The gym was dimly lit, the single flickering bulb overhead casting erratic shadows across the cold, concrete walls. The scent of sweat, stale smoke, and raw vegetables permeated the air. The distant sounds of grunts and the rhythmic thud of fists hitting the heavy bag were a constant, low hum in the background, blending with the murmur of strained voices. It was early evening, but the grim surroundings of the makeshift headquarters for The Red Reapers held no concept of time, only the hard, unyielding reality of their mission.
Snezhnaya Barsa, his mask still firmly in place, paced back and forth near the battered boxing ring, his footsteps echoing in the sparsely furnished gym. His thoughts churned with worry and frustration. Viktor Zlovred, his closest ally in the Russian stable, was slumped on a nearby bench, his face pale and drawn, his eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. Viktor had not been himself since Yume Kui Mei's venomous mist had seeped into his psyche, unleashing a torrent of nightmares and hallucinations that gnawed at his sanity.
Across the room, Olga Pavlova, "The Siberian Behemoth," sat hunched over, her large frame hunched in discomfort and discontent. She glared at a meager plate of raw root vegetables Mordokrov had ordered as her only sustenance. Her massive fists clenched and unclenched with simmering rage, and her stomach growled audibly, a low rumble of discontent echoing in the oppressive silence.
Barsa stopped his pacing and turned to face his teammates. His voice, muffled slightly by his mask, was steady but urgent.
Barsa: We have to focus, comrades. Our match against "True Chaotic" is fast approaching. We're up against two formidable opponents, already disadvantaged by Viktor's condition and Olga's… dietary challenges.
Olga snorted, her lips curling into a sneer as she stabbed a raw carrot with a finger as thick as a tree trunk.
Olga: Dietary challenges? Is that what you call it? I've lost thirty pounds, Barsa! Thirty pounds! And for what? Because I lost one match to that English pissant Montbar?
She bit into the carrot savagely, her jaw muscles bulging with the effort. She chewed slowly, her gaze fixed on Barsa as if daring him to contradict her. Barsa sighed, knowing that reasoning with Olga when she was in this mood would be like trying to convince a bear not to maul its prey.
Barsa: Olga, you knew what you signed up for when you accepted this mission. You lost, and now Mordokrov is punishing you. If we want to live, we must accept his orders and focus on what lies ahead. If we lose this match against True Chaotic, it won't just be a diet you'll have to worry about. Mordokrov and Putin will not tolerate another failure.
Olga's eyes flared with anger. She slammed her fist on the wooden bench beside her, splintering the wood with a loud crack.
Olga: Did I know what I signed up for? No! I was lied to Barsa! Just like you were lied to! I was told I would have unlimited funds, but now I can't even access my personal bank account! No one told me I would be punished and treated like an animal if I had one missed step!
Viktor stirred from his position on the bench, his voice a hoarse whisper laced with a tremor of fear and exhaustion.
Viktor: Money… food, none of it matters, Olga… not in the end. We are being punished.
Olga: Punished?
Viktor: Dah, we are Punished for our sins by God, the Devil, karma, and the universe. Call it whatever you want, but we've taken more from the world than we've given and are now paying for it.
Olga: Viktor, have you lost your fucking mind?
His gaze darted around the room, his eyes wide with paranoia, as if expecting Yume's spectral form to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His hands trembled, and he clutched his head, trying to suppress the images that plagued his mind.
Viktor: I've gotten my affairs in order and suggest you two do the same. Even now, the shadows are all around me. This "Yume" is nothing more than a tool—an instrument that whatever higher power exists is using to punish me.
Barsa moved closer to Viktor, speaking softly but firmly.
Barsa: Viktor, you must fight her. Fight her grip on your mind. We need you clear-headed for this match. We cannot afford to lose focus now.
Olga looked at Viktor with disdain, her lips curling into a sneer.
Olga: Weakness. That's what this is. You let a woman get inside your head, and now you're a broken shell of a man. Snap out of it, Viktor, or I'll give you something real to be afraid of.
Barsa shot Olga a warning glance, his voice rising to defend his comrade.
Barsa: Enough, Olga! Viktor is suffering, and he doesn't need your taunts right now. We're a team, remember? We need to stick together if we're going to survive this.
Olga snorted, rolling her eyes, but she fell silent, the tension between them palpable. The gym door creaked open, and the four North Korean wrestlers entered, their presence immediately changing the atmosphere in the room. Eun-Young Han led the group, her expression cold and calculating. Hyun-Sik Hwang, the "Iron Colossus," towered beside her, his massive frame blocking the light from the doorway. Dong-Hyun Moon and Tae-Hyun Lim followed their faces, a mix of irritation and wariness.
Eun-Young Han looked around the room, her gaze falling on the meager resources shared between the two groups. Her lips curled into a slight smile but didn't reach her eyes.
Eun-Young: You Russians seem to be struggling with your own problems. Perhaps you should focus on that instead of worrying about us.
Barsa turned to face her, his posture defensive but composed.
Barsa: We didn't ask for you to be here, Han. But we will make do with what we have. Just know that we won't be sharing more than necessary.
Hyun-Sik Hwang chuckled, his voice deep and mocking.
Hyun-Sik: Such hospitality from our Russian allies. We are honored.
Olga growled low in her throat, her fists tightening again, but Barsa stepped forward, raising a hand to stop her.
Barsa: We don't have time for this. We have a match to prepare for, and so do you. Let's not waste energy on pointless bickering.
Eun-Young's smile widened, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Eun-Young: Wise words, Barsa.
Barsa nodded, his expression unreadable beneath his mask.
Barsa: Understood. But know this… we won't let anyone get in the way of our mission. Not the Yakuza, not Ultimate Wrestling, and certainly not you.
A tense silence settled over the gym, the air thick with unspoken threats and barely contained aggression. The North Koreans moved to the far side of the room, beginning their preparations, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the Russians with curiosity and disdain.
Barsa turned back to his teammates, his voice low but firm.
Barsa: We need to stay focused. This match against True Chaotic is crucial. We're in a bad position, but we've been in worse. Viktor and Olga… we need to work together. We cannot afford to lose. Not now.
Viktor nodded slowly, his eyes still haunted but showing a flicker of determination.
Viktor: I… I will try Barsa. For the Motherland… I will try.
Olga grunted, her expression softening slightly.
Olga: Fine. But when this is over, I'm getting a real meal. I can't fight on rabbit food forever.
Barsa allowed himself a small smile, knowing that even the slightest hint of humor was a victory in this grim situation.
Barsa: Deal, Olga. Let's get through this first… then we'll see about that meal.
He turned back toward the center of the gym, his mind racing with plans and strategies. The match was only hours away, and the weight of their mission hung heavy on his shoulders. But for now, they were united in purpose, however fragile that unity might be.
Barsa: Alright, we start now. No more distractions. We have to sharpen ourselves like the blades of a Siberian winter. True Chaotic are strong and unpredictable—every move we make must count.
Olga rolled her shoulders back, the tension in her muscles evident as she stretched. Even after losing thirty pounds, she still towered over Barsa and Viktor, her bulk an intimidating presence. She cracked her neck, her eyes narrowing with determination.
Olga: Then let's get to it. I need to hit something.
Barsa knew Olga's strength was a double-edged sword. Her power was her greatest asset, but her frustration, hunger, and anger made her a ticking time bomb. She could turn on them in the ring if he didn't channel that fury properly. He needed to test her control.
Barsa: Viktor, you're up first. I want you to take Olga through some basic drills—strikes, counters, and footwork. Keep it simple and direct. We need to find out exactly where her head is at.
Viktor nodded, his face pale but resolute. He squared his shoulders, his military training kicking in, pushing the torment of his nightmares into the background. He stepped forward, taking a position across from Olga, who eyed him with contempt and impatience.
Viktor: Focus on your stance, Olga. Your center of gravity is off; you're leaning too far forward. Adjust.
Olga grunted but shifted her weight, correcting her stance as instructed. Viktor circled her slowly, watching her movements, his eyes still clouded but focused.
Viktor: Alright, Olga… let's see what you've got. Come at me.
Olga didn't need a second invitation. She lunged forward with surprising speed, her massive fist swinging in a wide arc aimed at Viktor's head. Viktor dodged, ducking low, and returned with a quick jab to Olga's midsection. She grunted but barely flinched, retaliating with a powerful forearm aimed at his chest. Viktor blocked it, feeling the force radiate through his arms, but he kept his ground.
Barsa watched intently, noting Olga's raw strength and Viktor's desperate focus. They were both struggling—Viktor against the demons in his mind and Olga against the restrictions imposed on her body. He had to find a way to unite them and make them work as a unit despite their internal battles.
Barsa: Good! Keep it tight, Viktor! Stay on your toes, Olga, and move with purpose! Don't just swing wildly—channel your power!
Olga sneered but nodded, her movements becoming more controlled as she focused on her footwork. She jabbed and swung, her fists a blur of motion. Viktor dodged and countered, his own strikes sharp but cautious. The two danced in a deadly ballet, each testing the other's strength and endurance.
Barsa shifted his focus, analyzing their forms and weaknesses. True Chaos would be quick and unpredictable, relying on agility and high-risk maneuvers. They needed to be ready to counter those moves and anticipate their opponents' strategies. Barsa knew that if they could disrupt the rhythm of True Chaos, they could control the match's pace.
Barsa: Viktor, Olga—switch it up! Viktor, focus on grappling now. I want to see you around her. Olga, resist and counter. Use your weight and your balance. Remember, Kami Nakada and Shingo Hara won't make it easy for you.
Viktor nodded and moved in close, reaching for a grapple. Olga braced herself, her muscles tensing like coiled springs. Viktor grabbed her arm, attempting to pull her into a wrist lock. Still, Olga planted her feet and twisted her body, using her weight to counter his momentum. She shoved him back with surprising force, sending him stumbling.
Olga: Ha! Do you think you can take me down that easily, Viktor? Think again.
Viktor gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow as he moved in again, more cautious this time. He feinted to the left, then darted right, locking Olga in a side headlock. Olga growled, gripping his waist and attempting to hoist him off the ground. Still, Viktor tightened his hold, using his leverage to keep her off balance.
Barsa: Yes, Viktor, hold it! Olga, break the grip! Use your legs and push off!
Olga growled again, her face contorted with effort as she planted her feet and pushed up, breaking Viktor's hold with a powerful upward thrust. Viktor stumbled back, but Barsa quickly called out instructions.
Barsa: Viktor, go low! Take her legs out from under her!
Without hesitation, Viktor dropped low, sweeping his leg wide and knocking Olga's legs out from under her. She fell backward, her massive frame crashing to the mat with a thunderous thud. The sound echoed through the gym, drawing a few curious glances from the North Korean wrestlers, who watched with mild interest.
Olga's eyes blazed with fury as she pushed herself up, but Barsa stepped forward, holding up a hand.
Barsa: Enough! Good work, both of you. That's what we need—focus, precision, and adaptability. We have to be ready for anything in that ring.
Viktor and Olga both panted heavily, sweat glistening on their skin. Still, there was a spark of determination in their eyes now. Barsa could see they were starting to come together to understand the gravity of their situation.
Barsa: True Chaotic relies on speed and agility, but they're also smart. They'll try to wear us down, make us react to their tempo. We can't let that happen. We set the pace. We dictate the terms.
He turned to Viktor, his voice firm.
Barsa: Viktor, I need you to be sharp, like the soldier you were trained to be. No more hesitation. Yume is in your head, but you must push her out. Focus on the mission.
Viktor nodded, his face set in a grim expression.
Viktor: I… I will do my best, Barsa.
Barsa then turned to Olga.
Barsa: And Olga, you're our strength. Use it wisely. Don't let anger cloud your judgment. Channel it, direct it. You're a force to be reckoned with, but you must control it.
Olga grunted, her expression hard but determined.
Olga: I hear you, Barsa. Let's see how they handle the strength of a true Russian warrior.
Barsa allowed himself another small smile, feeling the tension in his chest ease slightly. For a moment, the shadows that hung over them seemed to lighten, the weight of their mission a little less crushing.
Barsa: Alright, then, let's run through some scenarios. True Chaos will likely try to isolate one of us and force us into a disadvantage. We need to anticipate their moves and counter them with precision.
He moved to the center of the ring, gesturing for Viktor and Olga to join him.
Barsa: We practice until we can't anymore. We fight until we drop. Only then will we be ready. We are The Red Reapers, and we do not yield.
The three of them moved together, their bodies tense with readiness. They were still battered and bruised, their spirits frayed at the edges, but they were united in purpose. They were warriors forged in the fires of hardship, bound by a shared mission.
Barsa's mask felt heavy on his face, the fabric damp with sweat. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to suppress the gnawing tension in his stomach. Viktor and Olga stood close by, the weariness and frustration etched deep into their features. They had trained hard, but doubt hung like a thick fog, and the anxiety was palpable.
Before Barsa could speak, Eun-Young Han approached, her expression inscrutable, her steps purposeful. Her presence seemed to chill the air around them.
Eun-Young: (calmly) Barsa, Viktor, Olga... I have something that might interest you.
Barsa met her gaze, his eyes narrowing beneath his mask. Trust was a rare commodity among allies of convenience.
Barsa: (measured) Go on. We're listening.
Eun-Young's voice dropped to a near-whisper, a secret shared in the shadows.
Eun-Young: (softly) During the AAPW invasion, I saw Kami Nakada take a lead pipe to her ribs. She tried to play it off, but the pain was clear. Later, I confirmed she was in Dr. Drake's clinical room. Likely broken ribs.
Olga's face lit up with a savage glee. Her hands clenched into tight fists, the knuckles cracking audibly in the quiet room.
Olga: (sneering) Broken ribs? That little bird will crumble when I get my hands on her.
Barsa's mind raced. This was the edge they needed. His voice was sharp, urgent.
Barsa: (focused) If injured, she'll be slower and less agile. True Chaotic thrives on speed. We exploit that weakness—every strike, every grapple aimed at those ribs. Make her regret every breath she takes.
Viktor's gaze grew intense, his earlier fog of despair momentarily lifting. He clenched his fists, a spark of the old fire returning to his eyes.
Viktor: (determined) Yes… force her to twist, turn…, and make every movement agony. We use her pain against her.
Eun-Young's smile was thin, and her eyes glinted with something more than mere interest. Her voice was steady, and her words deliberate.
Eun-Young: (coolly) Focus on her injury; you may find the edge you need to win. True Chaotic is dangerous, but they are not invincible. Exploit every vulnerability you find.
Olga chuckled darkly, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room.
Olga: (smirking) I like the way you think, Han.
Barsa eyed Eun-Young with suspicion, his voice questioning.
Barsa: (firmly) And why share this with us? What's in it for you?
Eun-Young's smile widened, a cold amusement dancing in her eyes.
Eun-Young: (with a shrug) Your success benefits us. The stronger you are, the more our mutual enemies will fear our alliance. Also... seeing any Americans suffer will be… satisfying.
Barsa nodded slowly, accepting her reasoning but remaining wary. He turned back to his team, his voice commanding.
Barsa: (decisive) Viktor, keep Shingo occupied. Stay on him, force him to wrestle at our pace. Olga, you go after Kami. Aim for those ribs. Every hit counts. We break her down piece by piece.
Olga's grin widened, a predator sensing prey.
Olga: (confidently) I'll make her regret stepping into that ring.
Viktor nodded, his face set with grim determination.
Viktor: (resolved) For the Motherland, we fight. We will not fail.
Barsa's voice rose above the background noise, infused with newfound urgency.
Barsa: (intense) Good. Remember, we adapt. They will expect us to target her injury, so we stay unpredictable. If they adjust, we adjust faster.
The tension in the room was palpable, every breath a shared commitment to the task ahead. The North Koreans glanced over, sensing the energy shift, their expressions mixing curiosity and calculation. Barsa felt the weight of their mission pressing down, but there was also a flicker of hope, a belief that they could turn the tide.
Eun-Young watched them with a satisfied expression, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere again.
Eun-Young: (calmly) Be ready. If you fail… there won't be another chance. Your leader isn't called the Black Inferno for no reason...
With that, she turned and left the three Russians to their thoughts.
Barsa turned to Viktor and Olga, his voice lowering but filled with resolve.
Barsa: (quietly) This is it. We have a plan; we have a chance. Now, we just need to execute. No mistakes, no hesitation.
Viktor took a deep breath, nodding.
Viktor: (calmly) We fight for survival…
Olga's eyes gleamed with determination, a fierce smile crossing her face.
Olga: (firmly) And for a real meal when this is over.
Barsa chuckled softly, a rare sound that lightened the tension, even momentarily.
Barsa: (softly) Alright then… let's ensure we earn it.
They moved back into the center of the gym, their bodies tense but focused, every muscle coiled like a spring. The hours ticked by, but they were relentless in their preparation, honing their strategies and perfecting their moves. The cold air of the gym seemed to pulse with their shared energy, a silent promise to each other and themselves.
Barsa: (gritting his teeth) We face them tomorrow… and leave no doubt who The Red Reapers are.
The room grew colder and darker, as if even the shadows braced themselves for the fight. They had a plan, a purpose, and a reason to win. The mission was clear: victory at any cost.
As they prepared to leave, the weight of what lay ahead was heavy, but the fire in their eyes was unmistakable. They were ready to face whatever came next.
Together, they would march into battle, driven by duty, desperation, and an unyielding will to survive. For they were The Red Reapers… and they would not fall.