EGO (The Emerald Grappling Organization)
May 13, 2024 20:33:56 GMT -5
hexxstar, on_the_edge, and 2 more like this
Post by legendsport on May 13, 2024 20:33:56 GMT -5
ARROKOTH, KUIPER BELT, SOL SYSTEM....
The man piloting the shuttle looked over at his companion.
"This must be it," he said, receiving a disinterested-sounding grunt in reply.
"Highly irregular... this guy making us come out here..." he continued.
"Money's good," he heard in reply.
"That's true, but this still... highly irregular," the first man stubbornly repeated. Hearing no reply, he shot a glance at the other man. A shrug was the not unexpected reply. His friend was a man of few words.
Suddenly a siren blared. The man frantically looked at the board. The IFF indicator was flashing... and so was the threat indicator.
"Whoa! Someone's unfriendly!" he shouted.
His companion smirked.
Just as the man at the controls was about to upbraid his companion, he heard a voice in his headset:
"I believe I know who you are," said the voice. It had a slight... lilt... to it. A brief pause and the voice added, "Provide the password now please, lest I spread your atoms across the Belt."
The pilot's eyes widened. The password? Was there a password? He looked at his companion. The smirk was still there as he keyed his mic: "Emerald," he said.
The board went blank and the pilot relaxed, then wondered what the devil they'd gotten themselves into this time.
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Ten minutes later, they'd landed their shuttle on the small... planetoid? Asteroid? Whatever it was... it was small, lacked atmosphere and was cold... bitterly so. The voice had instructed them all along the way: land here, put on enviro suits, exit the shuttle, walk past the big outcropping and there.... was a building. A strange building, but the pilot had long since realized that everything about this whole trip was stange.
The building appeared to have been built into the other side of the outcropping. There was a tall open... doorway, he supposed. From within a red light.
The Lair on Arrokoth
"Enter and stop under the red light," the voice instructed.
They complied. A whirring noise. "We're being scanned," the pilot said. His friend grunted, still maintaining his cavalier attitude about this whole thing.
The back wall slid open, revealing an elevator.
"Please, gentlemen, step inside and let's get better acquainted," the voice said into the receivers in their helmets.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The elevator ride was smooth. This rock some long ago Earth astronomer had named Arrakoth wasn't "deep" so the ride was also relatively short.
As the elevator stopped a whooshing noise followed by a green atmosphere indicator on his helmet's HUD told the pilot he could remove his helmet. His partner had already removed his own.
The doors opened and the pilot gasped. It was with some satisfaction that he heard a sharp intake of breath from his companion. The chamber they'd entered was expansive, with towering ceilings adorned with shimmering green crystal formations. "Emeralds..." the pilot whispered.
The walls were hewn from the asteroid's natural stone, polished to a mirror-like sheen, and reflected the splendor of the room's decadent furnishings.
At the center of the chamber stood a lavish throne, carved from what appeared to be obsidian. It was adorned with intricate patterns and encrusted with emeralds, it dominated the room. Surrounding the throne were sumptuous furnishings fit for a monarch. Plush velvet couches and chaises lounge against the walls, upholstered in deep shades of green, crimson and obsidian. Gilded tables gleam in the ambient light, laden with exotic delicacies and decanters of the finest wines from across the galaxy.
The pilot turned to his friend with wide eyes. His friend whistled low and said, "See? Money... lots and lots of money."
Seated on the throne, was a tall, thin man. He looked to be in his fifties - in Earth years - and both the pilot and his companion were humans, though neither had been born on humanity's homeworld. He had brown hair tinged with gray, but what stood out most was his attire. He wore a green tuxedo, one that was probably over a century out of date, complete with large black bow tie.
The man rose as they crossed the room. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said.
"You live here?" the pilot's companion growled the question. The pilot shot him a warning look. Whatever else he was, this mystery man was apparently gaudily wealthy and likely had plenty of muscle hidden... somewhere... on the premises.
"Among other places, yes," the man said somewhat amiably.
"So why the cloak and dagger?" the pilot asked, his normal confidence starting to return.
"Ah... let's just say there are... certainly parties, whom I'd prefer not know about this."
There again was that strange cadence to his voice. The pilot found himself plunging the depths of his memory.
"Well, we're here," his partner said. "I have two questions: first, where's our money? And second, who do you want us to kill for it?"
The man laughed. "Murder is not on the agenda, my large friend," he said, noting with a nod that both the pilot and his companion were indeed large fellows. Wrestlers by trade.
"Well, I'd guess it's safe to assume we're not here to wrestle, so what do you want with us?" the pilot asked.
"I'd like to hire you," the man said with a grin.
"We have contracts with the GWF," the pilot replied, noting that as he spoke the initials of the galaxy's pre-eminent wrestling federation the man had - briefly - scowled in distaste.
"Contracts can be broken," the man said, eliciting a throaty laugh from the pilot's partner.
"That'll cost you extra," the pilot said.
The man smirked. "Money, as they say, is not an object," was the reply he received, eliciting another laugh.
"OK, so you want us to wrestle for you, is that it? You a promoter?" the pilot asked, now assuming his normal role of the being the brains of the partnership. His friend was certainly the bonafide muscle.
The man pointed at the pilot's partner. "Him, I want to wrestle for me, yes." He paused and looked at the pilot with a wide smile. "You... you, I want to find me more wrestlers."
"Scout? Me?" the pilot asked increduously.
"Yes, you. I have watched you for a long time. You are an astute man, who utilizes above-average intelligence in the ring," the man explaied. "Your friend here, he simply pummels the opponent."
The pilot's friend smiled. "That's true," he said.
"Look mister..." the pilot trailed off. "We don't even know your name...."
"Green. Call me Mr. Green," was the reply.
The Mysterious Mr. Green
The man piloting the shuttle looked over at his companion.
"This must be it," he said, receiving a disinterested-sounding grunt in reply.
"Highly irregular... this guy making us come out here..." he continued.
"Money's good," he heard in reply.
"That's true, but this still... highly irregular," the first man stubbornly repeated. Hearing no reply, he shot a glance at the other man. A shrug was the not unexpected reply. His friend was a man of few words.
Suddenly a siren blared. The man frantically looked at the board. The IFF indicator was flashing... and so was the threat indicator.
"Whoa! Someone's unfriendly!" he shouted.
His companion smirked.
Just as the man at the controls was about to upbraid his companion, he heard a voice in his headset:
"I believe I know who you are," said the voice. It had a slight... lilt... to it. A brief pause and the voice added, "Provide the password now please, lest I spread your atoms across the Belt."
The pilot's eyes widened. The password? Was there a password? He looked at his companion. The smirk was still there as he keyed his mic: "Emerald," he said.
The board went blank and the pilot relaxed, then wondered what the devil they'd gotten themselves into this time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten minutes later, they'd landed their shuttle on the small... planetoid? Asteroid? Whatever it was... it was small, lacked atmosphere and was cold... bitterly so. The voice had instructed them all along the way: land here, put on enviro suits, exit the shuttle, walk past the big outcropping and there.... was a building. A strange building, but the pilot had long since realized that everything about this whole trip was stange.
The building appeared to have been built into the other side of the outcropping. There was a tall open... doorway, he supposed. From within a red light.
The Lair on Arrokoth
"Enter and stop under the red light," the voice instructed.
They complied. A whirring noise. "We're being scanned," the pilot said. His friend grunted, still maintaining his cavalier attitude about this whole thing.
The back wall slid open, revealing an elevator.
"Please, gentlemen, step inside and let's get better acquainted," the voice said into the receivers in their helmets.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The elevator ride was smooth. This rock some long ago Earth astronomer had named Arrakoth wasn't "deep" so the ride was also relatively short.
As the elevator stopped a whooshing noise followed by a green atmosphere indicator on his helmet's HUD told the pilot he could remove his helmet. His partner had already removed his own.
The doors opened and the pilot gasped. It was with some satisfaction that he heard a sharp intake of breath from his companion. The chamber they'd entered was expansive, with towering ceilings adorned with shimmering green crystal formations. "Emeralds..." the pilot whispered.
The walls were hewn from the asteroid's natural stone, polished to a mirror-like sheen, and reflected the splendor of the room's decadent furnishings.
At the center of the chamber stood a lavish throne, carved from what appeared to be obsidian. It was adorned with intricate patterns and encrusted with emeralds, it dominated the room. Surrounding the throne were sumptuous furnishings fit for a monarch. Plush velvet couches and chaises lounge against the walls, upholstered in deep shades of green, crimson and obsidian. Gilded tables gleam in the ambient light, laden with exotic delicacies and decanters of the finest wines from across the galaxy.
The pilot turned to his friend with wide eyes. His friend whistled low and said, "See? Money... lots and lots of money."
Seated on the throne, was a tall, thin man. He looked to be in his fifties - in Earth years - and both the pilot and his companion were humans, though neither had been born on humanity's homeworld. He had brown hair tinged with gray, but what stood out most was his attire. He wore a green tuxedo, one that was probably over a century out of date, complete with large black bow tie.
The man rose as they crossed the room. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said.
"You live here?" the pilot's companion growled the question. The pilot shot him a warning look. Whatever else he was, this mystery man was apparently gaudily wealthy and likely had plenty of muscle hidden... somewhere... on the premises.
"Among other places, yes," the man said somewhat amiably.
"So why the cloak and dagger?" the pilot asked, his normal confidence starting to return.
"Ah... let's just say there are... certainly parties, whom I'd prefer not know about this."
There again was that strange cadence to his voice. The pilot found himself plunging the depths of his memory.
"Well, we're here," his partner said. "I have two questions: first, where's our money? And second, who do you want us to kill for it?"
The man laughed. "Murder is not on the agenda, my large friend," he said, noting with a nod that both the pilot and his companion were indeed large fellows. Wrestlers by trade.
"Well, I'd guess it's safe to assume we're not here to wrestle, so what do you want with us?" the pilot asked.
"I'd like to hire you," the man said with a grin.
"We have contracts with the GWF," the pilot replied, noting that as he spoke the initials of the galaxy's pre-eminent wrestling federation the man had - briefly - scowled in distaste.
"Contracts can be broken," the man said, eliciting a throaty laugh from the pilot's partner.
"That'll cost you extra," the pilot said.
The man smirked. "Money, as they say, is not an object," was the reply he received, eliciting another laugh.
"OK, so you want us to wrestle for you, is that it? You a promoter?" the pilot asked, now assuming his normal role of the being the brains of the partnership. His friend was certainly the bonafide muscle.
The man pointed at the pilot's partner. "Him, I want to wrestle for me, yes." He paused and looked at the pilot with a wide smile. "You... you, I want to find me more wrestlers."
"Scout? Me?" the pilot asked increduously.
"Yes, you. I have watched you for a long time. You are an astute man, who utilizes above-average intelligence in the ring," the man explaied. "Your friend here, he simply pummels the opponent."
The pilot's friend smiled. "That's true," he said.
"Look mister..." the pilot trailed off. "We don't even know your name...."
"Green. Call me Mr. Green," was the reply.
The Mysterious Mr. Green
Muss & The Bomb, aka Green Energy 
