Silencing the Enemy

by **krzy** Sat Jan 18, 2020 12:42 pm

The match is over, but the tension building in the arena makes it feel as though the fun is just beginning.

The boos sweep through, powerful as a storm, driven by the sight of Tailcoat Val casually walking out here with no care in the world.

Her eyes sparkle as she pauses at the midway point of the ramp, five able-bodied men sore from a grueling match and thus ripe for the picking.

Make that two.

Proudfoot gathers his championship then his men, in that order. In the next second, God's Chosen has hopped the barricade and split the crowd like a sea to make their way out of the building.

Val never so much as looks in their direction.

She flashes a wicked grin at Luger, but before she can say anything, Bram Miller comes flying into the frame as though the ringside area were the finish line to a 40-meter dash. Miller climbs onto the apron, anger engraved into his expression, looking like he could snap at any second.

Luger doesn't appear the least bit bothered. In fact, he taunts Miller, mocks the man. Reminding him how easy he got his ass beat last week.

The fuse has been lit.

Miller damn near tears down the ropes in his mad dash to get into the ring. Two long strides and he drops Luger with a vicious spear, even managing to pepper in a few good punches once they're on the ground.

He tunneled vision and forgot that Luger isn't alone this time.

The combined might of the two men battle back Miller, and then give him a taste of his own medicine. Val clenches her jaw, her expression conveying annoyance, complete frustration that Miller would burn a hole through what was likely a meticulously thought out plan. But Val of all people is a woman likely to have several tricks up her sleeve.

Or she could just walk away?

She's about to head backstage when she bumps into Slate, who's practically frothing, demanding Val show she's not as WORTHLESS and PATHETIC as Ken Donahue proved her to be.

Something darkens in Val's eyes when Slate says that.

Without breaking eye contact with her boss, she lifts her arm. Seconds later, Jared Leon makes his presence felt. The situation in the ring becomes a two on two, a massive battle, a tug of war where it looks as though Luger--through his sheer hatred of Slate--is willing his side to victory.

Val raises her other arm.

Green smoke envelops the ringside area. Five men--her Arsenal--emerge. Uniformed as though they were prisoners, masked because they ARE prisoners, her tools--the men they once were an inconvenient memory, a life they can never live again.

Five men.

That makes this a seven on two.

It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Once again, Bob Luger has heart, powered by one of the biggest fighting spirits CMV has ever seen, and even has an ally by his side this time around, a legend in this business who laughs in the face of the physics of time. But once again, he's just a man. They are just men. And there are obstacles no mere man can overcome.

When all is said and done, Quantum has been discarded outside of the ring, leaving a battered Luger alone in the ring with Val and her five tools of chaos. Two of the men have a foot pressed into the backs of Luger's knees, pinning him to the mat. Another two men each grab hold of Luger's wrists, peeling him up so that his head is about a foot off the ground. The last man leaps into the air, and with Luger completely helpless, hits a curb stomp with skull-splitting force.

Slate cheers, clapping at the sight of a motionless Luger. He lets the group know that they're all done, but all Val hears is WORTHLESS and PATHETIC. She asks Leon for a chair, and two seconds later she has one in her hand.

Val rolls Luger onto his back with her foot, then in a swift motion, without an ounce of hesitation, she jabs the chair straight down damn near through Luger's throat.

An unsettling silence fills the building, a silence filled by the exponentially more unsettling sound of Luger gagging and wheezing, lungs desperate for oxygen.

That noise is drowned out by the sound of thousands of people screaming when Val lifts the chair a second time. Slate barely gets there in time, knocking Val off balance enough for the second strike to hit Luger just below the chest.

The smoke appears again, providing Val and Co. with an exit.

Meanwhile, Slate sticks around, his expression unreadable. He's watching as medical personnel tend to Luger, whose status remains unknown.

All the fans can hope is that he can come back from this, that he can be okay.

One day.