WWE belongs to Vince McMahon. Unfamiliar characters belong to me.

I want to thank Superpsych96 for helping me bounce ideas around.

Drug references and mild language warning.

He sprinted down the alley, hopped over a chain-linked fence, landed on his feet, and kept running. Arriving at a fork, he peeled to the left, nearly slamming into the wall. Coming to the end of the alley, Jeff was ready to book it across the street, until a smiling man stepped in front, aiming a gun. He skidded to a halt, panting as tires were screeching to their position. He looked over his shoulder and the way was clear, but a bullet in the back sounded unpleasant. He looked back at his ex-coworker, knowing false promises weren't going to work. "AJ. Just let me go, man," he pleaded, catching his breath. "You can say you lost me."

AJ Styles chuckled. "Hell no! What the hell are you thinking?" He was from Georgia, but was one of those odd ones that came to the wasteland after the Blast. Well, more like his old boss forgot to take his lackey with while fleeing the wasteland. "Well, clearly you weren't when you stole that scrap!"

A black, rusty car screeched to a halt at the curb behind the gunman.

The back door opened and a tall man dressed in a black, leather trench coat and broad-rimmed hat slowly stepped out; closing the door. His black hair went passed his shoulders and pale, death-like eyes were locked on the runaway. "Hardy, Hardy, Hardy," he lowly growled, approaching him. "Running away again?"

"Undertaker," Jeff mused. His hazel eyes glanced at AJ, who kept the gun locked on him. "If I had only known it was you–"

"Don't lie. Not to me." The Undertaker deeply inhaled. "Where's my scrap?"

"Ah…working on it?"

"'Working on it.'" The Undertaker slowly nodded, turning away. "Right…." He gestured to Styles to lower the gun and delivered a fist to the side of the thief's head; knocking the younger man to the ground. He roughly picked up the thief by the jacket, slamming his back against the wall. "Now. How many pounds do you owe me?" His voice was dangerously calm.

Jeff pretended to try to remember. "Wasn't it like…fifty or something?"

AJ scoffed. "This guy…."

The Undertaker grabbed Jeff by the neck, methodically unholstered a gun at his hip with the free hand, clicked off the safety, and pointed it at the thief's face. "How much?"

Jeff feebly grabbed at his ex-boss' sleeve, staring passed the gun's barrel into eyes that were like death itself. "150," he croaked.

The Undertaker grunted in amusement. "Always trying to weasel your way out of things, aren't you, Jeff? You've been a pain in the ass to get ahold of and put me through a lot of trouble just to find you. You make things much harder than they really need to be because of that, Jeff, you owe me 250." He tilted his head in disapproval. "For two years I trusted you. I let you go when you wanted. Eight months later, you came back. I trusted you and you stole from me. If it wasn't for what you owe me, I would put you down right now."

"'Taker." He kept eye contact, trying to ignore the gun in his face. "My brother was dying. I was desperate."

"The only reason I believe that is because when it comes to your brother, you're honest to God. Unfortunately, you stole from me. Ran from me. Avoided me. All in one month. You have a week. Thursday at noon. Not a minute later. You give me 250 pounds or your brother gets a grave."

The blood drained from Jeff's face and eyes grew. He desperately grabbed the Undertaker's arm. "Not my brother. Don't kill my brother! He doesn't know that about any of this! Kill me inst– Ack!" He feebly tried to pry the Undertaker's tightening fingers from his throat.

The Undertaker didn't blink nor break eye contact. "AJ."

"Yeah, boss?"

"Find Matthew Hardy and kill him."

"10-4!" The lackey spun to the car, holstering his gun.

"Deal!" Jeff croaked a scream. "It's a deal!" He was roughly released. Leaning against the wall for support, he rubbed his neck, and stared up at the crime lord. "250," he gasped. "Thursday. Noon. Not a minute later. I promise."

"Promise that to your brother. Not to me." He glared a warning of death before returning to the car with Styles following.

The car drove way.

Jeff bowed his head; taking deep breaths, whispering, "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Having no choice, he continued his way home. 150 pounds is now 250 and he had a week or Undertaker kills Matt. Perfect. Wonderful. He shoved his hands in his pockets. How the hell was he going to tell his brother without scaring him into a panic or having him get pissed? If he hadn't wasted the scrap he embezzled from the King of Sacramento, he would have had enough scrap to take care of Matt when needed! If he had saved a few hundred, then he wouldn't have stolen– He shoved the thought of his head. What was done was done and that's how it was. The conversation and his brother's rightful reaction were unavoidable.

The cloudy sky was beginning to darken, but it was not promising rain just yet to every wastelanders' relief. The rundown streets with houses boarded up here and there always made Jeff's heart heavy with memories. The city used to be a regular city until the Blast happened 22 years ago. A power plant blew in New Mexico, creating a radioactive radius that was bigger than expected and Los Angeles became Los Diablos. It angered him that his father decided to leave North Carolina and for what? There was no reason for them to leave and what made it worse was that his father regretted the move. Even before the Blast.

Arriving at a brown house with chipping paint and rotting front door, Jeff stopped and stared at it. For three years he lived here with Matt because his brother was trying to help him. With a heavy sigh, he walked to the door and stepped inside. "Hey, man." He closed the door.

"Hey," Matt greeted, laying on the couch in the living room with his nose in a book that he probably read countless times. He looked at him, then did a double take, arching a brow. "You look like you went for a run. I thought you were doing another mural. Where's your bag?"

He almost forgot about the bag. Well, spray paint isn't exactly a priority when one is running for their life. "Uh, I dropped it." He walked in the living room, collapsing into a tattered arm chair facing the backdoor. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at this brother.

"What do you mean you dropped it? You just dropped it and decided it was gone forever?" Matt sat up straight, setting the book on the other end of the couch.

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. "No, not exactly. So…I…Matt." He exhaled, dropping his hand with fingers loosely interlocked. "Man, there's something I gotta tell you. You know the Undertaker?"

"Yeah?" Matt slowly replied.

He stared at the backdoor. "Well, I may owe him a few pounds."

Matt deeply inhaled, rubbing his face.

"And he wants his scrap back by next Thursday." He gingerly looked at him.

"What's 'a few'?" His voice was muffled by his palms.

"250."

He dropped his hands, dark eyes wide and locked on him. "2-250? 250! We can barely afford to survive and now you owe The Undertaker 250 pounds of scrap? How? How did you get close enough to The Undertaker? How did you come into owing him scrap? Did you borrow from him and just never returned it?"

"Now, when you say borrow…."

"You stole from a crime lord?" His voice was getting louder and higher.

"It was supposed to be 150, but the bastard cranked it up to 250." He leaned back with crossed arms.

Matt stared at him, trying to process the information. "You better tell me everything. Right now. I want to know how you got close to The Undertaker. Did you kill someone? Is that what you're gonna tell me next?"

"What? No! I'm not a hitman nor a murderer." He casually shrugged, looking away. "I smuggled in drugs and dealt…." Feeling his brother's deathly glare, he gingerly looked at him and was convinced his brother was mentally murdering him. "We needed to survive somehow, Matt! And it's the wasteland. It's not exactly illegal."

Matt stared at him with large, internally screaming eyes. "Oh, no. You're right. It's perfectly fine since we live in a lawless wasteland." He pointed at him, jumping to his feet. "That's where you disappeared to! All those times when I was wondering where the hell my brother was, you were smuggling in drugs? Was your addiction that bad that you had to work for a crime lord?"

Jeff stood up. "No! Matt! Here's what happened: Three years ago, I met Undertaker after a match. He was a fan and we started talking. Then he offered me a job as a dealer. I was going to refuse, but the pay was too good to pass up." He rubbed the back of his neck, adverting his gaze. "I did one night and he gave me fifty pounds. I thought I could do both– wrestling and dealing. Then I started using, missing matches…. Jonathan fired me, so I kept working for 'Taker for two years." (Not to mention embezzling from the King of Sacramento last year, but hey, one heart attack at a time for the older brother, right?)

His brother stepped back, pointing at him. "I want to punch you in the face. We lost our jobs because not only did you have a severe addiction, but you dedicated your time to a crime lord?"

"Actually, I did." He pointed at him. "You quit to help me." He dropped his hand, bowing his head. "Which I am grateful for…."

"You're right."

Jeff looked at him and he looked like he had the energy sucked out of him.

"It is the wasteland. None of this should be a surprise. It's anarchy. It's survival." Matt looked away. "It's our life. Either you survive, starve to death, or you give up and hope it'll be over soon." He bowed his head. "Take your pick…."

Jeff wanted to apologize, but that would be useless if he failed by the end of the week. He deeply inhaled. "You saved my life, Matt. I left Undertaker because of you and you helped me at my lowest. I left because if I did die, you would never had known. You would have thought that I just upped and abandoned you or something." He dropped his gaze. "If I hadn't left 'Taker, I'd still be a wreck that I was." He swallowed down a knot, taking steady breaths; forcing himself to lie one more time. "But if I don't give him the scrap by next Thursday…he's going to kill me, Matt."

His brother deeply inhaled. "This…is a lot to take in."

"Maybe…we can go back to Jona–"

"He won't take us back."

Jeff looked at him.

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, turning away. "I left…everything for you. Now you tell me that you gave everything up for scrap? From a crime lord?" He glared at him. "Smuggled in drugs, dealt– I struggled to help get you clean in a damn wasteland, but how can you get clean when it was your damn job?" He shouted, fire returning to his eyes. "Now, you stole from a crime lord who runs half the city?"

"Matt, I–"

"There is no way in hell we– you– can get 250 pounds of scrap in a week!"

"That's why I need–"

"Help?"

Jeff froze, blood chilling in his veins.

Matt shook his head, walking passed him.

He turned to him. "Where are you going?"

"Out." Matt plucked the keys off the counter on the way to the front door.

"Matt, wai–"

The door already closed.

Jeff wanted to yank his hair out. "It's not my life on the line, Matt!" his seethed. Since the garage door had to be manually opened, he had time to go after him, but the last thing he wanted to do was blurt out that confession. What would he have left to lose at that point? His brother's loyalty? Well, if Matt found out it was his own life on the line and not his younger brother's then, yes. Probably. Most likely. One thing for certain, Jeff wasn't going to lose his brother one way or another. It was going to be a pain in the ass to walk, but he had to talk to Jonathan Macowitts, owner of Wasteland Wrestling. He walked out of the house, closed the door behind just as the Jeep drove out of the driveway.

After a half hour walk, Jeff entered the abandoned plaza with a condemned gym that had boards covering the windows and glass doors. For the first time in three years, a rush flowed through his veins. How he had missed standing on those ropes with the roaring crowd. It was an escape from reality for everyone in that stadium. He and his brother should have gone back sooner. Hell, they should have never had left to begin with. Upon opening the door, Jeff was greeted with musty and muggy air. Somethings never change. He walked through the gym to the back where the offices were. Finding the correct door, he stopped, took a breath, then knocked.

"Who the hell is it?" A man barked.

"An old friend?" Jeff innocently smiled.

"…Who?"

He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. "It's Jeff Hardy."

There was movement on the other side and the door opened to a short, older man with pale eyes that stared into his soul. He still wore old slacks and white dress shirts– always trying to look professional even in the wasteland. "Get out." The door was slammed in his face.

Jeff kept knocking. "Jonny! C'mon, Jonny.… Jooonnnyyy." He stopped knocking. "I will kick this door down."

The door opened again with the boss glaring up at him. "What the hell do you want?"

"A second chance. For my brother, too."

Jonathan folded his arms. "So in that case, not only will I get one, but two has-beens? Ha! No way in hell."

"Jonny," he genuinely began. "I know I screwed up, but things are better and we really want to come back, and yes, I am speaking for Matt, too."

The owner of Wasteland Wrestling thoughtfully nodded; folding his arms. "You know…you two were one of the best tag teams I had." He glared at him. "Until your ass nearly cost me!"

"I've been clean for almost a year. Please, just–"

He laughed. "Clean? In Los Diablos?" He laughed again. "Oh, that's a good one!" His smile vanished as his burning gaze bore into Jeff's soul. "I'm not blowing scrap on you and your brother again! I don't care if you started it! Hell, Matt could be the one standing here instead and I'd still tell him to beat it, so beat it!" He stepped back and slammed the door.

Jeff stood there, computing what just happened. Jonathon Macowitts was a notorious hothead and cheapskate through his employees, but this was ridiculous. Yes, he screwed up, but Matt too? He left to help his younger brother. If anything, Matt should be the one to get his job back.

"Having trouble with ol' Maco?"

He looked down the hall to two approaching women who almost seemed polar opposites.

One looked to be five-foot even with a cheerful grin, shining blue eyes, and long, blonde hair. Her clothes were simple jeans and faded-pink shirt. The other woman was a few inches taller; long, darker blonde hair; and striking, amber eyes. She wore black and white camouflage cargo pants; a short, red shirt; and boots.

Jeff blinked. "Uh, a little?" He waved a hand, shaking his head. "It's fine."

"Wait." The shorter woman crossed her arms. She leaned forward, staring up at him with knitted brows and questioning, blue eyes. "You look…familiar." Her eyes flew open. "Hardy. You're Jeff Hardy!"

Jeff chuckled. "Glad to see I'm not completely forgotten."

She grinned. "Are you kidding? If anyone forgot the Hardy Boyz, I'd say they have radiation problems. I'm Alexa Bliss and this my best friend," she threw her arm over the other woman's shoulders, "Riley Voss."

Riley snapped a finger gun with a smile. "G'day."

"I used to go to your shows all the time!" Alexa beamed, releasing her friend. "Are you coming back to WW?"

Jeff scoffed, crossing his arms. "I was trying to, but Jonny made it clear that me nor my brother are welcomed back."

The two women exchanged cunning smirks.

Riley looked at him with mischievous eyes. "We got it, mate." Her Australian accent was thick, but she looked young. At least around his age at mid-thirties. There was no way she had to have lived here since the Blast with that accent.

Jeff blinked as they walked passed him to the office. He turned, watching.

Alexa knocked.

"Jeff, I swear–" The door opened. "Oh, it's you." He glared at Jeff. "And you."

"Let the Hardy Boyz back in."

The boss locked on her. "What?"

"You heard her." Riley folded her arms, shifting her weight to one leg.

"Oh, really?" Jonathan shot a warning between the ladies. "You two can vouch for this has-been and supposedly his brother too?" A hand shot up. "And, before you say anything, I don't want them because someone nearly cost me my reputation!" He glared murder at the man.

Jeff smirked. "You had a reputation?"

The boss growled.

He frowned. "Yes, I screwed up, but I am clean. I speak for Matt when I say we both miss it back here and we'll be at the top of our game. We'll kick ass just like we used to."

"Touching. However, I didn't miss your coked-out ass or your brother!"

Jeff's eyes fell into unamused slits.

"Hey!" Alexa stepped forward, earning their attention. "Give them another shot! Riley and I saw them first hand at what they can do. They still have it!"

"Too right!" Riley stated. "Laid out four guys, they did! There was a bit of a tussle back at the bar, but they took care 'em."

"And before you jump to conclusions, the other guys started it and the boys finished it."

"Oh, really." Jonathon was not buying it.

"Yep!" the Aussie replied. "Four guys and two with knives. It was a real doozy. Lexi and I saw the whole thing. Matt dropped-kicked a guy."

"Jeff Twist of Fated another."

"Honestly, ya should've seen it. They might as well been in a ring."

Jeff was relieved that Jonathan didn't know about his alcoholism to question, but he was impressed with that lie.

The boss was about to open his mouth.

"So, really, Jon," Alexa began with a smile, questioning the man's sanity, "are you really going to let someone like the Hardy Boyz walk away that easily?"

Jonathan stared at the ladies. "I– Uh– I–" His gaze drifted to Jeff. "Fine! You and you brother are back in, but I swear if you two– any of you two– screw up again, I am going to kick your asses personally!"

The three wrestlers struggled to bite their tongues.

"Thanks, Jonny." Jeff grinned. "I won't let you down, boss."

"You two will have a show tomorrow at eight," the owner growled. "Start training!" He slammed the door in their faces. After a few seconds he opened the door, gingerly holding a pouch of scrap to Alexa. "…Your payment…."

The young woman beamed, taking it, singing: "Thank you!"

The door closed again.

Jeff busted up laughing as the two woman spun around with proud smiles. He clapped his hands together. "That was pretty damn impressive sharp-thinking! Thank you so much!"

"Aw, don't sweat it," Alexa proudly chirped, then giggled. "It'll be great to work with the Hardy Boyz." She gestured between herself and Riley. "We're the Sanguine Wanderers."

Jeff blinked, crossing his arms. "No kidding. I heard of you two. A winning streak lately, yeah?"

"Too right!" Riley grinned. "Six times in a row."

Alexa giggled. "And we plan on making it seven tomorrow."

Jeff smirked. "So it sounds like we'll see each other tomorrow, then."

"Yep!"

"Sounds like a plan. Well, I hate to cut this short, but I have to find my brother and tell him the news. See you two tomorrow and it was nice meeting you."

"Yeah! It was nice meeting you too!"

"See ya!" Riley smiled.

Jeff tuned and walked out of the gym. Now it was time to find Matt. The only place he could think of was at the Rusted Nail, but that was another mile walk and if he wasn't there, then that would be an annoying amount of time wasted. He was just going to head home and hope Matt was going to either be home or eventually come home. They had work ahead of them.