There Will Be Blood, Part II

Now we see a town being built, all sorts of new buildings are going up all around, and they already look a lot nicer than the property that was on offer in No Limit. Corey Casey and Brandon Macdonald stood on a street corner, watching the construction all around them.

Corey Casey: Don't tell him I said it, but I'll be damned if Chuck Matthews didn't have himself a damn good idea for once. This shit is actually working out.

Brandon Macdonald: You gotta hand it to him, he does have some brains to back up his talk.

Corey was silent for a few seconds, before finally managing a grunt of acknowledgement. Just because things had been running smoothly in the town didn't mean he was ready to get chummy with Chuck.

Corey spat a wad of chewing tobacco in to a nearby barrel and leaned up against a pole behind him, closing his eyes and basking in the warm heat of the mid-day New Mexico sun. Brandon, on the other hand, leant forward and squinted to see against the sun's blinding light.

Brandon Macdonald: ...the fuck are those guys?

Corey Casey: Hmmm?

Brandon hit Corey with his hand.

Brandon Macdonald: Wake up, you asshole. Those guys over there, walking in to town. I've never seen them before.

Corey slowly opened his eyes and focused on the men who were walking down what, for want of a better alternative, was the main street of Insurgency. Corey thought that they certainly looked out of place. The burning summer heat meant that most residents were fairly lightly dressed in cotton pants and light, flowing shirts, but these men were dressed to the nines.

As they came in to better view Corey and Brandon could see that they were all fully suited. None of them were dressed anything like you'd expect anywhere in America, at least outside of the big cities. The two exchanged a glance as the men drew even nearer. The eldest of the men looked like he was scouting the town out for something, and Corey had to admire how none of them seemed to be experiencing any discomfort in the heat. At least if they were, they weren't showing it.

One of the men, the shortest of the group stepped out ahead of the rest, who stopped at the intersection of two streets. Clearing his throat he removed his bowler hat and addressed no-one in particular.

Man: My name is Duke Reginald Churchill, this gentleman here is my master, Lord Blackwing. He would like to address the leaders of this little community. Where might we find them?

The man who called himself Churchill spoke in a strong British accent, which confused Corey and Brandon even further.

Brandon Macdonald: Looks like we're up.

Corey Casey: Seems like it.

Brandon Macdonald: I should go and get Chuck. He should be involved in this too.

Corey Casey: It's fine. We can go get him if anything important happens.

Corey stood up from his leaning position and walked over to the group of men. Brandon followed after him and lined up next to him in front of the group.

Corey Casey: I guess that'd mean that you've got business with us, friends. Y'all ain't from around these parts are ya?

Duke Churchill sniffed at Corey Casey, as if he was disgusted by the savage looking man standing in front of him.

Duke Reginald Churchill: No, we're not. We're from England.

The eldest of the Englishmen pushed forward past the man in the bowler hat, and removed his top hat, bowing low to the two men.

Lord Blackwing: Gentlemen, forgive the lollygagging of my underling here. I am an English businessman with significant...interests in this area, and I am willing to purchase a significant tract of land around this town. You will be rewarded handsomely for the land, of course.

Corey Casey: How handsomely?

Lord Blackwing unfolded a bit of paper and, taking a fountain pen from Duke Churchill, wrote a figure on it then handed it to Corey, whose eyes nearly leapt out of his head.

Corey Casey: Wow, that's a lot of dough.

Lord Blackwing: You have my offer. I will be staying at the inn.

The four Englishmen walked off down the street towards what passed for a hotel in Insurgency, as Corey and Brandon exchanged glances


Later that same afternoon Chuck walked in to the saloon to find Corey and Brandon sat at the bar waiting for him.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: Why did you call me here so urgently? I had to run half way across town.

Corey Casey: We met some English guys in town today. They offered to buy some land in town.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: How much land?

Brandon Macdonald: All of it.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: I see. And for how much?

Corey stood up, walked over to Chuck and handed him the note that Blackwing had given him earlier that day. Chuck looked at it and let out a long, slow whistle.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: That...is a whole load of cash.

Corey Casey: No shit.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: So what's the count? I know you wouldn't have called me here unless you were split 50/50 on this. Let me guess. Corey wants to grab all the cash he can but Brandon is being sensible about it.

Corey Casey: Wrong, actually, Sheriff Jackass. I don't wanna do business with no English scum.

Brandon Macdonald: The Irish heritage showing through, there... I think the money could really help us do the town up, make it something special.

Chuck Matthews: Hmm, do we know what they want to do with the land?

Brandon Macdonald: Not a clue.

Chuck Matthews: Maybe it's best to find that out first. I know just the guy for the job...


The masked man waited until dusk had fallen before he snuck up to the window of the hotel room the English gentlemen were staying in. Pulling a knife out from a pouch around his belt, he slid it under the window pane and jimmied it open slightly. The curtains were ajar so he had to be careful he wasn't spotted. Taking a little piece of cork from the pouch, he replaced the knife with it, and risked a quick glance in to the room. Most people assumed the mask was for show, and he had to admit it was handy for covert ops like this. Generally he just nodded in agreement, knowing that the people wouldn't understand if he explained the real reason of his heritage.

He spotted the men inside the room poring over a map of the area. None of them were paying any attention to the window, so he set himself up to listen in on their conversation. It was boring for the first few minutes, and they didn't say anything that could be of use to the man or the people who had contracted him. Finally, however, he caught the snippet of conversation that he needed to hear.

Lord Blackwing: ...of course we will have to demolish most of the town to build the oil wells.

It was all he needed, and just as quickly as he had turned up, the mysterious masked man was gone again.


The next day, Corey, Chuck and Brandon met in the saloon once again. Chuck had a smug expression on his face and Corey and Brandon were eager to hear what he'd found out from his Mexican friend.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: Well now, this is a turn up for the books.

Corey Casey: What happened? What did your spy find out?

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: He found out that I'm going to have to side with Corey. They want to demolish the town and build oil wells here.

Corey Casey: He did say he had business interests in the area. That English fuck.

Brandon Macdonald: Damn. I knew it was too good to be true.

Corey Casey: Wait, guys. Where is Morgan Freeman? He hasn't been in this dream in forever.

As if by magic, Morgan Freeman appeared behind the bar.

Morgan Freeman: I'm here. And I agree with Corey and Chuck.

Corey Casey: Sorry Mac. It's 3 to 1.

Sheriff Chuck Matthews: Now we just have to get rid of them.

Corey Casey: You leave that to me...


Corey Casey strode out to the middle of the main street, where the 4 Englishmen were waiting for him. Lord Blackwing once again took the lead and strolled forward.

Lord Blackwing: So, have you come to a decision?

Corey drew a piece of lead piping from behind his back.

Corey Casey: Yup. We've decided that we don't like conniving English assholes around here. Especially ones that want to trash our town and turn it in to a fucking oil well.

Lord Blackwing: Ah, you heard about that, then. It's a terrible shame that you feel that way, old chap, because we've become rather partial to the place, and, frankly, have no intention of leaving any time soon.

Corey Casey: Oh, I so hoped you were going to say that... Boys!

On Casey's command, three men emerged from hiding in to the street. One was a tall, pale man with ginger hair, one a smaller but stockier man with wild hair and beard, and the third an odd looking young man covered in homemade tattoos and makeup, sporting a haircut commonly associated with a famous tribe of Native Americans. Each was holding some kind of weapon and bearing the sort of grin that would terrify even the most stout hearted man. Joined by their leader, Corey, they quickly advanced on the Englishmen, whose expressions had turned from smug arrogance to terror at the unexpected evening of the numbers.

The slow saunter of Corey and his men turned to a run as they chased down the Brits, swinging their weapons wildly as they went.


Ruben Ricardo León came round as the Captain made the announcement that the plane had landed in Kansas City.

Ruben Ricardo León: Goddamnit, again?! That's the third time I've been woken up at the best bit! I've got to stop drinking this shit...


Ruben Ricardo León: So this week at Rising Monarchy we have a nice fatal fourway match, with Upper Limit in one corner, Upper Limit in another corner, then Rosalie Knight in the third, and finally Upper Limit in the fourth corner.

Really, I feel kinda sorry for Rosalie, because this match isn't about her. You know, I listened to Shark's press conference, and there wasn't much in there that I agreed with, but the one thing that he said that did ring true was that Rosa just needs to stay the fuck out of this match, because there's only going to be one result if she does, and I make a rule of not hitting girls unless I have to.

Rosa, I don't want to hurt you. I've got no beef with you at all. Actually I agree with two things Shark said. Rosalie is one of the nicest people I've ever met backstage. Always there to help you out if you're in a bind. But the simple fact Rosa is that as soon as you step through those ropes, all that doesn't count for shit. The simple fact is that when we step in to the ring I will treat you no differently to Shark or Hart, and I know they'll do the same.

There's no space for sentimentality in this business. You don't win a world championship by making concessions. Sometimes the way the dice fall means that you gotta step in the ring with people you respect or even care about, but you have to put that aside cause you can guarantee that they won't, and if you let it slip for a second they will take advantage of that and your shoulders will be pinned to the mat for the three count.

You want my advice? Stay out of it. You're better off that way.

As for my Upper Limit buddies, well we've got Robbie Hart. Sorry, Robbie who? Can't say I've ever heard of you man. Oh, you were a former World Champion? Well of course, that seems to be like the basic requirement to be in Upper Limit. What else can you bring to the table? Oh yeah, nothing, that's right.

Now I know a whole lot of people are expecting Upper Limit to work as a well oiled unit in this match but as you can see from James Shark's press conference, that ain't gonna happen. Fuck, I find myself agreeing with Shark again, cause I don't give a fuck about this little team, at least not you two clowns, because neither of you has earned my respect yet. Robbie, when you actually do something worth a damn, come back and we might even be able to respect each other, but until then I don't give a fuck if you're my grandmother. If I see the opportunity to pin you 1-2-3, I'll take it.

As for Sharky, well now here we have a different beast. Shark talks a big game, and fair play to the guy, he's got the record and the titles to back it up on paper, but to me he's just all mouth and no 12 inch. He just spouts the same old tired shit that every culturally insensitive asshole does. 'Eat yo tacos' blah blah blah, like I haven't ever heard that one before. If I had a green card for every time someone had said that to me. Oh wait, I don't need one, cause I already got a green card motherfucker. You try get me deported, let's see where that gets you besides several weeks of boring court dates whilst you try and explain to a judge why I'm in the country illegally. Shit, now even Robbie Hart is on me about that. This is a serious question now. Do you assholes all go down the library and check out the same book called "Outdated ways to stereotype Mexicans that make no sense whatsoever." Cause seriously, all of your are preaching from exactly the same fucking hymn sheet here.

You know, I could drop to your level, and talk shit about how once I've wiped the floor with your black ass you could go eat a KFC or drown your sorrows in a bottle of orange soda, or to take out some anger you could head down Yonkers and pop a cap in some white boy, but that's not my style. That sort of weak ass trash talk is reserved for people who know their ass is beat. They can't find a way to say 'I'm better than you' so they go spouting cheap cliches about race or sexuality. Well have fun scrabbling around in the dirt for insults Shark, cause I'm gonna sit high and mighty up in my tower after I win the High Impact title, cause of the one fact that you overlooked. That I'm better than you, and you know, and I know it, and the whole world knows it. And I'll prove it at Rising Monarchy. Shark, you can brag all you like about who you've knocked out, but let me put it in language you can understand. I ain't no regular hombre. I'm loco, pendejo. Just call me Speedy motherfuckin' Gonzalez. Cause you can't hit what you can't see coming.