Filling the time by immersing themselves in their new world of professional wrestling, Justice and crew all found roles. Justice was encouraged to emphasize his strength, avoiding maneuvers that were too athletic. Vic’s reasoning, according to Eric, was that the “marks” wouldn’t buy into a man who could both perform acrobatics and lift a four-hundred fat man over his head. Vic, the bossman, never even considered just how unusual a talent he had on his hands.

This worked just fine for Justice, who, truth be told, couldn’t do a flip to save his life. At least he couldn’t land on his feet after rotating. His specialty became ignoring almost everything, selling only hits from foreign objects or something more extreme. During a match meant to put over a newcomer as credible threat to the roster, he laid on the outside, almost losing via countout, after being driven headfirst into the foundation. Vic was later heard cursing at the venue owner who blamed the damage to the floor on the WWW, not realizing it was the wrestling maneuver, called a “piledriver”, that put Justice’s titanium-tough head through the top layer of concrete.

Meanwhile their conspirators kept their secret. Jimmy, as Commandant Trotsky, spoke to no one but Glen and his own family members as himself, while Alex not only kept the secret but helped monitor newsfeeds for signs of the impending zombie apocalypse. All they knew was that the flashpoint seemed to be somewhere in the desert of eastern California, or possibly Nevada, where there were virtually no people. According to the late Doc Black’s notes, the undead then sprang up in a radial pattern in major metropolitan areas spiraling out, ignoring small towns, from an area of, perhaps, one-hundred square miles near the state border.

“I’m sick and tired of hiding,” complained Derglabin, the little lizard alien who had obtained satellite imagery used to triangulate the flashpoint. “Hiding in your suitcase to move around, hiding in the closet when room service or the cleaners come, hiding in this hotel room. I shouldn’t have to!” He’d hidden for over a year by this point and the stress was clearly taking its toll on the little guy.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but … what else can we do?” said Justice. They were all spending most of their free time in the rooms shared by Glen and Jimmy at this point. Depending on the hotel they were staying in, sometimes, they’d all share a suite with enough beds for everybody. Their little clique didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the WWW roster, who felt that “The Russian Bear” Anatoli Kasperov was trying to set himself up for a world championship title match who everyone now knew was his “father”, Gorilla Haymaker. This arrangement, and the rumors, kept their secrets secure but did them no favors backstage.

“I hate these walls. I … I can be invisible! Why can’t you take me out? Or I can layer up clothing!” growled Derglabin, slapping both hands down on his Commodore computer, “Ah! Look at what you made me do! I’m sorry, baby!” he stroked the computer’s keyboard as if petting a cat.

“We’re sorry you’re holed up like this, Der, but what can we do? You’re kind of humanoid but your tail, your muzzle … you don’t even have a nose.” said Renna, who had a topographic map of the area their target might be hiding. “Besides, you’re the only one who can find that AngelPharma facility before the outbreak starts. I sure can’t use your primitive computer to hack government systems.”

“Don’t insult her! She isn’t primitive, she’s … vintage…” Derglabin hugged his monitor, “I need an electronics store. A prismatic array refractor isn’t too advanced. I should be able to rig one up to change my face. And … and I can wrap my tail around my waist! I could look like your fat, ugly second born! Yes, average your and Justice’s faces, youthen them, ugly child!”

“Love how you manage to insult us every time we talk, little buddy.” said Justice. “Hate to say this right now, considerin’ the argument, but I gotta go meet up with Vic and Eric. We got a sitdown with “Bad Man” Bruce. Sumbitch still wants to hold the International Championship hostage if you can believe it.”

“Yes! Your stage career is important! Meanwhile I am a prisoner!” shouted Derglabin, motioning to strike his computer again, stopping himself at the last second.

Rolling his eyes, Justice turned to Renna, “Honey, can you take this lizard baby to a store or somethin’. Wrap his head up in gauze or whatever; it ain’t too weird a shape, people’ll buy it.”

“Yes! This city has a Fry’s Electronics! Surely I can build a refractor from what I find there!” shouted Derglabin, scrambling up a wall, then dropping from the ceiling onto the couch.

“Uh, don’t … don’t do that.” said Justice to Derglabin, then to Renna, “That okay?”

“If you think it’s safe, I guess.” shrugged Renna.

“Cool, Gotta go,” sighed Justice, giving her a peck on the cheek. For an instant, he flashed on the original version of this woman he saw, while assaulted by memories of another life, punching through spacetime. They’d met in eighteen-seventy, he glimpsed the petticoat beneath her dress, she accused him of lechery, but he persisted. Their courtship was scandalous, for it was rumored that her real father was a slave, her mother cuckolding her husband, and, when they married, the papers went wild. When he ran for office, his opponent would talk of nothing else. Finally, during a debate, he lost his temper, knocking the man unconscious on stage. That won him the election.

“Justice!” shouted Renna, clapping her hands in front of his face, shocking him back to the present. “Finally. Where were you!?”

“I…” he cast about, confused, “I was trying to remember your, I mean, the other you’s name. From the other universe.” He rubbed his face, “the memories, they’re so real. But I never lived that life.”

“Well don’t do that at your meeting,” said Renna. “We could still blow our cover and, at this point, they’d just try to put us all in an asylum, and then nobody would be around to stop the end of the world.”

“Whoa,” blinked Justice, “But no pressure, right?”

“Oh, all the pressure, baby. But I believe in you.” said Renna, kissing him on the lips before hugging him around the neck.

Holding her tight, Justice stared down at the floor, “Glad somebody does.”

—

The Buffalo office for Wrestling World Wide was a dingy affair, converted over from the second story of a warehouse, on scaffolding, overlooking what was now a gymnasium. While most of the show was on the road, spare ring parts, guardrails, and other supplies lived here, and prospects could come here to pay for instruction. Vic was affable as Justice walked in, “It’s my favorite Haymaker! Pal, it’s good to see you,” he exclaimed, rising, walking around his desk, and getting in Justice’s ear, “Bruce is being a bastard. Help me out here.”

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Feet up on Vic’s desk, “Bad Man” Bruce twiddled his thumbs, “We whisperin’ now?” he growled. “That’s some bullshit, man. Disrespectful.”

The two men separated, “Nice to see you, Bruce,” said Justice, extending his hand.

Bruce didn’t move a muscle, looking off, out the window, at the gymnasium. Vic got back in his chair, “Well, yes, as I was just explaining to Bruce–”

“Some would call it disrespect to ignore a man extendin’ his hand, Bruce.” Justice held very still, looking for eye contact.

Bruce’s eyes flicked, suddenly feeling foolish, called on his behavior. He still didn’t rise, but he reached out, with his left hand, grabbing Justice’s fingers, and shook his hand in wiggly fashion. Justice then took his seat.

“As I was saying,” said Vic in a concerned tone, “Bruce and I were discussing how we were going to end his extremely long and impressive reign as International Champion.”

“And as I was sayin’, I ain’t lyin’ down for nobody. You didn’t hire no jobber, Vic.” Bruce finally put his feet on the floor, rocking forward on the balls of his feet as if coiling to spring.

Vic half rose again, “Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce. You just broke the record for holding that belt. You’ve defended it dozens of times. How many wins do you need!?”

“It ain’t no problem, Vic. I’ll just put him down in the ring.” said Justice, matter-of-factly.

“The fuck you say to me?”

“I didn’t. I was talking to Vic. Seems to me there ain’t no point tryin’ to talk to you at this point,” growled Justice, shooting Bruce an angry look.

This brought Bruce to his feet, “Boy, I ain’t like these dumbass crackers you been playin’ with since walkin’ in off the street! I am a champion judoka! I will turn your ass inside out!”

Justice altered his posture, leaning back and putting his own feet up on the desk, “And I ain’t like the crackers you shoot on every time you get in the ring, Bruce. Remember? I done got plucked up out of an underground deathmatch ring. You think I ain’t seen martial arts before? I thrown martial artists bigger than you farther than a wrestling ring is wide.”

“I don’t think there’s any need for hyperbole, gentlemen,” muttered Vic.

“You wanna try it!?” shouted Bruce, looming over Justice, who didn’t flinch, then “Wait, you know you’re a cracker too, right?”

“I don’t crack, Bruce. I do the cracking. I crack bones. Could be your bones…” said Justice, menacingly, looking deep into Bruce’s eyes, some force resonating from him and into the surrounding area. It was like when he became angry before, an aura, lashing out, subconsciously. Last time it broke glass, this time was more subtle, but Vic and Bruce both still felt it.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Vic, standing up and going to the window, “Felt like a damned aftershock or something.”

Bruce, too, was shaken, but played it off as best he could, “Y-you think so, huh? Why don’t we go … go down to that ring down there? See what you can do when it’s a shoot.”

“Fine by me,” declared Justice, bounding to his feet and hustling down the stairs, Vic in tow and Bruce bringing it up the rear.

“Gori–Justice, pal, buddy, hold on a second.” said Vic as Justice approached the ring.

The action in the ring stopped instantly as Alex Frost, one of only two people in the twentieth century who knew Justice’s secret, ran up to him, “Justice, what the hell?”

“Got heat with Bruce, Al. I want to squash this beef. Otherwise the match at the big show will be shit.” Vic jogged up behind him, clearly concerned.

“I’m trying to get a payday here, man.” said Alex, jutting a thumb back at the teen in the ring with him, “See this kid? His rich mama is paying me to teach him the basics. Can’t it wait?”

Vic grabbed Justice by his boulder-like shoulder muscle, “It can. Justice, c’mon, let’s keep this verbal, up in the office.”

“That ain’t up to me!” he swung an arm out, sending Vic backpedaling, to gesture at Bruce who was finally catching up, “Is it, Bruce!? Let me know when you’re ready to talk, man!” Justice rolled into the ring.

Alex’s student ran up, “Oh my God, Gorilla Haymaker! I am such a big fan!” The kid looked Justice straight in the eye and looked young enough that he probably still had some years to grow.

“Of course you are. You look like the kind of redneck who can’t get enough of this redneck’s redneck ass,” glared Bruce, climbing the ringsteps.

“Oh boy! Was that a promo? Did ‘Bad Man’ Bruce just cut a promo on me!?” gushed the kid, fanboyishly.

“I don’t think so, Mark. Let’s go work on something else for a few minutes,” said Alex, who pulled the ropes apart for the boy.

“Ain’t necessary, Al. You wanna go a few rounds with your favorite wrestler, kiddo?” asked Justice. “Mark was the name, right?”

“Are you for real!?” asked Mark, shocked. “Yes! Of course!”

“Look atcha,” said Justice, “You’re what, like sixteen, but already like six foot four or somethin’.”

“Yes! I … I’m the same height as Gorilla Haymaker!” exclaimed Mark, motioning from the top of his head to the top of Justice’s head.

“That’s great. C’mon, let’s lock up,” said Mark as Alex dropped to the floor, approaching Vic.

Mark dove in, enthusiastically, then grunted, “You’re … like a statue! Like stone!”

“Am I? Here, hit the ropes, then duck,” Justice pulled Mark, then shoved him, Mark ducked through, hitting the ropes again, with Justice palming his midsection. In an instant he was over Justice’s head. “Ain’t that somethin’!”

Grunting, Mark asked “Is this … like, your gorilla press move?”

“Sorta,” grinned Justice, pointing at Bruce with his free hand, “What you think, Brucey? Kid’s got potential, right?” Then, cradling the boy’s head, Justice turned him over and dropped him, pretty gently, to the mat.

The kid laughed, then grunted, “Ow.” More laughter, then he got up, rubbing his mid-back.

Bruce stared, blank-faced for a minute, before dropping back down to the floor, “Let’s talk,” he said, matter-of-factly, before walking back towards the office.

—

The rest of the meeting went well, with Bruce now being very agreeable. At the next show, it would be announced that, for the semi-main event, the challenger for Bruce’s title would be announced as Gorilla Haymaker, and they’d face off at a huge event that they’d announce at the opening of the show. They were still working on the name. Getting into the Chrona-Car, Justice was all smiles.

They’d modified it a bit recently, sneaking Derglabin out to do the work, they installed a phone in the dash. To keep secret the high-tech components that would clue the casual observer in that something was odd about the car, the windows were now tinted.

Justice shut the door and, almost on cue, the phone rang. He answered, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Justice! I’ve been calling you for ten minutes. Have you seen the television?” asked Renna, with chatter in the background.

“Television? No, uh, I just got out of the meeting. Why? What’s up?” Justice powered up the Chrono-car, thankful that no one was close enough to hear its electronic keen; clearly not an internal combustion engine.

“He declared, like like in Black’s journal; Avery Rockefeller is running for Governor of California!” The voices in the background rose, they were all trying to tell him about the things they’d seen. Justice stared forward, frown deepening on his face. He’d been enjoying himself but now, the mission called, and he’d have to go, and fight, or everyone would lose. Barely begun it now seemed that the party was over…