____________________
“Heartless” Jakob Volga
____________________
Whisper...sure, I've seen him wrestle, and he is AWESOME...
[We are sitting down with "Heartless" Jakob Volga. He is
sitting on a simple set, a black room, with a single light, with a single
camera, all on him. HJV is wearing a black shirt with "HJV" on
the front, and his black leather jacket.]
HJV: The mix he has of lucha flying and japanese submissions, you HAVE to give
the man his due. I mean, did you SEE the big man he defeated last
week? DEATHKNELL? That crazy monster is almost 7 feet tall,
almost 400 pounds, and he took him down HARD!
[Jakob smiles a bit, thinking about that action...]
HJV: Any man that can get in that ring, and do the things he does, I have to
respect that, who WOULDN'T? Getting into the ring with him this week is
going to be a CHALLENGE, no doubt about it....
[Jakob's face turns a little more serious now...]
HJV: But guess who else it is going to be difficult for? HIM. He
has to step into the ring with ME...
[We cut to a video package of Volga walking to the ring, his black hood up,
making him look like the true living embodiment of the Grim Reaper himself.]
HJV: Because though Whisper has all the talent in the world, there are a few
things in this world that cannot be stopped, one of those things is my
want...NO...my NEED to be back at the top of the SPW...
[A shot of Volga in action, choking out Sammy Knight, cut to a shot of Volga
brawling with Victor Frost, Ian Christoph and a few others.]
HJV: I have seen the top of this mountain before, and almost climbed up, until
my own avarice sent me tumbling back down the mountain. My big mouth and
my ego almost cost me everything, and I REFUSE to take that tumble again.
Whisper, I respect you, but that doesn't mean I am not coming in to take you
out. Because each new match I get is one more step up that
mountain, to make my way back to the chance to get my hands on the SPW World
Title, a belt I KNOW I can win, because the OTHER thing that cannot be
stopped...
[We go to an edited shot of Jakob Volga landing his infamous HeartPunch on a
myriad of opponents, from Sammy Knight to Ian Christoph. Each one of them
taking the shot, and falling to the mat, lights OUT.]
HJV: ...is the Heart Punch. One shot, and you are down on your back
faster than a 5 dollar whore. Whisper, the next step up is here for Jakob
Volga, I hope you are ready, because I sure know I am...
[Fade to black]
_______
Whisper
_______
Whisper: This is not a test...
[The blinding white light began to fade away in order to open up to the image of Whisper, the profile of the SPW's masked man was cast downward for a moment, his head turning to look into the camera.]
Whisper: This is not a test for Jakob Volga. Jakob Volga has nothing to prove, a loss to me would only be a minor set back in his rise to the top of the SPW. In the long run, no one can...or ever will...question his ability in the ring and what he's capable of doing.
[Holding his hands together, as if he was praying. Whisper's forehead pressing against his hands, a long pause leaving nothing but silence in the air.]
Whisper: Many would view this as a test for me. I, however, do not view this opportunity as such. I understand that every time I step into the ring, I move in front of the camera, I take a deep satisfying breath...I'm going to be evaluated by someone.
And so be it...
I respect Jakob Volga, he's taken a long road to get to where he is. Thinking otherwise would be a fool's errand. Thinking that because we both find ourselves in the favor of the fans that he won't take my head off my shoulders is also an incorrect statement.
Fortunately, I am no longer a fool. To think I wouldn't bring my 'A' game to this match would mean, I don't respect Mr. Volga. To prove, what I think of him...I'm going to unleash hell. The kicks I delivered to the craniums of Deathknell and Chance McKenzie will seem like they came from a pillow fight when you compare them to what I intend to bring to our meeting Jakob Volga. I know, you wouldn't be happy if I brought anything less...
[Looking towards the camera, the side of his face resting against his pray positioned hands. A wrinkle in the mask could possibly have been taken as a smile.]
Whisper: And I'd want you to be happy Jakob, you deserve that luxury in life. I have enough self loathing for the both of us, that motivates me to move to the next level. Building the bridge to the next plateau that life is guiding me towards.
Because this isn't a test....
There is no option to pass or fail....
This is just another one of the challenges that I need to face on my way to tomorrow...
This is the biggest challenge that's been present my way...
A win here could mean the world to me...
A loss could put me out of public view for another year...
I do not know what to expect...
Because all of these questions do not have an answer...
....For the Future...
...is Unwritten...
[Just as it had faded into view with a blinding white light it came to pass the same way.]
___________
Castro Shaw
___________
[Fade on in to the other side.
Standing by in front of a huge "Ascension" banner is 'The Love Blender' himself, Castro Shaw. Shaw has a huge smile on his face and his dark curly mullet hair has been slicked back with whatever gel he got his hands on at this point. He wears a black t-shirt from the band Black Flag, and a pair of blue jeans with a studded belt. To complete this look he wears mirror framed sunglasses just to make sure that no one would ever know who he is looking at. Tucked behind his right ear is a cigarette, and in his hands is a bottle of water. Standing near to him are the three masked midget wrestlers known as Uno, Dos and Tres. Each of them are labeled as not to confuse the public as to who is who, but other than that they all look the same.]
CASTRO: Johnny Pain.
[Castro shakes his head.]
CASTRO: The whole world be shakin', mang. Chile, Turkey, hopefully Cali in the near future. The whole world still be tremblin', and 'dats 'cause of me, amigo. The force 'dat I slammed Johnny Pain's head into 'dat mat 'caused deep vibrations in the crust of the Earth. Slam! There goes his wrestling career. Johnny Pain is heading back to his old job of handin' out body shots at the Blue Oyster Bar, all 'cause of the main mang.
Me.
Just 'nother hack 'dat can't' handle what is hittin' the rest of Ascension. Hide under the nearest doorway, amigos.
[He pauses and smirks.]
CASTRO: What now? Colt Montana? Is he a champion of somethin' 'round here?
[Castro looks towards his friendly midgets and they check some papers and all shake their heads no.]
CASTRO: No? Really? 'cause it seems like they're handin' out titles just 'bout everyone these days. So, we can confirm 'dat Colt doesn't have a title, right?
He's not the Alabama State Fair Champion?
The New York Big Apple Reach Around Champion?
The Transcontinental Transsexual Champion?
The Underground Mongolian Gangbang Champion?
The We Once Rolled Through the Town of Dayton Champion?
None of those?
[After a quick check on the clipboards in front of them, yeah they have clipboards -- you got a problem with little persons having clipboards? – All three of the little guys shake their heads to each mention of the title names.]
CASTRO: How many title matches are there on Conquest? Like twenty three, how many we got on Ascension? Zero. Hell, the bosses go as far as to give all these title matches out on Conquest... there's 'dat name again. Someone spit for me...
[Just then one of the little guys spits towards the ground. It was Tres.]
CASTRO: Good job, mang. Not even a number one contender match over here. I know Conquest needs help in the ratings, but come on! For all I care they can have all the title matches 'dat they want on 'dat show to try and convince the people 'dat the show is important, but we all know the truth. The boys in the back all know the truth. If you're on 'dat show your name might as well be Johnny Pain...
...soon to be joined by Colt Montana.
[Castro again pauses.]
CASTRO: Speaking of which... yeah, 'dat was my transition, mang. Would it hurt the boys upstairs to get their computer geeks to update my profile on the main page?
How are the fanboys supposed to speak 'bout me on all those dirt sheets if they don't know all my past accomplishments, mang? Or do they know where I was trained and by who.
Let's make it happen, right?
[Castro pauses.]
CASTRO: I think 'dats 'bout it...
[He looks around at his three midgets and they seem a little pissed off about something. Castro thinks nothing of it and continues.]
CASTRO: I don't have anythin' else to say or anyone to thank.
[They all shrug their shoulders and begin to point at each other.]
CASTRO: Nope, can't think of anything.
[They begin to walk off without being thanked for pretty much winning the match
for him against Johnny Pain.]
CASTRO: Wait...
[They stop.]
CASTRO: Make sure you get my pills, Uno. I can't forget to take my medication.
'dats really important.
Ok, I'll just wait here for you guys.
[...and then keep walking. We fade to black, for now.]
___________
Colt Montana
___________
[Colt is on his cellphone, sitting back in the luxury
leather seating of the SPW's Private Jet. Why is Colt enjoying virgin
Daiquiris, frozen at that, hundreds of miles above the earth
on merry way towards New Hampshire?? What gives the Lucha Lucha
& Tag Team Jefe the stones to enjoy himself while the rest of you take
lowly first class airplane rides?]
Stewardess: And sir, if youd like to join the mile high club, we have
that provided for you as well.
[Colt looks up, smiling and waves her off.]
Colt: No I have no time to join a club I be talking to my friend mi
amigo!
[The Stewardess looks surprised and then turns away in a huff.]
Colt: Hey is Alice in Wonderland playing I have no 3D glasses!
Amiga!!
[Colt shakes his masked head and goes back to chatting.]
Colt: Aye yes no, traveling me gusto in the big en coche en the sky
yes. Uh ha no, Castro Shaw he is tough jefe, he is scary dude man, he is
Cubano. He no Mexican like me. He no even Luchadore!
[Colt listens...]
Colt: Okay well I do like you say! Say wherefore you come back and
when is... okay... no that be great me look forward to it for long while
yes? Haha okay, good day to you. Thank you. Okay bye.
[Colt snaps his phone shut as the Stewardess appears, and presents him with 3D
glasses. Colt quickly puts them on, and she just stares at him.
Colt smiles wide in the oversize glasses, expecting the movie to start and she
huffs off before Colt can ask for popcorn.]
Colt: CAN ME HAVE SOME POPCORN YES!?!
Hmmm.
...Hola SPW, me llamo es Colt Montana. Pioneer of LUCHA LUCHA LUCHA IN LA
SSSSSPW!!
And me is travelling the friendly skies because Colt he have many things.
Faith from management, ironclad contract, the wind at his back and the
stars in his future, y Vile Vince Viper's plane ticket. DEAD BEAT
OFFS FOREVER!
But most importantly, Colt, he remember what it be like to have to earn
his way up. Back when he wrestling independents in Texas, teaming with
Flagg in BWF to become Heavyweight Tag HHHampione.
Ah los good ole days. Colt, yeah he was young whippersnapper and then he
have to earn his way up the ladder but now he see that this young newbody, this
guy this greenhorny man he named Castro Shaw now be where Colt used to be back
when he was there a long time ago. You see, Castro Shaw, he like little
spirit of energy. Oh sure he talka the talk and he walka the walk but he
no can back it up like Colt can yes no?
And you say to yourself of Castro, he love blender, and I say well that's okay
because Colt he loves blenders too. It's how he Colt Montana eat his
weightgainer to become big and strong. And Castro, one day you become big
and strong too yes? You grow up to be SPW Superstar, just like the Colt
Montana. You be World Tag Team Hhampion entonce... maybe even the two
time world tag team hhhampione?
You see though, Colt he much more diverse than you. He loves more than
just blenders! He loves toasters, microwave ovens, those little can
opener things that you plug the can de Tunafish upside down and it go round and
round rarr rarr rarrr till it pop open and then TUNA SANDWHICHES FOR EVERYONE!
Mira! The movie it is starting!
[Colt sits back in his chair, as the Stewardess comes by and hands him his bag
of popcorn. Colt smiles wide and sits back to enjoy his snack.]
Colt: But maybe one day Castro Shaw you learn to be the man who sit in
the big plane and order the big snacks too yes? And if by chance you get
to welcome from other guys in SPW who not be Colt Montana? Then maybe
they no be nice as me but I say for you, Castro Shaw, good luck on
Ascensione'. Cause Colt he take it prideally that he get to show you the
ropes, and what being an SSSSSPW Superstar is the all about.
So good luck and Colt, he see YOU in New Hhhhampshire!
Buenos Dias Senor!! And to he great fans, Colt lova you and he see you
there too!
Mucho Mucho Bene! Graccciiias!
[Colt sits back with the oversize glasses on, happily muching his popcorn as
the camera pulls out the window to show the lear jet zooming over the clouds on
its way to Boston.]
_________
Iris Galiver
_________
[Fade in to where Iris Galiver sits against a wall on a cold, concrete floor. Her legs are pulled up to her chest and her head is lying on top of her knees. Her look is grave, distant. Iris is wearing a pair of gray cargo pants and a white tank top. The once psychotic being known as "The Pretty, Pretty Princess" is alone and seems to be in a complete array of despair. After what happened on the previous Conquest with "Jester" Chad Allen, it is obvious she is still shaken. Her skin is pale as always. A few pieces of her bright red hair falls over her eyes. As the camera closes in she peers into the lens.]
IRIS: They told me when times got rough to find a happy place. Find a happy place, Iris... find a happy place. But what does one do when they can't remember any happy places? What do they do when they cannot remember anything? Anything at all?
[Her mouth curves into a frown. Her hazel eyes shift downward and then back up into the camera. Her mood becomes more solemn, almost apologetic for who she really is... what she has done in the past.]
IRIS: I am Iris Galiver. I am 32 years old. I am from Anchorage, Alaska. I was raised in the Boston area by parents who adopted me when I was a newborn. I was a pro-wrestler for Shootfire Pro-Wrestling. I used to have a boyfriend by the name of "Jester" Chad Allen. Apparently I killed my own parents. But they never proved it.
[She slightly shrugs, a look of horror now crossing her face.]
IRIS: I was once hospitalized for three years in an asylum, locked in a padded room with no windows away from the world, because I was so out of control. I lived in my own world, truly believing I was only 8 years old. I kidnapped another human being and kept her in my bedroom in an undisclosed location for two weeks. I tortured her. This is what the doctors and people around me have told me. They told me this... and I'm still finding it hard to believe.
[Iris glances to the side. She pauses for a second before looking back into the camera.]
IRIS: Why would someone like me wreak such havoc? Why would I allow myself to do such terrible things? Make people bleed and have broken bones? Destroy the lives they have built for themselves? I cannot imagine ever doing such a thing, just as I cannot imagine being a child trapped inside the body of a grown woman.
[Iris reaches to the side. She pulls out what we've all come to known as Rosie the doll. But, Rosie's head has once again been attached to its body with a poor sewing job. Sighing, Iris holds the doll out in front of her petite body.]
IRIS: This doll. She was mine. Look at her. She is a disheveled mess. I can somehow relate to her because she looks so alone. She looks as if someone has carved her up, time and time again, and that she was put back together by an amateur. The amateur was me, actually, because I couldn't stand seeing her like she was. Funny. I can remember how to sew, but I can't remember who I am.
[Iris pushes her bright red hair out of her eyes.]
IRIS: There's this girl named Angst. I hear she knocked me so hard on my head with a chair that I am the way I am now. I hear she's out to get me because I blasted half of her face off and almost killed her. I hear... she's dangerous. But for some reason, I am not afraid. I'm afraid of evil clowns like "Jester" Chad Allen, but I am not afraid of scrawny little girls who go around attacking people from behind. So, I have one thing to say: bring it on, Angst. Bring your chairs. Bring your cowardly attacks. Because you know what else they told me? That I am as tough as nails. That I've kicked your ass before and that I can do it again.
[She smiles for the first time.]
IRIS: I am Iris Galiver. I'm a pro-wrestler for Shootfire Pro-Wrestling. And I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid because I've never felt more alive.
[Out.]
___________
Castro Shaw
___________
TWO HOURS LATER
[We fade back in from black. Standing in front of the same background he was a few short promos ago is Castro Shaw, but instead of getting a full view his face is right up into the camera's and his eyes seem all weird looking. Just then Q-Lazzarus' "Goodbye Horses" comes into play.
Castro begins to fluff his hair and dance for the camera. He whispers deep into the camera.]
CASTRO: Would you [bleep] me?
[...and backs up slowly. He's not wearing a shirt at this point, but continues to dance around.]
CASTRO: I'd [bleep] me.
[More dancing. But just before we get the full shot, the three little people charge in and push Castro out of the camera's shot. Fade back to black.]
____________________
“Sugar” Shayne Grissom
____________________
[The scene opens in the locker room at the TD Garden where later that night SPW will hold Conquest. It is quiet. No loud fans being heard through the cement walls and nobody else in the room getting dressed. Just a single man sitting on a wooden bench near the nasty, green-colored lockers. The man is holding his head with his left hand, and a cell phone in his right, looking intent on his conversation as the camera creeps closer and swivels around him.]
[The camera clears around to show it is Shayne Grissom. He is sitting there in a T-shirt and jeans, with his locker room materials still spread over the bench and open locker behind him. Grissom looks distraught as he listens to the person talking into his ear on the cell phone. he is so vested in the conversation that he doesn't even acknowledge the camera taping the scene.]
Grissom: I know, I know. You always said that becoming great in the wrestling business isn't about winning every match, but this one .... it just feels WRONG!
[Grissom just shakes his head, disapproving of the voices' response.]
Grissom: I'll tell you why....this was yet another time when the floor got kicked out from under me. Another time when I was led to believe my star was on the ride only to get blindsided at the last second. Is it because of you?
You know....all the talk about people hating you and how the business is far uglier now than when you started. You always said that people had natural hate for you and I have to wonder if I'm getting some of it because I'm a student of yours.
[Shayne just takes a deep breath as he listens and seems resolute to move on.]
Grissom: Alright chief, I'll do that. I'll call you again next week, unless you're going to be on the radio again. Alright.....later.
[Shayne flips his cell phone closed and just sits there. Finally after several seconds he begins speaking...not to the camera, but more to himself.]
Grissom: This was not the way Shootfire Pro was supposed to begin for me. I was primed for the beginning of a great run. When I stepped into that ring and heard the fans cheer me on......it was like i was superhuman. I could do no wrong, make no mistake, feel no pain. I was unbeatable.
[Grissom rubs the back of his head a little and winces.]
Grissom: "Was" is definitely the right word to say there I guess.
[Shayne stands to his feet, staring toward the camera, fully addressing those who will later be watching.]
Grissom: I won't lie. I wanted to win that match badly. Not to keep my unbeaten streak alive, though that was important to me. I wanted to win it because there was a title involved.
[Grissom begins putting items in a duffel bag as he speaks.]
Grissom: Maybe it is something I shouldn't covet so much. Maybe with just right at two years experience, I ought not to expect success and titles reigns. I ask those questions, but I honestly don't believe they are viable.
Why?
[Shayne cracks a smile.]
Grissom: Because I *AM* talented enough to win titles. I know I have it in me. I was born into this business and it is all I have ever known. I have learned and trained with some of the best champion grapplers in our industry. Not a one of them walked away without telling my father how impressed they were with me.
You don't grow up with that for all those years and not develop some sense of purpose. Lord knows I grew up with images of World Championships and legions of fans in my mind.
[Shayne's pauses a second, as if thinking about what he is saying. Then he finally continues.]
Grissom: Don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying that my being the son of a top-tier road agent and constant access to that level of training entitles me to being handed everything on a silver platter. However it does mean that I understand what I need to be doing in order to achieve all of those dreams and spoils of future promise.
I know how hard I would have to work to be in the best physical shape every night in the ring. I know how I need to maintain a steady life away from the ring to make sure I never miss bookings or appearances and disappoint those who pay our salaries by watching us.
[Shayne pauses again, and slowly shakes his head as he keeps talking, almost as if he seems ashamed.]
Grissom: I talked to those kids a few weeks back at the library about not giving up on dreams even if your wings get melted off a thousand times. THAT is what I have to hang my hat on. THAT is what I have to keep doing myself because I want to be an example for kids everywhere. I want to be the kind of mentor for perseverance that will show kids that success does come if you keep focused and work hard.
If I turn tail and run or turn around and start whining about political backstabbing and lying among the staff involved in SPW....then I'm not focusing in the right direction. My fans know me and they know what I stand for. They know I will give everything I got to make them happy and feel they got their money's worth. So I stand here ready for the next step to try and get that elusive title belt...
James O'Conner.
[Shayne chuckles.]
Grissom: I've read the bio sheets and even watched some of your matches, but in all I know about you....I bet there are some things that even *YOU* don't know about yourself. No, I can't tell you anything about your fighting style or any tendencies that you have for throwing a punch here, a kick there or even the way you clinch to use your octagon experience.
None of that means anything because you already know you own tendencies.
No, what I know about you is more delicate and could even shake the very foundation of where you think your career is heading in SPW and beyond.
[Shayne's jovial face disappears and he stares coldly to the screen.]
Grissom: They have no faith in you.
[A pause to let it sink in and Shayne allows a grin to escape.]
Grissom: None whatsoever...
I firmly believe that a man has the right to know everything about his career and his livelihood and whether or not the plans he thinks they have in store for him are what is truly intended or not. I don't tell you this for my own sick amusement, nor to tear you down as I believe you are a spirited and talented worker with a great upside in this industry.
But it is the truth. SPW has no faith in you as a "star" in any way.
[Shayne raises an eyebrow.]
Grissom: I know, I know.....you are all out there wondering how I know such a thing. I mean it is a hell of an accusation to throw out there in a situation like this.
But I do know what I know and I'll tell you why I know it...
[Shayne takes a deep breath before continuing because even he knows revealing this could be a detriment to his own career.]
Grissom: I know it because the night I debuted and got my first victory, they pulled me into a room for a quick meeting. This meeting wasn't anything evil, but rather to discuss directions they wanted to take me in for how they presented me to the fans. They sat me down, looked right in my eyes and said...
We are thinking maybe you would tag with O'Conner for awhile...
[Now another pause...this one a tad longer and Shayne nods a little to affirm what he said.]
Grissom: That's right....they wanted us to form a tag team.
They told me they wanted it because they had no idea what to do with you and that you were languishing stuck out on your own. In essence, they wanted to hitch you to my star and let me carry you up to the sky. There was no offense intended, but I said no.
I said no because I wanted to succeed or fail on *MY* own merit, just as I felt you would have wanted as well. For all I know, they met with you and gave you the same idea and you reacted just like I did. I knew I had what it took to shoot up the ladder and that is EXACTLY what I did. You have done well for yourself as well and here we are.
I can't help it, but they still seem to be trying to use me to "make" you.
[Shayne shakes his head in disgust.]
Grissom: It isn't right or fair to either of us. They keep trying to turn us into another long-term feud of guys who always cross paths both in the back and in the ring....but it won't work. This is going to be where I personally separate the men from the boys.
[Here comes the return of that wide grin Shayne flashes often.]
Grissom: When we face off here in the Garden....I'm not holding back. I'm going to use everything the greats taught me growing up. I'm even going to turn and use your own strengths against you. If I get beat, then so be it and a congrats to you. But I guarantee that it won't happen that way.
I'm the better wrestler.
I've got the fans on my side to get back into title contention.
And I've got the best upside in the game's history.
James, don't take any of this personally. You are going to be scorched by the future of wrestling. You will then come to know exactly why I say that the future *IS* right now...
[Even wider smile now.]
Grissom: ...And it's sweeter than Sugar!
[Shayne walks away as the screen fades to black.]
______________
James O’Connor
______________
[Fade in to "Sugar" Shayne Grissom, speaking to
youngsters at the local library. The image from the last Off the Chain
carries no audio. Instead, we hear dark music and an ominous voice over
the footage.]
V: "Sugar" Shayne Grissom seems like the perfect fan-friendly
wrestler. Humble...
[Scene switches to Grissom talking with the camera in Haiti.]
V: ...charitable...
[Scene changes again to Grissom in the BYOW Rumble at Charity Carnage.]
V:...and honorable. He even has a catchphrase that everyone can love.
[Back to the library for Shayne's last promo. This time, we hear the
audio.]
SSG: The future is
right here and right now....
[Shayne flashes that wide grin.]
SSG: ...and it's sweeter than sugar!
[The image freezes.]
V: Yes, Shayne Grissom is everything a fan could ask for in a superstar...or is
he?
[The colors invert.]
V: What does Shayne Grissom have to hide? What was the real purpose
behind his departure from ICWF? What past misdeeds could have cost him
his job? Would those misdeeds prompt from him a desire to make up for his
wrongdoing through charity and mentoring? Is THAT the type of person who
should represent Shootfire Pro as its Fusion Champion?
[Cue the bright, hopeful music as we cut to footage of James O'Connor
celebrating a victory.]
V: James O'Connor is the real, down to Earth hero Shootfire needs.
[As the voice continues, we see footage of each match described.]
V: He was there for Sammy Knight against Andrew Davis. He was there for
SPW in the Deathwish Cage. He was there for the wrestling world to see in
New York, as he eliminated the legendary Luke Kinsey. He has been there
for every company he has worked for, fighting his whole career without getting
fired or let go.
[File footage of O'Connor staring into the camera, a hard smirk across his
face.]
V: James O'Connor: The Fusion Champion We Need. The Fusion Champion We
Deserve.
[The voice quickly reads the words that have just appeared at the bottom of the
screen.]
V: Paid for by friends of James O'Connor.
[As the ad's final image freezes, we cut to James O'Connor. Decked out in
his fighting gear, he sits in a metal folding chair, staring dumbfounded at a
television that still shows the final image.]
JOC: I...I don't have the words.
[The camera pans to show the man responsible...the man himself, Henry Spikes.]
HS: I'll admit my ad team was a little rusty, Mister O'Connor. Still, I
think this displays the type of support you can expect from me during our
partnership.
[James stands.]
JOC: Woah, PARTNERSHIP? Now look, Henry, I appreciate your role in giving
Marsh the punishment he deserved for the IGA invasion, and I'll admit I've had
fun being back in the DCWL, but that does NOT mean I'm looking for any help
with my career, particularly the kind that involves tearing down a decent
man! I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I've been doing pretty
damn well for myself.
HS: Excluding your recent losing streak, I'm sure.
[JOC's eyes narrow. Henry puts his hands up.]
HS: I mean no offense. You've exhibited great potential at every
turn. It's the reason I brought you on board.
JOC: I thought it was to mess with Clyde Kennedy and Andrew Davis.
[A small grin.]
HS: A pleasant side effect. Still, as great as your victories over that
pair were, and as noble as your efforts against Sammy Knight and in the
Deathwish cage were, those events are in the past. You're the SOW Warrior
Champion, you're facing Jackson Hunter at Cornerstone Revolution, and you've
got a good thing going in SPW, and yet...
JOC: ...and yet I haven't won a match in any league since before
Christmas. Look, I know your pitch. I also know that you've been
shunted out of every managerial job you've had. I know that you're
desperately trying to stay in the spotlight. I know that even after that
stunt where you handed out your business card like candy I'm STILL one of the
few people here who will have anything to do with you.
[JOC shakes his head.]
JOC: Face it, you need me, but losing streak or not I DON'T need you.
HS: Oh, I'd disagree, Mister O'Connor, because if you really didn't need help
you'd have already figured out WHY you're losing these matches.
[A brief pause, as O'Connor's eyes narrow distrustfully.]
JOC: Alright, genius, Why am I losing matches?
HS: Your commitments to SPW, SOW and DCWL are commendable, but they're also
taking you away from what made you successful in the first place. Sure
you're a smart kid who knows how to cut a good promo against guys you genuinely
want to pummel. Against Rich Patterson, against Chance Fortuna, even
against Clyde Kennedy and Andrew Davis, you go in with that killer instinct and
you're almost unstoppable.
[Spikes holds up a finger.]
HS: But take someone you like, or at least respect greatly, and that strategy
falls apart. Really, it all starts with your words. You're a man
who relies as much on emotion as skill, and it's hard to work yourself into the
proper mindset when you're on camera saying how much you like and respect
people.
JOC: So I'm supposed to tear them down? Trash my mentor, or a legend
who's paid his dues? Make up something about a man who has done nothing
but good in his time with SPW? Shayne Grissom is a real talent and, by
all accounts, a genuinely good guy. Hell, he's a better person than I
am. You think I should try and ruin his well earned reputation because
he's my opponent this week?!
HS: No, and that's the point. You can't, at least not without damaging
that image of yours.
JOC: This isn't helping your cause.
HS: Alright, fine. Let's go back to your Fusion title match. You
and Baldwin took it to Rich Patterson, but once he was eliminated from the
ring, Baldwin was able to roll you up for the pin. On Ascension, you
didn't do much to stop Viper from taking that match, only to have Chad Allen
come down in the most predictable event ever. Did you take any
precautions against a randomly violent man on a rampage who just happened to be
allied with one of your opponents? No. Why? You were
distracted. You have too much on your plate and it's making the rest of
your work suffer.
[Henry claps a hand on James's shoulder.]
HS: Mister O'Connor, you are a fighter. That's what you're best at.
I can't fight worth a damn, but you don't need help with strategy or
training. You need help with messaging and marketing. You don't
have the taste for it, the knack for it, and the more time you worry about that
the less time you have to worry about the match ahead of you. With my
assistance, the ONLY thing you will have to worry about in this business is
defeating the man in front of you.
[An uneasy pause. JOC looks at the ceiling for a moment, mumbling softly
to himself. A gruff, disgusted sigh punctuates the silence.]
JOC: You have a point. Alright, fine. We'll see what you're capable
of through Wrestlebowl. After that, no guarantees. Just do me a
favor?
HS: Yes?
JOC: Promise me you'll never air that Grissom bit. He doesn't deserve the
mudslinging treatment.
[A wide, slimy grin crosses the former GM's face.]
HS: Wouldn't dream of it.
[And with this, we fade to black.]
__________
Quinn Scott
__________
[We open up on the large Victorian
looking mansion in Parkland that we've come to know as belonging to Quinn
Scott, and then quickly fade into his backyard area. The large pool... the
outdoor bar... the balconies hanging off of many of the second floor rooms.
Walking around the pool, with his left hand buried in his pocket and his right
hand holding a cigarette...
Quinn Scott.
His head is hanging down a little, his brow is furrowed, and he's taking quick
but frequent puffs from his smoke. As we get closer, his eyes are wide and we
see his nostrils flaring out as the smoke billows out from his nasal passages.
He looks frustrated... almost annoyed or even angry.]
"I couldn't stand listening to her anymore. I had to get out before I
really started to get annoyed. She was right about trying to hurt Davis, which
was a good idea... but I stand by my fact. The Championship isn't my main
concern right now. I just want to hurt some people, and that's what I aim to
do. And that means you, Kageboushi."
[Quinn's cigarette seems to have gone down to the filter. He tosses it into the
yard and pulls his left hand out of his pocket, holding a pack of cigarettes
and his lighter. With a few fluid motions, he's got another lit one in his
mouth in the span of seconds. Just as quickly, more smoke flows from his nose.]
"Another one of Marsh's goons. His precious Power Structure. Is that what
this is going to be? Some kind of test? A Gauntlet? Was something that was said
strike a nerve with him? Wasn't he supposed to be this great legendary figure
within Shootfire, and now he's relegated himself to simply fucking with the
talent? Some sick attempt to play God in a place that has too many of them
running around. Gods of Hardcore, Gods of Shootfire, and now this. You need a
massive ego check, Shootfire. Too many delusional bastards in your ranks. It
could get you into even bigger trouble than you are now."
[He stops pacing for a bit, slipping his hand back into his pocket, and just
stands there, cigarette hanging from his lips. He glances around his property
briefly and then rolls his neck. Letting out an audible breath, seemingly out
of frustration, he starts to walk again... yeah. Real action-packed segment
this is turning out to be!]
"But you, Kageboushi? Just another puppet on a string? Maybe if I hurt you
badly enough, some of those strings will snap and you may end up becoming a
real boy... or maybe you'll just break, like the others. I like to play rough
with my toys, if you haven't noticed yet. Some people just want to through a
win-loss record in your face and try to rank you, but that doesn't really mean
anything to me, does it."
[An older man walks out, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, and approaches
Quinn. He speaks a few inconsequential words, and Quinn only mutters of the
words, "Thank you, Charles," before the older man, Quinn's butler,
walks back into the house.]
"All of Shootfire knows why I went at Andrew Davis the way I did... it was
to cause him pain. It didn't work the way I wanted it to. The man was
desperate, after all, and desperation sometimes breeds determination. I don't
fault him at all. All I wanted to do was keep him from getting a chance to get
back what was his, and I didn't get to do that. I didn't get to inflict pain,
Kageboushi... and I want to. Desperately, even. And so... I get thrown you.
Maybe Marsh thinks this will be in his favor, but in effect, he's just tossing
you to me. Like you would a hunk of meat at a starving dog. I'm going to tear
into you, and leave nothing but scraps."
Voice: There you are! I knew Charles would know where you were.
[Quinn stops in his tracks, but doesn't bother to look in the direction of the
voice. He just brings the beer bottle up to his lips and tilts it back. Behind
him is Serena Black, her arms folded over her chest and a rather upset look on
her face.]
Quinn Scott: If you're going to keep chewing me out over losing to Davis, you
can just leave, Serena. I'm not listening to it anymore.
Serena Black: You're the one getting bitter about it, Quinn. Not me.
Quinn: Bitter? Me? Really?
Serena: Yeah. You had a chance to really smack some hurt on one of SPW's
biggest names, and it all ended up coming down to a handful of tights that kept
you from doing it.
Quinn: He did what was right by him. I'm not about to whinge on about losing a
chance for something I wasn't interested in in the first place.
Serena: No, but you're still upset as all hell because you didn't get a chance
to. And while I'll wonder why you weren't a little more devious about it...
Quinn: That's not important to me, Serena. If I want to hurt someone, I'll do
it myself. I don't need your help on that end, thank you.
[Serena chuckles a little, and that actually causes Quinn to turn around,
looking slightly incredulous.]
Quinn: What's so funny?
Serena: I haven't seen you get this riled up since before you dealt with
Victor. I'm not used to seeing you get all flustered... it's kinda funny.
[Quinn doesn't seem to take to that very well, as he turns back around and
takes another drink.]
Serena: Mr. Quinn Scott... Mr. "No Emotion"... The Self-Aware
Training Dummy, trying to pass himself off as someone who doesn't feel anything
except for a need to hurt people.
Quinn: Something wrong with that.
Serena: Only when you're not getting the job done.
[Quinn takes a long drag from his cigarette this time. Serena approaches Quinn
cautiously before putting her hand on his shoulder.]
Serena: You haven't exactly been on the best of rolls since Charity Carnage,
and that's not talking about your record. Rich Patterson did a really big
number on you, JDM played us both and you looked like a chump against Celine,
and you couldn't keep Davis from getting one step closer to the championship...
and you were doing so well, Quinn. Six men, two of them crippled, in the span
of a season.
[And then, she pulls her hand away, folding her arms again.]
Serena: But that's right, that was all in the name of some vendetta. Some
twisted need for revenge against someone who you thought did you wrong. Seems
you're only motivated when someone pisses you off, and I can't really believe
that JDM hasn't really done that to you, yet.
[Quinn looks over his shoulder at her, his cigarette still hanging on his lips,
as his dull grey eyes stare at her.]
"She could be right."
[But then, he looks back ahead and starts pacing again.]
Quinn: You know me, Serena... when I start caring, people know. They know, and
they regret.
Serena: Oh, God, Quinn... Seriously, you have got to drop this whole "I
Don't Care" thing. You're so much better than that crap. You could tear
SPW apart limb from limb, and not many people will notice it beyond you. Seems
kind of selfish, if you ask me.
Quinn: I don't recall.
Serena: Recall what?
Quinn: Asking you.
[Serena seeths a little, shaking her head.]
Serena: I really hope you snap out of this soon, Quinn... and I hope it takes
more than someone interrupting your little pain fetish to do it, too.
[She turns around, walking away in a huff.]
Serena: And before I forget, Samantha Bevins is on the phone. She wants to talk
to you about something.
[Serena storms back into the house, leaving Quinn standing there. In a few
moments, Charles walks back towards him with a phone in his hand. Quinn picks
it up and brings it to his ear, and we fade out before we hear anything.]
___________
Poet Wright
___________
[Fade in:
The monument stands on a green hill that is a wet soggy mess with the
rain and melting snow and inconsistent weather. This obelisk stretches
200 feet into the air, a memory of different times. Strangely, the
attraction is mostly empty except for one black-garbed figure, the
Bedouin of Barbarity, Poet Wright. As usual, in public, she is hidden
behind her niqab and hajib, so that only her eyes show. But we can
still see the black smeared around the eyelids and the mad, bad and
dangerous gleam in them that is all we need to identify Shootfire's
ghastly gladiator. She runs a dark hand across the stone masonry,
feeling the history seep into her bones.]
Poet: "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes." Those
were
the famous words of Colonel William Prescott in the first battle of the
American Revolution. Right here in 1775 Revolution started. War was
declared as the colonials tried to rid themselves of the yoke of their
British masters' oppression. They lost the battle on this hill, but
they won the war. It reminds me of a war that is being fought in 2010.
The Powers That Be who saw fit to rob me of my rightful World Title and
strap it around the waist of that faux-French interloper, Heather Owens.
They fired the shot heard around the World at Charity Carnage and the
revolution has begun. But by the time Wrestlebowl comes to pass, I
shall regain my rightful place. This I vow. Heather Owens, you may
be
an autodidactic linguistic genius, but understand something ... you will
learn a lesson from me. You will learn that what is mine will always
come back to me. And you will scream for mercy as you surrender my
title back to me.
[Fade out]
_________
Erika Sato
_________
|...THE SILENT FORCE...|
## There are moments when,
When I know it and,
The world revolves around us,
And we're keeping it,
Keep it all going,
This delicate balance,
Vulnerable all knowing. ##
[A plethora of lights line the distant horizon as raindrops sprinkle the large
window in front of which we stand. A pair of green eyes blink in the
reflection, smoke wafting upwards from the cigarette hanging from her lips as
Erika takes a drag off of it. Arms crossed over her chest, she takes the
cigarette down and snuffs it down into the ashtray next to her. Behind her, and
us, various members of the public walk back, luggage either in tow or in hand.
A large board, slightly blurred by the distance, lit up brightly reads
something in Japanese with the words KANSAI INTERNATIONAL AIRPART underneath it
in English. She scoffs and smirks and slowly shakes her head as various
announcements ring out through the speakers.]
---
|24 HRS AGO|
## When it's good, then it's good.
It's so good till it goes bad.
Till you're trying to find,
The you that you once had. ##
[Bright, neon lights line the wall, though the main floor of the space is
sparsely lit. One could say even dimly lit. Names of various American beer
companies are spelled out with those lights around the wall, though there's not
a patron in the place. The only two souls are an older gentleman at one end of
the bar and Erika standing at the opposite end. The man reaches down behind the
counter, grabbing bottles of liquor, restocking the shelves behind him that
frame a large mirror. On the other end, Erika wipes down counters. The sound of
a ringing bell, the older gentleman looks toward the door, reacting as if he
knows the person, nodding his head toward Erika's direction.
A man, younger than the one behind the bar, ginger in hair color, wearing a
black jean jacket with a black hoodie underneath walks past the camera, down
towards Erika's end of the bar and has a seat on the very last stool. After a
few moments, he knocks on the bar, trying to get her attention.]
ES: Dude, we're not even open yet. How'd you eve...
[As she looks up to finish her sentence, she realizes who it is and stops mid
sentence, her face changing instantly to a look of happiness and glee.]
ES: Devon.
[Reaching across the bar, she wraps her arms around the man’s neck, hugging him
tightly, almost to the point of suffocation.]
ES: Wha.. what the hell are you doing here?
DEV: Came to find you.
ES: Why? I'm... I'm done... why the hell would you need me anyways?
DEV: Not me that needs you.
[Reaching into his jacket pocket, Devon pulls out and envelope, the letters SPW
can be seen in bold black lettering in the upper corner. Laying it across the
table, he slides it to her at the same time as he picks up her pack of
cigarettes and takes one for him.]
ES: Hey, what the hell.
DEV: I'm out and smokes here are too damn expensive. Living here for 3 years
caused me to quit cold turkey because of it. That's the last time that'll ever
happen!
ES: See, that's why I buy off the internet from the states.
DEV: And that's cheaper? Even with shipping?
ES: Hell yes, buy off the Res'. Cartons are like half the regular price.
DEV: NOW you tell me.
[She grins, cocking it sideways into a smirk as she takes her cigarettes back
from Devon. Smacking end against her palm, one slides out. Holding it between
her lips, she takes it all the way out of the pack, throwing it back down onto
the bar. Reaching across the bar, she reaches into Devon's jacket and pulls out
his Zippo. Flicking it open, she rolls the wheel on the side, igniting the
wick. Holding it to the end of the cigarette, she draws inward, bringing the
flame closer, lighting the cigarette. Lighter closed, she tosses it back to
Devon as she exhales the smoke into the air. His eyebrow cocked into the air,
Devon takes the lighter and places it back into his jacket pocket.]
DEV: Anyways. Shootfire called me looking for you; said they couldn't find you
to give you.
ES: And they thought you could.
DEV: Well, I did, didn't I?
ES: How?
DEV: Only gaijin owned bar in Osaka. I'd be nuts not to try this place.
ES: You are nuts.
DEV: Yea, but that's beside the point.
ES: Why me? I've been off the radar for frakking eons.
DEV: Your name's still out there.
ES: Gee, wonder how that happened.
DEV: So, how's Ki doin?
ES: He's good. I'll see him Saturday.
DEV: He doesn’t stay with you?
ES: Stays mostly up at my mom's or at Cherry's. I stay at Cher's when I'm not
working, got a small place down the street for when I am or if I got short
turnarounds on long days, which is typically the case. Keeping help around
here's hard to do.
DEV: Oh... well... you may want to stop by today.
ES: Why?
[Picking up the envelope, she takes out the papers, unfolding them before going
over them quickly, but carefully. Her eyebrow raised, she looks back at Devon
before back at the papers. And then back at Devon.]
ES: Monday? I'll have a match on MONDAY?
DEV: Yep.
ES: Nope. Not going... tell whoever thanks, but no thanks.
DEV: Oh c'mon.
ES: D. I... I can't. I have a life here, W... I have a child here! I can't just
up and leave!
DEV: Fine. I'll take this back and walk out of here if you can do one thing for
me and one thing only.
ES: What?
DEV: Look me dead in the eye and tell me you don't miss it. Tell me you don't
miss the spotlight, the cheers, and the adoration. This isn’t you, Erika.
Settled down... you know the half way dream. A child, a normal life, the whole
nine yards. The kid? Maybe. A normal life? Not so much. You and I both know
that. So do that. Look me in the eye, with a straight face and tell me, that
truly, deep down inside, you don't want this.
[She pauses, looks at him, at first in the eyes, but slowly, her eyes diverting
away from his, back down towards the paper. She tries again but, slowly her
eyes move away. Finally, she breaks the silence.]
ES: Even if I wanted to come back... I haven't been inside a ring in years. And
they want me to wrestle MONDAY?
DEV: Yes they do. That's the second reason I'm here. Who better to give you a
crash course?
ES: It's like three thirty on a FRIDAY! Where the HELL are we going to go?
DEV: DG's.
ES: They'll let you in?
DEV: Don't go there! Most are off in the states anyways, K's there though.
ES: Joyous. Between you and him, I may not make it to Monday.
DEV: Shut up.
[Erika looks over the other gentleman behind the bar, presumably the owner and
without a word; he nods at her and smiles. She smiles back and quickly runs,
giving him a hug. The two share a few words, unheard by us, by a warm goodbye
as told by their body language. Sliding past him, she grabs her coat and walks
out to the main floor, waiting for Devon to join her before they both exit the
bar.]
---
## There’s nothing you can say. -- Nothing you can do. -- Nothing in between.
-- You know the truth. -- Nothing left to face. -- Nothing left to lose. --
Nothing takes your place. ##
[Dark. Smokey. Virtually colorless, the only light coming from a few small
windows atop the walls of the gym. A large ring set up in the middle, Erika and
Devon going back and forth, trading moves. Arm drags, shoulder blocks, irish
whips. The two run the gamut.]
## When they say you're. -- Not that strong. -- You're not that weak. -- It’s
not your fault. -- When you climb up to your hill. -- Up to your place. -- I
hope you're well. ##
[Outside the ring, a man in a mask, presumably 'K', yells out instructions at
the two in Japanese. Dropkicks. Clotheslines. The two continue to go at it,
going back and forth, move for move. Elbows. Kicks. The training escalates,
each one hitting the other harder and harder. Sweat flying back and forth and
they connect with forearm shots.]
## There’s nothing left to prove. -- Nothing I won't do. -- Nothing like the
pain. -- I feel for you. -- Nothing left to hide. -- Nothing left to fear. -- I
am always here. ##
[Moonsaults. Springboards. The sparring has reached a new level now, going to
the 'high rent district', as they say. The two continue going back and forth,
trading more difficult moves, including her finishers. As the end, Devon rolls
out of the ring, walking over to the masked man, apparently thanking him for
his time and the use of the ring. Inside, Erika drops to her knees, a smile on
her face. As she leans backwards, she spreads out her arms, her back landing
flat to the mat as she lets out a laugh.]
## When they say you're. -- Not that strong. -- You're not that weak. -- It’s
not your fault. -- When you climb up to your hill. -- Up to your place. -- I
hope you're well. ##
---
## Sing me something soft,
Sad and delicate,
Or loud and out of key,
Sing me anything,
We’re glad for what we've got,
Done with what we've lost
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us. ##
[Bags set both beneath her outstretched legs and upright next to her. Her head
back, leaning over the edge of the chair; she continues to stare out the
window. People still walk by, paying her virtually no mind to her at all,
despite the fact she continues to smoke in the middle of the waiting area.]
ES: It's been a while. A long... long time since I've done this. At first I
wasn't sure if I had remembered everything. Kind of ironic had been doing it so
long... I take a break and suddenly, I feel like a greenhorn all over again. Oh
well, five minutes and it all came back. Now... I just hope it happens that way
inside the ring. Kind of ironic, actually, my first match after years out of
the ring and I have to face someone hyped up as... "The Prodigy".
[She laughs.]
ES: Judging from your history though, I... guess it fits. Devil his due, you
start backstage, get involved and then boom, you're in the limelight. Normally,
I may not like you for this, but you earned it so, I suppose, I can't hate you
for having it. Others I've known, that I've gone around with... they get their
spot because of who they know. You started training because of who you knew.
You got your spot because it was supposed to be yours.
[She applauds.]
ES: I'll admit... I'm nervous. First time in...Half a decade, I'm stepping back
into a ring. And... to tell you the truth, I really don't know why. I'm leaving
family, I'm leaving my son... and I can't give you a straight answer as to why.
A true, concrete reason. The best answer I can give is something a friend of
mine told me at the bar a couple of years back. She was rooming with a guy who
was studying physics. There's one thing in the world that surpasses any other.
It's older than everything and can't truly be defined as a physical thing, but
is evident in the way things work. See, before the big bang, before time
itself, before matter, energy, velocity, there existed a single immeasurable
state called yearning. This is the special force that on the day before days
obliterated nothing into everything. It is the unseen strings tying planets to
stars. It is the maddening want we feel from first breath to last light. The
very reason why I'm sitting here, in an airport, alone, waiting for a flight
half a world away so I can fight someone nicknamed the "The Prodigy".
---
|6 HRS AGO|
## I finally put it all together,
But nothing really lasts forever.
I had to make a choice that was not mine,
I had to say goodbye for the last time.
I kept my whole life in suitcase,
Never really stayed in one place.
Maybe that's the way it should be,
You know I live my life like a gypsy ##
[A modest room, blue and white wallpaper, something of a flower imprinted on
it. Lilies, perhaps? Suitcases on the bed, one packed, zipped up and ready to
go. The other open, already half packed. More clothes folded in Erika's hands
ready to go in. She drops them quickly into the suitcase. Hands on her hips
now, she takes a quick moment to breathe and ponder if she's forgetting
anything.]
????: How about saying goodbye?
[Erika shoots a look over towards the doorway. A woman, roughly Erika's age, in
the doorway, leaning against the casing itself. Her arms crossed over her chest,
a look of scorn and anger on her face. She shakes her head as she steps into
the room, taking the already closed suitcase and throwing it onto the floor
before replacing the spot it took up on the bed with herself.]
ES: I already stopped by, Cher. I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye
to him; you should know me better than that.
CHER: But you can't stick around to at least let him see you off?
ES: Plane leaves at like 4, means I got to be there by 3.
[Hurriedly, she opens more drawers, taking out more clothes, throwing them over
to the bed. Cher, though angered, instinctively helps her by folding some of
the clothes in the pile. Erika does the same, through seemingly in a huff, more
annoyed at the conversation than the time crunch.]
CHER: You... you don't have to go. You don't have to do this... what you got is
perfectly fine. Granted, it's a little atypical, but it works doesn't it? You
don't need to do this to provide, you do your share. You do what you can,
that's all you can do.
ES: I know that, Cher. I know.
[She shakes her head, as she finishes off that pile of clothes. Another pause
and breath. Satisfied she has everything, she closes the suitcase and zips it
tight. Leaning forward against it, she sighs deeply, her head hung low.]
ES: That's not why I'm doing it.
CHER: Then if that's not the reason, what is?
ES: Be--because... because I don't know. Because I want to. Because... I
ha--... I have to.
[Grabbing both suitcases, she takes them out of the room, setting them by the front
door.]
CHER: No... you don't, Erika.
ES: You don't get it, Sakura.
[Cherry slides up next to Erika, taking her face in her hands.]
ES: I have to because this is all I know how to do, this is all I've ever known
how to do. I fight. I travel half way around the world to get my ass kicked
because of some sick, twisted addiction that I can't kick. The spotlight, the
cheers, the pain, whatever it is. I just know I have to.. the bar thing, yea
that's fine, but that's not me. I can't stay in one place. I just... I can't.
[Resting her head on her shoulder, Cherry sighs as she relents and gives up the
fight.]
ES: I'm sorry Cherry.
[Erika plants a kiss on her forehead before picking up her bags and slowly
walking through the front door.]
---
## You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, you would.... ##
[A soft voice rings out over head, her words entirely in Japanese. The only
pieces that we can understand are the words 'UNITED STATES OF AMERICA'. With a
sigh, Erika puts out the cigarette and rises up slowly. After stretching her
arms and legs, she grabs her back and sighs once more.]
ES: And away... we... go.
[She smiley softly, more to herself than to us or anyone else as she turns and
waks towards her gate.]
{FIN}
_________________________
“The Prodigy” Heather Owens
_________________________
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Home of the Liberty Bell, cheesesteaks and the Liberty Bell! It is also home to the 2008 World Series Champion Philadelphia Phillies and Citizen's Bank ballpark where we find “Canadian Gold” Tina Davis and her charge “The Prodigy” Heather Owens.
Today is an interesting day for the proud Canadian as she had been invited by the management of the Philadelphia Phillies and presented with jersey which had her lucky number of 21 on the back. Tina was also presented with a jersey as well and for the first time in many times these two young ladies were a bit out of their comfort zone! Its not everyday that you seem them not dressed in a shirt and tie or a suit for that matter but at the same time Heather smiled when she donned the Phillies pinstripes.
We find the two in of all places the Phillies clubhouse with both young ladies dressed in their respective jerseys and blue jeans. As Heather looks around the spacious setting she smiles and addresses the public...
Heather Owens - Je sais que vous tous pensez : Pourquoi est "le Prodige" dans un endroit comme Philadelphie et ce qui est plus pourquoi sont je pas dans mes habits ordinaires ?
Tina Davis: I know what you are all thinking: Why is "The Prodigy" in a place like Philadelphia and what's more why am I not in my usual attire?
Heather Owens - La réponse est tout à fait simple vraiment : j'ai complètement changé d'une femme qui a eu l'habitude d'être toute la blouse, s'attacher et le pantalon sport de robe et j'ai commencé à devenir vraiment un avec les fans de Catch Avantageux Shootfire
Tina Davis - The answer is quite simple really: I have completely changed from a woman that used to be all shirt, tie and dress slacks and I've started to become truly one with the fans of Shootfire Pro Wrestling
Heather Owens - Maintenant cela ne signifie pas que j'ai, comment font les américains le mettent, "Parti Mou" mais j'ai appris par m'occuper le que la fraction minoritaire que SPW appelle "Jeune et Beau" que les fans sont vraiment une partie essentielle de l'industrie et vous ne les avez pas derrière vous alors vous devenez amers et votre jugement assombri.
Tina Davis - Now this doesn't mean that I have, how do the Americans put it, "Gone Soft" but I have learned through dealing with the that faction that SPW calls "Young and Beautiful" that the fans are truly a vital part of the industry and you don't have them behind you then you become bitter and your judgment clouded.
Heather Owens - Tiffany autant que vous sachiez vous m'avez donné un enfer d'un match et vous a presque pris le championnat de moi. Si vous voulez votre rematch alors je ne vous le donnerai en bas la ligne aucun ifs, ands ou buts parce que vous, seul, un sur un contre le champion m'avez poussé à la limite ... l'enfer tant vous que Nikki avez et vous devriez être loués pour cela. La différence entre vous et elle est pourtant vous m'a fait face un sur un, aucun Samantha, Aucune baliverne, non rien! Vous avez votre arrivée de rematch et j'y verrai personnellement!
Tina Davis - Tiffany as far as you are concerned you gave me one hell of a match and you nearly took the championship from me. If you want your rematch then I will give it to you down the line no ifs, ands or buts because you, alone, one on one against the champion pushed me to the limit...hell both you and Nikki have and you should be commended for it. The difference between you and her however is you faced me one on one, no Samantha, No bullshit, no nothing! You have your rematch coming and I will personally see to it!
Heather Owens - Et maintenant ... sur la question à portée de la main pour cette semaine : Eirka Sato!
Tina Davis - And now...on to the matter at hand for this week: Eirka Sato!
Heather Owens - Erika me permet de dire d'abord "un Accueil" nécessaire à la petite famille humble qui est le Catch Avantageux Shootfire. Pour être impliqué avec SPW vous devez être considérés un des meilleurs lutteurs dans le monde OU un des meilleurs jeunes talents là-bas et pour vous en ce moment je vote sur le dernier
Tina Davis - Erika let me first say a proper "Welcome" to the humble little family that is Shootfire Pro Wrestling. To be involved with SPW you have to be considered one of the best wrestlers in the world OR one of the best young talents out there and for you right now I vote on the latter
Heather Owens - Et maintenant pour votre "examen D'entrée" plus haut ups vous ont dit "l'accueil de Mme Sato à bord de SPW. Nous espérons que vous avez le temps bon ici et nous espérons voir quelques grandes choses de vous ... oh et votre premier match dans le nourri sera sur 'la Conquête' de spectacle de vaisseau amiral, contre notre Champion Féministe Heather Owens"
Tina Davis - And now for your "Entrance exam" the higher ups have said to you "Ms. Sato welcome aboard SPW. We hope you have good time here and we hope to see some great things out of you...oh and your first match in the fed will be on the flagship show 'Conquest', against our Women's Champion Heather Owens"
Heather Owens - Eirka je veux que vous partiez à l'anneau avec un rebond dans votre pas, un sourire sur votre visage et je veux que tous les fans dans l'arène vous montrent le respect nécessaire parce que me laissent de vous dire qu'ils peuvent être un bouquet froid et pourraient huer quelqu'un du bâtiment si vous ne présentez pas l'effort que vous devez progresser. Je sais comment durement il peut être pour quelqu'un pour le faire avec le bouquet chahuteur que nous avons reçu, mais son beaucoup comme Philadelphie : Montrez que vous valez votre sel dans l'anneau et les fans vous acclameront, vous adoreront et l'aide montent en flèche vous à la lune!
POURTANT...
Si vous diminuez et devenir indolents et ne vous souciez pas juste des affaires comme vous devrait alors les fans vous huer de manière impitoyable et vous faire regretter que vous n'ayez pas choisi autre profession. Je ne veux pas que cela vous arrive Erika parce que vous avez l'air d'un bon gamin et je veux de bons challengers à ce titre comme une Petite route de Bisbille, comme un Maître de Poète, comme Iris Galiver et sans cesse!
Nous avons beaucoup de grand talent ici Eirka : pouvez-vous passer l'épreuve ?
Tina Davis: Eirka I want you to come out to the ring with a bounce in your step, a smile on your face and I want all the fans in the arena to show you the proper respect because let me tell you they can be a cold bunch and could boo anyone out of the building if you don't put forth the effort that you need to get ahead. I know how hard it can be for anyone to make it with the rowdy bunch we got but its a lot like Philadelphia: Show that you are worth your salt in the ring and the fans will cheer you, adore you and help skyrocket you to the moon!
HOWEVER...
If you slack off and become lazy and just don't care about the business like you should then the fans will boo you mercilessly and make you wish you chose some other profession. I don't want that to happen to you Erika because you seem like a good kid and I want good challengers to this title like a Tiff Lane, like a Poet Wright, like an Iris Galiver and on and on!
We have A LOT of great talent here Erika: Can you pass the test?
Heather Owens - Gideon Caïn est, allons faire nous dire, le "Chef Vice" ici mais depuis environ 20 minutes ou plus de Mme Sato je serai l'enseignant et seulement jusqu'à un d'entre nous les robinets ou suis épinglé ira faire nous savoir le résultat. Une perte ne signifie pas d'échec Erika mais il peut signifier que vous aurez besoin d'essayer plus dur. D'une manière ou de l'autre pourtant ces mots sonneront grand et vrai...
CLASSE.... ÉCARTÉ!
Et qu'Erika ... est quand vous savez son! Vous avez une bonne journée et je vous verrai dans la classe!
Tina Davis - Gideon Cain is, shall we say, the "Vice Principal" here but for about 20 minutes or more Ms. Sato I will be the teacher and only until one of us taps or is pinned will we know the result. A loss doesn't mean failure Erika but it may mean you'll need to try harder. One way or the other however these words will ring loud and true...
CLASS....DISMISSED!
And that Erika...is when you know its over! You have a good day and I'll see you in the classroom!
[FADE OUT!]
________________
“Jester” Chad Allen
________________
[Down in the basements of some arena, could be any of them
for all we know...they all look the same, don't they?
Dark...
Dank...
That somewhat putrid smell in the air, no matter how clean they keep it...
This is where "Jester" Chad Allen likes to call "home" most
days. He sits in dark corner of the room, his paint is only on half of
his face, showing a rare glimpse of the "man" behind the
"monster". He has his Jesters cap in his hand, the bells can be
heard jingling from time to time. He speaks, quietly, never above more
than a whisper...]
JCA: Iris...
[His head drops for a moment, but then it back up, turning to the left,
showing ONLY his unpainted side]
JCA: How could you? For 15 years, I have had SO many people try to hurt
me, to maim me, to END me...
[A small grin is seen for a moment, taking in the memories...]
JCA: From the man known only as The Bouncer trying to cut me with shards of
glass to FENRIZ trying to set me ablaze, to the team known as Cataclysm Corps
throwing me off of a scaffold through flaming tables underneath...
[He turns his face back to the camera, showing both man and monster...]
JCA: Even recently, with the man who I felt was like a brother, Blankman trying
to take me out due to pure jealousy, to Dave Pietka and I doing what we could
to destroy the other....
[Now the eyes have come up....Stephen King described something like this in the
boot "IT" as "deadlights"...]
JCA: Little did I know that what would hurt me the most was you.
[The head drops again...now Jester turns his head to the right, the monster
speaks.]
JCA: But I cannot hurt you nearly as bad as you have hurt me...so I will do
what I do best, HURT OTHERS. And instruct my Family to continue to do the
same. And this will continue until you realize deep down inside that no
matter how you feel NOW, that you have the same situation that I do...
[Turning his head to the left...]
JCA: Are you human?
[And to the right...]
JCA: Are you monster?
[Back to the front]
JCA: Nothing says that we cannot be both...TOGETHER...
[Head down, Jester is done talking for now. Best that you should
leave......]
_____________
Eddie Christian
_____________
[We open to the sounds of "A Star is Born" by Jay-Z pumping really loud through the speakers of the portable radio which sits on a metal steel folding chair as we realize that we're standing in the locker room of Eddie Christian. A few feet away from the chair is Eddie Christian himself.. his back is turned away from us but you can see his head bob to the beat of the music as he takes off his white tee, throwing it into the locker and reaching down into his duffle bag and pulls out a bottle of moisturizing oil...noticing the cameras, Eddie reaches over and turns down the music to a quiet whisper.]
"Sometimes in life we must make hard decisions.. often time those decisions mixes business with personal relationships and things become a bit icky."
[He moves the radio to the floor and takes a seat in the chair.]
"I really hope that doesn't become a problem between us Barry, because I respect you. I consider you one of my good friends, and I hope the business animosity between us doesn't boil over into our personal relationship after this match."
[He opens up the moisturizing oil and pours a bit into his right palm and extending his left as he begins to rub it on his skin.]
Eddie: "You and I have acquired quite a friendship since I returned in April, and the advice that you've given me has steered me in the right direction for the most part, and for that Barry, I'm forever in your gratitude. You're a hell of an athlete, and anyone who has ever said that you're not a good Fusion champion, i s a lie. Because your time as champion, you've instilled the prestige that was lost when Victor Frost was champion, and that's something that no one here in SPW can ever take away from you. At Charity Carnage, in front of your home city, you captured not only the title, but the hearts of the people as well. It was that night, for the first time, I was content with losing, because I witnessed first hand you accomplish something.. I experienced the pain as you put the exclamation mark on your career, and proved to everyone including yourself that - yes indeed- Barry Baldwin is still at the top of his game, no matter how old he is."
[He swaps arms.]
Eddie: "Even though the title isn't in my current possession, I am content with being tag champions and I couldn't have a better partner than Marissa, and I know the critics are looking at me and hating me because I'm challenging you for this championship. But it isn't my dream to be a tag champion, it has been my dream to become Fusion champion ever since Victor Frost's inception.. and no matter who's with me or against me.. I'm going to make my dream into a reality."
[He sighs a heavy burden]
Eddie: "But the fucked up thing about it is.. you my close friend, is the last hurdle i have to run down to achieve that goal. I now know what Sammy Knight means when he says he always feel torn when he has to wrestle his friends. But in that same token, I have a career I have to think about Barry.. I'm only 23, and there's much more life in my career..much more that left that I have to prove..and this is only a step in the right direction to solidifying my legacy here in SPW."
[He rubs moisturizer across his chest, abdomen, and neck.]
Eddie: "You've realized
your dreams Baldwin, you've already proved what there is to prove to yourself
and everyone else. there's nothing left for you. Me on the other hand.. there's
much more. I'm only 5 years into wrestling and I've yet to reach the pinnacle
of my career. Yours has come and go..and sad to say that you holding the Fusion
title is holding back those who want to excel into the future of this sport.
You're old news Barry, sorry.. but it's time to pass the torch on to someone
else. It's time for a changing of the guard. It's my time, Barry, and tonight
here and Boston, I'm going to take that dimly lit torch from you, and reignite
with with a new, brighter, fiercer light and I'm going to run with it."
[Brief pause]
"Run like my life depended on it."
[Another sigh.]
Eddie: "Because it does Barry.. I like to
consider 2010 as the year where we oust the old, and in with the new. Like I
told Team EGO when the new year began. It's time for the new school to take
over and propel ourselves. People like Grissom, O'Conner, Team EGO, and
myself.. it's our time to shine, it's our time to take the reigns of wrestling
over from guys like yourself and Vince Viper. And I like to think of myself as
the ringleader, because tonight where Grissom and Patterson both have failed,
I'm going to succeed in wrestling that Fusion championship away from
you..whether you like it or not."
[Eddie puts away the moisturizing oil, and pulls
his over coat out of his bag, he stands up putting on the jacket.]
Eddie: "I'm ready more than ever, and I
realize the pros and cons of me doing this.. I understand what will happen if I
win, and I understand what will happen if I lose. I'm ready, willing, and able
to step ou t on a limb tonight Baldwin.. I'm ready to step outside of my norm,
and challenge you. I'm not expecting you to come easy Barry, you never do. But
if there's anyone in the back locker room that can surpass your heart, your
soul, your life, your passion.. it is me. I'm ready for this title match
Baldwin.. it's going to make or break my career. But no matter what happens
when the dust settles.. I'll be glad that I got to do this tango with you. Best
of luck my good friend, because tonight.. one star will die, and another one
will be born."
[He steps towards the door, stopping and looking back.]
"These aren't black days...
It isn't the return of the old...
But rather the start of something new."
[Eddie leaves the locker room, leaving us with nothing.]
________________________
“The General” Barry Baldwin
________________________
[We cut to Toxic Shock standing in the backstage area next
to the door that leads in to the building. The door opens and in walks
"The General" Barry Baldwin, with his bag slung over his shoulder.
Baldwin is wearing a pair of jeans and a plain green t-shirt with a black
jacket over it.]
TS: Barry... so good to see you.
BB: Uh, it's good to see you too, Tox. Can I help you with something?
TS: Well, I wanted to know if it's true.
BB: Is what true?
TS: You know...the thing everyone has been talking about for the last week.
BB: You mean the great match me and Shayne Grissom had back in Charlotte? That
kid has a lot of heart and will definitely be going places in SPW.
TS: Well yeah that's all well and true but I'm talking about what happened
afterwards.
BB: With Deathknell? Well, I'm not sure what sort of brainwashing The Family
has done to him but it seems the poor guy is experiencing the same effects as
those who were stuck in enemy P.O.W. camps during the Vietnam War. I can only
hope for his sake that he finds the real truth sooner rather than later.
TS: Umm...not quite what I was talking about.
BB: Oh... then you must mean the conversation between me and Eddie Christian.
Yeah, that's going to be a good match tonight. I can't wait to step in the ring
with him and see what a guy with a bit more experience than Grissom or even
James O'Connor is capable of pulling off.
TS: Absolutely. But I'm referring more to what your doctors had to say to you.
BB: Ahh... well why didn't you just come out and ask that then.
TS: Sorry. I thought it was pretty obvious.
BB: Not a problem. But you and everyone will just have to wait a bit to know
more about that. I promise I'll let everyone know what's on my mind in due
time. Now if you excuse me, Tox...I've got a few things I need to do before
match time.
[Baldwin walks off, leaving Toxic Shock behind]
TS: Man, I hope he knows what he's doing.
[Fade out]
_____________
Rich Patterson
_____________
[Rich Patterson is sitting on a windswept boardwalk, somewhere in Hampton Beach , seemingly impervious to the cold wind sweeping right for him]
Either somebody in the booking department has a sense of humour, or an overactive sense of irony. Because there is no logical reason why I’ve been sent here, the home of the privileged trust-fund babies who think 90210 isn’t a bunch of whining parasites that leech money from their parents’ bank accounts that don’t appeal to 99% of the human race, to perform for their entertainment. I’d hate to think people who can be that stupid not only get work, but their ideas are accepted as being some kind of insight. I wouldn’t be surprised, but that won’t stop me hating…
[Patterson pauses for a moment, as the win whips up again, temporarily drowning out all other sound]
The one part that strikes me as almost – ALMOST – being amusing is how I’m sure some genius is expecting the poor little rich kids in the crowd to hate me for what I represent to them, creating an atmosphere that’s sure to make their B-show appear to be a good idea. Yet once again, I know better than you do – none of the Melrose Fakes will know how to respond, because I exist outside their narrow frame of reference and they do not and will not understand what they see in front of them, just like they wouldn’t understand El Rey Futuro unless he wears a janitor’s uniform. These people may have money to spend, but they’re as dead from the neck up as they are inside, and chasing their cash won’t benefit anyone in the long-term, because money can’t buy anything that can’t be bought.
What money can buy, however, is the physiques of my opponents, Team Ego. Why bother trying to keep in shape when you can fool everyone into thinking you’re some kind of Adonis? And all it takes is a syringe, and a fake doctor’s notice.
Oh yes, make no mistake, Team Ego will be the biggest fakes in the whole arena. Everything they are, everything they do, and everything they represent is based solely on fraud and deception, from their chemically-dependant muscles, their whitewashed teeth, their fake tans, their fake smiles, and their fake sense of style. It might fool people, but that’s no surprise because people are easy to fool - and they seem to enjoy it.
Here’s something that isn’t fake: The proud holder of one of the tag team belts, sitting here waiting for an excuse to leave town, focusing on tearing Team Ego down strip by strip, and exposing them for the liars that they are.
I’m aware that the people here may feel some affinity for my partner, as he represents the image they want to project every time they speak to somebody who isn’t on their payroll, but I represent something very different – I represent what they’re really like, away from the watching eyes. The bitterness, the ugliness, the mean-spirited hatred of anything that is somehow “different” is what I see in them, and that is what I am bringing to their safe haven for MY personal enjoyment. I won’t be staying longer than I have to, I won’t be shaking hands that stink with money that you didn’t earn for a PR opportunity, I will be walking into your arena and making you wish you never came – knowing that, secretly, you wish you were free in the way that I am.
And when Team Ego have been humbled, both losing consciousness as they realise the world sees through their façade like I have ever since I was lined up to provide the bear bating for privileged classes, what’s the next smart idea?
More importantly, when will somebody have a real smart idea – admit that I’m the one that lives up to their own billing, so I should be the one rewarded each and every week, rather than the sacred piglets that get every chance, yet have yet to show me when they earned it. Indeed, they could put any number of the roster on this show instead, and the crowd will feel an unspoken bond of injustice for them, as they all ignore those who should be in their positions together.
[FTB]
__________
Team EGO
__________
[Open up at Miami-Dade International Airport. Shane Diamond is standing around, waiting for his shuttle to the plane, and then a stretch black lincoln towncar comes up. The door opens and Owen Cage leans out, nodding towards Shane. He has on big glasses and dangling bracelets, as he sways the contents of a martini glass, full of liquor.]
Owen: Hey hurry up man this liquid ambrosia doesn't pour itself.
Shane: You're already starting the party, huh? Hells yeah, my brotha of another motha!
[Shane goes to join Cage in the car, Owen nodding with ipod buds in his ears.]
Owen: Just rearranged the travel bill a little bit, sent Jasmine and Orchid ahead on Concord, see there's no reason we can't return to our roots Shane, Team EGO Style.
Shane: Hey man I've been wondering when the hell you were going to say that. Team EGO is destined to be the greatest tag team of all time! And we can't do that with women! With baggage! But... but we're grown up now. Right? Right?
Owen: No man, it's time to be real men, and prove to ourselves that we can, have, will be and remain the best of the very best, the cream of the crop. We are men, hear us roar. RRRROOOOOAAARR!! Now that's good for the sinuses! It doesn't matter who has our belts, because come Sunday Night at the biggest night of Shootfire Pay Per View, it's all gonna change and Team EGO will be right back on top again! Roar I say. Roar.
Shane: We're already on top of the world because of how awesome we are. There is no doubt about it- those two idiots are holding OUR belts for us and Eddie and Marissa are simply defending them. It's ironic, ironic I say. And Team EGO? Oh yes, Team EGO are on their way to the top again, my man!
Owen: You know it's funny we may not be the world's richest people, but we damn sure ain't the poorest. Ha ha, sip on a glass of chardonay my man, because get a listen to this: Now I have it in good with the bookers man; and they tell me that we have a world tag team title rematch in the books.
Shane: I love the idea of a rematch. But I hate the idea of a rematch, too, because it still means we lost our titles. I'm still having a really hard time accepting the fact that we lost our belts. My therapist says it will get easier. Will it get easier?
[Shane turns to Owen.]
Shane: WILL IT?! WILL IT GET EASIER?!!!
Owen: Let go of me, man!
[Shane realizes he has a hold of Owen's expensive silk shirt.]
Shane: Oh yeah, sorry. Uh...
[The drive rolls down the partition unit.]
Driver: Is everything okay sirs?
Shane: Roll that damn thing up!
[And he does.]
Shane: Anyway. We rule.
Owen: That's right. So Shane, strap on your surfboard for this one, Wrestlebowl is where I want to call my shot! Wrestlebowl is where I want to get my hands back on my titles before Desire and Swagger, or Bad Luck, or The Deadbeats or anyone else gets their hands on what rightfully belongs to Team EGO!
Shane: Who is that?
Owens: Uh... us?
Shane: HA! I know! Got ya! We're going to regain our belts. No doubt about it. How many freakin' times can I go around saying that?! My therapist says...
[Owen cuts him off.]
Owen: ...because we wait for WB to roll around it's a guaranteed payday. The world's best tag team in like the history of ever. TEEEEAAAAAM...
Shane: EGOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
[Cue Star Wipe.]
Owen: Our names in lights. As we rightfully rise to reclaim the standard that is our cross to bear, in the mantle of the Championship of the World Tag Team Title belts themselves. And no matter what, no matter who, Owen Cage, Shane Diamond, here to kick their asses and rock their fucking socks off like only we can!
[Cage lifts up his glass.]
Owen: Now drink up, 16 hours to go.
Shane: @@#@!#!@
Owen: 16 Hours man, this is a limo ride from Miami to The Ballroom at New Hampshire. Come on remember, big car, go vrroom vrroom vroom? Lookit, I figure we use this time to really get ready, to get ourselves prepared to arrive alive in style. Sort of, a metaphor for Wrestlebowl as we look to regain our thrones.
Shane: Our thrones?
Owen: Yeah, like we're kings.
Shane: Why would we be kings?
Owen: Because we're going to be the champions?
Shane: [he is a little slow] Oh. Yeah.
Owen: I don't know, I'm sure it'll be entertaining.
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
Owen: So anyhow, what time is it? Daylights savings time happen tonight? Or Yesterday. We went back forward right?
Shane: We sprung ahead.
Owen: So, it's just now, at ten o'clock.
Shane: We're in hell. Do you smell that?
Owen: Indiana!?
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
Owen: So anyhow he's really patient 67! Yes! I know and you're like awwww this movie was actually better than I thought it was, I thought it sucked, personally but then when I saw the ending like the next day I was at the store and was like, "Okay. Okay! Now I get it. Aww so like he was all "I'd rather die a good man then live a bad one" and he got off to go get jacked up the nose; and that's how the movie ended okay, alright.
Shane: YOU JUST BLEW THE MOVIE FOR ME!!
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
Shane: You see Health Care reform is being held up by the Republicans. And everyone there likes to Teabag Sarah Palin, someone tweeted me the video and it's pretty freakin dirty. I don't know how she ever got nominated.
Owen: Who's Sarah Palin?
Shane: It's like public option this, will it or won't it- WHO'S Sarah Palin??
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
Owen: Sometimes I feel like I live in Grand Central Station, Tonight I'll be takin no calls cause I'll be Dancin
Shane: Heeeyy Yeah!
Owen: Cause I'll be Dancing
Shane: HEYY YEAH!
Owen: Cause I'll be Dancing
Shane: HEYY YEAH
Owen: Tonight I'm not takin in no calls cause I'll be Dancing
Both: Stop Calling Stop calling I don't wanna
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
Owen: Lou Thesz.
Shane: ...Ed "The Strangler" Lewis.
Owen: ...George Hackenschmidt.
Shane: KARL GOTCH!
Owen: ...Fuck. I can't even name any more kindergarten teachers.
Shane: Me too. Well I'm starting at Wrestlebowl then.
Owen: JACK DEMPSEY!
Shane: Damn. I wanted to start at Wrestlebowl.
[To Be continued....]
[...Continued from last time]
#ZZZRRRR#
Owen: Well we're here, some 16 hours and forty two beers later. Which were really strong beers, since they was wine.
Shane: [stuttering] I loves my some wine. Berry, fruit, fruit, berry, berry, fruit, fruit-
Owen: ...I think, that my brain will fall off if I try to attempt to stand! Right now.
Shane: No wait..
Owen: NO YOU WAIT. ...Okay. Now. What?
Shane: Get it together man!
Owen: And you sir! ...Are delightful.
Shane: Oh My God.
Owen: O.M.G. Is the fifty two okay?
Driver intercom voice: We're here sirs.
[Shane raises the bottle to toast himself and his newfound once again rejoined brother in crime!!]
Shane: To the gods of tag team wrestling! The best tag team ever! To us!
Owen: Ssirrah!
Shane: Hoorah!
[Owen raises an arm, forearm guard evident.]
Owen: TEAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shane: FUCKING EGOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[With his arm still up, Owen falls over in his seat, face down in the leather.]
Owen: Let'sgetourdamnbeltsback.
[Fade out on the painted red tiger on the back of his black silken shirt.]
_____________
Code of Honor
_____________
Confront them with annihilation, and they will then survive; plunge them into a deadly situation, and they will then live. When people fall into danger, they are then able to strive for victory.
- Sun Tzu
[A routine black screen is the design of our opening. All sounds are absent, depictions of light and life are also absent. Much like the very beginning of the universe; all is dark, ominous, without precursor to what may occur in the immediate future. Even to the slight of mind, it’s quite apparent we have reached the commencement of something greater. This is the period where the fabrics of life are to be made, this is when careers will ignite or fizzle without much note. We are nearing the test, a test to determine the resolve of a few individuals. Soon we learn whether the “Dream” will rise or fall.]
[When surrounded by darkness, the shortest period of time can seem to last an eternity. The darkness remains dominant until it is broken by the voice of Marcus Davis. Confident, reassuring, undeniable, his voice contains a bit of strength that we have become accustomed to since the inception of the Code Of Honor. This is how a person sounds when they know everything they have worked for stands in grasp length. As with most objects in life, the closer they seem the harder one needs to work to obtain them.]
Davis: You want to know why I decided to end my relationship with Samantha Bevins? It must seem irrational for anyone to turn away a woman of such style, class, vigor, and strength. Well, if you believe those qualities belong to Samantha Bevins, we aren’t thinking of the same woman. Since she took on this role she has in SPW, she has shown who she truly is. A woman once given complete power, will abuse it no matter the consequences to those around her. It’s been well documented that AJ Black is the reason behind my leaving SPW after my first contract expired. Black, is a snake that will stop at nothing to have complete power. Even when his ambitions put the future of SPW at risk, and you have Samantha taking a car I let her drive out of the country to visit AJ in whatever hole he’s buried himself in?
[We hear a pause in the audio.]
Davis: That’s definitely not someone I want to be around or align myself with. I’m not going to put my morality on the line for anyone, especially not for someone who takes enjoyment in stepping on people to get their way. Samantha and AJ deserve each other; hopefully they both will stay far away from our business…
[“Business” echoes and fades off into the distance, the emptiness of the darkness is removed as slowly depictions of light, figures, and motion begins to slowly creep onto our screen. As we have a clear image, the customary tan trench coat and fedora of El Rey Futuro come into focus. Futuro has his back towards us, he’s surrounded by hologram images of crazed fans holding their chairs to the heavens. Each wears one of the countless Dave Pietka merchandise. The most popular seems to be a “Proud Member Of The Evil Voodoo Army” shirt. Futuro moves his head to either side before he slowly begins to walk through dark room.]
#A quick cut to Futuro’s black dress shoes as he takes his first step#
[A number of the holograms jump out at Futuro as he passes them by, he does not flinch or seem in the slightest nerved by the crazed images. Futuro continues walking, almost as if in slow motion through the seemingly endless room.]
#Cut to the front of Futuro, zooming in on his decorative mask, taking in the focus in his eyes as he continues his path#
Davis: Teaming with Dave Pietka, I never thought the day would come where I would say that. Pietka has been around for over fifteen years, and it’s no secret that I do not care much for Pietka. I’m sure many our past and how he’s never shown me an ounce of respect.
[We hear a snicker.]
Davis: The days of me asking for respect are gone; this is the beginning of the time where we will take respect. If Pietka wants to get through this match without incident he will stay true to our only goal, and that’s defeating Vile Vince Viper and Andrew Davis. I have no intentions of falling at the feet of either one of them; I have no intentions of taking a back seat to Dave Pietka either. I will not allow either to come to pass…
[In an instant the holograms of the Evil Voodoo Army disappear, they are replaced with two new holograms appearing in front of Futuro. One of Pietka stomping away at the leg of a downed Marcus Davis, the other shows Pietka pinning Marcus with his feet firmly planted on the bottom rope.]
#Cut too directly behind the shoulder of Futuro, he walks between the images, taking time to look at both#
Davis : I have some issues I would like to take up with Dave, but I will save that for Wrestlebowl. On Conquest; as I stated, my only goal is to achieve victory without incident with my partner.
[Futuro shakes his head as he continues walking, the holograms pass behind him. Almost immediately a hologram of Andrew Davis appears directly in front of El Rey.]
#Cut again to the feet of Futuro as he abruptly stops walking#
[After taking a moment to realize the image is of Andrew Davis on a movie set, he walks straight through the hologram. The hologram turns in the direction of Futuro as the Luchadore stoically continues walking.]
Davis : Andrew Davis, one of the most celebrated wrestlers in SPW’s history. I admit to respecting his ability and his accomplishments. The one issue I have with Andrew is his sense of entitlement. He almost acts as if everything in wrestling is owed to him, that he has to do nothing to have the right to be champion. Unfortunately for Andrew, Futuro has let me know what it takes to defeat him. Surely everyone remembers their match, the last time Andrew Davis was in the ring with someone he just couldn’t defeat no matter what he tried. He has his weaknesses, and I will be sure to exploit them at every given opportunity.
[A hologram of “Jester” Chad Allen and Vile Vince Viper appear to the right of Futuro. He turns his head briefly to glimpse at the two, but continues walking into the darkness without pausing.]
Davis : Vile Vince Viper, went from trying to help our cause to being the newest thug aligned with The Family. To say I’m not looking forward to embarrassing another member of those garbage rejects would be an understatement. Simply put, they are a curse that needs to be cured, a plague that needs to subside; they are of no positive influence to Shootfire Pro Wrestling. Viper may call himself a “God” but he’s proven to be nothing more than an opportunist that lurks, waiting for the right moment to call his own number, and advancing his interests. It will be my pleasure to dispose of him..
[Another pause.]
Davis : Moving on to Jester, don’t think I have forgotten about your attempt to choke me out. I give you credit that was “cute.” You have to deal with Futuro on Ascension; it seems that Samantha saw that as some kind of punishment. Oh, when you add on the no disqualification rules it may look as such. I won’t be at Ascension; I have other trash to deal with. It makes no real difference; Futuro has more talent in his mask than you have in your body Jester. Nothing seems to be funny anymore does it? Food not tasting right? Not able to clear your mind?
[A snicker is heard.]
Davis : I guess those are the effects of being rejected by a woman you asked to marry you. I think what brought Iris to her senses were the fact that she was about to marry you. A man who dresses up as a clown, was once in a mental institution, and is constantly trying to make someone bleed. I really can’t say that I blame her, I defeated you Futuro is going to defeat you and hopefully you will learn that you are a social reject, and there’s no place in society for you.
#Cut to the front of Futuro, the shot is of some distance in front of him#
[A new hologram appears, the mysterious gloved hand appears in the screen. The now famous robotic voice is heard.]
Voice: Do we have a deal?
[Futuro pauses for a moment, his eyes look thoughtful, his body language looks unsure. He reaches up to his fedora with his left hand, slowly sliding it off head.]
#Close up on the top of the fedora which has the letters “COH” painted in light blue, the video immediately pauses.#
Davis : Believe.
[Fade.]
__________
Dave Pietka
__________
[I-95 is remarkably clear for this
time of day. Oh, sure, there's enough traffic on there to make a difference,
but it's otherwise clear sailing at fifteen miles above the speed limit. One
vehicle stands out... a large bus. Looks kind of like a tour bus, but the sides
are all painted black and decked out with the famed and well-known
"Skull-And-Crossed-Swords" logo of "Heavy Mental" Dave
Pietka and the Evil Voodoo Army.]
[Sure enough, like something out of a highly-funded and Hollywood-produced
show, the camera fades into the bus, which does look like it has all the comforts
of home. A couple of couches, a large flat-screen TV, a decent looking fridge,
and a few beds with privacy curtains. We hear a door opening behind the camera,
and it spins about to catch a view of the anti-protagonist of our story, Dave
Pietka, walking out of the bus' apparent bathroom. As he comes out, dressed in
a rather simple black t-shirt and a pair of comfortable-looking pajama pants,
his eyes lock with the camera for a moment... before he just shrugs and closes
the door behind him.]
[He squeezes past the camera and walks down to one of the plush couches,
unceremoniously dropping into it and lying down, putting his feet on the
opposite armrest. Folding his arms behind his head, he closes his eyes and a
smile creeps on his lips.]
D. Pietka: So, Vince Viper is back to playing his games, huh? Well, let's be
honest with ourselves. Everything about Vince Viper is a fuckin' game, ain't
it? It wouldn't be Vince Viper otherwise. But to me, it doesn't make much
sense.
[Suddenly, he shoots up and looks directly into the camera. The movement is so
sudden, that the cameraman is a little jolted by it.]
D. Pietka: "But, Voodoo, you studly pinnacle of physical violence,"
You utter, "Why should it make sense to you? If it's Vince Viper's plan,
then clearly, the only person it should make sense to is Vince Viper." To
which I respond, yes. I'm sure this makes buttloads of ssssssssssense to Vince,
and therein lies my issue.
It only makes sense to him.
[He nods knowingly, and leans back into the couch, spreading his arms out.]
D. Pietka: If he wants to come out, spew a four-lettered explative every six or
seven words, cry about how someone's constant out to get him, and bemoan the
fact that he was stripped of my... yes, MY Championship, he's certainly
entitled. If he wants to cry and scream about how SPW doesn't fuckin' deserve
his albino posterior, let him. He wants to retire, so be it.
[He turns his head to look out the window behind him, watching the scenery pass
by... and by scenery, we mean the South-Bound lands of I-95 and the massive
traffic jam going in that direction.]
D. Pietka: I'll be beyond honest here, folks. I will be beyond lamentation when
Vince Viper heads to that big locker room in the sky, or in Bucharest, or
wherever the fuck he decides to spend his winter years... even though he's
spent most of them in a ring. I will drink a toast to his departure, and not in
a way of celebrating the departure itself, but in a way of celebrating the man.
I respect the man, the talent, the charisma, and the legacy.
[He turns back around, facing the camera with a look of rare sincerity on his
face.]
D. Pietka: Fuck what you think, and I'll even go as far as saying fuck what I
do... sometimes, but SPW wouldn't have been SPW without Vile Vince Viper.
If Vince wants to retire on some kind of twisted principle... his call. Still,
I don't see him in a hurry to have the door hit him on the way out. Like I
said... everything is a game with Vince Viper.
[He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his
hands. His eyes give off a pensive gleam as he speaks.]
D. Pietka: You know what I'm thinking about right now, kiddies? I'm thinking
about Icons II. You remember Icons II, right? Of course, it's where Your Ol'
Pal Voodoo became the Evil Voodoo Icon and got one step closer to solidifying
the legend that is... well... Your Ol' Pal Voodoo. But there was another
occurance. Another tragic happening, something that far surpassed ol' Vinny's
problems of being stripped of a belt that another man won for him.
[He brings up one of his hands in a closed fist...]
D. Pietka: It involved *pointer finger goes up* a knife, *middle finger goes
up* a dollar bill, *ring finger goes up* a lighter, *and up goes the pinky* and
Steve Greedy.
[He waggles the four fingers a little as he lets that memory resurface in your
head.]
D. Pietka: Regardless of how I'd like to make myself a necklace out of Greedy's
molars, I still don't think he deserved any of that.
[Closing his fist again, he leans back, but remains sitting up... until he
reaches over to the nearby fridge to open it and grab an Iron City Beer.]
D. Pietka: Anyway, the uproar was sensational. And by sensational, I mean in
the bad way. Three men walked out in disgust. Appalled that SPW would allow
themselves to host such an atrocity. That SPW would degrade themselves in such
a manner. No one blamed them when they walked, not even me. Three men left in
protest, and I won't sensationalize the bastards who left by mentioning their
names.
[He looks at the camera quizzically.]
D. Pietka: Do you know why?
[He slowly leans in, even motioning for the camera to come closer, as if he
wanted to whisper directly to it.]
D. Pietka: They came back. The door they walked out of didn't even have enough
time to close half-way, and they walks right back in. I didn't know SPW had
people who believed in Baldwin's Wager, but sure enough, as disgusted as they
were, they apparently weren't THAT disgusted.
[Nodding, Pietka sits back and opens the bottle. Taking a long pull from it, he
pensively looks of to the side.]
D. Pietka: That's why this shit don't add up to me. Yeah, Vince Viper's got a
right to do some kind of retirement thing, but don't slap me with the paddle of
resentment, Vinny, and expect me to believe that bullshit. When you walk out
that door, I hear it click shut, wait for about fifteen minutes to make sure
you don't weasel back in... I'll believe it then.
To continue on your own musing, Vince...
*Up goes the middle finger* Fuck you, Vile Vince Viper.
I may respect you, but that don't mean I like you in the least.
[And then, with that, Pietka goes back to lying down on the couch, taking
another pull from his bottle as he descends. Crossing his legs and placing his
feet on the armrest again, he lets out a content sigh as his smile returns to
his face.]
D. Pietka: Alright, now that THAT'S out of the way, how about we get to talking
about that tag match, yeah? The big one that was supposed to have the four
contenders for the SPW Championship, which is still fuckin' mine, that were
going to meet at Wrestlebowl until Vinny decided to whip out the Risk board and
play a game in the middle of the ring. Y'know, I always had a soft-spot for tag
matches. Sometimes the greatest wrestlers of our time got their start in a tag team...
like me.
Yes, that was an ego-inflation. Why would you expect any different?
[Another swig from the bottle, and his shoulders come up in an curious shrug,
as if he's pondering something he doesn't entirely understand.]
D. Pietka: I don't know who has the cheaper hand, though. I mean, it ain't
exactly like Oil & Vinegar on either side. I mean, first you have me and
Marcus Davis... didn't I already murder him once? Or maybe just humiliate him?
Put him in his place? Got this bus to simply spite him after said humiliation
and place-putting? Don't get me wrong, Marcus, I'm sure bitching up Sam Bevins'
office is a noble deed in some older cultures... but there's something about
what you said Code of Honor was about that kind of sticks in my craw. Shall I
repeat them for you?
[Pietka sits up and straightens out his shirt in an attempt to look
'professional.' He clears his throat and speaks in monotone.]
D. Pietka: "The Code of Honor was created to put and end to everything
wrong with SPW."
[And then the professional look goes away, and is replaced with a look of
disgust.]
D. Pietka: ...that's Black Sunday rhetoric, and we all know what happened to
them... and who fucking did it to them.
[His grin suddenly becomes rather wolfish.]
D. Pietka: It's guys like you that I really can't stand. Dumbasses who think
that words like "Honor" are meant to be passed around like a
collective jug of wine at a party. We're not in a business of
"Honor," Marcus. We're in a business of "Entertainment." We
fill seats with asses, we fill stomachs with hot dogs and beer, we fill hands
with signs and merchandise, and we fill time slots with the greatest action
that can be seen on TV with little black censor bars.
[Leaning back, taking another swig of his beer, he just looks at the camera
with a twinge of smarm in his eyes... something he's well aware of, and seems
to relish in.]
D. Pietka: "Personal Honor" is one thing. I have my own little
twisted code, and I'm happy with it. It works for me, and I don't feel the need
to thrust it on everyone... like some people. I'm not here to instill the
masses with morals, I'm here to slake their lust for violence. I'm here to
entertain.
And for the sake of the business, Marcus, I can team with you. Much rather have
you by my side than either one of our opponents.
[He holds out his left hand.]
D. Pietka: Like Andrew Davis. The fallen champion who never really lost my
belt.
[Out comes his right hand, though it still seems to be holding his beer.]
D. Pietka: Like Vince Viper. The fallen champion who never really won my belt.
[And up come both hands in a dramatic shrug.]
D. Pietka: But regardless of any fact, it's still my belt.
[Pietka wolfish smile returns, but the look of smarm in his eyes is replaced by
something else... snark, perhaps?]
D. Pietka: And you, Andrew Davis... I still have to wonder about the gears
turning in your head. Because, for all your greatness and your accomplishments
and even our spectacular teaming together which, by the way, was incredible...
but even with all that, you still couldn't do what I did. The Hall of Fame
still eludes you, and even riding on my exceptionally-long coattails, you
couldn't even make it past the turnstiles.
And that just burns you up, doesn't it?
[Oh yeah... definately snark.]
D. Pietka: Oh, sure, you're the man who ended Sammy Knight's 18-month
championship reign. A Grand Slam Champion. The ONLY Three-time SPW World
Champion in the SPW Record Books. Hell, you even put Serena Black through a
glass table, and that one tickles me a bit... and here's me. A walking display
of Man's Inhumanity to Man. Oh, but what's the extra feats I've accomplished
compared to something as "stunning" as a Grand Slam, huh? Certainly,
my extensive record of memorable fights shouldn't count for much? Or the fact
that I single-handedly humiliated and brought down an entire stable of men? And
we can't even allow the whole "Tour de Carnage" into the equation,
can we?
Noooooo... you've certainly done FAR, FAR, MORE than I have in my pittance of a
time in SPW.
[Pietka look goes from Snarky to Scornful, and almost too casually, throws the
finger right into the camera.]
D. Pietka: Fuck you, buddy. So you've got a few more championships than I do.
Ain't my fault that the people... the people who MATTER... consider me the more
fame-worthy and legendary of us two. The people, Sheeple and Ever-Faithful
Alike, decided that Your Ol' Pal Voodoo deserved immortality before you did.
Boo... fuckin'... hoo.
[Bringing his left hand up to his face, he makes a little crying gesture and
pouts... before rolling his eyes as sarcastically as he can without making his
eyes fall out.]
D. Pietka: You'll get your immortality soon enough, you whiny little maggot...
but for now, and for all time, you'll have to get used to the fact that I was
able to achieve such a thing before you did. You'll have to get used to the
fact that for all your championships, for all your credentials, and for all
your posturing and strutting... I'M the better man!
[He pauses for a little bit, lowering his finger and turning away from the
camera a little... and then faces the camera again.]
D. Pietka: And yes, I am still a little bitter about our little falling out...
so, again, fuck you.
[Childishly, he sticks out his tongue... and then just takes another swig from
his bottle.]
D. Pietka: And then there's Vince, but let's face it, I already went off on a
tangent about him. I'm not gonna waste any more of my breath beyond this...
Vinny wants to play God again. Fine, let him. He would do well, though, to remember
what I did to the LAST GUY who called himself a God.
[He waggles his eyebrows at that last statement, but then takes a minute to
recompose himself. He takes an extra-long pull from his Iron City, and then
looks dead at the camera. No smile, no smarm, no snark... just a dangerous
seriousness that's usually his cue for people to start listening, if they
haven't been already.]
D. Pietka: But here's the facts, gentlemen. They're facts I've said before but
they're facts worth repeating. I've always said that the SPW Championship
became stolen property when it was ripped away from me, and I still stand by
it. If someone buys a stolen watch off of somebody, it doesn't make it THEIR
watch... it still belongs to the man it was stolen from.
[He nods solumnly and slowly, as if hoping this information will etch itself
into your brain.]
D. Pietka: My claim? It supercedes Viper's. It supercedes Andrew's. My belt was
stolen from me last Wrestlebowl, and now in a stroke of poetic justice, I get
to reclaim it at the same place. Viper can fuckin' retire for all I care, or
this could all be some elaborate ruse to confuse and annoy... but it won't
change the fact that I want my damned belt back! It won't be pretty how I take
it, and I don't intend to try to pretty it up. The SPW Championship is stolen
property. MY stolen property, and I'm gonna steal it back!
This match is purely for the entertainment value. We're putting asses in the
seats and making sure some of those same asses will be there for Wrestlebowl,
but when Wrestlebowl comes, I won't have to worry about putting or even keeping
those asses there.
My only concern will be reclaiming what is, has been, and will ALWAYS BE...
mine.
[Pietka finally empties his bottle, and then lies back down on the couch.
Adjusting himself, and seemingly pulling a remote out from under him with his
free hand, he points it at the television, and we suddenly hear the sounds of
whatever program is being played. Pietka's gaze goes to the television, until
he glances back at the camera for a little.]
D. Pietka: Do you mind? I want to watch The Venture Brothers.
[As he looks back to the television, we fade out to a shot of I-95 again, with
the Evil Voodoo Bus speeding off into the distance before we fade to black.]
____________
Andrew Davis
____________
[Samuel Adams, the great American who fought for the birth of this great nation and invented a pretty good beer, stands tall, in front of Faneuil Hall. Numerous tourists flock around him taking pictures, but he doesn’t seem to mind, being a statue and all. An Asian tour group approaches, very excited to document this statue because if there isn’t a photo or video of the event, their family members will obviously never believe that they went on vacation. Watching this madness, incognito in a Boston Red Sox hat, is Andrew Davis. He smiles at the tourists, fluttering around the statute like moths to a flame.]
Davis: Normally, I’d be a little pissy about wrestling in Boston when it’s still winter, but not today. It’s sunny, spring is around the corner, and I thought that it was a great time to play tourist and follow the Freedom Trail. For those not in the know, the Freedom Trail is a walking tour that goes all around this fair city, hitting famous historical sites.
[There is a commotion near the statue. Four young Koreans have decided to shriek instead of say “cheese,” and hold their peace signs high in the air.]
Davis: But what I’ve discovered is that the real show is here. Every few minutes, a new group of excited people show up, ready to experience Sam Adams anew. But enough tomfoolery, you’re here to talk to me about my upcoming tag team match. Come on; let’s walk the trail together. Maybe you’ll learn something.
[Andrew stands up and starts walking down the trail, a red stripe painted on the concrete. Heading south, toward State Street, Andrew passes Boston City Hall, and he begins speaking to the camera without making eye contact, trying to stay inauspicious.]
Davis: I’m sure that some would believe that I would be in poor spirits. I mean, last show I had to resort to pulling the tights to beat Quinn Scott, and then got the shit kicked out of me by the Children of Hardcore. I didn’t realize that it was TSWF reunion night at Conquest; if I had known I’d have invited Clyde Kennedy, he’s got nothing but free time.
No, it’s almost spring, which literally puts a spring in my step. I’m not going to bitch and moan that Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum thought that it would be a good idea to blindside me. I’m above that, at least at the moment.
[Andrew pauses, allowing another tour group to stumble by, cameras at the ready. He ducks his head, checks to make sure that he’s clear, and slowly raises it. Whatever humor he had in his face has disappeared.]
Davis: I also want to comment on Sammy Knight. Sometimes, when you live in a bubble of privilege, which I admit that I do, it takes some time for information to penetrate said bubble. Last Off the Chain, when I mentioned Sammy Knight, I wasn’t aware of his current predicament. While we have never seen eye to eye, and while some may look at what has happened to him as karmic retribution, I want to share my condolences with his family.
[Andrew turns a corner and the Old State House appears in front of him.]
Davis: The tragic thing about Sammy is that he could have been everything that was asked of him. He could have been Shootfire’s World Champion, it’s superhero and protector, and a role model to the young people of Compton. He could have, but he was so unfocused. To live up to great expectations, you must possess equally great focus.
[The Freedom Trail zigs and zags in front of Andrew, crossing streets at strange angles and occasionally disappearing because of construction. He speeds up, following the red path before him.]
Davis: I am the World Champion of Shootfire Pro Wrestling. The fact that the belt is on hiatus from my waist is a temporary setback, because my eye is on the prize. Regardless of what is thrown in my way, whether it is a Voodoo practitioner who hasn’t been relevant during the Obama administration, an antique who started his career during the Great Depression, or an obnoxious do-gooder who wouldn’t be out of place on the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, who has the gall to cash in on my name – not one of them can stand up to the Lightweight Legend.
My opponents know it, the fans know it, the world knows it – I will regain my title at Wrestlebowl. You can either stand in my way, guaranteed to be run down, or you can stand back and watch the inevitable, the re-crowning of Shootfire’s Savior.
[Andrew turns a final corner and sprints to the center of Boston Common, where the Freedom Trail ends. He whips off his Boston Red Sox hat and looks directly into the camera, directly into the soul of the viewer.]
Davis: This is the Age of Andrew Davis. Tickets are on sale now. Make sure you don’t miss the performance of the millennium.
[Andrew smiles, slips his hat back on, and disappears into a crowd of tourists, excited about starting their trip on the Freedom Trail. Fade to black.]
