The show was over and Justice had been a hit. He still didn’t know what he had done to be so successful, following the plan made for him by someone else, but he’d take it. Now he waited alone, impatiently, for the grown man he called his son. The path they followed, he realized, had been so ridiculous as to be unbelievable. If they survived the battles that lay before them, what then? What could he possibly do after this? Who could he tell?

A knock at the door and he rose eagerly, nearly ripping the hotel door out of its frame. “Hey! Justice,” said Alex, “Man, this must be the worst room in the joint, huh? I mean, the doorframe moved when you opened the door.” and a knowing glare from the only person in this setting to know his secret let Justice know he should tone it down. Just behind him was Commissar Trotsky.

“Hey, Justice,” said Alex, “this is Commissar Trotsky. Trotsky, you saw our new guy Gorilla Haymaker’s match earlier, right?”

Trotsky showed no patience, “Okay, American pig-dog, let’s get whatever this is over with,” he said, pushing into the room. “I do not know what you want with my boy but I doubt we can provide.”

Justice watched as he confidently strode to the hotel room’s desk and took a seat, facing Justice like a manager giving an interview. This irked the big man, “First off he ain’t your boy; he’s mine. Okay? Let’s get that straight. Second, Alex didn’t tell you?”

“No, podonok, he said very little, only that you wanted to talk to Anatoli.”

Justice stormed over, leaning with his palms on the desk, “And that ain’t his name! Where do you get off kidnappin’ my son and what the fuck is a podonok?”

“Is bad word. Worse than suchiy potrokh but not so bad as na khui.” Trotsky reclined, fingers tented.

“Oh fuck you already!” heaving the hardwood desk off the floor, Justice held it overhead, ready to smash Trotsky into paste as the older man fell onto his back!

“What the fuck is your malfunction, redneck!? Put down the desk!” shouted Trotsky in a much different accent.

“Uh … what?” Justice just stood there, holding the desk, barely aware that Alex was hanging from the back of it. He looked back, making eye contact.

“I’m guessing you didn’t hear me telling you to calm down?” asked Alex.

“I did not. Now what’s up with this guy?” Alex let go and Justice set the desk down. “One second he’s Bratva, now he sounds like some of the office guys. I still don’t know what a mook is but at least those guys called me a mook with a better tone.”

“They’re calling you a dummy, Justice. Because you don’t know what you’re doing yet.” said Alex.

“Oh. Okay. And this guy?” asked Justice, pointing at Trotsky.

Trotsky stood, brushing himself off, “It’s kayfabe, ya mook. You stay in character so as to not expose the business. Never thought I’d get bludgeoned to death with a Herman Miller lacquered hardwood desk, but hey, we’re in the city.” Trotsky looked Justice up and down as if sizing him up, “you really are stupid strong, aren’t you? You on the juice? Look too healthy to be on the juice.”

“Nobody told me ‘bout no … uh, Kay Fayb? That a lady’s name? She come up with this bullshit?” Justice scratched his head.

“Holy shit, are you serious? Is he serious?” Trotsky looked at Alex but pointed at Justice, “it’s Carny! Or … or Pig Latin or somethin’. ‘Be fake’ but with the letters jumbled and a couple extra.”

Alex chimed in, “Trotsky, dude, we don’t say fake.”

“Shut up, kid. I’ve been protecting the business since you were in diapers. That’s where the word comes from. Look, what do you want with Anatoli? Oh, pardon me, ‘Glenn’?”

“I want to talk to my boy! Why do I need a reason?” Justice poked Trotsky in the chest, backing him up against the wall, “I don’t care about this ‘be fake’ shit. I raised Glenn up from a cub, dammit. He’s my family.”

Turning Justice’s hand aside, Trotsky then held his hands up defensively, “Look, he’s in isolation because he’s only allowed to speak Russian. That’s why he’s silent when he’s on television. He ain’t takin’ to it great.”

“That’s it? I thought the Bratva had him on account of what I done to them in California. Shit, man, that’s a load off my mind.”

Trotsky laughed out loud, “What you did!? To the Russian mob? Oh, man, you are a card. Alex, can you … believe … this… Guy?” Eye contact with Alex, who shook his head, indicating not to make any more fun, started to clue the wannabe Russian in. “Wait, so you, what? Beat them to death with furniture or somethin’? I mean, I kinda believe it, the way you was swingin’ that desk around like a butterfly net. So you really are the hardcore motherfucker Vic’s been lookin’ for, eh?”

“Don’t get distracted, man. You gonna back off, let me see my boy, or not?” Justice was calm but still simmering, and it was clear that he could explode again if provoked.

“I mean, yeah, no reason not to since you’re in the business at this point. He can take a break from wrestling with language learnin’. If he’d just get the accent down maybe we could forget about it…” Trotsky paused to clear his throat, “but I digress. You gotta come to us, him moving through the halls is getting attention for sure. You, at least, can put on a hat and you’re just a buff guy. Plenty of buff guys and, without your lifts, you ain’t even that tall.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You know about the lifts?” Justice grimaced.

“Bro, I’m six-foot even, maybe shorter since I think I stopped wrestling and became a manager. You’re just a scosche taller than I am right now.” He laughed.

Justice rolled his eyes, “Can we go now?”

—

It was a trip up several floors in a building that Justice had marveled at from the outside and, when they exited, the first thing that struck him as odd was how few doors there were. “Huh … hall looks kind of empty. Not as many rooms here I guess?”

“What is this?” asked Trotsky, who had still not given his real name and was back to speaking broken English, “Ah, you mean suite doors. Suites are bigger, Executive especially.” He led the way three doors down, right side of the hall, swiped a card through a slot and the door clicked. “I am sure this is new to you too. Card keys are just in suites for now. Sure hotel will get for all rooms soon.”

Inside they went, entering what appeared to be a nice, if spartan, home, “Damn. This is better than our apartment back in L.A. Man, Renna and my room looks like shit compared to this.”

“Renna?” asked Trotsky.

“Oh, uh, yeah, my lady,” everyone being inside, they closed the door, but Justice still whispered, “We kinda thought you was Bratva so … y’know, she made herself scarce.”

Trotsky laughed uproariously, “You are hilarious, gorilla-man.”

“Nobody can hear us. Please stop with the bullshit.” Justice said flatly.

Wary of Justice’s temperament Trotsky dropped the act immediately, “Whatever, bro. Hey, uh, Anatoli, buddy. You got a visitor.”

The tortured creak of overloaded bedsprings could be heard as well as a sleepy groan, “Da, tovarisch. Wait,” the noise ticced up in tempo as a more urgent move to answer the door was heard, the door swinging open quickly to, at last, reveal Glenn, “Are we back to speaking English!? Thank God! I … Justice? I mean Dad. I mean Justice? What’s going on?”

“I came to find you, kiddo,” said Justice. “I done been trying to for at least a month with no luck. Look at you! You’re taller than that McVeigh asshole and not fat! How are you not fat when you was a bear!?” Justice laughed, tackling his adopted son in a hug.

“Bro, again, kayfabe. He’s not really a bear. Sheesh.”

Alex tried to make the save, “Pretty sure that was a joke! Right, Justice?”

Justice looked at Alex like he was an idiot, “No, Al, remem–yes! Man, you really are as big as a bear, too. No wonder you got this, whatchacallit? Gimmick. Can I talk to you in private for a second? Be right back, guys.” Pressing Glenn back Justice quickly shut the door.

“So … this Gorilla, Justice, whatever, he ain’t … he ain’t normal, is he?” asked Trotsky.

Alex sighed, “Nope. Nosir, he is not…”

—

In Glenn’s room Justice flipped on the light and gasped, “What the hell is all this now? Your one bedroom in this Suite thingie is bigger than my whole room!? And I saw a kitchen out there. This is literally better than Renna and I had it out west!”

Glenn was still groggy, so he further abused his bed by plopping down on the edge of it, “Yeah, y’know… It’s an ‘Executive Suite’, so there’s two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Pretty standard.”

“How about that?” Justice set his jaw, “Why ain’t you been keepin’ in touch, son?”

“Son, heh. That still feels weird.” said Glenn, “I mean, I wasn’t your son when I was a bear.”

Flinching, Justice gave Glenn a hurt look, “Yes, yes you were, dammit. Where’s this comin’ from? I remember tellin’ them damned time-travellin’ fools that sent us down this path you was like my son.”

“Like isn’t being, Justice.” Glenn tried to maintain eye contact but failed.

“I…” Justice was agape, “So what? That’s it? They done turned you against me or somethin’? Who the hell put all this shit in your damned fool head? I will kill them. You hear me? You know I can and I will and nothin’ can stop me!”

“Stop!” now they were both shouting, “Nobody put it in my head, okay!? I just … I want to break out on my own. I started life as an animal, grew into a monster who only loved people. At least when I was stupid I didn’t know that people were afraid or repulsed by me. Then … ‘bear with thumb gloves’? Even the aliens rejected me when they learned I was a species that wasn’t usually … sentient.”

It just wasn’t sinking in. Throwing his hands up in frustration, Justice stuttered to speak, “I-I’m sorry you had to go through that but you really are my son as much as anybody’s. Yeah, you were more like a pet, but all adults are like that with their kids. The only difference is you got your brain scrambled and upgraded by punching through spacetime. Twice. Hell, it might happen again, kid, if we don’t stop what’s comin’.”

“I can’t go,” said Glenn, tearing up, “I’m sorry, but I love this life. I love being Anatoli, famous human giant who’s just called a bear. I couldn’t get so much as a kiss when I had a muzzle full of fangs, dad. Now … I’ve had to take three paternity tests, dad. Three.”

“What?” Looking his son up and down Justice was confused, “But we only been here six months.”

“That’s just it. They lie! These ladies already had kids when I was with them for one night, then, for attention, they claim that kid was mine. Because I, supposedly, have been a human for twenty-three years, I couldn’t just say ‘but I was a bear!’, y’know? I had to take the test!”

“Why though! I…” Justice noticed out of the corner of his eye that something was poking out of the leg of Glenn’s boxer shorts, “Never mind, I get why, just please tuck that thing in or somethin’. Shit.”

“What? I, shit.” turning beet red, Glenn stood up and grabbed some track pants, “That isn’t why, dad! Man. It’s the celebrity. It’ll happen to you too.”

“But … I’m basically married. Renna’s, like, the reincarnation of my wife from that other life I didn’t get to live. Y’know, like the life you experienced where I didn’t kill your mom and take you home? Y’know, the one where you ate all those people?”

Suddenly, a scuffle started outside. After a moment, Trotsky and Alex came flying through the door, crashing onto the floor of Glenn’s bedroom. “It’s okay!” shouted Alex.

“It ain’t okay! It’s far from okay! My fuckin’ back. He just said Anatoli ate people!” shouted Trotsky.

“You don’t have to kill him, Justice! We can fix this!” said Alex, pinning Trotsky face-down with a hammerlock.

Justice and Glenn looked at each other, horrified, “Shit!”