Joey Crash: Geminis (vs Victoria Salinas, EXP 21)

The sky was hemorrhaging rain as if a giant had slashed the heavens with a rusty hunters knife. Thick droplets slammed sideways into the cars stationed under the shelter at the petrol station on the side of the road. The rain slammed into the car with the impact of rubber bullets. At the driver’s seat of a rusty ‘67 Chevy Impala was Joey Crash, hands dripping from the rain steadily dripping through the hood as he struggled to open the navigation app on his phone.

As the phone flashed it’s lack of service once again, he slammed his phone into the dashboard of the car and it landed in a puddle that had formed in the floor of the passenger seat. Old coffee cups and burger wrappers were slowly drifting in the pond that had formed. Blinded by rage he slammed his window with the side of his fist, breaking clean through the top half of the window. He guffawed at how easily the pane broke and stuck his head out of the window to spy on the broken shards on the floor outside. The wind and the rain slammed into his ears, muffling the rest of the world outside as the water rushed along his neck and down his back.

A flickering light caught his attention next to the main gas station building - a phone booth. He fixated on it as if he’d come across an oasis in the middle of the desert. The light called to him and he knew in an instant it was where he needed to be. He left the car door open as he got out and left the keys in the ignition. The blustering wind shook the keys where a collection of novelty key rings that came dangled, including a mini magic 8 ball key ring which was stuck on "ASK AGAIN LATER".

He fought against the wind that slammed into him with every step. Closing the folding door behind him, he pulled out a very worn, small blue book. It was Sophie’s diary that she’d left behind after their first proper meeting, just three days after his battle against HIS MONSTER at TriForce Heroes. The book was already years old when he took it - but in the three months since he took it, it now appeared many years older. Today's awful weather had added a lot of fresh damage - as had the countless spills, drops and burns in Joey's care.

He opened the cover and wiped away a couple of small drops, underlining Sophie’s handwriting with his thumb. He begun to slowly punch the number into the pad while his other hand searched blindly in his jeans pocket for some change. He lifted the receiver and noticed the smudges of blood from where he dialed.

“Hey this is Sophie, please leave your name and number at the beep!” ... beep

He dropped the handset back in the cradle and slumped back into the folding doors. The silence filled the booth for a fleeting second before he went straight back to the coin slot. He shoved more coins into the slot and mechanically redialed the number with his bloody hand.

“Hey this is Sophie, please leave your name and number at the beep!” ... beep

“Soph- me again. I just wanted to make sure you got this message, I mean my last... Message. Uh, call me back when you get this.” The phone went back in the cradle and he reached for more quarters in the same instance. Like an algorithm, his emotion faded further and further as muscle memory of dialing settled in.

“Hey this is Sophie, please leave your name and number at the beep!” ... beep

This continued on for another forty minutes, dial, voicemail, quarters, repeat. There was no sense of time passing inside the booth with the flickering light, just an objective that always felt out of reach no matter how many attempts were made.

“GODDAMMIT WHAT? WHAT COULD IT POSSIBLY BE?” There was a moment of silence, Sophie’s heavy breathing was heard down the phone.

“Do you think I can become the Final Boss champion?” click

As Sophie hung up, Crash sighed heavily and placed the phone back on the cradle with great effort as if the handset was suddenly 20lbs heavier. The folding doors squeaked open and the anticipation of powerful gusts was let down by the gentle breeze and soft mists of rain. The ‘67 Impala still had it’s doors open and the driver’s seat looked ruined. He saw the car in a new light as he approached with every crack, scratch and rust patch chipping away at his infatuation. The smashed window and the mountain of old food wrappers inside was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He'd owned the shit box for less than 24 hours but it was enough. He wandered towards the road and saw truck headlights in the distance. He stuck his thumb out and begun walking backwards. The vehicle honked as it approached and to his surprise, it actually stopped.

The window of the tall cabin rolled down and the driver leaned out. He had thick ginger hair beneath a weathered cap and a bushy moustache. He was wearing a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows, his arms were surprisingly large for a driver who looked like he spent most of the day driving.

“Fuck it sure, get up on the other side.” Crash half jogged to the passenger side and the door was opened for him. He climbed into the cabin, closed the door and nodded his thanks. The trucker went back into gear and was distracted by something out the window. “Damn, is that an Impala? I love those things.”

The camera fades in and Joey is dressed in a sharp, well-fitted pin stripe navy suit in a graveyard, just after sunset. He removes the blazer to reveal a matching waistcoat underneath. He reaches down to pick up a shovel and turns to the camera. In between sentences, he starts to dig in front of a tombstone, which appears blank from this angle.

Crash plants the shovel into the hole he’s made so far and begins to uncuff his shirt and roll up his sleeves as he continues his promo.

Joey once again grabs the shovel and starts to dig directly downwards in the same hole. It doesn’t appear like he’s digging a grave, which would otherwise be much larger and rectangular. He keeps digging through the same area. His shirt is starting to darken with the build up of dust and dirt form the digging.

Crash motions for someone off screen to come in axnd help and a couple of old men wearing old trench coats come in with their own shovels. Wordlessly, with a vague hand gesture he prompts them to continue digging where he was while he leans against the tombstone and sparks up a menthol cigarette.

Crash sticks a finger in his mouth at this point and grimaces as he stretches his cheek back to reveal a couple missing teeth of his own and slowly but forcefully, licks across the teeth and into his gums where they used to be.

“When we compare resumes, sure you’ve definitely gotten the head-start on me there. But all that shit is in the past. All your world title reigns, including that really awful first reign that I won’t mention only lasted 35 days - it’s all in the past. Our careers have had very different trajectories. It’s possible that had I not spent so much time out of the business, we could have been putting on classics over championships all over the place. Who knows, we might have been friends. Maybe even a tag team…” Crash holds his hand in front gently in front of his lips to try and hold back laughter, “But the fact remains, old Vic. You can’t predict the future by looking to the past. Think you have my number? Keep thinking that. You have no idea what I’m capable of because you can’t look past your own poisoned accomplishments.”

The diggers hit something and it makes a hollow noise, Crash flicks his cigarette away and shoos them away with one hand. He picks up his shovel again and starts to shift the dirt away to uncover what was found. He kneels down and begins to wipe away the dirt, revealing a glass case with brass knucks and what appears to be the Final Boss championship.

Crash smashes his shovel into the glass an it shatters with a muffled but  cracking noise. He softly moves glass out of the way for a better look at the belt inside and wears the brass knucks on his right hand.