A car pulls up to the GCW Arena in Atlanta, Georgia, out steps Marcus Anderson and Tarrasque. They look up at the arena as the Uber driver drives away.
Tarrasque: Big place. Sad closed.
Anderson: Yeah. The place had promise. I was looking forward to being a manager here, but shit happens. You know? Anyway, Parsons should be inside the Smart Mark. Shall we?
Tarrasque shrugs and follows Marcus Anderson up to the Smart Mark where they find the nightclub dark and a guard standing by the door.
Anderson: What’s going on? Lights Out event?
The guard gives Marcus a WTF is wrong with you look before motioning to the sign on the front door.
Guard: The Smart Mark is closed due to the COVID-19. You don’t watch the news?
Anderson: Is the news on Netflix?
Guard: No.
Marcus grins, pointing a finger at the guard like it was a gun.
Anderson: Then you got your answer, champ. If the place is closed, where’s Parsons?
Guard: Do I look like his keeper?
Anderson: No idea?
The guard mimics Marcus’ motion with the gun hand and a smirk.
Guard: You got your answer, champ.
Marcus brushes his hair back with his hand, breathing in sharply.
Anderson: Fuck!
Marcus walks away, continuing to curse. Tarrasque looks from the retreating Marcus to the guard with a look of thoughtful repose on his face.
Tarrasque: Me ask.
Anderson: Whatever trips your trigger, man.
Tarrasque stands in front of the guard with a sneer.
Tarrasque: Where Parsons?
Guard: I told your little friend over there that I don’t know. Are you de-
Tarrasque seizes the guard by the throat, lifts him up, and slams him against the glass wall next to the door to the Smart Mark.
Tarrasque: Parsons boss. You not know where boss? Where him go?
The guard tries to pry Tarrasque’s fingers away from his throat at least enough for him to be able to speak, but finds that he cannot do so. Marcus comes back, looking up at the guard.
Anderson: Tarrasque. The man can’t answer you if he dies. You might let him down so that he can speak.
Tarrasque: Right.
Tarrasque sets the guard down, who grasps at his throat as he regains his breath.
Guard: Last I heard, Chris Parsons was in Las Vegas at his penthouse so that he can drown his sorrows at his private bar since the public bars and such are all closed down by the virus.
Anderson: Vegas? Oh, I forgot that he had a penthouse there. Thank you.
The guard still rubs at his throat in pain, looking at Tarrasque with obvious hatred in his eyes.
Guard: Yeah, fuck you.
Marcus Anderson walks away from the guard while on his phone to get a new Uber back to the airport. Tarrasque glares at the guard, who reaches for a tazer at his side. Tarrasque is quicker, punching the guard in the gut, and letting him fall to the ground. Tarrasque walks away to join Marcus while the guard is doubled over on the ground and coughing up blood.
Anderson: So now we have to go to Vegas to be able to talk to Parsons. Fine, it’s fine.
Tarrasque: Talk about match now?
Marcus looks at Tarrasque with a raised eyebrow, but then shrugs with a chuckle.
Anderson: You want to talk about Xiaolong and how you’re going to defeat him in the scaffold match? I mean, it’s kind of obvious that you’re going to be the one standing on the top of the scaffolding with your arms raised in victory as Xiaolong lays broken on the floor, having gone through a few tables. What else there is to say on the subject, eh?
Tarrasque grins, popping his knuckles on his fingers one at a time.
Tarrasque: Me defeat him father. Me defeat him trainer. Me will defeat Xiaolong. Me smash him face against scaffold before me throw him down with power bomb.
Anderson: I know, right? How do you think that Dragon Belt or Shootfighter will take the news that Xiaolong will never walk again? I would think that they would take it rather badly and try to come claim something of a vengeance against you for breaking him. What do you think?
Tarrasque scratches at his head for a moment before grinning.
Tarrasque: Long time me no see Dragon Belt or Shootfighter. Me make them bleed.
Anderson: You’ll make them bleed if they come looking for revenge against you for maiming Xiaolong?
Tarrasque: Yes! Me am strong!
Marcus nods, seating himself at a bench by the road.
Anderson: Well, it’s not like we’re going to be able to get right to Vegas. Why don’t we find something to eat before we get to the airport? I heard places were doing curbside service with the virus going on.
Tarrasque rubs his belly with a low grumbling sound coming from it.
Tarrasque: Me like that very much.
Anderson: So this match against Xiaolong. Is it going to be a long match? Are the fans going to get their money’s worth?
Tarrasque: No. Match be quick. Me going break Xiaolong. Fans no like. Unless front row like when they get wet.
Anderson: Why would the fans in the front row get wet? Are you going to pee on them? That’s not good, man.
Tarrasque laughs, doubling over in his laughing. He grabs the back of the bench to steady himself and quickly composes himself.
Tarrasque: Me not do that. Not again. No, watch. This Xiaolong.
Tarrasque holds his hand up high into the air, whistling as he motions Xiaolong falling, and then shouting BOOM when the imaginary Xiaolong hits the ground.
Tarrasque: Splatter.
Anderson: Oh shit! You think that Xiaolong will hit the ground so hard that his blood will splatter those in the front row?
Tarrasque: Yes. Me think so.
Anderson: Damn, you heard it here, Xiaolong. You gonna splatter like a tomato thrown off a building once you hit the floor from being defeated by my Tarrasque here. Go ask your father, go ask your trainer. They’ll tell you horror stories of having to face Tarrasque in the ring and let you know how he defeated each of them in turn. Heck, most of the Hardkore American roster could tell you horror stories of having to have faced Tarrasque in the ring while he did his run as Hardkore American Heavyweight champion. And why is it that you’re going to win, Tarrasque? What makes you so special?
Tarrasque flexes his muscles with a great grin.
Tarrasque: ME AM STRONG!
Anderson: That’s what I’m fucking talking about.