Thanks a lot to Reema and Mistress Martin for commenting on my last chapter, because I do actually appreciate comments!
Anyway, here's chapter 6
WARNING, DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING (PARAGRAPH) IF YOU DO NOT WANT ME TO SPOILL A LOT OF THE CHAPTER:
I'd ruin it for everyone who thought Orton and/or Undertaker died last chapter by saying that it was a FLASHBACK, you can't kill off the two people who are having the flashback in their own flashback, it just isn't logical nor possible.
I've discovered there will be a lot more flashbacks in the story too… Great, more italic writing…
Flashback: 14th April, 2005, 10.48pm, Pre-taping of Smackdown, backstage.
The young man pulled down the little hammer of the gun, aiming it right at Orton's torso.
Slowly, a mist began to appear and fill the room, but no one thought anything of it based on how the man with the gun was the main attraction in the room.
With one loud bang it was over.
Everyone was screaming and yelling.
Soon, the mysterious mist seemed to have engulfed the entire room like magic. Visibility was no longer.
With grunts and struggling in the distance, the fog slowly began to disappear almost as quickly as it had come.
Eventually everyone had regained their vision and realised what had just occurred.
Sitting on the floor with his back and head resting on the wall, with a lost and disorientated expression on his face was Randy Orton.
Lying motionless on the tiled floor with a pool of blood around the body was the Undertaker.
Looking around the room for the culprit, the Smackdown wrestlers saw the back door flinging wide open.
'He'd escaped' they all thought.
All of a sudden, they forgot about the boy and ran over to Randy and Undertaker.
"Randy? Randy are you alright?" JBL asked as he shook the Legend Killer.
Dazed, Orton shook the cobwebs out of his head and weakly answered, "I'm fine. W-what about the Undertaker, is he alright?"
Before Bradshaw could answer, just like lightning the Smackdown GM appeared out of nowhere, into the 'crime scene'.
"Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?" The GM checked sounding worried and paranoid.
"The Undertaker is, um… was shot," quivered one of the wrestler feebly. "And Randy is slightly disorientated, everyone else is fine though."
"What? Did you say the Undertaker was shot? Is he alive? Is he alright? Where did he get shot?" Teddy continuously asked as he quickly retrieved his cell phone from his black, cotton pants with small white stripes running down and dialled 911.
"He was protecting Orton." The worried wrestler added on.
"It's my fault." Randy faintly said as he struggled, slowly pulling himself up with the help of JBL. Suddenly, everyone's eyes fell on the frail and disorientated Orton.
"No, Randy it's no one's fault except the SOB who shot Taker," Spat Kurt Angle angrily at the thought of the boy as he sat next to the motionless Undertaker.
Randy knew Kurt was right, but he couldn't help but feel responsible.
"We got him Teddy," a rather large bloke ran in wearing a pearly white smile. "He's in the Arena's barred security cell. We've searched him too; all he had was a mobile and a hand gun. His name is Trey Parser (A/N: Named after the South Park creator, Trey Parker. Ok, I love South Park and I felt that I would put something in this story to 'honour' it, if you actually call calling a hit man after a T.V. show creator, honour), he's a nineteen year old college student. He apparently was offered a certain amount of cash from an anonymous person to take out Orton and anyone who got in the way. Oh, that reminds me, the hand gun was missing a single bullet so that means someone is critically injured, or has been k –" he stops. His eyes had met with the motionless Undertaker on the floor. Suddenly a look of grief and dispar had come over the man's smiling face he had had when he came in with the news of catching the culprit. His eyes slowly started swell up with tears. His cheeks became flushed. He was obviously fighting off the tears with all his might. The wrestlers could only guess that Taker and the guy were friends.
"What? One bullet, but I thought I heard two shots. One was fired at the Undertaker and the other was just a fraction after the mist." One of the wrestlers pointed out, followed by everyone else agreeing.
The large man wiped his eyes and put his emotions and feelings behind him.
"That loud bang, the second one, was us bashing down the door," the buff large man replied. "And the mist was us too, we had to reduce the room's visibility so we'd have a better chance capturing him," showing the wrestlers a pair of night vision goggles.
"But how did you know about the boy?"
"There was a silent alarm that was set off when he entered backstage," slightly smiled the man. "But obviously we didn't get here in time to save Mark." The man added on grimly, a small, silver tear slipped down the man's rough cheek onto the floor.
One of the wrestlers beside the Undertaker stood up, "Hey, he's still breathing, he could be fine. He will be fine," corrected the wrestler trying to comfort the man, "We haven't found the bullet hole in the shirt yet, and the blood has soaked through everything pretty evenly so we don't really know where the bullet went. For all we know, it could have passed right through Taker, missing everything."
The next thing that everyone heard were ear piercing sirens of an ambulance and a police car.
"Looks like they're here." Teddy calm said showing everyone to the exit of the arena, towards the direction of the sirens.
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14th April, 2005, 11.39pm, The City's Private Hospital.
After getting the 'ok' to leave the hospital, Randy decided to visit the Undertaker before he left.
Orton was so relieved that the Undertaker was fine. He had only been shot in his left shoulder; the bullet passed through the shoulder, missing everything, the pain had just knocked him out. The doctors said after a few days his arm would be good new. It was just splendid news. All the guilt had just floated away.
(A/N: I know I made it slightly cheesy, people don't often pass out from being shot in the should)
"Hey Taker, how's your arm?"
"It's been better," Mark winced looking down at his injured limb.
"Don't worry; I'm sure you'll live. I've just spoken to your doctor. He said you'll most likely be let out tomorrow based on your progress."
"Great!" Mark exclaims in enthusiasm, "Less time in here, more time with you," he smiled warmly.
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15th April, 2005, 2.46pm, Stacy Keibler's small unit.
"Yes, it's Stacy here. I don't know if Randy is still here, how should I know? Fine! I'll phone him, jeeze, I shouldn't have to do this. Ok, I'll call you back in five."
She hangs up her hotel phone and goes through her mobile's phone book until she finds Orton's number. One by one, she copies his number into the hotel phone and presses the call button.
"Hello? Randy is that you? Yes, this is Stacy. How dare you talk to me in that manner? Excuse me? What do I want? Well I want many things Mr Orton. I was just seeing if you had payed the price yet for insulting me. Hey! It's a gradual and patient plan. Shut up!"
She slams down the phone in frustration and redials her friend.
"Yeah, it's me. No. He's still here. Why did you want me to find that out? What do you mean he should be sleeping with the fishes? What do you mean you thought he should have been six feet under by now? What do you mean you're going to fire that hit man? What do you – Oh my god! No, no, no, I didn't want you to take care of him that way. No! I don't want you to kill him! I wanted him to suffer. Just make his life hell. No, no killing! Lure him to my apartment so we can beat the crap out of him or something like that. Be creative."
She hangs up the phone shaking her head. "No one understands me around here."
(A/N: See? She's not evil. She's just misunderstood… and annoying.)
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15th April, 2005, 6.37pm, The City's Private Hospital.
"Sorry about that, we were actually meant to release you a couple hours ago, but, well, the code blue kind of made us forget about you based on how the massive accident require the high majority of the staff to revive the patients and inform the relatives." The apologetic doctor utters to the Undertaker and Randy Orton from behind the desk.
"No problems, hope I haven't been too much of a hassle for you all," laughed Mark.
"No, no, not at all, have a safe trip and well, normally I'd say hope to see you again, but because we are in a hospital, ha, umm, well I don't really want to see you again, well not here," The doctor replies trying to make a joke, which failed miserably. Looking at the Undertaker and Orton's non-entertained facial expression, he quickly got a nurse walking by to show them out.
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15th April, 2005, 6.58pm, on the road to Orton's hotel room.
Sitting at a red light in Randy Orton's silver Mercedes-Benz convertible, the Undertaker was watching Randy intently.
"What?" Randy Orton said as he glanced at Taker, releasing his firmly gripped hand from the steering wheel, waiting for the lights to change.
"Oh, nothing, don't worry about it." Mark replied calmly.
"No seriously, what are you looking at?" He repeated himself.
"Just you," The Undertaker smiled.
Shaking his head, laughing softly, "What makes me so interesting?"
"Where do I begin – Wait. Oh my God!" Mark suddenly stopped talking.
"What?"
"Shh, listen." Hushed the Undertaker.
"I don't here anything apart from the radio."
"Exactly! Shut up and listen to the radio idiot." Rolling his eyes, Taker added on, "It's playing 'You're Beautiful' by James Blunt."
"So?"
"So? That was the song that always played through my head every time I saw you until we 'got together'. Listen to the lyrics, only, just swap the gender of a few words and that's basically how I felt about you," The Undertaker smiled, swaying his head, listening to the song.
(A/N: I felt like adding that song to the story only because I was listening to it at the time and felt like I could use it to describe emotions. Personally, the song is alright, rather nice.)
"Right, shall we be off then?" Orton asked as the lights turned green.
"Mmm," The Undertaker replied still swaying to the music.
Revving the engine, Orton and the Undertaker sped off in the direction of Randy's hotel room in the heart of the city.
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16th April, 2005, 6.16am, Orton's hotel room.
As the sun finally started shine through the delicate white curtains of the small hotel room, Undertaker and Randy were awoken to a consent knocking on the front door. Slowly arising from the main bedroom's double bed, Orton reluctantly answered the door. There in front of him were two masked men. They both had a black balaclava on, therefore concealing their identity. They were about six foot six, six foot seven, just a bit taller than Randy.
Looking at the two, Randy couldn't help but instinctively say "What the h –" but before Orton could finish his 'instinctive phrase', the masked men reached into the door way, grabbing Orton and pulled him into the hall way. Before Randy could fight back or even scream for help or assistance, one of the large men had a cloth with several stains over Randy's nose and mouth. The cloth was moist and had a strong scent of… Chloroform.
'Oh crap! They are knocking me out' was the only thing that was going through his head.
Then, it all went black.
That's Chapter 6
Yay! Seven pages! Even though 7 pages isn't that long…
I hope you enjoyed it.
I'll try to update it ASAP, but I can't make any promises being holidays and all.
Nether the less, please comment/
Oh, and I haven't really proof read it properly so there could be a few (hundred) minor errors.