Disclaimer: I don't own the character Dave Batista. WWE does.
Chapter one -- Guilt
`A Typical Wednesday', Dave thought to himself as he took a sip out of his Miller-Lite beer bottle. It was around 9:30PM. He sat on the couch in his small, one-bedroom Los Angeles apartment in darkness, hunched over and weary. The only source of light that lit the room was the illuminating glow from the adjacent building. He didn't know why, but Wednesdays seem to be very depressing for him. Most people cite Mondays or even Sundays to be their slow days, but for Dave it was Wednesdays. This particular Wednesday however was much worse. On Monday he finally lost his job at the Bureau, the only thing that was keeping him tethered to his slipping grip on reality. His continued behavior of outburst and disobeying direct orders was the cause for this. He'd been giving lots of second chances, more so than anyone else would have received under the circumstances. After refusing counseling, violently mishandling suspects, aggressive behavior towards colleagues and the occasional arriving on the job drunk, the final straw had been snapped and FBI Deputy Director Arnold Kane had finally given up on the big guy. Dave continued to spiral out of control, flirting with calamity. He took another sip of his beer and continued to riddle himself with guilt.
"FUCK!" Dave said, kicking the coffee table in front of him, nearly causing it to overturn.
"Why did this have to happen? It was a simple bag and tag op. Fuck."
Dave lied back on the couch cushions and began to play in his mind the events that ended the life of his partner, Special Agent Roger Carrigan 2 months ago.
He and Carrigan were assigned to a narcotics case involving the son of a prominent local politician, Mark Hanson. Deputy Director Kane wanted this case to be kept low-profile and away from the hawking eyes of the media, who were at the time in a frenzy, looking to dig up any dirt it could on either candidates running for Mayor as they tend to do during election cycles. He did this partly out of courtesy for his friend of over 30 years. He was also an active contributor to Hanson's campaign for mayor, but sensed no conflict of interest on his part. Agents Batista & Carrigan respected Director Kane's orders and proceeded with their case discreetly.
One day they received a tip from one of Peter Hanson's friends, a guy who called himself "Skippy Jones". He told an inquiring Agent Carrigan that he obtained that nickname because he tends to skip around when he's Higher than the fucking sky'. He informed the agents that Peter planned to unload $120,000 worth of cocaine he obtained from Mexico last week, to various dealers in Los Angeles. Peter explained his trip to Mexico as him simply submerging himself into another culture' to his curious parents. His dad, busy with the demand of his never-ending campaign simply allowed him to go without putting up a fight. His mother, Susan Hanson, lack any physical or mental effort to inquire more about her son's traveling plans. She was suffering from another bout of Manic Depression, an illness that has engulfed her life for more than a year now, leaving her dormant and shackled to the confines of her home.
Skippy Jones also told them that the drugs were being stored in an abandoned warehouse near Van Nuys and that Peter planned on distributing the drugs at 10:00pm later that night. Skippy also provided info that there would only be about 3 people there during the transaction, an easy job for the seasoned agents.
As 10PM neared, Batista & Carrigan arrived at the warehouse, parking their SUV out of site. As they got out of the vehicle, they saw a lone patrol man stationed outside the aging building's front entrance. They also spotted a large van parked outside near the entrance. As Carrigan began to prep for some light reconnaissance, Dave armed himself with 2 firearms and was about to hit full force on the men inside.
"What the hell are you doing Batista?!?" Carrigan said, placing a hand on Dave's large shoulder. "We need to scope out the place first. You know that."
"Calm down Rog. Skippy said there would only be about 3 marks in there, Hanson and 2 others. I think we can handle that", Dave said with a kind of cocky smirk painted on his face. He cocked his gun and once again proceeded to move forward, to which Carrigan held him firmly in place, this time with difficulty as Batista was larger than him and eager to strike. Carrigan, slightly shorter and smaller in stature however was older and a vet at the bureau.
"Look Dave. You and I are not invincible. We go by the book on this one. You heard what Kane said; Keep this shit low profile."
"We will Rog. It's fine. C'mon man. We can handle this. You starting to doubt your abilities old timer?" Dave said, chuckling. He gave the older agent a pat on the back.
"Fine we'll do it your way, but I lead got it? Oh and by the way, I ain't old."
"Sure thing pops."
"Err..." Carrigan growled before making his way in front of Dave as they approached the side of the warehouse in stealth fashion. The lookout was still safeguarding the front entrance. Their 1st priority was to take him out. Carrigan waited for the man to turn his back before he proceeded to sneak up behind and wrapped his forearm around the smaller man's neck, attempting to incompassitate him. The man struggle under Carrigan's grip for a few seconds before finally allowing the agent's hold to render him unconscious.
"Alight, let's go inside." Carrigan peered through the small window located on the door and saw that the inside was abandoned. All that was visible were large shelves and a bare floor.
"What the hell? Where is everyone?" asked a frustrated Carrigan.
Batista scratched his head and put his hands on his hips. "Dammit. You think they were tipped off?"
"If they were, then why is this idiot hanging outside? Makes no sense."
As Dave began to piece the puzzle together, a loud gunshot was heard from afar followed by an immediate collision of metal on metal as a bullet pierced the side of the warehouse.
"SHOOTER!" Cried Batista as he pulled Roger behind the van near the entrance to shield themselves from the barrage of bullets headed their way. Dave caught a glimpse of 5 men armed with automatic weapons a few yards away as he & Carrigan began to return fire. Dave quickly got on his cell and called for backup. Dispatch informed him backup would arrive shortly. As he tucked his phone back in his pocket and prepped for another round of retaliation, he noticed Roger moving closer to the edge of the vehicle near the front tire.
"COVER ME!" He yelled as he prepared to take cover behind a large stack of wood planks.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Batista responded, continuing to shoot at the gunmen.
"WE NEED TO GET AT THEM FROM 2 ANGLES! NOW COVER ME!"
"NO! JUST WAIT TIL REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVE."
"WE DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE! THEIR BUTCHING US OUT HERE. NOW COVER ME. THAT'S AN ORDER AGENT BATISTA!"
"ROG!!!"
And with that, the older agent peeked out from behind the van and began to return fire, making his way towards the wood planks.
Dave hesitated for a moment.
A moment too long...
He doesn't remember much after that. He faintly remembers a police chopper circling above, taking aim at the shooters and heard the unmistakable sirens of a fleet of police cars approaching their location. He scrambled towards his partner and knelt over him. He was at a loss for words. Nothing of the outside world was registering with him. His body became numb and a terrible feeling rushed over him so rapidly that he began to cease breathing for a few seconds. His eyes were now watering, trying to fight back the onslaught of tears that was beginning to form.
"No... Rog..."
Dave leaned his head back and finished what remained in the beer bottle. He sat the empty bottle down and began to spin it on the coffee table. As he thought about Roger's death, his emotions began to stir. He felt his heart pounding and his blood pressure rising. He was about to have an outburst. A few seconds later he picked up the bottle and threw it at his bedroom door, the sound of the glass shattering piercing the cold, silent night. Shards from the devastating impact began to hurl towards him. His reaction to the flying transparent blades was sluggish from all the alcohol he had during the day. A few pieces hit his face, causing tiny lacerations.
"Dammit", he said as he touched them lightly. He let out a deep sigh as he stood up and began to make his way towards his bedroom to sleep, careful not to step on the bits of glass that now blanketed the floor near his door. Another problem for tomorrow.
As he approached the door, failing at his attempt to avoid the glass as he stepped on a few shards, causing cuts under his bare feet, he heard his cell phone ring. He cursed under his breath as he realized he'd left his cell on the end table next to the couch. He slowly made his way towards the phone, this time not caring about the bits of glass continuing to cut him as he walked. He also had to wade through a sea of various beer cans & bottles, as well as liquor bottles that littered the floor, evidence of his continued use of alcohol to numb his pain. He reached the phone and squinted his eyes at the caller id display. He couldn't make out what it said so he just decided to answer it.
"Hel..Cough...Hello?" He said weakly.
"Dave, it's me. We need to talk. Meet me downstairs now."