You let me be Raven and you can be my Warstein.

PROJECT

Darkness.  A howling breeze.  Raindrops pecking the pavement.

A clap of thunder.

“KICKSTART MY HEART” by Motley Crue

Abruptly fade in.  Bulletproof Bob is seated in a modified Red Wagon.  The speedy background (along with his long, gray hair dancing violently around his head) indicates he’s traveling at a high rate of speed.  A pair of swim goggles cover his eyes.  The modification to the wagon appears to provide a modicum of safety.  Higher sides along with a few handles to hold onto (which go unused by Bob).  Fighting the violent breeze smashing him in the face, Bob brings a camera to his eyes and lets out a “FUCK YEA!!!”

A violent flash of lightning.  Seconds later the sky roars.  Bob turns, pointing the camera to his right.  In the distance, a giant tornado rips atop the Earth, destroying everything in its path.  Bob is unfettered, “CHURN BABY CHURN, WOO FUCKIN HOO!”

Panning ahead, it becomes clear Bob’s wagon is pulled by The Storm Chasers van.  We promptly cut inside to find Debris manning the wheel and Vortex riding shotgun.  Vortex eyes the twister while Debris leans ahead, keeping the vehicle on the road in the face of violent rain and wind.

“Fuckin Bob,” Vortex comments after catching a glimpse of the third member of their party swinging dangerously right and left within the haphazard confines of his red wagon.

“You still think this was a good idea?”

“Dude’s Bulletproof, man.  He’ll be fine.  We’re going to have the best footage EVER.”

They were all in at this point.  Despite Debris’ reservations about putting Bob’s unsinkable nature to test, it was too late to protest.  So, he kept driving.

“Whoa!” Vortex yells.  A giant piece of aluminum shoots violently into the road.  Debris swerves to miss it.

“Is he still back there?!”

Vortex rolls down his window.  The aluminum charges right at Bob.  Before hitting him, it catches a magical breeze, altering its trajectory just enough to barely miss Bob.  Vortex leans back in his seat, rolling up his window and running his hand through his wet hair.

“He’s good.”

Debris has no time to pile on the abusive praise, taking a sharp right in response to a sudden shift by the mammoth twister.  Vortex catches a glimpse of the red wagon bouncing around, catching some major air as the van bounces off the local interstate and onto a smaller, less stable surface.

Before either man can express concern, Bob’s voice is heard pounding through the gale forced draft, “NOW THIS IS LIVIN, BOYS!  WOO!”  The Storm Chasers shrug and continue about their task.

A few miles down the road, Vortex eyes something unfamiliar.  “What is that...back there?  A few miles…”

Debris leans ahead, squinting.  “I think...I think that’s another twister…”

Silence.  Neither man has seen anything like this.  The second twister, trailing the previous wind centered calamity is quite a bit smaller, but still a threat.  

“I think I should stop.”

“Nah man, keep going.”

Debris snaps back, “Dude, just because he’s bulletproof doesn’t mean we are!  That second twister could wipe us out!”

“Hmm,” Vortex eyes the second twister, “Nah man, it’s way smaller and not nearly as dangerous.  As long as we miss that bigger, far more dangerous twister, we’ll be straight.  If that second one kills us then maybe we were just meant to die.”

He loathes Vortex’s lackadaisical attitude in the face of potential demise.  But, sometimes it’s necessary within a business where the most daring thrive.  Or, at least that’s what he tells himself as he presses forward, throwing caution into the literal wind.

Switching to an exterior shot, our view pulls back with a dreadful shot of The Storm Chaser’s van recklessly pulling a red wagon containing Bulletproof Bob heading closer and closer to not one, but two violent cyclones.

An animated cyclone swooshes across the screen, wiping away what was old and revealing what is new.

Decimation.  A small town left in ruins, just outside Wichita Falls, Texas.  Sounds of trauma fill the air.  Debris remains by the van, leaning against the side, too impacted by what he sees to move ahead, using it as an opportunity for glory.  Something Vortex has no trouble doing, walking around, attempting to get statements.  Same can be said for Bulletproof Bob.

“I lost everything I had…” a woman mourns.  

Bob leans in with his camera, “Can ya say that one more time?  I didn’t have this thing recording.”  She kinda stares at him.

“It wasn’t the first one that did so much damage but that second one…” a voice declares.  Vortex heads in its direction.  It belongs to a local police officer.

“Excuse me?” Vortex interrupts.  “Could you explain that to me?”  He shows off his pen and pad of paper.  The officer is probably wondering who in the hell takes notes in this manner anymore.

“What I said was the first tornado didn’t do too much damage.  The second one is what brought everything a-crashin down.”

Vortex’s face shows doubt, “It may seem that way, sir.  But in reality, the first tornado did all the major damage.  The second merely took advantage of an advantageous situation.”  Vortex pauses, wondering if he should have used a synonym for advantageous.

The officer measures Vortex up, “Just who in the hell are you?”

“Name’s Vortex.  I’m a Storm Chaser.”

Bothered by an attempt for fame at the expense of a devastated town, the officer moves to leave.  Vortex is undeterred, “Seriously.  Don’t you see what I mean?  That second twister was way too small to do all this.  It followed a legendary caliber storm making its impact seem more impactful.”  Vortex curses.  He did it again.  He really needs to up his synonym game.

“Look,” the officer prepares to dress Vortex down.

That is.

Until.

The clouds part.  Sun breaks through, shining down on a celestial figure heading their way.  A voice recognizes this heavenly being, “IT’S REED TIMMER!”

They all flock toward Mr. Timmer.  

“I fuckin hate that guy,” Vortex laments with Bob idled up at his side.

“Relax everyone, I’m here,” Timmer announces with steadfast confidence.  “Looks like you guys took a beating.” A bit perfunctory given the situation, but the residents are so enamored with his presence that they let it slide.

“Mr. Timmer, it’s an honor,” the officer nearly bows.  Reed reaches out, patting him on the back of the head.  The rest of the town fawns over him.

Reed locates something to stand on, giving him the high ground.  He uses a blood-stained vanity desk with the words, ‘I love you, always’ engraved around a shattered mirror.  “Listen up.  I saw and documented everything.  Help is on the way.  I’ve contacted The Weather Channel, CNN, and TMZ...you’re all gonna be okay.”

The people cheer.

Aside from one...a woman induced with hysteria fights through the crowd, screaming, “Help!  Help!”  Timmer looks a bit bothered that she’s interrupting his grandstanding.  “My daughter!  She’s trapped in our house!”

He’s on the spot now.  “Uhh, wow.  Okay. Where is your house, ma’am?” Timmer tries his best to remain composed and confident.

She points toward a two-story home in such wayward condition it makes The Leaning Tower of Pisa appear straighter than a jock on the local football team who so totally didn’t pop a boner while taking a shower in the locker room.

Timmer’s mouth clicks as his face makes an ‘aw shucks’ expression.  “Unfortunately, the structural integrity of that abode is so dilapidated it wouldn’t be worth the risk.  We simply cannot send anyone in there right now.  When help arrives, we can…”

“I volunteer someone for tri...err, this rescue mission.”

Dumbstruck, Timmer looks over the crowd, locating Vortex. He is holding Bob’s arm in the air.

“Sir, whoever you are, a man I’ve never seen in my life, a face so unknown to professional storm chasers,” the ongoing, neverending casual inadvertent putdowns dig away at Vortex’s equanimity, “I cannot, as one of the top three storm chasers in the united states, allow you to send that man in there.  It would be considered suicide.”

“YOU’RE NUMBER ONE IN OUR HEARTS, REED!” a voice calls out.  Reed does not object.

“Listen!” Vortex stops short of utilizing some nasty dysphemism, “Mr. Timmer.  But this man right here can survive anything.  Time is of the essence.”

The dismayed mother cries out, “Please!  My daughter!”  This sways the crowd.  They are encouraged.  Reed is losing his ground.

“Fine, do what you must.  But his blood is not on my hands.”

Vortex slaps Bob on the ass, “Get in there and do your thing!”  Bob takes off.  “Whoa!  Hold on!”  Bob stops.  Vortex extends his hand, “The camera.  Can’t lose all that amazing footage.”  

Timmer’s ears perk up.  Bob hands the camera over and rushes the several hundred yards toward the house.  The crowd slowly creeps that way.  Bob disappears inside the home.

Silence.  Bated breath.

Timmer slaps Vortex on the back, “Footage, eh?”

“Uh, yea,” Vortex is a bit surprised Reed has approached him.

“Mind if I take a look?”

A more than curious gaze is cast from Vortex to Reed.  “Look, I’m a pro.  I can give you advice on whether or not this footage is any good.”

Again, Vortex’s pride is assaulted, “I’m a pro, too!”

“Who are you again?”

“I’m Vortex.  I’m with the Storm Chasers.”

Timmer sighs, “Never heard of you.  Seriously.  Let me see that footage.  I can point out what you’re doing wrong.”  He sees Vortex is hesitant but leaning toward sharing it.  “We’re all in this together, man,” Timmer grabs Vortex by the shoulder in a friendly manner, “the better we all are the more we can help out communities like this one.”

Against his better judgment, Vortex hands the camera over.

“THERE HE IS!” a voice shouts.  Bob emerges from the house, carrying a distraught mother’s endangered daughter.

The mother runs forward, taking the daughter from Bob’s arms.  They embrace.  They emote.  It’s all quite something.  Vortex rushes forward, to congratulate Bob.  Reed remains back, surveying the situation.

“You did it, Bob!  I knew you could!”

“That wasn’t shit.  Coulda raided the fridge if I really wanted to.”

“What about Buster?” the daughter peels back her shock long enough to speak.

“Buster?”

“That’s our dog.  We’ve had him ever since she was born,” the mother explains.

“He’s still inside,” the daughter begins to cry.

A furtive roll of the eyes, which Vortex reveals only to Bob.  Bob nods, “Aight.  I’ll head back in there.”

Turning around, Bob hurries back inside the house.  This time, we follow the bulletproof member of the storm chasing crew.  Sliding and sneaking through warped walls and halls, Bob avoids tumbling ceiling fans and other types of objects which were once securely fashioned.  He hears a whimper.  “Where ya at, Buster?”

Fear has always been foreign to Bob.  It’s apparently commonplace for people who cannot die.  So, Bob barrels through the house like a child would a ball pit.  

CRACK!

“Uhh…” Bob pauses. He looks down.  “Oh shit.”

Back outside, the mother and daughter wait...hopeful.  Bob emerges, carrying a dead dog in his arms.

“BUSTER!  NO!!”  the daughter wails.  Bob hands the fresh carcass over to the mother.

“Wha...what happened?”

“Broken neck, I’d wager.  Something heavy musta crushed it.  Sad thing really.  But that’s life.  I gotta get goin.  Catch ya later,” Bob is quick to move on.  He grabs Vortex, “Let’s get outta here.”

“Wait, I gotta find Reed…” Vortex looks up.  Timmer is gone.  He turns toward Reed’s van.  It, too, is gone.  “Mother fucker…” he curses, staring at the ground, kicking at a torn and tattered teddy bear.

HONOR

I can’t believe you lost the footage.

I didn’t lose it.  It was fuckin stolen.

You never hand something like that over to the competition - EVER.

Well, if you had enough balls to actually investigate and potentially exhume an impacted zone then maybe you could have talked me out of it.

You are NOT blaming this on me.

Fuck it.  It’s behind us.  We need to focus on Legacy.  Like, now.

Fine.  

I don’t think I’m telling any tales outside of school by saying that they are the favorites to win the whole fucking thing.  

Seems that way.  A couple of heralded champions, from what I’ve observed.

Whoa.  Let’s pump the brakes.  The reason this team is the favorite is due to one man.  And that man is James Raven.  Let’s not give Shawn Warstein more credit than he deserves.  Which, happens to be the story of his career.

What’s the story of his career?  That he hasn’t earned the accolades he’s received?

Exactly.  Just like those two twisters that tore through Wichita Falls.  Raven is the E-F4 or E-F5.  He does all the real damage.  Warstein merely follows in his shadow, picking up the pieces.  He’s the shitty sequel to a groundbreaking original.

Like Jaws 2.

Yes.  Or Speed 2: Cruise Control.

Ugh, yea, that one was bad.

The original comes out and blows people away.  A few years later, the sequel shows up and grosses mad money despite being a truly inferior film.  Why?  Because the original softened everybody up.  It loosened their wallets.

Gotcha.  Like the second Pirates of the Caribbean with that criminally long chase scene inside those balls.

Don’t remind me.

The Lost World and Jeff Goldblum’s African American daughter whose origins were totally unexplained.  She also knew gymnastics, which she used to kill a raptor.

Is this what PTSD feels like?

Or like Back to the Future 2…

HEY!  You take that back.  Back to the Future 2 is criminally underrated and a national treasure!

Fine.  

It’s so commonplace that it’s evolved into a running gag.  A social trope.  A punchline cliche.  The sequel is always inferior to the original.  Especially when all the sequel does is pay homage to the original.  Have you seen Warstein talk about Raven?  He’s like a groupie front row at every concert...stalking the band wherever they go hoping maybe, at some point, he’ll be blessed with the opportunity to get on his knees and express just how much he loves and respects them.

He’s that enamored with him, eh?

Nice usage of the Canadian colloquialism.  

-visible confusion-

Raven is Canadian, I thought...nevermind.  But yea, he is.  It’s quite sickening.  Most people fight their way to the top but guys like Warstein ride the dick of their hero to success.

Okay.  So let’s say what you said is all true…

It is.

Okay.  But those terrible sequels really did draw all that money.  And that inferior tornado really did ravage that town.  So shouldn’t SOME credit be given to Warstein?  I mean, if Raven does soften people up, Warstein is there to land the knock out blow.

And THAT is exactly my point, Debris.  Had the sequel debuted first, it would have bombed, killing the entire franchise.  Had that weaker tornado hit first, the town would have likely sustained.  We cannot fall victim to the usual Legacy gameplan.  We must make Warstein take the lead.  Make him prove that he’s capable of defeating, well, anybody with a competitive pulse based on his own merits.

So, take care of the inferior member first so you can brace for the real challenge later.

That OR manage to evade the real challenge entirely.  If we can get Warstein into that ring and isolate him from being able to tag Raven into the match, we should be able to breeze toward victory.

Hmm.  Yea sounds like a solid enough plan.  Assuming this Warstein guy is as weak as you say he is.

Don’t get me wrong, brother Debris.  I’m not saying he’s weak.  I’m saying he’s the weak link.  He’s totally beatable.  Your run of the mill, villain of the week.  There’s nothing about him that stands out.  It’s what happens when someone rests themselves atop another’s laurels.

They fail to fully develop.

Yep.  He emulated a legend.  He took advantage of a promotion that was devoid of top tier talent.  Now, he’s spreading his wings.  He’s entering a dangerous realm full of big fish.  So, naturally, he’s dragged his hero out of retirement to help lead the way.  The little brother begging his older brother to accompany him to the baseball field so somebody will actually want to play with him.

You’re full of allegories and metaphors this evening.

Hey, I’m just trying to paint a clear picture.  Anything anti-Pollock.  But since you seem to think I’m getting carried away, I’ll reel it back in.  Plain speak.  We win this match and we become the favorites to carry those Project Honor tag titles.

Dethroning the top tier usually does that.  I can’t help but feel a bit hesitant, though.  I mean, it’s been four years.  Meanwhile, these guys have been competing on a near-weekly basis.  Even if Warstein is everything you say he is...that still puts him at a solid level of talent with a lot less rust than a team that’s been inactive for nearly half a decade.

You worry too much.  We had our warm-up last week.  We kicked ass.  It’s not like we enjoyed some cakewalk like Legacy.  We took out a team that has won multiple tag championships.  We’re good to go, man.  Trust me.

Blind confidence.  It’s always been your thing.

Right on.  You let me be Raven and you can be my Warstein.

Hey!  I take offense to that.

It’s been four years since we’ve held gold.  We’re one major hurdle away from reaching the precipice of another championship conquest.  An open invite tournament with some of the best teams this sport has to offer.  The Storm Chasers are in the thick of it.  The clouds are darkening.  The wind is picking up.  Conditions are ripe for victory.

Game plan secured.  Eyes on the prize.  I’m almost happy you sought me out and brought me back for this...almost.

Speaking of, you ever catch wind of Wall Cloud’s status?  I didn’t really kill him, did I?

He’s in traction.  But the doctors think he’ll be able to make a semi-full recovery.

Damn.  Might need to use that DDT more often.  Mother fucker was apparently devastating.  Gonna use it to drop Warstein on that stupid head of his...maybe give him temporary amnesia so he can forget who James Raven is and why he loves him.  Do him a favor.

I’m getting hungry.

I feel that.  A sandwich sounds good.  Let’s head out.  Warstein and Raven...if by some manner or black magic you’re privy to this...I want you guys to understand that no matter what you’ve accomplished...no matter how many trophies you’ve ‘earned’....you’ve never faced anything like what’s barreling your way on Friday.  It’s impossible to prepare for the wrath of the Storm Chasers.  We’ll drop straight out of the sky and rip you nerds apart, tossing you back into a promotion with shallower waters, weaker competition.

We did it in Fight One and now we’re going to do it in Project Honor.

The Storm is brewing.  It cannot be stopped.  It can merely be chased.