May 7th, 5:30 PM: Highway to Omaha.
Driving in the Midwest is no fun, Brian thought to himself as his rental Ford Taurus puttered down the highway. Today his emotions were a mixed bag. He could have struck out 20 if he had managed to not curse out the umpire. Such were the evils of emotions. As Brian drove along in his semi-conscious state, he suddenly noticed a big black 18-wheeler pulling up behind him.
It seemed innocent enough, but a quick glance at the front end of it as it started passing revealed that it was quite banged up - and there was a Chrysler emblem embedded in the grill! Brian put 2 and 2 together and got 4, which didn't help the situation at all, but then he got the brains to hit the brakes. As he did, the truck sped up. Now stopped, Brian was wondering what it was hoping to accomplish.
When the truck was half a mile down the road, he got his answer. Suddenly, it fishtailed out to the right and the trailer doors opened as it swung across the highway lanes. Four motorcycles and two jet black Crown Victorias filed out and started heading towards Brian as the semi truck completed its 180 and sped towards him as well.
Faced with such a situation, Brian did what any respectable, brave man would do: he ran the ---- away. He quickly turned the car around and punched it, but the anemic Taurus motor wasn't willing to respond. By the time he got up to speed, a motorcycle was already bearing down on him. To make matters worse, a thunderstorm was on the horizon. It didn't look like a happy one, either.
Brian drove off the road and turned the Taurus around while in the underbrush, coming back on the road behind the Sinister Seven and ran for dear life. Of course, they caught on to his scheme quite quickly and followed suit.
Now faced again with a motorcycle on the side, Brian feigned a ram to disconcert the driver. The motorcyclist wobbled, but took a "i'll take you down with me" attitude and tried to draw a Uzi before falling, and failed. He hit the ground hard and a Victoria giving chase - well, we'll just leave those details out. A cycle pulled ahead of him, and the two others were on the sides - a classic box-in maneuver, Brian thought, but it wasn't too smart to do that on a motorcycle against a car. He wiggled the car to the right, and to the left, and two more cyclists took a spill.
Through all of this, the semi truck was following at a medium distance, seemingly content not to press an attack. But now the two Victorias backed off and the semi rumbled up to the challenge. Despite his best efforts, Brian was unable to pull away. At approximately 20 feet behind him, though, the semi stopped advancing. What's he doing, Brian thought.
Then two machine guns opened up from the fenders and it was clear.
May 7th, 5:45 PM: Highway to Omaha
His first instinct was to duck, although that's not really too smart if you're driving. He swerved out of the way as the truck opened fire. They were like gatling guns on full spin. The bullets absolutely shredded the motorcyclist that was still in front of him before he swerved. Now the truck changed lanes to follow him.
Just as he was preparing to meet his maker, however, an orange and blue sedan pulled up alongside the truck and a white guy wearing sunglasses, appearing to be 35ish, popped out of the sunroof and produced an assault rifle, which he promptly unloaded into the side engine bay of the truck. Flames erupted from the side of the truck, but as a gunshot wound only angers a beast, the truck only grew more determined in its attacks. It tried to ram the orange and blue sedan as the man reloaded and shot out the truck's front right tire.
The truck still didn't let up, and sprayed bullets all over the road in a mad blitz to try and complete its objective. Somehow, the truck started accelerating and pulled up alongside Brian's Taurus to strike a direct blow, but Brian again heard rifle fire and the truck backed off with sparks flying from the disabled machine gun. The man in the sunroof dropped the rifle and disappeared into the car for a second before popping back up with two submachine guns. Behind him, one of the black Victorias tried to sneak a friendly nudge, but the man turned around and shot up the car but good, and it flew off the road. Another orange and blue sedan pulled up on the left side of the truck, and this time a big black man towered from the sunroof.
He promptly decorated the left side of the truck with bullets, and for the first time the truck faltered, its big diesel engine seizing for a second before restarting and again roaring with its former fury. It tried to ram the car on the right, then the left, but both cars paralleled its attacks. The driver of the truck kicked open the door and tossed a grenade at the car on the left, which bounced harmlessly off the car and ended up exploding underneath the trailer, blowing off the back two axles.
Now faced with several tons of dead weight, the driver cut the trailer loose, its wreckage scattering all over the road. The car on the left pulled up alongside Brian and the man in the sunroof yelled to him "Back off!". He did, and the truck driver, now preoccupied with the two orange and blue sedans, didn't seem to notice. A lightning bolt flashed in the sky and rain began to pour. Both men in the sunroofs retreated back into their cars, which had little hatches in the windows for pointing weapons out of. The truck was clearly wounded and wouldn't last much longer, but the driver was intent on squeezing every ounce of life from it. As they approached a cliff, the car on the right backed off to get behind the truck and cross over to the left side.
Now both cars opened fire on the truck, shredding both left rear wheels and sending it veering from side to side. One swerve too many, and the truck tore through the guardrail and began the long plummet to its doom. Brian stopped his car and observed. The truck hit the ground and disintegrated in a massive explosion. A little too massive. When the dust settled, Brian noticed that the truck was completely missing. A weird humming noise caught his attention. He looked up to see the cab of the former truck hovering in the air via the assistance of six mini-rocket engines where the wheels had once been.
What the HELL?
Brian stared in amazement at the flying truck. By the time he regained his wits about him, a military chopper flew up behind the truck. A rocket from a launcher flew towards the truck, but it bounced off. Lightning flashed in the sky once more as the truck unfurled two fresh gatling guns from the side hoods. Brian dove behind a rock as the truck and helicopter simultaneously opened fire on the two orange and blue cars who were now parked down a ways on the road. The bullets richoeted harmlessly off the cars' bulletproof exteriors.
The truck hovered over to the cliff road, and traded its hoverpods for traditional wheels again, apparently having gotten a second wind. Behind it, reinforcements in the form of black Victorias drove up. The truck's big diesel revved and it charged towards the two cars, with its new entourage. The cars remained still. Lightning flashed once again as the truck continued its bullcharge. Still, the cars did not move. As it drew near, the truck produced a rocket launcher from its sleeper cab and fired. One car blew up as the truck ran over another one.
Brian shrank. Why didn't they do anything? Didn't they notice the truck coming at them? As the truck driver sat gloating over his victory, a rocket flew over his head at the helicopter. It noticed it coming and ducked to the side, following the smoke trail to the point of origin. Nothing there. As the truck driver was watching this with interest, he heard his passenger side door open and turned around. The last thing he saw was the barrel of a Magnum pistol.
The big black man kicked the driver's body out of the truck. He investigated the dashboard, and found his mark. He pushed the button and the truck's wheels folded up and hoverpods took their place. Always a good sportsman, he fired a warning shot at the helicopter to warn him that the tables have been turned. The helicopter turned around, and there was a three-second period as the pilot registered what had happened, and at the same time the truck and helicopter started perforating each other with lead. The truck side-stepped and launched a missile at the helicopter. It tried to avoid it, but it was caught on the tail and spun down to earth, meeting a fiery end. The man landed the truck and turned it off, smiling at himself for what he'd just accomplished.
In the silence, though, he heard muffled crying from the sleeper cab.
As the fury of the 15-second battle which had just taken place finished registering itself in Brian's mind, he saw the man in the truck jump out with a girl in his arms. She looked a little familiar... Hmmmm... Light brown hair, green ey - STACY!
Brian lept up from his hiding place and started scrambling towards the two. Upon seeing him, the man suddenly drew a submachine gun in a state of overcaution, but when he saw who was running, he put it away. When Brian ran up, he handed Stacy off and inwardly smiled at the scene. Stacy had passed out, from a combination of relief and exhaustion. When Brian looked up to thank him, the man was gone. After carrying her back to the Taurus, Brian started it up again, shook his head to clear the thoughts of the melee that had just occured, and got back on the road.
After about 15 minutes, Stacy regained consciousness and sat up.
"Have a nice sleep?" Brian asked.
"You always were an -------," Stacy said in reply.
They shared a good laugh.
Five hundred feet behind the Taurus, a black Victoria was maintaining a stealthy tail.
"Are we ready?" his gunman asked.
"Yes. Yes we are."
The gunman leaned out the window and fired off a rocket.
The Taurus ahead of them exploded. Job well done.
Date unknown, time unknown: Location unknown
A bright white flash. Brian closed his eyes to block out the light and opened his eyes to see a nurse. He shook his head and looked around. He was in a hospital. His first thought was not for his own physical condition.
"Is Stacy ok?"
"That girl who was with you? Yes, she's fine. She was blown clear by the initial explosion and landed in some brush. A scratch here and a bruise there, but she's mostly fine.
Relief. Having established that his significant other was ok, his next question was obvious.
"What about me?"
"Well, you've lost a bunch of cartilage in your right knee. It'll be fine given a leg brace and some time to settle down."
"How long is 'some time'?"
"Oh, a couple of days."
Brian would live to pitch again!
--------------------------------------------
May 9th, 2005, 3:30 PM: Omaha Royals stadium.
Step.
"Ow."
Step.
"Ow."
Step.
"Ow."
Walking for Brian had become exponentially more difficult since the explosion on his way here. He had lost most, if not all, of the mobility in his right knee. He tossed a couple of cautionary pitches, and although it hurt a bit, his filthy stuff was not all that affected by his condition. The benefit of not being a creature of habit, he thought to himself. He did not adhere strictly to a single type of pitch delivery, enabling him to change based on the situation, and because of this, a single disruption in the routine did not bring the whole enchilada crashing down a-la Aaron Heilman. Unfortunately, now his prospects of playing in the DH-less National League had all but disappeared, in all likelyhood.
Denton, who hadn't gotten much sleep since Brian's disappearance, nearly hit the moon when he walked onto the field to take some grounders and saw Brian pitching. He could have kissed him. In a manly, purely heterosexual way, of course. Of course. Er... Of course. Ahem. Let's get on with the story.
After the initial shock, the feeling was rage. Denton walked up and shoved Brian in the shoulder.
"What the ---- were you thinking? You were supposed to be ----ing here four ----ing days ago!"
"I know that Denton. Transportation difficulties."
Denton nodded and smiled. Then his expression turned sour again and he pushed Brian again.
"Transportation difficulties my skinny white ass. You said that the last time. Tell me, Brian, are you really dedicated to your baseball career?"
"As much as you are."
"Then why do you insist on reporting late to every single promotion that we've earned?"
"Listen, if I explained it to you, you wouldn't believe it."
"Try me."
May 9th, 2005, 5:45 PM: Local restaurant.
"I don't believe it."
"I told you."
Brian had just wrapped up telling the facts of life to Denton, hovering truck and all.
"I have a question, Brian."
"What?"
"Have you been smokin' the ganja too much?"
Brian glowered at Denton. "You know I don't do drugs."
Denton raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, it was a joke, ok."
Stacy entered the resturant and sat down at the booth with Brian and Denton.
"Stacy, you're about 20 minutes late. What happened?" Brian asked.
"Transportation difficulties."
Brian and Denton both flopped forward and hit their heads on the table.
"What? The rental car agency wouldn't sign off on the car because they thought my insurance was fake."
Brian sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "Alright, now that we're all assembled, I believe it's time we went to the ballpark."
It was time to pitch.
------------------------------------------------
May 10th, 2005, 2:30 PM: Location unknown.
Bill: And in Omaha Royals news, Brian appeared like a bolt from the blue from a disappearance, sporting a new right knee brace and a modified delivery, but still threw 8.2 innings of near-perfect ball before he was lifted for the closer to get the save.
Kory: Why didn't they just leave Brian in? It was only one more out.
Bill: You'd have to ask the O-Roys' skipper on that.
Kory: O-Roys?
Bill: Shut up.
Kory: Hahahaha - TV shuts off
The Boss turned off his TV, sighed, and suddenly tossed the remote at the TV with such velocity that it shattered in a shower of sparks. Happy? No, certainly not.
His understudy was the subject of his wrath.
"You! This is YOUR failure, here! You said that you would take care of him, and yet here he is capturing even more hearts! Do you know how many people are going to be suspicious if a major leaguer disappears?"
"Boss, I simply ordered the attack. I had no reason to believe that it would fail."
"The next time you fail, YOU DIE."
The understudy was taken aback.
"Yes, sir, but I highly doubt that there will be a repeat failure. I brought in a little extra assistance in getting rid of Brian this time."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Meet General Carville."
Carville entered the room. He was a hard man to miss, six foot six and 290 lbs of pure rough-and-tumble Texan. He had commanded Allied forces in the war against the Soviets in the late 1970's, during which he was apparently killed but brought back to life by a prolapse in the time stream. At the end of the Soviet War, he was replaced by an obscure commander whose name was not widely known but whose commanding abilities were second-to-none. Since then, he had become a mercenary, offering his superior military tact to the highest bidder. His only policy was never to sell his services to the Reds.
"Greetin's, Boss. You need a job done?"
"Yes, I do. I have a pain in the rear that I need eliminated. His name is Brian Hughes."
"Ah, yeah, that baseballey guy that's always in the news? Well, I got a plan for ya. This is guaranteed to kill him deader than a Texas armadilleh."
He opened his briefcase and unfurled papers.
"My god. This is brilliance! How much will this cost?"
"I'll be able to get the equipment off the black market. Simply hire me the men. I charge $220,000 per inning," Carville said with a wink.
-----------------------------------------------
May 12th, 2005, 10:15 AM: Brian's Omaha apartment.
Brian rolled over in bed and fell off. He immediately sat back up, looked at the alarm clock, and jump-started with an obscenity. He got dressed with all the speed of Lindsay Lohan to a drug store upon finding out there was a new weight-loss pill.
He flew out the door and a piece of paper nailed to it caught his eye.
"Stop now," was all it said. Brian shrugged, dropped it and resumed running to the car, headed for a team meeting.
May 13th, 2005, 7:30 PM: O-Royals ballpark.
Brian was lounging on the bench. Tomorrow he would be starting, against the Isotopes, since the Royals big wigs would be attending and Brian had a knack for recovering quickly. With his offspeed stuff, he could probably start every other day.
This game, the first in the series with the Isotopes, was a rough one. The starting pitcher, whom Brian had never seen before, strangely, was tossing inside on a lot of batters, a lot of close calls. He seemed to be honing his brushback skills.
Regardless, the game was 0-0 in the 6th inning when Denton came up to bat. The opposing pitcher threw way above Denton's head, earning not a cringe but a searing glare from the speedster. The next pitch was a 98 mph fastball - to the noggin. Denton crumpled to the ground as his helmet split into two pieces and flew off his head. The O-Royals' catcher, standing on first, charged the mound, clotheslining the pitcher.
Before Brian knew it, John, the O-Royals' skipper, was standing at the entrance of the dugout like a military man in the movies, motioning the crew to the field. Brian got caught up in the excitement and found himself on the field throwing punches. It was a good old fashioned bench clearing brawl. The crowd was loving it, going wild. The umpires were in the midst of the fracas, trying to break up the fights.
Yes, it was your typical bench-clearer.
Until the pitching coach fell dead with a stab wound in the chest.
The fighting immediately stopped and both teams stepped back in horror at the dead body and figure hunched over it. The man looked up. Brian recognised him... That face... er... Aha! He was the pitcher! The pitcher looked up with an arrogant "You can't touch me now" look on his face, and pulled a bloody knife out of the pitching coach's body.
"Who else wants some?" he demanded of the players. The fans had gone from egging on a barnburner to screaming in horror at a brutal murder of a man in public.
Several vigilantes in the crowd lept from the stands. The ring of players around tried to keep them from the madman for their own safety, but one girl managed to get through.
"You -------!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. She ran for the murderer. With scarcely a blink, he grabbed her, whipped her around, and slit her throat. Her body fell on top of the pitching coach's.
"I came here for Brian Hughes. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?" the man demanded. Brian stepped foward.
"What do you want?" Brian asked in a voice that managed to hide his perturbation.
"You dead," the man answered. He reached out to grab Brian, but suddenly he was blindsided by a figure moving so fast he was a blur.
As the two men wrestled, Brian couldn't make out who his life-saver was. As the other figure emerged victorious from the struggle and tossed the knife safely out of reach of the attacker, Brian saw who it was. It was Denton, with a trail of blood running down his face from where he was hit with the fastball. He picked up the murderer by the collar, called him some naughty words, and put him out of a commission with a huge right hook.
He gloated over his victory for a couple of seconds, looked around at the other players, and smiled.
"He hit me in the head," he said.
The players shared a laugh of relief. Brian was in the dugout by that point, rehydrating himself after that standoff. A quick thump on the head and he was out cold. A big burly figure quickly dragged him off into a jet black Crown Victoria.
"Do you have the package?" a voice asked over the secure connection.
"Yes, I do. The other operative failed. He's been apprehended in all likelihood."
"Well, we can bail him out, I'm sure."
"If they offer him bail."
"They will if I can pull any strings. Anyway, now, bring the package back here. Make sure he's knocked clean out."
"Will do, sir." The burly man took off his mask to reveal the face of - oops! We're all out of time!
------------------------------------------------------
May 14th, 2005, 9:00 AM: Location unknown.
"Jesus Christ, Zimmer, you really did a number on him."
"My orders were simply to take him alive. You didn't specify how close to dead you would tolerate."
Brian heard the sound of footsteps walking away. He shook his head and opened his eyes. He looked over at a doorway to see a figure walking away.
"Well, good morning to you, boy. The Boss just wanted to check up on you."
Brian looked to his other side and saw the fat face of Don Zimmer, and was inflamed with rage.
"Why you little...!"
He reached up to punch him, only to find that he had been restrained by belts.
"Now now now, anger gets you nowhere." Zimmer smiled an arrogant smile.
It was quickly erased when Brian, straining with all his might, snapped one of the belts and got an arm free to start strangling him.
"gack! Security!"
A handful of guards quickly subdued Brian and re-restrained him.
"Hoo-ey, we got a live one here," Zimmer mused to himself as he walked away.
NARRATOR: Will our fair hero escape from danger? Will he ever see his family again? Will he ever pitch? And for godsakes, when is he gonna ---- Stacy? See in the next issue of - KERBLAM Ow...
TopGear: For god's sake, SHUT UP.
---------------------------------------
May 14th, 2005, 11:30 AM: Location Unknown
Brian lay seething with anger at being restrained. It didn't help that Zimmer came in to laugh at him. Eventually he settled down enough to carry casual conversation.
"So, where am I?"
"You're stupid if you think I'm going to tell you."
Brian blinked. He's lucky I'm tied down, he thought.
Eventually another person entered the room. The guards whispered behind his back and giggled at him. He turned around and gave them an incredulous glare, right before which they snapped back to their guard stances. He turned back around to Brian.
"I am Brian Cashman. I run the day-to-day activities of the Organisation."
Brian sneered.
"Oh, you're Steinbrenner's -----?"
Cashman, in a moment of fury, backhanded Brian across the face.
"That's not a very nice thing to say to the person who decides whether or not you live or die."
"I speak only truth."
"---- you."
"Hey, there's no need for language."
Cashman seethed. He pulled out a handgun and pointed it at Brian's forehead. A voice caused him to turn around.
"Now now now, Cashman. If you kill him, what will happen?"
Cashman's eyes widened and he knelt.
"Steinbrenner!"
"What're you gonna do on your knees, Cashman?" Brian asked.
Cashman turned around and glared at Brian. "You've got quite a mouth."
"It was a gift from my dad."
Steinbrenner laughed. "I like this kid. It's too bad that he doesn't want to join the Organisation."
Brian said in a quiet voice, "Let me go."
Steinbrenner chuckled and lifted a hand. "That's not within my power."
A nameless aide ran up and whispered in Steinbrenner's ear. "The Boss wants me, eh? Sorry our meeting had to be so short, Brian, but I must go."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "He isn't the Boss?"
Cashman guffawed. "Of course not. He has VIP status, but he ain't the Boss."
--------------------------------------------------------
May 14th, 2005: 11:40 AM: Location Unknown
Cashman sat down. "You know, it's too bad there's no way you can escape. It would have been fun to chase you down and kill you."
"Oh, but there is a way I can escape."
"Really? What's that?"
"It's a secret."
Cashman's eyes narrowed. "You will tell me."
"No, I won't."
"Whatever."
"Ok, I guess I'll escape now."
"What? No, YOU WILL NOT."
"Watch me."
"... Guards!"
"Here I go!"
The guards drew their rifles.
"You're ready?"
Trigger fingers tightened, ready to shoot.
"Shazam."
Brian lowered his head, then brought back up and looked at everybody in the room with a grin and a squint.
"Oh, you little ----HEAD!" Cashman screamed, and threw a temper tantrum.
One of the guards smirked. "He deked you right out of your loafers, boss."
Cashman gave the guard a searing glare. An alarm went off.
"Alert, intruders detected. Alert, intruders detected. Alert..."
Cashman sighed. He gave Brian the fifty-billionth dirty look, and walked up.
"Little ----er."
With a pistol whip, he knocked Brian out.
Date, time, and location: unknown.
Brian jerked awake. The first thing that came to mind was that he actually could jerk. He looked around. He was back in his apartment. On his stomach was a note.
"You owe us two now. :) - CF and MP"
Interesting.
--------------------------------------------------------
May 15th, 9:00 AM: Location unknown
"He got away?"
"Yes, sir."
"YOU BUMBLING IDIOT!"
Steinbrenner looked down, shamed. He wasn't used to being berated.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
"Get out of my site, you impotent son of a silly person!"
Steinbrenner left with his tail between his legs.
Bud Selig was walking in and noticed George. He nudged an aide and whispered, "The Boss is the only person I know who could bring Steinbrenner down like that."
8:30 PM: Omaha Royals ballpark.
Brian wiped the sweat off his brow and gazed into the crowd for a bit. In the box seats behind home plate, he saw the Royals excecutives sitting there, evaulating the talent and their potential usefulness for the franchise. He reared back and lobbed a knuckler. The batter's eyes danced all over before he stumbled over himself swinging clumsily and missing by about a yard. The O-Royals crowd cheered as the executives nodded in approval. Excellent indeed. 7 innings of the game were now complete, and Brian had compiled an outstanding 12 K's and had allowed only 2 hits.
He went and sat in the dugout as they prepared to bat. Brian, being a pitcher, did not have to hit. He sat back. The first batter went down without much of a fight, but the other vaunted prospect of the Royals organisation, Denton, was up. It was his game back after being nailed in the head by a hitman several days before, and he was pinch-hitting for the 2nd baseman. The crowd went nuts as he dug in.
A fastball whizzed by. Ball one. Curveball. Strike one. A half-assed forkball. Ball two.
It was then that Denton got a meatball. Known primarily as an "Ichiro-type" hitter, Denton typically slapped hits, he didn't take big cuts. But he couldn't let this one go by. He swung with all his might, which was quite a lot, and the ball sailed well over the short right field porch for a solo jack. The crowd was first stunned by this display of power, then went wild. When Denton walked back into the dugout, the crowd demanded a curtain call and recieved it.
2 innings later, Brian was facing his last batter of the game. Winning 1-0, he couldn't afford to give up anything. Strike one. This could be it. Strike two. oh boy oh boy oh boy! STRIKE THREE! 16 strikeouts and a CG shutout. Surely he'll get called up now, right? He glanced over at the boxes and saw the executives rubbing their chins in thought.
-------------------------------------------
May 15th, 10:00 PM: O-Royals clubhouse.
Brian was lounging, watching the recap of his game today. He kind of wished Kory and Bill would focus on the game rather than bickering. He and Denton sat around for a bit waiting for the news. zzzzzzz... wha? I'm awake! Honestly! zzzzzzz... snort eh? Oh! The executives are entering the clubhouse!
Brian and Denton tensed up, waiting for the news.
"Brian, we have news for you."
Brian could barely contain his excitement.
"You've been traded."
He fell off his seat.
"Why?"
"We felt it to be in the best interest of the organisation."
He was speechless.
"To who?"
"The Yankees."
OO