backstage after Meltdown...

“Over this way please,” a hulking WWA backstage staff member calls out in a clearly impatient tone as he espies three figures walking down the hallway. “We'd all like to get home sometime tonight if you don't mind...”

A freshly showered TNT and Dynamite, dressed down in well-worn black t-shirts and blue jeans but quite unmistakable in their trademark green masks, look at each other in confusion. The staff member, standing about 30 yards away down a long, well-lit backstage corridor at the Mellon Arena, throws his arms up in the air and rolls his eyes as he lets out a gigantic half-sigh/half-groan. Dynamite looks over at TNT but the Dets’ powerhouse simply shrugs his shoulders. Dynamite then turns around to consult with his manager Jim Surge.

“Is he talking to us, señor?” Dynamite whispers to the Arizona cowboy.

“Just follow me,” Surge says aloud he breezes past the latest WWA debutants, walking assuredly down the hallway. “And why are you whispering? You see this guy?” Surge motions to the sighing staffer and then looks back to include both Dynamite and TNT before he continues, “he’s here for your protection.”

“Protection? Like, protection?” Dynamite says as he repeats the word, stumbling to figure out how to correctly convey his next thoughts in English. “Uh, uh, people will want to hurt us for what we did tonight like when we wrestle in Mexico?”

“No, no, you don’t have to worry about that. At least not right now,” Surge says. “Protect you from the fans.”

“Protect us from the fans?!” Dynamite says, not believing the words even as he speaks them. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Amigos,” Surge blurts out dramatically to end the discussion, “I’ll explain this later, everything’s fine so just keep walkin’ please I have a little surprise for you in honor of your new contracts and the ridiculous ass-kicking you administered to those cripples that used to make up Genesis.”

Surge turns back around and continues walking down the hallway toward the WWA staffer who is manning the exit door to the staff parking lot.

“Sorry about that, brother, we’re out of here,” Surge says with all the charm of a man who grew up in a town, Tombstone, that many tourists consider an amusement park. “Tonight these boys had their first ever match in the USA, never mind the WWA, so they’re not used to the routine just yet.”

The staffer nods his head. He’s not very interested in what Surge has to say and silently opens the door to the parking lot. As TNT and Dynamite make their way through the door they are stunned by what they see in front of them.

“Welllllllll,” Surge says with a very slight smirk as he draws the word out in an exaggerated western drawl, “we’re going to have some problems getting you guys through the airports right now, what with you guys always wearing those crazy green masks. Masks and airports just ain’t workin’ these days, and I figured that some constipated pro-government hamburger eater would probably phone you in to the police if they saw you on a train...”

TNT and Dynamite are extremely happy to see a giant black bus in front of them instead of Surge’s beaten-up old Cadillac convertible.

“Is this?” TNT asks before his brain goes on a completely different line of thinking, “did you use our paycheck for this thing?”

“I should think not!” Surge laughs as he pats both TNT and Dynamite on the back. “This little puppy cost the ranch about $950,000! Quite frankly, the machine is worth it! 45-feet long with a wonderful hot tub and sauna, two 32-inch LCD televisions, global positioning satellite and wireless internet hook-up and a musical horn that blasts ‘Big Bang’ when we hit it!”

“SWEET!” Dynamite exclaims, nearly shouting as he does so! TNT just shakes his head back-and-forth as if he doesn’t believe it.

“You boys and I have been through a lot together over the last couple of years,” Surge says as he strokes his chin with his right hand and motions for the Detonators to have a look inside in the bus with his left, “and now that you’ve proven that you can at least compete in one of the best federations in the world, well, we need a mobile headquarters that we can all relax in. And the best part is, I’ve hired Paco to be the driver!”

“Paco’s from Mexico!” begins a still amped-up Dynamite, “how do you expect him to know where he’s going?”

“The bus will tell him where to go!” Surge says as he and his tag-team climb into the bus, “don’t even worry about it, computer amigo.”

Dynamite shakes his head in amazement as if he still thinks letting Paco drive a bus is a bad idea.

“Hey Paco...” Dynamite begins before being immediately cut off by Paco.

“Amigo, the name is Peter Smeeth,” Paco says with laugh that turns into a nasty, phlegm-filled coughing fit. After he composes himself he produces a Pennsylvania driver’s license with his photo and the name Peter Smeeth on it. “Is my American name now I am citizen.”

Dynamite looks over to Surge who simply smiles and nods – Surge cannot tell what sort of expression the masked Dynamite is trying to express.

“Uh, Señor Jim,” TNT begins as he crashes down into one of the comfortable plush chairs in the bus, “since we’re not booked on the next card what do we do?”

“We drive to Boston and you wait to get beat up,” Surge says as he motions to Paco to get things rolling.

“You say they,” TNT begins to spit out in his version of broken English, “you say they, you say WE wait to get beat up?”

“People around the world just saw what you two can do," Surge says with a sly smile. "There’ll be some insecure dude trying to ‘knock you down a peg’ and ‘keep the openers in line’ so he’ll jump you. I’ll go run and hide instead of helping you out so you can get all conflicted and start a subplot. After you survive that, anything in the ring is just going to pale in comparison.”

“What if we don’t get jumped by anyone señor Jim?” Dynamite asks meekly.

“We’ll figure something out,” Surge says as he begins to click off lights in the bus’ main cabin. “Come on, let’s get some rest for tonight. This has been a long ride for all of us already, we deserve it.”