Post by Super Smash Cat Inc on May 1, 2021 22:36:28 GMT -5
Super Smash Cat went live with Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3: The Black Order, a befittingly super game(maybe not review-wise) for a super stream. Catalina Cortes feigned enthusiasm from the corner of the screen, scrolling through a menu of Marvel heroes before settling on a quartet of Ms. Marvel, Spider-Gwen, Rocket & Groot(technically one character for gameplay purposes) and Nightcrawler. Cat’s ponytail was uneven, her mascara wings lopsided, her Gwenpool t-shirt pit-stained. Her top-notch microphone picked up her sigh with immaculate digital clarity. Nevertheless, the Carnage World Champion endured, attempting to fake on-camera energy until she autogenerated it. “Welcome back to Super Smash Cat,” she mumbled. “Put about thirty hours into Marvel Ultimate Alliance Three over the last week, to prepare myself mentally, physically and emotionally for my upcoming battle with a superhero.”
The heroes teleported to Latveria and began battling their way through Doombots, as Cat’s commentary continued. “You probably saw Incursion. First the good. The Carnage Crew represented. If you’re keeping score, which I am because I’m petty, we ‘won’ the show. Technically, I also won, which would be pretty cool if not for the huge asterisk. Sloane Taylor is a beast and a heck of a UGWC World Champion, who I would very much like to face again with zero shenanigans and beat cleanly for the sake of my own very delicate sense of self-worth, el-oh-el, jay-kay, unless…”
Cat took a sip of Monster Zero Ultra, a white-canned vice she swore off almost a year before. Her slurps were a symphony of self-loathing, an emblem of her backslide into sugar free indulgence. “But there were huge, ginormous, world-shattering shenanigans. I got the win via one of those laid-on-top-of-the-loser-by-an-interfering-party pinfalls, not great. Marlowe made an appearance like Gotham-By-Gaslight Batman.”
The chat objected. Cat fought back. “Yes, I know the eras don’t match, shut up. Then he vanished in a puff of Globe Theater salt smoke -- and YES -- I know the Globe was Shakespeare. Good thing Marlowe stopped by, because I got attacked. By multiple people! From my own fed! Cool, huh? Yes, chat, I know it’s not actually cool.”
The Monster was chugged and a burp escaped into the microphone, with Cat not bothering to hide it. She tossed the can over her shoulder. “One of those people being Ragdoll. She’s not quite a rag, not quite a doll, but man would I like to twist her head off and punt it so high she can see the curvature of the earth. On the one side, it’s cool that I have my own supervillain now. On the other, my next match is against the Avenger, who is a bonafide real world superhero, but not in the grim-and-gritty Zack Snyder of-course-Batman-kills-people-you-stupid-baby way. Vengy’s got the throwback boundless-hope-and-optimism-of-course-I’ll-get-your-cat-out-of-the-tree-ma’am thing going, which I find refreshing, but which also makes me look like kind of a dick in comparison. If Ragdoll is chaotic evil, then Avenger and Sloane Taylor are lawful good. Does that mean I’m true neutral, the most boring alignment? Because I was shooting for chaotic good.”
Another Monster was cracked open, in defiance of God and Cat’s energyless demeanor. “Sound off in the comments, I guess. Tonight I’m playing until I unlock Gwenpool.” The chat did indeed sound off, with links to GameFAQS and the like. There were LOL’s and LMAO’s and ROFL’s abound. All confirming one fact. Gwenpool was not an unlockable character in Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3.
Cat stared at her camera for a long time. How long exactly, no one could be certain, though timestamps seemed to agree it was at least thirty seconds. She returned to the home menu of her Switch. The system asked if she truly wanted to delete Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3. She had never wanted anything more.
The League of Rudos made their lair deep beneath the Templo del Diablo, in the gently taxed Los Angeles suburb of Monterey Park. The ground level maintained the expected mundanity of a wrestling school, with gymnasiums full of rings, promo class rooms, and an inaccurately scaled Aztec temple. The loading dock’s freight elevator was wide and cold and empty, a machine built for humdrum physical labor. The keypad would’ve been inconspicuous, except for the red luchador mask at the bottom. It did not have an accompanying button, like all the floors and door commands. There was only a hole beside it, a zigzagging indention for a key that could not possibly exist.
Javier Cortes had a matching key, one he made no effort to hide on his Overlook Hotel keychain. When his children would ask what the key was for, he would explain that he was sworn to secrecy. His children stopped asking well over a decade ago, having long since figured out that it was a key to the secret meeting place of his secret luchador cabal that had long since stopped being a secret in a world with Google. A lover of glam rock, Sega and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Javier was not a man who followed trends. When he and Catalina stepped onto the empty elevator, he was beaming with pride at his daughter’s most recent successes. “Excited, kiddo?” He went to muss her hair, but withdrew his hand when he got a glare in return.
“Sure,” Cat monotoned. Still bitter over her most recent stream, she wore a pink Gwenpool hoodie in protest. It allowed her to hide her matted and gently washed hair, brown roots creeping back in. Her torn jeans and Yoshi sneakers betrayed the prestige of a potential inductee to the League. Javier dressed up with the occasion, opting for a black and white suit, with an accompanying red shirt on which he left far too many buttons undone. His hair was black, every strand slicked back in perfect unity, the pomade gleam matching the shine on his shoes. Since her coronation as the Carnage World Champion, every mention of Catalina brought a smile to his face. Her success was a validation of every decision he and his wife had ever made as parents.
The car ride over was a barrage of nonstop chatter from her father. Cat hoped they could at least ride the elevator in peace. In mere seconds, Javier disappointed her. “Did you bring it?”
Fingernails in cracked black and white polish, still leftover from Cat’s Incursion cosplay, gripped the tail of her hoodie. She lifted it just enough to show the polished gold faceplate of the Carnage World Championship she wore underneath. Wearing it was as uncomfortable as it was comforting.
Her father balled his fist, his body coursing with pride. “My little world champion,” he said, but stopping himself and dropping the smile. “Sorry, I’m being one of those super creepy wrestle-dads. I’m just… so… goddamn… proud.” Sniffles overtook him, his fingers wiping the corners of his eyes.
“If you start crying I swear to God I will cut the cable to this elevator,” Cat said, letting her hoodie fall and return her championship back to its hiding spot.
Javier forced himself to laugh. “I’m good,” he said, more to himself than his daughter. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin this. It’s a big day. I’m very happy you decided to hear me out.”
Cat shrugged. “I’m very happy you’re continuing to pay for my Disneyland season pass.”
“Why wouldn't I?” Javier said, his voice growing quieter. “The fucking park isn’t even open and you live three-thousand fucking miles away - HEY! - We made it!” The elevator rattled to a stop far beneath the earth’s crust, or perhaps basement level. Cat wasn’t sure.
The door slid open and Javier took the lead, presenting the chamber with all due theatricality. Cat shuffled in behind him, awash in disinterest. The walls were dark gray stone, each one perfectly fitted in place. Columns were adorned with torches, for the sake of sinister ambiance, though the majority of the chamber was illuminated with modern circular lights. A table dominated the center of the room, twenty-feet long in Cat’s estimation. The wood was polished ebony, and it swallowed the light around it. Plush red leather chairs surrounded it, five on each side, two at the heads. “Your great-grandfather had that table carved back in Mexico,” Javier explained, though the pride faded from his voice as he continued. “Then he burned down the shop of the carpenter who carved it, so there could never be another. Seems a bit unnecessary. Sometimes I think Santo Diablo leaned too hard into being a heel for the sake of being a heel. How hard can it be to make another table?”
“Nice table, though,” Cat said, nodding. “Kinda digging the dungeon vibe.”
Javier nodded back. “Full disclosure, we have a regular conference room upstairs. When this place was originally built it didn’t even have bathrooms. Like hey, we get it, you’re super evil. But where’s someone supposed to pee? Two-ply toilet paper, too. Santo Diablo wouldn’t like that.”
“Yeah,” Cat interrupted. “It’s almost like trying to live up to the example of a dude from decades ago is dumb.”
Javier rolled his eyes. “He’s a figurehead, kiddo. The League has since moved forward and continued to refine our methods. Members across the wrestling world, in and outside of the ring. Allies everywhere. In-house development, online learning tools, paid leave, student loan relief. Even a dental plan.”
Cat noticed a pattern. “My Disney pass come from here?”
A humorless laugh escaped Javier. “Hell no. Last time we tried to parley they sent us back Ciclón Blanco’s head with Mickey ears on it. The Mouse doesn’t make deals.”
“Deep in my heart I always knew that,” Catalina said. “So I came and looked at your spoopy club. Can we go to the Hat now?”
Javier put his arm around her, hoping his gusto might bleed over. “Just one more thing,” he added, leading her to a trio of curtains to the side of the table. “What’s every great villain need?”
“A new dad,” Catalina muttered.
“I’ve been vomited on by you countless times, your negativity is nothing to me,” Javier continued, stepping over to the first curtain. “Every villain needs henchmen. Just one of the many perks of joining the league. Think about it, Catalina. Ragdoll ambushed you with a gang of lackeys. But a gang of your own would even the playing field. Your last match was against Sloane Taylor. Your next one is against the Avenger. Back-to-back confrontations with the forces of good in the wrestling world. The universe is practically screaming ‘CATALINA CORTES IS A RUDO!’ Meanwhile, you’re plugging your ears. You should rise to meet the challenge.”
Cat sulked back. “I’m meeting it my way.”
His tone shifted, more consoling father than cheerful salesman. “You’re trying, but be realistic. Carnage is done. Best case scenario, you’re their last world champion. You need to think about what’s next, and on the way out, you need to make a statement. You didn’t prove anything with that win over Sloane Taylor. Too many asterisks, too many question marks. You need to beat Avenger decisively. And then you need to move on and crush Ragdoll for casting a shadow over what should’ve been your greatest victory. Let me help you do that, Cat. Please.”
“Go ahead,” Cat said, disinterested eyes watching the curtain.
Javier clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He pulled a white velvet rope next to the first curtain, sending the blue fabric tumbling to the stone floor. A trio of masked luchadors stood behind it, each wearing a black lucha libre approximation of a dog mask. They were numbered three, four and five. Three stood at the front, flanked by the stockier pair of Four and Five behind him. “May I present: Cerbero Tres, Cerbero Quatro and Cerbero Cinco. Los Cerberos. The Hounds of Hell themselves. For the less discerning mastermind who prefers quantity over quality. Tres, make your case.”
Cerbero Tres took a step forward, Cinco and Quatro cracking necks, knuckles, knees and toes behind him in an effort to look menacing. “A lot of trios do that thing where one member attacks a guy, but the others don’t join in until the guy’s beaten up the first member.” He shook his head. “Not us, though. Me, Cinco, Quatro. We all attack the same guy at once.”
“Oh good lord,” Javier said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Seems basic, I know,” Cerbero Tres continued, his confidence unshakable. “But think about it. Three of us. One Avenger. The numbers don’t lie.”
Cat chuckled. “Math is pretty powerful, bro.”
Javier ignored his daughter’s trolling, turning his rage back on the luchadors. “What if you’re fighting another team? Do you have superior teamwork? A psychic link? Twin magic?”
“That’s something we’re working on,” Tres admitted, glancing nervously over his shoulder as Cinco threw a wild haymaker, his fist connecting with Quatro’s jaw in a wet smack. The two began to brawl, bringing the curtain down on top of them. Tres tried his best to keep the spiel going, while stepping between the two. “Sorry, there’s been a little disagreement over who got to be number four. We’re working through it.”
“Keep working,” Javier said, aiming a kick at Tres’ backside that whiffed by well over a foot as they battled out of sight. Catalina offered him a thumbs up that he disregarded, moving onto the second curtain. He pulled the rope to reveal a towering specimen, muscled like a wish-fulfillment video game avatar. He wore gauntlets and boots in bone white, with a matching mask that looked like it was plucked from the head of a prehistoric lizard. Streaks of pink punctuated his gear, the color of long dried blood. The Cerberos were already forgotten by Cat and her father, as they both gawked at the impossible being before them, a human-reptile hybrid straight out of some Cretaceous nightmare. “Take a look, honey. This is the Mesozoic Monolith. The Lichasaurus. The Tyrant Lizard King of Death Itself: Necrosaur!”
“Okay,” Cat admitted. “I’m pretty into having a dinosaur henchman.”
“Oh sorry,” said Necrosaur, his voice cracking. The register was deep and intimidating, but the slump-shouldered demeanor that followed was anything but. Seeing that the Corteses’ mutual awe was fading, Necrosaur tried to salvage the situation. “So yeah, I’m Necrosaur. Originally from Pomona.”
“That it?” Javier asked, expecting something more threatening.
Necrosaur wrung his hands anxiously. “Won a few baking competitions, for cupcakes mainly.”
“Dude, you’re selling me,” Cat said.
Javier rubbed his face. “What about the undead dinosaur thing? Talk about that.”
“Right,” Necrosaur said, his eyes unable to meet theirs. “I mean, who doesn’t love dinosaurs? And then I thought it’d be cool to combine those with zombies. I take care of my Nana, and she’s a big horror movie fan.”
“Aw,” Cat said.
Javier sighed, fighting to keep his composure. “You seem very nice, but I don’t know if this is the career for you. A tall guy in a scary mask used to be a recipe for success.” He shook his head in disgust.
“Speaking of recipes,” Necrosaur said, fumbling for his wallet and producing a mint green business card. “You guys ever need custom cakes, this is good for ten-percent off.”
“Yoink!” Cat said, snatching the card before her father could take it. Necrosaur gave them both an awkward nod and then shuffled out of the hall.
“Imagine being that tall,” Javier grumbled, “And not solving all your problems with a chokeslam.”
Cat examined the card and fought the urge to salivate. “Cupcakes, though.”
Stomping to the final curtain, Javier’s fingers clutched the final rope, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “One more. This guy is guaranteed to instill pants-shitting terror into anyone who so much looks at him. He is the Man-Serpant with the Deathly Gaze. He is Living Venom. He is... Basilisco!”
The rope was pulled and the curtain dropped. Cat and Javier exchanged a look before their eyes went back to the figure crouching before them. His skin was pale and mottled, stretching almost transparently over lean muscles. It was nearly impossible to tell where his face ended and his mask began, as it was the same dirty white. When his head turned, it did so slowly, like the motion was painful. Basilisco looked back and forth between the Corteses with chalky, dead eyes, before his mouth opened in a horrifying approximation of a smile. The lips parted to reveal teeth filed to points.
Her eyes wide with amazed horror, Catalina was finally impressed with her father’s selection. “Holy shit! This guy is terrifying.” She recoiled a bit, positioning her father as a human shield between herself and Basilisco.
Javier’s own eyes had gone wide with fear at the sight of the crouched luchador. “Yeah,” he said, his brain struggling to find words for the situation. “Filed his teeth down himself. Can’t promo, though. Bit his own tongue off."
As if on cue, Basilisco revealed a jar of pale greenish liquid. A piece of discolored pink meat floated within, the remnants of his tongue. When he presented it to the Corteses, they recoiled again.
“We’ve been over this,” said Javier, in between dry heaves. “Nobody wants to look at your goddamn tongue.”
Her face turning pale, Cat nodded. “Yeah, that’s the grossest shit I’ve ever seen.”
Basilisco recoiled in response, turning his back to them so that he could hide the jar. When he turned to face them again, he passed a card. Javier intercepted it, holding it up so that both he and Cat could read the words. “I HAVE FEELINGS.”
“Oh goddammit,” said Cat. “I’m sorry. Very nice tongue, bro.” Basilisco started to scramble for his tongue jar again, but Cat stopped him. “No no no, it’s fine, dude. Let’s see, the cupcake card isn’t gonna do you any good. Here’s my Disney pass.” Reaching into the most hidden pockets of her Gwenpool hoodie, Cat produced the pass and passed it along to Basilisco. He examined it, then scrambled back, pulling the rope to hide himself behind the curtain.
Silence hung between the father and daughter for a moment. With a sigh, Javier finally broke it. “Say what you will about that guy, he’s the real deal.”
“I like his chances against Avenger and Ragdoll,” Cat said, her brain weighing the advantages and disadvantages of having Basilisco in her employ. “But if I knew he was in Baltimore, I would never sleep again.”
“Fair,” Javier agreed. “I suppose you’re gonna give me your I’m-not-gonna-be-an-evil-luchador shtick again.”
Cat’s shoulders slumped. “Dad, I don’t want to have to cut you in half like Kylo Ren did to Supreme Leader Snoke in the best Star Wars movie. If Carnage is really done then I wanna go out on my terms. Maybe I’m less heroic than a superhero and not as likable as Sloane Taylor. But I still look pretty good next to a chaotic evil doll lady, so I’m just gonna roll with that. Instead of dying a hero, I’m gonna live long enough to see Carnage close with me as a face. And the world champion.” She pulled her hoodie up to show the title again. It was a lazy pull, her body failing from a lack of sugar.
Necrosaur reemerged from the darkness, his steps surprisingly quiet for a gigantic person modeling themself after a prehistoric lizard. “I couldn’t find the exit,” he said.
A realization struck Cat, and she looked to her father for confirmation. “Does this place have a kitchen?”
An hour later, three dozen cupcakes were piled atop the breakroom table, with more on the way. The League of Rudos’ secret lair came complete with a fully stocked kitchen. Necrosaur admitted that he preferred to top his cupcakes with dinosaur crackers as a signature move, but resigned himself to make do with what he had available. Like a pale, tongueless, sharp-toothed angel, Basilisco appeared half-an-hour later, having somehow acquired a box of those exact crackers. Everyone thought it better not to question him.
“Dude, these are so fucking good,” Cat said through a mouthful green velvet sweetness. The ankylosaurus cracker that accompanied it sat headless on her plate.
Javier finished his tyrannosaurus in one bite, then shoved the cupcake into his mouth. He nodded in agreement as he nearly choked. He and Cat turned their attention to an open cabinet that Basilisco contorted himself into. “How’s yours?”
Basilisco rolled the treat in his hands, biting into as much paper as he did cake. Face smeared with icing, he offered a thumbs up.
“Can he taste those?” Cat asked.
Javier shrugged. “I think he just likes the texture.”
“So I had a really good idea,” Cat said, hands squeezing another cupcake from the massive plate before them. “So I fight Avenger in one match and I kick him till he cries Martha.”
Her father took his own replacement cupcake, gently removing the stegosaurus from the top. “And then you keep kicking him?” Javier asked hopefully. “Until the bell rings and rings, his head is pulp, he has to be carted out and you’ve proven once and for all that you’re a rudo at heart.”
“Close,” Cat said, hands moving in front of her, painting a picture. “I help him back to his feet. We fist bump and then… Super Team!” The joy drained from her father’s face. “Disappointed?”
Javier chewed. “Never.”
“Who’s still hungry?” Necrosaur asked, stomping into the room with another steaming platter. Basilisco shrieked in approval.
Some months passed. Vaccinations abound and the world returned to some semblance of pre-pandemic normalcy. Social distancing gave way to social closening, before people realized they liked the distancing better. Houses could be left once again, the outside world bustled back to life and everyone hurried to do the things they had been dying to do for over a year now.
Deep within the heart of Disneyland, was the world’s closest approximation of a galaxy far, far away. A pale, sharp-toothed figure crept through the attractions, a season pass dangling from around his neck. He stayed hidden from sight, the sun an alien and unwelcome feeling on his mottled hide. The park was a distant memory that his brain screamed at him to reclaim. He could not remember how he came to possess the Mickey ears he wore on top of his luchador mask.
Familiar music and sounds and sights thrilled him, though he couldn’t say from when or where he knew them. And then finally, there it was. A starship. His favorite, guaranteed to take him to the Galaxy’s Edge and back at point five past lightspeed. The ramp was lowered, welcoming him, and Basilisco left his hiding spot. He clambered eagerly, moving on hands and feet, not noticing the gasping onlookers.
Inside the Millenium Falcon, the other passengers eyed him suspiciously, unsure of what corner of the Expanded Universe he flew in from. They resigned themselves to being engineers and gunners and left him the pilot’s chair. The hairy tourist in the copilot seat was a good enough replacement for Chewbacca. Basilisco’s hands found the controls and moments later he was flying through the stars in the name of peace and freedom. Maybe not the galaxy’s greatest hero, but close enough.
The heroes teleported to Latveria and began battling their way through Doombots, as Cat’s commentary continued. “You probably saw Incursion. First the good. The Carnage Crew represented. If you’re keeping score, which I am because I’m petty, we ‘won’ the show. Technically, I also won, which would be pretty cool if not for the huge asterisk. Sloane Taylor is a beast and a heck of a UGWC World Champion, who I would very much like to face again with zero shenanigans and beat cleanly for the sake of my own very delicate sense of self-worth, el-oh-el, jay-kay, unless…”
Cat took a sip of Monster Zero Ultra, a white-canned vice she swore off almost a year before. Her slurps were a symphony of self-loathing, an emblem of her backslide into sugar free indulgence. “But there were huge, ginormous, world-shattering shenanigans. I got the win via one of those laid-on-top-of-the-loser-by-an-interfering-party pinfalls, not great. Marlowe made an appearance like Gotham-By-Gaslight Batman.”
The chat objected. Cat fought back. “Yes, I know the eras don’t match, shut up. Then he vanished in a puff of Globe Theater salt smoke -- and YES -- I know the Globe was Shakespeare. Good thing Marlowe stopped by, because I got attacked. By multiple people! From my own fed! Cool, huh? Yes, chat, I know it’s not actually cool.”
The Monster was chugged and a burp escaped into the microphone, with Cat not bothering to hide it. She tossed the can over her shoulder. “One of those people being Ragdoll. She’s not quite a rag, not quite a doll, but man would I like to twist her head off and punt it so high she can see the curvature of the earth. On the one side, it’s cool that I have my own supervillain now. On the other, my next match is against the Avenger, who is a bonafide real world superhero, but not in the grim-and-gritty Zack Snyder of-course-Batman-kills-people-you-stupid-baby way. Vengy’s got the throwback boundless-hope-and-optimism-of-course-I’ll-get-your-cat-out-of-the-tree-ma’am thing going, which I find refreshing, but which also makes me look like kind of a dick in comparison. If Ragdoll is chaotic evil, then Avenger and Sloane Taylor are lawful good. Does that mean I’m true neutral, the most boring alignment? Because I was shooting for chaotic good.”
Another Monster was cracked open, in defiance of God and Cat’s energyless demeanor. “Sound off in the comments, I guess. Tonight I’m playing until I unlock Gwenpool.” The chat did indeed sound off, with links to GameFAQS and the like. There were LOL’s and LMAO’s and ROFL’s abound. All confirming one fact. Gwenpool was not an unlockable character in Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3.
Cat stared at her camera for a long time. How long exactly, no one could be certain, though timestamps seemed to agree it was at least thirty seconds. She returned to the home menu of her Switch. The system asked if she truly wanted to delete Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3. She had never wanted anything more.
The League of Rudos made their lair deep beneath the Templo del Diablo, in the gently taxed Los Angeles suburb of Monterey Park. The ground level maintained the expected mundanity of a wrestling school, with gymnasiums full of rings, promo class rooms, and an inaccurately scaled Aztec temple. The loading dock’s freight elevator was wide and cold and empty, a machine built for humdrum physical labor. The keypad would’ve been inconspicuous, except for the red luchador mask at the bottom. It did not have an accompanying button, like all the floors and door commands. There was only a hole beside it, a zigzagging indention for a key that could not possibly exist.
Javier Cortes had a matching key, one he made no effort to hide on his Overlook Hotel keychain. When his children would ask what the key was for, he would explain that he was sworn to secrecy. His children stopped asking well over a decade ago, having long since figured out that it was a key to the secret meeting place of his secret luchador cabal that had long since stopped being a secret in a world with Google. A lover of glam rock, Sega and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Javier was not a man who followed trends. When he and Catalina stepped onto the empty elevator, he was beaming with pride at his daughter’s most recent successes. “Excited, kiddo?” He went to muss her hair, but withdrew his hand when he got a glare in return.
“Sure,” Cat monotoned. Still bitter over her most recent stream, she wore a pink Gwenpool hoodie in protest. It allowed her to hide her matted and gently washed hair, brown roots creeping back in. Her torn jeans and Yoshi sneakers betrayed the prestige of a potential inductee to the League. Javier dressed up with the occasion, opting for a black and white suit, with an accompanying red shirt on which he left far too many buttons undone. His hair was black, every strand slicked back in perfect unity, the pomade gleam matching the shine on his shoes. Since her coronation as the Carnage World Champion, every mention of Catalina brought a smile to his face. Her success was a validation of every decision he and his wife had ever made as parents.
The car ride over was a barrage of nonstop chatter from her father. Cat hoped they could at least ride the elevator in peace. In mere seconds, Javier disappointed her. “Did you bring it?”
Fingernails in cracked black and white polish, still leftover from Cat’s Incursion cosplay, gripped the tail of her hoodie. She lifted it just enough to show the polished gold faceplate of the Carnage World Championship she wore underneath. Wearing it was as uncomfortable as it was comforting.
Her father balled his fist, his body coursing with pride. “My little world champion,” he said, but stopping himself and dropping the smile. “Sorry, I’m being one of those super creepy wrestle-dads. I’m just… so… goddamn… proud.” Sniffles overtook him, his fingers wiping the corners of his eyes.
“If you start crying I swear to God I will cut the cable to this elevator,” Cat said, letting her hoodie fall and return her championship back to its hiding spot.
Javier forced himself to laugh. “I’m good,” he said, more to himself than his daughter. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin this. It’s a big day. I’m very happy you decided to hear me out.”
Cat shrugged. “I’m very happy you’re continuing to pay for my Disneyland season pass.”
“Why wouldn't I?” Javier said, his voice growing quieter. “The fucking park isn’t even open and you live three-thousand fucking miles away - HEY! - We made it!” The elevator rattled to a stop far beneath the earth’s crust, or perhaps basement level. Cat wasn’t sure.
The door slid open and Javier took the lead, presenting the chamber with all due theatricality. Cat shuffled in behind him, awash in disinterest. The walls were dark gray stone, each one perfectly fitted in place. Columns were adorned with torches, for the sake of sinister ambiance, though the majority of the chamber was illuminated with modern circular lights. A table dominated the center of the room, twenty-feet long in Cat’s estimation. The wood was polished ebony, and it swallowed the light around it. Plush red leather chairs surrounded it, five on each side, two at the heads. “Your great-grandfather had that table carved back in Mexico,” Javier explained, though the pride faded from his voice as he continued. “Then he burned down the shop of the carpenter who carved it, so there could never be another. Seems a bit unnecessary. Sometimes I think Santo Diablo leaned too hard into being a heel for the sake of being a heel. How hard can it be to make another table?”
“Nice table, though,” Cat said, nodding. “Kinda digging the dungeon vibe.”
Javier nodded back. “Full disclosure, we have a regular conference room upstairs. When this place was originally built it didn’t even have bathrooms. Like hey, we get it, you’re super evil. But where’s someone supposed to pee? Two-ply toilet paper, too. Santo Diablo wouldn’t like that.”
“Yeah,” Cat interrupted. “It’s almost like trying to live up to the example of a dude from decades ago is dumb.”
Javier rolled his eyes. “He’s a figurehead, kiddo. The League has since moved forward and continued to refine our methods. Members across the wrestling world, in and outside of the ring. Allies everywhere. In-house development, online learning tools, paid leave, student loan relief. Even a dental plan.”
Cat noticed a pattern. “My Disney pass come from here?”
A humorless laugh escaped Javier. “Hell no. Last time we tried to parley they sent us back Ciclón Blanco’s head with Mickey ears on it. The Mouse doesn’t make deals.”
“Deep in my heart I always knew that,” Catalina said. “So I came and looked at your spoopy club. Can we go to the Hat now?”
Javier put his arm around her, hoping his gusto might bleed over. “Just one more thing,” he added, leading her to a trio of curtains to the side of the table. “What’s every great villain need?”
“A new dad,” Catalina muttered.
“I’ve been vomited on by you countless times, your negativity is nothing to me,” Javier continued, stepping over to the first curtain. “Every villain needs henchmen. Just one of the many perks of joining the league. Think about it, Catalina. Ragdoll ambushed you with a gang of lackeys. But a gang of your own would even the playing field. Your last match was against Sloane Taylor. Your next one is against the Avenger. Back-to-back confrontations with the forces of good in the wrestling world. The universe is practically screaming ‘CATALINA CORTES IS A RUDO!’ Meanwhile, you’re plugging your ears. You should rise to meet the challenge.”
Cat sulked back. “I’m meeting it my way.”
His tone shifted, more consoling father than cheerful salesman. “You’re trying, but be realistic. Carnage is done. Best case scenario, you’re their last world champion. You need to think about what’s next, and on the way out, you need to make a statement. You didn’t prove anything with that win over Sloane Taylor. Too many asterisks, too many question marks. You need to beat Avenger decisively. And then you need to move on and crush Ragdoll for casting a shadow over what should’ve been your greatest victory. Let me help you do that, Cat. Please.”
“Go ahead,” Cat said, disinterested eyes watching the curtain.
Javier clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He pulled a white velvet rope next to the first curtain, sending the blue fabric tumbling to the stone floor. A trio of masked luchadors stood behind it, each wearing a black lucha libre approximation of a dog mask. They were numbered three, four and five. Three stood at the front, flanked by the stockier pair of Four and Five behind him. “May I present: Cerbero Tres, Cerbero Quatro and Cerbero Cinco. Los Cerberos. The Hounds of Hell themselves. For the less discerning mastermind who prefers quantity over quality. Tres, make your case.”
Cerbero Tres took a step forward, Cinco and Quatro cracking necks, knuckles, knees and toes behind him in an effort to look menacing. “A lot of trios do that thing where one member attacks a guy, but the others don’t join in until the guy’s beaten up the first member.” He shook his head. “Not us, though. Me, Cinco, Quatro. We all attack the same guy at once.”
“Oh good lord,” Javier said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Seems basic, I know,” Cerbero Tres continued, his confidence unshakable. “But think about it. Three of us. One Avenger. The numbers don’t lie.”
Cat chuckled. “Math is pretty powerful, bro.”
Javier ignored his daughter’s trolling, turning his rage back on the luchadors. “What if you’re fighting another team? Do you have superior teamwork? A psychic link? Twin magic?”
“That’s something we’re working on,” Tres admitted, glancing nervously over his shoulder as Cinco threw a wild haymaker, his fist connecting with Quatro’s jaw in a wet smack. The two began to brawl, bringing the curtain down on top of them. Tres tried his best to keep the spiel going, while stepping between the two. “Sorry, there’s been a little disagreement over who got to be number four. We’re working through it.”
“Keep working,” Javier said, aiming a kick at Tres’ backside that whiffed by well over a foot as they battled out of sight. Catalina offered him a thumbs up that he disregarded, moving onto the second curtain. He pulled the rope to reveal a towering specimen, muscled like a wish-fulfillment video game avatar. He wore gauntlets and boots in bone white, with a matching mask that looked like it was plucked from the head of a prehistoric lizard. Streaks of pink punctuated his gear, the color of long dried blood. The Cerberos were already forgotten by Cat and her father, as they both gawked at the impossible being before them, a human-reptile hybrid straight out of some Cretaceous nightmare. “Take a look, honey. This is the Mesozoic Monolith. The Lichasaurus. The Tyrant Lizard King of Death Itself: Necrosaur!”
“Okay,” Cat admitted. “I’m pretty into having a dinosaur henchman.”
“Oh sorry,” said Necrosaur, his voice cracking. The register was deep and intimidating, but the slump-shouldered demeanor that followed was anything but. Seeing that the Corteses’ mutual awe was fading, Necrosaur tried to salvage the situation. “So yeah, I’m Necrosaur. Originally from Pomona.”
“That it?” Javier asked, expecting something more threatening.
Necrosaur wrung his hands anxiously. “Won a few baking competitions, for cupcakes mainly.”
“Dude, you’re selling me,” Cat said.
Javier rubbed his face. “What about the undead dinosaur thing? Talk about that.”
“Right,” Necrosaur said, his eyes unable to meet theirs. “I mean, who doesn’t love dinosaurs? And then I thought it’d be cool to combine those with zombies. I take care of my Nana, and she’s a big horror movie fan.”
“Aw,” Cat said.
Javier sighed, fighting to keep his composure. “You seem very nice, but I don’t know if this is the career for you. A tall guy in a scary mask used to be a recipe for success.” He shook his head in disgust.
“Speaking of recipes,” Necrosaur said, fumbling for his wallet and producing a mint green business card. “You guys ever need custom cakes, this is good for ten-percent off.”
“Yoink!” Cat said, snatching the card before her father could take it. Necrosaur gave them both an awkward nod and then shuffled out of the hall.
“Imagine being that tall,” Javier grumbled, “And not solving all your problems with a chokeslam.”
Cat examined the card and fought the urge to salivate. “Cupcakes, though.”
Stomping to the final curtain, Javier’s fingers clutched the final rope, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “One more. This guy is guaranteed to instill pants-shitting terror into anyone who so much looks at him. He is the Man-Serpant with the Deathly Gaze. He is Living Venom. He is... Basilisco!”
The rope was pulled and the curtain dropped. Cat and Javier exchanged a look before their eyes went back to the figure crouching before them. His skin was pale and mottled, stretching almost transparently over lean muscles. It was nearly impossible to tell where his face ended and his mask began, as it was the same dirty white. When his head turned, it did so slowly, like the motion was painful. Basilisco looked back and forth between the Corteses with chalky, dead eyes, before his mouth opened in a horrifying approximation of a smile. The lips parted to reveal teeth filed to points.
Her eyes wide with amazed horror, Catalina was finally impressed with her father’s selection. “Holy shit! This guy is terrifying.” She recoiled a bit, positioning her father as a human shield between herself and Basilisco.
Javier’s own eyes had gone wide with fear at the sight of the crouched luchador. “Yeah,” he said, his brain struggling to find words for the situation. “Filed his teeth down himself. Can’t promo, though. Bit his own tongue off."
As if on cue, Basilisco revealed a jar of pale greenish liquid. A piece of discolored pink meat floated within, the remnants of his tongue. When he presented it to the Corteses, they recoiled again.
“We’ve been over this,” said Javier, in between dry heaves. “Nobody wants to look at your goddamn tongue.”
Her face turning pale, Cat nodded. “Yeah, that’s the grossest shit I’ve ever seen.”
Basilisco recoiled in response, turning his back to them so that he could hide the jar. When he turned to face them again, he passed a card. Javier intercepted it, holding it up so that both he and Cat could read the words. “I HAVE FEELINGS.”
“Oh goddammit,” said Cat. “I’m sorry. Very nice tongue, bro.” Basilisco started to scramble for his tongue jar again, but Cat stopped him. “No no no, it’s fine, dude. Let’s see, the cupcake card isn’t gonna do you any good. Here’s my Disney pass.” Reaching into the most hidden pockets of her Gwenpool hoodie, Cat produced the pass and passed it along to Basilisco. He examined it, then scrambled back, pulling the rope to hide himself behind the curtain.
Silence hung between the father and daughter for a moment. With a sigh, Javier finally broke it. “Say what you will about that guy, he’s the real deal.”
“I like his chances against Avenger and Ragdoll,” Cat said, her brain weighing the advantages and disadvantages of having Basilisco in her employ. “But if I knew he was in Baltimore, I would never sleep again.”
“Fair,” Javier agreed. “I suppose you’re gonna give me your I’m-not-gonna-be-an-evil-luchador shtick again.”
Cat’s shoulders slumped. “Dad, I don’t want to have to cut you in half like Kylo Ren did to Supreme Leader Snoke in the best Star Wars movie. If Carnage is really done then I wanna go out on my terms. Maybe I’m less heroic than a superhero and not as likable as Sloane Taylor. But I still look pretty good next to a chaotic evil doll lady, so I’m just gonna roll with that. Instead of dying a hero, I’m gonna live long enough to see Carnage close with me as a face. And the world champion.” She pulled her hoodie up to show the title again. It was a lazy pull, her body failing from a lack of sugar.
Necrosaur reemerged from the darkness, his steps surprisingly quiet for a gigantic person modeling themself after a prehistoric lizard. “I couldn’t find the exit,” he said.
A realization struck Cat, and she looked to her father for confirmation. “Does this place have a kitchen?”
An hour later, three dozen cupcakes were piled atop the breakroom table, with more on the way. The League of Rudos’ secret lair came complete with a fully stocked kitchen. Necrosaur admitted that he preferred to top his cupcakes with dinosaur crackers as a signature move, but resigned himself to make do with what he had available. Like a pale, tongueless, sharp-toothed angel, Basilisco appeared half-an-hour later, having somehow acquired a box of those exact crackers. Everyone thought it better not to question him.
“Dude, these are so fucking good,” Cat said through a mouthful green velvet sweetness. The ankylosaurus cracker that accompanied it sat headless on her plate.
Javier finished his tyrannosaurus in one bite, then shoved the cupcake into his mouth. He nodded in agreement as he nearly choked. He and Cat turned their attention to an open cabinet that Basilisco contorted himself into. “How’s yours?”
Basilisco rolled the treat in his hands, biting into as much paper as he did cake. Face smeared with icing, he offered a thumbs up.
“Can he taste those?” Cat asked.
Javier shrugged. “I think he just likes the texture.”
“So I had a really good idea,” Cat said, hands squeezing another cupcake from the massive plate before them. “So I fight Avenger in one match and I kick him till he cries Martha.”
Her father took his own replacement cupcake, gently removing the stegosaurus from the top. “And then you keep kicking him?” Javier asked hopefully. “Until the bell rings and rings, his head is pulp, he has to be carted out and you’ve proven once and for all that you’re a rudo at heart.”
“Close,” Cat said, hands moving in front of her, painting a picture. “I help him back to his feet. We fist bump and then… Super Team!” The joy drained from her father’s face. “Disappointed?”
Javier chewed. “Never.”
“Who’s still hungry?” Necrosaur asked, stomping into the room with another steaming platter. Basilisco shrieked in approval.
EPILOGUE
Some months passed. Vaccinations abound and the world returned to some semblance of pre-pandemic normalcy. Social distancing gave way to social closening, before people realized they liked the distancing better. Houses could be left once again, the outside world bustled back to life and everyone hurried to do the things they had been dying to do for over a year now.
Deep within the heart of Disneyland, was the world’s closest approximation of a galaxy far, far away. A pale, sharp-toothed figure crept through the attractions, a season pass dangling from around his neck. He stayed hidden from sight, the sun an alien and unwelcome feeling on his mottled hide. The park was a distant memory that his brain screamed at him to reclaim. He could not remember how he came to possess the Mickey ears he wore on top of his luchador mask.
Familiar music and sounds and sights thrilled him, though he couldn’t say from when or where he knew them. And then finally, there it was. A starship. His favorite, guaranteed to take him to the Galaxy’s Edge and back at point five past lightspeed. The ramp was lowered, welcoming him, and Basilisco left his hiding spot. He clambered eagerly, moving on hands and feet, not noticing the gasping onlookers.
Inside the Millenium Falcon, the other passengers eyed him suspiciously, unsure of what corner of the Expanded Universe he flew in from. They resigned themselves to being engineers and gunners and left him the pilot’s chair. The hairy tourist in the copilot seat was a good enough replacement for Chewbacca. Basilisco’s hands found the controls and moments later he was flying through the stars in the name of peace and freedom. Maybe not the galaxy’s greatest hero, but close enough.