Mystery of the Ocean Hardcore Royale Thread

Hachiman whistles to himself, splashing up and down on his careening path in an inflatable lifeboat. His vessel brims with a single fog light glowing through the distance. Aboard sits the man himself, his scrambled dignity, a duffle bag full of weapons and a JanSport full of gas station snacks and some experiential narcotics. Finally, the site of Harvey Marx's bruhaha crests the event horizon as the dark waters wash away its afterimage.

"Hooooo!" he shouts into air, posing like George Washington as he crossed the frigid Delaware.

Hachiman soon finds a ladder along the side to board the ship with his death bag and goodies swung over each shoulder. What he sees on the deck level leaves him astonished. When a sinister grin overtakes him moments before opening that bag of weapons.

“Are you sure about this?” Franco Salvatore questioned in between drags of his cigarette. A mere few feet away was his brother Angelo, hastily loads a couple crates onto a 30 foot Tahoe 700 Bowrider. As he drops the last crate onto the boat he turns to Franco with a groan.

“Not exactly.” He admitted with a shrug. He too pulled a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his blazer. As he pulled one out and placed it between his lips, he continued. “But with the Moreaux brothers breathing down my neck, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Franco shook his head as he tossed away the butt of his cigarette. “What exactly are you doing?” He inquired.

“I thought you didn’t want any part of this?”

“I didn’t. But, you’re still my brother, and the Moreaux family is perhaps the dangerous entity in all of Nevada. Salvatore’s is still a family business.”

“You know, Franco. I’m happy to hear you say that.” Angelo remarks, with a smile. Franco doesn’t seem pleased; he knew there would be a catch. “Because in my time away from Las Vegas, I am going to need you to keep an eye on Salvatore’s. We know what the Moreaux brothers tell us, can’t be taken at face value.”

And he was right.

Franco sighed at the news, but he knew that he needed the casino as much as anyone else. It was their family’s one lifeline.

“Fuck.”

Angelo again smiled at his brother.

“I knew you’d understand.” He declared, as he climbed into the bowrider.

“I’ve been researching this Black Pyramid Wrestling organization.”

“Oh?” Angelo yelled out from inside the boat, as he was conducting a final check before heading through the San Pedro Bay on his journey.

“Yeah.” He continued. “And...I don’t know, Angelo, it seems like you’re jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, here.“

“Remember this, my dear brother: everything I do is necessary. For our family, for our success, and for our survival. I will gladly jump into the fire.”

“Seems like you’re helping out the Moreaux brothers, more than anything.”

“It may very well seem that way, Franco. However, I know more about the Moreaux’s than they think I do. We will be rid of them soon enough, but Salvatore’s needs to be rebuilt before that plan can even begin to move forward.”

“Where you going anyways?”

“Panama Canal. However, I expect they won’t be there long. It’s best if I leave immediately.”

“Very well, brother. Good luck.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Angelo claims emphatically as Franco cuts the ropes and Angelo revs the engine before speeding off on his journey to reach the Ever Given.

Meanwhile, in the distance, Stefan Moreaux lowers a pair of binoculars, a smile evident on his face. He picks up a cellphone and dials a number, before bringing it to his right ear.

“Our man is on route. Make sure he gets where he needs to go.”

The water holding up the ship swirls around it’s sides and bottom, picking up steam as it divides the surface of the infinite black and blue. Both in and out of sight, the sounds of panic and uncertainty can be heard echoing through the night, crying out to absolutely nobody. In the distance, streaks of lightning flash sporadically. The pandemonium is snuffed out by loud speaker interference. First static, then...familiar music over the loud speaker whose quality closely resembles the hold music recording for your typical eight-hundred number.


?: Looks like we’ve got quite the party on our hands, don’t we?

The voice slicing through the subpar audio is rough in nature with a sort of seasoned confidence.

?: You..with your tools of destruction..or you with your action movie entrance. Even you showed up, the stylebender from both everywhere and nowhere. How could we resist? As a matter of fact, should be any minute now.

Movement from the active participants comes to a temporary halt out of stumped analysis if nothing else. The theme music resumes while the voice fades, it’s quality much worse than its first broadcast. The audio skips in a way where the melody is muddy and barely recognizable. The waves around the ship pick up, smashing against the side of the Ever Given. Where there was once lightning, those aboard are now greeted by thunder as the audio continues to warp in tandem with the tide’s literal changes. Black becomes more so and with another burst of lightning, four smiling figures take center stage.


They wave in unison to the likes of Hachiman, Salvatore, Vincente, and McMorris. Four to four, the competitors approach The Walker family strategically, sizing up the latest arrivals with ill intent. They close the gap as yards become feet and feet become inches. It’s at the last second when distance no longer exists that the scene darkens again and The Walkers are absent, having evaded the attack squad. Instead, the death rattle of John Bartmann’s “Joy” is replaced with another familiar tune, pitched down to the point of possessed crooning.


Dumbfounded, the four competitors spin around to face their former rear view. As the classic Styx piano plays, Robert and Alice are seen leaning on the railing with Abby sandwiched between the two of them. As the trio takes in the sight of the sea that surrounds them, Will stands with his arms and legs forming a silhouette of crucifixion at the front of the vessel, only inches away from falling to the water.

I'm still trying to get my head wrapped around the idea of monsters and what can only be described as "something in the water" acid trips that makes up Black Pyramid Wrestling's shows, but the thought is quickly forgotten as I follow up with Irish whipping of Will into one of the ship's cabins. Inside the cabin, which can't be a normal cabin, not one being presented by Black Pyramid Wrestling by no means…

"Mios dios…"

I'm not one for fetish play, but I'm starting to think Senor Marx, may be… Along the walls of the cabins a mixture of black wooden paddles, black ball gags, whips, chains, handcuffs (thankfully not the fuzzy kind), and a bunk bed made of metal nails.

"Will, I feel sorry for what is about to become of your gringo self… May your Familia wish mercy upon your soul and hopefully keep Hachiman away from you when I'm done with you…"

Will scrambles to grab a paddle off the wall and I respond with a paddle of my own. Both of us back in a guarded stance as we slowly start to circle one another.

"Here we are mono y mono, dare you make a move, perro?"

"I dare!"

Will, obviously not one to back down throws a wild swing with his paddle that I meet with my own causing both of us to drop our respective paddles due to the impact. We both scramble again grabbing up whatever we can…

"Oh, I got you, Will…"

I turn around as Will strikes my chest with with a black leather whip and he follows up by wrapping the whip around my neck.

"Ah ha, what now, Lázaro?"

Will tightens the whip around my neck and the idioto laughs with glee.

"El stupido…"

"I got you, Lazzo and now I'm going to finish you off!"

Will drags me back out of the cabin to the deck and he tries to force me overboard, but I grab the metal rail.

"Hope you brought your floaties, Lázaro!"

As Will smiles at his great one liner, I throw a headbutt that causes Will's guard to be lowered and as he refocuses on me, he notices I just handcuffed him to the rail of the deck.

"You son of a-"

I wiggle free from Will's whip of pain and I measure him up as he thrashes trying to pull his arm out of the handcuffs.

"If your Familia could see you now, perro…"

I deliver a swift kick to Will's legs dropping him down to the deck and I follow up with a series of knife edge chips. As I'm about to throw a punch, someone spins me around...

Lazaro turns towards Will, a rigid smile shoots over his face as the scene gains a superficial glow that drapes over the otherwise gloomy aesthetic aboard the ship and a familiar tune kicks back in.



The Golden Idol cocks his head to the side, posing for the shot before himself and Will trade blows once again. Lazaro gets off one European uppercut followed by another...and another...and another after that. He throws Will towards another door and the two find themselves inside the ship’s kitchen. Will gathers himself and stands his ground as Lazaro scouts out the various kitchenware hanging up around them.

We transition over towards the railing where Hachiman and Robert are chain wrestling near the edge, both men trying to gain an advantage over the other. Robert is hit with a series of quick shin kicks that break up the hold temporarily. As he creates space between himself and Robert, he does another calculated twirl and lands a roundhouse kick right on the money that drops the father like a sack of potatoes. He goes over and rummages through his bag of tricks and retrieves something kept intentionally just out of view. Hachiman playfully stalks his prey for a moment, but stiffens and turns back in a swinging motion to the shot with a smile nearly identical to Lazaro before him.


His pose is cut off and his expression fades as Abby is over the top of the larger foe with an axe handle dropped from some unspecified platform behind her. She yanks wildly at his hair, hitting him with every type of sloppy strike her hands can create. She tries everything she can to take down the larger foe who manages to get the monkey off his back. Again, Hachiman creates separation and is able to get a running start towards Abby. He pounces and his weight is enough to send both competitors crashing through the deck and into some part of the level below.

Hachiman’s ears ring as he gets to his feet with sound fading back in with a slow, steady increase. He pushes up to his feet and looks around the room. Though blurred, he makes out a trio of female showgirls who sway and sing in perfect harmony. The shimmer of sequin dresses is like driving with astigmatism, captivating and completely distracting. With Abby out cold behind him, he stumbles over to an empty roundtable and is greeted immediately by a member of the wait staff. Who simply smiles and places a highball full of smoky amber in front of him. Hachi leans back, releasing his exhaustion like the end of a workday as he looks down at the liquid, swirling it around out of appreciation before tipping it towards his mouth.

He’s cut off by another glass smashed across the side of his head by a resurgent Alice. Hachiman falls forward and out of his chair. Alice looks towards the opening where Abby lay unconscious. Her face twitches and her cheeks turn a shade of red and Alice goes berserk, flipping tables and throwing their contents across the ballroom. She stomps away at Hachiman and eventually starts targeting her outburst and throwing everything in sight towards him. He extends his forearm up to defend himself and manages to cover himself enough and rush forward. He uses his size to pin Alice between himself and the wall to defuse the situation. She thrashes enough to shove him off, but he is right back after her and drives a shoulder into the midsection that neutralizes the threat enough to regain control. He grabs her and launches her through a pair of doors which, judging by the clanging of metal, seems to be the kitchen.

He turns back towards the trashed ballroom scene, breathing a sigh of relief as the room where he tossed Alice goes silent. It’s at this point, however, that the chandelier begins to pop one piece at a time. Sparks and glass fly, raining down on Hachiman’s head. Much like the deck above them, the scene goes dark. Light flickers back on..somehow. Gone are the trio of performers and the daughter he’d previously left laid out under the hole in the ceiling. He’s not alone though. Standing on the other side of the room across from him are both Will and Robert. Rather than paying him any mind though, they’re instead standing across from each other wearing a pair of baseball gloves and tossing a ball from one end of the room to the other. They banter and laugh back and forth, but none of it is audible.

Hachiman shouts towards them and it is Robert who pivots towards him. As he does the lights go back out. Hachiman spins around in the abyss, feeling it’s claustrophobic effects. As the light source comes back to life a second time and just behind him is Will with a Louisville slugger in hand. There’s one swing, one thud, then nothing.