Title The Darkness that Encompasses
Rating: M – Mature
Genre: Romance, Crime, Suspense, Angst, Action, Drama
Pairings: JohnMiz, PunkMatt, HunterJeff, BethMickie, others
Warnings: Sex, slash, drugs, alcohol, murder, rape, abuse, torture, male pregnancy, others
Summary: The protectors are now the corrupted, turning their sights to the very people they have sworn to protect. But, when those called criminals rise up to be the protectors, the people will find the truth.
AN: TADA! As I write this, I am sitting on my ass, watching Independence Day (the end of it), happy because it's my birthday. That's not necessarily important, but everyone likes to hear something on their day, right? Anyway, I'm giving you all a present on my birthday! Here it is, and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own World Wrestling Entertainment or any of the wrestlers mentioned herein. The wrestlers portrayed in this act of fiction are property and copyright of the WWE and their respective owners.
The usual hustle and bustle of the department's headquarters was actually a rather comforting sound for those sitting inside it. Women in heels clicked by, men in boots stomped through, and people spoke, both in hushed tones and loud yells. The busiest floor was the first, with the large oak desk sitting in front of the door, in the center of the entire floor to greet those who entered. People reporting thefts, abuse, kidnappings, and those getting someone out on bail were all routed through here. There was a door on the outside of the building that led to the basement, where the booking area was, so that the criminals didn't interact with the good citizens of the city.
The first floor was where people would talk to uniformed officers about the misdemeanors they may have witnessed. The front desk had one woman who took in phone calls about the various things people saw, but that couldn't come in. She had one phone that was able to connect with any phone in the entire precinct if needed, and even outside the precinct.
The second floor was where interrogations took place. There were only large interrogation rooms, separated from one another by thick, soundproof walls. Each room was cut in half by another soundproof wall that had the typical two-way mirror. There were also bathrooms on the floor, and a few small offices with computers, just in case they were needed.
The third and fourth floor housed the detectives. Against the walls were a few offices for the heads of each department: Homicide, Special Victims, Domestic Assault, and more. The detectives each worked at desks that were pushed up against one another, each one with a computer, desk light, and various office supplies on them. Each desk had a name plague on it, saying who sat there.
However, on the fourth floor, half of it was walled off. The back half of the floor housed the unit formerly called Homicide and Gang-Related Crimes. Due to a few of their cases falling through, they had been renamed and reassigned as needed. Now, they were simply known to most everyone as The Undertaker Unit.
Since the mysterious death of the previous Lieutenant, Glenn Jacobs, there had been five people working on a caseload that was at least seven feet high. Thankfully, the new lieutenant, Shawn Michaels, was able to secure some more help, even if it was a bit… unorthodox. However, Shawn was convinced that his entire unit was going to be unorthodox.
Sergeant Dustin Rhodes, AKA Goldust, was still as twitchy as normal, though it did manage to calm down quite a bit. His partner, Dylan Postl, AKA Hornswoggle, was still a bit jumpy and found some kind of messed up joy in chasing people around. Mickie James, who was actually one of the normal ones, had taken on a very motherly kind of role, but was directing everyone around like a drill sergeant. She wasn't going to have anyone stepping on her toes just because she was a woman, and she wasn't going to let anyone order her around unless they had the clearance. Dave Batista, who had joined only a year and a half ago, had easily dropped into the swing of things, and was a very valuable member of the team.
The two newest members were both foreign, similar to Hornswoggle, though each one had a thicker accent than him. The first one was an Italian man with dark skin and a monobrow. He was a good guy, pretty funny, though he didn't seem to understand when it was time to start working and when it was time to stop joking. His partner, and the man that he had transferred over with, was Russian. He was a huge man, both by height, and how wide he was. He had previously been a fighter in Moscow, but something had sent him here to America. Whatever it was, Shawn was grateful. He was an excellent new member of the squad, and had proved to be a valuable asset to the team. Santino Marella and Vladimir Kozlov, respectively, were the newest in The Undertaker Unit.
However, as put together as his unit seemed to be, Shawn was aware that something was just not quite right. He had noticed over the past six or seven months that news about some of the cases were leaking to the press, evidence would randomly go missing, and the chain of evidence wasn't honored anymore. He was looking through the information as discreetly as possible, but it looked like it was only in his unit. The blond man sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he looked through the papers in front of him. An old school man, he preferred papers to the computer. Honestly, he wouldn't even have the thing if people would just walk up to him and tell him things instead of emailing him everything. He was going to get over it, of course, but still.
Shawn sighed as he put the papers down and then pulled off the glasses. Calloused hands rubbed at the bridge of his nose before running down his head. He didn't want to place this call, especially not here at the office, but it needed to be done. There was only one person who was going to be able to help him with a situation this great with this much riding on it. He sighed and opened his cell phone, looking up to make sure that his door was closed. Then, he pushed the numbers he knew by heart, sighing when the phone began to ring.
"Hey. Good to hear from you too… Look, I may be jumping the gun here, but I need a favor of sorts…"
The car pulled up and the bright blue eyes of the man staring absently out the window suddenly came back into sharp focus to look at the vehicle. It was a large black truck with New York plates. A frown crossed his face and he tugged absently on the brim of the knit beanie on his head, a silver Heartagram standing out starkly in contrast. He stood, pulling down on his shirt as he moved to the door, knowing that these strangers were going to come up and knock anyway. He heard two doors close, and then another one close shortly after, and then waited patiently for the ringing of his door bell.
It came only a minute later, not to disappoint, and the man opened the door, taking in the three men standing on his doorstep. The first man was a little bit shorter than the other two, his dark hair dyed a strange alternating blue and teal color, emerald eyes a bit apprehensive as he looked at the man in front of him. He had jeans on, though they had long oval shaped holes in them centered around the knees, the ends ragged and torn to cover up what could have been black or brown boots. He had a shirt with a bleeding skull covering his torso, and black and white arm warmers covering thick arms, covering most of a tattoo going up his arm and behind his ear.
The man standing beside him was taller, blond hair slicked back stylishly, tied back in a ponytail. He wore a gray shirt of some kind under a leather jacket. He had on a pair of jeans as well, though in considerably better shape than the first man's were, and a pair of black shoes underneath. He was ripped, and the man's blue eyes stayed glued to his muscles for a minute before he was able to look at the last man.
The last man was taller than the other two, though a bit lanky and muscular at the same time. He had blue eyes that verged on gray, his hair short in an almost military style cut. He wore a pair of blue jeans as well, and a plain black t-shirt stretched taut over broad chest muscles. His arms were decorated with different tattoos, littered with color, ink, designs and what not.
Before anyone could bother to react to what was going on, the blue eyed man shoved the blond and the man with the blue and teal hair away, pulled his fist back, and planted it right in the military man's face. A pair of green and a pair of brown eyes widened as the force of the man with blue eye's punch made him fall forward, and the military man stumbled backwards. The military man glared and opened his mouth-
"Jeff! Christ, will you tell me when the damn exit is now, please?"
"Hunter, the tranny is clearly distracted. I told you, it's the exit for Westchester."
The green eyed man blinked, turning his attention to the blond at the steering wheel, smiling sheepishly.
"Sorry, Hunter. I started spacing out again…" The blond couldn't help but smile and he squeezed the hand holding his, bringing it up to press a kiss to the knuckles.
"It's fine, Jeff. Where's the exit?"
"Randy's right. It's the one for Westchester."
About a year and a half ago, the military man sitting in the back seat with his long legs stretched out had jumped into the path of a bullet to save Jeff's life and had died for his efforts. However, roughly a year ago, through the abilities of a woman named Victoria, Jeff had convinced her to resurrect him. He had appeared in the street, walking toward Hunter and Jeff as they talked, and had been the most pleasant surprise of Hunter's life.
For a year, they had been testing him, wondering how good his memory was. He remembered his wife and daughter's death, remembered serving Kane and the betrayal. When he asked what had happened to Kane, Hunter told him that little Rey had taken care of him with a terrifying smile on his face. Of course, Jeff filled in that the house wasn't there anymore because the Undertaker had burned it down, unable to face the reality of walking by it and knowing that his brother, who had once lived there, was now dead, but the smirk that had crossed Randy's face was enough.
It hadn't actually taken a year to make sure that all of his memories were together. With the gang as busy as they were, there was always work to do. Unfortunately, one particularly long case had made it harder for them to make this very journey. They were going to Pennsylvania, the place where Randy's lover lived, to tell him that Randy was still alive.
Since they had started on the interstate, Jeff had periodically spaced out and thought up different scenarios for what might happen. It made it easier for him then having to face the reality that he had left everyone in Matt's hands. It wasn't that Matt wasn't capable, but it was a lot of stuff, and Matt had the tendency to yell at people who didn't start listening to him. Of course, with most of them, that was a huge problem. For example, Matt yelling at Mike was going to go over about as well as standing up and screaming that you worshipped Satan in a church, but Jeff was hoping that John would be there to make sure Mike didn't do anything too stupid. The scenarios he had thought up were different each time. For example, in one, Bam had punched Randy. There was another one where Bam walked calmly past, into his Hummer, and ran them all over. Bam had cried, screamed, slammed the door in their faces, and even dragged Randy behind the door. Jeff had refused to come out of that daydream until he found out whether or not Bam was making Randy fuck him against the door. Turns out he was, and Jeff was really hoping it went that way, because after they realized what Bam and Randy were doing, Hunter had dragged Jeff to the truck and had fucked him senseless. Jeff really hoped that one was going to be how it ended.
"Jeff! Pay attention, damn it!"
Jeff scowled as Hunter snapped at him again, turning his emerald eyes to his husband.
"What now, grumpy butt?" he asked. Randy snorted in the back seat, and Hunter sighed.
"Randy's been here before, more than us! Why do I need to be the one to tell you everything? We've been here once before. Are you dumb or just retarded?" Jeff asked. Hunter stopped the truck at a red light and stared at Jeff.
"What?" Jeff snapped.
"That didn't make any sense, Rainbow," Randy pointed out. Jeff huffed and crossed his arms, looking out the window.
"Turn left up here, Hunter," Randy said.
Randy took over directions from here, letting Jeff stew in his misery. Jeff began to space again. This time, they pulled up to the blue eyed man's driveway, everything playing out the same way, except instead of Randy getting decked, Jeff and Hunter were decked for lying to the blue eyed man. Of course, they tried to explain everything, but he was angry enough not to care. Jeff shuddered. Time to stop day dreaming and really hope that wasn't the scenario that was going to play out.
They pulled up the long driveway of the house, and Jeff watched the window that he had seen in his day dream. No one was there, the curtains blowing in the breeze coming in from the open window. Hunter pulled the truck in, parking it and turning it off. Jeff and Hunter unbuckled their seatbelts, climbing out. Jeff pushed his sunglasses up on his head, looking at the house, squinting against the sun. He heard Hunter and Randy close their doors, and then closed his a minute later. He took a breath and walked up with Hunter standing beside him, Randy bringing up the back. Jeff reached out and rang the doorbell.
A minute later, a man opened the door. He wore a pair of faded black jeans with a light blue shirt. It had darker blue, almost black swirls on it. He wore a hunter green scarf around his neck, and his dark hair was curly, though it seemed to be falling into his face. His bright blue eyes took in Jeff, then Hunter, before they moved to Randy. For a moment, he stayed still, and Jeff moved, wanting to avoid getting hurt or shoved out of the way. Hunter followed Jeff's example, moving to the other side, leaving Randy standing there. Randy's eyes were directed on this man's face, watching him calmly. The man opened his mouth, but a voice that definitely didn't match his looks broke the silence.
The man turned, his eyes falling on a small child that couldn't be more than one. He had dark hair on his head, stark blue eyes that matched Randy's. He had on a pair of blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt that was covered with mud and dirt and grass stains. The man smiled, kneeling to pick up the child, holding him close before turning to look at Randy.
"Keith, this is your daddy."
Randy and the child stared at each other for a long minute before Randy blinked, turning his eyes to the man.
"Yes, Randy," the man said. "I was about three months along. I was going to tell you when you came back but…"
Jeff looked up at Hunter, but his view was blocked as Randy stepped forward, taking the small child in his arms and holding him up. Jeff didn't know what this kind of significance might be to Randy, but Hunter did. Randy had lost his first child, Alanna, when a murderer had killed his wife. This meant that he would have a second chance to be a father, to raise a son, to be a husband, maybe. Randy looked at the man, resting Keith on his hip before he leaned in, pressing the man's lips to his. The man leaned into Randy, melting at the same time, his hand holding onto Randy's biceps. Jeff grinned at Hunter, who shook his head good-naturedly.
"Bam, I never…" Randy started as they pulled away. Bam grinned and punched Randy's shoulder, licking his lips.
"I know. And you're going to make it up to me starting now. Keith needs a bath."
With a smirk that would have made the Undertaker more than proud, Bam turned on his heel and walked back into the house. He paused, turning to look at Jeff and Hunter.
"And you two aren't off the hook either. Get in here."
Jeff and Hunter exchanged looks, but followed Randy inside as Keith began to talk.
AN: Alright, everyone! Obviously, this wasn't finished on my birthday, but that's okay. I got about half-way through on my birthday, then spent Kiharu's birthday at a hotel/water park, so I only had a few minutes to write… I was exhausted yesterday. Anyway, there you go. More to come soon, I'm sure.
.: TheMizMagnet :.