Chapter Two
Rosey was getting desperate.
The backstage area of the WWE had become a hostile environment in one short month. Several of Christian's elite were on the roster – his enforcers who ruthlessly singled out those who made the mistake of speaking out against him. The phrase 're-education chamber' had been thrown around, and several who had once been opposed to his rule would inexplicably disappear only to resurface a week later wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with a single word: Peep. When asked about their change of heart, they replied only with, "The Peepulation has spoken."
The touring schedule of the WWE made it easy for the enforcers to recruit new followers in every city they visited while appeasing those previously converted. Canada, Christian's home country, was already an astounding ninety-eight percent behind him. Rosey was almost scared to set foot there.
Rosey had, naturally, noticed the sinister nature in which Christian had risen to power. But because of his steadily spreading control, anyone with super powers had gone into hiding. Rosey was alone in his quest for justice, which was hardly enough to combat the enforcers, let alone the ever-growing masses of the Peepulation.
Not that he hadn't tried. Last time he'd seen her, Rosey had tried to talk Stacey into re-joining him. A look of deep regret had come into her eyes, however, and she had averted her gaze and told him that she had no idea what he was talking about. Rosey had then felt the mocking stares of Christian's elite and realized that they must have been watching Stacey for quite some time. She was scared, and he didn't blame her.
Any attempt to speak to Helms, however, had been completely useless. His former partner had engaged himself entirely in resurrecting 3 Count with bandmates Evan Karagias and Shannon Moore. When confronted backstage, he would simply ignore Rosey, and most times had gone out of his way to avoid him.
It was the most frustrating experience of Rosey's life, and many times he wished the enforcers would get it over with and take him to be re-educated. But they seemed to enjoy watching him suffer with the realization that no help was coming.
That was why Rosey had finally come to his desperate decision. It was up to him to orchestrate the downfall of Christian's twisted regime. He would need help, however, and while that would not be easy with all the heroes gone underground, he had a pretty good idea of where to look.
Hopefully the Peepulation hadn't gotten there first.
Five individuals occupied one of the many rooms in Christian's mansion. Though not necessarily friends, their loyalty to the Peepulation had brought them together in an uneasy alliance. Along with Tomko, they were Christian's elite core.
Kurt Angle surveyed the others in the room as he bent low over the pool table with the pretence of lining up his shot. He didn't trust a damn one of them, and they knew it. It wasn't as though they made him nervous – as the WWE's only Olympic gold medalist, Kurt didn't ever get nervous. But it disgusted him to think that in this faction they ranked as equals with him. He had more Intensity, Integrity and Intelligence in his baby toe than the other four combined, and he had been instrumental in the Hurricane's ultimate downfall. Kurt scowled before taking the shot; he would have to speak to Christian about the arrangement.
Kane audibly chuckled as Kurt's attempted bank shot went horribly off-mark. His mere presence unnerved the rest of the enforcers and he liked it that way. For the seven-foot-tall, fire-controlling monster that had been shunned and ridiculed throughout his childhood, the ability to invoke fear and instill respect with a single crooked glance was a talent he relished. It was no surprise then that he fit right in as a member of Christian's elite. He was even campaigning to have the group officially dubbed the 'Inner Circle of the Hellfire and Brimstone Club.' Christian had promised to get back to him on it.
Lita watched the pool game with great interest. She had called winner, and while she suspected that Kurt was the more skilled, his lack of focus on the game was costing him dearly. Therefore she would likely be facing her ex-husband Kane, which would provide for a much more intriguing match. Her membership in the elite had raised a few eyebrows considering her history with Christian. While he had never been shy about voicing his distaste for her, it was widely believed that Lita's uncanny ability to orchestrate the emotional and professional downfall of any person of her choosing was too valuable to overlook. Then again, it could just have been because she was banging his brother.
Edge was only vaguely aware that there was even a pool game in progress. He was drifting in and out of a bored catnap, his few waking moments spent ogling Lita, who was wearing as little of her black leather outfit as she could get away with. He'd actually been surprised when Christian had summoned him to be part of his elite, since describing their recent relationship to be rocky would have been the understatement of the year. When push came to shove, however, he guessed blood really was thicker than water, and if his baby brother was content to bury the hatchet – or at the very least ignore it – then who was Edge to argue? So long as they weren't headed for another weird vampiric cult.
Tajiri sat in the lotus position on a large pillow in the corner of the room, isolated from the group. With the others under the illusion that he was oblivious to what was going on, Tajiri was able to clear his mind to a point where he was very much aware of every sound in the room, including Edge's intermittent snoring, Lita's anxious shifting, Kane's unprecedented snickering and Kurt's wary shuffling. The man known as the Japanese Buzzsaw was the oddity of the group for the sole reason that he was not, at the moment, openly a heel in the WWE. But it was clear by his inclusion that Christian had done his homework before selecting his enforcers, and had taken into account Tajiri's fiendish background during his days in ECW. And with his mastery over the inexplicable green mist, adding him to the elite had been a no-brainer decision.
The door opened and all five pairs of eyes turned to see Tyson Tomko, the final enforcer and Christian's right-hand man, enter the room. Everybody waited for him to speak, but he remained silent, observing each of them in turn.
"Why are bodyguards always mutes?" Kurt wondered aloud and then addressed Tomko directly. "Time to go, I take it?"
Tomko nodded once.
"Does anybody else remember how Christian used to come and tell us all this stuff in person?" Lita sneered, getting to her feet and smoothing out the wrinkles in her skintight pants.
"Hmm," Edge sarcastically put his finger to his mouth. "Perhaps before the blonde bitch weaseled her way back into his bed and a higher rank than the rest of us?"
"I could break her again," Kane laughed as he squeezed the pool cue he was still holding and with one hand snapped it in two. "Just like last time."
Tomko narrowed his eyes. Guarding Trish had been his first assignment, and while he didn't particularly like or trust her these days he still felt an innate loyalty to her.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that would go over real well, you big red retard."
Kane didn't react well to the comment. With a menacing snarl he advanced on Kurt with the splintered end of the pool cue. Lita immediately jumped between them.
"This won't help anything!" she yelled. "If we kill each other, it's guaranteed Stratus gets to hand-pick the next wave of enforcers and she wins out in the end." Her eyes darkened at the thought and she clenched her fists. "I, for one, refuse to ever let that happen."
Kane scoffed. "Your petty vendettas are ultimately pointless. If personal grudges had any place in Christian's new society the two of you would have been dead the minute I was alone with you," he indicated her and Edge.
Lita swallowed hard and, try as she might to retain the angered euphoria she had just been feeling, it was impossible not to break under Kane's deadly stare. Edge made to say something but his mouth went dry and he instead stood gaping at the seven-foot monster, dumbstruck. Kurt was speechless as well, but to his credit it was due only to his surprise at Kane's unexpected skill at articulation.
Tomko impatiently cleared his throat.
The four of them grudgingly trailed out of the room behind the man known as the Problem Solver. Tajiri, however, who had silently watched the entire affair, waited until the coast was clear before muttering something in Japanese under his breath and then following them. Loosely translated, it was: "Why, oh why am I associating with these stupid jackasses?"
Trish smiled vaguely at something Mickie James had just said, but truthfully she hadn't been listening. Her mind these days was more often than not preoccupied with thoughts of her proverbial deal with the devil. She couldn't help but feel that going back to Christian was not unlike prostituting herself for power.
"Trish, you okay?"
The Women's Champion snapped back to attention. Ashley Massaro was watching her, concern etched on her gentle features. Trish quickly tried to make her face look reassuring.
"Just daydreaming, Ash," she replied. "I'm fine."
Mickie's jaw dropped. "Daydreaming? Ohhhh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she squealed excitedly and sat down beside her hero. "Who were you thinking about? Come on, you can tell us!" She looked hopeful.
Trish stared at her for a moment, but, before she could say anything, another voice answered for her.
"I know who she was daydreaming about, and MJ, it sure as hell wasn't you."
All three Divas turned to find Lita lounging against the locker room door, a smug look smeared across her face. Mickie looked crushed. Ashley averted her eyes; she was still uncomfortable being around Lita now that she was dating her ex-boyfriend, Matt Hardy. Trish, however, clenched her teeth.
"Why, if it isn't the Walking Kiss of Death – don't you have a career to be ruining somewhere?"
Lita pursed her lips in a forced smile. "Clever as always. I wonder if you would be so clever if your little girlfriends knew the truth about you?"
"What's she talking about?" Ashley whispered.
"Aww, is widdle Ash-wee out of the woop?" Lita mocked the 2005 Diva Search winner in a degrading baby-voice.
Mickie stood up to defend her friends, but Trish put a hand on her shoulder. "Leave them out of this, Lita. This is between you and me, like it always has been."
"How noble," Lita sniffled sarcastically. "It almost brings a tear to my eye."
"Like the ones you were crying when I blew out your knee to win this back?" Trish patted the Women's title belt she had slung over her shoulder.
Lita's entire demeanor one-eightied. "Listen, bitch," she spat, advancing on her long-time nemesis. "Just because Christian treats you like his little Princess doesn't make it true. If I were you, I'd watch my back."
Ashley and Mickie jumped to Trish's side as she and Lita came nose-to-nose and tried to stare each other down. After what seemed like a lifetime of tense silence, Trish actually laughed.
"Still can't take what you dish out," she scolded patronizingly. "That's exactly why you are a lackey and I am a Champion."
Lita was seething, but, as Trish had backup and she had none, she wisely left without another word. Mickie and Ashley simultaneously released the breath they had been holding.
"What was that all about?" Ashley asked, turning to Trish. Mickie's eyes echoed the question.
Trish was still watching the door through which Lita had furiously exited. "Just something I need to take care of," she answered without looking at them.
The arena was packed to the rafters with screaming fans. The multicoloured laser light show was working perfectly. The acoustics sounded great. And as he, Evan and Shannon stood in the middle of the ring on their trademark green circles, singing their hearts out, Gregory Helms knew that he had definitely missed some things about being a pop superstar.
And then the music cut off.
Evan was outraged. "Oh, come on!" he shouted. "How many times can one band be interrupted? Who is it this time? Tank Abbott? Norman Smiley?"
Helms didn't bother to answer him. His attention was fully focused at the top of the entrance ramp where a lone figure now stood. The sight of his red, blue and black costume made Helms' blood boil. Rosey.
The former superhero raised his microphone to his mouth. "You just don't give up, do you?" he snarled as his voice echoed around the arena. "Listen hard, Fat-ass, and let it sink through your thick skull, because I'm only saying this one more time: I'm done with—"
"Hurricane," Rosey cut him off, ignoring the insults, "I know you're hurting—"
"Don't call me that!" Helms screamed.
"—And I know you've got personal demons to come to terms with," Rosey continued, undaunted. "But please hear me out. I think you owe it to me after all the loyalty I've shown you."
Helms' face fell momentarily, and he looked to Evan and Shannon for support. Evan still looked furious; Shannon just watched Helms expectantly. The fans began to grow restless. Helms had to make a decision.
"There's nothing you can say," he finally answered, his voice no longer vicious.
"I think you're right about that," Rosey agreed. "But I have someone here who I think you will listen to."
And before he could protest, Helms found himself hearing the quick-tempo rock beats to a very familiar entrance theme. The curtain parted and out stepped a woman barely reaching five-foot-four in height. Her re-grown shining blonde hair was tied up in curly pigtails with bits of pink ribbon, and her telltale pink, black and silver superhero costume triggered something in Helms' brain to open the floodgates on memories both fond and painful.
"Molly," he unconsciously whispered in shocked recognition.
"Hurricane," Mighty Molly began, her voice still tinged with that Sweet Home Alabama drawl he remembered so well, "I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I know exactly what you're going through.
"See, I lost sight of what was important too, and it took me a long time before I figured out what I had become," she continued, a touch of wavering sadness in her words. "And it's the same thing that's happened to you. Rosey told me all about it.
"But, you know how the Spider-man comics tell us over and over that 'with great power comes great responsibility?' It's the same with us! We have a responsibility to uphold justice and protect the good citizens – and if we fall, we have to pick ourselves back up. Just maybe sometimes we need someone there to help us get to our feet."
She had slowly made her way to ringside as she spoke and now climbed the steel stairs and stepped between the ropes. "We are heroes, and we can't just ignore or deny that anymore. Right now, the world needs you so much more than the pop music industry. And you wouldn't just turn your back on the whole world-" she was right in front of him, setting him with those puppy-dog eyes, "-would you?"
Helms hadn't moved a muscle during Molly's entire speech, and now he stood gaping at her as his mind struggled with his emotions. Evan, however, had had quite enough. Pushing Helms aside, he advanced on Molly.
"Listen, little girl," he growled, "I don't know who you think you are, but unless you're looking for a job as a groupie, you have no business in this ring. Now, why don't you take your perky little ass and bounce."
Molly looked stunned at being spoken to in such a manner, but as Evan turned to receive congratulations on the wicked burn from his bandmates, he was greeted with a hand around his throat.
"Citizen Karagias," Helms said firmly into his microphone, "that is no way to speak to a lady."
Mighty Molly beamed. The glint in Helms' eyes, the squarish set of his jaw and his perfect posture left no room for doubt: the Hurricane had returned.
Evan made a move to fight back but the Hurricane's lightning-quick reflexes kicked in before an offence could be mounted. Evan was lifted into the air and then driven down to the mat by the superhero's devastating Choke Slam. With Evan laid out, Hurricane turned to Shannon, bracing himself for another attack. Shannon just smiled.
"It's cool," he assured his longtime friend.
Hurricane relaxed his guard. "Thank you for understanding, old chum. Mighty Molly is correct: the Hurricane has work to do." He valiantly extended his hand.
"I wasn't really into the whole boyband scene anymore, anyway," Shannon laughed, slapping a five. "I'm thinking-" and here he raised his hands and scrawled them across the sky, reading an imaginary magazine headline, "-'Rebellious Fallen Pop Star Rises to Punk-Rock Royalty.' It could totally work."
Hurricane raised an eyebrow and watched as his starry-eyed ex-bandmate exited the ring, talking to himself about his first target being something called the 'X-Division.' Hurricane had no idea what he was talking about, but then again, Shannon had always been a bit on the odd side.
Rosey had now joined him and Molly in the ring, and Hurricane immediately flushed with embarrassment as he remembered how he had treated his ever-loyal partner. "Roosevelt—" he began a long-winded apology.
"Don't worry about it," Rosey said understandingly and held something out to him: his mask.
Hurricane felt a tear form in the corner of his eye as he reached out and took the treasured heroic symbol. Feeling the cool, smooth texture of the plastic as he slid it over his head and adjusted it over his eyes, he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. He stuck out his fist and Rosey and Molly met it with theirs.