Medals Must Be Earned
Author's note: The events in this story take place just after Ralph has gotten the medal in Hero's Duty and escapes in the shuttle. Also, Hero's Duty has been plugged in for two months, whereas in the movie it had been plugged in only a week.
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Chapter 2: Justice
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When the "all clear" of the arcade's closing was sounded, Felix pulled Ralph into Niceland and bustled him into an elevator. "Felix? What are you doing? I've got a date in a dungeon to get to."
"Exactly. But lets get you cleaned up a little first, and comb that hair of yours. Maybe she'll go a little easier on you if you look like less of a vagrant."
"I don't know how that would help. I know she's going to whip me pretty hard, I'm sure. But all right."
"Trust me on this."
He hurried Ralph into his apartment and into the shower, and while Ralph showered Felix shook out the wrecker's clothes and spot-cleaned a few of the worst marks out of them.
The end result was less than perfect, but for once Ralph looked and smelled clean, and he'd even brushed his teeth and combed his hair. "Felix, thanks," said the wrecker. "No one else would have cared enough about this."
Felix smiled up at him. "And here," he said grabbing a handful of peppermints from a bowl and pushing them into Ralph's hand. "Suck on these and try not to breathe on her if you can avoid it. The less you annoy her the more forgiving she's likely to be. Women are that way." He reminisced for a moment of his first meeting with the sergeant, of her holding him to the ground at gunpoint. "She's one dynamite gal," he sighed.
Ralph looked at the handyman askance. It was obvious that Felix had fallen for her.
"Could I ask you one more favor?" Ralph queried as they stepped back into the elevator.
"Sure."
"Could you wait outside of Hero's Duty for me? With your hammer? In case it gets really bad? I mean, I know she's not going to kill me, but I might be a real mess once she's done with me."
Felix took Ralph's hand. "I'll wait for you to return."
Ralph smiled. "Thanks."
They found the two soldiers now at the entrance of Niceland but still chatting with three of the comparatively tiny Nicelander ladies. Apparently the little chubby women were rather fascinating to the pair, and the tall, bulky armored soldiers were of equal fascination to them. "Hey, we were just about to come looking for you," said one of the men when Ralph appeared.
"I'm here," he said morosely.
"Well, you know the way. Get going."
Ralph exhaled and walked toward the tram, his steps heavy and deliberate, the walk of a condemned man. Felix walked at his side.
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Inside Hero's Duty the men took Ralph down several flights of stairs to a long low-ceilinged room, obviously set up for punishment, torture, and interrogation. The look of the place alone was intimidating. Even the way their voices echoed off of the industrial walls seemed ominous.
"Strip down to your skivvies," instructed the soldier.
"What?" asked Ralph, somewhat shocked at the order.
"Either you take your clothes off, or she'll tear them off of you, and then you'll have nothing to wear home."
The soldier had a point. Ralph begrudgingly undressed, and when he had, the other man led him over to a pair of manacles hanging from the ceiling. Finding the manacles too large for his wrists, they tied his hands together with a length of rope and then tied the wrappings to the manacles. Then his ankles were fettered to the floor with a pair of shackles. The soldier checked the restraints and then nodded to the other. "I'll let the ice queen know he's here and ready."
Ralph felt his stomach twisting as he departed and the other man went to a table at the far end of the room. Suddenly he felt very vulnerable and alone and frightened. He tried to convince himself of his own strength, that the rods would break across his back before they did any real damage. He was as strong as any of these men, if not stronger, right? And besides, Felix was waiting right outside of this hell hole of a game, golden hammer at the ready. Getting to him after the punishment was all that would need to be done.
The minutes ticked by slowly, the anticipation of the dreaded event gnawing away at him. And after what seemed a needless hour of half-hanging from the ceiling the sergeant came in, a scowl already across her face. And instead of her armor or a casual off-duty outfit, she was wearing a wedding dress and veil.
"A wedding dress?" asked Ralph, goggling at her. "What kind of punishment am I in for here?" He pulled again at the ropes holding him to the ceiling. "Are you going to marry me and then nag me to death?"
The sergeant only shot him a fiery look as she made her way to the end of the large room.
"You should have seen what she did to Markowski for going AWOL last week," whispered the soldier who came up to check the restraints once more. "And that was without the dress. She saves the dress for the worst occasions."
"The worst occasions? What's with the dress?"
The soldier just snickered. "The sergeant has a few issues. You can ask her yourself."
Said sergeant came back over, a heavy cane in her hands, walked up to Ralph, took his chin in her hand, and forced his face upwards. "Any last words before I teach you a lesson about trespassing?" Her fingers, sheathed in ivory satin gloves that reached above her elbows, clamped tightly to his jaw. He could smell the perfume she wore, the siren scent of the deadly woman.
"No. Let's just get this over with," he mumbled as best he could in her grip. Whatever she had done to Markowski had probably been a walk in the park compared to what she had planned for him. There was anger and loathing in her eyes. She turned to the soldier. "Dismissed!" she barked at him.
He departed silently, somewhat intimidated by her as well.
Ralph closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Felix had promised to wait right outside to take care of him the moment he was tossed out of Hero's Duty. This was going to be hard on the little guy. Felix had been so sure that this sergeant would take it easy on Ralph, and he saw the way the handyman had looked at her all googly-eyed. He'd seen it before. Over the years Felix had nearly worn out the phrase "love at first sight." He wondered how Felix would take it when he saw the bloody pulp she'd beaten him into.
Ralph gritted his teeth again.
The first lash of the cane stung as the length of it struck him across his back. Okay, not so bad, he told himself. I can take this. But each subsequent hit seemed harder, or perhaps it just felt as if she was hitting him harder as the pain increased without a chance to wane. The first several strikes he held his tongue, but after that he began to whimper, louder with each lashing.
Tears began to leak from his eyes, and soon he was sobbing and crying out in pain. His instincts told him to fight back, or to at least pull himself free and escape. But he knew he had to stick it out. He wanted to stick it out. He'd committed a grievous crime according to this game's rules and had to pay the price. And just maybe somehow there was a way he could get a medal after the punishment.
The sergeant paused a moment. "If you'd succeeded in getting out of here with that shuttle and that Cy-Bug, I would have just shot you where ever it was I caught up to you. So consider yourself lucky."
Ralph was gasping for breath. "Yes, M'am," he said.
She struck him twice more, each strike no longer a sting but a slash of pain. Ralph struggled against his restraints, hoping to soften the blows somewhat by ducking away from them.
She just snickered and walked away.
Was that it? Was she done already? Hadn't the punishment been set for twenty-five lashes?
She picked up a larger stick, this one a rod easily twice as thick as the cane she'd hit him with before.
Ralph groaned. This was all Gene's fault. Gene had pushed him at the party. Gene had suckered him into that foolish bet. Gene had started this whole futile quest.
The sergeant placed the new rod in her right hand and slapped it against the palm of her left. And then she struck Ralph's back across the welts made by the first one. He cried out in pain, and then twice again as she struck twice more.
"I know you won't come back here again," she said.
"No, never..." he blubbered. "I won't!"
"Anything else you want to say now that we're halfway through? That was number thirteen."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I came into your game and stole a medal."
She smirked, and then came around to face him, taking his jaw again in her hand. "Much better."
"But," he said with a gasp. "Tell me something first. Why are you wearing a wedding dress?"
Her eyes, held in a squint, suddenly opened wide, the question startling the sergeant. "Because... because life is unfair," she hissed in his face.
"Someone jilted you at the altar?" he guessed.
She clenched the rod tightly, strode back around to behind him, and then slashed at him with full fury. Ralph screamed.
"My life fell apart at the altar," she screamed back and struck the fifteenth blow, followed by another. "Everything was so perfect...and then...and then."
"Did he leave you at the altar?"
"No!"
"What happened? What happened at your wedding that was so awful?" he whimpered. He could feel a strange suffocating blackness rising from his back, electric and bubbling, telling him to surrender.
The sergeant turned away, coming to grips with his question. Why did he have to keep asking? Why did he want to know? And then she turned back around and raised the rod. This would shut him up. Calhoun swung and counted off four more blows, Ralph fighting to stay conscious. But after hearing "twenty," he groaned and let the rising blackness consume him.
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Sergeant Calhoun tossed a bucket of water over Ralph, startling him back into consciousness. He sputtered and coughed and opened his eyes. His wrists burned and his hands felt numb. He'd apparently been hanging unconscious for who knows how long. Wet and shivering, he ungracefully found his footing and stood again.
And then he noticed the sergeant's wedding dress had been removed. Instead she stood there in her underwear, all satin and lace befitting a bridal trousseau. "Where's your dress? They cancel our wedding?"
"I didn't want to get blood on it," she replied, intending the answer to be an intimidating prediction of what was to come next.
"Great... " he moaned. "At least you're easy to look at while you're beating me up."
She slapped him hard across the face.
"Twenty-one," he counted.
"Wishful thinking," she snarled and slapped him again.
He did not count off another number, but instead he looked her in the eye. "Tell me what happened to you. I have to know," he said defiantly. If she was going to make this painful for him, perhaps a bit of an exchange was in order.
She turned on him, her blue eyes locking fiercely with his brown ones. "What do you care? Let's just get this over with and we'll never see each other again."
"Sergeant, there's something inside you—something dreadful inside of you that's destroying you," he said calmly. "It's turning you into a monster. I know you keep it hidden, but it's there, peeking out when things get rough. I know the other guys probably ignore it, maybe because you tell them to, but it's there right now."
"I'm fine. There's no monster."
"No one wears a wedding dress to beat a man half to death. As far as I know black leather is the uniform for that."
"It's just my backstory...it's tragic. Now let's just get on with this."
"Your backstory? Wait a minute." Ralph stared at her. "Your backstory is doing this to you?"
Calhoun sighed. "It's not your concern. And yes, maybe it does come out in bad way sometimes. I have to let it out...to keep me from cracking. But it's my problem to deal with. Not yours."
"I know it's not my problem, and there's probably nothing I can do about it. But maybe telling someone would help instead of letting it out like this. Sometimes just letting someone know helps."
"The guys all know. There's even a cut scene about it on the sixtieth floor."
"I didn't quite make it to the sixtieth floor today, so you'll have to tell me." Through all the pain he grinned at her. "I almost got that far."
She tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped her. His unexpected wit had caught her off-guard. But quickly she wiped away the mirthful reaction and went for the crate she'd brought over. From the box she pulled out a cat o' nine tails—a heavy rope half unraveled into three strands, and then unravelled again into nine knotted ends. "Ever feel the kiss of one of these?" she asked coldly, stretching the implement between her hands for him to see. Another intimidation ploy.
"I've never felt any of this" Ralph said timidly, his stomach twisting tighter.
"And hopefully you never will again, if you learn your lesson that is. Five lashes and you're done," she said.
"No. Not done. I need to get that medal."
"What!? Seriously? You still want it?" she questioned as she moved into position behind him.
"I'd do anything for it," he whined.
"You're absolutely crazy!" she screeched and swung.
The cat struck him across the back, hard, and he screamed. Each of the nine tails tore across the welts, breaking them open. She'd definitely been saving the worst for last. Five lashes were going to be as awful as the first twenty combined. "That's twenty-one," she grimaced.
No wonder she'd taken off her dress. There would be blood.
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Medals Must Be Earned continues in Chapter 3 – "The Hierophant"
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Justice – Tarot meaning
Balance, equality, fairness, justice, law and legal matters
Justice is a very good card to find in your spread if you have acted with kindness and fairness towards others, and, especially if you have been a victim. It is a significant indicator of a positive resolution, although how and what sort will depend upon your own circumstances. If you have been unfair, abusive, or otherwise shady and immoral in your dealings, pay heed. For the unjust, this card is at best a dire warning to change your ways before retributions falls upon you, and at worst a simple statement that it is already too late. In neutral cases, it may be telling you to seek out balance in your life.
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Wreck-It Ralph and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Walt Disney Pictures. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.