Chapter 38: The Masked Fighter

Buchanan sniffled to himself as he shuffled through the stadium halls.

“How p-p-pathetic of me,” he whimpered, “I failed to show my r-r-resolve once again…I guess I’m just never going to change…”

“Oye!” somebody screeched, causing Buchanan to flinch at their shout. He turned around, spotting a group of thugs rushing over to his side.

“E-e-excuse me…” Buchanan squeaked as the gang started circling around him.

“Check it out!” one of them exclaimed, drowning out Buchanan’s quiet words. “It’s the weakest President of all time!”

“Dang, this guy is scrawny as hell!” another cackled, poking his finger into Buchanan’s skinny arm. “You think I could take him in a fight?”

“Obviously you could! Heck, I bet he’d surrender before you even threw the first punch!”

The gangsters bellowed with maniacal laughter as Buchanan curled deeper into himself.

“P-P-Please,” he stammered, tears dripping down his face, “s-s-s-s—”

“Now fellas…”

The group stopped laughing, turning to see JFK approaching them with a cool smile hanging underneath a faint scowl.

“…I think you’ve all just about had your fair share of fun now; so why don’t you go and head back to the stands already?”

“You ain’t the boss of us!” snarled the largest of the thugs. “Besides, you can’t do nothing against us, not while you’re under the effects of Taft’s EP!”

“He’s right!” another thug chimed in. “You can’t attack nobody unless its part of an official match!”

“…huh,” JFK remarked with a rub of his chin, “I guess that’s true; I really can’t make you leave by force, can I?”

The goons smirked to themselves as JFK gave a silent nod to himself.

“Well then,” JFK spoke up, “if you all insist on staying here, then I suppose I’d best be going. After all, I wouldn’t want to leave your lovely girlfriends up in section 35 all by themselves.”

The gangsters instantly stopped smiling as they stared straight at JFK.

“…how did you know we were staying in section 35?”

“Easy,” JFK replied with a coy grin, “I’m always paying attention to the pretty young ladies around me…especially when those ladies seem more than eager to dump their flakey, punk boyfriends for a real man like me!”

The thugs took a collective step back, then sprinted back into the stands, frantically dialing up their girlfriends as they ran.

“Honestly,” JFK muttered, shaking out his head. “The nerve of some people! No one has a right to grade the strength a President, not without first standing in the same arena they did.”

“Th-th-thanks, JFK…” Buchanan stammered, wiping away the tears from his face. “I’m s-s-s-s-sorry that I’m s-s-s-so weak…”

“Weak?” JFK replied with a grin. “Did you see that thing you summoned at the end of your fight? Heck, I doubt even Washington himself could have handled something as big as that!” He placed a hand on Buchanan’s shoulder. “You’re plenty strong, Buchanan; you just need to build some confidence in yourself.”

“A-a-a-as if,” Buchanan muttered, “I’m a t-t-total c-c-coward through and through…”

“I can’t deny you that! But you know Buchanan; sometimes it takes a real coward to show the greatest courage of all. I’d forgotten this lesson recently, but…”

“Hey JFK!” LBJ hollered from across the hall. “Quit your dawdling and get your but back into the stands already!”

JFK smiled softly.

“…but for better or worse,” he continued, “I’ve got someone around who keeps reminding me of this fact.”

JFK gave a light bump to Buchanan’s chest with his fist.

“In any case…I want you to promise me that you’ll be in the stands for my match tomorrow. In return…”

JFK flashed his pearly whites, nearly forcing Buchanan to look away from his dazzling face.

“…I promise…I’ll show you what a real profile in courage looks like!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the opposite end of the coliseum, Grant and Lincoln strolled down the twisting halls of the stadium.

“As we expected,” Lincoln bemused, “our former friend Johnson emerged victorious despite his heavily inebriated state.”

“And without a single scratch on him,” Grant added on, “which means there’s a pretty good chance he’ll be the one you end up facing in round 3.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lincoln remarked, looking to the bracket on the screen across from them. “By the looks of things, Johnson is going to have a tough time making it through round 2, what with his opponent being either [Old Hickory] Andrea Jackson…or [The Masked Fighter] JD…whoever that ends up being.”

Grant raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” he asked in confusion, “There’s only one President left that [The Masked Fighter] could possibly be.”

“There is,” Lincoln admitted, “but it’s rather strange, don’t you think? If this masked fighter really were who we thought they are…then why choose the initials JD for their pseudonym? After all, the only person who comes to my mind with initials like that are…”

“It’s not them!” Grant growled, biting his teeth straight through his cigar in an uncharacteristic display of rage. “That much is certain.”

“Yes…” Lincoln mused, “Yes, you’re right of course; I’m simply being overly pessimistic as usual. I mean really just think about it,” he spoke with a sorrowful chuckle, “if this JD really were that JD…well, it’s safe to say that this entire tournament would be thrown entirely out of control…”

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JFK and Buchanan. The scene between Jay Kennedy and Jim Buchanan scene is based loosely on a quote by Jack Kennedy saying “No one has a right to grade a president — even poor James Buchanan — who has not sat in his chair, examined the mail and information that came across his desk, and learned why he made his decisions.”