“The first week of contests has concluded, and twenty-five champions are headed for A.W.W. Headquarters to face the reigning champion. Fifteen of those contenders come from the pro-wrestling circuits. It is now well known that the ultimate winner will become the next Oracle of Strength, ending any other career they might have. Fans of these wrestling stars are torn — saddened to lose their favorites, yet excited to see them rise to a new level of power. Our analysts believe most, if not all, of the pro-wrestlers will fail against the superheroes also competing…”
Jordan tapped the screen, switching to a replay from the Smash Stars arena in Florida. Two women battled to the roar of the crowd. One wore flashy pro-wrestling gear; the other fought in a judo uniform.
“Madam Masher just dodged five consecutive attacks from Sally Fairfield. Sally is the women’s world champion in judo. And… that one connected! Sally is reeling… no, she counters with a swift kick. Whoa — clean hit! Masher is down… yes, she’s out! Sally Fairfield advances to the next round!” The crowd roared as a referee helped the defeated wrestler to her feet.
“HEY, JORDAN!”
Jordan startled, nearly dropping his squeegee. He was five stories up, yet the voice sounded right behind him. “Who—?”
A white bunny landed on the platform beside him, nearly knocking over half his equipment. Jordan scrambled to catch a sloshing bucket before it spilled down his leg. “What the heck?”
EB smiled brightly. “Oops, sorry! Here.” He clapped his paws, and the water instantly evaporated from Jordan’s clothes. “All better.”
Jordan set the bucket down carefully. “What are you doing here?”
EB beamed. “I have the best news for you! Nova asked us to find strong contenders for the contest — people with real power who can compete. We also want nice guys, not villains or meanies.”
“And?”
“I picked you!” EB struck a dramatic “ta-dah!” pose.
Jordan frowned. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’ve been up here since six this morning.”
“No joke,” EB insisted. “I think you could be a real contender. If you win, you get the best job in the world. If you lose, at least you get on television for everyone to see. Win-win!”
Jordan shook his head. “But I can’t win. I’ll get pummeled by real superheroes. I was trying for the pro-wrestling gig, not ultimate fighting.”
“Oh, come on. Let me try. I have a plan. I’ll take you up to the station and get you training with Coach Thrasher…”
“Thrasher?” Jordan gulped.
EB barely noticed his fear. “Yeah, nice guy, great coach, amazing at shouting. He agreed to give you a crash course in super-powered combat and let you work out in the BADGE gym. A solid week of prep, then we send you to one of the contests. I’m sure you’ll do great with that help and finally get your shot at A.W.W. HQ.”
Flashes of glory ran through Jordan’s mind. Even if he failed, the training alone would be incredible. Still, he felt unworthy. He glanced up at the many windows still waiting to be cleaned. “I… don’t know.”
EB grabbed the bucket and rag and zipped up and down the side of the building in a white blur, cleaning every pane in seconds. He landed back on the platform with a proud grin. “There, all done! Now, are you coming with me or not?”
Jordan realized how serious EB was. “Just tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Why me? There have to be better, stronger superheroes you could ask.”
“Chase and Justin are contacting other heroes. But you lost your big chance because of all this, and that made me sad for you. Plus, I think there’s more to you than you realize. I’ve been around a looooong time — I know people. There’s a lot more to you than there is to you… wait, that came out wrong. You get what I’m trying to say?”
Jordan managed a small smile. “You honestly believe in me?”
“Yes. No matter what happens, you can only learn and grow from this. So, what do you say?” EB stuck out his paw.
Jordan looked around, "I won't get paid if I don't finish my job. We have five buildings to clean."
EB grabbed Jordan's cell phone and waved a paw over it. It rang and the voice of someone came through. "Jordan? What's going on? Are you finished?"
EB said, "Mr. Jordan quits. Get someone else to finish the windows. Have a nice day." He hung up.
Jordan said, "Uh, that still means I don't get a paycheck."
"I'll make sure you have money. I'm worth half a trillion dollars and I hardly need money at all. See, paycheck included. You ready?"
Jordan took the small paw in a firm handshake. “Make me a champion.”
“Right! Off we go.” With no warning, the two vanished in a flash of light.
“Why have all our champions lost?”
“I’m just the market analyst,” a trembling woman replied. “And I should remind you we’ve never made this much money on advertising in the history of Confederate Brawlers.”
Zeus snarled, “Money isn’t the immediate point. I want that Oracle under my roof as my mascot. I want to be the home of the Oracle of Strength. I will own wrestling with that kind of power in my corner. Do you understand?”
They all nodded quickly.
A man with his own tablet checked a list. “We still have a few of our best wrestlers willing to try. They compete in next week’s rounds.”
“They’re second-string losers who barely cut it as fake wrestlers,” Zeus growled. “They’ll get their butts handed to them just like the rest. I want a real champion!”
The door opened and the seedy-looking agent walked in, wearing a serpentine smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing the roaring from the parking lot.”
“I’m in no mood for jokes, Ken!”
Ken, the agent, replied smoothly, “I’m not here to make you laugh. I’m here to cheer you up.”
Zeus sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You promised me big things, and all I am seeing is failure."
"Don't worry. I have good news that should change your outlook."
"What?” Zeus chewed angrily on the end of his cigar.
“I’ve been doing my research. There’s someone I made contact with who is more than willing to take this challenge on behalf of Confederate Brawlers.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Zeus said angrily.
“Joseph Jeffries. Though he prefers to be called Berserker.”
Zeus sat forward. “Never heard of that wrestler.”
Ken smiled. “That’s because he’s not a wrestler. Mr. Jeffries is a superpowered man with incredible strength who… made some poor choices and ended up serving time in Purgatory Penn.”
One of the women spoke up. “Wait, we can’t use an ex-con. The PR will be—”
“Not now,” Zeus cut her off. “Ken, where is this man?”
“He’s still in Purgatory Penn but gets released in five days. I’ve already spoken with him. He’s eager to take the challenge.”
Zeus shook his head. “BADGE rules say anyone tracked as a villain can’t compete in this…”
“He hasn’t been officially tracked yet,” Ken said with a wicked grin. “They won’t tag him until he walks out and they attach the tracker. The moment he’s free, he signs up for the contest. The rules are vague enough that anyone who signs up can compete. They won’t have time to mark him before he’s already a contender.”
Zeus’s smile returned. “I like this. But are you sure he’s good enough? We’re jumping through a lot of loopholes. This will piss off BADGE. If we fail, it’ll backfire badly.”
“Don’t worry,” Ken assured him. “I’ll make sure he’s exactly what we need. All I need from you is authorization to enter him.” He slid a contract across the desk.
Zeus took it and signed. “As of now, Berserker is a member of Confederate Brawlers. Make sure he makes us look good.”
Ken took the signed contract with a satisfied nod. “He will. I’ll ensure it personally.”
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