And I land my Kamov on my reserved helipad, and I open the cockpit and flashes are going off and TV cameras are rolling and the crowds are cheering and I step onto the plush red carpet and I flick my flowing requiem-black mullet back over my shoulder in this really slick way.
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And then Bell Biv DeVoe and Lionel Richie start harmonizing my awesome theme song live for the entire crowd to hear:
Bump-tsshhh.
Bump-tsshhh-tsshhh.
“They call him Doc!”
Oh fucking yeah. All the great influences are here from my past. Everyone I’ve respected. Everyone I’ve loved. Everyone I’ve beaten—and that’s everyone. If I didn’t have an icebox where my heart used to be, that heart would be warmed.
Now I’m seeing Carl the Hunchback, and he’s wearing a little hunchback tuxedo—honestly, a classy touch—and he’s surrounded by heavily armed guards and standing next to Nigel the Editor, who’s strapped down on a stainless-steel table with a buzz saw headed toward his nuts.
I look around, and I smile my sly, cunning smile, and I hold up my massive hands, and I shout:
“ENOUGH!”
Suddenly there’s silence.
“Welcome, Dr Disrespect,” Carl the Hunchback says, “to the ultimate challenge of your life.”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Nigel the Editor screams.
“I’m up for any challenge you or the Brotherhood has for me,” I say. “And I gotta admit—even I’m impressed by the badass setup. You guys must have an amazing event planner. But before this goes any further, don’t you think we should end your little charade?”
“What charade?” Carl the Hunchback asks.
Hahaha, like I’m gonna fall for his bullshit.
“You know,” Carl the Hunchback says, “we can hear everything you’re saying into your tape recorder. And my question wasn’t bullshit.”
I shout, “You know exactly the charade I’m talking about. It’s the final twist ending you’ve set up since the beginning of this book—and I’ve seen it coming a mile away.”
Carl the Hunchback and Nigel the Editor kinda look at each other.
“The two of you,” I say, “are really… the SAME PERSON.”
“Uhhh,” they reply.
“That’s right! Nigel the Editor is really Carl the Hunchback, and there was no kidnapping or torture at all!”
“But…,” Carl the Hunchback says, “but we’re both right here. Right in front of you. Right now.”
I laugh. “You can’t fool me. All of it—writing my book and saving literature and treating me to lunch at App Lebeés—it was all just an elaborate ploy so the Brotherhood could get its final diabolical revenge!”
“Doc,” Nigel the Editor says, “I know we’ve had our differences, but you’re totally embarrassing yourself right now. And this saw is almost shaving the fuzz off my peaches.”
I scratch my insanely square chin. “So… Simon & Schuster really is paying me to write a book?”
“Indeed.”
“And, Carl the Hunchback, you’re absolutely, positively sure that’s really—”
“YES, IT’S A REAL FUCKING HUNCHBACK,” he screams. “THE DOCTORS CAN’T DO A THING ABOUT IT, I’M HIGHLY SENSITIVE ABOUT MY APPEARANCE, AND CAN WE PLEASE JUST MOVE ON TO MY ULTIMATE VENGEANCE?!”
“Fine,” I say. “But only because I say so.”
Carl the Hunchback takes a deep breath. And it’s like, learn to regulate your emotions, you know? You’re supposed to be the head of a major international criminal—
“I can still hear your dictation, Doc. But more important, I’ve invited all these people here today to bear witness. It is well-known that you’re the greatest competitor the world has ever seen. Mostly because you never let us forget it. You’ve won every battle, you’ve dominated every challenge. Your athleticism is unparalleled, and your silky hair is the only thing blacker than your soul. Your mustache is registered as a lethal weapon in twenty-three countries. You crave combat. You live for danger. You lust after battle.”
“Hey, keep it PG-13 for the kids, man.”
“But,” he says, “what happens when you finally meet your match? What happens when you finally face a challenge you can’t overcome? What happens when, for the very first time in your life, you finally lo—”
“DON’T EVEN FINISH THAT SENTENCE!” I shout. “IT’LL NEVER HAPPEN! THE DOC WILL NEVER, EVER LOSE!”
Then I hear this, like, awkward coughing noise, and I look out into the crowd, and—holy shit, it’s Sensei Billy with his nasty pubey goatee!
“Um,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I got you once back in the eighties…”
“THAT WAS BEST-TWO-OUT-OF-THREE,” I yell. “AND I HAD NOT YET CLAIMED THE SACRED MANTLE OF THE DOC! GET YOUR FUCKING LORE STRAIGHT, BILL!”
“Whatever. I’m just here for the vol-au-vents.”
“I repeat,” I snarl, loud enough for the world to hear me even without the mics of every major news organization shoved into my face, “I. WILL. NEVER. LOSE.”
Carl the Hunchback laughs. I gotta give the guy credit—it’s a pretty solid evil laugh. He’s totally been working on it.
“I’m glad you made that perfectly clear, Doc,” he says. “Because in order to save your friend Nigel here, you won’t have to kill anyone. You won’t have to shoot anyone. You won’t even have to stab anyone.”
“Seriously?” I say. “This is starting to sound dull.”
“No, you will simply have to play—and win—a new video game. A game we ordered developed by the greatest gaming minds of all time, everyone from Midway to Nintendo to Riot to Epic. A game that combines the gore of Mortal Kombat with the
