The Story Book.

Originally posted by Quincy
Cena raised an eyebrow at his long estranged friend. When Nick made eye contact with him, John studied the hollow sunken face, the thin features of him. It wouldn't be the first time that he envisioned Nick as a scarecrow. A hollow thing made of straw. He wondered if he poked him hard enough that nothing but straw would spill out.

"You can leave when you've finished answering my questions, Nicholas." John crossed his arms, moving to put himself between his gangly friend and the door. The energy in the room suddenly grew tense. The scarecrow in the denim jacket and sunglasses lost himself for a moment, actually wondered if he'd be able to power through the former Heavyweight Champion. The thought didn't stick. Maybe if he had popped a blue before his friend had barged in here.

He resigned himself to his fate, although began noticeably perspiring.

"Fish man, eh? I've known a few since I've been around. You'd have to be more specific. They all tend to blend together, ya ask me. Just weird-o freaks with horrific mouths. What's your beef with them?"

'Would you prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!' Leia hesitated, could she really sacrifice the rebellion to save the world below? 'Dantoine' she whispered, 'they're on Dantoine'. 'You see Lord Vader, she can be reasonable...'

Cena knew this was going to be a hard nut to crack but then... it was as if a million voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

The Death Star set its course for Dantoine.

Cena turned the TV off again.

"This isn't the time to be watching Star Wars, Cage. Not after what you just said. We aren't steering away from the fishmen just yet."

Cage was pacing now, another cigarette lit. Cena watched him carefully, scouting the room for any weapons that could be used against him. He assumed Cage would never be so stupid to try and take him down, but you could never be sure with Cage. He was a live wire, a loose nut, a ghost in the machine, and all sorts of other things; Cena had seen him brain a bartender with a saucepan for no reason more than accidentally pouring him a pint of Carlsberg when he had asked for a Guinness. The man was unstable, and had been ever since Face/Off. Word was, there were still remnants of John Travolta's personality lingering inside him that he could never quite shake off. Every once in a while, he caught glimpses of Scientology behind his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, fishmen. I already asked you, what's the deal with you and them ****ing fishmen?" said Cage.

"Feeling touchy, Nic?"

"Naw. I'm just getting real tired of your tone. If you have something to say, spit it out, huh?"

Cena smirked.

"Alright then. One was found dead this morning. Cold as a cod. You, er... know anything about this?"

"And why do you think I would?"

Cena pulled out a scrap of paper. On it was written: To my favourite fan, **** fishmen, and **** their scaly little faces, yours sincerely, Nicolas Cage. Cage eyed the piece of paper, then laughed a little bit.

"I guess your favourite fan wasn't so loyal after all, huh?" said Cena.

"This all you got? That could be anybody's handwriting. This is crazy John, you need to get a hold of yourself."

Cena moved; in seconds, he had Cage against the wall of the dingy en-suite bathroom, his hands on his throat. Cage tried to keep a calm face, but the drips of sweat betrayed his fear.

"You want to die in here, friend? If not, you'd better start talking. Fast."

Originally posted by Scribble
Cena turned the TV off again.

Swing and a miss.

Originally posted by Scribble
Cena turned the TV off again.

"This isn't the time to be watching Star Wars, Cage. Not after what you just said. We aren't steering away from the fishmen just yet."

Cage was pacing now, another cigarette lit. Cena watched him carefully, scouting the room for any weapons that could be used against him. He assumed Cage would never be so stupid to try and take him down, but you could never be sure with Cage. He was a live wire, a loose nut, a ghost in the machine, and all sorts of other things; Cena had seen him brain a bartender with a saucepan for no reason more than accidentally pouring him a pint of Carlsberg when he had asked for a Guinness. The man was unstable, and had been ever since Face/Off. Word was, there were still remnants of John Travolta's personality lingering inside him that he could never quite shake off. Every once in a while, he caught glimpses of Scientology behind his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, fishmen. I already asked you, what's the deal with you and them ****ing fishmen?" said Cage.

"Feeling touchy, Nic?"

"Naw. I'm just getting real tired of your tone. If you have something to say, spit it out, huh?"

Cena smirked.

"Alright then. One was found dead this morning. Cold as a cod. You, er... know anything about this?"

"And why do you think I would?"

Cena pulled out a scrap of paper. On it was written: To my favourite fan, **** fishmen, and **** their scaly little faces, yours sincerely, Nicolas Cage. Cage eyed the piece of paper, then laughed a little bit.

"I guess your favourite fan wasn't so loyal after all, huh?" said Cena.

"This all you got? That could be anybody's handwriting. This is crazy John, you need to get a hold of yourself."

Cena moved; in seconds, he had Cage against the wall of the dingy en-suite bathroom, his hands on his throat. Cage tried to keep a calm face, but the drips of sweat betrayed his fear.

"You want to die in here, friend? If not, you'd better start talking. Fast."

It's been ages since John faced an opponent of this caliber, he was overwhelmed for a second and sent reeling back once more before catching himself "Hah, damn Cage, that pride awakened in you again didn't it? Sadly I guess I'm going to have to give you an additude adju..." just then a wave of dark internal energy rippled through the former heavyweight champion and he dropped to one knee while clenching his face...

The sounds around him faded, the music was non existant, even Cage's crazy God complex phrases were muted to John....

The darkness was so loud inside him, for all the good John has done he has had to repress so much of the abyss inside of him, if the light is strong the shadow is that much darker. It was Nega Cena, John struggled with him his whole life trying to take over his body as his vessel, especially in the old Thuganomics heel era, "Heh kill Cage" "I can't!" "You're weak..." A powerful dark pulse of aura tore through our hero, feeling as if every one of his nerves were being seared in cold fire, it rendered the detective champion mentally unconscious, he clasped his hands to the sides of his head in agony and screamed towards the skies, before suddenly rising up as a whirlwind of energy crackled around him....his arms slowly dropping to his sides, every exhaled breath nothing but steam, as his eyes opened to reveal they had became crimson. This was enough to snap even Cage to his senses "CENA SAMA, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Nicholas cried out..He was all too aware of what was going on, back at the dojo the harder john trained the worse nega cena became, their sensei sealed Nega Cena inside John one night after Nega tried to kill the master, John gave up training due to not wanting to weaken the seal...if Nega is back, John must have been training, but..why?" The kohei asked himself.

John cackled as his lightning crackled, he threw his right arm up, which released a massive Ki wave, splitting up the middle of the apartment, Cage snapped back to reality and barely dodged in time, but it wasn't meant to hit him, just distract, in that time Nega appeared and grabbed Cage by the throat slamming him through the apartment wall and the next one as well (which was thankfully vacant) with no effort at all and pushing him up against the wall until even the third one was about to give way "HAHAHA, back where we started, hmm Cage?!" Nega laughed as his grip against Cages pencil adrenaline filled neck tightened. Cage was shocked, is this how he was going to go out? His eyes started to roll back into his head as he heard Nega say "With this move I shall destroy your soul", Cage felt his body being slammed through the third wall and into the next room but he was floating..he realizes he's been thrown...the last thing he saw was a crackle of purple lightning and Nega utter the words "Shun Goku..." but at some point Cage's phone must have escaped from his pocket, someone was calling him and suddenly this beautiful hymn rang out YouTube video

Nega immediately collapsed and grabbed his ears " NO! NO! NOOOO!" John was coming back, inside mentally he just hit Nega with his finisher and pinned him, nothing could stand against this Titan when that theme was fueling him! John snapped back to himself, Cage lay coughing on the ground in front of him holding his throat, "Hah, guess you're a fan huh Cage?" John chuckled while standing up and tightening the belt on his gi, Cage scoffed "Well! You were a pretty good heavyweight champion.." They both shared a hearty laugh, but wait who was calling him? John immediately grabbed the phone, "NO!" Cage's senses coming back into his heavily concussed hemorrhaging brain, he knew he was expecting a call, one from the guy behind wanting the Fish Lipped people killed...

Cena glanced at the phone, it was none other than ___________

*Incoming call from Samuel Jackson* "Why is Sam calling Cage at this hour", Cena mumbled under his breath, which constantly smelled of stale Cheetos and seaweed, so Cage wouldn't hear.

Answering the phone in his best Cage-voice, "What's up my Sammy J, what calls at this hour?

"Mother****er, you damn well know why I'm calling your ass right now. Don't act dumb. Shit. The Armenians, they're done waiting, you have to act now." Responded Sam over the line in a crackled voice which suggested he was somewhere with low reception.

Cena pondered for a moment in how to best respond in a Cage-like manner and all he could say was:

"I'M A VAMPIRE. I'M A VAMPIRE I'M A VAMPIRE" Said Cena into the phone, eliciting a wince from the crumpled man on the floor.

"Look, the Armenians...Sammy - I'm in the middle of something. I don't know if it's even connected, even tangientally, but there's something going on here in River City." He turned away and peered through the window, out on the vast urban wasteland of the city.

That's when Sam dropped the bomb on him.

"River City?! Mother****er, your ass needs to be in Bangkok yesterday! The Armenians want that kidney or another actor's kidney of equal or greater value that you owe them and your overacting ass is going to give it to them, or else my black-ass is on the line. Don't make me leave the safety of this volcano I'm hiding out in to head on over to RC and find your ass. You know I know the fishmen on an intimate level and they owe me a favor and I'll cash it in if I have to, Cage. Just don't! Consider your ass warned."

Cena trying hard to process this devastating information Samuel had dropped on him in his substandard wrestler-actor's brain; while maintaining his ruse of being Cage and trying to connect how Sammuel and the fishmen were connected, was left with three simple words ____ ____ ____.

"Broken Sandwich Manual"

...But what the hell could this mean!?

John smacked himself in the face. The Broken Sandwich is a popular pub down in Tiajuana where lots of fishmen congregated after work. That's where he met his 3rd wife, Nancy Drew. That's where Manual, their fiesty bartender gave the couple their first shots as a couple. It was all too obvious at this point. John knew where to go from here.

He tied the now unconscious Cage up and left him on the mite-ridden motel floor, called an ambulance for him and sauntered out of the room with a newfound confidence. He was now Tijuana-bound – he had to find Manual (pronounced man-wal) and get the full story. It had been many years since he had last seen Manual, and they had not left on the best of terms. But none of that mattered: the fishmen needed his help. What did Samuel mean when he said that the fishmen owed him a favour? Cena had no idea that there was any connection between those two parties, but the evidence was there, slapping him in the face. But above all why would he want them all dead?

He made his way to Bob Hope airport in his unassuming silver Skoda Octavia, all the while tapping on the wheel and humming the theme from Hawaii Five-O, occasionally medleying it with 'Tequila'. He could now see the airport, but something was wrong; his nerves tingled, a sensation that made him feel like a nervous Spiderman. He parked his car in the airport garage and put his newly-issued 'detectives park anywhere' badge in the window, then got out and made his way via elevator to the departures lounge. He flashed his badge to security and looked for the first available flight. There was one in just under an hour. Perfect.

He decided to take a nap. After a few minutes of rest, however, he was woken by the sound of commotion. People were rushing around. What the **** was going on?

A gunshot. Cena leapt to his feet, then jumped up onto his seat to try and find the gunman. Are they here for me? he thought. Then, a voice came over the loudspeakers.

"Stand still and do not be alarmed. We are the Army for the Liberation of Treedonia, and we are here for but one man. And his name is... John Cena!"

Of course they're here for me. I'm a popular man these days, it seems.

The voice continued:

"Anybody who leads us to Cena will be rewarded handsomely."

Cena laughed to himself, remembering the Treedonia incident. These guys don't know what it means to be American. None of these fine American patriots would turn me over, that's the US code of honour. God bless this country!

It was then that he became aware of the people staring at him. Crowds of passengers and staff were locked onto him, waiting for him to make a move. Cena cursed to himself and drew his gun, a Beretta M9 that he had kept from his days in the military. He raised it at the masses of people in front of him, who were starting to advance. He didn't want to fire on innocent people, but this fishman problem had too far-reaching consequences for him to fail. He would do what he had to.

He heard screeching behind him. A buggy slammed to halt next to him, and a voice said "Get in, now!"

That voice!

He knew who it was instantly. But why was he here?

He looked up, right into the eyes of his old friend and rival, _______

President Barack Obama extended his hand and motioned John Cena to get in quickly. "Brocky O, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." John exclaimed as he jumped into Buggy Force One. "How's Michelle?" John asked the POTUS. Barack smirked, "Still jealous that I won that dance contest and there for her heart?"

John laughed but really he was upset inside. He knew if had only been a little more funky he could have been the first black president. But John didn't dwell in the past. Especially when under gun fire. Bdog Otrain ditched the the crazy people and the two were quickly on a peaceful back road leading back to the presidential hacienda.

When they arrive at the hacienda, Obizzle and Cena discuss the events that just transpired. John fills the POTUS in on the fishman situation.

The camera cuts to Barack, with a stern browse and his palm over his mouth.

"That fishman was a CIA informant. His disappearance concerns the entire nation. He was on special assignment investigating the David Cameron and pig debacle. "

John Cena stood up and looked at the camera.

" You mean... "

Cut to Obama's faceface." I'm not letting international matters get out but.. "

Smash cut to Obama haermming

Cena chuckled. Those daft Brits, he thought. One of our leaders would never do something such as that!

...Or would they?

"Barack buddy, I have to ask you... you're not tied up in all of this beef, are you?"

"No, not the beef..." His face dropped slightly. "But I may be caught up... in the ham."

"Damnit, Bam. If this gets out, you're ****ed, ruined, done for. They'll impeach you for sure! The Republicans have a special military task force put aside exactly for situations like this!"

Obama squinted discerningly at Cena – "Oh, really?" he said. "And how would you know that?"

"Listen Bam, politics shouldn't get in the way of our friendship. But you should know, I vote 'Publican. A soldier looks out for his own. But that doesn't mean I want to see you kicked out of office."

"Okay, okay. Well, I think you know where you have to go. The Broken Sandwich – find that loose fishman! And speak with Manual. Oh, and, Cena... I'm going to help you out with this. My own personal bodyguard will be going with you."

Cena's eyes widened. "You don't mean – !?"

"Yup. Stevie Skeltal himself."

The skeleton walked out, dressed in a full tuxedo. It grinned. It couldn't do anything else because it was a skeleton. But it was the only skeleton in the country that could take down a Hind 'copter with just a Beretta from a mile away. Stevie Skeltal nodded at Cena, and said:

"I guess this makes us spooks."

Cena chuckled.

"Yeah. I guess it does."