One-Shots (2014-2015 Season)

Ever wonder what the real reason for some things is? Like what’s the real reason that so many Russians in the NHL are getting injured...well...maybe it’s this:

I was on the computer, searching for news on my favorite Baby Russian player, who you all know already is Valeri Nichushkin. The poor guy was set for a breakout sophomore year, but instead he gets “hurt”. As I researched, I learned about more Russians who had fallen victim to the “injury bug”. There was Evgeni Malkin, Sergei Bobrovsky, Sergei Gonchar, Nikita Zadorov, Pavel Datsyuk, Simeon Varlamov, Nikita Nesterov...a bunch of names. How could so many Russian players be getting injured? Or “injured”.

I decided to investigate and that’s when things got pretty horrible. Apparently Putin, the Russian president, had sent spies to kidnap Russians for his war scheme. (Far-fetched, huh? But totally real.) And the next name on the list was...Nikita Kucherov!

I couldn’t let another Russian get hurt and kidnapped, so I sprang into action. I jumped into my car, knowing it was a Friday and I could most likely be back for my classes on Tuesday. I drove to Tampa, where the Lightning were getting set to take on the Canadiens at the real Amalie Arena in Downtown Tampa. I parked the car and sped into the arena, managing to slip in easily. I headed for the rink and skidded to a halt.

Down below, I saw Michal Therrien, the Montreal coach, using some sketchy hand gestures. Then I watched one of the Montreal players slam into Kucherov, sending him awkwardly into the boards.

“NIKITA!!” I howled and launched toward the boards. “Nikita, no!!”

The Montreal player, who happened to be one of my least favorite players in the league, Tomas Plekanec, then slashed his stick across the forward’s face, as the ref’s whistle blew. I was furious.

Nikita remained on the ice, gasping for air and groaning with pain. His teammates came over to him and helped him out. But he remained on the ice for a few minutes. When Tyler Johnson motioned to the bench and called for a stretcher, Nikita waved it off and fought off the agony. I was still in shock, watching as he was finally helped to the bench and ushered down the tunnel.

I had to get to the locker room quickly now. Time was of the essence. I darted back out into the main corridor and took off toward the locker rooms. At least, I hoped. I sprinted into the backstage area, slipping in easily. I was shocked at how easy this was and a little concerned. I pushed my pace and heard a shrill scream, followed by the sounds of a struggle. I found the locker room and skidded to a halt, spotting three masked ninjas grabbing Nikita. They tied his arms behind him and his ankles together and then gagged him with a bandana.

“Nikita!” I yelled and darted into the room to help him out.

I began battling was one of the ninjas and managed to knock him out. The other two had took our distraction and had begun to drag the Lightning forward out of the room. I attacked them though and somehow managed to win. I freed Nikita Kucherov and helped him back over to his stall. He was rubbing his wrists and looking at me and the ninjas with curiosity.

“You save me and beat the ninjas?? What going on here?”

“Putin is kidnapping Russians from the NHL, you know about Nichushkin, Bobrovsky, Malkin and the other “injuries” right?”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“They aren’t injured, they’ve really been kidnapped by Putin for his devilish schemes!” I explained.

“A bit, uh, extreme, right?”

“It’s true. It explains the ninjas trying to kidnap you.”

“True. So what we going to do about it?”

“We’ve got to save them all and return the Russians to the NHL.”

“Okay.” He smiled and nodded his head.

The two of us set out from the arena and headed to my car. We got in and drove to the airport. We caught the nearest flight and made it to Russia at once. After all, he was hurt, so he wasn’t returning to the game anyway.

We made it to Russia with plenty of time, touching down in Moscow. We got off and tracked down Putin. Along the way, Nikita acted as my guide. He pointed out familiar sights and looked like he was at home. And he technically was. We finally discovered Putin’s secret hideout and broke in. We were like two badass TV heroes.

As soon as we barged in, Nikita was grabbed and my eyes found the poor, helpless blue ones of Valeri Nichushkin. How did he know I cared for Val the most? Well, anyway, he’d had Val bound to a chair with ropes and had gagged him with a black bandana.

“Пусть идет, Путин. Пусть все идут. (Let him go, Putin. Let them all go.)” I ordered. I had been teaching myself Russian through google, so I could carry on a conversation and communicate.

Putin cackled, as he put his hands on Val’s shoulders. The hockey player struggled and grunted his frustration. I felt his pain. To the side of him, Malkin was in the arms of two ninjas, along with Nikita Zadorov, Nikita Kucherov, and half the league’s Russian population. How could he do something like this?

“Добро пожаловать, может быть, у вас есть много вопросов, например, как я знаю, что вы, как Валерий Ничушкин, здесь? (Welcome, perhaps you have a lot of questions, like how I know you like Valeri Nichushkin, here?)”

“Можно сказать, мне любопытно, что ... почему ты похитить их? (You could say I am curious about that...why did you kidnap them?)” I retorted, trying to remain calm and collected and smooth like a James Bond character.

“Для войны американские! (For war, American!)” Putin spat, grabbing Val’s chin firmly with his hand.

“Мы не ведем войны! Мы играем в хоккей! (We don't fight wars! We play hockey!)” Malkin snapped. He kicked at his ninjas, who tightened their grip on him. One of them slapped a hand over his mouth, which didn’t make him happy.

“Alright, you want American? I’ll give you American!” I cried and ran forward. I shoved Putin backward, off of Val. Then I grabbed him and flung him against the wall. “Don’t. Kidnap. Russian. Hockey. Players. And. Don’t. Touch. Valeri. Nichushkin. AGAIN!”

Putin smirked and began to cackle. He was so smug and it ticked me off. I clocked him over the head and knocked him out. Then I spun around and darted to Val. I yanked the bandana down and kissed him on the lips at once. I worked to untie his bonds and finally got him free. With Putin out, the ninjas let there hostages go and fled the place. A few stopped to grab the unconscious body and then vanished.

I helped Val to his feet and turned to the others, who were all totally unhurt and uninjured and thankful.

“Давайте вернемся в Америку, а? (Let's get back to America, eh?)” I stated.

They all agreed in Russian and we all headed back to the States. And that was how I saved the NHL’s Russians and managed to fall in love with Valeri Nichushkin.

I blinked and shook my head. I sent a response back to my friend on the hockey fanfiction site. Yeah, the reason behind all the Russians getting “injured” lately was not because Putin kidnapped them… XD

Notes

Okay, so many Russians have been or are injured right now in the NHL and I was talking to my friend on here, A Shruinger and she suggested that it was Putin "kidnapping" them for some war or so. We laughed and I figured that the idea had to be turned into a One-Shot short story. So here you go, enjoy the weird reason behind the "injuries".
XD