Napalm in the Morning

Dojo Cascadia was as quiet as a tomb.

Kerry Kuroyama was hit with a slight pang of melancholy the instant he stepped through his wrestling school’s semi-hallowed doors.

It hurt him to see it this way.

This time last year, the dojo was thriving. They kept up on a consistent schedule of classes during the day and meetings at night, and groomed a good following of regulars, along with a crop of young prospects.

He was just embarking on a tremendous reign as Five Star Champion. The Rain City Ronin were belted up as well. On the streets of Seattle, the hype was real. Within those walls, so was the commitment.

So much hope and effort had been poured into this ark for the purpose of a long and steady voyage.

Now, that ark listed aimlessly in the windless doldrums of apathy.

Rings stood empty. Mats sat rolled up. Rows of expensive exercise equipment sat unused, collecting dust. No drills. No work-outs. No sparring sessions.

No warm bodies to speak of.

Only bleak, sepulchral silence.

“So how was New York?”

Kerry looked to the voice.

Looking as world-weary as a cemetery caretaker, Leo Burnett emerged from the passageway leading to the back offices.

“Out of this world,” Kerry answered.

They met in the center of the room and clasped hands in greeting.

“Just you here?”

Burnett’s answer came in the form of a look of bitter disappointment.

As if that wasn’t clear enough, it was reinforced by a loud, grating snore suddenly rumbling out from the distant corner of the room.

There, the third of their triumvirate of ownership laid strewn out across a stack of exercise mats fashioned into a rudimentary mattress. Zack Daymon was passed out face down in a puddle of his own saliva, surrounded by a ring of plastic cups and empty bottles of rum and mai tai mix.

Physically, he was back.

Mentally, he was still on the beaches of Maui.

Kuroyama groaned.

“Is he just living here now?”

Burnett shrugged.

“I guess when you go on a six month Hawaiian bender… things happen.”

Yes, things happen.

Such as getting kicked out of your apartment for being months behind on rent.

Daymon snored again.

Hearing it was like polishing the surface of the brain with the world’s rustiest chainsaw.

Clearly, Kerry figured, the situation called for swift and immediate corrective action.

So he walked over to his cousin’s makeshift squat spot and gave the stack of mats a firm kick.

“Up.”

Zack awoke with a snort.

His head came up from the drool, empty and agape. Glazed eyes came into focus just long enough to register who was speaking, and with a dismissive wave of his hand, he went face-first back into the void.

“...fugoff.”

Finding the response unsatisfactory, Kerry seized his cousin by the collar soiled, absurdly-patterned floral shirt and forcibly yanked him to his feet.

“UP.”

Zack came up with a yelp of a surprise. Now pissed off in addition to being hung over, and angrily tore away from Kerry’s grasp.

“GOLDAMN SHIT-ASS, ARR YOU CRAZY?!”

The words slurred together into a single unintelligible curse.

If he meant to follow it up with anything, the words were swiftly cut off as Kerry’s hands shot forward and peppered both sides of his face with a flurry of light slaps.

Daymon’s triggered fight or flight senses did not react well with his current state of intoxication. He stammered and blubbered in shock and confusion, drew back to take a swing, slipped on an empty bottle of Gosling’s Black Seal, spun the clumsy pirouette of a drunken ballerina, and fell straight on his ass.

“I need to have a word with you guys before I leave for Pittsburgh,” pressed Kerry. “So I’m calling a managers’ meeting.”

Grunting indignantly, Zack rolled over and began crawling back to his stack of mats.

“I don’ give uh FUGK whut y’ gotta say, Kay…”

Again, the response was unsatisfactory.

So before his cousin could flop himself on the mats, Kerry flung himself onto his back, nelsoned up his arms, and launched him with a Dragon Suplex.

Zack let loose a flabbergasted cry as he flew overhead. He hit the floor with a pained grunt, and remained there clutching his head and neck, snarling in pain and rum-fueled rage.

“Zack, you’re family, and I’ll always love you,” said the Emerald Apex. “But your father is in the hospital, we may be at war with yakuzas, and worst of all, I have to be stuck in a house with Cancer fucking Jiles.”

Kerry collared his cousin around the neck and forced him back to his feet to look him straight in the eye.

“So right now more than ever, I need you to undipshittify yourself and get with the fucking program.”

Wide-eyed and furious, Daymon opened his mouth to respond.

But whatever he intended to come out was lost to the rise of regurgitation in his throat.

As Zack turned to vomit, Leo saw his chance to step in and play the peacemaker.

“Listen, Zack, we’re just worried about your health and well--HEY!!”

Before he could finish, Kuroyama suddenly grabbed him around the waist and suplexed the other half of the Rain City Ronin as well.

As Leo hit the floor with a splat, so did a load of undigested rum and Mai Tai mix.

Burnett sat up instantly, favoring his neck and flashing the Emerald Apex a look of betrayal.

“Fuck, man, what the hell did I do?!”

Kerry clinched him by the head and pulled him up.

“It’s not about what you did,” he said. “But what you didn’t do. Which was to intervene, before this dumbass did this to himself.”

He turned Leo’s head in the direction of his partner, who was still in the midst of puking his guts up.

“We’re supposed to be a team…”

He Bieled Leo off to the side.

“And members of a team hold each other accountable.”

Zack was still doubled over and busy blowing chunks.

Then Kerry hooked his arms behind his back and sent him flying once again by way of a Tiger Suplex, spewing a jet of projectile vomit through the air in an arc.

“Which is exactly what I’m doing with you two right now.”

Burnett was recovering on the floor when he saw Kerry coming at him again, like a man possessed.

“Shit…”

He turned to run, but by then it was too late.

Kerry trapped him into an ironclad waistlock and threw him back with a powerful German suplex.

“I’m not doing this out of anger…”

With the front of his shirt stained in his own vomit, Daymon groggily fumbled his way back up.

“I’m doing this out of love…”

Kerry’s voice remained calm and even-toned.

Even as he charged ahead and planted the sole of his boot in the very center of his cousin’s face to knock him down again.

“...and out of necessity.”

Feeling surprisingly refreshed, Kuroyama stood and admired his work.

Beneath him, both members of the Rain City Ronin were on the floor, writhing, groaning, and sputtering in pain.

Maybe now they’d be in the habit of listening.

“Now listen up, taterheads…”

As the daze wore off, Zack and Leo slowly sat themselves up and gave him their attention.

“There’s going to be some changes around here,” he declared. “Because it’s become abundantly clear to me that we’ve lost our sense of discipline. Our focus.”

He gestured to the dead room around them to emphasize the point.

To wit, he “education” he had just given them was probably the most action the school had seen in weeks.

“I don’t know when and where we fell off the path, boys” he went on. “But so help me THIGHS, I will do everything in my power to get us back on it. Even if it means suplexing both of your dumbasses across every square inch of this building until you finally figure it out.”

Zack and Leo exchanged dubious glances.

“Now as you should know by now, I’m going to be gone for a while for this Survivor thing,” he said. “Couldn’t tell you for how long. Depending on how things go down, it could be as long as a couple weeks, or a couple months.”

Considering what was at stake, the Emerald Apex fully intended for it to be the latter.

But considering the make-up of Tribe Troy, that was obviously easier said than done.

“Either way, by the time I get back, I want to see two things,” he said. “First, I want to see this place back up and running and kicking all the ass again. I get that Rocko was holding a lot of things together around here, but so long as he’s out, someone needs to step up and keep this ship sailing. For the sake of everything we stand for in this place, our students need to see that we can stay strong and collected, even in times of crisis.”

After spending a moment to consider the point, Leo reluctantly nodded.

Hearing his father’s name mentioned, Zack looked to the floor and glowered.

“Second,” he said, pointing to their wall of accomplishments. “I want to see another one of those on the wall.”

The Ronin looked in unison, and realized he was pointing at the Milo Flynn Cup they won from last year’s tournament.

Daymon immediately scoffed, wiping the puke from his chin with the sleeve of his now ruined floral shirt.

“Yeah, fuck that…” he muttered, and nodded to Leo. “He and I are done. Can’t trust this weak-willed bitch anymore after what he did.”

Rebuffed, Burnett incredulously glared at his erstwhile partner.

“‘Weak-willed’?!” he echoed. “Motherfucker, you’re one to talk, considering you’ve spent the last six months drunk off your ass, living out some Jimmy Buffett fantasy?”

Sneering, Zack extended the bird.

“Yeah, why don’t you go fuck yourswwAAARRGGH!!”

Daymon’s words melted into muffled cries of despair as the Emerald Apex pounced upon the disruptor, folded him up like a suitcase, lifted him over his shoulder, and snap powerbombed him right back to the floor.

Kerry wasn’t annoyed by the interruption.

But he needed to make it clear that he had neither the time nor patience for it.

“I don’t know what sort of bullshit is going on between the two of you,” said Kuroyama. “But whatever the two of you need to do to get past it, get to it. Fight. Fuck. I don’t care.”

Zack moaned on the floor like the victim of a hit and run.

Ever forgiving, Leo moved to help him up.

“Okay…” said Burnett. “We’ll try and talk it out.”

Kerry grimaced.

“Oh… really?”

Somehow, he was expecting something a bit more dramatic than a simple conversation between adults.

“You guys sure you don’t want to fight?” he asked. “Or fuck?”

Once again, the Rain City Ronin exchanged dubious looks.

Gears were turning.

“I mean--” began Zack.

“We’ll talk it out,” Leo reaffirmed.

Kerry’s eyes rolled.

“Fine… boring, but fine,” he grumbled. “Now, boys, can I rely on the two of you to follow through on these plain and simple requests?”

He offered them both hands.

Burnett accepted the one given to him, pulled himself to his feet, and nodded.

“We’ve got this,” he said, before giving the other Ronin a doubtful glance. “Or I do, in any case.”

Now sober on account of the repeated slams (or maybe just mildly concussed), Daymon lingered on the floor for a moment longer.

“Alright, but one condition…”

He took hold of Kerry’s hand and went up.

“When all this is said and done…” he began. “We go after the ones who hurt Dad.”

Kerry forced a smile. He could practically feel his cousin’s rage through the force of his grip.

If only the dumb, vomit-soaked kid really knew what he was asking to get into.

On the other side of the globe, his uncle Anzu Kuroyama was biding his time. Here in Seattle, his soldiers were sewing seeds in the shadows.

A mountain to climb another day, the Emerald Apex reasoned.

The only mountain that concerned him now was the Radical Rock known as the “Aggro-Crag”.

This would not be a fight for survival.

Kerry Kuroyama was coming to conquer.

“I swear to you, boys, we are going to find them,” he said. “And when we do, we are going to fucking destroy them.”

And that would only be the beginning, he thought.

🐉

“When you grow up in the shadow of Rainier, you learn a thing or two about climbing.”

Pittsburgh stinks.

I can’t tell if it’s just the reek of Independence Day festivities, or something in the city itself.

I don’t mean that like a bad thing, mind you. Some stinks are good. Might even build character.

“When you’re raised in the wrestling ring, you learn a thing or two about climbing.”

The Troy Tribe’s Airbnb is adequate enough in space. More than enough room for four men to stretch their legs.

It stinks also.

Not the good kind.

“When you spend a few years in PRIME Wrestling, you learn a thing or two about climbing.”

It took a lot of bargaining to get Ami to come visit.

She came wearing a hazmat suit.

Can’t say I blame her. The chemical reaction of four contrasting personalities makes the air in here feel positively radioactive.

…or maybe that’s whatever rat piss Vickie is using for perfume.

“Safe to say, I know how to climb.”

It’s strange.

I figured the “closeness” of being confined within these walls with complete strangers would speed up the process of getting to know them.

“Up. Down. Into. Out of. Over. Under. Around. Through.”

Days later, they still feel like strangers. The only thing we really learn about each other is bathroom habits.

We live together like sharks gathered around a poker table, feigning smiles and keeping out cards close to our chests.

It feels like everyone is putting up a front. Hiding a strategy.

“Name the thing and I’ll climb the motherfucker, is what I’m saying.”

The Baltimore guy--Coltrane--is the only one that comes off as sincere in his intentions.

I saw it in him the moment he walked into the room.

This was a real motherfucker.

Someone who had experienced a life of actual hardship. Had clawed his way out of something hellish to be here.

A true survivor.

“Sundae Slide?”

Like me, Coltrane Anderson understands what this is all about.

For the fans of PRIME, maybe it’s fun and games.

But for those of us involved in this Cannonball Run of a competition, everything hinges on the hopes at earning that shot at the pinnacle.

There's no mystery what he’s here for.

I can trust him enough to pull his weight through the challenges.

But who he’ll look to should it come down to votes?

That’s what worries me.

“Hell yeah, I’d climb it, bRuThEr.”

On the other hand, there’s a lot of things I can’t figure out about Kenny Freeman.

Chief among them, how he made the cut.

Also, whether or not he’s the actual Kenny, or one of his equally goofy multiversal selves.

Not that I can judge…

Neptune’s visor was a pandora’s box in its own right. In my dreams, I can still hear Kerry Kuroyakuza crooning out the best hits of Phil Collins.

But when it comes to Kenny, I worry less about what he’s thinking, and more about what he’ll bring to the table.

“Olmec’s Temple?”

It’s not like I don’t have experience being on a team with him before.

And it’s hard to invest hope in someone you watched get crushed by a dozen finishers and pinned to eliminate the whole team.

But that rotten night in London is behind us.

And I’m more willing to keep an open mind.

Freeman’s a man of secrets. And those secrets may pay off for us.

By the same token, I hope he understands what he’s really involved in.

I hope he understands that by working together to see any number of us to survive, we’re choosing our own enemies in the triple threat match at Ascension.

And I hope he understands that if he somehow beats the odds and survives that long, the illusion of kinship that comes with being a part of this tribe won’t be enough to keep me from going for the throat.

No mercy in the wild.

“I’d climb it two times.”

Last but not least… the King Crumb himself.

…

Shit.

Where to even begin?

“Aggro-crag?”

I’ll give him this…

Jiles is a shapeshifter. A chameleon among men.

He’s all smiles, and jokes, and charming wit.

Yet within a single smirk, there’s as many as a million things being spoken.

Unspoken little white lies, willed to reinforce his authority while his words preached fairness and comradery.

The shades piss me off the most.

It’s not easy for me to put my trust in anyone when I can’t look them in the eye.

“No sweat. Climbin’ that shit. ”

It’s easy to see through it all

To him, the other three of us are a means to an end. Marks to exploit, and backs to climb over.

Like I said…

This place stinks.

Sulfur and rotten eggs go hand in hand.

“I don’t claim to be a man without burdens.”

Tonight, we’re all in the living room, like boys staying up late at a sleepover.

We’re watching the show.

The show, I mean. The one involving kids strapped to bungee cables, bouncing around a sound studio while “competing” through tedious athletic matches.

His idea of a strategy session.

Like I need how to be told how to scale a hill made out of foam and particle board.

“When it comes to Kerry-ing my own burdens, nothing can hold me down.”

It’s not about how fast you climb, really.

Hitting the relays is the key. Miss one, and you’re fucked.

And then, of course, there’s that annoying avalanche of boulders.

Nothing that can’t be handled if you remember to duck at the right time.

“But when it comes to Kerry-ing others…?”

It’s not hard to predict how this will likely go down.

Our undeclared “glorious leader” will lead our ascent.

Baltimore will set the pace and prove himself reliable.

Kenny will be doing his thing, helping out in his own way.

And as for me?

“I guess that remains to be seen.”

I’ll be in the very back, holding everyone accountable.

Because that’s what it means to be part of the team.

Any team.

“But I’m not without hope.”

On the screen, the wicked neon rock hisses and spews forth geysers of steam and glitter.

Conscripted child soldiers in blazing blue, rocking red, and powerful purple desperately claw their way up the jagged incline in a tense race for the top.

The four of us representing the Troy Tribe watch it play out. Rewind. Watch it again.

Observations are called out. Strategies are proposed. Decisions are made.

Coltrane hogs the remote.

Kenny hogs the popcorn.

Cancer minds the kernels that spill onto his couch.

I mix the Mai Tais.

Allies today.

Enemies tomorrow.

“To climb is to conquer.”

GUTS.

D-d-do-do we have it?

Maybe.

I’m not without hope.

“And that is what I do best.”