Chapter 37: Beat The Clock
Batista paced back and forth across the room, slamming his fist against shelves and muttering the occasional obscenity to himself. Flair had retreated to a corner, out of the path of the raging Animal. Triple H sat on a nearby bench, lacing up his boots. He watched Batista pour out his frustrations with a look of mild bemusement, the familiar arrogant smirk reappearing on his face.
"I'd say I told you so," the Game remarked casually, putting his foot back on the floor and leaning forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "But from the way you're wearing out the floor over there, I think that's probably a moot point. The important thing is…I hope you learned a valuable lesson from all this."
Batista didn't slow his furious pace one step. "After everything I did for that…bitch—humiliating myself in front of that punk, Orton; turning my back on you guys…" He stopped, glancing back at Triple H and Flair. "I'm just glad that I came to my senses before it was too late."
"Hey," The Game rose to his feet, walking over to the Animal and slapping him on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "We all make mistakes, all right? We've all done things that we regret…if you know what I mean." His expression turned sly and he jokingly elbowed Batista in the ribs. The Animal's only response was to lift his huge hands and crack his knuckles one by one. Triple H's smile faded. "Look…I never should have brought that little succubus into Evolution in the first place. I should have known from the start that she would try and bleed us dry. You, me…hell, Orton would still be here if it wasn't for her. You know that if she hadn't driven him crazy, he wouldn't have gotten such crazy notions in his head." The Game shook his head. "What a waste." he sighed, sounding almost regretful. He turned back to Batista, his demeanor serious now. "She tried to turn you against me. She disrespected the legacy that I've created by pretending to be some damsel in distress—and look what it got her. I don't expect an apology from her, but I do expect one from you, Dave, regarding your behavior over the past month or so." He slapped the Animal on the shoulder again, and this time, it was a little too hard to be affectionate. It was a little too hard to be anything other than a hint. "I'm not asking for a speech or anything; just a simple 'I'm sorry' and we can put this whole Elektra business behind us." He stared at Batista expectantly.
The Animal's expression didn't change, but he clenched his fists tightly, the knuckles flushing white. He was filled with the almost overwhelming urge to wrap his hands around the Cerebral Assassin's neck and squeeze until his face turned purple; until the perpetual condescension in his eyes turned to stark terror.
It had been bad enough having to say those degrading things to the woman he loved, to convince everyone around him that he actually meant them, and in the end, when she had stormed down the corridor in tears, to pretend that her unhappiness meant nothing to him. At that moment, Batista had wanted desperately to run after her; to pull her into his arms and hold her until her crying stopped, whispering all the while that he didn't mean it, that he never meant any of it, and would she ever forgive him for saying it in the first place? But in the end, he could only stand there, his expression cold, while inside, his harsh words echoed over and over again without fading, each one piercing him like a razor blade shoved lengthwise into his heart.
And then, as though adding insult to injury, he'd come back to the locker room only to be the recipient of the Game's smarmy moralizing. He felt the Animal roaring from within, desperate to be freed, growing angrier and angrier as Triple H heaped all of Evolution's problems over the past year on Elektra's doorstep. As though Randy Orton hadn't been a psychotic ticking time bomb to begin with. As though the Cerebral Assassin hadn't done a piss poor job of leadership by turning a blind eye to everything except outward appearances and the World Heavyweight Championship. As though he hadn't spent the last month driving Elektra out of her mind. But then again, that was the way the Game's mind worked, wasn't it? Triple H was always quick to illuminate the faults of others; he still had yet to turn this malicious perception on himself.
But for the Game to actually have the balls to stand there and glibly demand an apology…the proverbial straw was on the verge of breaking the camel's back, as the saying went. Batista was almost ready to take Triple H out right here and now. Screw the plan; after the crappy day he'd been having, nothing would be more satisfying than hearing the sickening crunch of bone and knowing that he'd broken the Cerebral Assassin's nose. But just as he was about to succumb to this urge; just as he was about to unleash the inner Animal, Elektra's face popped into his mind. Her expression of stoic resoluteness, in the face of all the emotional baggage that she'd been saddled with, reminded him that he was doing this for more than just a gold-and-leather title belt. Right now, Elektra was in a far more vulnerable spot than he was; one that she had allowed herself to be placed in so that the Animal could finally realize his full potential. She had endured the unendurable, all because he had asked her to.
So instead of giving into his emotions, Batista gritted his teeth and resigned himself to playing nice. He would do things the Game's way—for now—rather than let Elektra down. He had to prove that this heartache he was putting them both through was really worth it. Besides, as temporarily satisfying as a quick beat-down on Triple H would be, it could hardly compare to the eventual sense of accomplishment he would feel at beating the Cerebral Assassin at his own dirty game. The picture of that final encounter in his mind was so vivid, he felt as though he could actually reach out and touch the depicted figures, creating a bridge between reality and fantasy. Yeah…that was definitely worth it.
But there was no way that he was apologizing to Triple H.
Batista let his gaze drift over to the Game, feeling a fleeting sense of pleasure at watching his beloved leader back up a step. "Look, Hunter," he growled. "Right now, all I want to do is go out there and destroy someone tonight." The Animal slammed his fist into the palm of his hand; an abrupt movement that made Triple H flinch. "That Rhyno—there's no way he's walking out of Biloxi tonight, let alone taking my spot."
For just a second, irritation flashed across the face of the Game, as he realized that he was not going to get what he wanted: a show of humility from Batista. But just as quickly, the emotion passed, as though it had never been there to begin with. Triple H may have been evil and self-centered and overconfident, but he was not stupid. He knew that the last thing he needed at this particular time was to piss off an already annoyed Animal. Especially when he was so close to regaining the one thing he prized almost as much as life itself: the World Heavyweight Championship.
"All right," the Cerebral Assassin finally relented. "You go out to that ring, and you show everyone, including that whore, why Evolution is Raw." Batista turned to go, but Triple H grabbed his arm, turning him back around. "Oh, and Dave…since you're so confident about your match, how about we make a little friendly wager?" The Game lifted up his other hand, in which a $100 bill had somehow magically appeared. Batista glanced from Triple H to the bill and back again, his face displaying a look of mild interest. The Cerebral Assassin continued. "I've got a hundred dollar bill here that says I can beat your time tonight. How 'bout it?"
Batista had to force himself not to smile. It looked like his evening was finally starting to pick up. Winning an easy $100 off of the Game wouldn't make up for losing Elektra…but it was a start. "You're on," was all he said, unconsciously flexing his biceps.
Triple H grinned, once again secure in his belief that his fellow Evolution members knew their place and that all was right with his world. "Excellent. Just remember, Dave…" The Cerebral Assassin leaned forward, his voice falling to a conspiratorial murmur. "The World Heavyweight Championship is as much a part of Evolution as you or me, and after New Year's Revolution, it's coming back where it belongs." The Game patted his own shoulder, still smiling. "Right here." His eyes bored into Batista's. "So do the right thing, understand?"
Batista's mouth curled into a half-smile, one that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. Without answering, he turned back to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the hallway. As he made his way to the ring entrance, the Animal mused that Triple H's prediction was only half right. The title would be coming back to Evolution…but it would be residing on a very different shoulder.
"And representing Evolution…." Lillian Garcia announced over the customary boos. "Ba-tis-ta!"
The Animal strode down the ramp, ignoring the jeering fans on either side, his attention focused solely on the ring and the opponent within its vivid red ropes. Rhyno was certainly a formidable opponent: almost 300 pounds, tough as hell, and possessing that deadly finisher known only as the Gore. But Batista had something more than just a height and weight advantage. He had a ton of adrenaline and emotion coursing through his veins, honing his senses, feeding the Animal within. More importantly, he had an incentive, a cause to fight for. This wasn't just for the World Title; it was for her. Even though she wasn't at ringside, Batista still felt like she was beside him, cheering him on the way she always had.
Chris Benoit's win over Viscera had placed the new time to beat at a little under six minutes. Batista wasn't worried about beating the clock; he had won his first Tag Team Championship in less time. Nor was he worried about his opponent; as resilent as Rhyno was, the Animal had known from the second he walked out on the Titantron that victory would be his. Batista had nothing against Rhyno personally, but he was going to make an example out of the Man-Beast tonight, sending a clear message to all of his opponents in the Elimination Chamber.
Especially Triple H.
The Animal stepped between the ropes into the ring, sizing up Rhyno, his face expressionless. The Man-Beast shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, arms outstretched, fingers wiggling in anticipation of the starting lock-up. The two men tensed as referee Mike Chioda raised his arm over his head, preparing to call for the bell. Then the three clamorous tones of the ring bell sounded and the two Superstars exploded toward each other, locking up in the center of the ring.
Rhyno was strong; there was no denying that. But with almost no effort, the Animal threw him back into the corner. The Man-Beast hit the turnbuckle post hard, but didn't go down. He stared at Batista with the faintest look of surprise, obviously not expecting such a display of power right out of the blocks. Rhyno went for the lock-up a second time, but again, the Animal tossed him right back into the corner.
Batista began to pace, his features still set in that mask of intimidation. He kept his hands at his sides, his fists opening and closing. Rhyno pulled himself out of the corner, shaking his head quickly to clear away any dizziness. Realizing that he wasn't going to win with wrestling holds, the Man-Beast decided to try and match Batista's power game. He launched himself off the ropes, aiming for a large shoulder take-down. It turned out to be a mistake; the Animal hit him with a devastating clothesline, almost turning Rhyno inside-out.
Batista bent over the fallen Man-Beast. "Come on, Rhyno!" he yelled, his tone taunting. "Is that the best you've got?" Suddenly, without warning, the boundaries of reality shimmered, and the face of Rhyno disappeared, only to be replaced by the sneering countenance of the Game.
Do the right thing, understand?
Batista blinked, backing up a step. He looked again, but the figure getting to his feet in front of him was undeniably Rhyno. The Man-Beast stormed toward the Animal, striking him across the face with a hard slap.
For a moment, Batista felt as though his jaw had been knocked out of joint. He reached up, making sure that it was, indeed, still intact. He glanced up, and realized, just a second too late, that the blow had been a mere distraction, allowing Rhyno to set up for the Gore. The Man-Beast hurled himself at Batista, taking the big man off his feet and driving the air out of his lungs.
A second or two passed, but for the Animal, it felt like an eternity. All he could see was the blinding glare of overhead lights. He didn't know if he could move; just trying to breathe seemed like such a struggle. Batista wondered vaguely if this was it; if his championship dreams were destined to end here, in this ring. But just as he was about to give in, Elektra's voice echoed through his mind.
It'll never be over until he says so. He'll just keep torturing me and punishing me and it'll never stop…
Chioda dropped down to the mat as Rhyno hooked the Animal's leg for the pin. The referee's hand crashed against the canvas. 1…2… The crowd erupted into surprised cheers as Batista jerked his left shoulder off the mat before three. Rhyno sat back on his haunches, his mouth an "O" of surprise, stunned that someone could actually kick out of the Gore. But his initial shock soon passed and the Man-Beast got to his feet, a look of grim determination on his features. He backed into the corner, preparing once again to bum-rush Batista. No one, not even the Animal, could survive a second Gore.
Batista slowly rose back to a standing position. His torso ached, but adrenaline was already starting to override the pain. He felt rather than heard the vibration of boots against canvas. The Animal turned, just in time to see Rhyno racing toward him.
In that instant, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Never before had his senses been so alert, so attuned to his surroundings. He tensed, and as he did so, all of the outside noise vanished, his own voice now reverberating in his ears.
Then I'll make it stop…
In a quick brutal blur of motion, Batista grabbed Rhyno in mid-stride and threw him onto the mat with a massive spinebuster. The Animal leapt back to his feet, roaring. Reaching down and grabbing a handful of hair, he pulled the Man-Beast up in preparation for the Batista Bomb. As he lifted Rhyno up on his shoulders, voices swarmed through his brain, Elektra's and the Game's, weaving a tapestry of sound and memory.
Dave, everything I have—my body…
Never should have brought that little succubus into Evolution…
…My heart…
She drove Orton crazy…
…My soul…
She tried to turn you against me…
...belongs to you…
Do the right thing, Dave…
The right thing…
The right thing…
The force of the Batista Bomb shook the ring.
Batista stood again, glancing at the clock. He was almost surprised to see that only two and a half minutes had gone by. He looked back down at the fallen Rhyno. The Man-Beast had not moved since colliding with the canvas. Common sense dictated that now was the time to get the pin, while Rhyno was still senseless. But Batista remembered Triple H's directive. No matter what had just happened, he still had to pretend that he was a team player. The match was more or less over, unless Batista wanted to ride out the next three minutes waiting for the Man-Beast to regain consciousness. So the least he could do was add an exclamation point to the statement.
"No," he remarked to himself. "No, there's plenty of time." He looked around the arena, knowing that his expression was filled with that relentless intensity that made the other Superstars fear and hate him. "One more!" he bellowed, clenching his fists. Leaning down, he pulled Rhyno back up. It was a bit harder this time; the Man-Beast was little more than 200-plus pounds of dead weight. But the Animal hoisted him over his shoulders yet again for a second sit-down powerbomb, a fragment of memory overtaking him.
I won't let him hurt you again…
Please, Dave, you don't know him…
Maybe he doesn't know me…
The second Batista Bomb was just as thunderous as the first. This time, however, Batista grabbed Rhyno's leg, hooking it for the pin. Chioda's hand hit the mat 1…2…3.
The Biloxi crowd burst into a mixture of cheers and boos as Evolution's music blared out through the speakers. Most of them were still totally against the Animal, but a few, an ever-growing few were starting to see that Batista was going through an evolution of his own, that he was becoming something more than just Triple H's thug.
The Animal got to his feet, letting the referee raise his hand in victory, but all of his focus was on the unconscious Superstar below him. In thirteen days, that figure would be the Game. Batista closed his eyes briefly, wishing that Elektra was there to share this moment with him. "This was for you, baby," he murmured to himself, his lips barely moving.
Batista opened his eyes, looking up at the clock. 3:02. He had blown past Benoit's time. Unless the Cerebral Assassin developed some superpowers in the next half hour, he was going to lose more than his hundred bucks tonight; he was going to lose the coveted final entrance into the Elimination Chamber. The Animal didn't smirk, forced himself not to, but inside, he was grinning from ear to ear.
Top that, Hunter.