UNCUT 138 EXCLUSIVE

“Kicked around by The Company Men? Now I’m left off everything? Not booked during DEFCONCON weekend?”

The murmuring around the halls… 

One BRAZEN star by the name of Wild Logan Barry, his eyes looking over the schedule for DEFCONCON weekend just released to the stars of BRAZEN. 

A grungy-looking man with an unkempt beard, arms and torso completely covered in tattoos. A former boxer with a mean left AND right hand, but can’t find luck inside the ring lately in prior appearances in either BRAZEN or DEFIANCE.

Barry starts to turn on his heel when he looks across the hall. 

The team of Gentlemen’s Agreement - Lord Sewell and Oliver Tarquin Monroe - both heading in the opposite direction as the young BRAZEN star. 

“That silly little whelp,” says Lord Sewell. “Wes… I can’t recall his name. Either way, he got what was coming to him again.”

“Indubitably!” Monroe chortle. “But… even after this victory tonight. I must confess something to you, Lord.”

“Speak your mind, sir.”

OTM sighs. “Things are becoming dire around here, I’m afraid.”

“In what fashion, Oliver?” he asks. 

“My lord… things are moving at a very accelerated pace in DEFIANCE all in the name of championship gold and supremacy. People are grouping together in larger numbers as of late to find better chances for gold. Vae Victis. Better Future Talent Agency. Pop Culture Phenoms. Titanes Familia. Team HOSS just to name a few.”

“Indeed. I have noticed this as well. Is there no honor in our fine sport any longer, Oliver?”

OTM shakes his head. 

“I scoff at the notion that things like chivalry are dead… but it does appear that manners and decency have just been thrown out the window. We must adapt to modern times or our ways may no longer be.”

Lord Sewell rubs a careful hand under the cleft in his chin. 

“And good sir, what would you propose?” Lord Sewell asks his tag partner. 

After mulling over ideas silently, Oliver speaks up. 

“Perhaps… an alliance of sorts? What we need is another. We need a third to… as some of these savages like to say…” he makes air quotes. “Get their hands dirty” if you will. So that way our gloves remain pristine and dirt-free and we find a better chance of success for ourselves. 

Lord Sewell considers his proposal. 

“Well… that is quite an endeavor, Mr. Monroe. I don’t suppose you have any…”

“Hey! Hey! Excuse me!”

The two are interrupted when Wild Logan Barry approaches the two with the subtlety of a hungry bear going right for unmarked bags of cocaine, as some movies will have you believe. 

“Excuse us? Excuse YOU, knave!” Lord Sewell shouts. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”

Barry rolls his eyes… and sighs. Loud. 

“A million pardons… or whatever.” Logan says, shaking his head in disgust for what he is doing to get attention. “I didn’t mean to listen to your… conversation? Speak easy? Whatever. You guys need someone to get their hands dirty for you?”

Oliver Tarquin Monroe. “Oh… I recall you. You’re that… ugh, brawler… from BRAZEN. Wild Logan… Barry, was it?”

He sighs again. 

“Yeah… good… chap? No, wait, Oscar Burns says that. Well… anyway… You two need someone to crack some skulls it sounds like. And I need to get the heeeeeellll out of BRAZEN. Badly. You need someone to do it, then I’m your huckleberry.”

“I thought your name was Logan Barry,” says Lord Sewell.”

“Grgrgrggrrrrgggghh…” Barry tries to bite his tongue. “It is… do you want some help or not?”

Lord Sewell and Oliver Tarquin Monroe exchange silent glances at one another and then convene in a quick huddle. After some deliberation and an angry Logan Barry watching the two, they break and Lord Sewell speaks up. 

“Mister… Wild,” OTM says. “We wish to see some credentials if we are to take you under our employ.”

Barry snaps his head. “What? I’m a former Golden Gloves boxer. I’ve won a bunch of toughman contests. Six-feet tall. Two-forty. Like that?”

“Perhaps… a demonstration?” Lord Sewell suggests. 

Logan growls again… then sees a limping Wes Ingram coming through the curtain, being helped by a member of the EMT staff. Logan turns… 

Then DECKS Wes Ingram with a hefty left hand, sending the poor 19-year-old punching bag of BRAZEN crumbling to the floor! The EMT jumps back! Both Lord Sewell and OTM wince when Barry turns back to Lord Sewell and Oliver Tarquin Monroe. 

“There!” Barry yells. “There’s your dumbass demonstration. Am I hired or what?”

Sewell and Monroe once again turn to one another and seem to be communicating via telepathy. Logan holds his hands out as if to tell them he wants an answer. 

“Good sir… under one condition.” Monroe speaks. “This whole… ink-laden monstrosity covering your body… this will not do.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“The hell’s wrong with my ink?”

“Oh, dear, nothing other than everything,” Monroe says. “Come with us and we will the terms of this new arrangement!”

The three men walk off and discuss business while Wes Ingram is left holding his jaw on the ground. 

“...ow.”

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