Title: Master Of The Universe: Part IV - Opportunity Knocks
Featuring: Hessian
Date: 20-03-11
Location: @ ReV 242 vs. Matt Ward (Uni Title)

It was during the car ride over to the arena that Cyril realized how much he hated travelling abroad. Back home it was easy; after travelling back and forth thousands of miles over the same roads to the same cities there was a familiarity with America that made it feel cosy, like it was a small hometown where everyone knew everyone and each individual street was known by its landmarks and not the signpost at either end.

Touring America from coast to coast as Minion the Imp all those years had felt like a relaxed afternoon drive, not like now as he leaned against the passenger side window of the rental car, provided for the Universal Champion by PRIME management, listlessly regarding each foreign road sign and pedestrian crossing and roundabout as though they were seconds on a clock and cursing the strange land for it.

Periodically drawing his attention from the road Cyril gazed around the inside of the Chrysler 300C SE, breathing in the Torino leather trim on the seats and running a hand along the California walnut burl finish. He had no idea how to work the space-age console, even though the dealership had reset it to English for Von Kelsig to use. Even the cup holders had LED lights on them and it boggled his mind having only driven an 80s throwback tourer for the last six years, of which the only luxury was intact panelling and only a slight whiff of mildew.

Watching Von Kelsig out the corner of his eye Cyril noted a hint of irony about the situation. In the past, back when the giant did his best work in his prime as a physical specimen, they had had to squeeze themselves into the cheapest, nastiest little runner available for transportation to venues, and at their own expense. Now here was Hessian: Universal Champion, tired and old and increasingly out of shape with PRIME treating him like a King.

“So, how've the last few years treated you?” Cyril asked, breaking the silence.

Von Kelsig seemed to ignore him, studying the road ahead and trying to remember the route to the venue. Noticing a sign at the next junction that read Corso Unione Sovietica his face lit up and he turned right onto the street that ran straight towards the Olympic Stadium.

“Can't complain,” he answered eventually, “you haven't missed much.”

Cyril nodded with a hum and glanced back out the window. A stoic blank had drawn over Von Kelsig's face before he had said anything and the dwarf could only guess that his concern lay with the journey. What he could not comprehend was that the giant had in fact been contemplating the last few years, reminiscing about Reuben Blanco and Gloria and Michael Sloan and his own family and how life had been a constant hell for him.

“I think ditching the the Mercenary of Satan angle was the best move I ever made. Been nothing but headlines and titles since I returned,” Von Kelsig said, pushing those bad memories out of his head and bringing home the point that there was a life for Cyril after Minion the Imp.

Cyril grunted, paused for a moment, then said, “do you really think there's a place for someone like me in a place like PRIME? I'd get booed out of every arena.”

“You'd be surprised what flies on television these days. Don't need a mask and cape to be crazy any more, that's for damn sure. Anyway, people remember you more for what you did rather than what you wore. I get people coming up to me every single week talking about how awesome it was when I threw so-and-so off of such-and-such, or when I beat the shit out of this guy with that weapon, y'know? I don't recall anyone ever coming up to me and telling me they liked me better when I wore a gas mask or conjured up curses or whatever the hell I used to do.”

“So I should...”

“So sell them on what you're best at. What could you do better than anyone in the business?”

The arena rose up from behind a Shell forecourt as Cyril pondered his greatest asset to the industry, and he never got to voice his opinion as Von Kelsig confirmed their arrival and parked the Chrysler in a lot which he could tell immediately was for PRIME staff, given that most were expensive luxury models of various makes of the big names on the roster interspersed with the cheaper run-around rentals of the curtain jerkers and backstage crew.

“Time to go do business,” Von Kelsig sighed, heaving his gut out of the driver seat and accompanying Cyril into the bowels of the Olympic Stadium.

---

After asking at every turn for directions the giant was finally flagged by a chunky middle-aged man with a crew cut, moustache and glasses, with a PRIME t-shirt and staff pass dangling around his neck.

“Von Kelsig, follow me. They're expecting you.”

No acknowledgement was made of the dwarf by the Champion's side, and together they were escorted through the halls and up onto a second floor housing multiple offices and conference rooms. Interns of all shapes and ages buzzed around chittering in Italian and ignoring the Universal Champion as he squeezed past. Their escort ushered them past all the glass-walled rooms filled with white shirts and monitors to a door at the end of the corridor marked '25A'.

“Just head on in,” the man with the crew cut said, allowing Von Kelsig to waltz into the room before clocking Cyril and clapping his clipboard across the dwarf's chest.

“Hey, I'm with him,” Cyril exclaimed as the door shut behind Von Kelsig.

“Are you a member of the board of directors?” The runner asked, regarding his street clothes.

“No, look...” Cyril began, trying to plead his case.

“Are you on PRIME staff?” The runner asked again, staring at the spot where the relevant pass card should have been hanging around Cyril's neck.

“No, Von Kelsig is-” Cyril replied, getting cut off at the same time he realized a gentleman's agreement was worth as much as the tag team titles in PRIME. Nothing.

“Well are you the Universal Champion?” The runner asked while already gesturing to the waiting area next to the office door comprised of several blue chairs lined up against the wall.

Sighing, Cyril snarled and hopped up onto the first seat by the door as the runner turned away.

“I've got an appointment with those guys,” he barked, throwing a thumb back at the door in protest. The runner continued about his business, snubbing the dwarf.

Perched on the edge of his seat in indignation Cyril glared as the staff member disappeared around a corner. Slumping back into the sponge he folded his arms and kicked a leg out, sneering and muttering under his breath. Looking left and right the prospect of a long wait surrounded by bland white walls and nonsensical paintings of sporting moments in Italian history didn't look too promising for him, but with opportunity lying beyond a few inches of mahogany he would endure it.

He thought of Von Kelsig putting in a good word for him and how he might be welcomed into the company as he fumbled around his pockets and scowled when he remembered he had lost his cell phone.

---

The click of a latch sent a frightful jolt down Cyril's spine, awakening him instantly. Sitting up straight and looking around he saw no sign of anyone. Glancing at the door and then at the walls in search of a clock the dwarf sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, hopping off the chair and muttering to himself in disbelief that he had nodded off.

Standing before the office door he held a fist up as though to knock, stopping short of chapping the wood when he imagined what the big executive beyond would say when he walked in the room without an appointment. Maybe he had only nodded off for a few minutes and Von Kelsig was still in the meeting, or perhaps the giant had mentioned Cyril to the boss and already opened the door for him.

The idea came to him to just try the handle, open the door and stumble in and when all eyes were frowning on him simply admit he had the wrong room and humbly bow out, but not before moseying in and getting that appointment. It seemed simple enough and without a second thought Cyril grabbed the handle and pulled it only to find that it would not budge.

“Locked,” he muttered, cursing aloud and trudging off around the corner looking for any signs of life.

There appeared to be no one left on the floor and, stood there in silence, Cyril scanned the walls hoping that a clock would magically appear telling him the time. As the realization began to sink in that he had missed his opportunity Cyril began to panic and waddled back out the way he came in earlier on going from door to door, trying every office and finding each one empty, locked and without any reference of the time.

Banging futilely on the glass he snarled and spat with disdain at the thought that the giant had abandoned him. He imagined Von Kelsig waltzing out of the office with the top brass, pointing and laughing at the feckless midget passed out in the corridor on their way to entertain the great unwashed and make mega bucks doing it.

No, you're on your own. Much as I couldn't give a crap I'd be a complete asshole if I left you stranded here without so much as a ride anywhere.

Remembering Von Kelsig's words the dwarf screeched and kicked the wall, grabbing his toe and hopping on one foot as a stinging sensation seeped through his flesh and carried on up his leg, unleashed as an amalgamation of pain and anger in the form of a loud scream.

“Son of a BITCH!!”

His heart started pounding in his chest at the idea of being stuck in Europe with no out after being cast off by the giant. Frantically searching for the corridor that would lead him out of this corporate nightmare Cyril felt fat beads of sweat collecting on his forehead and dripping off as he hobbled from one end of the floor to the other. Stopping at the end of another corridor and finding another locked door he spun around and slammed his back against the pine in frustration. That's when he saw the figure pass by further down the hallway and after an initial palpitation of fright chased after the spectre as quickly as his little legs could carry him.

“Wait! Hold up!” He called out, not knowing whether he had been heard or even understood.

Firing around the corner he slammed face first into an object in the middle of the hallway and collapsed back on the floor tiles, skidding back on his butt and looking up to see a strange face scowling down at him in front of Room 25A. The figure was a man of around six feet, his demeanour ominous and erudite. Draped in blackest silk and carrying an unknown glyph pendant around his neck he glowered at the dwarf.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was here with Von Kelsig, I had an appointment with, with...hey I remember you. You're-”

“Here on important business. You say you came with Von Kelsig?” The man replied, eyeing up the dwarf and glancing back at 25A.

“Yeah he had a meeting in that office and I was supposed to be-”

“You're Minion the Imp,” the man said, cutting Cyril off. Waving a finger at him he nodded and narrowed his sinister gaze, envisioning the dwarf in robes and purple make-up and tailing after that infernal giant. “Of course, I remember you. What brings you here? Von Kelsig is out to lunch with Devin Shakur.” He asked, hoping to indulge in Cyril's famous ego and avoid the subject of why he was here at the head office when everyone else was gone.

“Oh, I've got an appointment with him about a job,” Cyril wheezed with relief on hearing that he had only slept through lunch time, “if you're going in there can you sort me out with one or something? It's really important, buddy. Angelus was supposed to help me out but the son of a bitch ditched me.”

Buddy, that brought a smile to the stranger's lips. Not only was Von Kelsig's greatest ally confiding in him but time had also dulled the memory of exactly who he was speaking with. Retrieving an envelope from his breast pocket, the stranger started for the office door, looking back at the dwarf with a devious grin.

“I have an important document to deliver, unfortunately I cannot do anything for your appointment,” the stranger said, watching Cyril's face sour before adding, “however, give me a moment to finish my business and I shall assist you with yours.”

As Cyril got to his feet the stranger turned and blocked his view of the office door,and after a moment it swung open and the man walked in and made a beeline for the desk stacked with paperwork. Placing the envelope several inches deep in the pile he immediately backed out of the room and closed the door, turning to the dwarf and already tasting the sweet ambrosia of victory on his lips.

“Von Kelsig let you down, you say?”

“Yeah. Guess now he's Champion he's too far up his own ass to give a crap about anyone else.”

The dwarf showed all the signs that the stranger looked for in a malicious plot.

“Seems we have a lot to discuss, sir. Walk with me and I will help with your cause.”

“Thanks man, you're a lifesaver,” Cyril beamed before squinting at the stranger and pointing at his face and saying, “hey I'm sure I know you. You're too...dapper, to be up here with the pencil pushers. What's your name?”

“My name is not important right now. Yours on the other hand will be crucial if we are to conduct business together,” the stranger said with a cocked eyebrow, extending his hand to the dwarf.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, shaking the stranger's hand and appearing more focused all of a sudden. “Name's Salazar. Cyril Salazar. I used to work with Von Kelsig in Old School Wrestling as Minion the-”

“Now, now,” the stranger cut him off, “forget Minion the Imp. He's a distant memory. Cyril Salazar is the future now.”

Cyril grinned from ear to ear at the sound of that, drawn in by the stranger's hypnotic tone and that look in his eye; the look of a leader.

“I am the Pariah Saint, Cyril Salazar. Now tell me what it is you desire and it shall be yours.”

Under the spell of such promise, Cyril blurted out his worries and hopes and goals to the mysterious stranger who he could not for the life of him remember, though the name stuck fast on the tip of his tongue.

The Pariah Saint...
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