(The camera opens up on Eric Dillinger standing alone on a street corner. Behind him is a brick building with signs written in Spanish in the store front. He wears a brown flannel, blue jeans, and black and white Converse very much in the Southern California style. Not far off in the distance the camera picks up the faint sounds of moving vehicles, dogs barking, and children playing. The young man stands there with his hands in his pockets as he looks into the camera.)
Eric Dillinger: Hello, wrestling world. Eric Dillinger here, the young lion of Ultimate Wrestling, the scourge of Valora fans, the MOX News Network darling!
(Eric chuckles and shakes his head.)
Eric Dillinger: I’m only shitting you, no one calls me that. No one calls me anything, no one even calls me from UOW. You know I had to book my own flight into Puerto Rico? My own hotel? For the job Johnny and I did on Valora you would think we would have the rockets strapped to our backs… but I guess it’s like the Old Man was telling me the other day on our trip out of Mexico. We need to earn our spot. It’s not about the preferential treatment, it’s about the shots we get to make. Allen Anderson has gifted Johnny Rage and myself a match with the Hunns, Kronin and his little sister…
(Eric stops and looks up for a second, squinting his eyes.)
Eric Dillinger: Kara? Is it Kara or Kara? I don’t know, doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. At the end of the day, the Reinhardts, TERRIBLE team name, have gotten the ire of management and I am here to be the company guy to take them the hell out.
I would like to tell you that it’s nothing personal, but… it is. I would be a fucking clown to stand here and tell you that I am just a guy going in to do a job and that I have no emotional attachment to this situation… but I’m not going to just DO a job and I have all the emotions about this.
Don’t get me wrong, I respect you Kronin and Kara… Kara? I’ve seen your past matches, I’ve seen stuff from Kronin’s long and storied career, I can relate as one military man to another… But I have so much riding on this.
I have so much riding on it to the point that I am putting the respect aside for good old-fashioned hate and discontent.
(Eric’s expression changes so that his eyes narrow and brow furrows.)
Eric Dillinger: The tag team scene here is weak when two guys that are thrown together can get the top prize so Johnny and I have to clean up the place. We’ll weed out the weak, knock off the competition, and take the titles from Biggs and Huckleberry. Then as we hold the top prizes we will be able to shape the landscape to fit the mold we want. The wrestling world is a big place and it’s a shame we’ve only got such a small section of it focusing on the tag team scene.
Pitiful.
(Fade to black.)
-=Break=-
(Eric Dillinger sat in the medical tent worn and tired. His shirt was missing, cut from his body already as a Corpsman dressed the wound in his chest. Some one else’s blood on his Crye pants was already starting to crust and flake off. In his mind he ran through the events of the twelve hours prior trying to comprehend it all. The world had gone mad and up until this point it all made total sense.)
Eric Dillinger: I’m getting the fuck out.
(The Corpsman stitching him paused for a moment before continuing on with his work. Not much older than Eric himself, the young man didn’t know what to say. EOD were supposed to be high-speed cool guys, what could a Corpsman who’d spent most of his time in at a clinic tell him? Dillinger did not say that to make conversation. The needle and suture piercing and moving through the wound barely registered in his mind let alone the person doing it. Before long the medic was done and places a bandage over it. He didn’t say anything as he left.)
Eric Dillinger: Jesus…
Voice: Yea?
(Eric looked up to find JAG Officer in front of him wearing a clean, fresh set of type-3’s. They were so new they still retained their darker color unlike the many sun-stained sets Eric had gone through in his short five-and-a-half-year career. Her name tape read Owens and her rank tab sported Lieutenant bars.)
Eric Dillinger: Huh? Oh, nothing…
Lt. Owens: It’s ok. I’m sure you’re still processing what happened yesterday.
Eric Dillinger: Yesterday? I’ve been running rough for three days straight with no sleep… I guess it just feels like one really long day. I’ve kind of lost… time.
Lt. Owens: I’m told you took a blow to the head. Do you remember what happened?
Eric Dillinger: Yea… At least I think I do. If I’ve forgotten anything I clearly don’t remember.
Lt. Owens: You acted bravely in the line of duty and, because of you, San Diego is still here.
Eric Dillinger: What about Los Angeles?
(She doesn’t say anything, but the expression on her face says it all. The red and gloss in her eyes were signs of a sleepless, tear-filled night. Her grip tightened on the clip board in her hand. Dillinger didn’t need the details and he wasn’t going to force them out of her. He stretched out his hand to her for the clipboard. Taking the pen attached along the top he began to thumb through it for the signature pages.)
Eric Dillinger: It’s the typical non-disclosure, right?
Lt. Owens: Ahem… No.
Eric Dillinger: No?
Lt. Owens: There’s a special enclosure about… About…
Eric Dillinger: Yea? I probably have an idea. Make no mention of intel?
Lt. Owens: No mention of your mission, never speaking against President McStrump…
Eric Dillinger: What?
Lt. Owens: There are people in the cabinet who feel that the president looks bad already. They’re trying to minimize visibility on all of this. If the public doesn’t know about our prior intel, you stopping the bomb…
(Eric lets out an audible sigh as he just signs his name on document after document. Lt. Owens stops talking as she watches him finish up. Without looking at her he hands the clipboard back and she goes on her way. Seconds later another Officer walks in. Dillinger doesn’t even look at him or acknowledge his presence.)
Officer: Hello, I’m Captain Rogers. Dr. Captain Rogers…
(He pauses expecting some kind of chuckle. That one usually elicits some reaction.)
Captain Rogers: Today I’m administering you three shots. -XX-redacted-XX-, -XX-redacted-XX-, and -XX-redacted-XX-. Your tricep will be sore for a couple of days and you’ll lose your sense of taste for about a week, but—
(The first dose goes in, but Dillinger doesn’t flinch. He’s quietly seething from what he just signed.)
Captain Rogers: --at least your hair won’t fall out, your nails won’t fall off, and you won’t die from an advanced form of cancer. You were radiated a little, but you’ll live. I suggest you don’t plan on having kids for a few years. Got a girlfriend at home?
Eric Dillinger: …
Captain Rogers: Well, she’ll be happy to see you after you go through decontamination. We’ll keep you for a week to monitor you. The cocktail you’re getting is still experimental. Not approved by the FDA…
(The third shot is administered and the Captain removes his gloves, throwing them in the trash nearby.)
Captain Rogers: There’s a lot of promise here. Half of everyone who’s used it this past year have survived with no problems. The other half, well…
(He doesn’t finish his sentence, but walks off leaving Eric Dillinger alone to contemplate what happens and where he goes next.)