There's Always An Out (RP 2 of 4)

Another bullet tore into the ground, sending up a spray of dirt as Bonnie Blue scrambled back to the concealment of the treeline. That one had been close. Too close. She lifted her rifle and sighted through the scope, sweeping her gaze across the rooftop.


"Can't see shit," she whispered harshly.


"I got nothing, either," Jay reported back.


"Fuckers gotta be wearin' blur-suits."


"Nope. Look there -- your one o'clock. That glint off his barrel?"


"See him. Not well enough to get a good shot," Bonnie said, frustration creeping into her voice.


"We have to do something. All they've got to do is keep us pinned down until they can send reinforcements after us."


"One of us could draw their fire, and the other take 'em out," she suggested.


"That's suicide. I won't let you take that risk."


"Who said I was volunteerin'?"


Bonnie shot Jay a grin; the faint smile he gave her in return only served to highlight the tension in his features. Kneeling in the thick underbrush, he focused on the snipers, desperately willing his brain to come up with a plan. There was nothing but open ground on all sides; any direction they tried to move, the snipers would simply pick them off. Impatient, the young blonde crept forward and fired off a few rounds, which pinged harmlessly off the metal roof. The answering salvo, a split-second later, tore through the foliage overhead.


"Yeah, ok... not my best idea," Bonnie admitted.


"Brilliant observation, Watson," said Jay, dryly.


"Thank ya, Dr. Crick."


Omega just looked at the young woman for a moment, then shook his head.


"Genetics jokes, at a time like this..."


"When better? What the fuck is that?!"


This particular non-sequitor took the Omega Man by surprise. His eyes followed her pointing finger to the open ground in the distance. Something was headed toward the industrial complex at speed, concealed by a cloud of dust. The engined roared like a caged beast, and loud music blared from the speakers. As it neared, the dimensions of the rolling juggernaut became clearer: a boxy four-by-four, studded with floodlights and painted like chaos, with a very large bald man hanging out of the passenger side. In one hand, he held a liquor bottle with a rag stuffed down the neck; in the other, a Zippo lighter. Laughing with evident glee, he lit the rag, cocked back his arm, and hurled the bottle at the building.


Jay Omega grinned. "That, my dear, is the cavalry."


While the two watched, another Molotov cocktail arced toward the rooftop and exploded in the air just above one of the snipers. His howl of pain echoed for miles. That was one down. The other returned fire, but the vehicle seemed impervious. Bonnie looked through her scope and finally recognized the madman happily flinging bottles of fiery death: none other than the Archduke of Mass Confusion, Alex Richards!


"Never reckoned I'd be so glad to see that guy! C'mon, while they've got the sniper's attention. We gotta exfiltrate our people."


Omega was on his feet and moving before the last word was out of Bonnie's mouth. They burst out of the treeline at a full run just as a mass of bottle rockets launched from the Strange Rover, flying in every conceivable direction. One cut between Bonnie and Jay in a crazy, drunken spiral, and crashed into the ground to erupt in a cascade of bright green sparks. Next came the roman candles, hundreds of them apparently duct-taped to the frame of the vehicle, shooting balls of flaming color in such profusion that the truck was obscured in a thick haze of burning gunpowder. Every few seconds, another fiery bottle sailed overhead, putting an end to the sniper fire.


Jay broke off to join Alex, briefing him on the situation, while Bonnie readied her weapon and slowed her approach to the building. It would have been foolish not to expect resistance. Yet, as she cautiously pushed open the heavy steel door, she encountered only a heavy stillness. Bodies lay scattered across the floor in pools of congealing blood; the Polar Phantasm stood over the only one still breathing. Nightmare brandished a still-smoking shotgun.


"What took you so long?" she asked.


"Traffic." Bonnie Blue tilted her chin toward the open door, where the Strange Rover could clearly be seen, now doing donuts in the sparse, dry grass.






Cam and Crystal Bankston found themselves outnumbered and outgunned, staring down the barrels of three Czech-made 7.62 millimeter automatic assault rifles. At an unmistakeable gesture, Nightmare reluctantly lay her shotgun on the ground and nudged it away with her foot.


"We're just looking for our hotel," Polar tried.


Nobody bought it. Before any of the three could respond, gunfire sounded from the roof. Nightmare and Polar looked up.


"Shit!" said Nightmare. "I didn't even see a guy up there..."


"Silencio!" ordered one of the gunmen, shifting his aim to show he's serious.


The other two held a hasty conference in hushed whispers, trying to decide what to do with their prisoners. These guys aren't exactly leadership material, but circumstance has thrust them into authority. Paolo is in favor of killing them on the spot, then running off with what money and drugs the three of them can gather. Jorge, on the other hand, is pretty sure they should question the captives first -- after all, that's how it goes in the movies.


Cam Bankston, Jr. glanced at his wife. "You know, I should have just taken you to Paris."


All at once, bedlam erupted outside. There were shouts from the rooftop, more gunfire, and the sounds of explosions. All three gunmen turned toward the door, foolishly taking their eyes off the Unstable Elements. Without a word, the two moved in perfect synchronicity. A roundhouse kick from Nightmare dropped two of the thugs, while Polar lunged at the other. They struggled for control of the gun, until an expert shift of weight -- barely perceptible -- put the Polar Phantasm in a position to drive the gun butt into the man's face; two jabs in quick succession, and the gunman hit the floor, senseless.


A pair of loud blasts made Cam whirl around, only to see Crystal clutching the smoking shotgun, the barrel still pointed at the two bodies near her feet. She smiled at him sweetly.


"Probably wouldn't have gotten to shoot anybody in Paris, dear," she told him.


Once more, the door burst open, and Bonnie came charging in. Her expression shifted from one of determination to bewilderment as she took in the grisly scene before her. While Bonnie and Nightmare exchanged icy quips, Polar rooted through the contents of a wallet he'd lifted from one of the suits. A groan of irritation brought boths ladies' attention back to the matter at hand.


"What'd ya find?" Bonnie asked.


"More questions, Bonnie," he said, turning toward the exit. "More fucking questions..."


Outside, the three of them met up with Jay Omega and Alex Richards, who were contentedly passing a flask back and forth. Cam brought everybody up to speed regarding what he'd uncovered.


"Feds?!" Omega repeated. "The guys with the suits were feds?"


"Yep. CDA," Polar told him, holding up the badge.


The seal depicted an Eagle perched on top of the All-Seeing Eye, with the words "Central Disinformation Agency" inscribed around it in a circle. The name on the ID read RANDALL FRANKS.


"What the hell is the federal government doing sending you after drug traffickers who are working for the federal government?" Alex interjected. "I'm not an expert or anything, but that seems dumb."


"Yeah, even for the government. I mean, you expect some dumb from your government, being an American... but jesus, this takes the cake," said Nightmare.


"It's a turf war. We just got played as pawns in a fuckin' spook turf war." The Phantasm kicked a rock out of the ground, watching as it flew about twenty five feet before making impact with a tree. "Fuck this- no more games. No more games, ever. Not from Frizzell... not for this Phantasm."


"What're ya thinkin', Cam?" asked Bonnie, curious. This situation was definitely above her pay grade.


He gave her a serious look. "We've only got one choice, as far as I can see things. Frizzell told us we didn't have an out, that the ASA would own Crystal and I as long as he held all the cards."


"So we steal us some cards." Richards said it simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.


Which, in restrospect, it probably should have been. Polar gestured excitedly at him.


"YES! The big guy's got the idea! Indeed, Alex Richards -- welcome to the party -- you're already ahead of the game. See... Frizzell doesn't expect us to go right at him, not when we're so few and he's so powerful... but he's not counting on us not giving a fuck what the odds are."


"We don't?" asked Omega. "Since when?"


"Since he threatened my fucking son!" snarled Nightmare.


"Son of a bitch put me in a box and told me there was no exit... but that's not how life works. No matter what kinda shit they put you through, no matter how fucked up things get... there is always an out."  Cam's sudden shift into optimism was striking -- and infectious. "So.. let's go find it!"




They were exhausted when they returned to the base, later that evening -- everyone except Alex Richards and his brother, who were more than a little impressed with the Guardians' new home. Cam had been cheerful and talkative on the way back, all of them in high spirits after surviving that whole mess. But now he was pensive, his mind elsewhere. At last, he spoke up.


"If you'll all excuse me," Polar announced, "I've got some work to do. Alone."


"Like what?" asked Bonnie.


"Planning the mission," he told her, and disappeared down the hall.


"But... we don't even know what the mission is..."


Crystal Bankston shot Bonnie a withering glare. "You might figure it out, if you just thought about it for a second."


Jay and Alex winced in mutual sympathy; Bonnie frowned, puzzled. A heartbeat later, she decided to let it slide. They'd just been through a rough approximation of Hell, after all. Even so, the Daughter of Time thought it might be prudent to give the other woman some space.


"I'm gonna go... cut a promo. When Polar's done plannin', someone remind him we got a tag match this week." And with that, Bonnie took off.


"Eye-Seven?"


"Authorized user: Bonnie Blue voiceprint confirmed. Greetings, user: Bonnie Blue. How may I be of service?"


"Be a doll an' guide me to the holodeck, would ya?"


There was a moment's hesitation, and then: "Directions to the Immersive Controlled Environment chamber have been transmitted to your mobile device."


Bonnie activated her phone. The screen displayed a map of the immediate area, with a blinking arrow pointing the way.


"Cool," she said, and followed the path the computer laid out.





Transmission begins: Bonnie Blue, dressed in her ring gear, is seated casually on the top turnbuckle of a solid-state hologram representation of the UCI ring. Blue-green eyes glitter with cold determination as she lifts her gaze to the camera.


It's like deja-vu all over again, ain't it? Once more, I find myself across the ring from former members of Beachkrew -- I might say my least favorite among 'em, 'ceptin' for Wade. Or Sharkboy. Or the other one, um... Johnny Rotten? No, he was in the Sex Pistols. Um... Jason? Yeah, that almost sounds right -- Jason somebody. Fuck it, might as well call him Jack the Ripper -- 'cause the guy's hist'ry. The idea of facin' the two of y'all in any capacity again is about as appealin' as the notion of choke sex with Marilyn Manson dressed as a nun. Ell oh ell, amirite?


The smile she gives the camera is anything but amused.


All this -- a whole, brand-new continuity -- an' I'm still bein' vexed by Beachkrew. Let me guess: y'all gonna ignore me, write me off, dismiss me as a joke... like y'always done. Focus on my partner. His reputation surpasses mine. I get it. Yeah, the Polar Phantasm is the real danger, outta the two of us. He's got experience I ain't. He's got somethin' to prove -- then again, don't we all? An' he ain't in the best of moods this week, so I don't reckon he'd be eager to let you boys off easy.


But underestimatin' me, gentlemen, is a mistake.


This is a fresh start. A new beginnin'... an' a whole new set of rules.


I got a few debts to repay, startin' with you, Dustin -- you cocky son of a bitch. Bet ya think ya got this one all wrapped up, don't ya? You reckon, 'cause I ain't managed to pin your ass yet, that I'm gonna just be a pushover. That I can't possibly rise to the occasion this time. That -- just like every time we've faced each other in a tag match -- you're gonna slip by without gettin' pinned, like the little weasel y'are.


Fuck that. Honestly, I don't really care whether or not ya get pinned this time around. Matter of fact, I prefer it to be Kemp instead -- 'cause either way, y'all are goin' down, which is clearly not an unfamiliar concept for the two of ya. But that's beside the point. One of these days, Dustin, you an' me are gonna go one on one again -- an' that's the day I'm gonna shut you up for good. I don't want there to be any controversy when I put you on the canvas for the one-two-three. This week, I ain't gotta pin ya -- I just gotta hurt ya, an' let's face it, Sugar... that's more fun anyway.


Bonnie's smile, this time, is more genuine, accompanied by a mock-flirtatious wink.


An' lest I forget Mr. Kemp -- as I'm sure we'd all like to... I don't like ya, Kemp. I hate your face. I despise your stupid catchphrase. I can't tolerate your unwarranted arrogance. Better than me? In your fuckin' dreams. Y'ain't nothin' but a childish, self-centered, amoral loudmouth -- like Rush Limbaugh, without the charm.


You an' me an' Dustin, we've done this before. The only variable in this equation is my partner, which adds up pretty heavily in my favor. Ain't gonna be like before. I won't make the same mistakes. No holdin' back this time. Both of y'all got a lot to answer for, an' I mean to take my pound of flesh outta y'all's hides, one way or 'nother. Soon's that bell rings, I'm gonna make y'all sorry y'ever heard the name Bonnie Blue.


Tempus vindice.


Transmission ends.




THE CALL TO SERVICE

Episode Two: There's Always an Out
Series conceived by the Polar Phantasm
Series directed by Jay Omega
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
Episode written by Bonnie Blue