Images went through the Mongolian’s mind. WENDE, the War, his Mandolin, his ancestors, his gods. The dream was delirious, memories, visions, and predictions flying through his mind from the toxic substance that entered his body. Each voice speaking, and in turn, morphing into the next. His mother, his father, his best friend, his rival, his gods.
“What’s a scrawny little brat like you going to do?” “You can do it, you can beat him” “Hah, I knew it.” “Take the horse to the village elder.” “You can do whatever you set your mind to.” “Do you want some more?” “Don’t hurt me.” “Your path will be revealed.” “wake up.” “Your burden is ours to share.” “My, look at how you have grown.” “You are leaving Mongolia?” “We will come with you.” “It is your destiny to fight.” “wake up.” “Bring honor to us.” “You are better than this.” “Hah, you are worthless.” “Wake Up!”
Bold’s eyes flutter open, the static buzzing of an incandescent light in a fixture swinging above his head is the only sound that penetrates his thoughts. He slowly looked around the room. It was a fairly small room, barely lit. Different implements on a table across from him, obviously meant to inflict extraordinary pain. They were already covered in questionable brownish stains. The Mongolian wondered how many screams were let out in this room. The pounding in his head jarred brought him back to reality. He was sitting in a chair, he couldn’t move his legs. He strained his arms, his hands were bound behind home with some thick rope. He grunted, trying to pull the rope apart, but no luck. He stopped struggling as the door to the small room opened. He gritted his teeth. In front of him was his previous promotion’s manager Guadalupe and the biggest luchador in the promotion, La Gran Serpiente.
“Extranjero. You didn’t listen to me. All you had to do was take the pin. Pero, caballo hombre, you refused even the most simple of tasks. Even un caballo understands simple tasks. You are dumber than the beasts you ride. You made a mockery of my promotion. Now, we will take that out on you, make you learn your place amongst us amigo. I will let you know of the great power that Luchadors have in my arena. Without me, they are nothing. Without me, you are nothing.” He nods towards the table with the torture implements. La Gran Serpiente walked briskly to the table, grabbing some pliers before returning to their trapped enemy. “You will pay, mi amigo.” Khan struggled against his bonds, but kept his mouth shut as the torture began.
Hours passed, the heavy set man breathing heavily, wiping blood on a cloth, upset that the defiant Mongolian refused to relinquish any sounds or break. “You are tough señor. But I will break you, I just need to grab some more juguetes.” Both the manager and the masked luchador left the room. The Mongolian grunted, feeling the blood trickle down his arms to his bound hands. He had been in worse, much worse. If he gave the manager the satisfaction he wanted, it could create an opening. The Mongolian shook his head. No, no satisfaction, he will keep his pride, even in defeat. He shifted his arms a bit, breaking a smile. The binds are loose.
A few agonizing moments passed. The sweat dripped from his brow in a mix of white and crimson. He strained against the bonds, feeling them stretch and break from his strength. He stopped struggling when he heard them outside his door again. He stopped and death stared at the door, waiting for them to return. The Manager came in alone, carrying some intense implementations of torture. The Manager was enjoying himself, grabbing one object and putting it down before grabbing another and admiring it. “You know, you have been a thorn in my side ever since I hired you Extranjero. Well, these tools, will help me pull you out. Amigo, today is not your lucky day.” The small fat man finally picked up a tool and moved towards the Mongolian.
The next moments happened quickly, almost as if time had slowed down. There was a snap as the rope holding the Mongolian’s massive fists snapped from the pressure, the fibers spinning off in different directions. The big man stood up and grabbed the Luchador Manager by the throat, quick enough that only a small squeal escaped his lips before it was silenced. The Mongolian stared at the fat man, death in his eyes, lifting him by the throat before slamming him all his might into the torture instruments. The Mongolian took delight in seeing his former torturer’s expression as the so called juguetes or toys as he called them, pierced his soft backside. The Mongolian kept his grip on the fat man’s neck, lifting him again and seeing the devices still impaled into his back.
Khan heard some hurried footsteps approach his room, coming for the commotion that happened. Khan lifted the manager up in a gorilla press position, waiting for the door to open. The Door opened and La Gran Serpiente charged in only to be flattened by his heavy boss landing on top of him. The green masked luchador rose to his feet quickly, but not quickly enough as the Mongolian grabbed a Meat Tenderizer and one swift blow had the luchador knocked out cold.
The Mongolian grabbed the whimpering fat man, who started screaming, “Ayudame, Ayudame!” The Mongolian slammed the door shut again to stifle the screams. The Mongolian didn’t need anything for him, his own strength, his own fists, no weapons. The woozy Mongolian unleashed blow after blow into the man until he was a bloody pulp. Chuluun stood up, headed to the door. He could hear people running towards the room again. It was not going to be easy getting out of here. He didn’t know the layout and everyone was an enemy. Bold opened the door and turned down the hallway. He could hear some men running down the hall towards the room. The Mongolian started to walk towards them, picking up the speed a bit before he was in a full sprint. Right as the men rounded the corner, they were greeted with a massive forearm each from the massive Mongolian, turning them inside out as they crashed into the hard concrete floor beneath them. Bold swore he heard a snap from one of them as they landed on their neck.
Bold took over down the hallway that the men came from. This facility almost seemed like a maze, or a labyrinth, filled with twists and turns and making no sense with foes around every other corner. The Mongolian didn’t care. Like a wounded predator, he hunted his prey, wounding them so there would be no chase, while looking for an escape from this hellish cage. He turned the corner, grabbed another man by the throat before slamming him head first into the concrete wall. He swore he felt the building shake, but it must have still been the sedatives still wearing off. Bold kept going, seeing a big double door at the end of the hallway. This had to be an exit. He slammed through the doors, covering his eyes in pain as the bright sun shone overhead. He let his eyes adjust to the brightness, taking stock of where he was. It appeared to be a small private warehouse with its own airstrip. There was a small airplane sitting on the airstrip, being stocked by workers and started up by the pilot. The Mongolian took off sprinting towards the plane. He ignored everything else around him besides the plane and the crew. He sprinted as if his life depended on it. The workers stocking the plane saw the massive man charge towards them and had too little preparation to avoid the heavy hitting blows from the striker. A stiff lariat, a massive haymaker, and being thrown into their supplies ended the workers resistance quickly. Bold climbed into the airplane, the pilot was unaware of his passenger, making sure the equipment was all set and ready to go.
The Mongolian yelled at the pilot to take off now. The Pilot still couldn’t hear the Mongolian front he head set. Bold grew frustrated and smashed the pilot into the control wheel, seeing blood splatter from the small man’s face. “Ahh, my nose… you broke my nose!” The Mongolian set the man with a death stare.
“Take off now!” The pilot hurried and did as he was told, knowing better than to piss off the angry foreigner. Bold took a look outside the plane, seeing people exit the warehouse and start charging towards the plane. The plane started down the runway and there was no hope for the luchadors to catch him. The plane rose up sharply and turned a bit towards the east. Bold finally allowed himself to relax a bit. It was a long 24 hours. He couldn’t sleep until it was over though. The chaos in the north, the luchador cartel, androids killing people on the streets as well as making a mockery of wrestling. Bold spit, blood mixed with phlegm as he laid back a bit, grabbing a headset to speak to the pilot. “Where are you going?”
The Pilot was whimpering in the headset, his face still bleeding freely from the blow. He directed the plane with one hand, the other trying to staunch the blood with a small handkerchief. “Cuba.”
The Mongolian breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect.” Exactly where he needed to be for the next show. No hijacking the plane needed. The Mongolian knew he couldn’t rest easy until he was safe on the ground.
...
Time passed quite quickly, the flight was smooth, no turbulence, no unnecessary talk, and a smooth landing. The Mongolian grabbed a briefcase, taking some money from it for himself, before tossing it to the pilot. “Your payment.” The pilot grabbed the briefcase with his free hand, nodding slightly towards the massive man. The Mongolian walked off, looking for a place to rest and clean up. He thought to himself, letting his mind wander. After the events of today, he knew he had a chance to defeat that WENDE android next time he faced her. He would not under-estimate her again. He felt only a small tinge of pity for his next opponent though. Not many things could withstand a severely pissed off Mongolian.
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