NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER 41: Drafting the Wild Cards
Atlas could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the name on the draft list. Standing there in all his glory, with a giant two-handed sword slung over his shoulder, was Alexander—the Golden God, leader of a faction of reckless rednecks in the apocalypse. It was insane. He had to get this guy.
Atlas's thoughts briefly wandered back to the apocalypse days, remembering Alexander kicking ass like no one else. He wasn’t just a skilled fighter; he was a force of nature. There was this one time when Alexander took on a horde of mutated beasts single-handedly, his massive sword cleaving through their ranks like butter. The way he moved, it was like watching an action hero come to life, every swing, every step calculated yet brimming with raw power. He’d earned his nickname ‘Golden God’ not just for his skills, but for the almost divine way he seemed to overcome every obstacle, no matter how insurmountable. The best thing about Alexander, was that he and Atlas had fought side by side for the year in the wasteland together. There had been plenty of chances for Alexander to betray him during this time, yet it never happened. Alexander had integrity as strong as his fighting skills. It was no wonder Atlas wanted him on the team. He wasn’t just drafting a fighter; he was drafting a legend.
Alicia, stationed in the war room with a comprehensive view of the draft board, noticed Atlas's sudden interest. "Oh, you’ve spotted Alexander? Yeah, that guy’s something else. He’s definitely going to be a first-round pick," she said with a knowing smirk.
"First-round pick?" Atlas thought. "That’s mine then!"
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Ronisshort: first draft pick for sure Alexander! #strong
****
Given his outstanding record, Atlas originally would have had to pick fortyith. But with the little apology bonus, Atlas secured the coveted first pick. He didn’t need to think twice about it—his choice was clear.
When the announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium, declaring, "With the first pick of the draft, Alexander , the Golden God, goes to Team Portal Crushers!" the crowd erupted in cheers. Atlas, ever the strategist, wasted no time. He made the call. "Alexander , you ready to join Team Portal?"
On the other end of the line, Alexander —still carrying that thick redneck drawl—responded, "Well, that sounds mighty good, sir, but I heard your contracts ain’t all that great."
Atlas chuckled, expecting this reaction. "That’s where you’re wrong, buddy. Our contracts are the best of the best. I’ll tell you what—why don’t you fly on down to the gym afterward, and we’ll shoot some guns, eat some steaks, and then talk about the contracts?"
"Shoot, you’re speaking my language—guns and meat? You got it."
Atlas grinned, hearing the excitement in Alexander ’s voice.
He didn’t mind playing on his knowledge of Alexander's love of steaks and beers to secure the deal. He had bigger plans in mind.
The draft clock ticked on.
He had five picks, but after selecting Alexander, only one other person interested him.
Alicia, always prepared, had handed him a list of top recruits, complete with suggestions from the show *So You Think You Can Fight*.
She loved that show.
Yet, despite her recommendations, Atlas remained indifferent. *So You Think You Can Fight* was a reality TV show where fighters had to perform choreographed fights to music with a partner. The whole thing was hilarious—imagine beefy guys trying to swing their swords and dodge to a pop beat while their partners spun around them like backup dancers. It was a riot, but Atlas didn’t see how it was relevant to his team.
He only wanted one other draftee.
The clock was ticking. The time limit for the Edmonton Eskimos was coming up fast. They had the second pick for the draft.
Alicia dialed up Peter Wickberg, the team owner of the Edmonton Eskimos, and handed the phone over to Atlas.
“Peter, I’ve got a great deal for you, but we need to move fast before your first pick.”
Peter, already eyeing his choice, responded cautiously, “Oh? What do you have in mind?”
“I want Hank the Tank,” Atlas said firmly.
Peter chuckled, surprised. “Really? You want that guy?”
“Yep,” Atlas confirmed. “If you give me your first pick, I’ll give you my second. And, I’ll throw in my third, fourth, and fifth picks.”
Peter paused, the offer sounding almost too good to be true. Giving up Hank for such a haul seemed like an easy choice. If Atlas picked a top seed using his first-round selection, it could sting, but for Hank the Tank, someone he never considered drafting, the trade seemed a no-brainer.
“Deal,” Peter said, just before his time to draft ended.
With the swap made, the first-round pick for the Edmonton Eskimos went to Atlas and the Portal Crushers, allowing him to draft Hank the Tank.
The announcer called out, "With the second pick of the draft, Team Portal Crushers selects... Hank the Tank!"
A hush fell over the crowd before murmurs of surprise rippled through the stadium. Hank the Tank? The big, slow, turtle-like fighter? The guy who was more comic relief than a real competitor? No one saw that coming.
But Atlas knew better. While Hank might have been a joke in SFB, he had seen the man in action during his previous life in the portal. The three of them had hundreds of beers together, killed twice as many monsters and Hank had shown his word was as strong as oak.
As much as SFB was a good sports fighter’s system, at the end of the day, it was a sport. So, if you were slow but could take a literal beating in real life, you weren’t that valuable in SFB, determined if you were killed. But for the wasteland, yeah, the tougher the better.
Hank had been an absolute beast—Once he lost a leg during a fight, even one-legged and kneeling, he defended his teammates with two massive shields, fending off demon dogs with sheer determination. That kind of bravery couldn’t be measured in SFB stats.
Even better, Hank had been the second-in-command of Alexander’s redneck faction. Atlas knew that pairing Hank with Alexander would make for a formidable duo. Hank had always been Robin, to Alexander’s Batman.
*I’m definitely Superman in this scenario,” thought Atlas. He chuckled to himself.
When Atlas called Hank to give him the news, the big man was bewildered. "You sure you want me, man? I was just here to entertain, maybe strip and run around the arena for laughs."
Alicia over the speakerphone laughed; she remembered the scene from the show *So You Think You Can Fight*, when he was yelling, “Everyone strip! Join me running around the arena!” then proceeded to do so himself.
The reporters, already gearing up to capture Hank’s usual antics, were equally shocked.
Nobody would have predicted that Hank would be the second pick of the draft.
Hank’s surprise quickly turned to excitement when he learned that his old buddy Alexander was already considering joining the team. "Hell yeah, I’m in! Let’s raise some hell!"
“Why don’t you jump on the same flight as Alexander, and come join our meeting. I promised him some steaks, and we’re going to grab some beers at the range too.”
“Ya sure, dude? I know I ain’t near as good as Alexander, his contract’s probly twice as good, and I ain’t complaining, but don’t want to waste anyone’s time,”
“Let me tell you a secret, Hank, on Team Portal Crusher, everyone on the main team has the same contract, including you and Alexander.”
Hank was stunned, “Well, I’m not there in person right now, but if I were, I’d shake your hand.”
Atlas grinned, knowing he had just secured two of the wildest, most unpredictable fighters in the draft. While the other teams were focused on stats and star power, Atlas was building a team with heart, loyalty, and the kind of raw determination that couldn’t be taught.
As the draft concluded, Atlas felt a surge of anticipation. He had his wild cards, and now it was time to see just how far he could push them. The portal was coming, and he was going to kick it’s ass with a stacked team.