It slices! It dices! It’s…the sting of a scathing promo.
A few weeks back the Masters were overcome by Fighting For Nora, and lemme tell ya…Randall took it kinda hard. So hard, in fact, that he turned to me shortly after we made it backstage and said “Kenny, you go get the next one.”
I didn’t understand what the hell that meant until hours later, when I found out I was facing Mortimer…hang on, lemme look this up…
Las Vegas, Nevada
“Alright, gentlemen. I’m leaving you two to your own devices here, I know you have your next round of infomercial tapings to get through, and I, well…I have business of my own to attend to.”
We find ourselves inside the lobby of the hotel, as the Masters of the Multiverse B-Team have left the comfort of their room and are heading to their studio, as addressed by Aeon Khronos. It’s the latter statement that raises the curiosity of his charges. Kenny chimes in on the matter, a clear sense of confusion in his tone of voice.
“Hold on, run that back…what kinda business are we talkin’, here?”
This just gets a smirk in response from the Master of Time Itself, something that Randall chuckles at the sight of.
“Oh lord…it’s a date, isn’t it? Did you finally get a hold of…?”
Aeon shakes his head, cutting Randall’s question off at an opportune moment.
“No no, I have…”
Aeon’s eyes look up toward the top of his head, as if searching deep inside for any answer other than the obvious at this point.
“…a business meeting, yeah, that’s it.”
Aeon nods to himself, satisfied with the answer he’s given.
“I’m meeting up with someone to discuss our next steps in defending the multiverse. I’m sure you recall the recent signing of the PWA contract…”
As if signaling some grand moment, you can just about make out some victorious trumpets playing off in the distance, confusing the Masters for a moment before Aeon goes on.
“…and I’m setting off to speak with a higher-up of one of the organizations involved in the venture. That, however, is further down on the docket. Today, I’m meeting with someone from elsewhere in the multiverse…”
Aeon is cut off by the appearance of a strange blue light outside, and a curious swirling noise accompanying it. A moment later, one of the doors to the lobby opens, and in walks a younger woman with blonde hair, dressed quite informally for such an occasion as this as she smiles at the trio before speaking.
“So these are the boys, then?”
Aeon nods with a smile of his own, but the Masters are left even more bamboozled as their contact shakes hands with the woman.
“That’d be them. It’s good to see you again…Erin.”
The woman’s smile widens to a grin, and the two travelers start to make their exit from the lobby before Aeon turns his attention back to them.
“Right fellas, go handle your tapings, and Kenny, for the sake of all things sacred, make sure you train for your match!”
“Agreed, you tell ‘em what’s what…Aaron.”
The pair just laugh at this before stepping out of the lobby…and at that moment, the Masters finally start to put two and two together.
“Hey, wait a minute…”
That’s a hell of a last name there, Mortimer.
Is that Dutch, or something?
Seems awfully boring, whatever the etymology. Which means it suits you just fine, as a man trying to hide his identity. Just a shame it hasn’t really helped you that much, has it?
After all, you debut in PRIME, and weeks later, a man well-known for his association with the Mafia is already sniffing you out. You know what that makes you, Morty?
As in suspect. There’s an imposter among us in PRIME, and I’m looking right at him. In a company full of wild and colorful competitors, you’re a dime a dozen…and miraculously, that makes you stick out like a sore thumb.
Time to bust out the splint brace.
I’m fully aware of the rumors going around, that I don’t have a chance in hell of picking up the win. Some say it’s because I’m not a big hunk like you, others blame it on the fact I’m a tag team specialist first and foremost.
But I am the head of my wrestling school’s graduating class, and I still have the distinction of NOT losing at Great American Nightmare to hang my hat on. That’s something you don’t have, Mortster…and that’s the kind of momentum I need to prepare myself for a rare singles bout here in PRIME.
I’ve done enough research on that name to realize that the J in Kjedling is silent…and when I beat you at ReVival 14, Mortimer, you will be silent.
It’s time to get schwifty.
Show me what you’ve got, Morty.
I want to see what you’ve got.
The Venetian Expo
Las Vegas, Nevada
We find ourselves deep inside one of the exhibition rooms during an event fondly known as VendorCon, where the Masters have been standing around for four hours at their Foodie Magick booth trying to sell the Food-O-Matic 3000, to no avail. Kenny is constantly checking his watch, waiting for the end of their shift when he hears Randall talking at the table.
“Right sir, normally the Food-O-Matic is 299, but for you on this special occasion, we can throw in a Pocket-O-Matic for just 20 more. What’d ya think?”
Kenny can’t help but chuckle at the attempted upsell as he pulls his phone out, looking to send another clever post on Jabber to poke fun at those who deserve it…when another voice grabs his attention.
“The hell kinda business you trying to run here, pal?”
That voice is familiar…too familiar. Kenny looks up from his phone as Randall seems to be arguing with…himself?
“I run a tight ship around here, buddy!”
“I’m not your buddy, guy!”
Kenny’s focus shifts from Randall to a man who looks like his spitting image, but with far better sideburns and wearing a sweet, sweet plaid getup. Kenny quickly snaps a picture of the confrontation, sending a tweet with a caption as the scene fades to black…
“LOL I’m seeing double…four Randalls! #VendorCon”