~The Next Morning~

"John Cena," I mumbled softly. "If you don't get your ass out of my room in five seconds, I'm going to shoot it."

He laughed, scooping me out of bed.

"Paul's got an assignment for us," he said as he tossed me over his shoulder.

I sighed, knowing I couldn't fight him off if it was Paul who'd sent him.

A few things about Paul before you meet him.

His name is Paul Wight, which to the inexperienced observer would sound pretty ordinary.

But he's everything but ordinary.

The man is 7 feet tall and weighs nearly five hundred pounds; he's definitely not someone you want to make angry.

He'd started this organization about fifteen years ago, when political corruption in New York hit its peak.

Unfortunately for him, an old highschool enemy of his decided that it wasn't for Paul to choose who was evil enough for assassination.

Mark Calaway, along with his second-in-command Glenn Jacobs, put together his own team of highly trained fighters who were given one purpose: destroy the Cobras.

That would be us, of course.

Over the years there have been casualties on both sides, but the near war has been in a stalemate for months as both leaders fight hard to recruit more people.

"Morning, Paul," John said, gently setting me down beside him.

"Morning, John," he said. "Morning Dodger. I have an assignment for the two of you."

John and I both nodded as we followed Paul to the briefing room, where Stephen was already waiting with a slideshow of pictures for us.

As we sat, Paul nodded to Stephen, who brought up a picture of the governor of New York, Dave Bautista.

"We have reason to believe that Governor Bautista is being influenced by Destruction," Paul said, his voice hardening on the word.

"How do they have access to him?" I asked, knowing that with the 'gang' activity- Bautista and his advisors considered us and Destruction to be gangs- he'd amped up his security.

"They must have someone on the inside," he mused. "That's the only way they could possibly get to him."

John and I both nodded in understanding.

"So what do you need us to do?" John asked, looking up at the screen as Stephen changed the image.

This time it was a picture of Bautista's long-time personal assistant, Stephanie McMahon.

"As I'm sure ye both know," Stephen began, speaking for the first time, "his PA just recently resigned. We want ye to take her position by whatever means necessary."