Crash & Bash's Redcellent Adventure

I used to think some things were impossible.

That there’s a type of bro I could… never be.

That’s what sixteen-year-old Bash thought when he had to fish his passed-out dad out of a Sketti Bucket salad trough.

One time, I told my Dad I shit my pants at a Bills’ tailgate to get closer to The Ralph.

Ten years later, my brother is fishing me out of the same trough. Monsters can make you a monster.

These fuckers have taken everything from me.

I like to think I know who Sebastian Gold is. But do I?

I know one thing for sure…

Any stunt could go sideways. Any fight could be your last.

Bag’s gonna be empty, bro.

Anything’s possible.

Fuck.

* * *

PRIME’s perfect pairing of fight and bite hang out in relative silence. Despite the viewers' needs, they relax at the edge of the infinity pool their ragtag group has managed to secure in Montreal, the original Sin City.

On cue, the Hot Dog Hero takes a hearty drag off of a preroll Jacque passed him upon arrival. Sebastian stares at something only he can see.

“What do you think it'd take you to join the Red Army, Bro?”

Sebastian Gold’s head turns slowly, to be sure he can make eye contact. Crash’s head bounces back, nearly off his shoulders, with a stupid toothy smile running over his face like butter and syrup off a stack of flapjacks.

“Hypothetically speaking, brommidant.”

“I would never!” Gold answers. “...But then, I thought Dawkins would never…Guess it’s worth a thought.”

“It'd take at least five VP’s for me, G.”

“That’s a lot of Violence, bro. Me? Ugh, hate to admit, but there was a time when they mighta gotten me.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. To be honest with ya, and don’t repeat this buddy…but they could’ve recruited me easy…”

He puts his head on his hands and looks out the window. Reality fades away…

* * *

We cut to Sebastian in the hospital, his back still raw with burns from Colossus. He’s wrapped in more bandages than you thought possible and weeping into his pillow.

Sebastian: Well fuck me. Rob Williams made me into a matchstick, I’m on a losing streak, and I’m saaaad. What am I gonna do?

As if in answer to his prayer, music starts playing from the hall. Indistinct at first, but clearer as it nears Sebastian’s door.

Sebastian: Who’s playing Fatboy Slim?

As if in answer to his question, the door bursts open to reveal a man in a red suit, yellow shirt, with red suspenders. He’s not Alexei (no neck brace), but there’s a resemblance.  He dances with disturbing fluidity into the hospital room

Notlexei: I heard you’re thinking about joining the Red Army, Себастьян?

Sebastian: No, that’s not what I-

The intruder smiles hungrily.

Notlexei: Hollywood never appreciated you, Себ. And the PRIME fans? They’ll turn on you the second you slip up. What if you never had to worry about being adored because adoring you is legally required?

Sebastian: Uhhh-

Notlexei: And the movies! Think of the movies you could make. Your name in lights, kiddo. Not just a stuntman, a star who does his own stunts! That’s so much better!

He moves in closer for the kill.

Notlexei: Don’t you want to build something outside of wrestling? Look how much that heavy title has hurt you. Look at how much pain it’s caused your family? So many people are depending on you, Себастьян. Are you willing to risk them walking the tightrope of a hero? Are you so certain you’ll never fall? Do the smart thing for once in your life and choose stability, choose family, choose The Red Army!

He clicks his fingers, and a giant scroll materializes in his hands.  The scroll unfurls all the way across the hospital room, finishing next to Sebastian’s bedside. Notlexei hands him a pen. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and signs.

Red sparks fly off the contract, and it zips back into a neat roll in Notlexei’s hand.

Notlexei: Redcellent.

* * *

Crash: Dude…

Bash turns to find a very unapproving Handsome Hot Dog Man shaking his head. He waves an extremely judgemental finger at the group of fuckwads who twist and manipulate their prospects into signing up, mostly against their will, before turnin’ back to Bash..

Crash: You still up to keep fuckin’ fightin’ this fight then?

Sebastian Gold grins. Not because he's stupid or anxious. He grins because he wins and getting one over on the Red Army is another chance for Nobody’s Heroes to turn some more heads. Gold reaches out, Jackson reciprocates, and they clasp in unison.

Bash: You know we’re doin’ this, bro.

Jason Jackson sees the ying to his yang in the art of waging war on every morose motherfucker who gets in front of the Heroes. His smile spreads to a point where he can't hide it.

Bash: But hey, if I gotta answer the question, so do you. What would it take for you to join the Army?

Crash: I’d never! You're my number fuckin' one, best br-

BOOM

BOOOM

BOOOOOOOOM

The floor shatters. Gold tries to cling onto Crash’s hand but it's too slippery from the grease from his hotdog addictions. They lock eyes just before the other five bottom floors of the concrete pit fall out.

Crash: Never use mustaaaaaaaaaard!

Gold watches his ally and tag partner fall into darkness. He waits for a thud, and there is a heavy one, before stepping back. He doesn't need to risk a fall right now.

Gold: Brooooo?

The echo comes seven levels down. In the dark. It's just hard to get out of it and say anything loud enough to have them hear it. Crash cups his hands around his lips and shudders at the sound around him, stopping his response. A sharp hiss comes from the shadows and drops Crash to his knees.

“Welcome back to the darkness, Jason.”

New York’s Finest looks up, through seven successive holes, and notices there's no great escape plan. From the shadows steps a man sporting the signature militaristic uniform that members of the Red Army wear. No resemblance to any single member, the Northern Light figures this is just the dark universe’s embodiment of every horrid person that has ever put on the red/yellow. It eyes Crash, towering over him, before slowly circling.

Crash: I'm gonna pull your head outta your asshole, bro.

The Embodiment of Evil: Yesss… you see, friend? See how easy it would be to push you into the arms of the Red Army? It worked for Bryan. He’s been remarkably… successful. Who knows… you might find that we have the resources to accelerate her recovery.

He steps back, slowly, hands behind his back as a beaten, exhausted Jason Jackson does the one thing nobody should ever do - he listens to and lets those words resonate in his brain. His face turns from sad to tired to angry and finally downright pissed the fuck off.

The fact that it takes the kind of power and corruption to acquire that amount of ‘resources’ is absurd. Turning his back on everything that ever meant anything to him to somehow bring Violent Purple back to her former self. Then being the agent of the Army to go out and do their bidding. The amount of suppressing everything in his heart.

He remembers the times he’s lost control, let the darkness win, and done something he has to carry with him every day since.

“Embrace it.”

* * *

Crash and Bash take a casual stroll through a lovely park, happy to escape from the hustle and bustle of downtown Montreal.

“An evil pit of doom? Damn, bro.” Bash says.

The bros take a seat at the bench overlooking a fountain. It’s a lovely day. Families are spread across the park, happy, oblivious to the dangers of the Red Army. Sebastian swallows his jealousy.

“Still eats at me that we don’t know why Dawkins did what he did. I just… how could he…” Sebastian pauses. “I keep coming back to my first match with him. When I tapped, the first thing he did was check on me. He didn’t lock the hold, he didn’t immediately celebrate, he leaned down and gave me a quick “You good?” I nodded, even though my ankle was on fire. Only raised his arms when he knew I was good. I know it sounds small, but it’s the little things that show character, ya know? And I thought Dawkins had it. I hate being wrong.”

Bash turns to Crash. “Do you really think he’s having second thoughts?”

Crash scoffs. “If he is, he's gotten pretty good at hiding it. Last time we got after it, didn't feel like he was holdin’ anything back so I'm not sure what's runnin’ through that dude’s pineapple brain other than followin’ the Army’s marching orders.”

They both take a second to try and put themselves in Brian’s shoes. Both shake off the thought because empathy isn’t gonna slow down the Moscow Murder Club when the bell rings.

“I don’t know. I want to believe him. But first, I gotta know when he was lying. Was it when he joined the army? Or before it? Was the Flyin’ Hawaiian always a front for a needy soul that turned rancid?  He seemed so genuine as a good guy, I wanna to believe that that was the real Bryan Dawkins, but I have no idea. And you know what? I think he also has no idea. They’ve made him forget who he is.

Sebastian watches the clouds and decides to join them for a bit.

“I imagine the reality of being a Red is a shock to the system.”

* * *

Sebastian Gold, wearing a hideous red and yellow leather jacket, stands next to a Russian reporter. Behind him, a film crew scurries around readying various set pieces.

Reporter: We are on the set of blockbuster action-thriller Come and See: Endgame starring Себастьян котел, Екатерина Замолодчикова, Ильяна Николаевна Распутина, and Rob Schneider as “Boris.”

Sebastian: I was the first name, right? Guess котел means Gold.

Reporter: No, it means copper.

Sebastian: Excuse me?

Reporter: Specifically referring to cookery. You’ve rejected the decadent Capitalism of ‘Gold’ to celebrate the superior quality of Russian copper.

Sebastian: So I’m…Sebastian Copperpot?

Reporter (smiling): Yes. (he leans over and whispers) And you’ll go along with it because I want to see my wife again.

Sebastian’s eyes go wide, and he nods nervously.

Sebastian: Y-yes. I love all the changes to my basic identity. It’s not jarring at all.

Reporter: Well, folks, that’s it. This copper comrade changed his name and even donated his motorbike to Supreme Commander. Mr. Copperpot is a true star!

Sebastian: What!?

Reporter: Aaaand we’re off air.

Sebastian: What happened to my bike!? What did you do to Carrie???

Reporter: The Comrade Sumpreme Commander thought it was um…”sick.” It is in storage. He will get around to riding it “one of these days.”

Sebastian: Storage?? How will she watch the sunset???

The reporter packs up the rest of his equipment.

Reporter: Relax, it’s just a bike.

Sebastian: *gasp in horror*

Sebastian looks like he might faint.

Reporter: Look, I need to run and pick up my kids. The mine foreman gets so pissy when I’m late.

The Reporter exits the frame.

Sebastian: But-

The film’s Director, clad in all black save for the hammer and sickle on his beret, comes in from the other side and spins Sebastian around.

Director: Ahhh, our star! Just who I was looking for. We need to go over the stunt list.

Sebastian’s eyes light up. He produces a thick three-ring binder and flips through it excitedly.

Sebastian: I got a ton of ideas, but a lot of them involve my bike, so we’re gonna have to get her back-

Director: Oh, don’t worry about your bike. It’s probably scrap by now.

Sebastian: ….

Director: We found the rubber on your tires was the perfect thickness for our civilian-flattening tanks so it was repurposed. And they say we do not innovate. Now! Let’s go over your stunts!

He takes a laconic Sebastian by the shoulder and walks him over to the first location: a cliff overlooking a lake. Sebastian brightens a bit.

Sebastian: It’s been so long since I jumped off a cliff, it’s one of my favo-

Director: Oh no. For this stunt, you’re going to look out at the water and think about your father, who once long ago trusted a Hungarian conman who absconded with what little your village had, leading to a starving winter few survived. When winter was at its coldest, your father went mad, stripped naked, and ran off this very cliff. But he did not hit the ice, he hit your mother, who had also gone mad, stripped naked, and run onto the ice. He flattened her like a blini.

Sebastian: Why was she walking on the ice?

Director: To ask for death and receive an answer.

Sebastian: Jesus.

Director: Up next will be fight scene.

Sebastian: That’s a relief. Where’s my fight partner? I wanna go over the choreography.

The director points to a group of ragtag, worryingly thin people wearing rags.

Sebastian: Are they in costume?

Director: No. It’s easier to hire starving people; you can actually pay them in peanuts.

Sebastian’s mouth hangs open in horror.

Director: Now, in scene, there is one remaining crust of bread, and the townsfolk must fight, bareknuckled, to the death so their offspring may eat and survive the midwinter. In the end, you triumph. You crawl to your son, bloody, dying from your wounds. You hand him the last crust of bread. Your eyes close, you welcome death, knowing your progeny will live. Then a giant bird-house swoops in and plucks your kid right off the ground. It flies away with him. You die. The end.

Sebastian: Who is gonna watch that!?

Director: For the children, of course! This is classic tale we read them at bedtime. Think of it as our Paddington.

Sebastian: Nope, no, I can’t do this. I’ll give up a lot of myself, but the one thing I will not do is make a sad movie.

He gestures to the hungry actors in rags to join him.

Sebastian: Come on guys, lunch on me!

One of the actors runs up to him, holding a fresh hot dog.

“Got your dawg, bro”

* * *

Bash snaps back to reality. Crash is holding out a ripe hotdog for his daydreaming hombre. He takes it, considers it, then whips his head to Crash with wide eyes before the loud noises come out.

“You know what!? It’s time we walked off set with the starving actors!”

Mouth ajar, the Northern Light tries to figure out what’s happening. “…whaaaa-

Gold slaps the thought of Crash getting a word in edgewise out of question. He shrugs, ready to answer his own inner monologue aloud for all of us to weigh in on.

“I mean, do the best with what’s in front of us. Sure, it’d be nice to have all of Violent back. And I wouldn’t mind headlining a blockbuster or two. But that’s not what’s on the table, you know, bro?” Bash says.

“I haven’t said it’s been easy but it’s what I signed up for. She deserves it, especially after everything she’s been through, so I’m just glad she’s safe and not going through Hell every day of her life. Well… not as much Hell, I guess.”

“We might’ve gotten a shit lot in life but we didn’t take any shortcuts out. We fought through the muck and found success on our own terms. Come on, Bro, let’s show these boys in red the AMERICAN WAY!”

BOOOOOOOO!!!

The Canadian crowd around them disapproves. Because of the stuff. Yeah. Stupid shit.

“Shit,” Sebastian says.

A group of hockey fans wearing the red jerseys of the Montreal ‘Canadiens’ are also not happy.

Crash waves his arms. “He didn’t mean it-”

BOOOOOOOOO!!!

A few of the hockey fans inch closer, threateningly. They draw themselves to their full height and hiss at the cornered bros.

HISSSSSSSS

“Uh, you bros are so right,” Crash says, backing away. “We’ll leave. We super deserve this. You got a rad country and we want you to keep it!…Uhhh…”

Crash looks to the Silver Screen Stuntmaster to diffuse the situation with some Hollywood charm.

“Yeah, we love Canada! Justin Trudeau is one of the four white men allowed to spit on me. The other three are-"

The jersey-ed hooligans whip out hockey sticks from nowhere and light them ablaze like torches. The mob has formed.

"GET THEM!"

The bros run.

* * *

Sebastian kicks open a door in the Rad Army Base.

Sebastian: Crash, I found you!

Seven Violent Purples lay around Crash, now also in red and yellow Army gear. Crash sits in the middle of them, joint in mouth, like the king of some old, gross harem.

Sebastian:What have they done to you!?

Crash: When they said “accelerate her recovery,” they meant they’d dress up women who look vaguely similar to VP. Thought I wouldn’t know the difference. They just kept sending more and more…until I gave in…

Seven Violent Purples lay around Crash, now also in red and yellow Army gear. Crash sits in the middle of his pile of hot redheads, joint in mouth, like the king of some trashy harem. The women are all styled and dressed like Violent but none of them possess her sharp-edged aura. One of them kisses Crash on the cheek and all he can do is smile weakly. Another one offers him hotdogs on a silver platter.

Sebastian: Come on, bro, let’s get out of here!

Crash refuses to leave.

Sebastian: Come on, bro, is this really what you want? Are any of these copies like the real VP?

Crash: They beat me up a lot less but… no.

Sebastian: Then come on! I just hijacked a helicopter offscreen - It was awesome. We can fly it out but we gotta go now!

Crash: But…Bash-

Sebastian: What are you so afraid of?

Crash: What if she leaves again? What if my VP never comes back and I’m stuck with a ghost in real life? I don’t know what is goin’ on anymore and it’s gettin’ really fuckin’ hard to know what’s right and what’s easy.

Bash is quiet.

Crash: Then, what if she does recover and sees what I’ve done? I don’t know how I’d handle that either, bro. Every way I slice this pie, I’m fucked.

Bash: Crash, take my hand, and get back to the real VP. Once you see the way she looks at you again, you ain’t gonna be back here. Trust me.

Bash extends his hand to Crash, who takes it before he pulls him out of the tangle of Faux Purples. The Hot Dog Hero tears off his Red Army gear as the two race off to freedom.

* * *

Crash and Bash wear sunglasses and sip coffee at a happily buzzing Timmy Ho’s. They are wearing maple leaf hats, gloves, sweaters, whatever they could get their hands on to “blend in.”  It seems to have worked.

“Makes sense, preying on your feelings for Vi could get you. I think preying on feelings is what they do best. I wonder what feelings they preyed on for Kenny?”

“Not much. He’s a follower, I know that. Ain’t nothing wrong with that unless you choose to follow an asshole. It’s fucking pathetic, Bash. Ivan doesn’t give a Moscow mule’s dump about Kenny. He’s there to be their fall guy, the scapegoat. Makes me sick. If he ever wanted to come back to the side of right, I’d need to see some true bro-tonement from Kentucky Fried Freeman. But he’s as lost as they come. More trapped than most. VP may not be able to speak but at least she’s free. Guess in that way, her voice is louder than Kenny’s will ever be.”

Sebastian raises his drip coffee for a toast.

“Here’s to never forgetting who we are.”

Crash bounces his cardboard cup against Bash’s.

“AND,” Crash adds. “Here’s to reminding each other who we are if we do forget.”

“Here, here!”

* * *

We like to think some things are impossible.

That there’s a type of bro we could… never be.

And upon reflection, we’re kinda right. 

There are some things Bash and I know are impossible:

I will never betray my family

Or my friends

I will never take advantage of the weak

Or cheat to win

I will never be Bryan Dawkins.

I will never be Kenny Freeman.

You two don’t have to be who you are, either.

After we fuck you bros up…

If you want a way out, that’s up to you two.

Got a lot to make up for, boys.

Don’t forget what it’s like.

Bein’ free, bro.

But in the meantime…

GET WRECKED.