"Yeah...", Tom said distractedly, one hand wrapped around his chin, the other on the keyboard. He was staring, rapt in thought and lost in Tommyworld. That was where Lucas liked to think Tom's mind was when the kid was completely out of it. Usually thinking about wrestling.

 

"He's admitted that there's a big plan. And a big event happening.", Lucas continued, his voice flat and level.

 

"Yup.", Tom mumbled.

 

"He's said not only that he's gonna bring it all to bear on you, just like you wanted, but that there's so much artillery pointed your direction, the fusillade's gonna take down the whole zip code you're in.", Lucas finished, voice heavy with that gravelly, road-weary rasp.

 

"Sure has.", Tom said, before sighing. "And I still have no idea who he is."

 

"...Wait, what?", Lucas' eyes bulged as he snapped his gaze down at Tom.

 

"Sure, I have a list of suspects. But each one of them is tied up in too much red tape to make it. They're in other states. They have stone-cold alibis. The list of people that YAZ could be is awfully short. I mean, I've got some worst-case scenarios, but half the people on it are dead. Some are in no shape to wrestle anymore, and I'm pretty sure one of them is a Congressman now." Tom helplessly shrugged, looking down.

 

"But... You sai-", Lucas began.

 

"I know what I said.", Tom interjected, cutting Lucas off. "I couldn't admit that I can't crack the code. I'm supposed to be the good guy here. I've got to be the one to get the fans in the door, thinking I'm gonna triumph. And I've done the best job I can, painting the target on my back. Like YAZ himself said, I've got his attention. Now, they're not gonna waste their time taking out people lower on the card, or innocent bystanders. They HAVE to come after me, or look weak."

 

That was a royal "they". Tom turned to face the computer fully, bringing up a Powerpoint file.

 

"Here's my plan." Tom clicked the start file button, and hit the keyboard. No stupid animations, just Click. We're in.

 

"I'm gonna keep trying to recruit people to at least think on my side. And maybe when it all goes down, if I'm outnumbered, I'll get some help. Dane can send security quickly. Or maybe I can get some dudes on the roster to stable up with me." The powerpoint showed some likely candidates for the stabling up. Lucas looked over the list, thinking. There were some good men on that list, that would really help.

 

"I'm preparing for these men. All of them worst-case-scenarios. Each one worse than the last." Tom gestured to it with a hand. Lucas read the first casefile. Click. Tom changed to the second. Lucas' eyebrows went up, as he realized who it was. Click. The third. Lucas didn't like what he was seeing. Click. The fourth. Lucas stepped back, head suddenly a bit... floaty.

 

"If it's any of them...", Lucas ventured. Tom bobbed his head in agreement, a glum look on his face.

 

"I know. I don't think it can be any of them. And I'm terrified that it might be one of 'em." Tom brought a hand up, rubbing his thumb over his chin.

 

"Kid... If you're half prepared for men of that level, you'll be ready for anything." 

 

***

 

"This is gonna hurt.", Tom said to no-one in particular, sitting on the edge of his bed. His childhood bed. The walls were covered with posters of wrestlers. 80s. 90s. Even some from the post-2000 period. Tom had a Light poster over there. A Heidi poster over here. Haystacks Calhoun. Big Daddy. Mike Bell. Byron Tanis. The faces and the images and the posters were endless. Man after man after man. And... Well, he had been a teenager at one point. Sure, there were some female wrestlers in their typical swimsuit poster.

 

"I'm likely gonna get beaten up. Seriously beaten, too. Hospital beaten." Tom clenched his right wrist in his other hand, working the fingers of his right hand.

 

"I can't even know who or what or how it's gonna happen. But I am gonna fight someone, and it's gonna be desperate." Tom looked up, at the one picture that was right on the door. 

 

The pink trunks with the stars. Sunglasses. Beard. Wild hair. Index finger pointed upward, a dazzling grin on his lips. Tom's favorite, from word "go". The Macho Man Randy Savage.

 

"If only I could have somebody like Savage on my side. Problem: Solved.", Tom croaked, forgetting that the Macho King had waffled so many times, he might very well have been a member of the vanguard. Or perhaps just ignoring the thought.

 

Tom could feel... something. Awareness, maybe. Pulling him towards his closet. He knew what was inside the closet... His very own private shrine to himself. A listing of every match he ever had, meticulously recorded. Often a recording of it, in multiple formats.

 

All the outfits. Pictures from all the big shows. Memorabilia. And one very fancy box, where a plastic toy sat. A repurposed piece of Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers memorabilia. The golden coin plugged into it a custom-cast, supernaturally powerful talisman.

 

The Power Coin that had allowed Tom to become the Macho Ranger. Crystallized machismo, enough to make any 7-year-old boy hit puberty in a halfsecond. Enough manliness, that Tom could emulate the peak of the '80s, run out from the back with a lead pipe and clear the ring, even if it was fifteen Andre-sized guys.

 

It would even the odds immeasurably. Nothing short of an ICBM could stop Tom, then.

 

But... Tom had drunk deep from that well. While working for the WWA, he had been fully in the grips of the Madness. And... His body wasn't enough to contain it. Waking up weeping tears of blood, fingernails popping off like potato chips, looking like a meth addict after a five-month bender...

 

Tom had barely even had any beer. He didn't do drugs aside from the occasional painkiller. Usually Ibuprofen at best. He was a geek, a sheltered little boy who got to grow up in the environs of Canada, shielded from even methamphetamines.

 

Going through that had terrified him. The moment the WWA went on hiatus, Tom swore off the Coin, and all the power it brought. He wasn't worried he would do it forever, because... That would be glorious.

 

He was worried about whether he could get it done without it.

 

He clenched both fists, eyes closing. He so desperately wanted to grab the Coin, ride out to Pomp and Circumstance in a cowboy hat, live out that childhood dream.

 

No. 

 

"No."

 

No way. Tom would do this by himself. He'd take his beating like a man. He'd fight his own battle, like a man. He'd defy the odds and take the rocket to the chest like a man.

 

Maybe he could get some people to join him, share the bur-...

 

And be the collateral damage YAZ warned about. YAZ and his plan would probably love to get to injure someone who took up Tom's side.

 

But... Alone, Tom stood very little chance at all.

 

Tom had never been backed into the corner so badly. This was not good.

 

"If only I was bigger, stronger, and scarier. Maybe I could cow YAZ out of it."

 

Or maybe Tom woulda been tempted to do this kind of thing himself.

 

Tom scooted back, and brought his knees to his chest. He lifted the TV remote, and turned it on. Hit play, and the built-in VCR began to play an old Clash of the Champions.

 

But even the old wrestling wasn't a balm on Tom's mental wounds. He still worried and fretted. 

 

And he'd continue to do so right up until he got into the Mobile Civic Center.