WWE Fan Fiction ❯ The Bad Guys Club ❯ Chapter 13

Author's Note: The first few chapters are PG-13ish, but I rated it for Mature Audiences because there's slash and smut. I don't own anyone or anything. My friends Pearl, Rosy, and Shelia own themselves. I'm a huge fan of The Bad Girls Club, so why write a WWE fanfic based on it? Feedback's appreciated. Don't read and/or post nasty comments if you can't handle it. Don't take this without permission as well.

 

 

 

 

 

It's been two weeks, and Randy Orton was still depressed over his breakup with his fiancée, Rosy. All day long, he had been Googling on how he could make up with her, and he was down to his eighth glass of wine. His feelings for her in the last several weeks changed dramatically. He cheated on her, then he didn't care, then he realized that he did care, and now he wanted her back. Shawn walked into the kitchen not a moment too soon, and found the Legend Killer, drunk and still searching the Internet. “What are you doing?” he asked him. “You do know Adam cleaned the kitchen yesterday, and I wouldn't wanna be in your place when he starts yelling at you.”

 

“I don't care,” he responded. “I'm worried that Rosy's going to move on, and it's going to be past the point of return if I wait. I'm going to her work and harass her, stalk her, begging, pleading for her to come back into my life. She's going to be over me like that, Shawn. She won't even call me back, man.”

 

Being a devout Christian, Shawn couldn't understand why Randy had to go back and forth using both Teresa and Rosy at the same time. It wasn't right, but Randy and Rosy have been together for two years. Rosy took Randy all that he was—good and bad. If Randy had to go back to Rosy for comfort, so be it. Then, all of a sudden, Randy and Shawn heard roar-like sneezing coming from the bedrooms. At first, they thought it was Chris, but his allergies have been controlled since the pesticide was washed off the floors and new carpeting had been installed a month back. Curious as a rabbit, Randy went into his and Hunter's bedroom, anyway, and his predictions were right on the bat as he found the Cerebral Assassin in bed, sick as a dog. Last night, he had an alarming fever of 105.2, and security had to put him in the bathtub and throw several bags of ice all over his body to lower his temperature. “Randy, I don't want to go to the meeting,” he whined. “My head hurts, man. It even hurts to talk. I'm not doing it. No way. I'm so sick of people forcing me what to do.”

 

Every time they meet with Pearl and Ken, Hunter felt like it was an argument. He was too sick to even to put himself in that situation. “So what do you want me to tell them?” Randy asked him. “That you're sick with a fever and a headache—

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “For sure.”

 

Randy and the rest of the Bad Guys finally got ready, and headed out to the van and car to meet with Pearl and Ken at a Baskin Robbins. The two bosses were going to evaluate them on their first “work” party. “Where's Triple H?” Ken asked them.

 

“Yeah,” Randy explained. “See, what had happen was that Hunter's at home on his deathbed, for real. He's sick with a fever and chills, and nastiness.”

 

“That sucks,” said Pearl, shaking her head.

 

The mere fact that Hunter didn't show up for the work meeting, Chris thought, rolling his eyes towards his notebook, showed me that he cares more about himself. Why am I not surprised?

 

“So,” Ken continued, “what'd you think about the party?”

 

“It's a wonderful experience,” Randy said.

 

“Well,” Pearl coldly elucidated their job skills, “even though it was a success and Logan had a blast with y'all, you guys were two hours late. Obviously, Mr. McMahon would fire you if you were late in his—

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ken shook his head in agreement. “He'd scream and kick our asses, but worst of all, he won't pay us if we're late. So, if Vince won't pay us if we're late, then Pearl and I shouldn't pay you the full amount, too.”

 

Chris and Chavo felt that it was unfair for their bosses to dock their pay, especially to Chris, since he was a bit upset by it and wanted to yell at Ken. Then again, he couldn't, and he didn't want to get sent home for getting fired from the job. It was a mandatory job, and he had no choice but to do it. All he had to do was show up on time. “Right now,” said Ken. “Let's start all over and move on. Let's plan the party earlier this time with decorations—

 

“So, this will be a Bollywood party?” Chris asked them.

 

“Yeah. So do you guys want to do this?”

 

Everyone clamored in agreement, although they knew nothing about the theme or the Indian culture in general. “So, what's going to happen,” said Ken, “is that everyone's going to work in groups of two.”

 

“Yeah,” Pearl added. “Randy, we'd like you to be the point person.”

 

“Don't fuck it up, Orton,” Chris warned him acerbically.

 

“Jericho, shut up,” Chavo growled at him.

 

“What? I'm telling the truth here. If you'd pushed your power a little more, Chavo, we would've gotten paid.”

 

“Okay,” Ken broke up the semi-confrontation. “So, that concludes the meeting. We'll see you in a couple of days.”

 

When they got back to the house, Randy had told Hunter that Pearl and Ken had docked their pay for being late. “Whatever, fine,” the Cerebral Assassin moaned, scoffed, and rolled his eyes before coughing into his handkerchief. “Ken and his bitch can dock my $500, then take that and shove it up their asses.”

 

Hunter hated the fact that both Ken and Pearl walked around like they were rent-a-cops and power trips. To him, no matter if Vince put him living with six other men in one house or book him in matches with other guys, authority was nothing but garbage. Meanwhile, in the living room, there were a batch of cannabis-filled fudge brownies on a platter that Chavo made, and he and the two Canadian Urchins were cackling loudly (Chris, actually), all stoned from the drug-induced fudge. “Adam, do that walk,” Chris said to his long blond haired, emerald-eyed fuck buddy/fellow Urchin.

 

“What walk?” He responded, standing up in the middle of the hallway, then walked like Randy would when he was drunk. “Like Orton?”

 

As the Rated R Superstar imitated Randy's drunk walk, Chris and Chavo burst into uproarious cackles. When the Legend Killer became intoxicated, he would walk like a model on the runway. “Yeah,” he continued. “It's like Randy is some female model trying to learn how to wear high heels on the catwalk.”

 

Still high from the brownies, the Urchins strolled to the kitchen and played games on the computer when Randy walked by (in that same walk Adam had demonstrated earlier), pulled a glass, poured some wine into it, and walked off to the laundry room with the bottle in the other hand where he continued drinking. “Jeez!” Adam scoffed. “How much did he drink today? Actually, what did he actually do today besides drink wine in his room or smoke in the backyard?”

 

Chris noticed the Legend Killer pouring another glass. “He's really going at it with the bottle, man,” he said in a concerned tone.

 

“Yeah,” said Chavo. “Orton's been drinking a lot more since he broke up with Rosy, and this woman named Shelia's been making threats on the phone and in email. It's making him paranoid with that shit. Maybe he's drinking to forget about it, I don't know. But his drinking isn't coping with the problem. It's making it worse.”

 

Then, Randy came out from the laundry room, grabbed another bottle of wine, and yelled, “Hunter!”

 

The phone rang in the phone, and Chris ran inside to get it. “Hello?” he said into the receiver.

 

“Hey, is Randy there?” a woman responded on the other line.

 

“Randy just stepped out for a bit. May I ask who's speaking, please?”

 

“Oh, I'm just an old friend of his. My name's Shelia, and I would like you to tell Randy that he has until 24 hours to live because I have people who live in the area not too far from where you guys live, and they're going to do a drive-by on him. You tell him that he'll be lying in a pool of his own blood for what he did to Rosy.”

 

“I'll let him know.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem, bye-bye,” Chris hung up the phone and ran out the phone room to join his fellow Urchins at the computer in the kitchen. “PPPPSSSSSYYYYYYYCCCCCCHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!”

 

“Now, what happened?” Adam asked him.

 

“Dude, I got that lady you just mentioned,” he said, turning to Chavo. “Man, I don't know what to say, but Randy deserves to receive threats like that. He can't treat women like shit all the time.”

 

And while the Urchins continued to play games on the computer munching another pot brownie, Hunter and Randy hung out outside in the gazebo drinking wine. The Legend Killer finally told him about his recent breakup with his fiancée. “I can't believe you broke off your engagement with Rosy, Randy,” he said. “You were so all about her when you came to the house.”

 

Still, using women were one of the reasons that made Randy a bad guy in the first place, and now he realized that he should've never done it to Rosy in the first place. He had an idea popped in his head, and so, he waited for the Urchins to head off to their bedrooms for the night, then went inside the house, and through the phone room to call his fiancée. “Hello, you've reached Rosy,” her voicemail responded on the other line. “Leave me a message or go to hell.”

 

Randy hung up, and dialed again.

 

“Hello, you've reached Rosy—

 

SLAMMM!

 

The Legend Killer dialed again. “I know you're home, too!'

 

“Hello, you've rea—

 

SLAMMM!

 

He dialed again…

 

“Hello, you've re—

 

SLAMMM!

 

“Hello, you've—

 

SLAMM!!

 

“Hello, you—

 

“Don't hang up!” Randy yelled at himself. He knew Rosy was either working at the nursing home or watching Laguna Beach, which he got jealous of her watching because she knew he reminded her of those snotty-ass bitches on the show. One last time, he dialed the phone.

 

“Hello, you've reached Rosy. Leave me a message or go to hell.”

 

“Hey, it's me,” Randy left a message. “I've been calling you like crazy, hoping you won't hang up on me or call in cursing me out like you always do. If you want me to beg, Rose, I will. I wanted to let you know that I love you and I miss you. Bye.”

 

Later around midnight, he had a heart-to-heart talk with Shawn in his room. He felt it in his heart that he was having a moment of weakness, worrying that he'll never find someone like Rosy again. The Legend Killer kept going back and forth on whether did he want to do with her or not surviving without her. “Do I feel weak right now?” he asked him. “Am I running back to her?”

 

“Randy, let me tell you something,” the Heartbreak Kid explained. “A relationship is something you have to commit, if you can be able to commit. You want to be there with her all the time; you don't want to cheat on her. If you don't want to commit to the relationship, you might as well be better off alone.”

 

Still, Randy wasn't the type of man to grovel over some woman. To him, love was putrid, and that it could turn someone into a marionette until it was too late—A pathetic worth of nothing. With that advice in mind, Randy went downstairs to the shark tank bar and drank himself to sleep. The next week, Hunter was all better and energized. He was eating some pancakes and sausage on a stick from Jimmy Dean's when he heard the phone in the phone room rang. “Yellow?” he answered it.

 

“Hunter?” came a familiar voice on the other line.

 

“Batista?”

 

“Yeah, who'd you thought it was, Kane?”

 

“Uh, no. Uh, what's happening, man? How's it going?”

 

“Not good, man, which is why I'm calling this number and knew you'd answered. I'm gonna be your new roommate.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah, man. I'm coming by tomorrow. I was thinking if you guys will be picking me up from O'Hare then? Is that all right?”

 

Just then, the King of Kings noticed Chris dragging by to the computer and started playing games on the computer while eating a leftover pot brownie and a croissant that he traded with Shawn for the Twinkie. “Definitely,” he said to Batista on the phone.

 

“Cool,” he replied. “Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”

 

“You're welcome, bye.”

 

Hunter hung up the phone and went outside by the pool to join Randy. “Hey, Orton,” he told him, “Guess who's going to be our new roommate.”

 

“Kane?” Randy asked.

 

“Nope. The Animal's coming.”

 

“As in George Steele?”

 

“No, man! Batista's gonna be our new roommate! How much did you drink last night?”

 

“For real? I thought Dave was the type to not end up like the six of us are now.”

 

“Me too, and he has no idea what we've been doing.”

 

Randy sipped another drop from his glass of wine. “So, did you tell anyone else, yet?”

 

“No, we're not,” Hunter suddenly has an idea, “and we're gonna let him come see how much fun we are, then we'll dish him off to the Street Urchins, and then he'll realize that it's not so cool.

 

“Awesome,” the Legend Killer exclaimed as he and the Cerebral Assassin shook hands. “Information's so powerful.”

 

“We're such assholes!”

 

“Hunter, we are assholes.”

 

In the kitchen later that night, the Street Urchins and Shawn talk about Hunter, and how Adam suggested that Shawn work with Hunter for the upcoming Bollywood party (while emailing an apologetic letter to Pearl on behalf of everyone). “I don't care if it's because we created D-Generation X,” the Heartbreak Kid whined. “I don't wanna work with him. I told Pearl that since she was the one who suggested it in the first place that I wanted to work alone. The answer's no. No one wants to work with Hunter. He's inconsiderate and lazy. There's no point or reason to talk to him.”

 

“We know that,” Chavo said as he stacked up the food in the fridge. “We know that he's lazy, smells like garbage, and all of that. But, you said you didn't want to work with Triple H. You didn't mind about working with Chris, so...”

 

“As far as with Chris, he's good at organizing and everything, and he's like, `We'll be at the meetings, yada, yada, yada.' I rather work by myself, okay? That way, I don't depend on anyone.”

 

“Leave him alone,” Chris said. “He's got his wife, remember? Shawn, is she coming back to do this party?”

 

Hunter's unappreciative after we let him stay in the house, Chavo thought as he shook his head and continued stacking up the groceries. It's like a slap in the face, man, and I want to choke him, but I can't. I can't.

 

“Yeah,” said Shawn. “I don't wanna get docked again.”

 

“I feel that way, too. I don't want to see anyone in this house get docked except for Hunter, maybe.”

 

Moments later, the phone room rang, and Randy ran to pick it up. “Hello?” he said.

 

“SIX HOURS, TWENTY-MINUTES, AND FIVE SECONDS UNTIL YOU DIE!!” Shelia yelled on the other line, cackling away.

 

“Oh, goddamn it, Shelia! It's been a fucking week now, knock it off!”

 

“Didn't you do the same thing to Rosy then broke up with her? Yeah, she loved you, Randy. She really did, and what did you do to her heart? You shitted on it!”

 

“Who fucking asked you to be the fucking talk show host? Mind your fucking business! This has nothing to do with you!”

 

“It does have to do with me since you did it once to me by cheating with her.”

 

“I'm surprised that you two are friends.” Randy's voice turned to sarcasm.

 

“Whatever, just watch your fucking back! Your blood will be all over the concrete!”

 

“Sure, Shelia. You keep on saying that! You keep on saying that, you crazy bitch!”

 

“It won't be just your blood, it'll be your entire genitalia!”

 

Suddenly, Randy hung up the phone, shivering. He looked all over the windows for any warning signs on his life, growing more paranoid. The constant threats Shelia had made stuck to his brain like Krazy Glue as the paranoia and guilt saturated his mind, body, and soul. The Legend Killer had to turn away from all of that and into the one thing that would help him: The bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. As Adam and Chavo poured the last batter of pot brownies in the pan and threw it in the oven, Randy opened the bottle of wine and took a large swig. “Yeah, that'll make it all better,” he said as he took the bottle into the laundry room to try and numb the paranoia and guilt.

 

“Chavo?” said Adam.

 

“Yeah?” asked Chavo.

 

“You know how a person would drink eight glasses of water a day? Well, Randal drinks eight glasses of wine and vodka a day. That's the whole liquor store.”

 

In the laundry room, Randy could hear the two Street Urchins laughing and making fun of him…again. As far as Shelia making threats on the phone and feeling guilty over Rosy, the three Urchins were the lighters to burn the Legend Killer's sanity by making fun of him, laughing at him, even taunting him with made-up songs. Since day one, the Urchins were on a roll making the man miserable. “I don't know who's more of a drunk in the house,” Adam continued. “The animals in the shark tank bar or the Legend Killer himself. Age of Orton, all right! The wine ages, and so does he!”

 

As the two Urchins continued to make fun of him, Randy stormed out from the laundry room to confront them. “You got something to say to me?” he scornfully spoke to them. “Say it to my face!”

 

“What I'd do?” Adam asked him, pulling that fake innocent look.

 

“Ah, don't give me that, Adam! I heard you in the fucking kitchen! You think you're fucking funny, huh?”

 

Just then, Chris came into the kitchen topless, wearing a pair of baggy pants, and his short blond hair wet. “What's going on?” he asked them. “I could hear you from upstairs.”

 

“So what if I'm drinking a goddamn bottle of wine by myself?!” Randy continued yelling. “Yeah, I am drinking a whole bottle of wine to the drop, and you guys can't sit there with a smile and compare me to the fucking shark in the tank in the living room!”

 

All Chris could do is stare at both Adam and Chavo, folding his arms, waiting for one of them to explain themselves. “I know I have a problem with it, but it really hurts my feelings when you blatantly accuse me of being an alcoholic,” Randy continued, “and it really bothers me because you have no idea what's going on in my life.”

 

“Whoa, hold on a second here,” articulated Chris, “I didn't say anything to you. I wasn't making fun of you. I was just in the shower.”

 

“Randy!” yelled Adam, covering his face with his long blond hair so that the Legend Killer wouldn't see him laughing in his face. “I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun of you!”

 

“Yeah, they're not making fun of you!”

 

“I don't care!” Randy yelled with hurt in his voice. All of a sudden, the four men argued, with the Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla trying to convince him that they weren't trying to hurt his feelings, and trying to keep the peace. Adam wasn't trying to be rude, especially with his joke. He was the only one who picked up the wine glasses all over the house after Randy, and he saw him downing bottle after bottle. The Legend Killer had a huge problem with alcohol, and the Rated R Superstar could see that every day.

 

“Randy, I'm sorry!” Adam continued apologizing with his hair covering his mouth to keep from laughing in Randy's face.

 

“Yeah, I drink fifteen times more than I do at home,” Randy bleated, his voice breaking. “You know why? Because you three make it miserable for me in this house, you really do. You attack me for bitching, you attack me for drinking, and you have no clue what's going on in my life. You don't get it! You just don't get it! You guys have no idea how painful it is, okay? It's like every fucking sentence has something horrible about me! I already fucking hate myself more than enough!”

 

With that, he gave the Urchins the dirtiest look from the depths of hell, and went off into the phone room to call Rosy. And while Randy was in the room, Chris turned to Adam, and asked him, “What the fuck did you say to him?”

 

“Chris,” the Rated R Superstar explained. “All I said was a stupid joke. I said, `I don't know who's the drunk in the house: The shark in the shark tank bar or Randy.'”

 

And all Chris could do is shake his head in disappointment, and ready to control his anger because now he felt like taking the half-full wine bottle, and smash it upside Adam's head. “You're an ignorant fuck!” he scolded him. “You know that? It pisses me off that every time you make judgmental remarks, I get blamed for it!”

 

And while he and Adam argued, Randy waited for Rosy to pick up the phone in the phone room. “Hello?” she finally responded.

 

“Hey,” he spoke in a dismal tone.

 

“What's up?”

 

“I think I fucked up. I don't think I'll ever find some as perfect as you are, and I'm sorry, baby.”

 

I'm holding on your rope

Got me ten feet off the ground

And I'm hearing what you say

But, I just can't make a sound

 

Rosy sighed on the other line. “I don't know what to fucking say, Randy. I really don't.”

 

You tell me that you need me

Then you go and cut me down

 

“I love you so much, baby.” Randy sobbed through his words. “I'm so sorry, baby. I would never want to hurt you. I know I would never find someone like you ever again, and I wish I were just the average guy who could just recognize what he had and appreciate it for once. So, I want to be 100% honest here. I've been seeing someone.”

 

But wait…

 

“How long were you seeing her before you broke up with me?”

 

“I had sex with her once, and I broke up with you.”

 

You tell me that you're sorry

Didn't think I'd turn around and say…

 

And he could hear Rosy's anger grow intense on the phone. “Oh, fucking shit! You dirty ass fucking pig! You were gonna leave me for this whore, were you?”

 

“No—no! I'm not leaving you for this—

 

“Bullshit. That's what your plan was, was it?”

 

“No, you don't understand! This woman—this woman was nothing to me, even now. She was nothing—

 

That it's too late to apologize, it's too late

 

“The mere fact that she meant nothing to you makes it worse! And I could see maybe if you'd liked this woman. Maybe she had something that I didn't have, but it was some piece of shit woman you went and fucked! The second you had a chance to use me, you took it!

 

I said, it's too late to apologize, it's too late

 

“I didn't, Rosy! I swear!”

 

I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you

And I need you like a heart needs a beat

(But, that's nothing new)

Yeah, yeah

 

“What the fuck are we doing, Randy?!”

 

I loved you with a fire red

Now it's turning blue

And you say…

“Sorry” like the angel

Heaven let me think was you

But, I'm afraid…

 

“I don't know, what the fuck are we doing?!” Randy slammed the phone and violently pushed it to the floor, which rang again, and he feared that his ex-fiancée would call back to curse him out again. Everyone sat around with this idea of unconditional, and in the Legend Killer's world, that didn't exist. It was an illusion, an imaginary number in mathematics or insane scriptures.

 

It continued ringing irately on the floor, pushing Randy's buttons more than enough for him to pick it up and scream, “WHAT NOW?!”

 

“You son of a bitch!” Shelia shrieked on the other line. “I knew you fucking did it! Rosy just told me what you did, and now you're gonna get it!”

 

“And what are you gonna do about it?!”

 

“See for yourself outside of your house.” Shelia cackled evilly on the other line until she hung up on him.

 

It's too late to apologize, it's too late

I said, it's too late to apologize, it's too late

Woahooo, woah

 

With Shelia's threats on his life, Rosy hating him for what he did to her, the Street Urchins' constant taunting, and the alcohol taking its toll on what was left of his soul, Randy grew madly paranoid as he ran out of the phone room, locking the windows and all of the doors, scaring Chris in the kitchen. He ran upstairs to the bathroom next to Shawn's room where he thought it was the safest place to hide in, but still he could hear Shelia and Rosy's voices slowly taking over.

 

It's too late to apologize, it's too late

I said, it's too late to apologize, it's too late

I said, it's too late to apologize, yeahah

I said it's too late to apologize, yeahah

 

Tears of fear and guilt flowed over his eyes as the Legend Killer screamed and sobbed locked up in the bathroom until he felt his chest tightening up on as if a boulder was suffocating him as he slowly passed out on the floor.

 

I'm holding on your rope

Got me ten feet off the ground…

 

The thud that was heard all over the house made security tell Shawn and Hunter to join the Urchins in the kitchen, and to stay there until further notice as they ran to the upstairs bathroom and found Randy there. In the kitchen, the Urchins and the former members of DX sat and waited. Chris was worried and still upset at Adam for pushing his buttons by making that inappropriate joke. “I don't know what's going on,” Hunter said, “but Randy is seriously tripping over Rosy right now.”

 

“I thought he dumped Rosy because he didn't like her or that he was bored of her,” said Adam.

 

“It's not that,” Chris said sarcastically.

 

“Yeah, but just so you know, he had almost three bottles of wine all day,” said Hunter.

 

Just then, the Rated R Superstar slowly sat on the floor as he raked his long blond hair back. He felt like crap for even mentioning about alcohol to Randy. He knew the Legend Killer was an alcoholic that drank his worries away, but he had no idea that he was depressed like that, and now he believed that security is up there because they somehow thought that he might have attempted to commit suicide. Shawn thought the same way, too. So, he sat at the counter with his head down and said a long prayer, hoping that Randy would be all right. “Didn't think it was funny, huh, motherfucker?” Chris insensitively and astringently scolded Adam, sitting at the computer. “Now you feel bad. I told you not to bring that up to his face, dumbass.”

 

“Quit it, Chris!” said Shawn.

 

“Okay, Chris, enough!” Adam yelled back. “I get it! All my petty shit isn't worth it!”

 

“Yeah, but it's still not hitting you in the head, Adam!” yelled Chris.

 

“Yeah,” said Chavo. “Look, if I had anything to contribute to the way Randy feels, I wouldn't be able to live with myself—

 

“It goes beyond that, actually. I think we add on.”

 

“Yeah, we add on.” The Mexican Warrior turned to Hunter emptying the half-full bottle of wine. “Dump it out, man.”

 

Another fifteen minutes went by, and still the five Bad Guys waited for Randy to be all right. Shawn continued praying, as Adam walked back and forth raking his long blond locks back. “Is it that bad?” he asked in a whisper.

 

Randy can't breathe, or whatever's the case upstairs, and I'm freaking out right now, Chris thought to himself as he continued to surf the Internet, picking at the freshly baked pot brownie. I don't even know if he's actually okay. As much as we fight in the house, I don't want to be responsible for anyone's death. I don't want anyone to get sick, either. Whether you love me or hate me, I'm not that type of guy to contribute to people committing suicide.

 

As Shawn uttered the last sentence of his prayer, all the Sexy Beast could say is that, “My head's killing me because of that.”

 

“Oh, my god,” winced Adam as he clutched his clavicle.

 

“Yeah, my heart just did a flip,” said Chavo.

 

All of a sudden, they heard Randy come down the stairs and joined them in the kitchen. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the Legend Killer said, “So, what happened was I started to get a panic attack and I passed out in the bathroom upstairs.”

 

“You're not drinking no more,” said Chavo.

 

“No, it's not about drinking, man! I've had panic attacks before. And it's fucking scary, man. That's why I'm so full of tears, because it's scary. You think you're gonna die or something.”

 

“Are you leaving?” Shawn asked him.

 

The Legend Killer gave him a dirty look. “No, I got my laundry to do, dumbass!”

 

Finally, his prayers were answered as Shawn reached to hug Randy and act so childish around him, freaking the Urchins out. “Shawn, down, boy!” said Adam.

 

“Eeeww!” cried Chavo.

 

Randy's panic attack brought everyone closer in a weird way, or so Shawn thought. It made everyone began talking, worrying, and realizing that perhaps they actually cared about one another. They all went into the living room and Hunter felt it was time to break the news to everyone. “We have a new roommate tomorrow,” he told them.

 

“Who's coming tomorrow?” asked Adam.

 

“Batista. He called to say that he was going to be our roommate tomorrow.”

 

“For real?” said Chavo, his brown eyes widened.

 

“I ain't kidding, man.” In a way, the Cerebral Assassin felt it was the right thing to tell the news to everyone because he believed that it was going to bring everyone closer. Now, there was nothing to do around the house, and no one to pick on, so they decided to call Batista in D.C. in the phone room and pick on him. Maybe he was sleeping, they didn't know, but they had burning questions to ask him.

 

“Are you a diabetic?” Adam asked him.

 

“What?” the Animal replied on the other line. “No, man. If I was a diabetic, then I wouldn't wrestle.”

 

“Oh, okay.” The Rated R Superstar turned to Chavo. “He's not a diabetic, Chavito!”

 

“But, I eat anything that comes to mind.” Batista said on the other line.

 

“Cool, so, do you snore so loud enough to piss the neighbors up? They're trying to get an idea.”

 

“Who is, Hunter?”

 

“No, but Shawn's sitting behind me and let me tell you, he snores so loud that it sounds like we have a live, angry bear in the house. So, don't freak out and shoot him if you come across him.”

 

Everyone started laughing in the phone room, even the Animal on the phone. “Are you a clean person?” Adam continued asking him. “I'm sorry, we have to know all these.”

 

“What the—Oh, my god, Edge!” he cried as the long blond haired Canadian smiled deviously and his two fellow Urchins and former members of DX laughed. “Look, you'll find that all when I come over there tomorrow.”

 

“He says that we'll find out when he comes over here tomorrow.” Adam turned to the other four in the phone room, and back on the phone. “Are you excited?”

 

“Sure. Wouldn't miss it for the world. Beats getting suspended.”

 

The next morning, Hunter got up out of bed and found Randy slowly getting up from his. “How are you feeling?” he asked him.

 

“My eyes feel puffy from crying last night,” he replied, “but otherwise, I feel fine.”

 

Breaking up with Rosy, for Randy, was kind of tough, but he didn't care. Teresa, on the other hand, did pass the time, and she was an awesome kisser. As he stretched out his arms and yawned, Hunter said, “Let me know if you still want to pick up Dave at the airport today, otherwise we'll just send Shawn.”

 

The Legend Killer scoffed, “Dude, I feel so bad for Batista right now. I can't believe he's coming in this house. I don't care if I can't stand him or not, or what kind of a bad guy he is, he has no clue as to what we already started in this house.”

 

Moments later, Batista waited in front of O'Hare International Airport for one of the Bad Guys to pick him up. For him, being a bad guy is doing whatever you want to do when you want to do it. He chose what he did, he chose where to go, he chose who he wanted to be with, and being a bad guy was kind of overpowering in that way despite the fact that he was over six feet tall and over three-hundred pounds of muscle. “Hey, guys!” he exclaimed, as he finally found Randy and Hunter three feet from where he was standing.

 

“Dave!” Hunter greeted him as they exchanged hugs. “You ready?”

 

“When you are.”

 

When the trio of former Evolution members drove down the expressway to their house, Randy asked the Animal, “So, Batista, what you'd do to end up living with us?”

 

“What happened was that me and Jamie Noble had an eating contest in the canteen full of J.R.'s barbecue and McDonald's. You know me, I eat whatever I want, and whenever the hell I want. So Jamie beat me in the eating contest, and I got mad that I beat the crap out of him until one of his legs broke when I Batista Bombed him to the floor. Now, I'm here.”

 

“So it's binge eating and anger, right?” said Hunter.

 

“Yeah. Guess so.”

 

“Well, just so you know, this house that you're gonna be living in may look good on the outside, but on the inside, watch your back and stand your ground, because we have a dumbass and three loud immigrants living with us. I ain't gonna mention their names.”

 

“Man, you make it sound like I'm going to jail or something.” Batista wanted to really get to know these guys instead of going at it in the ring. If they're going to respect him and be polite to him, then he'll respect them and be polite back to them.

 

They got to the house, where Batista unpacked his belongings in the huge closet downstairs, then went upstairs to the room next to Shawn's and unpacked more of his belongings there. He went into the kitchen and found the Street Urchins Chris, Chavo, and Adam hanging out and eating fast food. “Hey, there,” he greeted them. “Did you hear? I'm your new roommate.”

 

They responded him with cold stares and scoffs. “We know that,” Chavo said sarcastically. “So what?”

 

BBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!!! was all Adam did, and it left a smell of Coke and charcoal mustard flow in the air, causing Randy and Hunter to roll their eyes. “Did you gain more weight or something, big fella?”

 

“Nah,” Batista said. “Just working out.”

 

“You look like you have. I think I lost some weight living here for like, almost two months now?”

 

“I'm sure you've heard some bad shit about me,” Chris wanted to know, his blue eyes penetrating the Animal's face like a cat.

 

“I haven't heard anything about you, Chris,” said the Animal.

 

“Yeah, right. But that's okay—

 

“Everyone's pretty cool.”

 

The Ayatollah of Rock `N Rolla shook his hand, and went into the sink to wash it due to the ketchup sticking to his skin. “Well, welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay. Sorry, my hand's got ketchup on it. Uh, don't mind Chavo. He's kind of moody today.”

 

“No,” Chavo said, with his mouth full of gyros, “I'm rude. I don't care.”

 

I feel like I have walked back into Juvie, Batista thought to himself as he watched the Urchins wander off into Adam and Chris's bedroom. These guys seemed to be angry, and the fact that I'm never going to relate to them or stand at their level is quite disappointing.

 

“Dude, that was kind of embarrassing in the kitchen just now,” he told Randy and Hunter as he hung out with them outside by the pool.

 

“Right?” Randy agreed.

 

“I was like, `Oh, there's Chris and Adam, gotta say hi'. Fucking horrible.”

 

“Yeah,” said Hunter.

 

Although he and Batista have been good friends, the King of Kings was not going to put him on his side just yet. Instead, he was going to be fair. If Batista enjoyed cursing someone out, drinking, drama, going Ripsi on people, fighting, yelling, and headaches, he'd go hang out with the Street Urchins.

 

And speaking of the Street Urchins, Chris sneered at three hanging out by the pool outside of the bedroom door. “Ugh, Evolution white trash,” he said as he picked up his clothes from the floor and tossed them in the laundry basket. “I knew they're going to have a small reunion once Batista came here.”

 

“Yeah, and I think he gained weight by juicing,” said Adam. “Hey, we didn't say anything to him.”

 

“Who said we did?”

 

“Fucking Hunter. He was like, `Are you going to get loud?' No, I may have belched my ass all over the kitchen, but it meant that I acknowledged his presence. I didn't mean to embarrass myself in front of him, nor would I want to, and Chavo is fucking rude. Dave should know that.”

 

“I have a feeling that Batista might be crazy because I could imagine him over my bed with a knife like from Psycho.” Chris imitated the famous score from the cult film. “AAAHHHHHHHHHH!! Like that, man.”

 

Later that night, Hunter and Randy hung out by the kitchen eating Chinese food and laughing. Randy reminded the Cerebral Assassin that the meeting with Ken and Pearl was next week, and all Hunter did was scoff. “Fuck them and their meetings!” he declared. “Guess what Hunter is doing tomorrow? Hunter's gonna get a newspaper and he's gonna look for his own goddamn job!”

 

He blatantly wanted to tell both Ken and Pearl, his bosses, that they sucked. Randy went on the computer, and Hunter told him to send an email directly to Pearl in his name. That way, she'll print it out and read it to Ken. “Here's what it's gonna say,” he dictated the words to Randy:

 

Dear My Goth Barbie Boss,

 

First of, you dock my pay! You and Mr. Kennedy Kennedy with your power trips, they really piss me off. After thinking about it for a week or two, I have concluded that this job sucks goat's balls! You are talking to a 12-time champion who has thrown the biggest, exciting, and dopest parties from Connecticut to Chicago, and all the way down south. I will not be affiliated with these parties that are thrown due to the fact that they're not that cool, and I am cool! Not stealing Carlito's lines, here.

 

The last time I saw balloons hanging around at a party was at my oldest daughter's birthday. Let's not mention the fact that you invited a bunch of teenage Emo girls with fake ID's who didn't even dare to eat or have fun. These bitches just throw up the food and cut themselves, anyway. Oh, I'm sorry, was I talking about you? I thought you and Kennedy Kennedy were good at throwing parties, but if I wanted to join the military, I'll do it on my own fucking terms!

 

So do me a favor, and go back to the dumpster where you two crawled out from and take your paycheck to where the sun doesn't fucking shine. I refuse to do that job! Let me spare you the pink slip. I quit.

 

HHH

 

It was really fucked what the Game was doing as far as writing a resignation email. But, Randy knew that if he sends the email, Hunter was going to get kicked out of the house. “Hunter, you can't live in the house if you quit the job,” he warned him.

 

“I don't give a fuck, Randal,” he scoffed. “I'm about to punk that ugly Goth bitch and her bleached blond loudmouth boyfriend of hers.”

 

And, Hunter knew of the consequences facing him once he got Randy to hit the send button. He didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow, but for right now, he was the boss who made the call. And he did, sending the email to poor Pearl. “I'm over it, man!” he exclaimed. “They want to try and run shit over, they can go ahead because they just got rammed! COMING! COMING!”

 

Rule #2 of living in the Bad Guys House: If you leave the job, you leave the house.

 

 

…HAS BEEN BROKEN!!

 

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…