Hey Man, Nice Shot

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Okay, has there ever been a time where that phrase is even mildly appropriate? Let’s pretend for a second that it was indeed the best of times. The good guys are dominating Wrestleworld. They are, right?

Oh that’s right, they’re falling apart. The bad guys, the Underworld, have a tight grip on the throats of everyone in the company. Jaywalker is trying his best to diffuse the situation, but the cancer continues to grow. Wait, how are we in the best of times, again? Oh that’s right, we’re not. Some would even argue, we are in a true dark age. The remaining few of the good continue to fall. Each week, Hana Nakajima, April Song, and Stephanie Matsuda get ambushed and left for dead. Each week, they come back. Maybe they’re gluttons for punishment, who knows?

Even the good eat the good. Beau Cassidy, the southern gent, ambushed Lillie Saint following their match. It continues, the Underworld adds more members, they grow in size. Those left to go against them, they face insurmountable odds.

It really is the worst of times.

“I once was lost..”

Through the grass, a strong black stallion gallops in the field. Each movement causes massive thuds into the ground before slowing down towards the middle of the brush. Positioned on top of the stallion is Colt Montoya. Donning a black dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of blue jeans, Colt takes a puff of the cigarette resting on the edge of his lips. Colt was once considered a bad guy. His heartless ways changed a tune when he found himself on the wrong end of a vicious attack from Jay Jones at King of the World. Jones, in his act of cowardice, sent Colt to the outside of the ring, and laid into him with a plethora of chair shots.

It was nothing personal, he said. Just business, he said. When you’re laying in the hospital, with a separated shoulder, and a mountain of gashes across your back and head from chair shots, it becomes very personal. Adding your little sister into the company, only for her to suffer at the hands of a reckless amateur, it’s hard to look at those things as ‘business as usual’.

Colt climbs off of Buckshot, the odd name for a horse. He looks down the field at several dummies. The field of The Rofflestomp Ranch feels vast. So vast, that in his days of living here, he hasn’t even begun to touch on how much space these fifty acres carry. Wrestleworld gave him this, the opportunity to purchase his first home, and to make it better, had given him the blessing to make the Ranch something special.

“I reckon now is an appropriate time to have a little chat. Ever since King of the World, things just feel weird. They feel so weird in fact, that I constantly now have to look over my shoulder. There’s no angel on one side, no devil on the other. I can see just fine without them. What is it that I see? Enemies, lined up one by one, ready to take what I’ve worked so hard for. I’m the wholesome type, but I will say this, there is a world of black and white, and trust me, I’m seeing a lot of the former in front of me. “

Colt removes a rifle from around his shoulder, and looks it over, before focusing on the target in front of him. He exhales before squeezing the trigger, firing a round into the heart of the target. Not an ounce of relief leaves his body, as he lowers the rifle.

“It could have been just that easy. Jay Jones, right in front of me. It could have been easier than that, Aoi Akuma, right in front of me. Kanaida Sharpe and I took care of you two on DOMINION recently. At least, I thought that was the case. See, Sharpey didn’t bring a whole lot to the fight, so this was basically a two on one for me. At least, it looked that way. Problem is, Jay Jones decided to puss out, and leave his boy hanging. He slithered away like cowardly prey, rather than the predator he makes himself out to be.”

Taking a drag from the cigarette, Colt loads two bullets into the rifle. He gazes at the beauty of the gun. While he isn’t a gun-toting conservative, he appreciates the art of hitting the target in fun, and creative ways.

“If that wasn’t enough, I went to the last Chapter to finish the job. My ol’ amigo, The Sultan of Swat, sat in my hands and I was ready to unleash hell on Jones and Akuma both, had they shown their faces. Well, they didn’t. You know who did though? It was you, Jimmy. It was you, who decided to chime in with your wisdom and try to convince me that they didn’t deserve the ass whipping of a life time. It was you, that tried to force your views on the situation I’m in. Do you even know what situation I’m facing right now? This could have gone down for good, with just one strike.”

Looking at the second target, he notices a blue mask sitting on the face of the dummy. Bringing the cigarette between his lips, he takes aim, before firing a second bullet, this time striking the head of the dummy, right into the mask. He lowers the rifle again, and removes the cigarette from his lips.

“You’ve been fighting with this Akuma stigma for some time now. I expected you to understand that when there is somebody who is capable of destroying the spider, you don’t get in the way. Instead of swallowing the cockroaches, he would have been dining on his own teeth once I smashed him with the Sultan. You ruined that for me. Rather than asking why, I figured you wanted something more from me. You didn’t want somebody to finish your job for you. Hense, why we’re battling it out tonight. You can paint the picture any way you want, but at the end of the day, I have a choice of my own to make. See, I’m a smart enough fella to know that if I wipe out the enemy of my enemy, I’m going to put myself in a pretty weird predicament.”

He once again presses the cigarette to his lips, and raises the rifle into position. He looks at the third target. All he can see is Jimmy Johnson. Jimmy, the distractor, you could say. He ruined the chance to put all the pain away. He can end Jimmy’s troubled history by taking him out of the equation for good. He slowly moves the rifle left, and fires a second bullet into the mask of the second dummy.

“Let’s call it what it is, Jimmy. You’re in a fight with a guy who has zero interest in putting you out of your misery. You’re facing a guy who is going to do what you refused to do. Standing in my way, is a guy who will continue to witness failure after failure through experience. In the way for now, but after tonight, you’re going to be brushed aside, and let the Last Breathing Outlaw move in for the kill. Hell, after tonight, if you play your cards right, we might even go have a beer, and talk some shop. Until then, I suppose you and I have a problem. While we’re doing all this, we got the snake and the spider watching over us, making cute comments about how we can’t beat them. They might be right, WE probably can’t. You probably can’t. All I need is one nice shot, and ol Sultan with me, and I’ll end our problem once and for all.”

Colt adjusts a strap on the rifle, and puts it over his shoulders. He climbs on to good ol’ Buckshot, and looks around for a moment.

“Until then, see you tonight. Happy Trails Jimmy.”

He gives a slight smile, and tips his cap.

In the grand scheme of things, a match with Jimmy Johnson is the last of the concerns. The pending war with Jay Jones and Aoi Akuma is the focal point. No matter what comes across him after tonight, Colt is ready. Locked, and loaded. Bring it on.