Clarence Bachman

It had pleased Reject to hear that his radio 'appearance' had gauged notable reactions from Jon Kellar, Jay Jameson and, to a lesser extent, Quake.  DisOrder manager Andrew Excelsior had phoned him earlier in the day to 'break the news'.  To Excelsior's chagrin, however, Reject had still refused to give up his self-imposed boycott of all GZW2K1 media.  Excelsior had told him that it was impractical - Reject needed a medium through which to get his word out to his upcoming opponents, Excelsior had reasoned.  Reject hadn't argued.  In fact, he agreed 100%.  The difference maker between the two was that Reject's instinct was to look further than the confines of GZW TV and radio...  Ironically, he'd set his sights on a vessel far more money-hungry than his own employer's...

The Atlanta branch of Clancy McClean's CMC Corporation was quite a sight.  It scraped the sky like no other building for miles in any direction.  A huge flag brandishing the face of the GZW2K1 Director of New Media hung from the very top of the building, reaching down about fifteen floors.  Feeling just a little uncomfortable in a standard business suit, Reject stepped through the automatic doors and into the lobby.  In fact, he barely recognised himself in the reflective doorway.  He'd taken the time to remove his facial jewellery that morning and the suit handily covered up the majority of his body art.  He applied the finishing touches - a pair of dark sunglasses - just in time to get a good look at the highly overdecorated reception area.

Adorning the walls were various posters advertising random CMC products - baby clothes, staplers, jelly, even the Multinational Corporation's attempt to venture into the fast food sector, "McCleanalds".  Playing through top of the range ceiling speakers on a seemingly infinite loop was McClean's cover of Pink Floyd's "Have A Cigar".  Reject recalled Clancy bragging that it had reached number 354 in the Turkish singles charts in 1995.  Reject could barely stomach some of the trash McClean had sold over the years. 

"Excuse me sir, can I help you...?"  Asked a young woman from behind.  Reject assumed she was a secretary, her voice exhibited the distinct lack of confidence he'd found people to pick up after working under McClean for a year or two.

He turned around and locked eyes with her.  She was a deceptively piggish woman of about thirty considering what Reject had considered a rather seductive voice.  He straightened up his tie and said, "You know, I think you can...  I've got an appointment with the big man, is he here?"  The ease of his transition from Reject to generic spineless executive, Clarence Bachman, nearly scared him.

"You must be Mr. Bachman?"  She asked. 

It took Mr. Bachman a second to realise that he was being addressed.  He rubbed the empty piercing in his left nostril politely and laughed.  "That's right, ma'am...  The appointment was for two-thirty."

The piggish woman's face lit up, accentuating her already-accentuated features.  "Yes, of course.  Mr. McClean is looking forward to hearing your proposition, Mr. Bachman.  If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll let him know you're here."

"No worries.  Take your time."  Mr. Bachman said, fidgeting with his sunglasses a little.

The piggish woman did take her time.  It was easily five minutes before she called back accross the lobby:  "Mr. McClean'll see you now, Mr. Bachman.  He's on floor eleven, you can use the executive elevator."

Mr. Bachman didn't dignify the piggish woman with a response.  That was the least that Reject would have done, but they agreed that, although this may have been 'the place', it certainly wasn't 'the time'.  He made his way to the 'executive' elevator, which seemed like nothing more than a regular one with the initials 'CMC' engraved in gold on the door.  On the ride up the eleven floors, he ran through the planned course of events in his head.  Things would run smoothly.  He assured himself of that.  The ping of the elevator followed by an audio clip of a woman saying "Good day, Mr. McClean" signalled his arrival at the eleventh floor.  He stepped out and had a look around.  Thinking of how he had blindly gone against Excelsior's advice, he got into character.  He practically left Reject waiting in the elevator.  By then, he had become Clarence Bachman, a wealthy yet unconvincing German businessman looking to sell a fictional wrestling promotion back in Berlin for a knock-down price.  Mr. Bachman dusted his suit off as he slowly and politely headed down the corridor with a leather briefcase in his right hand.  He stopped outside a door marked 'CMC'.  To his surprise, there was no security in sight.  He knocked on the door.  The smarmy bastard on the other side uttered the word "come".  Putting his hatred for the suppose squillionaire aside, he opened the door and stepped inside the office.

"Afternoon, Mr. Bachman..."  McClean offered, his back turned.

This was going to be far easier than Reject had anticipated.

"Afternoon."

"Pull up a chair, buddy...  I dropped a penny down behind this damned filing cabinet."

"Alright..."  He replied, cautiously.  He'd planned to black out whatever security cameras might've been inside with shaving foam.  None were visible.  This slightly concerned him, but he convinced himself not to let it.  Before pulling up a chair, he took a glance at the door behind him.  He couldn't make out a lock of any sort, so rationalisation told him not to worry.  He pulled the chair in close to McClean's desk and sat down.  He had maybe ten seconds before McClean would turn around and recognise him.  This was to be the moment of truth.

"Success!"  McClean exclaimed smarmily before he got up, turned around and sat down in his comfortable leather chair. 

A solitary bead of sweat trickled down the back of Mr. Bachman's neck just as McClean glanced up and locked eyes with him.  To Bachman's utmost surprise, McClean appeared not to recognise him.  Instead, he pulled open a drawer invisible to Bachman and retrieved two Cuban cigars in two golden tubes.  He opened one for himself and offered one to Bachman.

"I don't smoke..."

"Aw, that's a shame.  I'm sorry.  Can I offer you a drink?"

"No, it's fine."

McClean's face lit up brighter than the spark from his freshly lit cigar as he makes his next offer:  "Drugs?  Promiscuous sex?"

"YOU OBNOXIOUS FUCKING CUNT!!!"  Reject blurted, rising quickly to his feet and ditching the Bachman persona.

An overly calm McClean stayed seated as he blew a couple of smoke rings.  "That temper of yours, Reject.  Really, that's something you need to work on..."

"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU..."

"No.  You won't.  You'll think the better of it and realise exactly where you are.  This is the Atlanta Headquarters of the CMC Corporation, Clarence.  This isn't the GZW2K1 Coliseum or the HKWF Arena.  This is civilisation, Reject.  This is my civilisation.  Do you have any idea the kind of security I've got in here?  A stray heartbeat from me and you'll have elite guards on you in seconds.  You're a stupid prick, Reject, but you aren't that stupid..."

Unsure of what to say, Reject kept his mouth shut.

"C'mon, you thought you had me fooled with your little covert ops today?  Clarence Bachman?  You can't come up with any other alias than that?  You think you weren't being watched?  You don't think there were cameras on you since you stepped out of Excelsior's office this morning?  You think there was nobody guarding my door because the usual guy was off taking a piss or something?  Stick to what works for you, 'Ject.  Stop wasting my time and resources."

"That's the problem, McClean...  Everything is yours nowadays.  You've clogged up the GZW airwaves..."

McClean laughed down at his 'visitor'.  "And what, you're here to fight the machine and unclog for freedom?  Give me a break, will ya?  Do me a favour while you're here...  I've got this contract that needs signing for your impending showdown with my man Jay Jameson.  Just sign the dotted line and you can be on your way."

"I'm here for a reason, McClean, and it's not to sign some pissy paperwork.  All of that goes straight to my lawyer, I don't want anything to do with it..."

"Ah, your lawyer...  Larry Collins, right?"

Reject grunted as if to say 'yes'.  It was the best he could do to keep himself from ripping McClean to shreds there and then.

"Yeah...  He's a tool.  Forget about him for a minute and just have a look at this.  I let you past security, 'Ject.  The very least you're going to do is sign this."  McClean warned as he pulled a contract from his drawer.  He tossed it to Reject.  "Here...  Read."

Reject snatched it from McClean's grubby hands and skimmed through it.  The gist of it was to confirm that the Last Man Standing match would not be stopped under any circumstances other than knockout. 

McClean took another puff of the cigar.

"Why go to the trouble of this, McClean?  It's already fucking implied."

"Well, I'm glad that you see it as such, but a little birdy called me up a few days ago and warned me that you might try to get out of this one somehow...  Y'know, some lame attempt to 'take the high road' in your last match...?"

"It's not my last match..."

"Yes, well...  That's for the Command Suite to decide.  Anyway - less talky, more signy."  McClean said, tossing Reject a heavy duty fountain pen.

Reject sighed as he signed the paper.  "What the hell is this?"  He asked, tricking McClean into leaning forward.  In the blink of an eye, Reject grabbed McClean by the scruff of the neck and pulled him accross the desk, shoving the tip of the pen up to the Renaissance Man's throat.

"Now, see here-"

"Not a word, fat man.  Palms flat on the desk.  You do anything fucking stupid, this thing's going in behind that fat old vein there.  You know what that means, don't you?"

McClean nodded as best he could, given the circumstances.

"Right.  Now you're gonna get me a camera, and you're gonna free up some airtime on one of those damn channels of yours.  Nothing GZW...  Kellar's going to have to work for his next fix."

McClean raspily tried to say something, but Reject wouldn't allow him to.

"No, you're not going to do any talking.  You've got security cameras in here, where are they?"

McClean pointed with his left palm to a camera in a corner behind Reject.

"OK...  You do whatever you need to do to let them know everthing's fine and dandy.  There's no bother, no need to dispatch any guards...  There's not a bother on you.  You smile for the camera, get me what I want, and you won't see me again until Destiny Fulfilled."

"Alright.....  Then....  You've...  Got..  It."

"The End".

The following appeared half an hour later on CMC-TV 2, interupting a rerun of Saved By The Bell: The College Years.

The scene opens to a darkened office, the nameplate on the desk suggesting it to be the office of one Clancy McClean.  Sitting on the desk is former Extreme Heavyweight Champion, Reject, rather uncharacteristically wearing a suit.  Sleeves rolled up, Reject has a quick look around the office before speaking up.

"Congratulations, Kellar.  Your efforts, or rather the efforts of your crack team of walking gimmicks, got the attention of not me, but of DisOrder manager Andrew Excelsior.  It seems as though that's how you and I are interacting this far, Kellar - Obnoxiously indirectly.  Oh well, there's not long now until we can finally meet in person..."

"Kellar, research doesn't impress me.  Research doesn't grab me by the balls and scream "THIS MAN IS A THREAT~!" at the top of its lungs.  You aroused Excelsior's interest, take from that whatever the hell you want.  It'll cancel itself out once you step into my domain at Storm.  What good will the cliched pyschological edge over me have when you're staring down the business end of a burning sledgehammer or plate glass?  If I drop you on your head on concrete, what'll the knowledge that I happen to be a stablemate of Seven's do for you then?  Sweet fuck all, I can tell you.  Ask Mr. Klown of the benefits of trying to toy with me verbally, be it through trask-talk or sugar-coated trash-talk.  You want to downplay Wylder and his toughness?  Go ahead, I never up-played the bastard...  You did your little research and made an innacurate assumption based on name only.  What does that tell us about you, Human Dynamite?"

"It's quite obvious to me that you don't get the DisOrder, Kellar.  We aren't a clique of egomaniacs.  No, that's the Heretics.  We're not some little wannabe rebels, either.  That's Syndicate Zero.  Quite simply put, we are the DisOrder.  When there is no order, we are there.  Look at what we've accomplished, Kellar...  And no, I'm not talking about titles or awards.  In October of 2004, this company was in ruins.  Tonya Glory held both the W.C.E.K. Television and World Heavyweight Championships, simultaneously.  Who is Tonya Glory, you must be wondering?  Your little research not extensive enough for that?  Simply put, Tonya Glory was a problem that the DisOrder solved.  We got rid of her.  Flash paper and steel chairs seemed to be a little too much for her and so she fled.  End result?  The very face of championships within GroundZero Wrestling 2K1 was changed for the better.  Not only did our own Paul Spartan walk out that night with the TV title, our actions had such impact that the main event was rescheduled to a triple threat match between Pimp Bizkit, James Tanner, and a midcarder named John Taylor.  End result?  Taylor became a star overnight.  You see, you don't disregard the DisOrder.  The DisOrder is not an orthodox stable...  We don't lounge in shared locker rooms or play golf together.  When we are needed, we are there.  When the need decreases, we are elsewhere, such is the case with Brian Sabre and Paul Spartan at the moment.  Have your people dig harder next time, Kellar."

"Jon, you don't seem to fully understand the situation between Jay Jameson and myself in the Last Man Standing match.  It's not an issue of 'The Loser Gets Fired' or 'It Might Be Your Last Match'...  If Clancy McClean has his way, it is my last match, no questions asked, in GZW at least.  Make no mistake, I know my destiny, and I know it happens to be conveniently marketed at Destiny Fulfilled, but that will not affect my performance tommorrow night.  You think I'll be dazzled?  You wouldn't believe what I can do when I'm dazzled...  You've seen my matches, right?  You think, after I take two dozen shots to the head, I become more concious of the scene around me?  Not at all.  Kellar, once the bell sounds, I'll fight.  Whether the unfortunate on the other side of the ring happens to be you, Jay Jameson, Clancy McClean or my own mother, I will fight.  I will fight until there's simply nothing more to fight about.  You'll get 100% of Reject, whether I come accross as confused, dazzled or simply deranged."

"You think I'd turn my back on you, physically or metaphorically, Kellar?  I probably would, just to see you try to stick that 'knife' in.  See how far you get, patriot.  You also confuse 'past glories' with 'warnings of things to come', Kellar.  I didn't tell you what I've accomplished or who I've accomplished in my tenure just for the sake of it...  There are historians that make a living doing that.  Like the driver trying to swerve to get the woman in the car ahead's attention to warn her of the axe murderer in her back seat, my intent was to let you know that you were in for more than you had fathomed.  I am not a run-of-the-mill opponent.  Words don't hurt me.  But once I let loose in competition, there ceases to be any further warnings.  It all becomes a blur, Kellar.  That's what people have told me after battling me.  You want to get your big start this way, it's your decision.  Just remember my warnings..."

"As far as you and the rest of this company are concerned, Kellar, I have no future.  No particular philosophy applies to my case.  Don't you see that?  Sure, you're information play might work on nine-tenths of this roster, but it quite simply bounces off me.  I'm immune to it.  Whatever my behaviour leading up to Storm and however worsened it might become following Storm and leading up to Destiny Fulfilled, you'll get the answer to your question as soon as the bell sounds tomorrow night.  Am I willing to put the distracting thoughts of Jay Jameson, Quake and Clancy McClean aside for twenty minutes?  Will I even show up?  It remains to be seen, Kellar.  You want that answer in advance so you can complete your preparation, then you simply look harder.  I've been in this situation before, and wherever I end up after the Pay-Per-View, I'll probably go through it once or twice more."

"The choice is yours, Kellar.  Want to live on the edge for once?"

The scene fades out and back to Saved By The Bell.