Post by bonnieblue on Feb 18, 2018 21:56:43 GMT
Kidsgrove & Blue
"The City. Dirty-gray and full of smog. The kinda place you want to visit; but you'd never live there. But me?
Yeah, this is my city. I like the dirt, the grime, the grittiness of the mean streets. My name's Blue -- and I'm a cop."
The words drip slow and sultry, like honey on a Georgia peach. Cheesy 1980's Electro-jazz plays over the am/fm stereo in her squad car. Bonnie Blue sets the transmitter back in the cradle as the police radio crackles with static. A reply comes in seconds.
"Stop screwin' around, Four-Two-Oh. This channel is for dispatch only."
She rolls her eyes. Some people have no sense of humor. The passenger side door opens then, distracting her. A uniformed rookie, older than she is but fresh out of the Academy, slips into the seat and hands her a styrofoam cup. They'd been together a few months, now -- ever since Bonnie's previous partner had been implicated in a corruption scandal -- and the young blonde had come to trust him enough to bring him into her confidence. Bonnie Blue was determined to clear L Verez's name and get her partner reinstated to the Force.
"Slow day?" he asks.
"Yeah. We might actually get to eat lunch. What'd you get?"
Triumphantly, Sam Kidsgrove holds up a paper bag, beaming with pride.
"Bacon pork cheeseburger on a jelly cronut! They were only twenty three dollars apiece! That's a bargain in this City! Also, some Tide Pod shots for later."
"ZimQuila flavor?" she says, one thick eyebrow raised.
He snorts derisively. "As if there's any other kind."
The two partners share a laugh and enjoy their overpriced, potentially fatal burgers with obvious relish. (Not literal relish, because that would be gross on a burger, but the figurative kind.) Well, most of their burgers, anyway. Somewhere nearby, the loud clanging of a burglar alarm interrupts the meal. Bonnie and Sam toss their food through the windows and buckle up; Bonnie turns the key and the car roars to life. In front of them, four bearded, bespectacled, flannel-clad hipsters wearing ski masks rush across the street and down an alley.
By the time the two officers catch up, however, the four men have vanished into a crowded farmer's market, ski masks already discarded in a clothing donation bin.
"We can't follow them in there," Bonnie decides. "That's hostile territory if you're in uniform."
"You're right," Kidsgrove agrees. "But we can flush them out."
"How?"
For reply, Sam gives Bonnie a roguish wink and reaches for the radio, switching it to loudspeaker.
"The kale is not organic!"
Chaos ensues. People run in every direction, screaming, trampling each other, and generally causing havoc as they stream out of the farmer's market. Only four shoppers remain, oblivious to the source of the panic, even as Bonnie Blue and Sam Kidsgrove close in on them from either side.
"AHA!" says Kidsgrove. "You were never real hipsters, after all! Just as I suspected! Now, to take off those ridiculous beards and see who you really are!"
"No, no -- wait! OOOOOWWWW!" replies one of the faux-hipsters, as Sam yanks on his facial hair.
"Hey, that's real. You should have a word with your barber, then," Kidsgrove told him, nodding sagely.
Once they have all four cuffed, Bonnie and Sam set to work patting them down. Wallets, keys, spare change, lint -- nothing remotely criminal on any of them. Bonnie starts to worry that they have the wrong guys, until she notices one of them continually looking toward a recycling bin off to one side. While her partner finishes patting down the suspects, the young woman takes a look around, behind, and finally inside the bin, where she finds a duffel bag.
"Bingo!" she announces, hauling it out triumphantly.
The four suspects slump in defeat, knowing there's no way out of this -- unless somebody miraculously hires them a fancy-schmancy, smooth-talking lawyer type -- and that almost never happens. Sam and Bonnie take a look inside the bag, then exchange a worried glance.
"We better call for backup."
***********************************************
Hours later, Sam Kidsgrove and Bonnie Blue stand at parade rest in front of the Captain's desk. Captain Andre Jenson of the City Police Department pauses briefly in a tirade that had gone on for ten solid minutes already, catching his breath before going on.
"You're a loose cannon, Blue! And a bad influence on your partner! The two of you caused a literal RIOT in the middle of a farmer's market, for God's sake! I oughta have your badges for this -- "
"Aw, c'mon, Captain -- " Bonnie begins, but he holds up a hand to silence her.
"Not a word, Blue! You're both getting off lucky this time -- oh, what now?"
This last is directed at a junior officer standing at the door, clutching a manila envelope.
"The... er.. Crime lab report, sir. About the drugs..." stammers the rookie.
Jenson holds out a hand in an impatient gesture, and the younger policeman hands it over with alacrity, then rushes from the office. Scowling deeply, the Captain reads the report, then drops it on the top of his desk in disgust. Kidsgrove risks a quick glance, but is startled back to attention as a fist crashes down on top of the report.
"Now! As I was saying, you're both lucky I'm in a good mood today," Jenson growled. "I'm only gonna suspend you -- for forty-eight hours. Don't even think about pursuing this investigation on your own, without departmental authorization, or resources.... or restrictions."
"Is there something in your eye, Cap?" asks Kidsgrove.
"I'm winking, you idiot! Don't go do any of the stuff I just said not to go do, understood?"
"Which stuff is that?" Bonnie says, smirking.
A facepalm and a heavy sigh of exasperation are Jenson's only reply for a moment, before he adds, "Two days. To absolutely not investigate the source of those drugs you found on those hipster-poseurs. Now, get out -- and don't take this crime scene report with you!"
Jenson flings the envelope at them; Bonnie snatches it out of the air as she and her partner turn to leave.
"What the heck was that all about?" asks Kidsgrove, as they march dejectedly down the hall to the locker rooms.
Blue quirks a puzzled eyebrow at him.
"Dude, seriously? We just got a free pass to basically be vigilantes for two whole days! That's more than enough time to root out and stop a massive criminal conspiracy!"
"Ohhhh," he says in dawning comprehension. "I get it. First, let's go talk to the guys in CSI. The chemical profile of this stuff doesn't match anything I've ever seen."
"Spent a lot of time around drugs, have you?"
"I did a guest spot on Breaking Bad once."
"CUT!" yells a director from someplace off-set. "That's not your line, Sam!"
Kidsgrove rolls his eyes and stomps off the set in a dramatic huff. Worriedly, Bonnie follows him to the craft services table.
"Everything ok?" she asks him, casually pouring a cup of coffee.
"It's fine. Just... we've done this scene five times already. I'm a pro, you didn't screw up too badly, and Jenson's acting has always been a little... meh."
"Settin' aside your criticism of my fine actin' skills for a moment, you're right. This director is a class-A asshole. You know what I think?" Bonnie says, smiling mischievously.
"I believe I do -- that it's time for the Insurgency to take control of this film!" Kidsgrove replies with a grin.
Moments later, the hapless director is duct-taped to his chair and deprived his megaphone, to the delight of cast and crew alike.
"You'll never work in Hollywood again, Kidsgrove! None of you will! YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!" he screams in impotent rage.
*WHAP!*
A cheer goes up from the crew as Sam lands a punch square in the director's jaw, knocking him clean out.
"All right," he says, "let's get those cameras rolling!"
For the next scene, the pair are standing in a stark-white room with a black-topped workstation. Test tubes and beakers are neatly assorted by size and the color of the substance inside them. A microscope stands prominent on the lab desk, a guy in a white coat leaning over it intently and muttering to himself. He looks up as the two officers step up to his table.
"Oh, hey Sam. Bonnie. What's up?"
"Hey, Nick," Bonnie says, smiling. "We was hopin' you could tell us some more about those drugs we found today. Cap asked real nice."
Tesla laughed, because he knew the police captain never asked nicely. It wasn't in the script.
"Well, it's a pretty generic looking molecule, you know. Nothing special, except that it's remarkably plain. But that's just the surface. Underneath -- it's more of the same. When it's ingested, this chemical dulls the user's senses just enough for them to accept the most tedious things as mildly entertaining. It induces blandness, and it's highly addictive."
Bonnie gasps. "I know what this is. We've been hearing about it on the streets for weeks now."
Kidsgrove nods in agreement. "Mediocrity. And I think we know just who's behind it."
The partners exchange a glance.
"Kevin Bishop," Bonnie says ominously.
"Yeah. But this time, I fear he may not be working alone."
***********************************************
Intermission
The cameras are off -- all but one -- and the set is clear. Minimal lights shine down on the mockup of an interrogation room, one wall dominated by an enormous mirrored window, brushed-steel table in the middle. Bonnie Blue leans one hip against the table, while Sam Kidsgrove stands beside her, arms folded across his chest, cold determination written in every line of his face.
Bonnie Blue: Harbingers. I knew we hadn't heard the last of y'all. How you managed to sway my darlin' Shadowlove to y'all's side, I will never understand -- but I ain't gotta understand to take my revenge. I thought, Kevin Bishop, that you understood what happens when ya fuck with a Guardian; an' I never stopped bein' a Guardian, son. I am all that I have ever been. I'm still 'bout that #SeaLyfe, too. Ain't gonna let myself be defined by one aspect of who I been, when I alone determine how I am defined -- an' it starts with me whoopin' your ass again, Kevin Bishop.
Woulda thought you'd be tired of it by now. You got me one time, not countin' that clusterfuck at Killin' Floor; an' considerin' I spent the better part of the match gettin' mugged by ninjas in hockey masks, I really wouldn't. On the other hand, I reckon ya gotta take what you can get, so I'll give you half credit for that one.
The young woman winks.
Sam Kidsgrove: Half? Far too generous.
Bonnie Blue: The man's a first time father, let's cut him some slack. I'm sure the sleepless nights and the two a.m. feedin's are takin' their toll. Affectin' his judgment, y'know. Prob'ly why ol' Kevy B thought it was a good idea to assault our friend an' teammate in what was s'posed to be a match free from interference -- ain't that right, Pryde? Hmm? You fucked up bannin' us from ringside, an' then ya got your ass kicked for it. Bet you're feelin' pretty good about yourself right now, huh? Ell-oh-ell! Nah, you ain't, an' we both know it. That's why you gonna spend all next Monday hidin' in the safety of your crypt, watchin' your own damn show from a distance. I can just picture ya sittin' in your tomb, gripin' at whatever weak-willed tramp you lured down there -- probably Brooke Bell -- sobbin' sloppy ass tears while ya suck on her neck like she's a Capri Sun; an' that's almost reason enough to go easy on Bishop an' Bull.
Almost. But not quite. Me an' Bishop? Man, we always gonna do this. I mean, the dude made himself a host to Creepin' Death just to gain an edge in the ring with me. Who does that? Who goes to those kinda lengths? This is a man whose sanity hangs by a thread, and maybe not even that.
Oh, but do not, for one moment, believe that I'm singlin' Kevin Bishop out.
Corey Bull... you an' me got some unfinished business of our own. Our previous encounters in the ring ain't been partic'ly satisfyin' for either of us. Now, I could make excuses, say it's 'cause I been pullin' double duty in two comp'nies -- one of which, I'd like to point out, has absolutely zero problem puttin' little ol' Bonnie right into the ring with some of the meanest motherfuckers alive -- but we'd both know that's all they are. Excuses. Reasonable. Valid. But excuses all the same.
Thing is, Mr. Bull, I am guilty of what I have so often accused opponents of before. I underestimated you. I looked past ya, was more concerned about the next match to come, an' that wasn't really fair to you. I don't really know what your goal is, here. One minute, you're sidin' with management -- next, you're followin' Kevin BIshop around like a little lost pupper. Upside is, y'all made a real fool outta Pryde; downside is, you made a fool outta me an' mine, an' that's the part I can't look past now.
Bonnie shakes her head.
Bonnie Blue: You thought the Guardians were a handful? At least we had rules to adhere to. A certain standard. But then lines were crossed. Pryde somehow got his grubby hands on my friend an' tag partner, Alex Richards, and messed with the dude's head. An' ol' Vinnie P, he thinks that's the end of it. Like I ain't gonna come settle that score. However, that also means that we've undergone a kind of... metamorphosis all our own.
The Guardians are dormant until our brother is free. We are the Insurgency. All those high an' noble standards we held ourselves to? Yeah... let's just say our priorities have shifted. If ya stand in our way, ya get flattened -- it's that simple. Those times we met in the ring before, Corey Bull, those were a warm-up. I'd like to say that I'm not gonna be comin' after ya quite as intense on Monday night, seein' as I got a Hardcore Title to win over at the Dub. But I'mma be all kinds of fired up after that, ya dig?
Trust me when I say that my focus is in no way divided. This punk-ass scrub I gotta wreck tonight? Well, that's not a consideration. Dude ain't got half the respect for me you do, but then again -- you're about two-thousand years wiser, ain't ya? But that's the point. I go to work tonight, an' while there's gonna be a certain satisfaction in humiliatin' this dude when I feed him his own prolapsed asshole, it's not like the outcome is gonna be much of a surprise to anybody. 'Cept maybe Leon.
She flashes a mischievous grin at the camera.
Bonnie Blue: But you an' me, Mr. Bull -- this is another matter entirely. I may not have fared so well against ya on my own in the past, but I do have that strong tag game, my man. Me an' Alex, two time an' final You-Sea-Eye tag champs. Me an' L, undefeated! Now, I'm teamin' with a man who went toe-to-toe with Alex Richards himself, an' did what I never could; he pinned my partner!
If me an' L was too much for ya; if me an' Alex was too much for literally everybody else; what d'ya reckon it means when you're steppin into the ring with Bonnie Blue an' Sam Kidsgrove?
Sam Kidsgrove: It means you're finished, Bull. It means you're done. We're about to reduce the Harbingers to nothing more than a footnote. We're the Insurgency, and if you're not with us, you're history. Stand.
Bonnie Blue: Fight.
In unison, the pair lift their hands in the Insurgency's trademark 3-finger salute to the camera.
Together: RESIST!
Lights cut, scene fades to black.
***********************************************
At around the thirty-sixth of their forty-eight hours, Bonnie Blue and Sam Kidsgrove find themselves skulking around the side of a warehouse in the City's Industrial District. After a number of dead-end leads, they had finally gotten a break: the address to a drop point where the drugs were kept, the weakest link in the supply chain. Bonnie scampers to the top of a pile of crates to get a look inside one of the high windows, then gives her partner a thumbs-up. This is the place. A pallet in the middle of the warehouse has a stack of plastic-wrapped bricks of a thoroughly nondescript substance. Mediocrity.
The streets are already flooded, and more is about to hit the market. Bishop had covered his tracks too well; there's no way they'd be able to get enough evidence to connect him to the Mediocrity -- though it should be obvious to anyone he's been getting high on his own supply -- let alone get a warrant.
"What we need," Bonnie says, climbing down from the conveniently-placed crates, "is some kind of accident. With a lot of property damage. One that would lead to an insurance claim, and open an investigation."
"Are you suggesting...?" Kidsgrove begins.
"That we burn this motherfucker to the ground? Shit, yeah! It'll be like a metaphor. The Insurgency's comin', gonna set all ya halfass shit on fire!"
"I fully support this."
"All right, then! Did you bring the gas can?" she asks.
"Don't I always?" he rejoins, lifting a large, metal can from somewhere offscreen.
Together, the partners pour the gasoline all around the outside of the warehouse. Bonnie pulls a book of matches from her pocket, strikes one, then sets it to the others. The whole book flares, and she flings it at the rising gas fumes. A massive fireball rises up, nearly engulfing them as they flee to relative safety.
"YEAH! FIRE WHOOOOO!" says a random homeless guy, who then walks calmly out of the scene.
"What was that?" Bonnie asks.
"Oh, just an extra. Don't worry about him. He'll end up in one of Pryde's bum fights later."
"Coincidentally, that's the guy we need to find next. I hear he runs his bum fights out behind some bar in the Neon District."
"Let's go, then!"
But they hesitate to watch the warehouse finish burning to the ground.
"Why did that burn so quickly?" Kidsgrove asks.
"Little known fact," Bonnie replies sagely. "Mediocrity burns out everything else around it first. Which means that the fire didn't burn all of it, so traces of it will turn up in the investigation. Then they'll have to turn the case over to the Department. And we know who owns the warehouse, so...."
"Oh, good thinking!"
A brisk walk later, and they pair are climbing into Bonnie's 2017 Ford Ranchero -- when they're flagged down by... Andre Jenson? Only he's wearing ridiculous looking clothes, as though he just came from the set of a bad sci-fi film. Plus, for reasons known only to himself, a big, fake moustache.
"THERE you two are!" he says.
"Hey, Cap. What's the haps?" asks Bonnie, puzzled. "Are you undercover, my brother?"
"What? No. You're supposed to be undercover -- wait. Why are you both dressed so strangely? Is this part of the investigation?"
"The investigation you told us specifically not to pursue?" asks Kidsgrove. "Of course not!"
"Well, that's good, then. I think. Hold on -- are you two chasing down intergalactic supercriminals trying to flood the universe with a drug called Mediocrity?"
"Uh... Intergalactawhat?" Bonnie echoes, feigning ignorance.
"I think what my partner means to say is, yes, except without all the space talk," Kidsgrove interjects.
"Oh, dear. That means I've wandered into the wrong rolepl-- uh. I mean, crossed dimensional barriers! Great Scott! Bonnie, you've got to get me back to my correct timeline!"
Bonnie stares at Jenson, stricken, as if her greatest secret has been revealed.
"My greatest secret!" she gasps. "How did you know?"
"No time to explain!" Jenson tells her. "I need to return to my timeline, before all is lost!"
"All right, everybody buckle up!"
And without waiting to see if anybody even bothered, she shifts the car into gear, steps on the gas -- and vanishes in a halo of bluey-white.
***********************************************
"I still don't understand what just happened," says Kidsgrove, as Bonnie pulls to a stop in front of a broken parking meter, somewhere in the heart of the Neon District.
"Ok, one more time," Bonne tells him. "My car is a time machine. That guy who looked like Captain Jenson? That's his doppelganger from another reality. With me so far?"
Kidsgrove nods. "Yes, yes, I got the time travel bit, with the dimensions and the relativity. But it's the quantum polyphasic -- "
"No time for that now! Look!"
She points and her partner's gaze follows. People seem to be going into one club, in particular, with a surprising regularity. The letters NBW blazes in neon brightness against the evening sky. Bonnie and Sam holstered backup weapons and hurry across the street. A bouncer at the door shakes them each down for a fifteen dollar entrance fee, but otherwise doesn't give them any hassle. Inside, the club is noisy, dark, and crowded. Blue and Kidsgrove are separated in the sea of dancing bodies, but they make their respective ways toward the back, where they have to show wristbands to another set of doormen.
They descend a staircase that opens up into a wide underground room, already packed with men and women pressed as close as they dare to a makeshift ring. Two gangly hobos face off, throwing sloppy punches to the delight of a bloodthirsty audience. Off to one side, a man with a white streak in dark hair and wearing an open kimono as a shirt, takes in the whole scene with an imperious smile. He looks Bonnie up and down in open appraisal as the pair approach, whistling softly.
"Settle down, Pryde," Kidsgrove tells him. "Keep your hands off my partner."
Vincent Pryde -- who, in this dramatization, is being portrayed by GARY OLDMAN -- flashes a sardonic smile at Kidsgrove.
"Well done, Sam. Had me fooled. I thought that was a real girl," quips Pryde.
"Yeah, yeah, enough with the jokes. You know what we're here for."
The smile fades quickly. Pryde's gaze narrows.
"Listen to me, you cocky little jerk, that Mediocrity is what keeps me in business. I'm not going to let you get anywhere near my supplier. Your little investigation? It ends -- "
"That is quite enough, Vincent."
They all turn at the sound of a new voice; Bonnie and Sam gasp. It's none other than Kevin Bishop -- portrayed by MARK SHEPPARD -- with a gun trained on the two.
"Well, well, well," he continues, "this is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into, innit? My two little turtledoves, if you would... your guns."
Sighing, Bonnie and Kidsgrove reluctantly hand over their weapons.
"Now, I s'pose you'd like the long and overly complicated backstory leading up to the explanation of my intricate plans to dominate the global wrestling industry by saturating the market with Mediocrity..."
"I mean, that pretty much sums it up," Bonnie tells him.
"It all began when I was a mere lad of eight...."
"Hey, Sam? Remember that Inside Joke me an' Alex used to laugh at all the time?"
"Why yes," Kidsgrove replies, eyeing Vincent Pryde (Gary Oldman) with a smile. "Yes, I think it's a good joke, and we should share it."
Without warning, Bonnie and Sam unleash devastating double superkicks, first on Pryde, then Kevin Bishop (Mark Sheppard). By now, the crowd has dispersed, and the bums are chasing them back through the club. Soon, the two suspects are in cuffs.
"Now," Sam tells them, "all we need is a confession. One of you gets to make a deal. The other? Not so lucky. So... who's it gonna be?"
Bishop and Pryde exchange an uneasy glance.
***********************************************
"...and that, Captain, is how we brought down the Mediocrity drug ring," finishes Kidsgrove proudly.
The intrepid duo are, once again, standing at attention in front of Captain Andre Jenson's desk. With them this time, however, is a third uniformed officer -- L Verez -- smiling with evident joy.
"We proved it was Pryde an' Bishop behind all that Mediocrity," Bonnie says. "AND we cleared L's name in the process!"
"Yes, that's very good, but there's one loose end you failed to tie up," Jenson reminds the pair. "Corey Bull is still out there, somewhere."
"Not for long," L tells them all. "We know where he'll be Monday night."
"Then Monday night, we tie up that last loose end," concludes Kidsgrove, and the scene fades to black.