The Freeman-Kael Chronicles: Kaeling the Mold

CLASSIFICATION: CLASSIFIED

DATE: 5th July 2024

MEMORANDUM FOR:  Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael

SUBJECT: The Tag Team Tournament and Comrade Kenny Freeman

Commissar Kael,

It has come to my recent attention that PRIME will once again be resurrecting its tag team division. This has long been a goal of the Red Army and specifically Comrades Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz, to attain the PRIME Tag Team Championships.

Unfortunately Comrade Randall Swartz has failed to renew his Professional Wrestling license and is disqualified from participating.

Therefore Comrade Freeman will require a new tag team partner. As you may have surmised, that new partner is you, Commissar Kael.

You are to ensure that the PRIME Tag Team Titles are brought to the Red Army by any means necessary. Not one step back, Max. Not one!

Consider this your first test,

Strashy Praporshchik Stanislav

-

..Training Installation K-67 outside of Moscow..

..A few days after ReVival 51..

“How fucking cool is that little guy?” Max gleefully exclaims as he points toward the Mini-luchador standing in the center of the training ring.

This diminutive grappler is adorned in crimson and yellow wrestling gear with Soviet theming. His face is obscured behind a shiny red mask with a Soviet Star on the forehead.

“Where did you find him? Are there more of these guys wandering around somewhere?” the Herald inquires with his head tilted to the side like a confused dog.

“No! He was a gift from the Cuban Embassy for joining the Red Army. His name is El Rojo Hoji aka the Red Son.” the Red Right Hand of Communism snickers. A spiderweb of red veins still branches across the white his left eye akin to red lightning caught against a sickly yellow sky adding to his villainous appearance.

“What, uh, exactly does he do?” Bentley asks, furrowing his brow. Was his position as Max’s Herald in jeopardy?

“I don’t know, help us with our matches? Look fucking cool? He’s a mini-luchador, what can’t he do?” Scoffing, Max dismisses the question and pulls a pocket watch from his crimson waistcoat. “Where the shit is Comrade Freeman?”

Since receiving his marching orders from Ivan a few weeks ago, Max had long been planning what to do about Kenny Freeman. It had become something of an obsession actually. The Commissar had reduced K-Free to a mere abstract idea rather than a breathing human being. No longer did he see Kenny Freeman as the Red Army’s junior officer but simply as the possibilities and potential that he represented.

“Oh no, is he going to be joining our Dance classes?” the Herald sighs. Gone were the easy days of being Max’s only retinue member. First el Rojo Hoji and now Kenny Freeman?

“What? Freeman? Dance Lessons? HahaHA-heh-heeeeh..” Kael wheezes, his lips curling back into a contemptible grin. “Precious boy, my dear Bentley, are you jealous? You sound jealous.”

There is a mischievous glint in his unblemished eye as he ruffles the Herald’s hair, snorting playfully while bearing his teeth.

“Never you fear, the Herald, Comrade Kenny Freeman is… an experiment. As you well know in my previous life I was something of a Tag Team specialist. And while I’ve never tag teamed in PRIME, all the knowledge and experience remains tucked away in my very special brain.” The Unquestionable Kael’s black leather boots thump against the mat, his strut laced with arrogance and pride. “Comrade Stanislav and by proxy, Comrade Ruslan, see my brilliance and knowledge. They see in me the path to the Tag Team Championships. And they entrust Comrade Freeman’s destiny to be a PRIME Tag Team Cham-”

Max finds himself interrupted by the sound of the very man he has been waiting on. Kenny Freeman can be heard talking to Randall Schwartz as the pair make their way toward the training area.

“I dunno why you let that license lapse, Randall,” Kenny remarks, garnering a shrug from the Entertainer. “I swear if you forgot to file your taxes we’re gonna be having a ch--”

Kenny stops in his tracks as he sees Max looking over at him.

“Oh, hey!” he exclaims with a wave of his hand, looking back at his newly-assigned tag team partner while trying not to stare at the luchador inside the ring. “Happy to gear up for some sweet, sweet tag teaming, Max.”

The Commissar glares down at Kenny and Randall, his speech interrupted by the pair. The Herald glances toward Max with a frightened look before scrambling out of the ring. El Rojo Hoji is quick to follow, scampering between the ropes and under the ring.

Max lets out a deep breath, his gobsmacked expression washed away by a fresh new smile and arched brows.

“Mister Kenny Freeman and.. Comrade Randall Schwartz! Don’t bother changing, Freeman, hop up into the ring now. This is just day one! This is more about.. Uh.. setting the standards and expectations for what we’re going to experience over the next few months. Comrade Schwartz, you’re going to be our Manager. Skedaddle to the front office, Randall.”

Lifting his hand, Max dismisses Randall Schwartz while never letting his gaze leave Kenny, who looks back with a hint of confusion about the whole situation.

“I don’t get it, why can’t Randall--” Kenny is cut off before he can finish the question, as Max motions toward him to enter. Kenny eventually nods in acknowledgement, climbing through the ropes. Freeman vigilant to see if Hoji would pop back up, suspicious of the Mini-Luchadore lurking beneath the ring.

Max moves to a nearby corner, slumping into it as he folds his hands at his waist.

“It is important to me that I know exactly what and who I’m working with going into this Tag Team Tournament. No better way to find out who a man is than sudden violent displays, my adopted father used to say. So show me, Freeman. Attack me.”

Nodding his head enthusiastically, Kael beckons Kenny to assault him. Kenny just stares at him at first, muttering something to the effect of “weird family but okay” before reluctantly charging at the Unquestionable Kael’s leg for a double leg takedown…

CRACK!

Before Kenny can make contact his head is rocked by Max’s open palm as he receives a slap hard across his face. Following the slap a knee connects with Freeman’s gut, popping him up into a waiting elbow across the neck. It’s all over in the blink of an eye with Kenny on the mat at the Commissar’s feet.

“You want to be a Tag Team Champion? Heh-heh..” chortling, he steps over Kenny. “It’s going to take more than that. It’s going to take you choosing to be a Champion. But you’ll have time to decide on that. I’ve invited your family to Moscow, on your behalf of course. They’re due to arrive tomorrow.”

He keeps his back to Freeman as he continues to speak.

“Tomorrow you’re going to have to choose. You stay with the Red Army and we begin the long, arduous journey to Tag Team Gold. Or you’re out and it’s back to shitsberg with the Freemans. Understand?”

Kenny’s eyes widen in shock, as the young man struggles to find the right words.

“Wait, you…you…” Kenny stammers, eventually finding his verbal footing. “You did what now?”

“Consider it a favor. I’m giving you one last chance to say goodbye to them, or join them. The time for half-measures is over, Mister Freeman.” The Commissar growls as he slips out of the ring. “Tomorrow you choose. Until then, enjoy Moscow. Say hello to your mother for me.”

-

They say the family we choose is more important than the family we are born to.

Let’s test that theory..h̷e̸̔̀h̵-̵̧͕͝h̴̎ë̸́̚h̴̀..

I want to know if Kenny Freeman believes in the Red Army.

I want to know if I believe in Kenny Freeman.

-

..Training Installation K-67 outside of Moscow..

..The next morning..

Soldiers sent by Max bang on Freeman’s door at the crack of dawn jolting Kenny awake. He is ordered to shower and dress before being dragged from his room into an unmarked black sedan. The waking streets of Moscow whisks by the dark tinted windows as Kenny blinks the sleep from his eyes. It’s not long before the car doors are thrown open and he’s dragged into the Training Installation.

The soldiers treat him not as a member of The Red Army but more like a potential threat to the State. They are rough in their handling of him, aggressively pushing him through the maze of hallways. When he meets their gaze he sees only cold, distant eyes.

After what feels like an eternity he is shoved into the central gym where the wrestling ring was located.

And then, his lip quivering slightly, he sees them.

His brother, Jack and Mrs. Freeman sit nervously at ringside with a set of grim Red Army soldiers flanking them. No bindings were required to compel these two Americans to remain in their seats. Kenny is about to speak when his attention is suddenly ripped elsewhere by a familiar voice.

“♫♪ Up here Mister Kenny Freeman..heh-heh.. ♪♫” Max says in a sing-song voice from the ring.

The Commissar of the Red Army sits, perched upon a turnbuckle, resplendent in his blood red uniform. A wicked smile stretches inhumanely across Kael’s long face revealing glinting teeth. He leers down at Freeman with manic, hungry eyes that bely any sense of sanity or compassion. Max’s monstrous visage commands the utmost respect and fear amongst the Red Army, but there was more to this..

For you see, the Red Right Hand of Communism was not alone.

Kenny Freeman’s father was on his knees, two Red Army soldiers holding him forcibly down. Red tap covers his mouth while his eyes, wet with tears, bulge from their sockets with fear. It’s clear Max had been terrorizing him before Kenny’s arrival and he looks toward his son with eyes that beg for help.

“Come on up into the ring, Mister Freeman, so we can start your training.” Max hisses, slipping off the top turnbuckle. He moves to the ropes, pulling them open for Freeman in a mocking gesture of goodwill. The smile on his face is one born of cruelty and vindictiveness, the colors of kindness are purged of Max’s palette.

Kenny follows the orders mechanically, he’s not equipped to deal with this kind of situation. Anxiety fills the small spaces of his heart not currently filled with doubt while panic threatens to overtake his senses. He’s helpless to answer his father’s wordless pleas, powerless to rescue his brother and mother.

“I told you, you would have to choose Freeman. Russia has poured a considerable amount of time and effort into both yourself and Randall Schwartz, all the Mother-land is looking for is a little commitment from you. Do you choose to stand with the Red Army, the people who will give you purpose. Meaning. Gratitude for a job well done?”

As the Unquestionable Kael speaks he slithers around the ring with unsettling grace. It’s like he’s everyone at once, his words wrapping themselves around Kenny like gossamer threads of ill meaning silk.

“..or do you pick the Freemans. A family that has no interest in you, that doesn't support you and never will. They think you’re a failure and unlike the Red Army, they’re not interested in helping you achieve your dreams. All they care about is that you fulfill their dreams. Long ago I was faced with this dilemma Kenneth. When faced with the yoke of a Legacy I didn’t want, I tore myself away from that family and chose the DESTINY I craved. I was strong enough.”

“Kenny’s skin prickles as Kael’s hot breath licks the back of his neck. It slithers along his jawline before filling his nostrils with the scent of rotten meat.

“It’s time Kenny. Join me and I will train you to become a Tag Team Champion for this new ReVival era. Together, you and I, will lay waste to every team that stands against us beginning with the insipid ignoramuses, Fred Dick and STRONK Godson. Together we will honor the Red Army and TAKE the PRIME Tag Team Titles. We shall cement your legacy as the EMINENT Tag Team Wrestler in the history of this company!”

Moving around Kenny, Max points an accusatory finger at Kenny’s father, garnering a glare from the elder Freeman.

“Or choose this.. Pathetic old man and all his weaknesses, all his failures.. And his disappointment in you. Do you know he likes Todd from accounting more than his own son? REJECT this old fool. Or choose them and go home a loser. Choose to be Mister Kenny Freeman.”

The contempt in Max’s voice is unmistakable. Each word is filled with bile and venom and unrestricted hatred. Turning, the Commissar glares into Kenny’s eyes. He slowly extends his hand toward Freeman.

“Are you a Coward.. Or are you a Comrade?”

Kenny shifts his gaze between Max, his family, and Randall as he once again struggles to find the right words.

“I…I…” Kenny can’t help but stammer once again, a single bead of sweat forming over his brow before he finally nods with a sigh. “I’m a Comrade.”

A smile spreads like butter over warm toast on Max’s face. His golden teeth glitter between his lips as he lets a low, guttural grunt of approval free.

“Comrade Freeman, I knew you’d make the right decision. And now, as our first lesson, we're going to learn about two things. Loyalty and.. striking. See, those ninny hammering nincompoops, Dick and STRONK, they’re the underhanded, get down and dirty sorts. Poor Whoresmen dontcha know?”

Reaching into his pocket Max retrieves a pair of brass knuckles. Standing behind Kenny, Max reaches around him and holds the knuckles out.

“We need to know, Comrade, that you’re not just pushing air. Take these knuckles, put them on your hands..” Kael’s voice lowers as he hissed the words into Freeman’s ear. “Strike down that man who used to be your father. If you think you’ll have a hard time looking into his eyes when you do it just close them. Close them and imagine it’s STRONK kneeling there. The referee is down.. and we need to do whatever it takes to win, to advance.. to be Tag Team Champions.. heh-heh.”

Mrs. Freeman lets free a horrified wail, but is silenced by an angry stomp from Max.

“SHUT! UP! You had your chance! You failed your son! But I won’t.”

Jack leaps up from his chair but is aggressively pinned to the floor. Max eyes the two of them then looks back at Kenny, mimicking the act of checking a wristwatch. Kenny shifts his gaze between Kael and his father, eventually mouthing “I’m sorry, I love you”...before closing his eyes, rearing back, and charging at Mr. Freeman with a forearm strike. The elder of the Freeman clan drops to the floor, garnering a bloodcurdling scream from the mother before the guards rush to silence her.

There is a low, hideous giggle that boils up from Max’s belly, growing into a bone chilling, shrill cackle.

“Again, Comrade!” Vindictive and cruel, Kael commands Kenny to strike once again as the guards drag Kenny’s father back to his feet. He’s still conscious, barely, and a trickle of blood begins to dribble from the point of impact.

Kenny struggles to hide the absolute fear and remorse on his face as he rears back…walloping his father with a spinning backfist, the only thing Kenny can imagine would keep the tough elder down and fulfill the wishes of the Commissar. Left in a pool a blood, Mr. Freeman is unmoving, unconscious. Kenny’s mother tries in vain to rush the ring.

“How could you, HE LOVES YOU!?” She doesn’t get very far as guards pull her away. Jack’s screams of rage and sorrow echo as he is escorted from the area. Kenny stands there, staring blankly at his father, never blinking. Max’s shadow falls across his father’s body, his giggle filling Freeman’s ears.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Fade to black.

-

Comrade Kenny Freeman embraces his destiny. He takes his first steps toward being a Champion with my vision to guide him. 

He has washed his hands in the sacrificial blood of his father. The Crimson Hands of the Red Army.

I believe in Kenny Freeman.

-

..Training Installation K-67 Locker Room..

..Sometime Later..

“Excellent work, Kenny, really! Inspired in fact, I haven’t seen that much patriarchal blood since I’ve been in Chicago heh-heh..”

The voice of Max Kael echoes through the nearly empty locker room, the Commissar of the Red Army’s demeanor completely transformed from earlier in the day. A wide, cheerful smile is plastered on his face as he paces jovially.

“I always knew you had it in you, Comrade Freeman! And now that you’ve proven your loyalty and chosen US, I promise you we WILL be taking those Tag Team Championship Titles back to Russia. I’m going to be the mentor you’ve deserved.. NEEDED to get you to where we need to be. “ he proclaims, finally reaching Kenny Freeman who sits on a bench, his hands covered in the blood of his father.

Max places a hand on Kenny’s shoulder, kneeling down next to him, staring off in the same direction as Freeman.

“..speaking of which. We need a name. Since you’re such a go-getter, I was thinking MASTERS OF THE MULTIVERSE PART DEUX: THE FREEMAN-KAEL CONNECTION. Your name first, buddy!” Kael muses while waving his free hand through the air dramatically. The mention of the word Masters finally snapping Kenny from what seemed like a trance. “.. What is a Multiverse anyway? Actually, put a pin in that, I feel like that’s a deep conversation for another time. You did good, by boi. Tomorrow we begin the good work of donkey punching the Limp Dick Scallions into a sticky pulp!”

Snapping back up to his feet Max pats Kenny on the back before literally skipping away.

“Good work, Comrade Kenny Freeman..heh-heh..”

With his new tag partner away, Kenny’s face slowly reveals the concern he had to lock away in the moments prior. He remains silent until the door opens once again, as Randall walks in wearing a curious scarlet hat with a card that reads “MANAGER.” The Entertainer has a smile on his face from the new gear, but that joy disappears when he sees his friend’s face.

“What happened to you?” Randall asks, confused by the grave demeanor displayed by Freeman. Kenny just stares at him for a moment, finally opening his mouth to speak.

“He…he brought my family here,” Kenny replies, the concern quickly turning to anger. “I dunno what Ivan told him, but Max brought my family here.”

“That’s a hell of a plane ticket,” Randall remarks, the weight of the situation somehow lost on him as Kenny rises from the bench with a look of rage.

“It’s not funny,” Kenny states flatly, still trying to hold back the sheer wrath from his earlier actions. “Max made me beat my father down, Randall. He seems to think it’s the only way I can handle taking on the challenge of the upcoming tournament. Like taking my own flesh and blood down is the answer.”

“Damn, that’s…heavy,” replies the Entertainer.

“Heavy ain’t the damn word for it,” Kenny snaps, pointing a finger at his friend. “For all the issues I have with STRONK, as much as I’d love to take him and Fred Dick down a notch or two…there are some lines you just don’t cross. I…”

Kenny stops himself to think about his next statement, settling on his thoughts with a sigh.

“I’m gonna have to talk to Ivan about this. There’s gotta be a better way.”

He shakes his head in frustration, realizing that this is far from over he leaves the locker room. Randall watches his friend make his exit, turning his attention back to his fancy new hat, a smile slowly coming back to his face at the thought of taking on a very important role as we once again fade to black.

-

CLASSIFICATION: CLASSIFIED

DATE: 20th July 2024

MEMORANDUM FOR: Strashy Praporshchik Stanislav

SUBJECT: Freeman Project Progress Report

Comrade Stanislav,

As per requested I am providing the first progress report for Comrade Freeman and our training for the PRIME Tag Team Tournament. Freeman has conducted himself admirably, proving both his loyalty and dedication to the Red Army. I have ensured that he shall have no distractions moving forward.

I have brought in several martial arts specialists of various different fighting styles to broaden Freeman’s combat skill set. We have also started a strength and stamina training regiment paired with a nutritionist who will be helping to bulk our Freeman.

Your words have inspired me and I have named our tag team finishing maneuver on your words.

Order No. 227 shall be the cord of Doom for Godson and Dick.

By any means necessary,

Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael