Converging Paths

A sunny morning in the city of Ginland (*That’s “Gin” like the drink). The city was most famous for a very brutal mixed martial arts tournament named after itself. That's brutal, as in "your opponent still needs to be breathing and not comatose, but otherwise go nuts". There were dojos and academies dedicated to one style of combat or another. Violent street crime was very low, but the underground fight scene was very prominent. Ginland was a true fighting city. It was also a big pro wrestling city and the home of Psycho Style Wrestling.

Sarah and Suzy were on their way to the Sammartino Centre, where PSW trains recruits, in Sarah’s yellow convertible. The trip had been tense and silent until now,

“Again, I’m really sorry,” Suzanna said, looking at her friend with concern. She was wearing a loose, long-sleeve grey hoodie, black tights and white sneakers. Sarah had changed into a denim vest, pink crop top, blue jeans, spiked wristbands and black boots. Both of them had their hair tied into ponytails. Sarah also wore sunglasses to hide her annoyance. It wasn’t working,

“That’s what you said last time,”

“I-I promise it won’t happen again,”

“You said that too,”

“A-and I’ll pay you back for the door,”

Sarah rolled her eyes under her glasses, “And that.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Look, just drop it,”

“Sorry-”

“If you say sorry one more time…”

Suzanna looked down at her hands, “I-I j-just… don’t want you to be mad at me,”

“I’m Not Mad,” Sarah said through gritted teeth.

“Y-You totally are!”

“Don’t you have something more important you should be worried about?!”

“You’re right…” Suzanna lowered her head, even more, pouted and repeatedly pressed the tips of her index fingers together,

“But… what if I flop and don’t have a home to go back to because my best friend is mad at me?”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not going to flop then,” Sarah gave her smile, then a frown. After a moment they both laughed,

“Look, seriously, don’t worry about the door, or the tryout you’ll do great,”

“I hope so,”

“I know so. They'll be begging to sign you when they see what you can do. You just have to walk in there with confidence,”

Suzanna nodded and clenched her fists in determination, “Confidence. Right!”

She looked at Sarah with concern once again, “Wait, I’m terrible at being confident,”

“Then just pretend you’re not,”

Suzanna’s eyes started to water, “But I’m terrible at pretending,”

Sarah groaned.

(Isn't she going to be competing in front of thousands of people?)

 “Ugh, well, maybe your failsafe will kick in,”

“What failsafe?”

“You know, that thing you do when you’re really nervous which is the reason you’re still single,”

“HEY!”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re weird enough to be a special attraction,”

Suzanna folded her arms and pouted, “Hmph. I’m not joining a circus,”

Sarah chuckled, “If you say so,”

The rest of the trip was a bit more cheerful.

Meanwhile, in a high-end house in a neighbourhood called Hogan Hills, Simon was having breakfast with his younger brother, Bruce. Simon was eating wholegrain cereal with low-fat milk, while Bruce ate chocolate oatmeal. Bruce had a similar facial structure to Simon, but with paler skin, long, unkempt ginger hair and dark brown eyes. He wore a blue hooded jacket over a white shirt and blue pyjama pants that hid his skinny-fat physique. His expression was blank, almost lifeless at all times with dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. When he opened his mouth, long fangs could be seen.

“I don’t see you on the tv anymore,” Bruce said, his voice being deep, scratchy and monotonous with a slight Yorkshire accent.

“They have me working dark matches,” Simon said, his voice husky and even deeper with a more posh pronunciation. Simon was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans,

“Still? I thought your probation was over,”

“They decided to continue it due to ‘clear lack of sincere reflection’ on my ‘recent behaviour’,”

Bruce stopped eating and just looked at Simon for a moment, expression still blank,

“What did you do this time?”

Simon shrugged, “Beat up some no-name no one’ll care about,”

“Seriously? You’re better than that,”

Simon’s phone started ringing.

“I am. I wish they would realise that,”

“They did and you threw it back in their faces, remember?”

Simon kept eating while the phone rang. He picked it up, looked at it and then declined the call before carrying on,

“Who was that?” Bruce asked,

“No one,”

The phone started ringing again. He looked at it again, then turned it off.

“Simon, seriously, who was that?”

“Gamal,”

“The talent relations lady? Why would she be calling you?"

"Apparently there's some tryout that I'm supposed to be helping with,”

“And you’re not going?”

Simon frowned, “Of course not. I’m allergic to green,”

“Shouldn’t you be blind then?”

“That’s not what I-”

The house phone, that hung on the wall next to a photo of Bruce and Simon together in front of a wrestling ring, was ringing. The two brothers stared at each other unblinkingly while it continued to ring. Bruce eventually groaned and went to answer it. While slouching he lazily pushed the speaker button,

“Hello?”

The ageing voice of Fatima Gamal, head of talent relations at PSW came through,

“Good morning, Bruce. Is your brother home?”

Simon vigorously shook his head. Bruce looked at him, then at the phone and said,

“My brother’s dead,”

Simon facepalmed.

“Very sorry to hear that. Could you take a break from grieving and tell to him bring his corpse to the Sammartino Centre?”

“Okay,” Bruce said, before turning to Simon, “She said to bring your c-”

“I heard what she said,”

“Ah, Simon, glad to hear you’re back in the land of the living. There should be a car waiting for you outside your house. If you hurry, you might still have a job,”

She hung up. Bruce looked at him again and said, “She said there’s a-”

“I heard what she said,” Simon says with dangerously narrow eyes and a now-bent spoon in his hand.

“Had to be sure…” Bruce said, looking at the photo. Each of them had an arm over the other’s shoulders. It was a photo from three years ago when they were a tag team. Bruce at full height was actually taller than Simon by 2.5 centimetres. His ginger hair was dyed crimson red and draped over his face, his eyes glowed a similar shade of red and he was smiling with his fangs bared. He was also packing more muscle while being noticeably leaner than Simon, with visible cuts on his arms. He was wearing a black and red sleeveless with the hood drawn up and red claw-tipped gloves.

Simon wore a creepy gas mask under a black outback hat. He wore a black jacket over a black and white singlet and leather motorcycle gloves of the same colour. His hair was also much shorter and more curly. Bruce was doing a throat slicing gesture, while Simon was doing a thumbs up with his head tilted.

Bruce stared at the photo while Simon went upstairs to get changed into some sweats and sneakers.

“You promised to go on for both of us,” He said as the latter came down while checking his phone. Simon halted, caught Bruce's gaze, then averted his own,

“Yes, well, things don’t always go the way we expect,” He turned away, “You should know that by now,”

Bruce continued to look at him, and then went back to his seat to continue his eating his oatmeal,

“I always thought you were different though,”

Simon turned his head slightly, then looked down before heading to the front door,

“I’ll see you later. Try to stay alive while I’m gone, will you?”

As he shut the door behind him Bruce said,

“No promises,” before putting a spoonful in his mouth. He growled audibly after doing so,

“It’s cold…”