyed Diva tried one last time to tug her hand free, but Orton's grip was so strong it might as well have been a manacle. The Legend Killer didn't even acknowledge her struggles. Elektra clenched her teeth, her chest suddenly feeling too small for her heart and the anger it contained.
"He's going to kick your ass," she muttered, low enough for only Orton to hear.
Orton stopped in mid-step and stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Oh, really?" His voice was a threatening murmur. "Well, we'll just see about that." He reached out and traced the contour of her cheek with his finger. Elektra shuddered and turned her head away. Orton leaned closer, his breath caressing her ear. "Tonight, you're finally going to see what it's like to be with a real man."
"If I see a real man, I'll let you know," Elektra retorted. "Because all I see right now is a little boy pretending to be a Legend Killer." Her comment had the same effect as a stinging slap; Orton pulled back and she saw a renewal of rage flash across his features. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his arm start to move, but Elektra never let her gaze leave the Legend Killer's face. "What're you gonna do, Randy?" she taunted quietly. "Are you gonna hit me, just like Hunter did? Are you gonna use your fists to show me how big and tough you are?" She smirked, ignoring the involuntary flicker of fear that shot through her body. "And to think that I was afraid of you all this time. You really are pathetic; still trying to be like Triple H." She moved in just a little bit closer. "At least Hunter knew how to please a woman."
She knew the blow was coming as soon as she spoke those last words. When Orton's hand crashed against her cheek, Elektra felt sharp bolts of pain shoot down her neck as her head snapped violently to the left. She accidentally bit down on her tongue, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She sagged toward the floor, her hair falling across her face, but Orton hauled her back up, grabbing her other wrist and jerking her into the lean curve of his body. The act of aggression must have aroused him as well, she could feel him pressing against her. "You watch that mouth of yours or I'll stop being so nice," he growled.
Elektra stared at him dully, not really seeing him, not really caring, either. All she could think about was that if Orton wasn't in this temporary position of power, she would have no real reason to fear him. She saw, truly saw, for the first time how pitiable he really was. Despite all the bravado, all he had done to distance himself from Evolution's tactics, he was still trying to be the Game, right down to his domination of her. But instead of fear, all Elektra felt was a quiet dread of what the Legend Killer could possibly have planned to make him so confident of victory.
While she contemplated this, Orton turned his attention from her to a nearby production assistant checking items off on a clipboard. The unsuspecting young man looked up and visibly gulped when he saw the Legend Killer glaring at him.
"You!" Orton ordered. "Get the director on that headset of yours; tell him I want my music and video ready right now!"
The PA's eyes shifted from Orton to Elektra, his glance lingering on the rough approximation of a handprint marring her cheek. "What's–" he began to say, even though he should have learned by now not to question the Superstars.
"Now!" Orton shouted. The hapless assistant scurried away, willing to put his personal reservations aside for fear of being RKO'd. Orton released one of Elektra's wrists, and dragged her along, finally arriving at the ominous black curtain. Beyond it, she could hear the crowd, the occasional shout or "WOOO" making itself heard in the midst of its murmurings. The heavy rock beat of Mercy Drive suddenly burst through the speakers. Hey, nothing you can say/Nothing's gonna change what you've done to me... The Legend Killer pushed the drape aside, stepping out onto the top of the ramp with Elektra in tow.
The fans burst into scattered cheers when they saw Orton, some of them a little confused. After all, the Legend Killer had already introduced a battle royale, announced a main event match, and got down in the ring with some very beautiful scantily clad women. What more could he possibly have to add? The cheering became even louder when they saw Elektra. The vicious beating by Triple H had originally placed her in a nebulous zone with the fans, with none of them really sure how to react to her presence. But her interference at Survivor Series, insuring a win for Team Orton, had placed her firmly on the face side of the roster. However, even the most rabid of RKO fans began to fall silent when they saw the grim determination on the Legend Killer's face; the reluctance with which Elektra followed him.
Unlike Triple H, who had hurled her like a bag of dirty laundry, Orton merely stopped at the apron and pushed her forward roughly, indicating that she should enter the ring. Elektra didn't argue, but walked carefully up the steel steps and stepped through the ropes into the squared circle. At this point, it was easier to be compliant, because she didn't want to think about what Orton might do to her (or to Batista) if she tried to run. Besides, where could she run to that he wouldn't find her?
The Legend Killer, instead of following her, walked around the outside of the ring and retrieved a microphone from a surprised Lillian Garcia. A few quick strides took him up the steps and inside the ring. Moving next to Elektra, he grabbed her arm again. His grip was so strong that she felt her hand begin to go numb.
Orton looked around at the surrounding seats of enthusiastic fans, a confident smirk on his face. Lifting the mic to his mouth, he turned toward the entrance ramp and the gigantic screen above it. "I know that some of you out there are wondering why the General Manager of Monday Night Raw is making yet another appearance tonight." His expression and voice contained nothing but self-assurance and charm. The crowd was firmly on his side and he knew it. "Well, let's just say that I have some...unfinished business to attend to." He gestured toward the top of the ramp. "First, let me reassure the Superstars participating in tonight's main event–Triple H, Benoit, Edge, don't worry. This doesn't affect any of you. As far as I'm concerned, the three of you can settle your differences in your Triple Threat match tonight for the World Heavyweight Championship." The last three words got a weak pop, but for the most part, the audience's attention was completely fixated on the Legend Killer. "Now, while I was backstage, I realized that there's still one Superstar on this roster who I have a problem with, someone who still hasn't paid for his actions." Orton paused, and all the warmth vanished from his face and voice. "That person...is Dave Batista!" The fans burst into a chorus of boos at the mention of the Animal's name. The Legend Killer didn't seem to notice. "Batista–as General Manager of Raw, I am ordering you to come down to this ring right now!" He fell silent, and let his arm drop back down to his side.
Now it was Elektra's turn to gaze around the arena. Some sections had broken out into an impromptu "R-K-O" chant. She understood, at least partly, why Orton wanted her at ringside. Everyone in the audience would see her in the ring next to the Legend Killer, and assume that she was there to help punish Batista for his actions three weeks ago. They would never guess that she was the one being punished. Elektra wanted to grab the microphone, to try and make the fans understand that the man they were cheering for was really the one to blame. But she couldn't move. She couldn't even speak, because one wrong word might snap the delicate thread holding the sword aloft above her head.
But then, all of a sudden, she didn't have to, because Orton opened his mouth, and changed the crowd's perception of him forever.
"Ba-tis-ta!" he sang mockingly, a devilish smile lighting his face before quickly vanishing. "Maybe you didn't hear me so well the first time. Maybe you're thinking that the authority of the General Manager isn't enough reason to listen to me. In that case–" He pulled Elektra against his side, looping his arm around her neck, and practically strangling her in the process. Elektra gasped in shock, and struggled briefly, sinking her nails into his arm. But the Legend Killer didn't seem to notice; he was too busy calling out the Animal. "–Maybe you'll listen to this!" he continued. "I've got something you want, Dave, something that apparently belongs to you." He turned his head toward Elektra, the demonic grin reappearing. "But then again...maybe I should just let you hear it from her." He held the mic in front of her mouth.
Elektra could barely talk; Orton's forearm was pressing against her windpipe. "Dave!" she gasped. "Don't do it! It's a–"
Orton cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Easy now, babe," he said soothingly. "Save some of that excitement for later." He turned back to the Titantron screen. "But seriously, Batista, you know what I have, you know what I'm capable of, and if you're not out here by the time I count to ten..." He stopped, and glanced to either side of the arena before locking his eyes on the entrance ramp. "I'll fire her!"
Elektra didn't know which crowd reaction was louder: the collective gasp of astonishment or the boos. After spending almost three months winning the crowd over, Orton had turned them against him in less than five minutes. But the fans' perception of the Legend Killer was the absolute last thing on her mind. When she heard those words, her heart froze over and stopped completely for a second or two. So this was Orton's master plan, the reason for his overconfidence. He was going to use her, use Batista's feelings for her, to win the match. Elektra knew she did have an ace in the hole. After all, the Legend Killer didn't know that she was going to SmackDown. But then again...neither did Batista. Elektra's heart resumed beating, pounding faster and faster. What other cruel games would Orton have planned when Batista came out to the ring?
If Batista came out to the ring.
Elektra couldn't discount the possibility that Batista was watching her at this very moment, and choosing to do nothing. She really couldn't blame him. Why should he fight for her again, when doing so the first time had only earned him a slap in the face and a heinous beating? Why should he bother to care about her anymore?
The fans whispered amongst themselves, anxious with anticipation. Some of them had begun counting already. It didn't matter who the Superstar was; watching someone get the axe was always amusing in itself. Orton raised the microphone again. "One!" he shouted, nearly deafening her. "Two!" No Batista. "Three!" The crowd's murmurs grew louder. This was starting to become interesting. "Four!"
As he counted, Elektra felt her body sag and her knees begin to buckle. If Orton got to ten, it wouldn't matter if she lost her job; her heart would be dead already.
"Eight!" The arena was in a frenzy by now. "Nine!" Elektra's stomach teetered on the edge of oblivion. If she heard the Legend Killer utter ten, she might as well throw herself head-first onto the steel steps, because there would be no further reason to live. And there was no way she would sleep with Orton. Her old ultimatum, spoken in an empty hallway in Hershey's Giant Center ten months ago, still held true: she would rather die than let Orton touch her.
The Legend Killer stopped and turned his head toward her, pressing his mouth against her ear. Only she could hear his cold words: "Looks like you're not even worth saving."
He turned back to the microphone...and then a familiar set of rhythmic guitar riffs exploded through the sound system. The crowd leapt to its feet. Orton's expression didn't change, but his eyes were glued to the Titantron. Elektra took advantage of the distraction and squirmed free, backing away from Orton, her gaze fixed on the ramp as well. When Batista strode through the black curtain onto the top of the Titantron, Elektra had to clap both hands over her mouth to keep from bursting into tears of happiness. It didn't matter what Orton had planned; the fact still remained that Batista had stepped up to defend her, even after all that had gone wrong between them.
The Animal was wearing his wrestling gear. As he walked down the ramp, he was greeted on both sides by a mixture of cheers and boos. Most of the fans were still anti-Evolution; five minutes couldn't change that. But enough of them had realized that, regardless of three weeks ago, Elektra was probably safer with him than with the Legend Killer. His movements were controlled, deliberate; his face was a stoic mask. He didn't even look over at Elektra; all his attention was focused on Orton.
Elektra couldn't stop staring at him. In this night of lies and deceit, only one thing was certain: she loved this man. She was completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with this man, and it was stupid of her to even consider trying to forget him. Elektra realized that she would never go to SmackDown, at least not voluntarily. The only way she was leaving Raw was with a fight.
The Animal climbed the steps and eased his huge frame through the ropes. He walked forward a few steps, right toward the Legend Killer. From where she stood, Elektra could see that his entire body was tensed, ready for action. Although he was hiding it well, Batista had come to the ring for a fight. He still had yet to look at her.
"Whoa, whoa, stop right there!" Orton's voice cut through her reverie, jarring her back to the unpleasant present. Batista halted, if somewhat reluctantly. He stared silently at Orton, the muscles in his jaw twitching. The Legend Killer held up his hand, as though the gesture could somehow ward off the rage of the Animal. "Glad to see you finally made it. You were cutting it close." He began to walk back and forth casually as he spoke. "Don't worry...I'm not starting a Kiss-My-Ass club or anything like that. No, you and I...we're going to settle our beef the old-fashioned way–we're going to have a match. You, get a ref out here!" This last demand was directed at a technician crouching by the ring. The crew member immediately dashed off in search of one of the black-and-white striped officials. Orton turned back to Batista, who had begun to advance forward again. "Whoa, easy there! Wait for the ref! Besides, I have a few...stipulations I need to mention before we get down to business."
Elektra felt her breath catch in her throat. Here it comes...she thought to herself.
Orton continued pacing, gesturing as he talked. "Think of this match as a winner-take-all. But the prize isn't championships or title shots. When I say winner-take all...I mean all of her!" He turned and pointed directly at Elektra, who froze, horror spreading across her face. For a moment, Orton's eyes locked on hers and she saw the madness glowing in their depths. "The winner gets Elektra." Orton repeated softly, his gaze still captivated by the frightened silver-eyed Diva. Behind him, Batista tensed, his body coiled to strike. But, almost as though he had eyes in the back of his head, the Legend Killer turned back around to face the Animal again. "I should mention that I use the term 'match' loosely. Someone's shoulders are going to get pinned to the mat for three...but there's no way in hell that it's going to be me. If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll fire her like that!" Orton snapped his fingers. "Do you understand?"
Batista didn't even nod. Orton stepped closer, getting right in the Animal's face. "Do you understand?" he pressed harshly.
"I get it, Randy," Even from across the ring, Elektra heard Batista's quiet reply as clearly as if she'd been standing right next to him.
Orton smiled arrogantly. "Good...now get down on your knees."
Batista didn't move. From the way his jaw was throbbing, he was obviously gritting his teeth. Without answering, he looked off to the side, his eyes scanning the thousands of fans simultaneously cheering and booing him.
"Hey!" The first signs of irritation crept into the Legend Killer's voice. "Don't look at them, look at me! Get down on your knees now or she's history!"
Batista didn't turn his head; only slid his eyes over to meet Orton's. They were filled with hatred...and an intense pain. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself down to one knee, then to both.
"No!" Elektra cried, her eyes filling with tears, blurring her vision. In all her worst imaginings, she hadn't foreseen this. Orton didn't just want victory; he wanted to humiliate the Animal in from of the entire world. And the only way he could do that was by rigging the game. Triple H would be proud...she thought to herself bitterly. She could almost picture the Game watching the present events unfold with a smile on his face, secretly proud of his former protegee.
Elektra began walking forward hesitantly. "Dave, please don't do this–" she pleaded. I'm not worth it! her mind screamed.
Orton spun around, freezing her with a glance. "You shut up!" He turned his attention back to Batista. "Don't listen to her, Dave. You know how women get. You finally think that you've got a idea of what's going on in their heads, and BAM! They change their minds on you." His expression twisted with hate and loathing. "Do you even know how much time and energy I spent trying to turn her against you? And now, all of a sudden, I find out that, despite all that I did, she still can't get over you. She won't get over you." He grabbed Batista's chin, forcing the Animal to look over at Elektra. "Look at her, Dave. Just look at her. She could have any man she wants...and she chooses you. Why?" Orton shook his head. "I don't get it. I mean, what makes you so special?" The Legend Killer paused, and then hit Batista across the face with an open-handed smack. The Animal's head snapped to the side, but his expression didn't change. Orton pulled back, his mouth curled in a grimace of disgust. "But it doesn't matter anymore. If she won't change her mind, then I'll make her change it. And I'll do that by pinning you, right here, in this ring." Orton looked briefly from Elektra to Batista. "Think of it as your parting gift to her. Prove to Elektra how much you love her by saving her job. Prove it by lying down, letting the ref count to three and then watching me walk off with her. If you don't..." Orton let the thought trail off.
Elektra covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep her body from shaking as she wept. There was no way Batista could win. If he did what Orton asked, she would be forced to sleep with the Legend Killer. If he didn't, she would lose her job and they would be separated forever. But in the midst of this impossible conundrum, she knew that she would rather see Batista fight back than subject himself to this humiliation. Elektra slowly sank to her knees, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Please don't do this," she whispered. "Please don't...I'm not worth it...I'm not worth it..."
Seeing movement at the top of the Titantron, her heart fluttered with hope for a moment. But it was only referee Mike Chioda heading down to the ring with a look of distaste on his face. He obviously did not approve of the Legend Killer's underhanded tactics, but unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. The referees were subject to the whims of the General Manager, same as the Superstars.
Orton noticed Chioda's approach as well, and smirked, his expression pure evil. "Tick-tock, Dave. Time's running out. What's it gonna be?" Remember..." he pointed back at Elektra. "...her job hangs in the balance."
Batista glanced over, and for the first time, his eyes met Elektra's. In that instant, everything–Orton, Chioda, the fans–all of it disappeared, and it was just the two of them again. The way it always had been. The way it always would be. When he looked at her, the stoicism drained from his features, and she could see his emotions clearly written across his face. If there were any doubts lingering in Elektra's mind, they were dispelled when she saw the pure love and tenderness shining in his eyes...along with the resignation to do what he felt had to be done. She saw his lips move, mouthing the words: I'm sorry... Elektra slowly shook her head, realizing with sick horror what he was about to do. She could only watch as the Animal stretched his body out full-length across the mat, his hands at his sides.
"No, Dave!" Elektra wailed, slamming her fists down on the canvas. She thought that her heart was going to explode; she was crying so hard.
Orton, however, was practically beside himself with glee. "That's right, on your back...just like your girlfriend's gonna be later tonight."
"No, no, no!" Elektra was sobbing, tears rolling down her face, dripping onto the mat. She crawled on hands and knees toward the Legend Killer, clinging to his leg like a small child. "Stop it, Randy, please! I'll do whatever you want...I'll sleep with you! Just don't make him do this!"
Orton stopped and peered down at her. "Whatever I want?" he repeated with malicious emphasis.
"Anything!" Elektra pleaded. "Just stop this!"
Orton rotated his body away from the prostrate Batista, turning his full attention on her. "That's a pretty tempting offer," he replied slowly, stroking his chin with his free hand.
Elektra gazed up at him tearfully. "And just one more thing..."
Orton stared at her expectantly. "Yes?"
In a heartbeat, Elektra's expression went from pleading to spiteful. Before the Legend Killer could even comprehend what was happening, she reached up and grabbed his balls, digging her fingernails into his testicles and twisting as hard as she could. All of the male audience collectively cringed and "Ooooh!"d. Orton yelped, his deep voice rising up a few octaves, his face a portrait of agony. As he bent over in pain, Elektra grabbed the microphone with her other hand, bringing it down to her mouth. "I said that I'd have to be crazy to touch you," she snarled. "How's this?"
Orton glared at her through his pain, bringing his free hand up to backhand her across the mouth. Elektra released her grip as she hit the mat, her head reeling from the blow. She pushed herself backward with her feet, clawing at the canvas, trying to put as much distance between her and the Legend Killer before he recovered. She swung her head back, pushing her hair out her face, just in time to see Orton advancing toward her, gingerly cupping himself with one hand. He reached down, clamping his hand around her throat, hauling her to her feet. His handsome face was warped into something unrecognizable, something not even human. "I warned you!" he screamed. "I warned you! Now you're really going to pay, you bitch!"
The Legend Killer felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see a massive fist speeding toward his face. There was a crunch of cartilage and Orton released Elektra, staggering backwards, blood pouring down his face from his busted nose. The Animal came at him like a freight train, forcing him into the corner, driving the air out of him with ferocious shoulder block after shoulder block. Stepping back, he grabbed the Legend Killer's arm and swung him toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Orton hit them and bounced back, only to be caught in mid-step and hurled onto the mat with a massive spinebuster.
But Batista wasn't finished yet. He paced around the ring, roaring and shaking the ropes with almost enough strength to tear them out of the turnbuckle post. He turned his focus back to the Legend Killer. The look in his eyes was murderous. Striding to the center of the ring, he grabbed a handful of Orton's jacket and pulled him up into position for the Batista Bomb. With only a small grunt of effort, he flipped the Legend Killer up over his head, and then drilled him into the mat with all of the force of an atomic explosion.
The referee was in the ring now. Batista looked from him to the unconscious Legend Killer, then dropped to the mat, and hooked Orton's leg for the pin. Mike Chioda dropped down as well, his hand hitting the canvas 1...2...3. When his palm came down for the final time, the audience erupted into deafening cheers.
Elektra watched all of this as though in a dream. Her knees were shaking; she felt as though she was about to collapse again at any second. When Orton's body collided with the mat, she felt an enormous sense of relief, as though a huge weight had been lifted from her heart. For the very first time, she felt completely free of fear. She felt as though she could breathe again. It was finally over.
Batista got back to his feet, standing over the Legend Killer, breathing hard from the exertion. Snatching up the microphone, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, then lifted the mic to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but it held an implied threat: "This is the last time I'm going to tell you–keep your goddamn hands off my girlfriend." He threw the microphone back down, where it made an audible BOOM as it connected with canvas. He stared at Orton for a second or two, his face emotionless, then looked up and met Elektra's eyes.
This time, Elektra didn't freeze, didn't hesitate for even a second. Practically tripping over her own feet, she ran across the ring and threw herself into Batista's waiting arms. He embraced her tightly, pressing his mouth against her forehead, murmuring into her hair. Elektra clung to him, crying with happiness, never wanting to let go, lest he be taken from her again.
The fans were on their feet, clapping, stomping, screaming their lungs out. Batista pulled back, gently taking her face in both of his hands. With that familiar gesture she loved so much, he brushed away her tears with his thumb. He smiled, and she could see tears shining in his own eyes."I thought I lost you," he murmured.
Elektra hesitantly reached up and touched his cheek, resting her palm against his skin. Batista closed his eyes, groaning softly the moment her hand caressed his face. Elektra slowly pulled his head down until his nose brushed hers. "You never lost me," she whispered. "I love you... and I always will."
The moment she spoke those words, Batista tilted his head to the side, capturing her mouth with his. Elektra kissed him back, entwining her arms around his neck, moaning as his tongue slid into her mouth and met hers. Batista lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies melting together.
They kissed for a long while in the center of the ring, oblivious to everything except each other.
The water hit Orton full in the face, going up his nose, in his mouth, and driving him out of the sparkling blackness his mind had fled to after being hit with a spinebuster. Coughing and sputtering, he slowly opened his eyes, trying to ignore the pain surging through his limbs...and certain other lower extremities. His head in particular was throbbing. Orton reached up to massage his temples with both hands, trying to remember exactly had happened. Things had been going so well, and then suddenly, they had all gone to shit.
He wiped his nose, then winced as slivers of pain worked their way back up into his brain. He pulled his hand back. His fingers and knuckles were smeared with dark red. It would be some kind of small miracle if he didn't have a broken nose. Orton grimaced. When he got his hands on that ungrateful bitch–
"Hey, Randy, you awake?" The sound of Chris Jericho's voice made Orton realize that he wasn't alone. He looked up to see Y2J peering down at him, a Styrofoam cup in one hand. That would explain the water. The former Undisputed Champion stared at him with curiosity and amusement rather than concern. As though to further illustrate this, Jericho grinned. "Sorry about the rude awakening, but some of us aren't very...patient."
Orton was about to ask what others when Chris Benoit and Maven appeared from behind him at either side of his vision. They walked past Jericho and turned around, leaning against the wall. Orton noticed for the first time that he had no idea where the hell he was. He studied his surroundings, trying to block out the throbbing ache in his neck. The room had cement floors and walls, and its only distinguishing feature was rows and rows of shelves loaded with cleaning supplies and equipment. Orton himself was propped up in a folding chair. A single bare lightbulb burned above him, casting a weak pool of light all around the Legend Killer. Orton frowned. What in the world?...
It was as though Jericho could read his mind. "Let's just say that you're somewhere in the arena, far enough away that the rest of the Superstars won't hear you." Y2J glanced back at his compatriots, smiling again. "You see, after you went and got your ass whipped all over the ring by the Animal, the three of us came down and helped you backstage, just like friends are for." He leaned closer. "You were so out of it, you didn't even notice where we were taking you."
The Legend Killer quickly appraised the situation. It was not looking good for him, but he didn't have time for this shit right now. He would deal with these jackasses once he finished with Elektra and Batista. "Where's Elektra?" he demanded, clenching his fists so hard that the knuckles flushed white. "When I get ahold of that whore–"
"Elektra? She left, man," Jericho interrupted nonchalantly.
Orton's eyes almost popped out of his skull. "What?" he stammered, struggling to find words. "You can't be serious–"
"Oh, I am," Y2J replied calmly. "You see, since you were so out of it, I stepped up and gave her and Batista the night off. They've been through a lot tonight; besides, they looked like they were ready to get down to business...if you know what I mean."
Orton started to rise to his feet, hoping that his legs wouldn't give out on him. "Hold on... after what both of them did...you let them leave?" His eyes blazed with rage. "I'll fire that slut. I'll fire both of them–"
Jericho abruptly stepped forward and shoved Orton back down into the chair. "I'm only gonna say this once: sit down and shut up." The former Undisputed Champion's light tone had turned steely. The smile had disappeared. Orton looked from Jericho to Benoit and then to Maven. Neither one of them were smiling as well. Jericho continued as though nothing had happened. "No one is getting fired tonight...especially those two."
Orton stared at him, shocked. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea who you're talking to? I'm the fucking General Manager–"
Jericho sighed and turned to Benoit. "Chris, come over here and help me." Without saying a word, the Rabid Wolverine walked over and chopped Orton viciously in the chest. The Legend Killer uttered a small strangled noise and slumped forward, clutching his pectoral region. Benoit hauled him back up without ceremony. Jericho shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You see what happens when you don't listen?"
He bent down, lowering his voice. "Do you actually think that any of us really care about who you are or what you say?" He pulled back and then nailed Orton in the temple with a straight right hand. The Legend Killer almost fell out of the chair, but once again was pulled roughly back into place by an unsympathetic Chris Benoit. Jericho looked at him without pity. "You played us. You used us to screw up someone else's relationship, and why?. Because you can't fathom in that narrow little mind of yours that onegirl on this planet doesn't want you. Elektra and the Animal... they're in love, Randy. Finding love in this business...that's rare, and you don't mess with it, not ever." Jericho crouched down, bringing himself face-to-face with the Legend Killer. "Now, unfortunately for you, we don't take kindly to being used. So we decided that you need to be taught a lesson. By the time we're done with you, the most you'll be able to do for the rest of the week is lie on your big expensive leather couch in your cushy office and pop painkillers." Y2J stood, and began to pace, gesturing as he talked. "If you go near Elektra or talk to her or–hell–so much as look at her twice, we have no qualms about teaching you again. She's off-limits now, Randy, and if I were you, I'd start getting used to that."
Jericho stopped, and stared hard at Orton. "One more thing–if somehow, after this is over, you make a miraculous recovery and decide to go on a firing spree...go right ahead. Fire Elektra, fire Batista...fire the three of us for helping them. Big fucking deal: we'll all go to SmackDown and have ourselves a big party, while you get to explain to Bischoff why all his talent is suddenly on the other brand. Not to mention Triple H, who is going to be pissed if you take away his cleanup man. Pull a stunt like that, and you'll be the one looking for a job." Jericho held his finger up in the air, as though he had just remembered something. "Oh, and did I mention that next week is my turn to be GM? And believe me, I've got something special planned for you." Y2J tapped his chin. "I'm thinking gauntlet match. I'm thinking one hand tied behind your back. And that's just Monday night. We've got at least four more shows to think about. But don't worry," He clapped the Legend Killer on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll live through it."
Orton started to speak, but Y2J cut him off. "See, I know that right now is the point in the conversation where you yell out something profound and defiant before we kick your ass. But to be perfectly honest...I really don't want to hear anything more from your mouth. Maven, tape." The former Tough Enough winner somehow magically produced a roll of duct tape from behind his back and tore off a strip. Benoit grabbed Orton's arms, restraining him as Jericho advanced with the long piece of tape.
"You fuckers!" Orton shouted. "You'll all pay for this! I'm the Legend Killer–" His words became nothing more than muffled shouts as Jericho slapped the tape over his mouth.
"And now you're just another asshole in a broom closet with duct tape over his mouth." the former Undisputed Champion finished. Cracking his knuckles, he nodded at Maven, and the two of them closed in on a now-powerless Legend Killer.
